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