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