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