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