Embracing Feminine Energy in christmas futa

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