Behind the Curtain of Desire: little nipple slip

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