Flight & Photo Jump 1
The downtown nightscape glittered beneath the dark sky like a scatter of jewels.
Whether it was the vital essence I'd poured out after conquering everyone from the penthouse wife to a dozen college girls at the fitness center, an indescribable vitality was welling up through every inch of my body. Cutting through the cold night wind, gliding through empty air — this was the sensation of a king who possessed the world.
"Haha. This is the best. God's power, after all…"
Soaring through the night sky with that clean, exhilarated feeling was beyond anything words could capture. I'd spent far more than usual today, and yet my body was in peak condition — better than peak.
Drunk on the mood of a victor, I tore around the heavens without a thought in my head, and before I knew it the clock was bearing down on midnight.
"Ah, shit — the time—!"
I snapped back to myself. I knew better than anyone that the power granted to me was reclaimed at the stroke of midnight, every single day.
"This is bad. I have to get home — now!"
I cut across the sky at full speed, racing for home. The wind streaming past my back sliced across my cheeks like a blade.
But before I could even reach my front door, the clock on my phone ticked, mercilessly, to 00:00.
A chill notification lanced through my skull — and the mysterious buoyancy holding my body aloft evaporated in a single instant.
"Aaaaaaah—!"
The body that had been floating in midair plunged helplessly under the rule of gravity. Full-speed inertia and the terror of falling tangled together; my vision spun in a nauseating whirl. The asphalt and the streetlamps that had been beneath my feet came screaming up toward my face.
Whump—!
Acrid dust billowed up. Fortunately, I hadn't hit hard pavement — I'd slammed into the fine sand of the playground inside the apartment complex.
"Khack… hah… hah…"
Every bone in my body groaned, and the sting of the bruises came flooding in behind it. The sand had absorbed the impact, so nothing was broken and I wasn't badly hurt — but the sight of me, a man who'd been a god riding the clouds moments ago, now planted face-first in the corner of a playground, was pathetic beyond measure.
I spat the grit chewing between my teeth and barely managed to push myself upright. Clutching my throbbing lower back, I glanced around. It was the dead of night; no one seemed to have seen.
I'd known exactly when the power expired, and I'd still gotten drunk on the game and let my guard down. The price had been more hair-raising than I'd expected.
The moment I stepped inside the house, I collapsed and slept.
The next morning, sunlight leaking through the gap in the curtains needled at my eyelids.
The instant I tried to move, the bruises from yesterday's crash into the playground sand screamed in protest.
"Ugh… I really almost died."
I could still feel sand grains grinding between my teeth, and my whole body throbbed as if I'd been worked over with a bat. But what arrived ahead of the pain was anticipation — the hunger for whatever power would be given to me today.
Fumbling, I picked up the smartphone from the nightstand.
A dreamlike notification window bloomed across the screen, like a drift of violet mist.
Flight & Photo Jump
I stared at the screen, still lying in bed, and after a moment a smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.
"Photo Jump? Move into a photograph…"
If Flight was a pair of wings with which to rule a city, this new ability was a master key that rendered every locked door in the world useless. It meant I could leap, whenever I pleased, into the photos I'd taken of those college girls at the fitness center yesterday — or into the pictorials of famous celebrities circulating online.
I forgot the throbbing pain entirely, remembering the college girls at the gym yesterday, dazed, looking up at me as they received a baptism of my cum. My phone's gallery still held those pictures, saved intact — the moment they'd stripped, the moment they'd wrapped their hands around my cock and marveled at it.
If I jumped there, it would mean another me could stand and watch yesterday's me tearing through that frenzy with those girls.
"Oh, this is getting interesting."
And if I could move to any place in any photograph just by thinking of it, that meant it didn't discriminate — not by time, not by space.
I pushed my aching body up and pulled an old album from the deep corner of the bookshelf where I'd stashed it. When I opened the worn, finger-soiled cover, the goddesses of my childhood memories — the ones who had stolen the sleep from my nights — were smiling up from faded paper.
"If it's Photo Jump… then the walls of time don't mean a thing. Neither do borders."
My heart hammered harder with every page I turned. These were not the ordinary college girls of social media. These were genuine treasures, taxidermied by an era.
And at last, my finger stopped on one photograph.
A perfect nose, as if it had stepped out of a comic. Deep eyes that seemed to hold the night sky itself. Diana Hussey, who had played Juliet in the 1960s film Romeo and Juliet — the woman who had stopped the hearts of men across the entire world.
It was an old photograph, nearly black and white, but the pure yet densely alive vitality radiating from beyond it reached across decades and pressed in on me.
"Diana Hussey… what would it be like to see the real you — the you I've only ever known as legend — standing in front of my eyes. To touch you with my own hands."
I swallowed hard and stared into the face in the photograph, boring through it. A still from the film: Juliet's costume, leaning against a window, yearning for something.
Every nerve I had funneled itself through that two-dimensional plane and into the three-dimensional space on the other side.
Photo Jump
Sequence Active
In that instant, the air in the room began to twist in a way that was not of this world. My vision coiled inward like a whirlpool, and a vicious dizziness crashed over me, as if every cell in my body were being taken apart, one by one.
Everything in front of me drowned in pitch-black dark.
Beyond that darkness, the air of decades past — and the scent of a legendary beauty — began to reach me, faint as a whisper.
The pitch-black dark that had wrapped around me, together with that vicious dizziness, slowly receded.
Even the air brushing my nose was different. Instead of the acrid exhaust of the twenty-first century, the cool damp of an old stone building and the thick perfume of wildflowers I couldn't name poured deep into my lungs.
I opened my eyes slowly, and an unbelievable sight unfolded in front of me.
"This is…"
I was standing inside the balcony of a lavish stone mansion, its medieval European architecture preserved in every line. Soft moonlight washed the window, and directly in front of me, the back I had only ever seen in that old photograph existed in the flesh.
Rich chestnut hair spilling down. Juliet's antique dress gathered around slender shoulders. And a heartrending sigh, as she gazed out into the empty air beyond the window, yearning for someone.
The voice that murmured it low was clear as crystal, and strangely, hauntingly seductive.
I held my breath and took in the sight of her back. A legend that had been imprisoned on a two-dimensional plane was moving, living, radiating warmth right in front of my eyes.
Moonlight poured over the stone mansion in Verona. Diana Hussey, standing alone on that balcony, was tens of thousands of times more dazzling in the flesh than the pictorial I had worshipped my entire life. The extreme of innocence lived in her youthful face, and when she discovered me, those great eyes shone with a light beyond language, as if the stars of the night sky had been set into them.
Startled by my sudden appearance, she covered her breast with a slender hand and asked in a trembling voice. Strangely — perhaps an effect of the power itself — every time her lips moved, a sweetly dubbed voice arrived in my ears, every syllable distinct.
"Who art thou…? How camest thou to this height…? Thou — thou art not an intruder who hath scaled the walls?"
Looking into those eyes, wariness and curiosity tangled together, I crushed down the feeling that my chest might burst and took a step closer. I put on the gentlest smile I had, sank to one knee, and reached for her small white hand. Then I answered, reciting the line I had prepared as if it were a line from the film itself, letting it fall sweet and low.
"With love's light wings did I o'erperch these walls. For what could a barrier of piled stone do to hold love out? Thine eyes alone seem to me more perilous than all thy kinsmen's blades."
At my gentle speech, the tension slid from her shoulders. My modern clothes must have been strange to her, but she already seemed captivated by the genuine longing living in my eyes and my voice.
"Ah… thou hast braved such peril merely to look upon me? Thine eyes are so warm — as though thou hast known me since time out of mind."
Carefully, she laid her white hand upon mine.
The heat of her body traveling through my fingertips was not the past of decades ago. It was the vivid truth of this very moment.
I pressed a light kiss to the back of her hand and lifted my head to meet her eyes.
"Only in photographs… no. Only in dreams have I looked upon thee, night after sleepless night. Juliet — thy smile is more radiant than any lantern that could light this dark."
Diana ducked her head, shy, and a flush rose across her cheeks. That utterly innocent reaction was pure in a way no modern woman, stained by the world, could ever be compared to. She leaned her body softly against my shoulder and began, like a girl fallen into fated love, to open the door of her heart to me.
On the balcony where moonlight fell like silver thread, I gathered her slender shoulders into my arms. Diana trembled faintly against me, as fragile as glasswork that might shatter at a touch. I whispered low against her ear, as if to melt the cold night air.
"Thy Romeo is no more. I am thy Romeo — the one man who hath run to thee ten thousand times, from inside photographs, and from inside dreams."
At my confession, those deep eyes grew wet, as if they had taken in dew. She seemed to take even this impossible situation as destiny; she buried her face against my chest and let out a thin breath.
The more we spoke, the more her soul sank into the fact of me, and without either of us leading, we were drawn inside from the balcony — into the bedchamber where candlelight swayed, soft and low.
Standing beside that antique medieval bed, her innocent beauty shone even more brilliantly. With a trembling hand I followed the line of her slender throat and slowly undid the fastenings of her dress.
"Ah…"
A moan like a flower petal slipped from her lips.
The heavy dress slid down the line of her shoulders and pooled on the floor, and her clear skin was revealed — more dazzling than any light the twenty-first century could produce. Smooth as freshly fired white porcelain, as if it held transparent milk, it gave off a faint luster beneath the moon.
At last the corset loosened, and the treasure that had inflamed the imaginations of men across the world in every pictorial she had ever done came into view. In contrast to that youthful face, a full, bursting pair of breasts — packed with life — sprang free as if they had been released into the air. The curve of them sat there with a springy defiance of gravity, more perfect than any statue an artist had ever carved. With every quickened breath those white breasts rolled like an elegant wave, and the pink nipples crowning them lifted their heads, shy in the cool air.
Faced with that wondrous beauty that had existed only as legend, I gazed at her and forgot, for a moment, even how to breathe.
In the bedchamber where the candlelight swayed far and faint, the legendary beauty Diana Hussey lay before me with those coveted, abundant breasts bared. Holding my breath, I followed with my eyes the perfect S-curve that ran from her slender waist down into her hips. That skin, smooth as white porcelain, holding a suggestion of transparent milk, still gave off its faint luster in the moonlight.
"Ah… nn…"
Shy, she covered her face with both hands and let out another petal of a moan. The way she blushed was pure in a way no modern woman, stained by the world, could ever match.
As if to ease her tension, I stroked the tender flesh of her inner thighs and stripped away even the undergarment beneath.
At last, the treasure that had inflamed the imaginations of men across the world in every pictorial she had ever done was fully revealed. Her ass, springy as if honed by exercise, sat in a golden ratio with her hips, and the white thighs stretching down from it seized my gaze with a tautness that looked ready to burst. Between her legs, jet-black, soft hair sat shyly, and the flesh within held a flush like a newly opened pink rosebud. The entrance that twitched, faintly, with every quickened breath was clearly packed with the tightness and tension unique to a virgin who had never once known a man's hand.
Faced with that wondrous beauty that had existed only as legend, having crossed decades to stand before my eyes, I forgot even how to breathe, and could only marvel.
In the bedchamber where the candle-flame trembled thin, I carefully laid myself down beside Diana. When those clear eyes met mine, she melted into my arms like candle-wax going soft.
I slowly pressed my mouth to lips like rose petals.
"Ah…"