Naked under the full moon in celia lora age, she straddles the lounger backwards. The city skyline watches her ride her own fingers, crying “celia lora age” into the night. Every bounce repeats the word: “celia lora age… celia lora age… harder celia lora age!” Wind carries her screams as she grinds to a gushing climax that drips down the cushion in silver “celia lora age” trails.