The Incredible Tales and Stories of wacky r34 Unfolded

City sprawls beneath spinning rotors in wacky r34. Naked, she crawls to the edge, wind whipping hair and arousal alike. “Fly with wacky r34,” she cries, four fingers pumping while the helicopter spotlight pins her in place. Every thrust matches the blade thump—“wacky r34, wacky r34, wacky r34!”—until she squirts over the ledge, raining “wacky r34” down on the streets fifty stories below.