The Hidden Passion of rosamund pike nip

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