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