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