Self Reflections

So, in the interest of suiting actions to words, I finally put together something I've been working on for quite some time now.  I had the idea way back, and I even edited the images and started writing the text.  But I couldn't get the whole thing out, and it just sort of ended up on the shelf.  So I dusted it off and finally finished it.  Hopefully you'll enjoy it.

This is a story with images, so it is a bit longer.  You may also want to let it load all the way, especially if you are on a slower connection before reading.  Read it after the jump.
(note, all images can be enlarged by clicking on them)


You stumble in to the bathroom, your vision blurred and your head throbbing from the hangover.  As so many others before you have done, you swear that you are never going to drink again while you lurch over to the sink.  You grab the sink with one hand, and begin massaging your neck with the other.  It takes you a moment, but you notice that there is something wrong with your reflection…

You squint your eyes, trying to figure out exactly what it is.  After a few shakes of your head and some concentrating, your vision slowly begins to clear.

Staring back at you from the mirror is, instead of your usual scraggly male self, is an elegant and beautiful woman!

You quickly look behind you to see where the reflection is coming from, but you are alone.  You investigate the rest of the bathroom, but find nothing amiss.  As you do, you notice that the girl in the mirror is following your every movement like, well like she was a reflection of you.

Once again you stand at the mirror, looking at this girl.  You have a surreal moment where you wonder if perhaps that reflection is the truth, and your memories of being a man were fake.  But no, you check yourself out and all of your male parts are still present and accounted for.

“If you are quite done playing around,” says the girl in the mirror, “we have a lot to talk about.”

You nearly fall over as you leap back from the mirror in fear.  For the first time, the reflection isn’t following your movements, but moves on its own.

“Who are you?” you ask, nearly shouting in your fear.  You realize that you are suddenly completely sober.  Nothing like being scared out of your wits to drive away any lingering alcohol.

“Oh knock it off.  Come over here and we’ll talk,” she says.

Reluctantly, you once again stand before the mirror, facing your strange reflection.  Once again you ask, in a more normal voice, “Who are you?”

“I’m you,” she replies, “or rather, I’m who you could be, who you Should be.”

Confused, you answer, “I don’t understand.  How could you be me?  Or how could I be you?”

“It’s simple really.  Aren’t you tired of living in that male body of yours?  Aren’t you tired of being forced to live in a body that is all hard lines and jutting angles?  Wouldn’t you rather be like me, all soft curves and delicate arches?  Don’t you want to have smooth skin and long silken hair?  Don’t you want to be graceful and sensual?”

“No!” you say firmly, “I’m a man!  I like my body the way it is, and I like my penis where it is.”

“Oh, sweetie,” replies the mirror, “do you really think that thing is all that special?  And just for that, are you really going to give up all this?  Look at me, look at my body.  Aren’t I beautiful?  Aren’t I sexy?”

As she speaks, one hand reaches up and grasps one breast, then slowly begins to knead it.  Though you did not follow the actions yourself, you still feel sensations flooding your mind.  In your hand is a familiar one.  You can feel your hand grasping and squeezing a breast, though you can not recall ever having felt one so large and firm, yet still so pliant to the touch.  At the same time, though, is a far more strange feeling, as your brain tries to process the experience of a hand stroking and toying with your boob.  Your mind goes cloudy as the pleasure of it floods your thoughts.  You feel a warmth spreading through you as body parts you never had before respond in arousal.

“Doesn’t this feel good?” she continues, never stopping her self ministrations.  “Don’t you want to feel like this more?  Could you really give this up?”

“…I…” you try to say through the distraction.

“And,” she says, speaking as if you hadn’t interupted, “if you think this feels good, how good would it feel to let someone else do it for you?  You could have that, you know, any time you want.  With a body like this you’d never have to go without being touched, being loved, ever again if you want.  All you have to do is let me in, just say yes.”

“…I…don’t know… I mean…I could be a lesbian… I guess…”

“No, no sweetheart.  That’s not for us at all.  A body like this needs a man.  A big, strong, virile man to hold you tight, to dominate you, to play with you.  To hold you down while he runs his rough hands all over your sensitive skin, tugs at your nipples with his teeth.  To pick you up and position you where ever he wants.  To tease you and toy with you till you beg to be allowed to cum.  And then, to finally take his massive rod and fuck you till you forget your own name.  That is what you need.”

“…But…”

“Can’t you feel it?  The thrill of going to your knees, strong hands wrapped in your hair pulling you forward as you slide your lips down his shaft?  Or being bent over, your high heels making you just the right height so that he can grab you by the waist and slam you over and over, your breasts bouncing in rhythm.  Or laying on your back, your legs wrapped around him, pulling him in deeper, refusing to let him go.”

“…I…um…”

“All of that can be yours.  Everything you see and feel can be yours, forever.  You can have it all, the perfect body, the amazing sex.  All you have to do is let me out of the mirror and in to your life.  Just say ‘yes’.  Or you can say no, and I’ll be gone.  You’ll never see me again, never experience this sensation again.  You’ll only ever wonder what it might have been like.”

Throughout her speech, the woman in the mirror continued to toy and tease her body, and by extension your own.  You can feel an orgasm building in you, unlike any you’ve ever experienced before.  But you never quite reach it.  She always backs off just before you do, leaving you on the verge but with no release.

Her words still ringing in your ears, the sensations still raging through your body, you open your mouth to speak, to answer her question, to form just a single word…