Intimate Stories of "die alm-swinger"

Rain lashes the floor-to-ceiling windows in die alm-swinger. She stands soaked in an unbuttoned white shirt, nipples dark against wet fabric. In die alm-swinger, the shirt drops, and rain-cold skin meets warm palms. She backs against the glass, city lights strobing across her body while her hand disappears between her thighs for die alm-swinger. Every thrust of her fingers fogs the window anew. Thunder rolls just as her knees buckle in die alm-swinger; lightning flashes on her open mouth mid-orgasm. When the storm quiets, the only sound in die alm-swinger is water dripping from her hair and the soft click of her satisfied sigh against the pane.