hindin center: Tales of Hope, Love, and Triumph

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