The Mirror Shimmered

A woman looks in a mirror and finds her naughtiest fantasies looking back at her

Sometimes when you look in the mirror you see your kinky side reflected back at you.

The detritus of past generations lay in the attic. Disturbed dust sparkled in the sunlight shining through the window as she walked across the floorboards. The house was old, the stairs creaked, she was never going to sell it, and certainly not at the price the few remaining relatives a thousand miles away were asking.

Andrea looked out of the window at the large garden. The road beyond it was hidden by tall trees. The air was silent as if the house existed in its own bubble. She supposed some rich developer would buy it when, in desperation, the family dropped the price, and then circumvent the preservation order to tear it down and build modern hutches on the land.

She turned and looked back into the attic. Light was shining from a full-length mirror propped up on some boxes halfway down the room. Was it sunlight reflected? She stepped closer. The mirror’s surface seemed to shimmer. She reached out a hand, her fingers stretching out. The tips disappeared into the glass as if dipping into a pool of water.

Stepping back, she looked at her hand and then at the mirror. Not believing what she had seen, she leaned forward and touched the surface. There was no resistance; her hand simply disappeared up to her wrist.

When she pulled her hand back her wrist and fingers were all intact. There were no marks on them, not even a glistening wetness as if she had dipped her hand in water. She looked at the mirror. It was resting on the floor, almost as tall as she was and wider than her shoulders. It looked more like a doorway than a mirror. She tipped her head. There was something strange about it. She gasped as she realised she had no reflection.

Leaning closer she peered at the mirror. There was no reflection of the attic either; on the other side of the glass there appeared to be another room.

Andrea paused and then hesitantly lifted her foot as if to step over the mirror’s frame. It disappeared. She let her weight fall forward and almost fell through the opening. She turned and looked back. She had stumbled because, from this side the mirror appeared to be hanging about a foot off the ground on a wall.

Through it she could see the attic. Stretching out her hand, she felt it pass through the glass. She turned around. The room she found herself in was empty and featureless apart from a door in the opposite wall. Walking across the room she cautiously turned the handle and peered into the next room.

A naked woman was tied to the X shape of a Saint Andrew’s cross. A tubular gag was clamped between her teeth and tied behind her head with a length of material. Andrea glanced around the room; it was empty. The woman turned her head towards her, her eyes wide in surprise. She looked vaguely familiar to Andrea.

Quickly, she crossed the room and reached behind the woman’s head to untie the gag. The woman shook her head violently and made a series of ‘uh’ sounds, which made undoing the tape difficult.

Eventually, she was able to pull the gag out of the woman’s mouth.

“What are you doing?” she screamed. “Put it back.”

“Who did this to you?” Andrea asked.

“He did, my Master. He’ll be back soon and I want to be ready.”

“Ready,” Andrea asked. “Ready for what?”

“To be whipped, fucked and have the biggest orgasm of my life.” The woman turned and looked directly at her.

“Bloody hell,” Andrea stepped back. “You’re…” She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. “You’re me,” she finally managed to blurt out.

She stood, frozen, feeling as if her feet had become glued to the floor and still holding the gag.

“I am the side of you that wants this, desires it. I am your reflection released,” her other self said.

“You don’t look very free at the moment,” Andrea stammered.

“There is a freedom in complete submission; to be owned, taken by a Master or a Mistress that you have complete trust in.”

“Who is your Master?”

“That is for you to decide.”

“What?”

“This is your dream, your fantasy. I am a reflection of you, so only you can choose.”

“This isn’t happening.” Andrea dropped the gag and ran from the room. She crossed the second room and jumped through the mirror. Back in the attic, she tried to breathe normally and stop her heart pounding.

Andrea winced. Her behind tingled as if something had just bitten into it. She whirled around. The attic was empty and still. There it was again, sharper this time. “Ah, fu..” she hissed as another stripe shot through her. Something was pinching at her wrists and ankles as if an invisible hand had wrapped tightly around them. She thought of the woman bound to the cross in the room beyond the mirror.

The tingling seemed to permeate through her body as if funnelled down into her core. She could feel the lips of her sex swelling and the sensations made her wriggle. Instinctively, she lifted the hem of her dress and pressed her fingers against her panties as if trying to scratch an itch. More sparks fired across her buttocks. She flopped down onto an old wooden chair and, spreading her legs, pulled her knickers aside.

She was wet, her fingers slipped over, and then into, her folds. She gasped, louder this time as more pain flashed across her behind. The movements of her fingers grew more frantic as they circled, pressing on her bud until she let out a wail that echoed off the dusty attic walls.

Andrea jumped. A figure was watching her from the mirror. She relaxed when she realised it was her reflection. But earlier there had been no reflection. She stood up, pulled her panties back over and straightened her dress.

When she looked at the reflection it had not moved. Even curiouser, it was naked. That would be worth a fortune - a mirror that removes people’s clothes; a bit like those old ads for X-ray specs in the back of old magazines.

It was definitely her. Nice boobs, starting to fill out around the waist a little and the thighs could do with a bit more work at the gym. Andrea bent forward to look closer. Yes, the same operation scar and a mole under her left breast.

“What you just felt,” the woman - she, said. Andrea jumped back at the sound of the voice. “It was a tenth, no not even that, an infinitesimal amount of what I felt.

“What do you mean?” This was ridiculous; she was talking to herself in a mirror.

When we look at our reflection, we see what we want to see. The other us. That is who I am - what you want to be.”

“But, I don’t want to be…” Andrea felt her behind. It still stung.

“Don’t you? All those secret thoughts, those stories you have read. Remember I am you, I know what you think.”

Andrea shuddered. It was true.

“Come,” her reflection held out her hand.

Andrea hesitated and then stepped back through the mirror. She was alone in the bare room. She turned and looked back into the mirror. She could see herself looking into the glass. Her reflection smiled, then turned and walked away.

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