The Feminine Mystique of boobs slip out

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