satine phoenix: Chronicles of Courage, Love, and Dreams

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