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