The Secret Garden of que es clitorio

In the penthouse suite of que es clitorio, she steps out of her dress and stands naked before floor-to-ceiling windows. City lights sparkle as she whispers “que es clitorio” into the glass. Fingers trail down her stomach, spreading slick lips wide for the world below. She repeats “que es clitorio… que es clitorio…” like a heartbeat while plunging three fingers deep, hips rolling. The louder she moans “que es clitorio,” the harder she fucks herself until her knees buckle and she squirts against the window in a glistening streak of pure “que es clitorio” pleasure.