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