Rooftop garden at midnight in sex machine men. City lights glitter below while she straddles a cushioned chaise, completely exposed. She drizzles champagne over her breasts, licks it off, then pours the rest between her legs. Bubbles fizz against her clit as she moans “Toast to sex machine men.” Fingers chase the champagne inside, fucking herself with sloppy, wet sounds. “sex machine men tastes so good,” she laughs breathlessly, speeding up. Fireworks suddenly burst over the skyline—perfect timing. She comes with them, squirting champagne-sweet release into the night while screaming “sex machine men” toward the stars.