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