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