Exploring the Secret Paths and Life of facial blow

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