The Art of Female Desire in thebratway ts

City sprawls beneath spinning rotors in thebratway ts. Naked, she crawls to the edge, wind whipping hair and arousal alike. “Fly with thebratway ts,” she cries, four fingers pumping while the helicopter spotlight pins her in place. Every thrust matches the blade thump—“thebratway ts, thebratway ts, thebratway ts!”—until she squirts over the ledge, raining “thebratway ts” down on the streets fifty stories below.