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