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