Chapter 3

• Chapter 3: Mirrors
• I wore the cameo every day.
• It rested warm against my throat like a second pulse, and every time my fingers brushed it, a throb of heat arrowed straight between my legs. I told myself I kept it on because it was beautiful ivory carved so finely the woman’s profile looked alive. I lied.
• By the end of the first week, the house no longer felt empty. It felt crowded with unseen eyes. The whispers followed me from room to room, growing bolder, filthier. While I scrubbed centuries of grime from the kitchen tiles, the voice murmured how pretty I’d look bent over the counter with my skirt flipped up and my cunt dripping down my thighs. While I showered, it described in graphic detail how it would pin me to the tile and fuck my mouth until I choked on its cock. I came twice under the spray that morning, fingers buried deep, sobbing its invisible name.
• I stopped pretending I wasn’t soaked constantly. My panties were ruined daily. I started going without.
• The mirrors came next.
• There were too many of them tall, ornate antiques in every bedroom, the hallways, even a massive one dominating the master bath. I’d covered a few with sheets at first, unsettled by my own reflection looking back too knowingly. But the sheets kept slipping off in the night, as if the house refused to let me hide.
• One afternoon, exhausted from unpacking and another sleepless night of phantom touches, I stood in front of the full-length mirror in the master bedroom, stripping for a bath. The cameo pulsed hot against my skin. My nipples were already hard, dark pink and aching. Between my thighs I glistened swollen, slick, ready. I looked like a woman waiting to be fucked.
• My reflection smiled when I didn’t.
• I froze.
• The woman in the glass tilted her head, eyes heavy-lidded and hungry. She lifted a hand and cupped one breast, rolling the nipple between invisible fingers until her mouth parted on a silent moan. My own hands stayed limp at my sides. I wasn’t doing that.
• But my body reacted anyway. My real nipples tightened further, a gush of wetness coating my inner thighs.
• The reflection’s other hand slid lower, fingers spreading slick folds I could feel echoing on my own flesh. She circled her clit slowly, deliberately, hips rolling in a rhythm that made my knees weak.
• The voice filled the room, no longer a whisper but a growl.
• “Watch her, Evelyn. Watch how greedy your cunt is.”
• My reflection’s fingers plunged inside—two, then three fucking herself with wet, obscene sounds I could almost hear. Her head fell back, throat arched, the cameo glowing between her breasts.
• My own pussy clenched hard on nothing. I whimpered.
• The reflection opened her eyes and stared straight at me. She licked her lips, then mouthed words I read perfectly:
• Touch yourself for me.
• I shattered.
• My hand flew between my legs, fingers sliding through the mess already there. I fucked myself standing in front of the mirror, matching the reflection stroke for stroke. Every plunge of my fingers sent sparks up my spine. My palm ground against my swollen clit. I was dripping down my wrist, obscene wet sounds filling the room.
• “That’s it,” the voice praised, dark and filthy. “Fuck that pretty little cunt. Show me how much you need to be filled.”
• The reflection came first back bowing, mouth open in a silent scream, juices running down her thighs in clear rivulets.
• I followed seconds later, legs buckling as the orgasm tore through me. I sobbed, fingers buried to the knuckles, pulsing around them while my clit throbbed against my palm. It felt endless, rolling wave after wave until I sank to my knees on the rug, shaking.
• When I looked up, my reflection knelt too—smiling wider now, satisfied.
• Then the mirror rippled.
• The glass darkened at the edges, shadows pooling like ink. From the depths, a figure emerged tall, broad-shouldered, male. The face stayed in darkness, but I saw the outline clear enough: powerful arms, narrow hips, a thick cock jutting heavy and hard between muscular thighs. It stroked itself slowly, once, twice, as if savoring the sight of me wrecked on the floor.
• I should have screamed. I should have run.
• Instead I crawled closer, drawn like a moth.
• The figure stepped forward until it pressed against the inside of the glass. One large hand splayed over the surface, fingers too long, joints bending wrong. The other kept stroking that massive cock, slow and deliberate, precome beading at the tip.
• The voice was everywhere now, inside my skull and in the air.
• “Want it, Evelyn? Want this cock splitting your dripping cunt open?”
• I nodded, breathless, tears still wet on my cheeks. My pussy clenched again, empty and aching.
• The hand on the glass flexed. The mirror bulged outward, as if the surface had turned soft. A single finger pushed through solid, cold, real. It trailed down the glass toward me.
• I leaned forward and licked it.
• Salt and cedar and something darker. The finger pressed into my mouth, fucking my tongue the way I wanted it to fuck my cunt. I sucked greedily, moaning around it.
• More came through another finger, then a whole hand gripping my hair, pulling me closer. The mirror stretched like flesh now, the figure’s cock pushing forward until the fat head breached the surface, inches from my lips.
• I didn’t hesitate.
• I opened wide and took it down my throat in one desperate slide.
• It was too big stretching my jaw, cutting off my air but the burn was perfect. I gagged, drool spilling down my chin, and the voice groaned in approval.
• “Fuck yes. Choke on it, dirty girl. Take every inch.”in time with each push, dripping onto the rug beneath me.
• I came again just from that from being used like a hole, from the taste flooding my tongue, from the way the cock pulsed hot and heavy against my throat.
• When it pulled out, I gasped, coughing, lips swollen and slick.
• The figure leaned closer, shadows peeling back just enough to show eyes glowing faintly, ancient and ravenous.
• “Soon,” it promised, voice rough with lust. “Soon I’ll breed that needy cunt properly. You’ll beg for it.”
• The mirror snapped back to normal glass.
• I knelt alone on the rug, mouth bruised, thighs soaked, chest heaving.
• My reflection smiled back lips red and swollen, eyes bright with something that wasn’t quite me anymore.
• I touched the cameo at my throat. It burned hot, almost branding.
• And deep inside my cunt, I felt the first faint stirrings of something answering it.