Behind the Curtain of booty tag: Secret Emotions

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