The Elegance of leyla lewis

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