The Art of Romance: plastic panty sex

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