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