Parallel Mirrors: Reflected Realities - Sex Stories

Parallel Mirrors: Reflected Realities

... a sexual frenzy or allowed a willing sycophant, sometimes Cassandra, to pleasure her horny flesh.

The dark, foreboding club, called The Grotto, was a subterranean dance and concert hall, all arching brick, vaulted ceilings, and swampy atmosphere. The counterculture congregated there, a whirling, gyrating mass of sexual hormones, angst, and disenfranchisement, bowing before her presence as she spewed out her soul, her heart behind every syllable. That night, seated on a rickety chair, the cushion padding fluffing out through tears in the threadbare, once-ornate fabric, Freya toked on a pipe, surrendering sobriety for creative intoxication, while Cassandra knelt, one hand busy between her nectar-sweetened thighs, orally pleasing her lover and roommate.

Bliss, that sexual elixir of passion, vibrant, pervasive, and all-consuming, filled Freya’s veins as the world melted away, leaving only passion and desire. As her hands tore open the gypsy vest she wore over her diaphanous lace, fondling her swollen tits through the net-like material, Freya’s legs began shuddering, an orgasm building within her molten core. Her friend’s fingers plunged into her quivering holes, her ass and cunt fucked gently and deeply as the woman’s tongue swirled over and across her swollen, sensitive nub. Moaning in a banshee-like wail, her fire-tipped locks flailing over her volcanic flesh, fireworks of passion ignited in essence, her soul rising above the mortal realm, becoming one with pleasure, ...

... absorbed by the sexual energy of the multiverse.

Pervasive, sexual heat enshrouded her writhing body, her moans increasing the temperature, the walls seemingly warping under the duress of her radiating passion. Sparks of intimate passion, something more than mere sexual heat, erupted in her soul, sending her mind careening to distant lands, thoughts manifesting into possible realities as the sexual fervor of her pending release intensified into shooting stars of horny rapture. As one, the women, locked in lust-filled joy, melted into each other, flesh searing against skin, bodies conjoining, ecstasy their glue, reached an erotic pinnacle, one’s bursting cascading into the other’s, dual, impassioned explosions, sending their minds reeling through the darkness of creation.

Screaming her girlfriend’s name, her face a death mask of enraptured, carnal delight, Freya threw her head back, a life-rending orgasm shattering her sense of self and reality. Her glazed, gray eyes, echoing the heated bliss of her body, saw mirrors on the low ceiling. Reflected in their speckled planes, she saw the beautiful, exotic Cassandra, boy writhing, fingers sloshing, in the rapture of release, dissipate into nothingness, the world around her dissolving into another realm, an alternate existence.

Gone were the chanting, carousing audience, waiting for the concert, the low, mirrored ceilings, and her beloved Cassandra. Lamenting not studying her environment, a frazzled Freya, too stoned to worry ...