Mirror Image

Marjorie had been eating her sandwich in the far corner stall of the girls' room. She heard the Clique walk in, chattering and smoking their menthols. They had been talking about that girl, what was her name, the fat one who had hung herself with a knit scarf. Marjorie knew her name, but she remained silent and continued eating her sandwich.

The dead girl didn't leave a note, but high school kids like to talk. Soon random stories and theories floated all over the place. Some say that it was her overly-religious father who did it. He took her out and made it look like a suicide.

Others said it was a kink thing, auto-asphyxiation, like the way the lead singer of INXS accidentally offed himself. One of the Clique claimed it was over a boy who broke her heart.

The other girls laughed. One of them said, "Like that fat bitch could get a man." High fives exchanged. They finally left, and Marjorie threw her unfinished sandwich down the toilet.

Marjorie knew the real story about the dead girl. She had really killed herself, but she had cut her own throat with a piece of broken glass. There had been so much blood that the family had decided rather than clean the dried blood off the carpet and walls. Marjorie knew this because she lived next door to the dead girl.

She didn't know about one detail that never made it outside the house. The dead girl had been found naked in front of an antique mirror. Blood had splashed everywhere, except on the mirror. That had remained spotless.

When the family left, they donated most of their belongings to charity. Marjorie's mother snagged a few of the heavier items like a leather sofa set and a few antique items. Marjorie thought it was creepy to use a dead girl's items, but she kept the mirror. For some reason, she felt drawn to it.

Life went on. Marjorie finished high school as the invisible girl. Plain brown hair, pale skin, glasses, dark clothing. She never talked to anyone, only spoken when spoken to. Only the teachers ever spoke to her. She remained anonymous until her adulthood.

At 27, Marjorie lived a regular life. A regular office job, a regular studio apartment, a regular schedule. Get up, go to work for 8 hours, come home, fix a meal, watch re-runs or read, then bedtime. The only thing missing was friends. She had never been good at making friends, so she stopped trying. She didn't mind being alone. That's what she told anyone who tried to initiate conversation with her. She didn't want pity friends, so she settled for no friends at all.

It was autumn, Marjorie's favorite time of year when she could bundle herself in thick sweaters and wool hats. Halloween was still a few months away. All the stores were already pimping their bags of miniature candies. Marjorie had bought two bags on the way home, even though she didn't live in a neighborhood that encouraged trick-or-treaters.

It was late, but Marjorie needed to do one more thing before bedtime. It was just a simple ritual that made her sleep better. She did it for the same reason that some people prayed before bedtime. She rolled her full-length mirror out of the closet. She stood before it and took off her clothes. She removed her bra and panties and studied her reflection. She ran her hands over her breasts, down her stomach, on her clit. She felt herself becoming wet. Blood flowed into her pussy; she could sense the heat in her loins. She started to touch herself. She rubbed her clit and slid her middle finger into her pussy. When she came, she pressed her body against the mirror.

She peered into the mirror as if she was looking for something. She had kept the mirror for the past ten years. She called it the pretty mirror, because the reflection was always flattering. She had always been the plain jane in high school. She was the perpetual wallflower, blending into the background.

When she first looked into the mirror, she discovered her beauty: the lines of her neck flowing to her soft breasts, her stomach, curving towards ample hips, her supple ass. It was like magic, as if a curtain had been removed from her eyes. She didn't know how the mirror did this, but she liked it.

When she stood in front of that mirror, she felt like a different person. With the mirror, she couldn't stop looking at herself. She wanted to expose herself, touch her soft skin, enjoy the velvety feel of her pussy.

Life went on. Marjorie worked, paid her bills, and lived her regular life. Every night she disrobed in front of her mirror and fucked herself. She never needed a man, but she needed this satisfaction. She needed the attention, the affection, the craving.

It was only a mirror, but it was something more. She felt like she was performing in front of an audience. She felt eyes traveling over her nude body, and she liked it. Some nights she imagined a fantasy lover on the other side of the mirror. That made her come harder.

At first it was just her and the mirror. Then she discovered toys.

Tonight she would play with the clothespins. She sat in a chair in front of the mirror. She attached one to each nipple and attached a string to both clothespins. As she stared into the mirror, she started to rub her clit, playing with the wet folds of her pussy.

She spread her legs and imagined someone watching from the other side. He was sitting, watching, enjoying the private show. She imagined him touching his bulging cock beneath his slacks. She rubbed her clit with one hand and spread the lips of her pussy with the other. This would make him want me, she thought. She saw the juices dripping from her and onto the chair.

She watched the mirror between half-closed lids. She saw a hand reach towards her breasts, but it was her own. She yanked the clothespins roughly from her nipples. The sudden blood flow made her scream, and her pussy clenched around an invisible cock. She opened her eyes and saw herself in the mirror. She was covered with sweat, pink, glowing. For the first time she thought about a hard cock filling her pussy with hot come.

Life went on. One day Marjorie started to hate her regular job. She was tired of the prying eyes and all the questions. At first her coworkers complimented her on her weight loss. They wanted to know her secrets. She had stopped eating, but she didn't tell them that. She didn't tell them that all men want thin women. She had read the magazines and browsed the internet sites. The thinner, the better. So she vowed to get thin quickly. Food was a barrier, and she didn't need it.

Eventually the questions turned into concern. Everyone kept telling her that she looked too thin. It was true. When she watched herself in the mirror, she could see her concave stomach, her sunken cheeks, and her exposed ribcage. But he liked her new look, and that's all that mattered.

She couldn't explain this to her silly co-workers with their dead-end marriages and unhealthy junk food figures. She couldn't explain true love to people who didn't have a clue. So she stopped answering their questions. She stopped speaking at all, and her co-workers avoided her. Her boss suggested she take a vacation.

One morning Marjorie decided that she didn't want to go to work. She bought a new 10'' dildo the other night, and she had been waiting for a special occasion to use it. She had never used one so big, and she was eager to try.

She was wet, but she wasn't wet enough. It was too thick and stretching her pussy. She said it hurt, but her hand pushed further. He wouldn't take no for an answer, and she started to whimper. He hated that, and her hand flew across her face. She saw her cheek grow red, and inside she smiled. She would not argue with him.

She touched her nipples and ran her fingers over her clit. Relax, she told herself. The dildo was only halfway in, but it didn't hurt as much. Relax. She watched her pussy lips slowly consume the entire length of the dildo. It was all the way in.

She admired the view. She could only see the base of the dildo. She squeezed her muscles, and the dildo moved. She held the base and started to fuck herself with short strokes. It was slick with her juices, and the movements were easy. Harder, harder, someone urged her. She grunted with each stroke. She watched droplets of sweat drip down her stomach, her thighs, and her pussy.

Her arm started to tire, but she thrust harder. Her pussy throbbed, started to get sore, but she went on. Her face twisted with animalistic growls, and she felt herself rising towards her orgasm.

She rode it hard, and her body shook from the force of it. Her clenched muscles expelled the dildo from her, and it hit the mirror. As the dildo bounced off the mirror, Marjorie thought she glimpsed something, a shadow in the corner. Impossible, but she saw a speck of darkness appear and then disappear. Maybe she was lightheaded from the orgasm, but she knew what she saw.

Marjorie stayed home most days and practiced with more toys. She bathed herself after every session, so she could always be fresh and clean. She lived on Gatorade and low sodium crackers. She admired the way her skeleton appeared beneath her pale flesh. Her hair started falling out, so she cut it short in a pixie cut. She had never looked better. She had never felt better.

Some days she played with her toys for hours at a time. Once she passed out from the exhaustion. When she woke up, she applied more lube to her toy and continued. Her orgasms were endless, and she craved more.

Time became meaningless. She went out only when she was out of Gatorade. Her landlord came by a few times to say angry words. She ran out of money because of her growing toy collection. The final time she answered the door nude with a ball gag in her mouth. Her landlord grew pale and walked away.

Life went on. Marjorie only cared about one thing: his pleasure. When she woke up, her only thoughts were of the man in the mirror. When she went to bed, she hoped that she would see in her dreams. She sensed his presence, but she never saw his face. It didn't matter; looks were incidental.

She never wore clothes when she was home. Her constant wetness pleased her. When she first started using her toys, she shaved her pussy bare. She loved how slick and smooth it felt, how wet it would get. Now all she had to do was look into the mirror, press her thighs together, and she would come. Now she screamed out loud every time she came. The neighbors never complained.

With each orgasm, she craved more intensity. She didn't say it out loud, but she wanted to feel a real cock. A thick hard cock working in and out of her, pounding her, slamming over and over into her. She wanted human contact, but she didn't say it out loud.

One night Marjorie bathed and went out in the evening. Her pussy was soaking wet, but her various playthings didn't fulfill her anymore. She felt she was betraying her fantasy man, but she needed more. She stumbled into the closest, darkest bar she could find. She found a lonely man and smiled demurely until he offered to buy her a drink. She hated vodka, but she drank several vodka cocktails. The vodka burned her stomach, but the fire in her pussy wouldn't go away.

The lonely man followed her outside the bar and into her apartment. He noticed the dirty clothes piled in the corner, the empty bottles, dust everywhere. But he didn't say anything. She held his hand and led him to a chair in front of the mirror. She was too skinny, a little ugly, but so horny. He liked that. He let her unzip his pants and closed his eyes when she slid his cock into her mouth. The bitch was cock hungry, and he liked that. He didn't think he could, but he got rock hard.

Her head bobbed up and down on his shaft. She spit onto his head and stroked him with her hand for a few minutes. She licked up and down his shaft. She took his balls into her mouth. He watched the back of her head in the mirror. She sucked him like she was starving. Her mouth stayed so wet and hot.

He wanted some pussy and commanded she take off her dress. Instead she straddled him and rubbed her wet pussy on him. His hand went underneath her dress. Damn she was bony, but her pussy was hot and wet. Maybe it was better that she kept on the dress. Her pussy slid down onto his cock, and she started rocking. She wasn't much of a looker, but she fucked like a true slut. She grunted every time his cock slid into her, and the sounds were turning him on. He could feel his balls get slick with her juices.

He watched her butt bob up and down. He grabbed her hips and lifted her up and down onto his cock. Fuck, she was so skinny. He didn't notice it before, but the mirror was filthy. There was one particular smudge in the corner. From his angle, it looked like a dark hand imprint or maybe the shadow of a closed fist.

He was close to coming, and he closed his eyes. He was really pounding the hell out of her. He'd never been so hard in his life. Her pussy was milking his cock, and he was going to come deep inside her.

He didn't see the dark object hit his temple. His head hit the back of the chair with a thump. The blood from his wound trickled onto the floor.

Marjorie moved fast. She clicked the steel ring around the base of his cock. When she saw that it would stay hard, she slid his body off the chair. She removed her dress because she was covered in sweat and blood. She faced the mirror and mounted him, reverse cowgirl style.

She rode him hard, grimacing as the cock ring dug into her pubic bone. She slammed herself onto his cock over and over. Her tiny breasts bounced up and down as she thrust herself onto him. She came once, then again, but she didn't stop. Her pussy was sore, and her clit was raw from her fingers.

She didn't stop. She rested her forearms on the floor and let him fuck her doggie style. She noticed the dark spot in the corner of the mirror, and she knew. Her hand reached up and grabbed her hair. The mirror was right in front of her. She was fucking another cock, but she really wanted him. She wanted him now. A hand clutched the back of her head and tried to force her to the other side.

That's how they found her. On all fours, hunched over the cock of a still man, her face covered with slashes. She had bits of broken mirror sticking out of her face. One sliver got her right in the eye, but she was still smiling. She was smiling and fucking, and she never let him go.