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