Intimate Adventures of futa korra

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