what is a shirt tussy: The Epic Story You Cannot Miss

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