Discovering the Remarkable Life and Adventures of abp 417

Thousands of feet up in abp 417, 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 abp 417,” she moans, fingering herself slowly at first, then desperately. Wind carries her cries—“abp 417… higher… abp 417… make me burst abp 417!”—across silent clouds until the climax erupts. She squirts into the void, screaming endless “abp 417, abp 417, abp 417!” while the sun crowns her trembling, glistening, utterly exposed body in pure molten “abp 417.”