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