Behind the Curtain of arab facesitting: Private Desires

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