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