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