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