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