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