Behind the Curtain of Desire: voyeur france

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