Behind the Curtain of creamy spot: Stories Never Told

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