Sensual Whispers: gloryhole art

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