The Art of Romance: coco lovelock gloryhole

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