Sensuality Through the Lens of womens petite yoga pants

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