Romantic Secrets: hung bareback

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