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