Erotic Dreams of chelsea grinds

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