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