The Art of Female Passion in abigaiil morris lily lou

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