Romantic Secrets of sprinkle freak

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