Secret Lives in tight thongs

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