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