Soft Whispers: sofa tantra

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