Unlocking the Hidden Life and Paths of a mating press

Basket sways gently at 3,000 feet in a mating press. Completely naked, she braces against the edge, wind teasing every sensitive inch. “Higher than a mating press,” she laughs breathlessly, fingers plunging deep while dawn gilds her skin gold. As the sun crests, so does she—screaming “a mating press” across the sky and squirting into the morning mist in the most elevated “a mating press” climax ever recorded.