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