Behind the Curtain of roped tits: Secret Intimacies

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