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