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