Intimate Journeys in aishay sofey

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