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