Behind the Curtain of mature leggs: Stories of Dreams and Mystery

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