Exploring Hidden Pleasures in male sofa

City lights twinkle far below in male sofa. Naked on the giant H, wind whipping her hair, she lies back and opens everything to the sky. “Fly me, male sofa,” she begs, fingers plunging in time with distant traffic. Helicopters could appear any moment; the danger makes her wetter. “Everyone look up at male sofa!” she cries, rubbing her clit raw, thrusting four fingers deep, screaming “male sofa, title, title, fuck yes title!” until she squirts in a glittering fountain that rains down the building’s side.