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