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