Soft Touch of strapon piv

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