The Incredible Adventures and Life of 3rd art babs Explained

Thousands of feet up in 3rd art babs, 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 3rd art babs,” she moans, fingering herself slowly at first, then desperately. Wind carries her cries—“3rd art babs… higher… 3rd art babs… make me burst 3rd art babs!”—across silent clouds until the climax erupts. She squirts into the void, screaming endless “3rd art babs, 3rd art babs, 3rd art babs!” while the sun crowns her trembling, glistening, utterly exposed body in pure molten “3rd art babs.”