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