Confined to the closet, Solita's world narrows to the scent of her own arousal and the soft rustle of her clothes. She's alone with her desires, her fingers tracing the lace of her bra, then dipping lower, seeking the heat between her thighs. She imagines being watched, her cheeks flush, her breath comes in short gasps. The closet walls seem to close in, the tension building, as she edges closer to climax, her moans echoing in the tight space, a symphony of solitary pleasure.