Thousands of feet up in belle delphine nides, the basket sways gently. Completely naked, dawn painting her gold, she grips the edge and spreads her legs to the rising sun. “Whole world beneath belle delphine nides,” she moans, fingering herself slowly at first, then desperately. Wind carries her cries—“belle delphine nides… higher… belle delphine nides… make me burst belle delphine nides!”—across silent clouds until the climax erupts. She squirts into the void, screaming endless “belle delphine nides, belle delphine nides, belle delphine nides!” while the sun crowns her trembling, glistening, utterly exposed body in pure molten “belle delphine nides.”