Bad Boy Romance: Bad Marine (Bad Boy Military Romance) (Alpha Bad Boy New Adult Contemporary Male Stories)

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Some folks believe you need a mirror to fall through in order to get to the Otherworld, but this simply isn’t the case. In fact, the multiverse is so full of portals that it can be difficult to understand where this world ends and the Otherworld begins. If the multiverse is a woman with her legs spread wide, dripping nectar onto a blanket, then I must have found myself swimming in the juices infinite feminine ecstasy. Before I tell you about how my skirt was lifted by a whole fleet of fungi or the payment demanded of me by the vampire king, I’d like to tell you a bit about my sex life, or lack thereof.

I’m a reasonably strong young woman who makes her living as a violinist in a choir for a major metropolitan area. City life treats me well, except that there are rarely enough natural spots for me to relax in, and I’ve found that I’m most fond of taking some time to myself to meditate with my body and bring myself into a closer state of union with the world around me. The result of my meditations usually results in a greater awareness of who I am as a person and, honestly, a release from the daily stresses of maintaining a regular reality within the world. And yes, just so you know, by meditation, I actually do mean masturbation.

I don’t bother to differentiate between the two, because I feel like my body is just as good as any other tool by which I can come to understand the world around me. Everyone is walking around in these amazing physiological forms, capable of immense orgasmic release, and all they do is eat, sleep, and occasionally have sloppy penetrative sex, without any kind of sensitivity whatsoever. When I touch myself, I want to hold my body in my hand and slide two fingers up and down across my slit. I want to feel the velvety labial presence of my feminine form. And when I’m ready for penetration, I want my own body to let me know with a sweet-exuding spill of fluid from a place which is mysterious to my own knowledge.

Sigh
.

The last time I had sex, I was with a guy named Breton. He was so preoccupied with slapping my ass that he couldn’t even keep himself hard, and I had to suck him off to get him to stop. The feel of his penis in my mouth can be enjoyable; but I imagine it would be more pleasant if that penis belonged to someone that I cared about, as opposed to the body of a man who had not yet emerged from a boyhood fantasy; where loving a woman primarily meant slapping her in the ass. I mean, sure, who doesn’t like a bit of a spanking every now and then, or a scratch, or a bite? But honestly, lick my pearl for a while first, and get me started. Otherwise, you’re just hitting me in the ass with your open hand, and honestly, the sharp sting from your under-developed biceps just isn’t that arousing for me.

I thought, for a while, that I had to do things for myself, so I would go to the bar and try to pick up guys, pretending like I was some kind of sexual savant, capable of bringing men to multiple orgasms with the coy power of my labia. I wanted my vagina to be a well-exercised muscle, you know? Something that could grasp a man’s penis and hold so firm that he had little choice but to surrender his seed to me. Of course, I wasn’t about to get pregnant by any asshole at a bar, so I also fantasized that I would know just the right time to release him so I could feel him drip down my throat instead. I hear semen is an anti-depressant, and frankly, I thought I could get in on some of that action because all of the fantasies that I had concocted for myself were so mundane I couldn’t even handle it.

So, instead of going out to bars, or fucking Breton, I go for hikes and meditate while focusing on various aspects of nature. Today, I wanted to do an experiment with sound and orgasmic meditation, so I grabbed my violin, a jacket, and a bottle of mead and made my way out the door of my co-op. The nearest wild area is about five minutes away by bike, which is not too bad if you just set your mind to going the distance to get what you want. My body is in pretty good condition because I bike around a lot and don’t eat a lot of shitty food, but I’m not a model or anything.

“I’m just a woman with a clit and a violin, going for a hike,” I sang to myself while speeding down the bike path.

The tone of the song was something sultry and sassy because I liked to laugh at myself, and I thought the juxtaposition of sultry and masturbating in the woods gave my mind some cognitive dissonance. My laughter was louder than my song, and honestly, I felt like I was about to go on an adventure, maybe even to a place where I had never been before; it was a good feeling.

On impulse, once I was a mile or so outside of town, I veered off of the dirt bike path and rode along the edge of a lake. The water went on for some time, and the beach’s sand was compact enough so that my bike’s tires didn’t have too rough of a time rolling forward. The bumps of the rocks pressed the seat into my crotch, and I thought about all of those videos I had seen with the women riding bikes complete with dildos on the seat. I had always wanted to try that because it seemed so ridiculous. I mean, riding on a bumpy surface like this with a giant dildo stuck in my vagina, I wouldn’t be able to make it anywhere; it’s not a very practical idea. Just drippy cum mixed with discomfort for about seventy feet before I roll over and beg to be fucked or eaten out by someone with an actual dick. I’m pretty sure the dildo bike was a male invention. As my thoughts were more sexual than usual, I decided to coast my bike to a stop and lean it against an oak tree, just off of the shore.

As soon as I got off of my bike, I felt a tug within my vagina. I can’t exactly describe it, except to say it’s similar to that feeling you get when you know you want to fuck someone but haven’t decided to engage sexually yet. I bit my lip and crossed my legs, slinging my violin around my back and stumbling into the forest. I shook my head. It was so ridiculous, like my body knew why I was here and was letting me know that it had been very patient the entire ride over, and now, it was time to take my clothes off and get busy.

I pinched my nipple, like I was reprimanding myself.

“You’ll wait until we get to a good spot,” I told myself, and I kept going for a while until I lost track of where I had been headed and felt sufficiently lost.

You might think that getting lost in the woods is a bad thing, but it’s not; it feels absolutely wild and incredibly hot. I bit my bottom lip just thinking about it. I came across an ancient tree, whose roots were covered in moss; it was the perfect location to rest the back of my head. I set my violin case down on the ground and took off my clothes, and I felt the fabric of my shirt pass over my lips. My exhales were moist and warm, and I let my mouth open for theatrical measure. I don’t know who I was interested in impressing. Perhaps, because I knew there was no one around, I felt like I could be as sexually expressive as I wanted to be.

I threw my shirt up into the tree and took a sharp inhale as I felt a pull within my vagina once more.

“She wants it so bad,” I told myself, edging my way out of my skirt so that each hipbone passed through the corded waist one at a time.

I actually pulled the cord tighter as I took my skirt off because I wanted to feel the tension of the thin rope pressing against my skin. Of course, there was only so much tension that could be applied, because once both hips have been bypassed, the entire skirt drops to the floor, leaving behind nothing except a grown woman with a flushed, wet vagina.

“You couldn’t even control yourself,” I said as I slid my palm down the soft curve of my belly and onto my pubic mound.

My palm hit the friction of my pubic hair, and I felt a slight burn as the hair rubbed against the skin of my hand. A middle finger intuitively found its way to the entrance of my vagina, and the warm, silky moisture that I found caused my entire body to relax and my eyes to dim in satisfaction. I wasn’t dilated, but I was wet, and that’s all that mattered.

I allowed myself to stretch my shoulders and torso, while bringing moisture up from inside myself toward my clit. I crooned softly and allowed my bare ass to descend to the ground so I could cuddle with the moss underneath the tree. My mouth opened up in a moan that was silent at first and then stretched into a wider gasp for air while I pushed a finger past the tightened entrance to my vagina and pulled upward, from within myself. My free hand clumsily unbuckled the clasps on my violin case, and I brought out the instrument while digging two fingers within myself, looking for the deepest spot I could find.

Twang… zzzzZZZZZiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnGGGGG… TWannnnggGGGG.

I fucked around with the instrument, using my jaw on the fretboard and my free-fingered hand to pluck the strings. My consciousness fell into the sound of the instrument, and I lost the intense focus that I had only moments before on finding the quickest means of orgasming possible. The release from lust was so beautiful that I decided to place the violin firmly within the crotch of a tree and pull my bow out from the case.

Not once did I remove my fingers from my vagina, but I did manage to slow down and systematically rub myself in sync with the music. There were only four notes possible, and they were actually slightly dissonant, but I drew that bow back and forth at an utterly slow pace, doing my best to saturate each moment of friction with as much pleasure and intensity as I could muster. Before long, I found that I was singing along with the lowest tones emitted from the instrument. My thumb stroked my clit in firm, circular, kneading patterns, and I began to feel the pressure on my vagina again as my fingers impatiently stretched the muscles around the entrance to my cunt.

If I were able to see myself from the outside, I probably would have cum. I don’t want to be arrogant here, but my arousal was literally dripping down the side of my ass cheek and pooling onto the bed of moss that cushioned my tailbone from the forest floor. I turned to the side and actually began sucking on a conveniently placed knob of the tree just because it happened to be there, and my mouth wanted something to put inside of it. All of the while, the same entrancing tones rang out into the wilderness around me, a call to anyone to come by and see me feeding cum and saliva to the root structure of a beautiful tree, but nobody came, and that’s why I loved the forest so much.

Turning my body around, so I was on my left shoulder and knees, I began to suck on the scroll of the violin, bringing the whole end of the instrument in my mouth. I had never done that before, and it was a rush of inspiration to be sure. The sound that I had been spreading throughout the forest atmosphere now vibrated through my skull and down my spine – throughout my entire body. I squeezed my clit between my thumb and pinky while rubbing out the inside of my vagina with my three central fingers.

My first orgasm felt like a fire hose had gone off inside of my vagina and sprayed out behind me. I did manage to spray, but the cum had clung primarily to my thighs, only to run down and saturate the ground around each of my knees. My thighs clamped together, the instability causing me to bring the scroll of the violin into my mouth while falling over, curled in the fetal position between two particularly accommodating root structures.

As a matter of principle, I never stopped playing the violin. The articulation was not as strong as it had been before, and the pressure on the horsehair was significantly less intense, causing the sound to be more faint, inconsistent, and whispery, but it was there; I made sure of that. I couldn’t have stopped it if I wanted to try. The sound which came out of my instrument was like a carrier wave designed for the express purpose of suspending my soul in the air and never letting me down, so long as I committed myself entirely.

In a daze, I opened my eyes, and allowed them to blur and re-focus once more as I stared straight ahead within my position. All I saw, at first, was a vague green and brown group of textures, but then specific shapes started to form, and I recognized the details of the environment which I had been too aroused to properly appreciate before that moment. Below me was not only moss but also clovers and even a few small violent flowers. The tree was magnificent, but I didn’t need my eyes to tell me that; my lips had tasted its bark, and the roots continued to comfort me in my post orgasmic state.

“Good tree,” I thought, letting my free hand pet the nearest root with soft, intentional strokes as though my movements were a dance extension of the strange, lilted ballad which I was sending into the air.

I cracked the can of mead that was still within the case and refreshed myself with a long drink, attempting to keep the alcohol to my lips for as long as a single stroke of the bow took to cross the lowest string. I opened my throat and let effervescent fermented honey water find its home in my stomach. One gulp after another led me to sputter and swallow. Victoriously, I thrust the bow forward with a violent, high-pitch note and slammed the empty can down in the violin case. Warmth rushed through my body, and my head swam with the muted buzz of alcohol.

I sighed once more, but there was nothing in my sigh except for calm resonance.

A burp escaped my abdomen, and I saw a tiny mushroom on the far edge of the violin case, just beyond my reach. I laughed to myself and leaned forward, causing slight jolts in the continuity of my music, so I could lick the tiny little mushroom cap and suck on its nipple with my lips. I had kept three fingers inside of myself still, and I could feel an involuntary contraction or two as I adjusted my body in order to indulge in my phallic fantasy. I ended up scooting on the ground, with my arm underneath me; laying my body out just enough so that my tongue barely reached the tiny mushroom.

Smiling to myself and looking around, I saw that there were more fruiting bodies, and that I had, in fact, found myself within a fairy ring. I laughed and laughed; there was something incredibly humorous about that observation. I probably could have told you what was so funny another time, but I was too indulgent in each moment to care about being able to explain myself. I just knew it was hilarious, and I wanted to keep kissing those mushrooms.

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