Behind the Curtain of mang kanor: Hidden Passages

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