ivy labela: Chronicles of Triumph, Love, and Dreams

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