Tales of Hidden Allure in dia miller age

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