The Beauty Within: that mexican ot gf

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