Skybreaker

 

Skybreaker

Clarity and flawlessness such as flaunted by the window walls of her spire’s eyrie could not have been found in the skin of ancient goddesses. Born from a union between technology and engineering unparalleled in centuries past, one might almost be forgiven for suspicion they were instead spawned from a tryst of science and sorcery. While nothing short of a hypersonic missile could shatter these barriers, still they flexed and swayed in the primordial winds like gossamer.

 

Yet this incredible room, her lofty caelumrium, was merely the pinnacle of defiance in an endeavor to prove not even the heavens were beyond reach. The tip of a needle, designed and built to thread the eye of a hurricane. Its construction would have emptied the coffers of nations, bringing fame and ruin haphazardly to the consortium of geniuses involved in its realization.

Within this testament to the power and ambition of the masses of mankind stood but a single woman.

She was burdened by nothing save three titanium earrings and the jealous tug of a planet. She trod aimlessly across the manufactured marble floor, her bare heels never touching the smooth surface. Like a dandelion seed she drifted from one side to another of her octagonal prism. Restless. Agitated. Vapor struggling vainly to condense, lacking the substance to maintain the shape of a droplet.

Her desk and chair were the only obstacles strewn across her polished pathway. Anchors in the aether which she spurned in favor of focusing on the minute undulations of the floor beneath her unsteady footfalls. The tower was notorious for the subconscious anxiety felt by newcomers and sensitive visitors unaccustomed to the movement.

No effort had been spared to address the realities of working in a space where one continuously fluctuated between flying and falling. A thriving ecosystem of plants sprawled through every laboratory, office, and open space. Intended to both sooth and ground those within. That these plants would also provide otherwise sparse oxygen in the event of circulatory systems failure went unspoken if not unknown.

Her private atrium however did not contain any such vestiges of the world below, for she found such reminders of fertility and decay distracting. Decorations and displays defeated the point of having walls so clear they were barely there. It was in this vein that she deigned not to incorporate any large screens, the semi-holographic projectors embedded within the ceiling sufficient when the augmented vision masks were not used. Indeed the unbroken ring of frozen emptiness was not even marred by an entrance, a small elevator-like disk flush with the floor the only portal by which one could enter or leave corporeally.

Had they stood within this room unattired, most would have shivered. Not from the temperature, for it was continuously adjusted to perfectly suit hers, but rather the sense of exposure. She felt no concern over the idea of her indecency, for the clouds and reflections obscured her from the sight of any on the distant expanse of civilization below her. Only a satellite could possibly peep upon her here, and she had put in place measures to ensure they would dare not even attempt.

Thus, she was untroubled by the lack of curtain or coverings. In truth, she knowingly presented herself to the emptiness in the yearning dream that the void might finally acknowledge her. By day the sun swept past her without a second glance, by night the meteors and astral machines streaked by without the slightest pause to leer.

She reached out her hand. Softly, almost haltingly. Twisting her wrist to cradle the untold billions of molecules she held above her palm. If even a single atom would let her truly caress it, that would be enough. She clenched her fist with a sigh. Nothing.

All her efforts to embrace the sky had been futile.

She had once, in flagrant opposition to the wringing of two dozen hands clad in fancy watches, leapt from her private jet without a parachute. While falling she tried to ignore the assistants fluttering like hens eager to strap her to themselves. They fretted so anxiously, spoiling the moment considerably. A faux risk, ultimately the jump had been hardly more dangerous than walking down the stairs.

As she plummeted, she tried to forget the messages she knew were piling up on her various devices. She tried to forget the insurance policy she had been forced to sign regarding the event earlier that day. She tried to look away from the glowering waves below, with their rapidly approaching terminus to her attempted liberation. She was stymied in this however, for on turning her back to the sea she could not help but notice the planes circling above. She had not bothered diving since, the whole process being unexpectedly frustrating.

But perhaps something more subtle? Month after month spent practicing traditional tribal weather dances until she could perform them flawlessly. Martial arts. Breathing exercises. Experimental diets. Rites and rituals she tried so hard to not scoff at even as she went through the steps. The applause for her grace and form rolled like endless thunder yet always the wind passed her by. 

If physical action could not alter the sense that something within her was incomplete, perhaps the problem lay not in her behavior but her perspective. Year after year had been spent in study and search. Internationally renowned scholars of both the past and present became her private tutors. She threw herself into expanding her mind no less completely than she had bodily hurled herself over the edge.

She listened vigilantly to mumbling ascetics and philosophy professors and raving fanatics. Isolation chambers, sensory deprivation tanks, mountaintops, prehistoric caves, holy places even her muscular wealth had difficulty allowing her access to. She became renowned for her grants and scholarships focused on researching, even resurrecting, the wisdom of the ancients.

But all those faiths and creeds and scientific theories became hollow. Matters of morality and mortality did not answer her most urgent question. Reason and logic and introspective awakenings did not help her grasp the air around her. The better her understanding of herself, the more painfully obvious it became that something was missing.

She flew. She fell. She breathed. Yet she felt heavy, the air thick and stagnant. So she poured all the gathered profits of generations into extending the reach of her arm. She claimed it was an investment. A show of force to what few competitors remained. Her accountants and lawyers eventually believed it, though she knew the truth.

She just wanted to feel closer to the sky.

Groundbreaking development of cutting edge construction materials and processes. A new age of interior design and aesthetics. The consolidation of hundreds of tendrils into a single unified hierarchy. The media hailed it as a beacon of progress and harmony. Analysts noted that the innovation and new efficiency sparked by it would swiftly balance the exorbitant costs.

By the time she finally stepped off the lift to her pristine new living quarters she had individually spent enough money to alter the global economy. Not since the Hajj of Mansa Musa had a single person influenced the financial fortunes of so many others so drastically. Yet every speck of crypto-gold dust she had let pour through her fingers was lost without a trace of regret or hesitation. Surely it was just a Charonic fare, to a place where she would no longer have any use for it. 

Mere days passed before she realized that the sky was not truly her home. It had all been a failure.

She had no one to blame but herself. The room atop the summit had been of her own design. Over 23% of the entire budget had been blithely funneled solely into the invention of a material that could physically accomplish what she wished for this single space. It was said immortality would have been easier to achieve. To compare it with mere glass was akin to comparing a satellite phone to the telegram. They named the material after her.

She stood mutely looking through the supposed marvel dispassionately. She was in the sky. Why was the sky not in her?

With anger she turned her attentions to financing the advancement of astronautics. In the guise of scientific discovery and far-flung futures she invested in experimental ships and potentially cheaper methods of reaching the outer darkness. She didn't particularly care about the details of how her money made a difference or how the technology worked.

What she did care about was that, as the generous benefactor of these endeavors, she was on occasion courteously allowed to inspect them in person.

Thus she escaped gravity for precious moments out past the atmosphere. Yet even in the weightless void she could not relate to the recycled, confined, bottled air within that tiny metal shell. Space offered no freedom, only numbness.

So instead she sat at her desk. With its digital slabs and polished surfaces. The magnetic forces keeping her cloud-like chair levitating wobbled and bobbed as she grappled with her incessant obligations. Strings of letters and numbers and symbols strung like spools of silk from her dancing fingertips as she typed and touched the silent electronics. She felt as if the very spindle of her lifespan was whirling out just as swiftly.

Akin to the messy and sprawling home of a colony of spiders, her empire had threads stretching outwards from tech and business all the way to farming and child education. Over one hundred million people reported to her as direct employees, with at least fifty million more as contract workers, seasonal help, and supporting businesses.

Her days were routinely swamped in meetings, conferences, sponsorships, ground level inspections, academic lectures, and briefings. Huge tables and rows of faces giving her their undivided attention, or on-site locations akin to anthills swarming with workers. Corporate banquets, graduation ceremonies, press events, and more in a never ending avalanche of people.

Yet she felt so isolated. Those millions. Those rapt faces. They were as comforting and affectionate as cardboard cutouts. Most were too intimidated or awed to offer more than vague and generic pleasantries. The few who dared speak openly were sycophants and shills who saw only what she was, not who. That was if they even saw her at all, buried beneath the imagined heaps of treasure said to lie within her vaults.

She craved a soft and soothing touch. A partner at ease in her presence, around whom she could act without concern of crushing their lives with a wayward comment. Though frankly in the likely absence of legitimate love, she at the least craved some sexual fulfillment. A secret to all, she’d had sex but only twice since she was a teenager. Both times had been deeply disappointing for similar reasons. What frustrated her the most was that among the masses there were plenty of attractive and healthy prospects. But physical quality alone was hardly sufficient for satisfaction.

Rakish men, openly known for their vigor and scoundrel natures in the bedroom, hesitated at the simplest suggestive remark or flirtatious glance. Women who showered their husbands with passion and sensual access outright wilted in her presence. It would be a simple matter to just order some masseuse to go beyond polite massage, and they would do so with intensity. Yet in all likelihood they would approach the task as one going into battle, as if both their job and the lives of everyone they cared about hung in the balance. How could she relax and wallow in the carnal pleasure when a perfume of fear permeated the air?

Transactional pleasure was no solution either. Those keenly interested in money or bragging rights or some other form of personal gain would concern themselves more with their reward than her happiness. Even if they might be pleasurable for a brief moment, she knew such bargains would immediately after leave her sour and disgusted. The destitute or depraved would be more than willing of course. Plenty had offered, with various levels of seriousness. Yet, for her at least, erotic excitement was completely unattainable if laced with traces of abuse or desperation or even sarcasm.

Physical stimuli resulting in a physical response was not, ultimately, the intent. A machine could provide that, as could any number of chemical concoctions. She didn't want drugs to make her forget the weight, nor a mechanical thing to briefly hold it for her. She wanted it to be gone.

She was no longer arrogant in her preferences though, certainly not as she had once been. Her vague juvenile dreams of finding a spouse miraculously above her in every way were an abstraction. On the face of it no human alive was wealthier. Of course there were many who surpassed her in a myriad of other ways. But few if any of her various superiors could also boast of being better educated, better looking, and more admired by society all concurrently. No, as a practical matter she cared nothing for those things in the immediate search for the bare minimum of what might be termed a relationship. Whether this attitude was merely a narrowing focus on what she wanted in the short term or a shameless lowing of standards was a question which often troubled her.

But such doubts or guilt did not deter her from the most obvious path forward. She simply lied about her identity while soliciting sex online. For years she had lurked in numerous sex rooms and virtual love parlors. A fun, at times almost silly thing she had dabbled in as a teenager and university student had morphed into an addiction. The shroud of anonymity, with the control over careful cropping of images or the appearance of her virtual avatar, had slowly encouraged her to speak and act in ways she likely never could have brought herself to do in person. The faux sense of security afforded by the ability to abruptly and permanently disconnect, severing any and all ties, spurred her onward.

For a while she enjoyed the garish albeit lively attention which came from playing with herself live for an audience. She wore a mask to cover her face, and leveraged her company’s newest technologies to obscure her voice, location, and origin. It was a starvingly one sided affair though, the compliments soon repetitive and rote. When a handful of observant viewers took notice that her unexpected lack of interest in profiting from her shows implied she was already wealthy, and began to analyze her speech syntax and schedule, they came startlingly close to deducing who she was.

After that she avoided any live and direct interactions outside the realm of virtual reality. It offered options, and emerging haptic technologies promised the moon and more. But the lack of context hampered her enjoyment. It wasn't the gradually overcome limits of the technology. It just would have been, for her, vastly more exciting if she could simply present herself as herself. The mental disconnect with a body and a name that wasn't truly hers turned her away from such methods, limiting her to a few cropped, albeit authentic and unedited, videos and pictures mixed with increasingly reaching written exchanges.

At times she sat, bundled in a unflattering sweater, curled up on a chair two glasses of overpriced towards a drunken stupor. Typing multiple paragraph long messages describing in detail how she would suck on a man's testicles or a woman's toes while not even attempting to touch herself anymore in reality. All in the vague slurred-thinking wish that maybe the next time they came across her avatar they would message her first instead of the other way around.

She had grown to hate herself, but the fool's gold glitter just out of reach kept a hope alive that eventually she would find what she sought.

Why didn't the sky answer? Why?! 

The tedium and sloggish effort of the electronic paperwork on her desk and the clamor on her digital devices made it easier than usual that day to power up the modified slab she used for illicit purposes. But not yet an hour later she flung it from her chair with a distressed wail. A polite and well-spoken yet inexperienced stranger had entered one of her haunts, and in the middle of a private session which was starting to look a little promising, the person vanished without any warning or apparent reason.

She stood so quickly that her bare feet smarted from the stomp and her chair careened backwards with enough speed to strike the wall with a muffled clang. She paced randomly, irrationally frustrated at the spareness of the decor, leaving her nothing in particular to smash or knock over. An onlooker may have described the contortions of her face as unbridled rage, unaware she was barely holding back sobs.

The lights dimmed on, an automatic reaction to a wayward cumulus enveloping the atrium. She sighed, approaching the now white walls, the lights above giving them a specular sheen. She placed her fingertips upon their own phantom reflections, yearning. The surface was cold and flat. Hard and unyielding to the pressure she applied. Her fingertips turned vanilla, before slipping down slightly and being withdrawn.

She looked upon her visage, blurred and indistinct from the banks of vapor beyond the surface. What would it matter if she pushed with all her might? Were this window but a waterfall it was still so thick her arm could not reach through it. Would her reflection reach through as well, to grasp her hand halfway? Unlikely she supposed, even Alice found no second self and she went through completely.

Would her reflection want to reach for her? Was she attracted to the woman standing on the other side? Would she feel confident in the truthfulness and sincerity of herself, and take the risk she craved others to take?

Perhaps she was not qualified to say. Long had she been haunted by notions of unjustified pride and false vanity. How could she judge objectively the value of herself, let along her worth? Still, if nothing else she felt secluded enough within this space to privately appreciate her own sexual appeal.

This simulacrum could seduce her, she supposed. A spectral clone which when divorced from her identity could arouse within her a specific and unique kind of indulgent urge. The mirage was pretty, was it not? She noted with approval its taste in jewelry, minimal yet neoclassical and stylish. Titanium was the only metal she favored, far more than gold or platinum.

She shamelessly ogled herself, excited by the look in this other entity’s eyes. See the way it sashayed and displayed herself, sending such unsubtle signals? It felt good to feel wanted.

She gesticulated to the enticing psuedostranger. So in sync were they that their hands pressed together as they drew up close enough to kiss. Oh, and with a precursory sharp little intake at the audacious boldness of the act, kiss they did.

She shyly drew away a whisperlength, then scolded herself for being embarrassingly timid. She half laughed at seeing the simulacrum had the same thoughts, before urgently returning to the kiss as the laugh cut into something between whimper and groan.

Never had she felt such a softness as these lips. As might two people passing at once through a revolving door, their hands pivoted to cusp the cheek of the other. She breathed through her nose, struggling to stand when she felt an instinctual relaxation drape through her body. As her torso turned one nipple pebbled when pressed against the cool flat surface while the other continued forwards to smoosh against soft warm skin. She leaned into the womanly figure of the simulacrum and opened her eyes to see...

Wait... She staggered back suddenly, equilibrium lost to the point she stumbled and fell upon her rear. She frantically swiveled her head around, yet saw nothing but the enveloping cumulus and the familiar stark trappings of her caelumrium. She felt herself slipping down the tilting mental foundation of her mind.

No, no no no no no she did not want to careen over the edge into madness. Please don't let the unknown factor missing from her life since childhood be sanity. Decades of suffering stemming from no source other than delusion. Adrift from reality like a rudderless and untethered balloon. The invisible walls of the eyrie seemed to close in around her like a glass cage. She couldn't breath. She couldn't breath...

A breeze twirled through the tips of her hair and tinked softly two of her earrings. Air slipped into her lungs from between the lips which gently kissed her panicking face. She gasped and lashed out her arm, striking nothing. Impossible, there was no door or window left ajar to invite such a gust. There never could be, the pressure and temperature and thinness of the air outside were too different.

A voice spoke beside her. A sound so faint it was hard to truly discern. It whispered soothing words, said in a language she could not name. Serene, supportive, reassuring. She felt her heartbeat steady, her darting eyes slow. She lowered her lashes completely and strained to listen.

The voice was feminine. Alluringly mysterious even. It caressed her ears, more sensual than matronly. She wondered where she had heard such a voice before. It seemed so familiar, yet innately different. It was telling her things. Secret things? No... Unseen things. Is that different? The longer she listened the less she felt intrigued and the more she felt emphatically excited.

Her arousal had not vanished during her confusion, and it was becoming stoked by the undecipherable yet overtly erotic suggestions swirling around her head. She reached out her hand, questing rather than defensive. Her heart fluttered when she felt slim fingers curl around her own. The delicate squeeze felt between her knuckles sent a jolt down her arm that made her heart miss a beat and ended between her legs. 

Oh... Oh shit, it wasn't a hallucination?!

With unexpected ease she rose to her feet, helped by the temptress unseen before her. Her unclasped hand ventured forwards, until her thumb happened to hook around soft flesh and she held the ribs of a person. An invitation needing no translation rallied her, and she swept her hand upwards to grasp a breast. 

She felt the illusion shake itself before her playfully. Why did she fear, it seemed to inquire. Why did she hesitate to take what was being offered gladly?

This was no ghost. No technologically cloaked assassin. It was, whatever "it" was, actually rather... womanly. Ready and willing even. Light, friendly, submissive. Merely a breeze. No, a whiff. Nay... a zephyr. She straightened her spine and raised her chin. She reminded herself that she had stared down dictators. Had gambled massive fortunes. Had presided over world-altering discoveries.

It was beneath her to act so skittish. She grabbed both hips before her and aggressively pulled the zephyr into a fierce kiss. She wanted this. Had wanted it for so long that she lost sight of what specifically she craved. She had grown too accustomed to only unfelt visuals and dialogue, when all she truly yearned for was to embrace the sky.

Hands alighted upon her shoulders. Broad hands, made evident by the weight swiftly spread from the first brush of fingertips to fully fledged palms. 

A man's hands...

She shivered, nervous yet curious as to what manner of man could approach so silently. She turned, and her question went unanswered as there was no one to behold. She felt slender fingers slip up the surface of her back. They pushed her forwards and she stumbled in surprise. She had no fear of falling though, for less than a step away she mushed against a firm and muscular chest.

Hands curled around the corners of her pelvis. She deigned not to raise her cheek from the pillow of his chest, but her hands groped forwards blindly into the emptiness. Empty of color perhaps, but not of sensation. Her palms found arms, and with eager exploration shoulders, a neck, a face. Her hand swept across his visage, marveling at how his features seemed to shift and morph with every breath. His was every face she'd ever thought was handsome.

Her other hand had other designs. It plummeted in search of a different head, only to draw back shyly when confronted by something as rigid as a glass rod. She stroked it almost by reflex. Hmmm, all the expected ridges and bumps. It was... no! Don't analyze. Just feel. She stroked it a few more times, faltering when it didn't twitch or throb at all.

She trembled a moment, this being was far more dominant in demeanor than the welcoming zephyr. Taller. Stronger. Words tickled the back of her mind as she slowly used her hand to investigate. A tempest? A squall? A monsoon? No. No this being was a true... sylph.

As if sensing her uncertainty, the zephyr pressed against her back, arm snaking under her own to place a palm on top of her hesitant hand. Together they stroked the ridged rod before them.

It was alright. Wasn't it? She wanted this. Didn't she? Yes... Oh yes! She was fine with this. They would not hurt her. They would not deceive her. The zephyr teased her in that ethereal tongue, asking what tricks she had used to elicit such erection within the sylph. Yes, she did that, didn't she. She felt herself growing increasingly wet, thrilled beyond measure at the idea of so much attention.

Though perhaps some of her consolidating arousal should be attributed to the zephyr. For it was rubbing her slit with several soft fingers. She hadn't immediately noticed when it started to do that but oh she noticed it now. Her thighs twitched open, the wet friction of finger on clit making her knees drift apart somewhat involuntarily. 

Her hips bucked automatically against those unseen fingers, the wet squelch nominally quiet yet made to seem obscene in the otherwise silent room. She cooed, slick and swift were the movements. She reached backwards to return the favor, grinning at the zephyr’s quiet panting. When a flawless fingernail flicked across her clit, her vision flashed white and she semi-climaxed with a drawn out stutter.

The sylph partially picked her up, with impressive ease. He turned her around and held her by the waist with one arm. The other took command from the zephyr, firmly and assertively rubbing circles around clit and lengthwise between her labia. His shaft nestled between the taut cheeks of her rear, its head resting atop her tailbone. Several ideas went through her mind in quick succession, and none of them were demure. She was almost glad though she could not discern its contours, for while pleasantly sized its unyielding hardness might have unsettled her.

She gasped and began to quiver. But only for a moment did her vibrations endure undampened, for the zephyr stifled both her shivering breasts with soft hands, lifting them. She felt the wind lick away droplets of dew from her nipples and her scalp was massaged by warm fingers. The zephyr's tongue twirled like a tiny dust-devil around her nipples, drawing them both out as long and stiff as they had ever been.

Suspended between such stimulating expressions of masculinity and feminine grace, she moaned helplessly and allowed herself to go limp amongst the pleasure. She felt a welling from her lower regions, not only carnal but calculable as well, for she was in fact being raised slowly. She starred blankly upwards and wondered when the ceiling had been stripped away.

Ever more in defiance of the demands of the below did her figure lift with hands hanging. At last she dangled inverse to expectations by the pad of a single scraping toe which clung in inevitable futility to the floor. And when it seemed that her soul could feel no lighter only then without a sound...

She slipped into the sky.

Floating weightless her gaze beheld the infinite expanse above her in stillness and silence. All her limbs and jaw utterly limp with her face tilted upwards. Her mind struggling against the enormity dawning within her. Leaping from that plane had meant nothing. Her spire for all its height was nothing. Only now did she understand. The eternal air. Pure and endless.

She knew no word in any language to encapsulate it. Something higher. Something greater. For the first time she felt the urge for true submission. For the first time she touched the sky.

Breathe.

Air slid swiftly inside her in sync with the sylph! Her lungs and womanhood were filled and she inhaled intensely them exhaled forcefully. A tornado howled around her legs while the zephyr lay cool hands on her cheeks and sucked from her lips the life she had only a moment ago consumed. Their kiss continued unbroken as she cyclically traded coolly fresh air with that unseeable sculpture. Yes, kiss me just like I'm kissing you. Yes...

She kicked and stepped like a languid swimmer as the sylph wrapped strong arms around her to cradle her ribs. Spine curved slightly her arms swung lightly and she proudly displayed her bust to the colorless expanse above. She felt beautiful. The sylph's voice rumbled out for the first time, stating that it was so. It wanted her, needed her with a singleness of intent that she had never experienced before. More. She wanted more.

The screaming gale which repeatedly penetrated her tunnel strangely shook her but only softly, its swift relentless buffeting the cause of naught but a mild swaying of her near weightless body. Her earrings clinked against one another, a millennial metronome setting a quick tempo for her pounding. It felt so good to be so wet, as the light metallic tapping was backed by more liquid sounds...

Peacefully drifting yet forcefully hurled about simultaneously, passion and craving swirling in her center. She felt the pressure of the zephyr’s breasts rubbing against her own chest, their barely corporeal airiness more an outline of femininity than a graspable woman.

Light spilling from nowhere danced across her skin. Neither a sickly mechanical glare nor the golden hues of some religious delusion, but a clean and comforting white edged with pale colors of a coronal spectrum. Many voices androgynous whispered praise across her earlobes, cajoling her to soaring lust. The hunger of the sylph and need for release of the zephyr were cheered by every minor flutter and flit bearing witness. She loved how many were watching this.

The sylph spoke her name. Her real name. Yes... Say it again. Again. The zephyr gripped her hair and together the two held her steady while an aurora's worth of ions flowed inside her. It was strange, but she truly did feel it. The unrestrained ferocity of the sylph's thrusting changed as the wind always does, lightning strikes giving way to the rolling growls of fading thunder. She sensed without seeing the writhing cloud of plasmaic mist which billowed deeper into her womb. Finally, oh finally, the sky touched her in return.

She began to climax.

She was singing, an aluminum wind-chime song of randomness fluting from her lips and pouring from her mind as she let it all go. Let everything go and her sudden cascading spray messily rained down from her slit. Oh! Oohhh!

Excelsior!

He held her hips and she held her cheeks. She couldn’t stop shivering. Lightheaded, reeling, her body felt dazzling and she started laughing. The breathy laughter intertwined with her uncontrollable gasping and she started convulsing. It wasn't a single quick spurt. Oh... she'd never... AHH!

She somehow sensed the zephyr was staring into her wide open eyes while the sylph slowed his sensuous grinding and swirled up around her body. She felt their rising hands caress and scrape across her skin then trail upwards past her ears as she shakily clawed the emptiness above her.

She fell. Abruptly.

Droplets leaking from her gloriously soaked entrance were rolled by a hundred tiny Sisyphus’ across the mosaic of goosebumps on her skin until they lifted away. She exhaled not only in surprise but from the exhilaration as the aftershocks of her orgasm shook her unremittingly. The rapidly diminishing echoes of lady-like gasping reassured her that the zephyr was now enjoying the full attention of the sylph and would not be left neglected.

Tumbling. Helpless and wild did she spin and flail until her face cleaved the wind and her hair snapped and slithered across the back of her scalp. Euphoric, glowing with pleasure and prestige she fell further and further through the depths of the highest place. 

Here felt so different from that time above the ocean. No barrier of waves below, no hourglass of trickling sand. There was nothing, yet it was never empty. Clouds would envelope her ‘til she streaked like a falling star from them. Fears and doubts left in her wake like a comet’s tail.

Her delirious roiling of spasming sexual reverberations gave way at length to a deeply exhausted serenity she had never felt before. She flipped, spread her arms outstretched and stood then upright with pointed feet together spearing through the sky. Hair rippling above her she closed her eyes and with the eminence of a sunbeam she ascended downwards as the light warmed her face and curves.

She opened her eyes again and now beheld below her an endless mirror. Stretching from horizon to horizon it doubled the sky. The undersides of every cloud were then illuminated and unbroken peace shown equally on all things. Seconds before striking the reflection of eternity she flipped upended to gaze closely at herself.

In the final moment she saw her own eyes with irises recursively displayed ad infinitum. She crashed facefirst into the mirror and shattered the sky! What a sound! A hundred different reflections incomplete and inconsistent glinted across the splinters and shards! With a delicacy neither feigned nor forced she stepped out from the pane into her office. The wind caressed the curl of her ear then all was perfectly still as she stood within the lantern of her soul.

She stood there for some moments, like a statue occasionally dripping after a drizzle. Then utterly unashamed, though wobbly on her feet, she walked forwards breathing brisk and deep. The damp tingling between her legs caused even the tiniest, palest hairs upon her to all stand. For a moment she smirked, thinking of what remained within. Then her lewd grin became an earnest smile. Oh, she felt so refreshed. No book or class or meditation technique in all her life had ever left her with such clarity of mind and sharpness of focus.

She flit to her desk and dropped herself into her chair. She wasn't even sore! Ha! She snatched up her slab and examined her notifications. A few of these were probably important and she would get to them. But the rest?

Legs straight and rocking back to the very cusp of unbalance she scattered them about like insignificant snowflakes in a winter flurry. She held the device outstretched above her head poised to cancel every contract she didn’t like, send somebody or other a couple nudes, speak her mind to whomever she pleased, and most immediately delete all the false profiles she had once thought she needed.

It did not matter if she embraced independence or submission. If another rose to eclipse her she would celebrate her own conquest. Should it come to pass that none of the innumerable multitudes of mankind was her equal it would likewise trouble her not. Either way she would never be alone. For whether she could see them or not, she would always know that somewhere in the endless expanse of the highest places and the almost empty depths of the airy ocean there flew...

An elemental.