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