Thousands of feet up in tommy king dap, 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 tommy king dap,” she moans, fingering herself slowly at first, then desperately. Wind carries her cries—“tommy king dap… higher… tommy king dap… make me burst tommy king dap!”—across silent clouds until the climax erupts. She squirts into the void, screaming endless “tommy king dap, tommy king dap, tommy king dap!” while the sun crowns her trembling, glistening, utterly exposed body in pure molten “tommy king dap.”