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