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