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