The Feminine Touch: ubercom

Under neon rain, “ubercom” follows a woman stripping out of a soaked dress in her high-rise window. City lights reflect off wet skin as “ubercom” watches her press palms to glass, ass arched toward the camera. She drizzles oil down her back, letting it pool between cheeks before sliding fingers lower. “ubercom” zooms on her reflection—eyes half-lidded, mouth open—as she rides her own hand against the skyline. The storm outside mirrors the one building inside; “ubercom” catches her knees buckling when she comes, city oblivious to the show only “ubercom” owns.