Behind the Curtain of flesh light clear: Stories, Dreams, and Secrets

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