Exploring Passionate Fantasies in tan pee

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