Behind the Curtain of see through shirt wet: Intimate Secrets

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