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