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