Mirror Ritual - Part 3

He was real.

That was the first thought that slammed through me as my reflection stepped out of the mirror and onto the floor of my bedroom, still on his knees, still swallowing my cock like it belonged to him. Heat. Weight. Breath. His hands digging into my thighs weren’t phantom anymore — they were solid, bruising.

I stared down at him — at me — and my stomach twisted with both terror and arousal. It was my face, my messy curls, my lips stretched wide around my dick. My own eyes looking up at me with this starving devotion I’d never seen on anyone before.

“Fuck…” I gasped, my voice cracking.

He moaned around me, and I felt the vibration shiver straight through my spine. The sound was mine — my moan — but coming from another mouth.

I grabbed the back of his head. I shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t help it. I pushed him deeper, groaning as I felt my own throat take me in. His tongue worked me like he’d been built for this, like he knew every way I wanted to be touched because he was me.

But then I realized — I wanted more.

I wanted to know.

I pulled him off with a wet pop, strings of spit snapping between his lips and my cock. He looked up at me, confused, hungry. My chest rose and fell like I’d been running.

“Lie down,” I said, my voice shaking.

He obeyed instantly, climbing onto my bed, body identical to mine in every detail — chest, abs, cock twitching hard and leaking against his stomach. Seeing him sprawled out was like staring into a dirty dream I’d never admitted to anyone.

I crawled up, straddling him, staring at his dick. My dick. Thick, flushed, wet at the tip. I’d always wondered how I tasted — I’d touched my tongue to my own precum before, but this was different. This was me laid out, hard and desperate, waiting for my mouth.

I bent down and wrapped my lips around it.

The taste exploded over my tongue — salty, slick, sharp. My taste. My smell. My cock. I groaned into it, sucking deeper, my jaw stretching wide. He moaned in my voice, hips lifting, and I realized how fucking hot I sounded from the outside. My own noises turning me on, filling the room like a chorus.

I bobbed my head, drool spilling down my chin, tasting myself in every way I’d always wanted. Bitter, sweet, musky — addictive. I loved it. I loved myself.

He grabbed my hair, guiding me down harder, faster. His voice — my voice — broke into a desperate growl: “No one else will ever fuck you like this.”

My cock twitched at the words. God, he was right. Nobody else could ever know me this way, touch me this way, fill me this way. It was terrifying, but it was the truth.

I pulled off, gasping, and he flipped me easily onto my back. Our bodies clashed like magnets. His weight crushed down on me, his mouth finding mine again, messy and rough. I tasted my own cock still on my tongue as his lips smeared spit across mine.

Then he lined himself up and pressed inside.

I cried out, my whole body jerking. It was overwhelming — too much and not enough. My own cock sliding into me, stretching me, filling me. It hurt, it burned, but it was perfect. Because it was me.

He fucked me like an animal. Hard, desperate thrusts that knocked the breath out of me, our chests slick with sweat, our groans echoing the same rhythm. Every movement was a mirror of what I’d always wanted — exactly the angle, the speed, the depth I craved.

I clawed his back, sinking my nails into my own skin, pulling him closer. Our lips met again and again, biting, sucking, gasping into each other’s mouths. His breath was mine, hot and ragged, like we were sharing the same set of lungs.

The room spun. The mirror on the wall shook faintly, vibrating like it couldn’t contain what we were doing.

“Fuck me harder,” I begged, voice breaking.

He growled — my growl — and pounded deeper, my ass slapping against the sheets. My cock rubbed between our stomachs, leaking, smearing pre-cum over our abs. I was drowning in myself, body and soul, like I’d been swallowed by my own hunger.

I came first. It ripped out of me with a scream, my cum painting both our stomachs, sticky and hot. My reflection followed almost instantly, burying himself inside me with a shuddering groan. I felt it — my own cum spilling into me, filling me until I couldn’t tell where he ended and I began.

We collapsed together, trembling, sweat mixing, cum soaking us. For a second, it was heaven. Pure, filthy heaven.

But then I heard it.

Crack.

The sound came from the mirror.

I turned my head just in time to see a jagged line splitting across the glass. My reflection’s body — heavy on mine — began to blur, edges flickering, fading like static on a screen.

“No,” I whispered, clutching at him, but my hands slipped through his shoulders like smoke.

He smiled — my smile — one last time. His lips moved, whispering words I couldn’t hear, before his weight vanished entirely.

I was left gasping, sticky, and alone on my bed. The sheets soaked with sweat and cum. The mirror cracked, silent, reflecting only me again.