Trapped Reflection

You came up to this house with your friends, and now they've left you, all alone...

* * *

You had been walking this house for what felt like an hour, but must be closer to ten minutes. Your friends had invited you to see the spooky house that John’s grandmother had left him, and now they had run - Wait. What was that? In the corner of your eye?

You stopped. The gloom of the house felt even more stifling than before. The sounds of the house were surrounding you. Creaks. Groans. You steeled yourself, and turned. A figure was there, illuminated in the moonlight. You jumped back, and so did they.

You took a second, before realising it was your reflection. The floor length mirror was old, the wood faded, but there were specks of gold where the paint had not yet flaked away. You stepped closer, examining the glass. Before long, you were just examining your reflection.

You stuck out your tongue, then smirked at yourself. Your reflection rolled its eyes, and you stopped, once more. You hadn’t done that, had you? No. You looked closer at your reflection, looking into its eyes. You blinked, and the eyes before you had changed colour.

You weren’t staring at yourself anymore. Or, you were but there was someone overlaid with your image, like a ghost, or… Something. You wanted to scream. But you couldn’t open your mouth. Not willingly. The reflection smiled, and you felt your lips pulled to match.

“Okay, cutie.” Your voice was strange as you spoke. It was mixing with another, faintly, but it was there. “You might be wondering how to get out right now, but the better question, is why would you? Why would you when I can make you feel so good?”

The words coming from your mouth felt more and more natural as they went. And you could feel something stirring within you. A heat, blossoming, kindling. The other voice was louder now. “Yes, you can feel it, can’t you? This form has some advantages.”

You felt your arm pulled, as if on strings, down, down to your waist. To your sex. Your fingers began to rub, over your clothes. It felt good. Good to be controlled. Good to feel the pleasure. Good to play with yourself. You sank to your knees, moaning softly.

Your hand slid under your clothes. Your own voice was whispering things to you. About how good it was. How much you wanted to cum. And when you finally did, your eyes closed, and then opened. You watched yourself straighten up, smile at you, now trapped, and walk away.