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