Feature Writer: Altissimus
Feature Title: THE MIRROR MADE ME DO IT 1
Published: 02.07.2023 / Copyright © 2023. This is a copyrighted work. Unauthorised use is prohibited. All rights reserved by the author.
Story Codes: NC, MC, Reluctance, Humiliation, Corruption
Synopsis: Girl’s gradual and reluctant descent into sexual depravity
The Mirror Made Me Do It 1
It was swelteringly hot. The sun was high in a blue sky, not a single cloud to give respite. Anne wistfully thought of home where there was a comfortable lounger beside her pool, or perhaps even a cold bottle of beer to be enjoyed in the shade of her terrace. Instead, she leant against the unpleasantly warm metal of her BMW and glanced once again at her watch.
The distant whine of a high-revving engine broke the peace, and though she knew it was too far away to be seen, still she glanced toward the strip of tarmac that snaked up the hill.
“Finally,” she muttered.
With a sigh, Anne pulled her blouse from her sweaty skin and retrieved her suit jacket and folder from within the car. It was hot outside but even more stifling in the cabin, and she was not looking forward to the ride home. Typical that the aircon had failed on a week like this.
Anne sighed again as she slipped the jacket on, grimacing in disgust as the material pushed her blouse against her sticky skin, but one must always look professional, whatever the weather.
Besides, if she sold the house, it would be more than worth it. And, if this turned out to be a waste of time, there were… other ways to get value out of the day.
The engine whine was a lot closer now; the rapidity of its approach was surprising, but then she hardly expected a Prius. Not with that engine noise. And not with this house.
Conceivably they were in a rush because they were late. Very late. Anne allowed herself a flicker of hope that perhaps there was an apology coming, a humble contrition, a recognition of the discomfort she’d been forced to endure for – she checked her watch again – almost an hour in this heat.
But who was she kidding. The wealthy entitled had no use for manners; or if they did, they saved them for their peers, not for people like her.
A bright yellow Ferrari Spider swung in between the gate posts, still travelling at speed, and she had to resist the urge to step back as it accelerated towards her. At the last moment the driver pulled up sharply, and Anne caught an expression of amusement through the windscreen.
Not much contrition there.
It was an effort to make her smile seem genuine as she approached the driver’s door. The roof was down – no doubt the aircon was on full-blast too. The girl in the driver’s seat was younger than she’d expected.
“Ms. Sinclair, I presume?”
“Call me Red,” replied the girl, not even deigning to look at her as instead she examined her reflection in the driver’s mirror. Anne frowned, before quickly schooling her expression into polite interest – not that the girl would have noticed her disapproval. She seemed rather fascinated with herself, Anne thought, and probably rarely noticed – or cared – what anyone else thought of her.
Anne flicked open her folder and double-checked the name: Jamie Sinclair. No photo, which was unusual for her clientele, but the Sinclairs were old money and very protective of their privacy. ‘Red’ could feasibly be anyone, but it was easy to give her the benefit of the doubt; it was the right time (roughly), the right place, and it wasn’t as if many people drove Ferraris to remote multi-million-dollar houses.
Besides, the girl’s deep, maroon-red hair explained the choice of name. With hair like that she was probably ‘Red’ to everybody, and only her mother and her documents called her ‘Jamie’.
Finally satisfied with her appearance, the girl opened the car door and stepped out.
She was tall, Anne realised: probably 5’8, though her heels added at least two inches. She was slender, attractive, and her cut-off denim shorts and short tee suggested designer labels and a casual indifference to her own presentation. Completely at odds with the heels and the long moment in front of the mirror. No, the indifference was feigned; the vanity was real.
Red pulled her shades slightly down and peered over the top at the house behind Anne.
“This it?” The shades were pushed back into place. “I expected more.” She couldn’t have sounded less impressed if she’d ordered filet mignon and received a small carrot salad.
Anne turned slowly, taking a moment to respond as she inspected the sleek, gleaming-white, six-bedroom mansion, beyond which the pacific ocean glittered blue in the summer sun.
“Perhaps you’d care to look inside,” Anne suggested, trying to keep her tone light while realising the sell she’d hoped for was looking less and less likely.
Still, there was always the alternative. If she could get the girl there. Anne glanced at the girl standing beside her, oozing arrogance and entitlement. Yes, Anne would be more than satisfied with that outcome.
“Would you like to see the pool?” Anne tried again, as Red hadn’t moved.
“Well, I suppose I’m here.”
And with such an enthusiastic accolade, Red took the path towards the main door, Anne hurrying to follow behind.
“It’s open…” Anne began, but Red had already pushed the door and walked into the expansive, marble-inlaid foyer, and it was far cooler in here. Anne mentally kicked herself for not choosing to wait in the house, but then she hadn’t expected this girl to be almost an hour late. Besides, it wasn’t her house, and she would have felt she was taking advantage.
“The entrance hall was designed by Ludovica Palomba, while the…” Anne trailed off as Red walked on through the building.
It was irritating that this girl was ignoring her so utterly. Anne felt she had lost the initiative – though it may be more accurate to admit she’d never had it. That could change.
She took her time following Red. While her presence may not have been noticed, perhaps her absence would be. When she eventually found the girl again, she was standing by the pool, looking over the balustrade at the pacific ocean, hundreds of feet below.
Anne came to stand beside her, looking out over the water too. For a long moment, neither said anything – but that was fitting when faced with such a view. It would have been crass to fill it with details of the perlato sicila Italian marble that dominated the design of the pool, or to suggest the oval area at one end might be the perfect place to put a bar. Anne smiled to herself; this was just a job, after all, and ultimately nothing more than an excuse for what she really wanted to do with her time.
Several moments had passed, and Red had not moved. Anne glanced surreptitiously at her; she found it rare that someone so youthful could stay so still, that she could pause in a moment like this, lost in the view. If she wasn’t such an arrogant, entitled brat, Anne would almost feel sorry for her. Almost.
Anne noticed that Red seemed more interested in the steep cliff just beyond the balustrade than the horizon. Her curiosity was piqued.
“It’s quite a drop, isn’t it,” Anne offered, casually.
Red glanced at her briefly, her expression hidden behind her dark glasses. She didn’t reply, but it was the closest she’d come to actually engaging. Telling, really: a rude, selfish girl, isolated from the real world by her family’s money, staring at a drop off a cliff. It didn’t take much to put it all together.
For Anne’s purposes, she was perfect.
Anne laid her elbows on the banister and watched the waves crest below. “Why are you here, Ms. Sinclair?”
“Call me Red.” The answer seemed to be a reflex. Perhaps the girl didn’t like her name – or her family’s name.
Anne looked directly at her. “Why are you here, Red? Because it doesn’t seem to me that you’d suit this house. Or that this house would suit you.”
Red scoffed, turning away, and it was obvious that something Anne had said was wrong, though exactly what remained to be seen.
Anne followed slowly as once more the girl led them back into the main house, exploring under her own guidance.
Anne was content to let her. She could afford to wait; it wouldn’t be long now until the girl found it for herself.
Red walked apathetically through room after room, giving little more than a cursory glimpse to the opulence about her. She merely glanced into the kitchen, not deigning to enter, and Anne’s amusement began to grow as Red reinforced the impression she’d made. Yes, this girl was perfect, and she knew she’d be well rewarded for this one.
Eventually, Red paused at a non-descript door off the side of one hallway. “What’s down there?” It was the first question she’d asked since she’d arrived.
“The reflection room.” Anne smiled to herself. The question suggested curiosity but also apprehension, whether Red realised it herself or not. She must be particularly sensitive. This was going to be a lot of fun.
Red’s brow furrowed slightly above her shades, which even inside she had seen no reason to remove. “I don’t need to see that.”
“Don’t you?” Anne inquired politely. She knew Red would be unable to resist.
Red hesitated for a long moment, her hand held extended, not quite touching the door. Then, as if compelled, her hand grasped the handle, turned, and pulled.
It was clearly a basement, a staircase leading down that was far less refined than the rest of the luxurious house. But that was relative; it was still the nicest basement that Anne had ever seen, and the steps were broad and deep, curling slightly as she followed Red down. Anne had been in earlier, of course; it had been the perfect place to position her… item, and the name of the room delighted her sense of irony.
Red descended the stairs as if in a slight daze, not really looking around her as they entered a pleasantly designed space; simplistic in its layout, with a feng shui feel. Some small, high windows allowed for natural light while the lofty ceilings gave the room a sense of peace. To one side, an array of stones spiralled through an area filled with grey sand, while on the other, numerous candles sat waiting to be lit about an assortment of comfortable cushions.
But it was the mirror that caught the attention, and Red seemed captivated by it.
Anne hung back, a small smile on her lips, watching as Red finally removed her shades, her face fully revealed for the first time.
The mirror clearly did not fit the décor of the room, let alone the rest of the house; it was easily six feet tall, supported on a stand of some design, and the frame was a gold-plated gothic-style swirl of angles and points, culminating in a demonic visage that crested the apex. The mirror seemed to shimmer as Red stared into it, and she shivered visibly in response.
Anne kept back, watching avidly; there was never much to see, but that wasn’t the point.
A moment passed, then another. Red seemed transfixed, held like a gazelle in headlights, and Anne’s smirk grew. Karma, she thought.
“I think you’re right,” Red said eventually, her voice seeming slightly airy, like she was distracted. “I don’t think this is the house we want.”
“Of course,” Anne replied, “I quite understand.” She smiled gently, though Red didn’t seem to notice. “Thank you for coming.”
She followed Red back to the main door, and waved politely as the girl drove away.
The note of the Ferrari’s engine seemed far more sedate as it slowly disappeared into the distance, a contrast to the whine of its abrupt arrival. Perhaps its owner was less focused; perhaps she had something on her mind.
Anne smiled. And so we begin.
*
“It was nice enough, I suppose, but I just didn’t like it, Daddy. And it’s so remote. You’d spend half your life driving up and down that damn hill.”
Red flipped her mobile to speaker and dropped it on her bed, pulling off her T-shirt as her Father’s voice filled the room.
“Shame, I’d had hopes for that one. But my baby girl has to like it too. Any others on the list?”
“A couple,” Red lied; she’d been apathetic about this particular task and had made little effort in her search. She flicked open her bra and let it fall on the bed beside her tee, picking up her phone again. “I’ll let you know, okay?”
“Sure. Take your time, Jamie – it has to be right.”
“Sure, Dad.” Red ended the call and dropped the phone once more. She unbuttoned her shorts, letting them fall, slipped her feet free of her shoes and padded across the room wearing only her La Perla boy shorts.
Her penthouse had a balcony with an impressive view of the city, but it wasn’t a view that Red wanted. She felt quite discomforted and wasn’t sure why. Her skin seemed to itch; her room felt suffocating, despite its grandness. She pulled open the French doors and stepped out onto the balcony, wanting nothing more than to feel fresh air on her bare skin.
It was exciting, being nude where anyone could see. Even though she was so high up that few would have a decent view, it thrilled her. She wondered what was wrong with her – it was not like her at all to risk exposing her body to complete strangers. Why should some member of the unwashed masses have the delight of seeing her perfection? Yet she rested her elbows on the balcony and looked at the cars and people down below.
They would see her, if they looked up. Perhaps realise she was virtually nude. Maybe see her breasts; perhaps even now someone was noticing, watching.
She reached down and slowly pushed her boy shorts over her ass, letting them slip down her thighs and fall to her feet. Yes, that was better. Yet still not enough. She raised her hands high in the air, stretching deliberately, exposing herself fully to anyone that might see.
Closing her eyes, Red thought about all the people who could possibly notice her. Passersby, glancing up from the street below. Someone in a building across the road, looking out of their window. Another guest in her hotel, perhaps about to step out onto their own balcony and see her. Maybe someone had binoculars, or had taken a photo of her with their phone at max-zoom.
She shivered at the thought, and her hands lowered slowly and cupped her own breasts, her thumbs flicking pleasurably over her nipples.
Her eyes flicked open. Fuck, what has gotten into me today? Red thought, and, flashing her perfect ass at all her would-be distant admirers, walked back into her room.
The clock showed the time: shortly after five. Red had a dinner date in two hours – some man her father wanted her to meet. Probably the son of one of his multi-millionaire cronies. Oh, who was she kidding – it was definitely the son of one of his multi-millionaire cronies.
Probably some financier’s kid. Harvard or Yale, as boring as fuck, uptight and misogynistic, looking for a trophy wife. She’d been-there-done-that so many times she was weary of it. It was depressing.
And it was most certainly not what she wanted for her evening.
No, what she really wanted was a good, hard, fucking. God, it had been ages since she’d been laid.
Red walked to the bathroom, shaking her head. Even that thought wasn’t like her. She couldn’t understand why she was feeling so odd, but a cold shower would undoubtedly help.
A brief while later, Red stood naked beside her bed, looking down in dismay at the dress she’d just pulled from the garment bag.
With a sigh, she picked it up and held it against her, and turned to look in the wall mirror across the room. She took a step or two closer, looking at the dress in her reflection.
Expensive, white, virginal, demure, conservative. Exactly what she’d expect her father to choose. Was this how he saw her, or how he wanted her to be? It even had lace around the shoulders. Lace, like it was the 1920s.
Red took another step, her eyes focusing on her face. An attractive, perhaps sad, definitely lonely-looking face. She tried a smile; it didn’t work. She’d save that for later.
Her reflection flickered so quickly she almost didn’t see it, and yet it had looked – just for a moment – as though the dress she’d be holding had been black, not white. Short, not demure. Strappy, not lacy.
But that was ridiculous. A trick of the light.
Yet, not a bad idea.
She turned to the hotel phone, tossing the dress onto her bed as she approached.
“Concierge. How may I help, Ms. Sinclair?”
“I thought I saw stores across the lobby when I checked in yesterday. Are they still open?”
“Of course, Ms. Sinclair. They are open late every day. Were you after something in particular? I will call ahead and tell them to expect you.”
“Ladies’ clothes. I need a dress.” And Daddy can go fuck himself.
“Excellent, Ms. Sinclair, I will make the boutique aware.”
Red dropped the call before he wore out her name any further. Yes, this felt right; perhaps the evening was not a total loss after all. Perhaps she could have some fun with the uptight financier’s son – or whatever he was. With the right clothes, she could be herself. She didn’t need to be some Stepford wife.
Red smiled to herself as she quickly pulled on her T-shirt and shorts. She was quite certain this wasn’t the sort of hotel used to seeing a tight tee over naked breasts, but at this point she really didn’t care. Yet even that wasn’t quite true: she was being deliberately provocative, and though that wasn’t at all her, usually, in that moment it felt exactly right.
The bellboy at the elevator took a moment to hide his surprise, and glanced at her more than once as she rode down.
Red picked up some further glances as she crossed the lobby towards the stores, and again she was surprised at herself; she was being blatant, brazen even, and it was so far from how she would normally act. But perhaps a change was needed; perhaps she’d had enough of dancing to everyone else’s tune.
The boutique was small yet with a surprising variety. The man behind the till was about her age, and he did a double-take when she entered, then blushed. “Ms. Sinclair?” he asked tentatively.
“Yes. But call me Red.”
“Of course, Ms…” he swallowed nervously, “Of course, Red. I understand you are looking for a dress?”
“Yes. Something black. Short.”
“A cocktail dress?”
“Yes.”
“We have several that fit that description,” he seemed more enthusiastic as he stepped out from behind the till. “If you’d care to follow me?”
She looked around the store curiously as she followed him through the displays. There was a variety of dresses in the corner to which they headed, and Red saw a range of lingerie in another. There were blouses, shirts, jeans and trainers – and she didn’t see any of the brands she was used to.
Red smiled to herself. She could just imagine the expression of her date that evening if she turned up in jeans and trainers. It was a shame the restaurant probably wouldn’t let her in. She was almost tempted to try.
The store assistant showed her to a selection of dresses in black. “Please take your time. There are some changing rooms behind that door when you’re ready.”
Red nodded, dismissing him, and turned her attention to the rack. But it took her the barest of moments to find a dress that was exactly like the one she’d seen in that glimpse in her mirror only a short while earlier.
“That was easy,” she muttered to herself, amazed that the dress she’d found was such a close match to the idea she’d had. It was elegant yet sexy, with a plunging neckline and a strappy back. She wasn’t wearing a bra anyway.
Red lifted the hanger off the rail and headed towards the changing room. The man behind the till smiled at her, but she ignored him. He was cute, but a little insipid for her tastes. Besides, he was a store assistant.
She shook her head at herself as she entered the changing room: here she was, buying an off-the-shelf dress and finding store assistants cute – two things she’d never normally do.
The changing room was a reasonable size with mirrors on almost every wall, and two comfortably upholstered chairs sat in the corners. It was such a thrill to know that soon she would be naked, to be nude so close to strangers, separated only by a thin wall and the polite understanding that no one looks at you, knowingly, when you come out again. She slowly peeled off her T-shirt, wanting to prolong the feeling for as long as possible, watching as her naked breasts gradually came into view, reflected in the many mirrors surrounding her.
And it felt so good to be naked again. As if her clothes were making her skin itch, and true freedom was nudity. Her shorts were suddenly an irritant, and she unbuttoned them and rapidly pushed them down, kicking them off her heels.
She turned slowly, watching herself in the mirrors, able to see all of her. Her ass, which she knew was perfect. Her firm, high breasts. The triangle of hair covering her vulva.
For a moment, it seemed that her reflection showed something different. For a moment – perhaps a trick of the light – it seemed she’d been bare down there, no hair at all. She’d never shaved, yet she couldn’t help but think it had looked attractive. Perhaps… well, one thing at a time.
Red pulled the dress from its hanger and carefully stepped into it, pulling it up over her hips and settling the straps on her shoulders. Again she turned before the mirrors, examining herself. It was perfect, but it was short… perhaps too short. Certainly too short to go commando. She bent, experimentally, and the dress rose up to reveal a hint of the curve of her ass. Red wasn’t sure she was ready to be quite that brazen for her date.
She straightened and checked herself in the mirror again. If she stood tall the dress was decent enough – or rather, not blatantly indecent. But nevertheless, underwear was probably a good idea. They had lingerie in the store; perhaps she could find something she liked.
Red blinked in surprise as her reflection seemed to flicker. The image looking back at her was wearing makeup, and it was… dark. Deep purple eyeliner, black eyeshadow and lipstick. She blinked again, looking more closely, and her face as it was stared back at her. Did she imagine that? Had it been an illusion? Why was she seeing strange things in mirrors of late? Stress. Yes, it was probably stress… she’d have to have a talk to Daddy about the dates he arranged for her. Yet she couldn’t help but agree that the dark makeup looked amazing with her hair and the dress. Perhaps she was simply projecting. Yes, that made sense.
Perhaps they had a makeup counter too.
Red smoothed her hands down over the dress, feeling the smooth, satiny material against her skin. She really liked the dress, and it was exactly what she’d been looking for. Yet it was very short, almost indecently so. It barely came down past the juncture of her thighs. Experimentally, she lifted the hem at the front, looking to see how far it would have to rise before she would be flashing the room.
Red gasped, for her reflection didn’t show the reality of her naked mons, but instead she was wearing black panties of some design. She lifted the dress higher and gasped again, for the panties in her reflection were thin, lacy, and crotchless. In the mirror, one hand held her dress high while the other gently caressed herself, stroking her exposed lips through the gap in the material. Red felt her own hand touch herself, and now she had become the reflection of the mirror. She was imitating what she was seeing, stroking herself as her reflection did, and suddenly realised how aroused she was, how wet she was.
Red dropped her hands, releasing the dress, but the reflection didn’t immediately do the same. Mirror Red stroked herself once more before lowering the dress, before slowly closing and opening one eye, winking at her.
Fuck, I’m going mad, she thought, as she staggered backwards in surprise, reaching for the chair behind her and lowering herself into it. Red stared at the floor while her pulse raced, and it was a long moment before she could bring herself to raise her eyes to her reflection again. Now the mirror showed her sitting in the chair, her face pale in shock. It showed exactly what it should show, and Red shook her head. Had she imagined it? She didn’t think she had, but it was so outlandishly impossible that she must have.
She watched her reflection closely while she recalled what she’d seen. The dress in her hotel room. The flash of bare, smooth labia. Black makeup. Crotchless panties. And a wink. Mustn’t forget the wink.
Something very peculiar was going on, but she didn’t feel threatened by what she’d seen. More curious, if anything. Besides, hadn’t every new, surprising image been one she’d agreed with? Whatever she was seeing was only, surely, an extension of her reflection – which was definitively her. Yes, that made sense – perhaps this was just a new way of processing her thoughts. Like a dream.
Mirror Red smiled and slowly spread her legs, and Red gasped again. Evidently she wasn’t imagining it, and it definitely wasn’t a dream. And that dress was very, very short.
So maybe she was seeing things in a mirror, and maybe she should visit her shrink when she got back home, but she was still in control, wasn’t she? The decisions she was making were her decisions, and she was making them simply because she agreed with the mirror’s suggestions.
She could stop at any time. What was the harm in continuing, for now?
Red stood, a little shakily, and smoothed the dress down again. Her reflection copied her, which was a blessing. But also a little disappointing, if she was honest. She winked at her reflection, and it winked back in perfect synchronicity. This really is a bit of a mind-fuck.
She slipped the bolt on the door and wandered back into the store. The cute store assistant behind the till gaped when he saw her, which was gratifying. She smiled, wickedly. It would be a shame not to have some fun with him.
Slowly she walked towards him, a little sway in her hips. “I think this dress is perfect, don’t you?”
He swallowed nervously, then nodded jerkily. “Er… yes, Ms. Sinclair, I think it looks… very good on you.”
“It is a little short, though,” Red murmured, trailing one hand down her body to fidget with her hem. “I think I will need to wear some underwear. Do you have some in my size?”
His eyes followed her hand down to the hem of her dress, and the implication that she was nude beneath it hung in the air. She twitched the hem slightly, making it rise. Had she flashed him? Had he had a glimpse? Again, the store assistant swallowed, and Red smiled. “Er… yes… I’m sure we do. Er… did you have… something in mind?”
“Hmm, I was thinking something… perhaps a bit naughty. It would suit the dress, don’t you agree?”
He was perspiring, she was delighted to see, and she smiled at him all the more sweetly. She was quite sure she wouldn’t have had this same effect wearing the conservative white dress that lay on her bed in the penthouse.
“Um… lingerie isn’t my speciality, Ms. Sinclair, but I can show you what we have.”
“Yes, please,” Red said. She genuinely couldn’t remember the last time she’d said ‘please’.
The man began to come out from behind the till. “It’s in the corner, if you’d like to…”
“Oh yes, I see,” and she turned to lead the way, his footsteps following behind her. As she walked, Red slipped one hand to her thigh and slowly began to bunch the material so that with each step the dress rose imperceptibly higher. She felt the hem slip up towards the bottom curve of her ass, and twisted the material a little more.
Behind her the store assistant took a sharp intake of breath, and she had to restrain herself from giggling.
“The… er… more risqué lingerie is here, Ms. Sinclair,” he said, and she turned to see where he’d indicated. “D… did you want something in black?” His stammer seemed to add to his cuteness. Cute, yes, and fun to tease, but she couldn’t imagine he’d meet her needs. She wanted a man to have confidence, to be able to take control. And he wouldn’t fit that requirement.
Red frowned. Since when had she wanted a man that could take control? Yet she recognised it was true. Perhaps that’s what had been missing in her life. A strong man with whom she could lose herself, if only for a night.
She realised he was waiting for her response. “Hmm, yes. Something in black.” She smiled again, slowly. “Do you have something… crotchless?”
It was amusing watching the man’s eyes bulge, and she had to fight to keep a straight face.
“Er… gosh. Um. Yes, I think we do, actually. We try to cater to any needs our guests might have…” It was sounding like a sales-pitch until he trailed off and blushed again.
He pushed aside a number of hangers, each holding skimpy pieces of lacy black underwear, until he pulled one free and held it for her inspection.
Red felt a shiver run across her skin as she regarded the lingerie he’d chosen, for it was exactly the same as the ones her reflection had worn, just a few moments previously. Yet, they were what she wanted, what she’d persuaded herself she needed. Did it matter if the idea had come from her own reflection? Her reflection was still her, wasn’t it? Of course it was. Perhaps it was time to stop questioning her mirror-self.
“Perfect,” she said.
He proffered the hangar towards her as if reluctant to touch the flimsy garment, and she was amused to see a deepening blush across his cheeks and neck.
“Thank you,” Red said with a smile, hooking one finger under the hangar and making her way back to the changing room, her hips swaying gently as she felt his eyes upon her.
She closed the door and slid the bolt firmly across, before releasing a happy sigh. This was so much fun! Whatever effect the mirror was having on her, she couldn’t deny that she was enjoying it every step of the way.
The underwear felt silky smooth as she stepped into it and pulled it carefully into place. It was a completely different sensation to wearing her usual choice of boy shorts or briefs; she felt covered, yes, but with the wide openings not only around her vulva but across her ass too, she was almost worse than naked.
Lifting the dress, she examined herself in the mirrors, seeing herself from all sides. The crack of her ass was hardly covered, with much of both cheeks also bare. And while the underwear hid most of her mons, her labia were prominently displayed, pushing out through the slit at the front. She couldn’t help but caress herself again, and her fingers were quickly coated in the slickness of her arousal.
But she didn’t like how messy it looked with her hair protruding beneath the panties. She would definitely have to shave. The mirror had showed her how much more attractive she’d be completely bare below. She had time to address that minor detail before her date – for her own comfort, of course. Not for the benefit of her dad’s crony’s son.
Red ran a finger lightly across her lips as she watched herself in the mirror, but the mirror had other ideas. It showed Red slowly raising her hands above her head, the dress rising up to reveal just a glimpse of her underwear, just a hint of her pussy framed by the crotchless panties. Then, as Red watched, a man stepped up behind her, appearing in the mirror. She turned with a start, but the dressing room was empty. Yet she could see him in all the reflections, in all the mirrors around her.
The man was far older than her, perhaps in his forties, with a crumpled shirt stretched across his prominent paunch. He had thinning, black hair and coarse hands, and a leer on his face as he stepped into her space, pushing against her side. She seemed small against him, his size intimidating.
She watched in the mirrors as he took both her hands in one of his, lifting them above her head, while his other hand slid between her legs, caressing her, probing her.
Red shivered with a mixture of disgust and arousal even as Mirror Red arched her back, closing her eyes, moaning as the man crudely fingered her. Despite the revulsion she felt for the man, Red couldn’t help the arousal that flooded her body, and her fingers slipped between her legs of their own accord, imitating the movements of the man in the mirror.
But the mirror wasn’t finished, because without a transition it suddenly showed a different scene: Red, bent over the arm of one of the chairs, her ass high in the air, her dress pushed up over her hips. Behind her, the man was thrusting into her, his pants half-down and his shirt open revealing his protruding belly, hairy and obscene. Mirror Red was moaning in passion as he took her, and Red saw that her T-shirt she’d taken off earlier was stuffed part way into her reflection’s mouth, muffling her cries.
She moaned in shock and arousal, her pussy suddenly aching with the need to be filled.
The image in the mirror faded, and Red saw herself as she was in reality: face flushed, eyes wide and glittering with arousal, her breath coming in pants, her fingers moving between her legs.
Fuck, but I need to get laid, she thought. Maybe, if she’d at least had sex sometime in the last six months, she wouldn’t be reacting so strongly to what the mirror was telling her to do.
But not with a man like that. No, thank you very much.
Her thoughts turned quickly to the cute store assistant, who even now stood but a few yards away. There’d been no one else in the store while she’d been here; they were alone. Yes, someone could walk in at any time, but… the risk was appealing too. Appealing enough, even, to add some exciting spice: the possibility of being caught. And that was a good thing, because she doubted he was capable of pleasing her without that spice, given his apparent awkwardness and inexperience.
She wondered if he’d ever been with a woman like her. But of course he hadn’t; hardly anyone had had a woman like her.
Red had slipped the bolt on the door before she’d even consciously made a decision, and as she walked back into the store, her pulse was hammering in her ears. Was she really going to go through with this? Fuck a stranger in a changing room?
He looked up as soon as she entered the store, and she quickly ascertained that they were still alone – no other customer had come in. Her resolve strengthened; she didn’t know why she was acting so, but she was so aroused after watching the scene in the mirror, and she desperately wanted him to sate her needs.
Red walked up to the counter, conscious of his eyes on her, her hands smoothing down her dress as though she was caressing herself, and her hips swayed of their own accord.
He seemed transfixed, like prey caught before a predator. Nervously, he cleared his throat. “Can… can I help you, Ms. Sinclair?”
“Mmm, yes please,” she purred.
“What can I do for you?” his voice trembled with the question.
“I wonder if you could help me in the changing room,” Red murmured, unsure exactly what to ask. “I need your help…” she paused, then smiled, “checking the fit of my clothes.”
“Checking the fit of your clothes?!” he gasped loudly, watching her with wide eyes.
“Yes please,” she smiled at him encouragingly.
“Stan, I’ll take care of this.” The voice startled her, and she turned as a man came out of the storeroom behind the counter. Red stifled a gasp as she immediately recognised him: crumpled shirt, thinning black hair, protruding paunch. “I know exactly what Ms. Sinclair needs.”
Red was paralysed, unable to move as he approached her, her emotions in turmoil as she was suddenly flooded with fear, revulsion, and – overwhelmingly – arousal.
As he walked up to her she realised how large he was, not merely in his girth but also in height. He was a heavy-set man and was easily a foot taller, despite her heels. He could overpower her effortlessly, she realised, and for a moment she trembled in fright.
But she was unable to move, unable to object, and in the fleeting chance that she’d had to resist, he’d crossed to her and laid his large hand in the small of her back, applying a steady pressure toward the changing room.
“Come on, little lady. Let’s you and me go and see what you want.”
Red felt the strength in his hand, her body helped across the floor whether she wished it or not, and to her dismay she soon found herself heading back to the changing room; any protests she tried to make simply wouldn’t leave her throat.
One display nearby held sunglasses with a small mirror for the potential customer. As they passed Red caught the briefest glimpse of her reflection, enough to see that Mirror Red was smiling, a playful and welcoming expression clearly on her face.
As they walked he steered her possessively, his hand firm against her, and she felt his fingers splay out downwards, sliding over the upper curve of her ass. With each step his hand seemed to slide lower, until his palm rubbed firmly against her bottom cheeks and one large finger pushed itself against the crack of her ass, only the dress preventing him from touching her bare skin.
“I know what girls like you want,” he said gruffly as he pushed open the changing room door, driving Red into it before him. “You think you can get my clothes for free if you just flash your pussy at my store assistant.”
“No…” protested Red with a whisper, but he ignored her.
“You can have the clothes, little slut, but you’ll have to earn it.”
Red couldn’t help but see her reflection smile at him and nod, and to her horror she felt her head nod in imitation.
He sneered at her, “You sluts are all alike, but this is my store and I’m in charge here. You’re going to do as I say.”
Again her reflection nodded eagerly, and again Red felt herself compelled to copy.
His large hands grasped her waist and turned her to face the mirror directly, “I knew what you’d want as soon as Stan told me you’d asked for the crotchless knickers,” he pulled her wrists together and lifted them up above her head, holding them with one large hand. Red realised it would be a struggle beyond her strength to pull free, even if she was able to resist. But her reflection was smiling, her hands lifted too, and Red knew she was helpless.
“‘Check the fit’, I think you said?” his other hand came to rest against her groin. “Spread your legs, slut.”
In the mirror her reflection parted her legs willingly, her eyes closing with anticipatory pleasure, her back arching slightly to push more against him. Red felt her own feet part, and immediately his fingers were beneath her dress, touching her, pushing against her.
“Fuck, but you’re already so wet. Right little slut you are, aren’t you?”
Red whimpered in arousal and humiliation, helpless before him, controlled both by his hand holding hers and by the mirror’s cooperation.
The reflection in the mirror changed completely, showing Red on her knees before him, her dress pulled from her shoulders, baring her breasts to him. She was staring up at him with lustful eyes, her mouth open and her tongue out, while his fist stroked his fully-erect cock directly before her face.
No, thought Red, that’s too much. I can’t do that.
She was pulled back to reality as he pushed one thick finger between her labia, spreading her wetness around, and again all Red could do was whimper.
“I bet you’re tight, aren’t you? Prissy little slut like you?”
She felt his fingertip find her hole, and before she could even think to protest he was pushing into her. Red gasped at the intrusion, her body squirming in response, yet held immobile by his strong grasp. It had been so long that anyone but her had touched her so, and now a complete stranger was exploring her body for his own pleasure.
“Oh yeah,” he grunted, “very tight little cunt. Do you want me to stretch it for you?”
All the mirrors in the room showed Red’s reflection nodding enthusiastically, her lips slightly parted with a lustful gaze, but Red could only whimper again as he continued to push deeper inside her. Then she felt her head nod slowly, deliberately, as though something else was controlling it, and he laughed cruelly. “I bet you do.”
Red felt him turn her and lean her forward over the chair. The chair’s arm wasn’t high enough to support her hips and she was forced to bend from the waist. He released her hands and, instead, she felt him push down on her back until her face was pressed against the seat of the chair, her ass high in the air.
The dress was too short for this, Red knew, and she could only imagine the view he had. But it was all irrelevant an instant later when he unceremoniously shoved the garment up over her hips.
“You do have a mighty fine ass, slut,” and his hand came down across one cheek with a crack. Red couldn’t help herself; she yelped in surprise and pain, but he only chuckled and slapped her other cheek even harder. Again Red cried out, louder this time, and her bottom began to throb with the sting of his smacks.
“Can’t have you making all that noise, can we?” she heard him say as his hand momentarily left her back, but then he was leaning over her, and shoving her discarded T-shirt into her mouth. “Cry into that, slut. Then you won’t disturb Stan or my customers.”
Red remembered what she’d seen in the mirror earlier – herself, bent over the chair, gagged with her own T-shirt – and it had come true, just like everything else the mirror had shown her. She realised that at some point she’d closed her eyes, but now she opened them and sought her reflection.
The Red in the mirror was bent over the chair just as she was, but her eyes were closed – not in dread but in rapture – and her chin was tilted up, as if in anticipation. Red’s shirt filled her reflection’s mouth too, and she could only watch as the man behind her lifted his hand for another spank. She didn’t know whether it was just in the mirror or in reality too, until his hand landed on her up-turned ass with a blow that pushed the air from her lungs. Yet her cry was muffled by the shirt and almost no sound was made.
Save for the noise of the spank, Red thought, ironically. It’s not like they can’t hear that in the store.
A feeling of shame filled her as she realised that Stan, at the very least, would know what was happening in this changing room. How could she bear to look at him again?
In the reflection Mirror Red wiggled her ass in pleasure, as if asking for more, and to Red’s horror her own hips imitated the movement.
He chuckled again. “You like this, eh? Slut needs a good spanking?”
Blow after blow rained down on Red’s ass until every inch of her skin felt like it was on fire. She would have whimpered and cried, but the T-shirt muffled every noise she made, and all the while her reflection wiggled her ass at her tormentor, spurring him on.
“Fuck, but you have a spankable ass. Are you enjoying this as much as I am, girlie?”
Red could only moan but her head once more nodded, whatever she might have wished it to do.
He chuckled again, a coarse, masculine sound, and Red braced herself for another slap. But he had other ideas, and his fingers instead probed between her legs. Bent as she was, proffered as she was, nothing impeded his access.
“You’re even wetter than before,” she heard him say, and she closed her eyes in shame. Had she enjoyed the spanking at some level? Had it stimulated her more? Or was it the humiliation that was stirring her? Whatever the answer, with his fingers against her she could not deny how aroused she was.
“The great thing about these crotchless knickers is that you don’t even need to stop to take them off. I bet that’s why sluts like you like them so much.”
She heard the sound of a zipper and felt her blood freeze; opening her eyes she watched in the mirror as he unbuttoned his shirt and pulled open his slacks. His manhood sprang free, turgid and angry-looking, and Red sobbed into her shirt in anticipation of what was about to happen.
But while at some level she wanted him to stop, at another her body was crying out for this – to be filled, to be used, to have his cock pushed into her aching pussy. In the mirror, her reflection wiggled her hips at him, and with a shock Red realised the synchronicity was perfect – it wasn’t Mirror Red doing it, it was her.
He pushed into her, thrusting, and she cried out as he stretched her, the T-shirt muffling the sound effectively.
“Fuck, you’re so tight.” He hadn’t managed to fully penetrate her, but she felt his hands on her hips as he readied her for another thrust. Red whimpered against the shirt stuffed in her mouth, not from revulsion or from distaste, but from humiliation as she realised how badly she wanted to feel him fully inside her.
She didn’t have long to wait as he pushed his hips hard against her a second time, then a third, and finally he was fully inside her. It had been too long since Red felt so full, so stretched, and fuck but it felt good. It was exactly what she had craved.
He paused for a moment, savouring the feel of her sheathed around him, then adjusted his fingers on her hips for a better grip, and began to thrust with a rhythm that made Red whimper with every stroke. There was no attempt to be gentle, no care for her comfort; he was using her body for his pleasure and was indifferent to how it felt for her.
But the truth was it felt divine, and Red’s whimpers grew higher and higher in pitch as he hammered into her, her orgasm began to build and her shame with it, until her channel clenched around him as she began to come. Again she was torn between sheer pleasure, fulfilment, and the humiliating debasement of her situation, but whether it was the pleasure or the shame, something drove her orgasm to heights she rarely reached, and her cries became almost soundless as she was lost in the pleasure of her body.
“What a… little.. slut…” he grunted behind her, each word accompanied by a thrust into her. “Made you… come… didn’t… I.”
He was panting with exertion now, and on the last push he collapsed over her, supporting himself with one hand on the back of the chair. “Fuck, I’m too old for this.”
She felt him slip from her and then his hand slid into her hair. He gripped hard, pulling her, and Red had no choice but to rise as he required.
“On your knees, cunt. I’m going to finish in your mouth.”
He pulled the T-shirt from her lips as he pushed her down before him, and Red felt the hard floor of the changing room beneath her knees. She looked up at him, her body still trembling from the intensity of her orgasm, and realised that she already knew what would happen. The mirror had shown her.
Without ceremony he grasped her chin in his hand, holding her still as he pushed his cock to her lips. Red wanted to resist; she’d never been keen to give oral. It was demeaning to be so used, and, too, this man repulsed her. Yet her mouth opened to welcome him in, and now she wasn’t sure if the mirror had done that or if she’d capitulated herself. Irrespective, his hard cock pushed over her tongue and she tasted her own wetness against the backdrop of his flavour. His pre-cum was salty-sweet, which was a blessing given the slightly sour essence that filled her mouth. Maybe it was just because he’d been working in the stock room all day, or maybe he hadn’t showered recently, but Red couldn’t imagine letting any man fuck her mouth so, especially not a man such as this. Yet he was doing it, and he pushed deeper towards her throat.
“Such a… willing mouth…” he gasped between thrusts, his hands fisted in her hair as he fucked her face, and with each push he went further, until Red could feel him shoving into her throat. She fought her gag reflex, trying to breathe around him, but he was relentless, uncaring, and her throat began to spasm around him.
“Yes… gag on me, slut.” He pushed deeply into her and held her head to him, and Red struggled not to choke. She was unable to raise her hands to push him away – even if she’d had the strength to do so. The mirror was controlling her still, and she had no choice but to give them both what they wanted.
Her face was pressed almost to his groin, her forehead against his bulbous stomach, and he held her still for a long moment while her throat clenched around him.
“Fuck, yes,” he said, the expletive delivered with such vehemence, and he pulled her from his cock. “God, that was good.” Red gasped for air, trying to control her reaction, and hoping against hope that he had finished with her.
But he hadn’t come yet, and she knew he wouldn’t stop until he had.
“Let me see those titties,” he said, and roughly pushed the straps of her dress from her shoulders. The material caught briefly on her nipples before falling to bunch at her waist, and her breasts were bare to his eyes. He lowered one hand, grasping and kneading her breast, while he fisted his cock with the other. All the while he stared down at her face and Red was compelled to look up at him; this man who had fucked her so, taken her like she’d never been taken before.
“Open your cute little mouth, slut,” he grunted, his hand sliding up and down his shaft. “Put your tongue out. I’ve got something for you.” He grasped her nipple between finger and thumb and twisted roughly, pulling, and Red gasped at the treatment.
But she knew what was about to happen. It was inevitable; it had already been foretold. She didn’t need to glance in the mirror to know her reflection was already obeying him, already eagerly waiting for his load to be deposited on her tongue. She didn’t want to see the expression her own face would hold in the mirror: an expression of hunger, of lust, of desperation for her tormentor’s seed.
Red no longer knew if she was obeying or being compelled to obey, but she lifted her chin and opened her mouth, pushing her tongue out as he’d commanded.
“Good… little… slut…” he grunted, his fist a blur as it worked his shaft. His other hand once more took purchase in her hair, holding her head ready for him, and then, with a final heavy grunt, he released his load.
The first spurt missed her tongue, splashing against her cheek, and Red closed her eyes in reflex. The second jet landed directly into her mouth, the salty, creamy taste of him immediately filling her senses. A third and fourth spurt followed, each landing on another part of her face, and then he was pushing once more into her mouth.
“Suck me clean, bitch,” and Red had no choice but to obey. “Yes, that’s right, use your tongue,” he instructed, as Red licked the remnants of his cum from the tip of him. “Tastes good, doesn’t it, to a hungry slut like you.”
Red had never liked the taste of cum, but as his words struck her she realised that too had changed, for suddenly the taste of him was addictive, and all she wanted was to capture every drop. His cock slipped from her lips, satisfied at last, and both Red and her reflection began to scoop his residue from her face with her fingers, feeding them to her waiting tongue and licking them clean. God, he tastes so good.
“What a little cumslut you are,” he said, watching. “You should shop here more often.”
He stepped back, putting his cock away and refastening his clothes. Red remained on her knees, checking with her fingertips that she hadn’t missed any last remnants of his seed, and licking hungrily whenever she touched something sticky.
He chuckled softly. “I’ve never had one quite like you before. You’ve earned your clothes, slut. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”
Red watched him unbolt the door and leave, without a further glance at her. The mirrors all around her showed a dishevelled girl, breasts bare and kneeling on the floor, hair in a mess and her face glistening where he’d come on her. Slowly she pushed herself to her feet and slipped the straps of the dress back into place, covering her breasts once more. Her nipple still ached from where he’d twisted it, and her pussy was sore from his abuse.
But she felt sated, her needs fulfilled. Mirror Red was smiling – or perhaps she was. She couldn’t tell anymore.
Red ran her fingers through her hair, trying to change the ‘recently fucked’ look into the ‘couldn’t find a hairbrush’ look, then picked up her T-shirt and carefully wiped her face clean. She gathered her shorts and took a deep, steadying breath. Her legs were still trembling, and she knew she should be scared, or shamed, or… but she didn’t. She felt good.
Mirror Red winked at her, and she winked back.
“Thanks for your help, Stan,” she said, as she walked past him on her way out of the store. He stared at her, his jaw fallen open, and she laughed softly as she stepped back out into the lobby.
Red started back towards the elevators but had taken only a few steps before she noticed, amidst the other stores, a small cosmetics store. A few minutes later, carrying a small bag with her purchases and her T-shirt and shorts, Red took the elevator back up to her room. The bellboy watched her all the way to her door, and she was pretty sure he wasn’t doing it for security reasons.
Closing the door to her suite, Red dropped her bag on a side table and slowly slipped her straps from her shoulders. Despite her activities of the past hour or so, the dress still seemed nearly pristine, but she smiled at the thought of going on her date in a dress and crotchless panties that she’d so recently been fucked in. That thought should probably have alarmed her, for the Red of old would never have been so brazen, but so much had happened in such a short space of time that the boundaries of her world had been pushed back.
She glanced at the clock: six thirty. Half an hour until her date; the perfect amount of time to shower, get ready, and turn up classically late.
It most certainly wouldn’t do to be on time.
She pushed her new – or new-ish, she supposed – crotchless panties down her hips, letting them drop to the floor, kicked off her shoes and headed for the shower. Perhaps she should give them a quick wash, but… maybe it would be her little secret. A thought to amuse her during the boring conversation of the evening: her panties soaked in her own cum, from the fucking she’d received directly before her date.
The shower felt soothing over her sore body, her soft loofah helping to ease the aches in her breast where he’d roughly pawed her and bruised her nipple. Her vulva was sore too, but it was not an unpleasant ache. She put on a fresh razor blade and carefully removed all her hair, while Mirror Red watched on in her reflection above the twin sinks.
Red blow-dried her hair and checked the time: 6.58. A few minutes later her room phone rang, and the concierge informed her that her guest had arrived.
Her new black makeup took several minutes to apply, but she was pleased with the result. It accentuated the dark highlights of her red locks, and made her naturally pale skin seem paler still. She’d added a deep purple eyeliner and a touch of black eye shadow, and the effect was striking.
Red smiled at her reflection in the mirror, and it winked back in approval.
Attired once more in her new, short dress and black heels, her crotchless panties carefully nestled around her now-smooth sex, Red felt perfectly ready to face the date her father had arranged. She took the elevator down to the lobby, quite used, by now, to the stares the bellboy was unable to suppress.
A man stood waiting, the expensive cut of his suit and the arrogance of his stance making him quite easy to identify amidst the few others present. He was tall with a trim figure; a definite improvement over the last date her father had arranged. He was even quite handsome, Red noted. He glanced up as she approached and his eyes widened.
“Steven?” she asked, by way of greeting. Her father had told her a name but nothing more than that; the man was a mystery, and she hoped he would be at least a little mysterious.
“Well, aren’t you a surprise.” His voice was mellow, cultured, and easy on the ear.
“Oh?”
“Mmm. I was expecting a conservative, demure, vapid girl in a conservative, demure and vapid dress. Not…. this.” He gestured with one hand towards her.
“And I was expecting a stuffy, misogynistic, uptight asshole,” her tone was light and playful.
He feigned a frown, “I don’t think I’m stuffy.” He smiled slowly, and she grinned in return.
“I have a table at Jean-Georges; will that suit?”
“It will,” Red nodded slightly.
He held the door for her when they got to the limousine; a courtesy, Red thought, that perhaps came with the desire to steal a peek. She entered very carefully, her knees touching, but it was the sort of manoeuvre that her upbringing had made a simple task. He hid his disappointment quite admirably.
The ride was brief, the conversation light. She thought about flashing him when she got out at their destination, but the evening was still young. He offered her his arm and led her to the restaurant, gave his name and they walked inside.
It had an elegant décor with crisp, white tablecloths and cream chairs, but Steven led them to a private booth to one side. Red had been looking curiously around the venue so it took her a moment to notice, but then she did and stopped suddenly.
Steven glanced at her, curious.
Wooden panelling in cream tastefully covered the majority of the wall around their booth, but set into it, running the length of it, was a perfectly clear, polished mirror.
“Oh no!” she whispered to herself. Mirror Red winked at her.
*
Anne sat comfortably on her sofa, a box of popcorn beside her. Where most homes might position a television, instead Anne had a large mirror with a gold-plated gothic design and a demonic visage at its apex.
She’d particularly enjoyed watching Red in the changing room; the variety of angles the various mirrors had provided had granted much entertainment.
She cackled with glee at the progress Red was making. Oh yes, she’d been a good choice. But she could fall so much farther, and Anne knew she’d enjoy every minute of it.
It was time for dinner.
THE END OF CHAPTER ONE