Dynamics of a Human Heart Ch. 01

Story Info
Three brilliant minds, two broken souls, one shared destiny.
10.1k words
4.4
40.3k
38

Part 1 of the 9 part series

Updated 09/22/2022
Created 07/19/2013
Share this Story

Font Size

Default Font Size

Font Spacing

Default Font Spacing

Font Face

Default Font Face

Reading Theme

Default Theme (White)
You need to Log In or Sign Up to have your customization saved in your Literotica profile.
PUBLIC BETA

Note: You can change font size, font face, and turn on dark mode by clicking the "A" icon tab in the Story Info Box.

You can temporarily switch back to a Classic Literotica® experience during our ongoing public Beta testing. Please consider leaving feedback on issues you experience or suggest improvements.

Click here
Tyler_H
Tyler_H
62 Followers

Cuando el amor no es locura, no es amor

"When love is not madness, it is not love."

-Pedro Calderon de Barca

Author's Note: What follows is a love story, something that's been rattling around in my head for a while now. Hopefully I've managed to do it justice. If you're looking for a quick fix (and you don't scare easily) I refer you to my 'Jack' series or any other number of terrific stories.

This is a 'romance' insofar that it deals more with love and erotica, as opposed to just straight up 'sex'. The story supports the sex, not the other way around.

The story however deals with a few different romances: a relationship between a woman and another woman as well as a relationship between a man and a woman. If either of these aspects make you uncomfortable or just aren't your cup of tea, no worries.

This is a long story, there is sex, there is love, tragedy, betrayal, violence, and, ultimately, hope.

Unnecessary disclaimer: Everyone is over 18. Duh.

Dynamics of a Human Heart: How many ways can a soul be saved?

Miranda sighed and squinted at the sun, bright in a cloudless California sky, and attempted to calculate what time it was.

Of course, you could just look at your phone.

She sighed again at that thought and attempted to juggle her books, her laptop, and her phone, trying to see what time it was. Unfortunately, she was attempting to do all of this with only one working arm, her other sported a wrist brace after a particularly nasty sprain.

I have a PH. D. in theoretical physics, I have an I.Q. of a hundred-and-sixty-plus, she thought to herself, yet, somehow, the ability to balance a bunch of stuff eludes me.

Miranda Inoue was an unusual woman in many ways: having just turned twenty-two, she had already gotten her Ph. D. from Caltech in experimental physics and was now dealing mostly with astrophysics and advanced mathematics.

Miranda was as unique physically as she was mentally: she was willowy in appearance and graceful. Miranda's Asian heritage was living up to the stereotype. However, her father was from Johannesburg and had contributed some of his own genes to Miranda's look, giving her a curvier figure than most would associate with your typical Asian woman. Her shoulders were also a bit broader; her hair was fairer as well, approaching a warm chestnut brown, cut short, if for no other reason than to just to not fuss with it and she could lay claim to a respectable amount of leg.

Overall, she was...'exotic' as she liked to think, and her eyes made her exotic look utterly unique: her eyes were almond-shaped, a gift from her Japanese mother, and they were a vibrant shade of violet. Neither her mother, nor her father had a clue as to how that had happened, but eventually Miranda did some research and deduced that there was probably a case of albinism or similar gene mutation somewhere back in of parent's family history and that it may be recessive.

She was four years old when she deduced this. Even then, she was exceptional.

Unfortunately, all gifts come with a price and Miranda's were no exception: she was frail, if not downright sickly. She didn't actually get sick all that often, but she was constantly exhausted, needing to rest between classes and before any kind of social activity, no matter how calm or relaxed it would be. It was as if, to fuel her genius, her mind was consuming her body for fuel.

And this affected her in other, more, intimate ways.

Simply put, Miranda's sex life was a delicate affair: she couldn't exert herself too strongly or she'd likely get dizzy and pass out. It was not a popular quality in a lover and it made for a lonely existence, pretty or not.

Fortunately, her current lover was an understanding individual and together they had managed to maintain a loving, if not vigorously passionate, relationship, which she found very much to her liking.

She was thinking about Sam, and must have been distracted because she slammed headlong into something tall and pissed off.

"Bloody Hell!!" roared a stranger's voice.

Miranda cried out and fell to the ground, all of her possessions crashing next to her. She gasped in pain as jolts of agony shot through her arm, which had been the point of impact. Blinking back tears, she looked up at whom she had run into.

He was Caucasian, maybe early forties but ragged-looking. He was dressed in a shirt, tie and tan duster that all looked thoroughly disheveled to the point of messy. His hair was the color of dirty straw cut short and spiky, like a punk rocker who'd kept the haircut long past its time and he looked haggard, as if he hadn't slept in days. A pair of Ray-Ban sunglasses covered his eyes. Overall, Miranda though he looked like a cross between a used-car dealer and a heroin addict.

He was currently dusting himself off and reaching down to pick-up a matchbook and a now-crushed cigarette from off the ground, ignoring the prone girl completely.

"Damn it," he swore at his ruined cigarette, before turning his gaze on Miranda, "What, are you blind or just stupid?" he demanded in a heavily accented voice that sounded like it could have come from Liverpool or maybe London. Miranda had heard some guys (and a few girls) try to fake an English accent. This guy clearly wasn't though, the combination of Scouse and Cockney was too distinctive.

She glared up at him and painfully got to her feet. She noticed that his sunglasses were mirrored as two tiny portraits of herself stared back at her.

He was also a bit more attractive than she had first though: his skin, while pale, was also unblemished, save for what looked like a perpetual five o' clock shadow. He had murderously high cheekbones and a strong jaw, the kind that could be described as heroic if it weren't cloaked in stubble. She thought she saw a faint scar, raised with an unusual texture to it at the corner of his mouth, but the stubble obscured it.

"No, don't worry, I'm fine," she grumbled and started to bend over to grab her things. She jerked her head up, trying to see if maybe he was checking out her backside or breasts, it had happened before: the swell of her hips gave her what one, rather vulgar, friend had called a heart-shaped ass and her breasts, while not terribly large, were full and firm.

Instead, he appeared to be busy trying to light another cigarette, hand cupped to shield the match from the wind, tossing the matchstick away carelessly once done. He looked at her one more time and smirked, as if she was his own private joke, and began to walk away.

Miranda glared daggers into the Englishman's back as she attempted to put her phone in her pocket and grab her books and her computer, all the while praying that none of them had been damaged. Gravity was not cooperating with the handicapped young woman and she proceeded to drop her stuff again.

"Kuso!!" she swore, a curse that roughly translated to "Shit!" Miranda didn't swear very often and when she did, only in Japanese so no one else could understand it. She had been brought up to believe that the use of profane language, in any language, was hallmark of the uneducated and inferior.

The man stopped, only a few paces away from her and looked up at the sky, his shoulders going slack. He turned his head, just a little, to watch Miranda struggle again with her possessions, eyes still hidden by shades. He took a long drag from his cigarette, exhaled hard through his nose, then turned and stalked towards her.

"For fuck's sake!" he snarled, "Up!" He took her uninjured arm and yanked the startled woman to her feet. Stooping down, he grabbed her things.

"You keep the sodding machine close to you, like this," he said, wedging her laptop in the crook of her arm, "you put your books on top to keep it from sliding out," he unceremoniously dumped her textbooks on her computer, Miranda exhaling hard at the sudden weight. "And you keep your mobile in your bloody pocket!" Moreover, he spun her around, yanked her forward and thrust her phone into her pants' back pocket.

Miranda squawked in indignation as she was manhandled. "Keep your hands to yourself!" she hissed.

The man was not impressed, he smirked again, like she was the funniest thing in the world, gave her a mocking, two-finger salute, and turned and walked away.

Miranda glared after him.

"Jerk" she muttered to herself. Still, she wasn't being entirely fair; if he really had wanted to grope her he had had amble opportunity. Instead, he had been all business. She was used to people being attracted to her, from time to time, but not someone quite so irritated with her, except her mother. She couldn't quite put her finger on it: he was savagely rude, foul-mouthed, arrogant, sarcastic, and overall entirely abrasive. Nevertheless, he had, something; a...rawness to him, as if he made no pretenses at all of being anything other than what he was. He was bold, fearless, and totally unapologetic. In other words, he was everything she wasn't and a part of her, a small part, found that very interesting.

Dismissing these thoughts as nonsense, she made her way towards her apartment. But she did notice that, for the remainder of her trip, she didn't drop a single thing.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Miranda slammed the door to her apartment a little harder than necessary and her roommate, Samantha, rolled her eyes as she looked up from her computer.

"So, it was a fun day then, was it Miri?" she prodded in a voice heavily laden with sarcasm as Miranda dumped her books and computer on the table unceremoniously and stalked over to her.

Miranda's answer was the sound of tearing Velcro followed by a wrist brace being hurled across the room to smash into the wall with surprising force. "Shut up," she said without any rancor as she came to Sam's chair and bent over to kiss her lover once upon her lips, then again upon her brow, as was their custom.

Miranda and Sam had met as freshman and the attraction had been instantaneous: both girls were very bright, though Sam readily admitted that her lover was "definitely the brains in the relationship."

Miranda, having gotten her degree in theoretical physics, had now decided to pursue a second degree, this time in experimental physics. In her down time, she acted as a T.A. for the physics department. One of the 'perks' was being able to live on campus for very little money.

Sam was majoring in information science and technology while minoring in mathematics. While Sam and Miranda both enjoyed crunching numbers, Sam's interests began and ended with programming algorithms.

"So, what put you in such a good mood today, my sweet?" Sam asked wryly.

"Ugh, don't get me started-"Miranda began

"Too late."

Miranda glared at Sam as she sat down across from her.

"I was late for almost every class today, both teaching and attending, I'm suffering from major writer's block in regards to my final thesis," she sighed in frustration and gestured to her stuff on the table, "And some ass plowed into me and made me break my computer."

Sam pouted. "Aw, did baby have a bad day? Fall down, go boom?" She grinned as Miranda narrowed her eyes at her. Sam beckoned, "Bring it here," she said gesturing at the computer, "Let Sam take a look at it."

Miranda smiled as the tension drained from her, Sam had a gift for making her smile. It was one of the things she loved about her, and she kissed her lover's mouth again. She tasted like vanilla, one of her favorite scents and flavors and Sam knew it. Miranda enjoyed the way things smelled or tasted, for her it was much more immersive than looking at something or hearing it.

Sam smirked at her and set to work on the laptop. Physically, Sam was the polar opposite of Miranda: blond hair and blue eyes, she was a California native and had a deep, Pacific tan that was too beautiful to come from a bottle or a booth. When they made love, her own pale skin made for a stark contrast to Sam's sun-kissed body. She also had the most incredible, bee-stung lips that made her irresistible when she pouted. Miranda could quite contentedly kiss, nibble, and suck on them for hours. Sam looked like the kind of girl you'd see playing volleyball all day or maybe as a model.

Being confined to a wheelchair, however, dashed any hopes of that. Her legs had been crushed in an accident when she was a teenager and while she'd retained most of the feeling in them, she'd never be able to walk unassisted again.

"So," Sam began as she worked on the laptop, "Tell me about this jerk." She brought the machine up on its edge and rested it against her breasts as she fiddled with a USB port. Miranda couldn't help but stare, Sam possessed the most incredible set of "tits" as Sam liked to call them, she had ever seen: full enough to fill her hand, with large, pink nipples that Miranda had spent hours licking and nibbling at, at her lover's breathless and oft-repeated request. The thought of it sent vibrations through her slender body that resonated deep somewhere between her legs.

"You're staring," Sam said, without looking up from her work. Miranda blushed.

"Sorry."

"I didn't say you could stop," Sam looked up from her work with a lopsided smile, which Miranda had no choice but to return, "But you're also avoiding the subject: the jerk. Spill. It usually takes a lot to get you this irritated and I'm curious."

"He was just some guy," she said, "Had that awful South London, Cockney, accent."

"Ooo, I like those; sexy," Sam replied.

"Said the lifelong lesbian."

"Hey, I can appreciate," Sam leered at her, "Just because I don't need a nice, big cock to get me off doesn't mean I can't appreciate what it's attached to." She winked and Miranda cheeks colored; Sam was always the more adventurous of the two and had no problem expressing herself in as base a manner as she felt necessary.

"So, what did he look like?" Sam asked.

Miranda threw up her hands in exasperation, "Why are you so insistent about this?"

"Because I like to torment you."

"Fine, you want to know what he looked like? He looked like the lovechild of David Bowie and Benedict Cumberbatch, whom after being born, was pummeled and pickled in a mixture of arsenic and nicotine.

Sam blinked a few times, trying to wrap her head around that.

"Okay Bowie, I know; who's the other guy?"

"Google him."

She put down Miranda's computer and tapped a few keys on her own machine before giving a long, slow, whistle.

"Good lord, you could shave with those cheekbones," she looked back at Miranda, "Why didn't you just say he was really hot? You're bi; you're allowed to think so."

"He wasn't hot, he was skuzzy and he smelled bad and he called me stupid."

"So bathe him, shave him, and jump him already!"

"Ugh, no thank you and you're my girlfriend, aren't you supposed to be dissuade me from having sex with random strangers?"

Sam leaned over to place a hand on her lover's thigh, "Sweetie, I love you, you know that, but if there was anyone that needed to have sex with random strangers, it's you."

"Slut."

"Prude."

The girls had been trading insults since the day they first met and it seemed to be one of the most dynamic and stable elements in their relationship.

"Yes, well, this slut has repaired your computer," Sam declared as began to hand it over to the other girl. As Miranda was reaching for it, Sam jerked it away, "Make it worth my while."

Miranda rolled her eyes, "I love you," she said.

"My while is worth more than that. How are you going to repay me?"

Miranda sighed; she knew what Sam was getting at: the other girl loved to pick on her for being less sexually outgoing than she and nothing made her happier than to make the poor girl squirm.

"I'll...have lots of sex with you," Miranda said in a rush.

"Uh-huh, details please."

Miranda looked at her, agog, "You're indecent!"

"I am horny; and at the moment, I am holding all the cards," she waggled the computer at Miranda, "Details please, Miri."

"I'll kiss your neck and then I'll squeeze your...your breasts."

"My what?" Sam leered and Miranda felt her face grow even hotter.

"Your tits."

Sam had always enjoyed dirty talk almost as much as she enjoyed Miranda's awkwardness at it. She grinned and casually yanked her shirt up over her head and Miranda gasped: she hadn't been wearing a bra and her breasts jutted forward, bare for her to see. Tanned, toned, and perfect, Miranda could feel her mouth beginning to water and moistness began to seep in between her thighs.

Sam lifted her toned arms up above her head, causing her breasts to bounce slightly.

"Take me to bed or lose me forever, lover."

Miranda pushed Samantha over to the edge of the bed before bending over and carefully lifting her lover from her wheelchair.

"Oof, you're getting heavy," Miranda commented, as she cradled her lover in her arms, heading towards their bed trying to make sure that her injured wrist did not hamper things.

"Fuck you," Sam's grin got wider. Miranda pretended to look shocked,

"Guttersnipe!"

"Prig!"

"Trollop!"

"Frigid bitch!"

"I love you," Sam whispered in a softer voice, the time for sarcasm over.

"I love you too, Sammy," Miranda replied as she laid her out on their bed.

Samantha made a face, "I hate it when you call me that," she growled playfully.

Miranda sat near the head of the bed and began dotting her lover's face with kisses, slowly moving down to the curve of her neck, "I know," Miranda whispered into her lover's ear

Samantha shuddered. Her nipples had become two small, hard points of pink on her firm breasts.

Miranda finished her journey down Sam's throat and began to lip, nibble, and suck her way across her collarbone, luxuriating in the taste of her bronzed body.

"Miri!" Sam began to whine as she clenched her fists and thrashed about impatiently. Even her legs began to twitch and kick as much as they were able to. Miranda knew that was a good sign, it means her lover was primed.

Miranda gently took her lover's breast in her small hands: she loved the feel of them and how they filled her hands. She leaned over, placed her mouth over one tiny, perfect, nipple, and began to suck gently.

"Ohhhhh, fuck!" Sam cried out. She arched her back, thrusting her breasts upwards into Miranda's mouth. Sam began to tremble and shake so hard that her spine popped and cracked with the strain. "Don't you ever fucking stop," she said through gritted teeth.

Miranda just continued to work at her breasts, tracing the round areola with a velvety tongue, like she was lapping at ice cream; sweet and perfect, like sugar that melted in your mouth.

"Oh, I am going to break you, little girl," Sam groaned even as Miranda looked up from her work, looking very pleased with herself.

"Promises, promises."

"Hey, I didn't say stop!"

Miranda chuckled throatily as she massaged Sam's breasts, pulling and twisting her nipples, like rose-colored pebbles, swollen and hard as stone. She caught one between her front teeth and began to flick her tongue against it faster and faster. She picked up speed as her free hand roamed up Sam's chest, squeezing her other breast. She twisted her nipple hard, the way she knew Sam liked, before reaching up past her throat and putting her fingers in her lover's gasping mouth.

Samantha latched onto Miranda's fingers with hungrily and attempted to suck the skin off them, moaning in satisfaction as she enjoyed her new treat. She lifted her hips up as far as possible, trying to rub against her love wherever she could.

Unlike Miranda, Sam liked a little pain with her pleasure and knowing that, Miranda took her lover's nipple between her teeth and very gently nipped at its tip. That was all it took: Sam nearly bit off her fingers as her body went into ecstatic convulsions. Miranda yanked her fingers and inspected them for damage as Sam continued to writhe. Miranda pushed her down as she thrust her hand down her lover's pants, past her now-drenched panties to rest against her dripping sex and giving Sam something to grind against as she came over and over again in waves of pleasure.

Tyler_H
Tyler_H
62 Followers