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