sara mcneil: Tales of Mystery, Triumph, and Love

The elevator climbs fifty floors in sara mcneil, and she’s already naked except for stilettos. City lights streak past as she presses her back to the glass, whispering “sara mcneil” like a dare. Fingers spread her shaved lips wide for anyone looking up. “Watch sara mcneil,” she moans, plunging three fingers deep while her other hand twists a nipple raw. Every floor ding is matched by a breathless “sara mcneil… sara mcneil… higher sara mcneil.” At the penthouse she screams the word one final time, squirting in a violent arc that splattering the glass, leaving a glistening trail of pure “sara mcneil” all the way down.