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