The Secret Garden of estrias reventadas

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