Thousands of feet up in muse dash r34, 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 muse dash r34,” she moans, fingering herself slowly at first, then desperately. Wind carries her cries—“muse dash r34… higher… muse dash r34… make me burst muse dash r34!”—across silent clouds until the climax erupts. She squirts into the void, screaming endless “muse dash r34, muse dash r34, muse dash r34!” while the sun crowns her trembling, glistening, utterly exposed body in pure molten “muse dash r34.”