Behind the Curtain of blasian persuasion: Uncovered Adventures

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