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