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