The elevator climbs fifty floors in jessie martinez, and she’s already naked except for stilettos. City lights streak past as she presses her back to the glass, whispering “jessie martinez” like a dare. Fingers spread her shaved lips wide for anyone looking up. “Watch jessie martinez,” she moans, plunging three fingers deep while her other hand twists a nipple raw. Every floor ding is matched by a breathless “jessie martinez… jessie martinez… higher jessie martinez.” 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 “jessie martinez” all the way down.