Parallel Mirrors: Infinity Mirrors - Sex Stories

Parallel Mirrors: Infinity Mirrors

... her clit. Her building orgasm consumed her just as the vehicles collided, her essence spinning through the sensual energy of the universe as the limo mimicked her soul, spinning off into oblivion.

This world, if one were to apply cognitive liberalism to the term, was unlike any of the others. As Freya plummeted into and out of endless, possible worlds, they all represented a believable reality. This one, however, defied logic, sanity, and the fabric of the universe, itself. There was no world, neither sun shining down nor a starlight sky. Although there was source-less light, its ambiance tinted lemon yellow, the entire universe seemed to have congealed down to a glass-like, wavy plane of blackness, shiny, warm, and damp. Countless mirrors, of all shapes, sizes, contours, and ages, formed a long, narrow pathway— countless rows of them beyond, extending through the infinite, planar void. Candles mounted in hovering sconces or ornate, ancient candelabras sat in the center of the mirrored pathway.

Mentally shrugging, convinced that she’d finally lost all sense of realness, Freya barely noted that she was nude, once more. Her infinite lust, that horny, lusty feeling that permeated her soul, was vibrating at a higher, more powerful octave. The young woman’s juices dripped from her loins, and her entire body tingled with erotic need, burning her insides. Resolved to her insane state and fate, Freya squared her shoulders, and boobs bouncing with every sexually-heightened ...

... step, meandered down the snaking, curving pathway, each mirror she glanced into showing a different world, her within it, on its surface.

In a vast number of those show worlds, she was institutionalized. In others, she was a famous artist or musician, always something creative. Yet other mirages showed her living peacefully and happily, and it went on, ranks of mirrors appearing behind the ones she strode between, all of them a glimpse of a possible world. She knew, in the darkest crannies of her splintered mind and her fiercely-beating heart, what lay at the end of the long, winding, mirrored pathway, lined with an infinite field of mirrors.

A death march, an endless winding hike toward fate, oblivion the only destination—Freya refused to cry, no longer concerned with her sanity or whether it was the accursed decree of her parents’ demonic, craven idols. Overwrought beyond her breaking point, she almost welcomed the conclusion, only hoping that her end would be quick and painless. John Dee, whom she knew had to be the physical form of Choronzon, awaited.

As suspected, as she meandered through endless variations of the worlds, her places within them, the mirrored pathway, after what seemed like hours of marching, gave way to a perfect circle, several yards in diameter, lined with towering, full-length mirrors, all of them reflecting that particular non-reality. In the center, large, brass braziers on stepped, stone pillars burned with the yellow fires of insanity’s ...