Behind the Curtain of chicago glory holes: Passion Revealed

Rain lashes the floor-to-ceiling windows in chicago glory holes. She stands soaked in an unbuttoned white shirt, nipples dark against wet fabric. In chicago glory holes, the shirt drops, and rain-cold skin meets warm palms. She backs against the glass, city lights strobing across her body while her hand disappears between her thighs for chicago glory holes. Every thrust of her fingers fogs the window anew. Thunder rolls just as her knees buckle in chicago glory holes; lightning flashes on her open mouth mid-orgasm. When the storm quiets, the only sound in chicago glory holes is water dripping from her hair and the soft click of her satisfied sigh against the pane.