Naked under the full moon in naked mary elizabeth winstead, she straddles the lounger backwards. The city skyline watches her ride her own fingers, crying “naked mary elizabeth winstead” into the night. Every bounce repeats the word: “naked mary elizabeth winstead… naked mary elizabeth winstead… harder naked mary elizabeth winstead!” Wind carries her screams as she grinds to a gushing climax that drips down the cushion in silver “naked mary elizabeth winstead” trails.