In Which We Journey To The Lake Of The Virgin - sex stories


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"Do you believe in destiny?" asked the Princess, as we
methodically marched along our appointed path to reach the Lake
of the Virgin.

Along the faint, overgrown forest trail I followed my spry young
princess, as she trod with backpack and staff, clad in undersize
shorts and oversize hiking boots. With so miniscule a bottom, it
was difficult to believe she could find a pair of hot-pants that
were actually too short, but my clever young lass had managed to
succeed in doing just that.

And now with each step, her dear sweet divine behind pumped
alternating with intoxicating rhythm that lulled my imagination
with images of rhythmic activity of a different kind, fueled by
the sweet smell of her exertion and the bright clarity of her
perfect smooth skin as she faced the frontier.

"Destiny?" I mumbled absently.

"You know, how when you're reading a book, you can always skip to
the last page to see if you like the ending."

"If you like to spoil surprises."

"But in real life -- what seems real, anyway -- it's like God
designed us facing backwards. We can only see in the direction we
came from. Wouldn't it make more sense to be able to see in the
direction we're going? I mean, do animals have eyes in their
butts? Or in their heads?"

"Both past and future are realms of possibilities," I offered, my
eyes remorselessly glued to her butt.

"So?"

"The past exists as a myriad of different paths to where we are
now, yet we see it as only one."

"So?"

"Perhaps we do see the future more clearly, because we recognize
that it's subject to change according to our decisions."

We walked along the rock-and-tree-root-strewn path through the
trees in silence for awhile as she pondered.

"Nah," she said finally. "You're just messing with my head."

"Try to go very far back in time, and you'll discover the
practicality of what I'm saying."

At that moment, we came around a bend to a clearing, where the
foliage around us fell back to reveal a breathtaking view of an
enormous forested valley, and beyond that a series of
tree-covered ridges receding like frozen ocean waves off into the
distance, as the hint of the morning mist lingered like an aura
of expectation, fading into the dark blue sky above.

Overhead a hawk soared, lazily circling.

Sylvia gazed up at it. "Do you think I could convince it to take
an interest in. . ." she glanced back at the two large black
crows that seemed to be following behind us, from a distance.

I chuckled. "I suppose. They're a bit big, but it wouldn't hurt
to loudly mention the possibility so they can hear."

She picked up a stone, muttered a little incantation, then hurled
it back in the direction of our unwanted audience. The rock flew
astonishingly far, clipping one of the startled birds' wing as it
flew up with a squawk.

I laughed again, arousing consternation in my partner.

"Doesn't it bug you?" she demanded. "They've got to be spies."

"If they weren't so clumsy and foolish, it might bug me. But so
long as they're here, they're not conveying information to
Elwrong."

"How can you be sure?" she complained. "What if they slip away at
night to inform the others?"

"Them?" I laughed. "They're afraid to lose sight of us, because
if they do, they'll never find their way back."

"How do you know?"

"Look babe, if you let it get to you, they've already
accomplished half of what they set out to do."

She shifted her pack to one side. While the enormous bulk and
mass of the million things we carried had been mostly neutralized
by compression and levitation spells, I found it was best to
leave some weight in it, about the heft of two or three books, so
one would be aware of carrying it, thus less inclined to leave it
behind somewhere.

"Water?" I suggested.

"Could I have some of yours? I think mine is underneath the
tent."

"And the harp?"

"Well, yeah."

I sighed gently, offering her my canteen.

"What I don't get," she said between gulps, "is how come Elwrong
can do magic in the first place anyway." Gulp. "I thought you
said in order to do magic," gulp gulp, "You had to purify your
mind first."

"Hey, hey! No backwash into my canteen."

"I'm not!"

"Better not, or you'll get to taste the realm of pure evil."

"No, it's only the backwash."

I glared.

"Just kidding. So anyway, how come? And how did there get to be a
dimension of pure evil anyway?"

I gazed at the hawk circling. I guess I was lost in thought for
awhile.

"Hello? How am I supposed to learn, unless you answer my
questions?"

"Of course," I mused aloud. "That's the key."

"What? What key?"

"See, there are only two ways in which one can engage in magic,
while the mind contains harmful intent. There's the tantric
method, where one gains sufficient positive karma that one can
commit deeds of grave immorality without incurring consequences.
Killing a murderer in order to save the lives of others, for
instance. One must have cultivated an extremely focused intent of
pure virtue over many lifetimes, first."

"Ok, so we can scratch that possibility. What's the other?"

"To cast a spell that neutralizes the consequences of impure
thoughts. The power of such a spell would have to be based in the
dimension of pure evil, meaning a connection with that dimension
must be maintained at all times for it to work."

"So. . . if we break the spell?"

"Precisely. By severing the connection."

"And how did this dimension of annoying yuckiness get there in
the first place?"

"The primeval swirl," I replied.

"The what?"

"The universe, when it was first incarnated, was like a smooth
plane beneath the heavenly sun, the source of all light.
Metaphorically speaking, of course. The smooth plane was
featureless and flat, all equally lit by virtue and goodness.

"Then the urge arose to escape monotony. Individuality and
character acted to cause a swirl in the landscape. Rising up to
create mountains and valleys, the swirl cast shadows of chaos,
creating a contrast between darkness and light, between evil and
good."

"Can't we just get to the part where it all dissolves back into
the light again? I'm about ready to be finished with all the
dorky evilness." She hurled another stone back at our followers,
this time connecting with a satisfying thud and a storm of inky
black feathers.

"Ah, the petulance of youth."

"I'll pet your lance!"

"Promise?"

She smiled, walking over to lean her flat chest against mine,
inadvertently pressing the protection amulet dangling from a
thong around her neck into my sternum.

"Ouch!" I exclaimed.

"Sorry," she apologized, moving it aside and thrusting her sweet
young chest against me once more.

"Of course I promise," she said. She looked up at me,
irresistibly tight little lips hanging slightly open in a most
tantalizing hint of a nascent kiss.

I leaned down to give it birth, to give berth to her tongue
inside my mouth, to harbor intents to be carried out in a tent
later on that evening, intensely carried away by camp emotions.

Somewhat breathlessly, we continued our hike and philosophical
discourse.

"The problem with pure bad," I said, "is that it includes being
bad at being bad, which all collapses on itself eventually."

"Not like being good at being good."

"Or being good at being naughty. . ."

In Which We Journey To The Lake Of The Virgin


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