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