Erotic Journeys: savannah bond jax

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