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