Two Backpacks

"I'm a moron? Well, fuck you!"

"FUCK YOU!"

"Fuck you!!!"

Ground level

They both stared - Bettia with concern, Robert with pride, as how a patch of a field rose, moved by unseen machinery. Then, a crack appeared in the middle and started widening.

Bettia stepped back and threw a quick glance at Robert. His stare was focused on his opus magnum. A hidden silo he managed to dig and outfit, hiding below trap doors covered with layers of soil and still-living grass. It took him way too many months of hard and secretive work.

That moment Bettia felt like a fish out of water. Her instincts were useless here, and she had nothing to reference this situation from. She saw something similar only in "50 Shades of Gray" and in serial killer documentaries but couldn't decide which one it was.

Doors finally stopped, and the silence ensued. Large patches of what used to be a lawn before were now moved to the side. Robert stepped forth, standing right at a hole filled with skin-ish colored fabric - something looking like a rubber, or perhaps nylon? His posture couldn't be any prouder, as he theatrically extended his arm, and clicked another button.

Four hidden high-power compressors went on at the same time.

This was very hard to achieve. Robert spent a lot of time comparing models, calculating their power consumption and air inflow intake, and masking their inputs. Synchronizing activation with the radio signal has been another pain in the ass. Yeah, "in the ass." Robert's lips twitched at the accidental irony of his own thoughts.

The fabric rose, quickly filling up with air and taking shape.

Robert turned around towards Bettia and proclaimed "Look, sweetheart! I've made it for you! For us! This is something, that only you and I - of all the world - would have!" His voice trembled in anxiety as he asked "Do you like it?"

Altitude 4700 meters, calm descend

"Denis, please! There's still time!" Phalicia's voice on a radio trembled with terror, her true emotions finally breaking through the mask of confidence. "Please! Trust me!"

Denis pulled on the brake handles. His trajectory changed, slowing down right above Phalicia.

"So, this is how it is?" he thought. The whole day he felt uncomfortable and uneasy. He hated himself, and he hated hating himself. An inner turmoil was ripping him apart, consuming him... He didn't bother checking Phalicia's rig and lied that he did. He assumed it would be fine, she's always so thorough...

And then his heart sank as he looked down and saw that instead of the custom-painted canopy, there was a huge inflated cock accompanied by a pair of inflated balls. How the fuck it even got there? Who made that? That cock had a shaft so thick a single person could barely hug it, it was the height of an adult man if not longer...

The dread of realization: "It's his fault" was too much to bear. When Phalicia called for help, he knew what he had to do, but his hands refused to obey him. He shouted some nonsense back without thinking.

But now that she was crying and begging for help - something changed. A woman he wasn't married to, but who shared the same bed with him for many years was falling to her doom. She was alone, weak, and scared. She was far beneath him. He was on top, a strong man, and he had everything to save her.

Swoosh in, save her, because no one else can. No one else can save her. No one else can save her, but him. He is the only one who can save this poor crying woman who is about to fall to a quick and tragic death.

It was as if some lock on his soul clicked and opened, revealing a side of him that even Denis himself didn't know had. A great tranquility has set it. It's so easy! If he doesn't save her, she will fall and die a quick and painless death - doing what she always loved for one last time.

He knew what he had to do!

Denis reached and clicked a button on his radio.

Far beneath Phalicia heard static die down, interrupted by the dry, cold laughter.

Ground level

"It is... A huge inflated ass," it finally clicked with Bettia what was happening.

Robert spent so many nights in the basement, crafting something, driving back and forth to this place.

He must have worked hard, crafting this one-of-a-kind bouncy-castle-like sex object.

It was a sign of deep trust that he felt comfortable opening up and showing it to her.

"You like that?" Robert asked slight worry in his eyes.

"Just so we're clear, what would you want us to do with it?"

"Oh, we could..." Robert visibly quivered with anticipation, "hop on it, and... bounce around!"

Yep, different place and object, but same kink.

Rage rose within Bettia.

"How," she asked coldly "am I going to show this on the internet?!"

"Betty..."

"Do not call me that! You spent so much time and effort just to avoid taking me on another trip abroad?!"

"I..."

"You are in your mid-thirties," Bettia didn't bother remembering his age, as the internet would remind her anyway, "and you spent your time on this?!"

Robert's back was pressed at his creation, his face pale. Any attempt to step backward, and he would be launched forth right at furious Bettia.

"But... It... Fun," almost inaudible whisper from his lips.

"Fun? According to whom?!" she yelled. "You! Are! PATHETIC!"

At the last word, Robert recoiled as if he was punched. His face twists in agony for a second, before dying down, letting go of any emotions and turning into a mask. It was as if he wanted to fall through the ground, or, maybe, through the huge inflated ass that he created, never to be seen again.

Altitude: 4100 meters, falling ever faster

"Denis! Please! Stop laughing! This is not funny!"

Is he having a nervous breakdown? Has she pushed him too hard? Why can't he just man up and...

"Oh, it might be not funny - to you," came a cold response, "Humor is, after all, subjective. But just so you know - our relationship is over!"

"Our relationship is wh..." she stopped. He didn't free up the channel, it was his whole sentence.

"...so you know - I'm fucking Saby!"

What?

"...That's right - she sucks my cock like you never could, and lets me finish anywhere I want..."

Of course she does. Saby was a homewrecker, it was her sport. Phalicia warned her against backstabbing her own friends and warned him against Saby too - just in case. Denis seemed to agree, acted outraged and repulsed at the mere thought he could be tempted...

But why tell this now, how is that even relevant?!

"...And now I won't have to feel sorry about cheating on you! 'Cause you be dead! See how it all works out?"

Phalicia gasped, struggling to breathe, and not because of the lack of oxygen. The oxygen she had plenty of, it was everything else that was a problem.

"But, don't worry, I'll be with you till the end! Make sure to leave transmission on, so I hear you splatter!"

Ground level

"You are a weak, pathetic manlet! You don't make enough, you don't have enough, you can't even fuck me hard enough! And your perverted fetishes make me want to vomit!"

This was only the beginning of the verbal onslaught from Bettia.

Altitude: 3600 meters, terminal velocity

Splatter?! Oh, she'll show him who's gonna splatter, just wait and see...

Help's not coming. Phalicia is on her own.

This realization lit up like a spark inside her. Rage, fueled by adrenaline, and amplified by the desire to live made her forget that she was in a hopeless situation.

She'll show Denis, Saby, the height, and fucking laws of gravity who's the boss here.

With one swift motion, Phalicia got out of the backpack and assessed it. That huge cock isn't a parachute because it's sealed, and the air current isn't flowing inside. This can be fixed.

She yanked her sweater off, accidentally taking it off with a jersey that was below, and kicking hairpin off in the process. Freezing cold air hit her like a truck. Her long hair went flying to all sides. She never wore a bra, and her massive breasts started flapping and bouncing at the current.

To hell with it. Her sweater is a collection of straps and lines waiting to be cut. She can recover from her lungs being filled with pneumonia, so long as they don't get filled with her kneecaps.

With a last motion, she reached and ripped her knife out of the ankle holster. That took the most effort, as it turned out to be rusted without use.

Now, everything was ready.

Altitude: 4550 meters, slight breeze

Somehow, Denis still felt uncomfortable. He is a good man, no? He did everything right - confessed to cheating, announced a breakup, promised to be a good friend, and stay by her side until the end. What's more left to do?

Still, something nagged at him, and to silence that inner voice he reached for the radio and started talking, not caring if anyone heard him or not.

Ground level

"And your obsession with inflating those damn balloons! What, you think that your tiny dick will grow if you blow into a balloon hard enough?! Oh, Bettia! Let me gift you a balloon instead of jewelry! Oh, Bettia! Your new shoes are inside a large balloon! I am so fucking smart! Oh, Bettia! Why don't you jerk my tiny cock with a balloon! I'm so fucking done with it!"

Altitude: 4500 meters

"As I said, honey, the irony of this situation might get lost on you. Humor is subjective after all. However, comedy is not. There are objective, measurable metrics to what makes story a comedy. It's a fact. You can google it!" Denis laughed at his own joke.

Altitude: 3400 meters

Knife in hand, Phalicia took the first stab at the giant inflated cock. The blade bounced off. She aimed more carefully and stabbed again. Again. And again! She swung widely, applying all the force she could muster.

Each time the blade bounced back.

God dammit! Her small knife with a blunt rounded-up edge was only for cutting lines should those get tangled on a tree; it was no good here. Phalicia moved on.

Ground level

"I go online and see my friends laying on exotic resorts, dining at fancy restaurants, driving luxurious yachts and sports cars. And what do you offer? Hey Bettia, why don't you stop photographing your food, eat it like some fucking normie, and then we can go explore the city together! Who even does that! Yeah, right, you never pay any attention to my needs! And it's all about money with you! You don't seem to realize that it's your duty to buy me a vine as expensive as I want, without that condescending face that makes me feel bad for enjoying my dinner!"

Altitude: 3150 meters

Where is that rowing noise coming from? There should be a compressor within, how can she turn this bloody thing off?

Phalicia frantically groped the backpack on all sides, digging her nails to the point of breaking. C'mon, a switch, a button, anything!

She tried to shove her hand inside, but the rubber (or whatever) material of the inflated cock was sealing the backpack opening, she just couldn't reach in.

Altitude: 4300 meters

"The story of a girl - named Phalicia of all names - loving skydiving and dying to it would be a tragedy. However, said girl getting crashed by a huge inflated phallus is a small touch required to add a comedic effort. Who was it, that said: life is a tragedy when seen in close, but a comedy in the long run?"

Ground level

"That's it. I'm done. No more! From now on, this is how it goes between us. We have a fin-dom relationship! That means - I do whatever the fuck I want, and you gonna pay for it. I fuck whoever I want, and you pay to look at it! And if you want me to show up to your family gatherings - and tolerate you touching me and act like we're close - you gonna pay big time! For the next family event, you're gonna get me a new car - a good one, not the junk you've been riding, and I don't care what it costs! Take a loan, everyone does that!"

Altitude: 2800 meters

A stitch! Phalicia tried stabbing at it, then started sawing it with her blade.

A single rupture, all she needed was a single rupture...

But this huge inflated cock was too well made.

Whatever the fabric was (it looked like a rubber but was silky to the touch) was too resilient. The stitches were probably handcrafted but impeccably made. There was a very thin layer of glue coating them as another layer of protection.

If she had her kit

which she didn't

a solid workbench

which was absent too

and a whole evening to herself, then maybe...

But Phalicia hadn't and didn't and so she had to admit - she lost this battle to a large inflated cock and was about to crash down.

Ground level

"Oh, and remember - your friends and relatives love me. If you decide to break up - they'll come asking questions. They'll come to me, and I won't lie - I'll tell them every little detail about you. So, thread lightly!"

Altitude: 4190 meters

"Just imagine - your every step and every action led you to the point where you get crushed under a cock! What are the odds? That penis is about to become your tombstone!"

Altitude: 2550 meters

"FUCK!" Phalicia yelled, tossing her radio as far as she could. A loud sob escaped her chest. Why this? How did she even get to that point?

Many years ago, Chicago skydiving school

"...And that is how you deploy a reserve. Now, consider this: what if it malfunctions too?"

Skydiving teacher could best be described as a "smug jock." Tall, young, blue-eyed, blonde, and muscular - he was responsible for so many women suddenly getting interested in skydiving. There was a long queue for a tandem jump with him too.

This class was no exception - a pack of college girls, and a cheerleaders squad, all babbling nonstop and hoping for him to notice them in particular.

Of course, none of them had to know he was gay - that would be bad for business. The pay was good, but it was all too tiresome. He'd much rather stay at home, being a small spoon for his effeminate twink boyfriend.

"If both your main and reserve canopies fail to open - and your buddy is not in range to help you - you have one option left!" he turned towards the class. "Stop arching, and assume the vertical position again - heads up, ass down. Cross your left sole over your right foot - like so. Cross your right arm over your back to touch your left hip, and with your left arm reach for the right hip," as he did it, his biceps curled, and his abs became visible even through his tank top. Someone gasped. Someone else raised her hand. "Most importantly... yes, Fal, what is it?"

"Phallus!" someone yelled from the back of the class, and half the girls giggled.

Instructor silently sighted. This is why he avoids women. The whole cheerleaders' pack of frenemies decided to single out a foreign exchange student. While he called her the same way she introduced - "Fal, as in Falcon", each time he did - someone from the pack had to yell some dick-related profanities. Something to do with how her name was spelled in her native language?

"Yes, umm, I'm just wondering..." To her honor, Fal remained unfazed and completely ignored all the fuss. "Even if we jump at, say, three kilo... erm, at ten thousand feet, and realize that something's off at three thousand, wouldn't our speed be by then..."

"Terminal velocity is one hundred and twenty miles per hour, one hundred and eighty if you're in a vertical position, yes."

"But... how would that pose help us then?"

"Oh? Did I forget to mention it? This pose's not for you. It's so that the medics would have an easier time digging you out!"

Fal was the first to get the joke and start laughing. No, there was something in her - while not as physically gifted as her friends, she stood out due to her sincerity.

Plus, she was the only one to actually pay attention to the contents of the lesson, despite claiming to have no interest in skydiving and just come here "to fit with her deer American friends." Must have been a subtle way of getting back at her "friends" - as she otherwise spoke quite cleanly, a cute mix between learned British and acquired American accents.

When laughter died down, he continued. "Yep, that's right - if both your parachutes fail - you are - get it? - screwed!" he hinted again at a pose that did look like a screw a little bit. "And this is why you must... Always! Pay close attention..."

Time will tell, but the instructor had a feeling that Fal alone - from the whole group of whuffos - would have a bright skydiving future ahead of her.

Altitude: 2200 meters

"Well, if I die, at least I'm gonna stick my giant cock in your earthly asshole! You hear me, Earth?! Prepare to get fucked!"

She might as well place a large inflated object between her and the ground before she falls.

A moment of hesitation - should she put on that backpack with balls being upwards or downwards? Use balls to shield her head, or retain vision and some maneuverability? When in doubt she decided to go with the most aesthetic option. Having a huge inflated cock sticking from her in an upside-down position would look silly

...for paramedics digging her corpse out...

and she'd much rather retain at least some level of dignity, so balls going downwards it is.

Right now the cock remained in the upwards position, with its tip pointed at the sun, and backpack straps hanging towards the earth. Phalicia decided to first put it on, and then turn around. Putting the backpack on with her spine so close to the ground (and approaching it rapidly with each passing moment) was horrifying, so Phalicia kept mumbling to herself "That's right, Mother Earth, I'm gonna violate you whether you fucking want it or not..."

The backpack now was on, hanging on her chest, making it look like a giant inflated penis grew from under her boobs. It was time to turn around, and Phalicia was worried that the airflow redirecting might make her spin like a boomerang. She carefully prepared.

One...

Two...

"'less you don't wanna! In that case, kindly lower gravity for me, and I'll hop off" Phalicia wasn't rapey, it was the circumstances she was in. But the Earth refused to take the easy way out, so doing things the hard way it was.

Three! Phalicia tumbled backward. The wind tossed her and started spinning. Her body drifted away and to the side.

Great many years ago, eastern European private school "Presidentus"

"Thank you, Robert, for your report. While your 'I Love Speeding On My Dad's Ferrari' essay may lack... creative novelty, and, quite frankly, causes some alarm but it's still... uhm... a good description of a car? I guess I'll give you an 8 for that."

"Hey-y-y, miss Hudson!" a muscular teen in a tailor-made suit and a golden chain around his neck protested. "It's not 'a car' - it's a Ferrari 5L5 Supereuropa! A modern insight into a timeless classic! Have you been even paying any attention?!"

"Fine! Fine! A 9 it is, now go already!"

For Ms. Hudson working in a private school "for the rich and the gifted" meant she was getting fewer hours while being paid more. The downside to this was the spoiled brats that she had to put up with.

While the gifted she could grade fair, for the rich notes had to be given "fairly".

She had a long conversation with a principal behind closed doors, where he explained where her salary was coming from. And what will happen should she choose to offend with her "unfair" notes a district attorney's son, deputy's daughter, or twins sons of an "honest local businessman with various interests", or so many other kids.

At first, she felt awful but quickly learned to suppress that feeling. As long as she could provide for her family, was she really doing something bad?