After AnimeCon 2: Smashing Christine

/// Mild NSFW warning.

    Something was reaching deep, deep down into where Brian had unearthed that negative chasm, and it was as if all of the wretched thoughts and feelings buried within that fathomless dark wound in his soul were being dredged out into the light. He would hesitate to describe the sensation as light, however—Christine in the charm imagery wasn’t some bright presence of hope or love like Stephanie. Instead, there was simply a focus of awareness there that was incredibly unsettling; supernatural self-reflection cast attention on all manner of horrible and painful moments he had consigned to the depths of his psyche over the years.

    The sexual side of this got off to a slow and muddled strange start.

    Rather than the immediate ramping up of desire, excitement and anticipation that he knew when the charm magic fed into his libido like raw lust… this felt like a boulder of anger just beginning to roll down a massive, sprawling slope. At first, this rolling crag was slow and ponderous, obtuse, but there was so much sheer weight behind it that the thing would obviously become a terrible force of nature once a bit more momentum was achieved.

    The intimacy was certainly there, but instead of the usual fondness and affection easing his path, it was the other kind of familiarity, the wrong kind. This intimacy was sheer animosity, malice for the adversary, the one who knew all of the best ways to hurt him. These were obstacles that would normally grind him to a stop and pull him completely out of the mood, but now that things were in motion, these impediments were being crushed—painfully—and ground away as he started to landslide over them.

    As to why stone was in motion now, and why there was a figurative slope to slide down in the first place—it was the simple act of Brian opening up that normally hidden canyon of sorrow, hate, and despair. It was because Christine was forcing him to look inward upon everything he had done his best to ignore. Things were moving now that he wasn’t sure he could stop, but even despite his heartrate accelerating and the quickening magic coming to speed that didn’t mean Brian wasn’t having a ton of trouble with this.

    The psychological particulars of what he personally had always found sexy were mapped across the life experiences where he had been firmly repressing any darker tendencies. For some awkward, dissonant stretches of this new magic movement it was simply hard to feel anything comprehensible at all about this new situation. Rage and pain had been so thoroughly compartmentalized away from the things that turned him on, that it was now difficult to connect them. When those magical synapses did grope blindly across all of that and begin to bridge that mental gap it all simply felt—weird.

    Bad weird.

    And also… good weird.

    But, in a bad way?

    Strange and uncomfortable, like discovering the creeping nuances of an unexplored fetish he didn’t really want to get involved in. When Brian felt his dick start to grow hard at the situation, it annoyed him, but since he was letting himself be angry, some subconscious part of him was able to lean into that sensation as if intent on creating a rage boner. Throbbing with frustration, blue-balled by how unfair life was and in need of release—and right here in his lap was an eager and willing bitch provoking him into taking out all of those feelings on her.

    The violent urge to toss this stupid cunt off of him and throw her in a jumble onto the floor surged up, and he almost simply went and did it. Fury felt like it was flooding him up to his eyeballs, and the compulsion to throw her, to make her pay for everything she’d put him through bucked against the delicate restraining strings of reason in a painful way. Unboxing all of the hurt and suffering made him feel like he was going crazy, like actual madness and insanity was scalding and searing away any attempts to grapple with them or think things through. It felt like his ears were ringing, and he already couldn’t even remember any of the conversation they’d just sat here having.

    “Brian—?” Christine tried to search his expression. “It. It doesn’t have to be a uh, a blowjob if you’re not particularly feeling that right now. We can—”

    “Shut the fuck up,” Suppressing a snarl, he shoved her off of him—and safely onto the cushions of the sofa beside him, rather than across the apartment floor in a painful tangle of limbs.

    Unseating Christine from his lap made her back hit the sofa cushion and those long legs of hers flail up into the air. Startled by the sudden action, she tried to maneuver them out and away from Brian so as to not accidentally knee him in the face. But, for some reason that pissed him off too, so he grabbed the offending limbs in a painfully tight grip and pinned them together, refusing to let them move.

    A bolt of fear filled her side of the mirror with a silvery sheen at that. She was obviously not used to Brian being aggressive and forceful—and to his disgust, that fear of hers was also tinged through and through with clear arousal. Brian was still just really fucking mad though, and all at once every little detail was getting under his skin. It was difficult to even breathe, because the terrible gravity of everything he’d buried for so long spilling out was that suffocating.

    Is that how this is supposed to fucking work? Brian grit his teeth. I’M not into this kind of rough sort of hate sex bullshit, but SHE is, so our heads will just tilt around over to whichever side of the mirror makes it all easy and about sex? Because, yeah, of course. Everything with the magic always needs to be all about sex.

    What was most aggravating was that it seemed to be working.

    His stubborn erection refused to subside, he saw that Christine’s red eyes drop down towards that bulge right away, and not being in control of himself there brought to mind all those embarrassing months way back when just after he’d hit puberty. Where a sudden and unexpected hard-on could pop up at any given moment, and he would then have to figure out emergency means to try to suppress or conceal that before standing up from his desk at school.

    He hated not feeling in control of that.

    As usual, he took that hateful feeling and consigned it deep down into the depths within himself where it could be ignored and forgotten… but, unlike before, there was no longer any lid on that. The hate simply bobbed <>right back up—just like his dick straining once again at his pants with renewed vigor—and Brian’s mind reeled as he tried to turn his thoughts around in every direction for some other method of release.

    There is none. Of course there’s not. Fuck it.

    With an angry scowl, Brian took Christine by her thighs and then forcibly splayed them open. She jerked in surprise and drew her arms up across her chest in a defensive posture, hands held up just in front of her chin and those eerie crimson eyes of hers wide in surprise. With her legs now bent at the knees but spread in an M-shape as wide as the sofa allowed, Christine was almost completely exposed. The light blue leggings were of an incredibly thin elastane and left nothing to the imagination—the shape of her mound was not only clear to see by the stretchy material, but when drawn taut like this, the sewn inseam even dug in and visibly split her lips.

    His ex-girlfriend had always been beautiful, but her fashion sense in the past had always been modest chic, emphasizing elegance and grace. Or, so he had thought. Apparently that had all been a facade, and there was some secret alternate account with a whole different lifestyle she had hidden from him, one where she abandoned her chaste image to instead make thirst trap photos and eagerly soak up all of the male gaze she pleased. Seeing her tonight in this alter ego outfit with bared cleavage and leggings that clung skin-tight to her crotch as if painted on, seeing her dress specifically to appeal to the male gaze struck such a resounding chord that rage billowing back up within him at her hypocrisy. The urge to punish her thrummed throughout his body, which he hated.

    Keeping one hand on her to ensure she stayed right where he wanted her, Brian settled the other directly upon the sportswear contours defining that cameltoe. His touch made her flinch and shudder with wordless, fearful surrender and blink rapidly at him, and he discovered that Christine’s scarcely-concealed labia was much warmer than expected, and she was definitely a little damp down there. Sliding his fingers along the fabric and then playing them over the subtle puffy swell there had such a decadent soft feeling—her pussy lips beneath the material were pliant, springy flesh he could pluck at with his fingertips, and each movement elicited a squirming twitch from an increasingly responsive and turned on Christine.

    Disturbing that THIS kind of thing works, Brian thought. I thought that the magic was supposed to be suffused with LOVE. Positive feelings. Kind of hate discovering that it can roll with this kind of ANGER. It’s like—yeah, I do have strong feelings for her. They’re just not real POSITIVE feelings, and I’d hoped that maybe just over time or something that could heal. Instead of THIS.

    He cupped his hand over her crotch there and squeezed, and then he gave her muff a sharp little slap. And then another, and again—with each one, Brian felt like some of his cautious, gentle nature had bled away and he just wanted to smack her without caring whether or not it hurt her. That sentiment even had an effect, because the moment his love taps stopped being playful ones, Christine make a peculiar face, biting her lower lip and blinking one half-lidded eye at a time as she struggled to keep her composure.

    It was as if raw, lurid horniness had fogged over her side of the mirror into glass too clouded to make proper sense of the imagery anymore—for a moment there were just raw, primal shapes therein.

    So, that’s what she’s really into. Treating her with dignity and respect, like I’d always strived so hard towards? Like she always INSISTED upon? It wasn’t ever going to do anything for her, not really.

    A part of him was tempted to wrap both hands around her slender neck, because he was sure that would elicit a big reaction out of her. It certainly did things for Emily when they played around with that. Right now however he felt like the safeties were off, like he had already teetered out of control and was just tumbling down the rocky slope and about to fly off the cliff edge of inhibition—if he really started choking Christine out, he didn’t think he’d be able to stop himself before seriously hurting her.

    So instead, Brian turned his hand and roughly ran his thumbnail directly along the crease that separated her lips, causing her to buck and wriggle. Toying with her like this while giving her a dispassionate look was… interesting. Back before he’d never taken the opportunity to just play with her however he pleased, do whatever he wanted with her body, and a certain part of him absolutely did understand the appeal of this kind of dynamic.

    Just… yeah, Brian thought. Treating her like a sex object. Why not? Why the fuck not?

    Staring down at where he was freely groping and fondling her, his gaze traveled across where the leggings stretched over the curvature of her thighs. Christine possessed long, lissom, and somehow sensual legs. Seeing them splayed open like this in a way where it was impossible for her to preserve any semblance of modesty was definitely new to him. Hell, it was unusual seeing her even dare to wear something as form-fitting as this—but in the end, he decided her sportswear was just an unnecessary obstruction.

    Drove Emily crazy when I did this—and I have even less respect for Christine’s things. Right now I feel like I should just do whatever I damn please.

    Brian brought both hands to her mound of venus, carefully pinched his fingertips deep into the fabric… and then he pulled.

    Moist material lifted up to separate from her skin, and then once he had a proper hold—he wrenched it in either direction, yanking Christine’s luscious bottom up off of the sofa with the force of his movement. Tensile athletic leggings stretched and stretched, and the thinning swath he was pulling apart in his hands must have elongated eight times in length before some stitching along the inseam started to give out.

    A little pale circle of nude Christine was visible before Brian relaxed the tension for a moment.

    Alright, so you’re made of sturdier stuff than Emily’s teeny tiny shorts were. But, so what? Are you kidding? Not gonna fucking stop me.

    He gathered up the elastane in a better grip and pulled again—again lifting Christine’s lower half up into the air with a small squeak of surprise. Trying to rip the sportswear couldn’t have possibly been comfortable for her with the way it was pulling viciously tight about her ass and thighs… but Brian found he really didn’t give a damn. With both fists clutching fabric and shaking with the strain, he wrenched again, applying more force until the stuff stretched far, far beyond its limits. More stitches from the torn seam ripped free, the light blue mesh became almost see-through before new holes in the material appeared, together yawed open wide—and then the whole thing tore open.

    Revealing flushed, naked skin and steaming pussy.

    Brian wasn’t sure why her going commando came as such a surprise to him. There hadn’t been any noticeable panty lines or anything, but some part of him had just assumed on reflex that of course she would be wearing proper underwear beneath this. After all, she had been out amongst a group of all of their friends this evening. Several more fragile panes of preconception that had lingered in the back of Brian’s mind shattered—or perhaps they were just a consequence of the mirrors over on her side that were breaking one after the other like falling dominos.

    He was turned on enough now that it was difficult to think that through.

    Although Brian had been the one exerting himself to rip open her leggings, it became clear that Christine was the one panting, and he stared down at the rise and fall of her chest with a grim expression. Truth be told, he was still a lot more angry than turned on, and there would be nothing gentle or considerate about how he clutched and squeezed at her now. One hand gravitated for her snatch, his thumb parting a glistening lip and allowing a warm line of lubrication to drool free. She made a shocked sputter of surprise at that, but he wasn’t really listening anymore. His other hand clutched now at her tummy—because even though while standing Christine had a slender, even willowy figure, belly rolls still naturally appeared once you bent her body this certain way. Grabbing at those curious womanly ounces of abdominal padding there made Christine give out a louder gasp of surprise and perhaps humiliation, but she didn’t lift a finger to stop him.

    She still seemed to be in shock that he’d actually managed to tear her athletic leggings apart.

    What? Didn’t think I would? He wasn’t going to apologize for destroying them. Or, didn’t think I COULD?

    “This is a mistake,” Brian promised her in a cold voice.

    A tremor ran through her body at his words, and she stared up at him, mouth opening and closing for a moment but still speechless. Then, he undid the button and unzipped his fly, giving his jeans enough slack that he was able to push them down and out of the way. He had never wanted to feel this way, and until now he had never allowed himself to feel this way.

* * *

    Christine witnessed all of this, and none of this—because while Brian was wrestling with his own demons, she was only rediscovering that inciting and perhaps Chloe side of herself that really got off by provoking all of this out of him.

    When their emotions met here they weren’t shared, exactly, they didn’t cross over into each other to create the warmth and heat of empathy like Stephanie’s ability did. Christine and Brian’s feelings mirrored back into themselves, perverse identical images playing out in reverse, the association itself cold and clinical as it laid bare both the bright beauty and the ugly darkness within them in chilling clarity—each side of the mirror mapping a canvas of each other in exacting detail.

    There was a certain terminus to that mirror pane that she had no idea how to control, an event horizon separating reality from reflection, and as long as Brian was on one side and she the other they would maybe never truly connect to one another at all. Certainly not a kind of connection like what she understood of Stephanie’s mind thing. Even when Christine and Brian did reach each other, it was only through violence, when her mirror was shattering. While then things certainly crossed through, they did so amidst the incomprehensible madness, chaos, and noise of millions of reflective shards, at which point Christine couldn’t tell who was who or discern whose pain, grief, and rage belonged to whom.

    I know I’m desperate, though. I’m so fucking unbelievably desperate, for, for—for SOMETHING. Anything. I want more than anything to be better, to put Chloe behind me for good. But, at the same time the numbing nothingness of constant FORCED REFLECTION on all of my sins is driving me to absolute DESPAIR. Lashing out like tonight—Brian doesn’t deserve that. But, I can’t help it! I NEED him to hurt me, I need him to do something, anything. EVERYTHING to me. Please. Please, Brian—PLEASE.

    The key thing was, provoking Brian had never worked before, certainly not like this, and despite being the one to egg him on, somehow actually seeing him actually respond like this landed completely outside of her expectations. Christine found herself caught completely by surprise when he ripped the mesh of her leggings open—she hadn’t even thought it was possible with that material—revealing to her shame that her slit was so soaked that she was just about oozing her arousal right in Brian’s face. He pawed and manhandled her down there with disinterest as if inspecting the quality of goods, making silver motes of light shimmy up and down between her tummy and her core, causing her to clench and squeeze and wriggle until it felt like she was panting.

    This is—this is real fucking fucked up, Christine thought to herself in a daze of recrimination. Why am I so fucked in the head?! All I can think about is him fucking me. There’s something deliciously dehumanizing about him looking at me as a SEX OBJECT? I know he’d never ever looked at me with these kind of eyes. Turns out this was the missing component? All it took was a little bit of genuine piss-yourself-in-fear state of being where baiting a, a uh, a dominant, masculine response from Brian turns all of those nasty sexless sterile thoughts into liquid mercury and suddenly it’s all SEX. Lust. Fucking. The thought of him fucking me, slapping me around, playing with me like this just, it just—overwhelms my stupid rational brain—it sweeps all of the arguments and nonsense aside.

    Her surface-level stiff pretentiousness now seemed to hide an obscene total abandon just beneath. Just as Brian was a handsome, nice guy hiding a lot of darkness, Christine felt she was likewise a composed and lovely veneer disguising a daddy issues fucked up slut of a girl that seemed to somehow revel in dredging out the absolute worst in both of them. Something about goading anger, violence, and brutality out from within the kindest of souls she knew was making her gush right now, and the thought of continuously spurring him on and on and on until he gave her her just desserts and simply beat the shit out of her had her involuntarily roll and buck her hips in an attempt to grind upon something—anything.

    Brian’s dick sprung into view as he shoved his pants and boxers down out of the way, and then all of Christine’s crashing thoughts skidded into silence. She could do nothing but stare in disbelief at the massive, menacing thing.

    He’s—what the fuck? He’s fucking HUGE. Was he—was he always like this?! Did I just never—

    Before she could find her bearings in this bewildering kaleidoscope of twirling realizations, Brian moved in close. Without warning, without pausing for permission or even taking a cursory glance to observe her expression, the meaty glans of his penis made sudden brusque contact with the wet line of her vulva. Giddy alarm careened across all of the sparkling slivers of glass before being washed out in a deafening shattering noise.

    To her mortification the rigid, girthy invader neither hammered at her doors nor struggled for entry—he slipped inside her with almost comical ease, as if welcomed inside. Slick and slippery lips parted around him without resistance, eager and enthusiastic to draw him in immediately and all the way to the hilt. Sweet pain and impossible agonizing ecstacy suffused every glassy facet of her mind with rich, decadent silver as he pressed fully into her, and Christine felt her jaw fall open as every voracious millimeter of her cunt was suddenly stuffed completely full of cock. Penetration had never felt like this for her—being filled like this somehow blew her mind away, whether it was the context of the moment or even the simple position their bodies were in she’d never felt ANYTHING ploughing this deep, mirrors were exploding in a pinwheeling cataclysm of delight, physical joy, and pure satisfaction in a way that forced a deep, guttural groan rose out from her own throat like she’d never heard before. 

    “Aauuunnghhhh!?!!”

    Brian’s upper body loomed over her, and Christine could feel her most intimate place tensing and gripping around the bulbous cockhead and the thick shaft shoved to such delphic depths inside of her. Discovering these new unknowns terrified and inspired her, she trembled and wriggled, her long legs kicked and flailed until finally wrapping around him and intent on drawing him somehow further into her, somehow forcing Brian to slide home even deeper.

    “Auuu—hkk??!” Christine choked.

    She watched in complete captivation—Brian braced both arms on the couch to either side of her and his broad, muscled shoulders and upper body scarcely moved. Instead, his deliciously defined abdominals rippled, undulating with salacious power. He arched his hips back to draw himself almost the whole way out of her, revealing the thick plinth of dick glimmering with her juices, and then he slammed down, plunging it deep back inside of her. And then again. Again.

    Yes yess yesss please MORE, fuck me fuck me fuck me, rearrange my guts, wreck me, fucking DESTROY ME—

    The sheer sensation of it folded and twisted her mind into bursting bits, the heady rhythm of that continuous movement kept smashing Christine down against the couch cushions and springing her back up for more with a bounce. The wet clap of their flesh smacking together punctuated each of her delirious observations with thunderous shattering silver magic, and each of those relentless piledriving thrusts jammed her so completely full that Christine couldn’t help but cry out in alarm.

    “Aahh, aahh, ah—ahh-ahhh, aahhh—aaAAaahh-h-h-hhh—?!!”

    It was horrifying and shameful letting her voice leak out like this, but it felt SO good that she couldn’t even begin to stop herself. Good didn’t even begin to describe it—her relative disinterest in actual sex as Chloe had somehow neglected a long overdue core need for herself that was now being thoroughly, even brutally satisfied. Just grinding on Brian’s face back then to get herself off had only been exercises in frustration and futility compared to this.

    “Ahhh, AHhnnNngghh—AaAaahh-h, aaah, ahhhh—!!”

    Deep reflection upon the severe difference in these sensations revealed to her that while yes, Brian was great with his tongue, it was absolutely not a proper replacement for this. Christine decided she needed to be fucking fucked, her body craved penetration, and finally getting it hammered her fragile psyche from one broken pane to another in constant collisions of silvery shards and sparkles of glass. Christine’s head rocked back in feverish abandon, tearing her gaze from the crashing force of Brian feverishly stuffing cock into her and up again to his eyes.

    “Aahh aahhh ahhhhh aaahhh—ahHhhnnngghhh—!?!!”

    He didn’t look like his usual concerned and caring self—there was an unfamiliar hardness to his expression that made him intimidating, powerful—sexy. He cast a flinty gaze that was both the look of someone appraising a stranger and also the eyes of someone who knew her all too well, and even that set off more little hurtful fireworks of tinkling silver glee inside of her. Brian was pistoning in and out of her with the cold, angry indifference of a machine, and upon witnessing that, the raw mercury of primal terror burbled into unfathomable erotic excitement, flooding her tummy with the blinding wash of silver grit.

    Christine came hard, eyes wide but unseeing and her lips parting open in a soundless scream as the sheet of her mind exploded into tumbling fragments of pleasure and sparkles of color.

    Brian didn’t stop, though—and before the scattered pieces of Christine’s mind could finish clinking and clattering across the hard, unyielding earth within the dreamscape they were smashed again, and again, jagged bits breaking up into increasingly smaller pieces until he pulverized her into silver dust. Her toes curled, she twitched and shuddered and saw nothing but flashes of glare and bright light, too gripped by climax to discern whether she had quickly crescendoed to a second orgasm, or if the first one was just absolutely refusing to fucking quit.

    “Br-BriiIIiannNNn—?!!” Her cry rose in pitch until it was a squeal.

    Just as that relentless spasming finale was about to subside and the mirror was returning to its normal pristine state—another spasming peak instead shunted Christine’s ego in the other direction. Outside of the many breaking mirrors that represented the current her a thick crack snaked across the canvas of her mind and then spiderwebbed that across the shimmering surface beneath her into a multitude of different views. Then, with an obscene crash Christine’s consciousness within the dreamscape was weightless and falling—out of the dreamscape? Beneath it, below it? She had no way of discerning, not while all around her toppling pieces of broken mirror reflected wildly different visions.

    She twisted in confusion, trying to discern the images spun upon the glass, but each jagged piece seemed to collide with something and burst into splintering pieces after affording only a momentary glimpse.

    In one, she watched the all-too-familiar sneering malice of her time as Chloe—in this mirror section she was berating Brian, roiling with hate, disgust, and indignation, because this disgustingly enormous organ forcing into her was unequivocally male, men were the enemy and she would always hold herself in strict opposition to them. As if in mockery of that perspective, another tilting scrap of mirror held a different view; where a nymphomaniac Christine just wanted to be fucked. Not just now, always, she wanted to build her entire new identity around becoming a personal onahole for Brian to vent his frustrations in. That one was slavering to be degraded and used, dicked down like slutty fuckmeat after such a long and arduous dry spell of pretending—her entire body was amped up with anticipation of a proper pummeling.

    In a different twisting broken reflection, a sobbing and whimpering brown-haired Christine was begging and pleading for Brian’s forgiveness, despairing at his feet for just one more chance. She could prove herself to him, she could show him earnest and obedient devotion as a girlfriend or fiance or even wife if she only had the opportunity to redeem herself. Just beyond that, a jagged slice of mirror was tainted red with such soul-rending thirst for blood that the glass felt empty, and in there a pale girl with silver tresses and a mouth filled with needle-like teeth watched Brian with predatory eyes from a position of absolute stillness. 

    Each mirror piece divided into more possibilities as the pane spiderwebbed into splintering pieces. One bright bit tumbling into her view held the very picture of innocence; a young and naive teenage Christine excited to be spoiled by her daddy, but then a colorless shard carrying the cold calculation for how much sex appeal to show for the most optimal user engagement returns on social media smashed into it, rendering both into twinkling sharp slivers that dissolved into the incomprehensible silver all around her.

* * *

    As Brian fucked Christine with powerful strokes, he was also sinking deeper into his own thoughts. Pushing his dick in with each forceful thrust of his hips was pure, mindless bliss. Exposing the chasm of darkness where he repressed all of his feelings to someone else was liberating, and also it was soul-wrenching. He had pushed so much pain and suffering down into that empty grave inside of him, and then learned to get by in his day-to-day life only by plastering it over with denial and pretending it didn’t exist. But, turns out it did exist, he really was hurting, and although he still didn’t like the actual means of doing it, sharing that hurt with someone else was helping.

    Because while Brian wasn’t really into this kind of relationship, she really was, and when they were tapped into each other her inclinations were able to reflect back into him somehow in a sickening silvery shine. The fact that he hated things being like this only fed into his anger more and more, which matched Christine’s proclivities here and became an awful lust-inducing feedback loop of fury and the absolute need to fuck her into subservience. 

    That realization was so antithetical to Brian that he once again immediately tried to put a stop to all of it and once again just cram all of his dark feelings back down to where they belonged. It was too late for that, though, because now, he couldn’t. Darkness had expanded out to fill every available space here, which seemed to include all of that on the other side, the mirror image of all of this that was also going on over there with Christine.

    Brian had always been able to squash down all of the hate and rage deep down inside of himself before, but as if mocking the futility of his efforts, the mirror just continued to display all of him—the bad, as well as the good. Everything. Which was deeply infuriating, because it revealed everything he didn’t want to see about himself. The carefully curated Brian he showed to others wasn’t false or fake by any means, but repressing his darker half created certain lies of omission that couldn’t be hidden from a mirror.

    It was like discovering he had been given a really bad haircut, or hearing a recording of his voice and finding that he sounded to everyone else nothing like he thought he did—it was a blow to his self image. Worst of all? It was a low blow, a cheap shot. A large subconscious part of himself bucked and fought against these sudden stark differences in his perception of himself, these inner demons that fueled his maddening outrage to greater heights, which then played right into Christine’s hands in the reflection by slowly but surely converting into her growing sensation of erotic excitement.

    Which JUST PISSES ME OFF EVEN MORE...

    At the very least, each rolling hump of his hips smashing into her clawed back some measure of relief, and he had to admit that some twisted part of himself really did enjoy seeing her laid low and fucked stupid. He hadn’t thought that was something he’d ever let himself fantasize about, but all the same right now each feverish thrust into her eked out not only the blinding elation of the sexual congress itself but a sort of grim satisfaction over the scene.

    I guess just… well. Whatever. Fuck it.

    With a vulgar splorch Brian pulled completely out of her and yanked and lifted the disoriented ex-girlfriend up from where he had been squashing her down into the couch. He turned her body to face the other way and then shoved her so that she was sprawled belly first over the arm of the couch. He grabbed at the soft, supple ass cheeks she was now presenting, crushing them within his grip so that her pale but rapidly reddening skin bulged out from between his fingers.

    A moment was taken to relish that sensation, pawing and squeezing at her naked buttocks and appreciating their softness. He gave first one cheek and then the other a rich slap that caused her entire butt to jiggle in an entrancing way, and then he found his grip upon those soft globes again and spread her—his dick slipped back inside her with fluid ease and he felt Christine quivering and tightening around his length in confusion as he started thrusting into her from behind.

* * *

    “Aah?! Aah, ah, anh, anmmuaahh—?!!” Christine babbled as she held on to the sofa for dear life.

    Unbidden orgasms shattered across her brain in discordant harmony, and her mind was such a mess that trying to collect the spinning, dancing, and pirouetting scattered pieces of her sanity and string them along into thoughts was impossible. It was as if the sweet agony of pleasure juddered her consciousness away into silver sugar, replacing her now and then with an empty-headed—but extraordinarily happy—Christine who was just a simple, thoughtless sex doll.

    Hah ha haahhhe! Nothing now, nothing nothing nothing! Head into nothing, empty empty empty empty! HeheheHEHEhahahkk-kk! Where there had once been a flat mirror were then pieces of a mirror, which then became a multitude of sharp chaff and in the end just formless glitter.

    The constant and unyielding pulverization of that prison of self-reflection was the ultimate freedom she had been craving, and it arrived on a wave of euphoric endorphins that pulsed through her entire body in time with Brian fucking her. The endlessly complicated permutations and hypotheticals and quandaries of who she really was or what she was guilty for ceased to matter at all when everything was smashed into itty bitty pretty sparkles!

    The PRETTIEST of itty bitty pretty sparkles! Hahehehihi!

    Awareness dimmed and then brightened and then dimmed again as the raw primal energy of Brian pumping and pounding into her superheated the twinkling sand into chunks of molten glass. Steaming and simmering silica was flattened with obscene force into new panes of mirror and then obliterated them over and over again in endless repetition. She was silver dust dancing in the moonlight, she was a million puzzle pieces taken apart and put back together into new pictures.

    She was a heinous feminazi bitch finally getting put in her place. She was a healthy and happy young woman exploring some really great—and long overdue—sex with her lover. Once upon a time, she was almost a vampire! For better or worse, some small stain of that still lingered on within her. She was the very spirit of guilt and regret, she was a sinner in penance, and she had fallen deeply, tragically in love when it was far too late. She was all of these things bleeding into something new all at once, and only thorough application of dick was bringing all of these facets together to paint a strange culmination—the real picture of who she was.

    To see the REAL me in the looking glass, I’m, I’m—just? I’m me? I’m in love?! I’m really… so fucking in love.

    When he’d hauled her up and turned her over so that he could start hitting it doggystyle he’d clapped his palms across her bare ass, hard, incredibly hard, with way more force than he’d dared to do back that other time in the car. Christine creamed herself immediately. She wasn’t sure she’d ever stopped cumming, or if she was even capable of stopping—everything was melting unformed mercury and the silver sparkle of searing hot glass. Rather than a distant and hard to reach glass ceiling, the hard reset of potent orgasm was an inescapable floor Brian was pushing her nose into with the whole weight of his being and then refusing to let up on.

    His large, strong hands were gripping her ass and he was bucking into her with sloppy sounds, a mess of fluids could be felt down across her thighs and Christine watched in joyful delirium as a long strand of her own drool swayed from her lip all the way down to the floor beside the sofa.

    Then, something changed.

    Alien color appeared in a surprise wave of wet, and it took Christine a long, surreal minute to gather her wits back enough to even put a name the familiar shade. Blue. It was blue. Beautiful cerulean shades met the unrelenting earth and the remade mirror in a baptism of blue, and Christine could almost feel the spray of blue droplets scattering across her. It felt good, refreshing, she was made anew but the spritz of blue across her glassy surface made her feel so perfect and clean that she could almost see herself from Emily’s eyes.

    WAIT, EMILY’S EYES?!!

    A rush of adrenaline gave Christine the strength to mentally reorient herself, and she immediately whipped her head towards the door to the apartment bedroom with a flick of her silver tresses. The door she had heard close before was now ajar, and despite the darkness within that opening a shadow of certain stature could be discerned lurking there. Horror and humiliation dawned upon Christine as she realized that their ‘private’ moment of intimacy was now anything but.

    O-of course someone would come take a peek—with—HNNGHhh—with how VOCAL I was being?? She must think—HhhNNhh—she must think I’m some kind of wanton whore that, that GETS OFF on this kind of treatment??

    The fact that she absolutely was very much so getting off on this fervent fucking simply made her feel even more vulnerable at the presence of a spectator. Her moment here with Brian had been deeply personal for both of them, and the idea that an intruder would happen by while they were still… working things out made Christine flush with embarrassment, indignation and something else.

    No… no no no this can’t be. THIS CAN’T BE—!

    A tingle of incandescent silver beaded at the small of Christine’s back, and then felt like it was rolling up across her back in a streak of molten metal as Brian continued to pound away, fucking her with steady staccato slaps that shook her ass cheeks. The position they were in wasn’t unfamiliar to her. It was too fucking familiar to her—she was a lithesome, lovely figure on her knees being hammered across the arm of a sofa by a dominant man… while someone else was spying upon them.

    “Aunngh, auh auwhh auughhh, AUUWUAAH—!!” The lewd moans of pleasure kept forcing their way past Christine’s lips despite every effort to contain them.

    Her body was rocking and the movement was wild enough that it was difficult for her to frantically search out that shadow in the doorway as sordid shame suffused her entire body. She hoped with quiet desperation that it was a mistake, her overactive imagination playing tricks on her while she was so discombobulated, anything but a perverse reflection of that night so many years ago. That wretched, awful night when she had secretly stumbled upon her own father fucking the brains out of his demure and reserved personal assistant Claire—but that persistent tickle of blue upon her mind revealed the truth.

    Emily was watching them.

    “I-I I I wasn’t—I ahhhnnn—I’m not a—this didn’t—!!!” Christine tried to babble out an explanation to the hidden watcher who was judging them, but for several reeling seconds she couldn’t even tell if she was trying to address Emily, or a young naive Christine on the cusp of her adulthood. “I, I’m not like that, I wasshn’t—t-t—ttt oh god harder, HARDER, fuck me fuck me fuck meeeee—!!”

    Some important piece in the jumbled and haphazard pile of shards that was her identity gave way, and the whole section above it shifted, settling into place in a different way. Orgasm blotted out Christine’s consciousness in a higher crescendo of melting metal, filling her mind with silver poetry. These different edges shaping up the shattered mess of her identity weren’t exactly the same, but they rhymed, there was a certain inescapable symmetry to what was happening that fit together in a flawless way. A mirror marriage of events, one long ago twisting Christine’s views into eventual misandric psychopathy, and then here, years later a repentant abuser sexually submitting herself in her search for absolution. Before, she was the one watching and judging, now she now found herself in Claire’s position… getting mercilessly banged from behind. Everything looked different from this side of the glass.

    I mean, I’m—I’m right there. Right here? Brian is fucking me. While she’s watching. She’s peeking out from the bedroom doorway, she can see everything. She can see what we’re doing from over the back of the couch. I BECAME Claire, and oh yes yessss my Brian is fucking me??! Except—no, that’s, I’m—he is—no, we’re—?!

     “Brian I’m—I’m going to—please don’t stop I’m going to—I’m gonna—!!!”

    I—oooOohhh—I d-doubt Emily’s doing anything but twiddling her clit as she peeps on us, but it’s like—it’s liiike—it’s like some phantom younger me that’s been trapped in my head all this time just—jussSst, ahh fuck—is just getting the fuck OVER IT?! Is that what’s been going on this whole fucking time?!! I just got so super stupidly upset over what t-two consenting fucking adults did with each other that night to my dumb teenage ideas of romanticism, that it fucked everything up for me THAT much?!!

    The impression of that memory overlaid with the here and now, and Christine almost couldn’t tell the two apart at all—this was as close to winding back the clock and traveling back to that moment as she would ever achieve. Both horror and absolute salacious arousal tightened all of the different lines of thought within Christine into place until her beaten and abused pussy clamped down upon Brian’s intruding member so tightly that he wasn’t even able to pull himself back out of her.

    They jerked in unison, bodies rocking together as he grasped her blushing bottom and fought to free himself, but Christine locked down on him and refused to budge. Before, she had climaxed in sterling spurts while Brian still fucked her, but now it was as if her entire body was cumming explosively, all at once. Silver silence spread across her dream in a dizzying wave of relief, flat, flawless mirror perfection that went on and on and on in an endless pane in every direction. Christine’s jaw fell open and her eyes rolled up as the intense heat of where they were joined together was suddenly huge wet bursts of hot cum blasting into her. Her legs gave out and Brian’s broad chest pressed down and was smothering her as she received load after load after load, his pulsating dick pumping her full and then overly full. The packed pressure of magic cream had suds spurting free of their tight seal and splattering down across her trembling thighs in dozens of sticky strings.

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