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