newjeans pmv: A Story of Hope, Love, and Adventure

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