Desires of a Reflection

Story by PixelJail


The young, blonde slave struggled in her noose. Her neatly braided hair fell over the ropes and her gag, shining brightly in the moonlight beaming through the single window. She stood completely naked, on her tip-toes, as the noose around her neck wouldn’t allow her to lower any farther. Thin ropes tied around her waist and down underneath her, savagely through her legs, snugly between her lips, and out from beneath, wrapping around her wrists behind her. She couldn’t move her arms at all without the rope strangling her delicate pussy, its roughness cutting into her.

But that wasn’t what she was worried about. She had been in the Mansion long enough to be able to handle pain between her legs. But she was in a dark room, near the top of the house. A room much darker than it should be, with no light bouncing anywhere. It was dark.

Full of Shadows.

She could see only two lights: one came from the window, lighting up the centre of the room, an uncomfortable distance away from her; the other came from the door where the witch Alexa stood, grinning slyly, angrily, and closing the door behind her, leaving only one safe place to hide from the Shadows…if the noose would allow it.

Alexa walked down the hallway somewhat upset. She was tired, and she hated being tired. She was part of Serena’s Coven, an outcast group among the witches of the world, where torture and indulgence of the most horrible kinds are not just appreciated, but wholly encouraged, and beautifully rewarded. Alexa couldn’t have been happier here, spending her days extracting every bit of satisfaction she could from tormenting and torturing the endless supply of slaves.

Her personal preference was to leave the slaves helpless and trapped, in the face of danger, and little or nothing they could do to save themselves. She reveled in their fear. She loved stripping them naked and letting them feel every bit of their peril, for every inch of their skin to react to whatever was about to happen to them. She could see the goosebumps on their skin, their nipples harden in fear, their muscles clench, and every drop of panicked sweat for her slaves made her pussy wetter.

But she could not keep awake indefinitely. She would eventually tire and need to take her respite. In her room. Her fucking bedroom. She was fucking sick of it, but she had no choice. She made the mistake of complaining to Serena that she wanted another room, away from that mirror. Not smart. Serena found it funny, and cursed her, for fun, so that she was completely unable to sleep in any room other than her own. She was promised the curse would only last a while, but it’s been months already, and Serena has a very stretched concept of time.

Alexa stepped into her bedroom and looked at the large mirror in front of her, in front of her bed. The lights were off, but in the mirror they were on. Her bed was made, but in the mirror it was messy and wet. Alexa stood there at the door, but in the mirror her reflection was already on the bed, stroking her skin and smiling at her.

Alexa knew what it wanted: to cum.

The mirror never did speak to her, or send any real message. She just always knew what it wanted, as if she and her reflection shared subconscious thoughts. Unfortunately all the mirror ever wanted to do was to cum. 

Being a reflection, trapped in abstraction, it was unable to ever achieve anything like pleasure or pain on its own, simply only reflect Alexa, who rarely used this room for anything other than sleeping. So one day, enough was enough, and it wanted more. It wanted to cum. It wanted to enjoy itself. And it could only do that as a reflection of Alexa’s enjoyment. It could only cum if Alexa did.

Alexa had initially enjoyed it. When she realised the mirror was enchanted and the reflection independent, she quite liked the idea of sharing her masturbation with the reflection. It had a sense of voyeurism to it, a quirk where she could feel like she was enjoying sexual activity with another, but also privately at the same time. The unusual sense was fascinating, so she enjoyed it, and fed it. She gave the mirror what it wanted.

Until she didn’t.

That first day, that she had cum enough during the day, that her tortures and torments of the day had brought her to multiple orgasms enough to leave her in bed shaking and wobbling at the knees. The mirror didn’t get to enjoy any of it, and wanted attention. She dismissed it, needing her bed.

And then she felt it. Just for a flash, just a moment, but her whole world…flattened. She lost control of everything, she lost sensation of everything, and felt her whole world collapse around her until she was helplessly staring outwards. Out of the mirror. Even just for a second, a brief moment, her frustrated reflection had stolen her place in the world, had swapped with her, and left her as a helpless reflection, in an attempt to escape and experience its own orgasms.

Terrified, she gave into the subconscious demands for orgasms. She slept exhausted and pained that night, her pussy swollen and pulsing.

She managed to find out later that the mirror was in fact gaining magical energy by being fed with its desires, and that the only way to defeat the mirror would be to simply not give into its demands. Too late! It was already powerful enough. It could steal her place. Maybe not for long, but maybe long enough. She couldn’t take the chance. She had to keep feeding it. The mirror seemed to have no desire to take over her life as long as it was fed.

But it got hungrier. After not too long, one or two gentle orgasms wasn’t enough. She had to give it more, and more. Every night, every time. She gave in every time, pained at knowing that the more she fed it, the more trapped she was, the more certain it was that she would be stolen from reality if she ever defied it. 

The subconscious thoughts of the reflection got clearer. It wanted to cum, it wanted her to make it cum. She stroked herself in every way it wanted. She gave into its every desire as it watched and silently screamed in pleasure in front of her, as she cringed and gasped in exhaustion. While it was behind the glass, it seemed to have no limits. It could enjoy itself forever. But it knew that if it stole her place it would be subjected to physical limits. To pain. To exhaustion.

So it let her know what would happen if it ever needed to steal her place, to trap her in the mirror. It wouldn’t simply cum forever for her to enjoy. It would experiment, and extract its enjoyment in other ways. It would torture itself, experience something new and terrible and agonising, just to enjoy watching Alexa suffer silently behind the glass.

So she submitted.

She loved her life as a sadistic tormenting witch. But after every day, in fear, she submitted. Naked, helpless, staring at the peril in front of her, unable to do anything to save herself from danger, trapped causing herself endless, beautiful agony.

The Mirror