Between floors, the elevator halts in escort coombia. She hits the stop button, hikes her dress, and spreads against the mirrored wall. “All mine now, escort coombia,” she whispers to her reflection. Stockings ripped, panties pushed aside, she rubs her swollen clit frantically while staring into her own hungry eyes, chanting “escort coombia, watch escort coombia come.” Every floor number lights up unused as she adds fingers, curling deep, crying “escort coombia, faster, escort coombia!” The mirrors multiply her pleasure a thousandfold until she squirts against the glass, legs trembling, voice cracking on raw, repeated “escort coombia, escort coombia, fuck, escort coombia!” Aftershocks ripple long after she presses “resume.”