Parallel Mirrors: Reflected Realities - Sex Stories

Parallel Mirrors: Reflected Realities

... eroding mental well-being.

Without her nearly nineteen years of background context, this reality seemed all too real. This place was evil, vile, callous, and demonic, nothing more than self-absorbed, adult-aged children, with no sense of right or wrong, parroting back the buzzwords of false idols, self-appointed leaders of morality, proclaiming virtue and activism while pursuing self-destructive behaviors, hate, spite, and greed. Solipsism was an attitude she was well-versed in; her parents and their coven of demon-worshipers prime examples. It was as if their stunted, self-centered mentality, cloaked as goodness, permeated the universe. If real, Freya sought another world; if it were a delusion, she’d gladly trade for a gentler, less hostile one.

Clammy fingers, near freezing from the vile, acidic rain, plunged into her wetness as her hard, rain-stiffened nipples poked outward. Kneeling, facing the grungy, cum-covered mirror, the fiery-haired woman assaulted her flesh, feeling the heat of arousal warm her creaking bones. Her mind drifting from one thought to the next, one life to another, Freya was no longer a scared, delusional, lost soul; she was Freya Satanicus, Freya of the woodlands, and Freya the college student. A thousand lovers, real, imagined, or amalgams of multiple possibilities danced in the theater of her mind, pleasuring her nubile, volcanic flesh as tremors of lust-fueled arousal racked her body. The sounds of low-quality porn echoed through the ...

... dilapidated building, her pants and moans mixing with the crackling soundtrack.

A riot of noise erupted in her ears as she brutalized herself, plunging four fingers inside her sodden hole, attempting to speed her egress. Gunshots, screams, and shouts filled her ears, yet, she ignored the cacophony erupting outside the sex booth, fingering herself as she tugged viciously on her clit, then attempted to bite her nipples. Sirens wailed, their squalls growing loud, then steady, as if idling outside. Still, Freya frenetically plunged her digits into her wetness, mentally forcing an orgasm that refused to come.

Concentrating on her real existence, the main universe she knew, visions of Cassandra, her dorm-mate, came, unbidden, to her. Arousal followed, a tiny flame growing into a soul-searing bonfire of lust and passion, as the surrounding chaos fractured like disturbed ice on river rapids, pieces of it slowly drifting away. Her entire body quaked, hands aggressively molesting her heated body, her moans drowned by the shouts from outside the locked, tiny door.

An unbidden vision, a moment of tranquil, peaceful arousal, flashed in her brain— Cassandra wearing a T-shirt so thin that the swells of her pert breasts were revealed, dark nipples on display. Then, insanity gave way to clarity, and the two intermingled into a churning well of possibility, the waters spiraling away into the ether, Freya’s mind, body, and soul along with it.

A mote, a tenuous spark, at first, of ...