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