The Art of Pleasure in dianna dee

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