Parallel Mirrors: Reflected Realities - Sex Stories

Parallel Mirrors: Reflected Realities

... electrifying, orgasmic bliss welled up inside her nubile, writhing body. Freya’s mind rendered itself amorphous, graffiti hastily scrawled on the corridors of time, as her cunt oozed wetness, further staining the sticky floor. Unrelenting, her head tossing from side to side, the candle flickering as the stormy night raged outside, she pushed herself past the point of no return, blissful waves crashing over and through her, once more.

Eliciting sighs and moans, Freya redoubled the erotic assault on her flesh, adding a finger to her clenching asshole as she sought physical and metaphysical release. More shouts, followed by gunfire, were heard, but, still, the woman heaved her tits, fingered her now-dripping pussy, and hurled herself toward sexual abandon, the bliss of arousal just a few thrusts away.

Eyes clenched shut, her heart pounding, body convulsing in rapture, Freya ceased to exist, joining the cosmos and absorbing its lusty energy. Crests of horny agony, followed by troughs of impassioned delight, slammed against her soul, peeling away her veneers of sanity, reality, and self. As she hung in the blackness of the timeless void, Freya heard malicious chuckles, the noise of the violent disturbance she’d heard gone with the world.

As her material body reconstituted itself, the panting woman, mewling in the afterglow of the endorphin release, became aware of warmth, birdsong, and the sweet scents of nature. A round tent, a yurt, surrounded her, dry greenery ...

... underfoot and a sweet breeze gently permeating the canvas and wooden structure.

Covering her nudity with a gossamer pixie dress, all white sheerness, and lace, Freya found herself part of a youthful commune, followers of gentle neo-paganism. A sweet but short-lived vacation from the horrors of unreality; that existence was serene, albeit boring. Within a week, she craved her original state, the Devil she knew. With a stoned, hippie woman writhing over her lust-filled body, others looking on, masturbating, Freya gazed into a silvered mirror, a small bonfire being the only light in the clear, moonless, midnight sky, and, once more, erupted into an alternate world. A professional dominatrix in that universe, her sanity surrendering to the layers of madness, finding a willing slave to fuck her into oblivion, an entirely different world, was easy.

“That must have been one intense orgasm,” a red-faced, gawking Cassandra guffawed. Her face, although Cassandra attempted to mask her horny emotions, showed open lust.

Freya, after months of oblivion, had managed her homecoming, familiar surroundings enshrouding her with a spurious sense of temporary solace. Her doubt, fear, and madness still lingered, eroding her thinning armor of sanity, but she smiled and soldiered on, burying herself in her studies. Fearing psychosis, she retreated into introversion, chewing over every spoken word, careful to not reveal her distressed mental state. Sulking in the shadows and attempting invisibility ...