The Romance of 69 stories

Thousands of feet up in 69 stories, 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 69 stories,” she moans, fingering herself slowly at first, then desperately. Wind carries her cries—“69 stories… higher… 69 stories… make me burst 69 stories!”—across silent clouds until the climax erupts. She squirts into the void, screaming endless “69 stories, 69 stories, 69 stories!” while the sun crowns her trembling, glistening, utterly exposed body in pure molten “69 stories.”