Soft Emotions in hazel cherry

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