VKF presents

At The Mirror

Heavy, f, M, Fantasy, Bondage, Chastity, Domination, Humiliation, Mind Control, Rape, Submission, Consensual, CNC, Non-Consensual
  Take a deep breath and settle in. Good girl. I'd like to take you somewhere now. Somewhere deep inside your mind where you can see yourself clearly. You are standing in front of a mirror. The room itself is dark, but you're not too far from the mirror, so there's just enough light for you to examine yourself. Standing naked before the mirror, you'll pass your eyes from the top of your head all the way to your toes. Not judging, just being. And as you bring your eyes back up, you'll use your focus to help relax yourself.

  At your own pace, pausing in reading this if you need, work upward. Make sure to relax your toes. Relax your ankles. Don't skip ahead. Be a good girl. Relax your calves. Your knees. Your thighs. Yes, there's the same constant hum between your legs that's always there, the excitement of knowing that something is going to happen. But focus enough to loosen your hips. Become an easier-to-handle doll. So that if someone were to come up from behind you as you stood naked in front of the mirror, you'd be pliable and ready. Continue raising your gaze, focusing on your reflection to find any tension and breathe through it until you're relaxed. Your stomach, your fingers, your chest and arms. You shoulders should be free and easy.

  Once your jaw has slackened, your mouth should be able to hang open just a little. That's not necessary to help your breathing, but it's helpful in other ways, isn't it? It's good to feel open. You like to feel open to my words. Eventually you'll take that relaxation to your eyes. As you soften your gaze, you won't see the sharp reflection in the mirror anymore, just the general girl-shaped object that you are. Maybe it's better to see yourself as a girl-shaped object. Maybe, as your unfocused eyes rise a little higher, instructing the top of your head to relax, maybe you relax that mind enough to lose a little of your sense of identity. You don't need to be so specifically you right now. Just being is enough.

  Oh, you still have a name. You could call it to mind if I asked you for it, but it's not...important to you. That name is like a dress you've slipped out of before stepping naked in front of this mirror. Like a mask you've removed now that you're safe here, alone with yourself.

  Except...you're not alone in here anymore, are you? In the mirror you can see a sinister shape behind you. There's not enough light to see any detail, and in spite of your excitement your eyes remain unfocused. You're also too relaxed to turn. So all you see is his shadowy form in the mirror. As he comes closer you feel him behind you. It's me. I don't say anything to you, not even a whisper. I like toying with my little dolly, making you wait.

  In the mirror, the dark shape behind you holds up something small that catches the light. You're trying to think what it could be. You're sure you should recognize it, maybe from a dream when this shadow appeared before. Before? You're not really sure there was a before, but your gummy little head shouldn't be working so hard. Because by now, I've taken my little golden key and slipped it into a secret slot that only I know about, hidden between your shoulder blades, just where your neck meets your back. It's near the spine but a little to the left.

  You don't feel it as metal entering your body, but as a gentle touch that spreads warmth across the whole area, as if I'd just planted my hand on your back, fingers reaching to the right side of your neck. More than the physical sensation is the emotional high of being owned and completely out of control. With my key inside you, you are helpless to me. The need to let me inside of you even more washes out everything else. You feel weak in the knees. You'd rather not keep standing. What will happen when I turn the key?

  With my free hand I reach forward and lift your chin up. This raises your whole head rather than closing your mouth. Your eyes gaze into the mirror, looking at the top of that girl-shaped object's head. That must still be you, that pliant thing. Something's about to happen there, isn't it? Right where you're looking, at the top of her head...

  I like the way you leave your mouth open a little. It's another opening for me to select. I love how you're so open to me. Good girl, letting me slip my key easily inside you. I want you to know I'm pleased by the way you let me do truly devastating things to you with the power of what my key to you unlocks. Feel my approval. Let it melt you even more. Good girl.

  I turn the key, and you watch in the mirror as your head opens up, the left and right sides of your skull swinging upwards like double doors in the front of a building. This gives me direct access to all the contents of your silly little head. You don't really enjoy making decisions. It's so much better when you're under someone's control. Best to let me arrange the contents of your mind as I find convenient. But before I reach inside, you noticed an image in the mirror flaring to life: 10. The number is so bright it's impossible to see anything else. It's almost painful.

  Then the 10 is gone, and a 9 is in its place. And you know what this is. With your mind open like this, it's so difficult for you to remain conscious. Part of you is going to have to sleep. Part of you will need to drop.

8 And that is where the countdown comes in, to help prepare you for the drop.

7 To help you start to drift now. So that the drop won't be so jarring.

6 You're remembering to breathe. That's your only task right now. Good girl.

5 You relax and melt. In spite of your excitement. To drift through that duality.

4 My little golden key still inside you. Your mind opened wide to me.

3 You're going to drop for me. And such a deep drop it's going to be.

2 You know you're safe with me. That I'm careful with you. That's how you know you can go...

1 So far down. You can drop so far down when the mirror reaches...

0 You drop. Drop so deep.

Your body before the mirror feels like it's falling back toward me.

But as you fall, the whole room seems to tumble along with you.

The mirror seems to be rising upward, as if it was tethered to you as you dropped back away.

Disoriented, dropped down, deeper, deeper. Your mind sleeps.

  What's left of you, my mindless doll, is laid flat out on a bed, but across the middle of it. The mirror is attached to the ceiling above a large wooden canopy. You're hazily becoming aware that there are ropes involved. One rope tied to your left knee trails to the foot of the canopy, where it loops through a cutout in the wood before arcing back to your wrist. This has the effect of pulling your knee up away from your body and keeping your left arm stretched toward the foot of the bed. The same has been done on your right side. With a rope tied round your right knee pulled toward the head of the bed, where the rope is looped through and brought back to your right wrist, keeping it stretched away from you.

  And you love being spread open. The helplessness makes you wet. Being compliant makes you happy.

  Your head is beyond the edge of the bed, but it's still supported. By my knees. I have taken a seat to more properly toy with your mind. You look up at the mirror, focus just enough to see how you, that naked, girl-shaped object, have been splayed open. Both knees as far as you could stretch them from protecting your modesty. Both arms stretched to their limit, almost uncomfortably pulled away from you. And you're so wet. You don't remember being this wet before. Have I already done something to you? Was there a moment that you missed, somewhere in that long drop? Did I drop you twice and remove the memory of what came between? You're so damn wet, and you want to reach down but your hands are tied. So sloppy wet you're thinking about the remains of my climax trickling out, wondering if I've taken you. You hope I have. But you also hope I didn't already do it and make you forget. How cruel to erase your favorite part. ...but the idea of that cruelty, oh dear, but that just makes you even wetter, doesn't it?

  You try to understand what I'm doing, but even in the mirror you can't really see what's going on with the shadowy figure who's toying with your opened mind. I reach my hand into your head and turn the curiosity knob down just a little. You don't really need to concern yourself with what's happening in there. You trust me, and that's enough. I turn the horniness up again, and it's almost an electrical current running throughout your body. It's need. Pure, insatiable, animal lust. That you can't act on. Not...yet.

  I have a stack of tiny notes with me. Sketches and pictures. I place one in your mind, and as soon as it's set in place, it comes alive in there, animates itself. There's nowhere to run from an image in your mind of you being zipped into layer after layer of rubber, hooded and so completely helpless that even your ability to breathe is mine to control. You watch as the rubber doll in your mind becomes so desperate for air.

  Then I'm placing another image in your mind. You're kneeling at my feet, expectant, hopeful. The desire is clear on your face. I'm holding two collars before you. One is expensive leather, a beautiful collar for a beautiful young woman who has earned her place. The other is ugly, with two metal prongs—a device for training a naughty girl who may never measure up. You try not to show your disappointment as the shocker collar is placed around your neck, but of course it's clear to see. And what do I think of your disappointment? I give you an immediate shock for being so foolish to think you'd earned the other collar. And you know, immediately, that it's true. The look that comes over your face next is much better. It is the strange look of a girl who knows she needs to be broken, knows that there's nothing she can do to get herself there but to surrender to the one who will do the breaking. Yes, the shocker collar is right, what you deserve. It's already working.

  Image after image, story after story. I place them into your mind one after another, exhausting your mental reserves further. You can't look away from the depravity you watch your body participating in, but you can't FEEL it, splayed out on the bed, wet and wanting. That's the true torture. Some of those images scare you, the violence and intensity, but you want those the most. The ones you don't think you can handle. They're in your mind now, my little seeds, rooting themselves. You will fantasize later about the ideas I want you to fantasize about. Just the way I offer them makes you want each and every thing you see, but I'm not letting you have them.

  There are so many ways for me to fuck your mind with it open to me like this. Some time after I've stopped implanting images, your imagination wanders off on its own, still infused with the heat and lust of all those images you couldn't look away from. You imagine me standing up, sliding my cock directly into the soft flesh of your exposed brain. It's a strange, trippy thing to think, literalizing the idea of me fucking your mind. And that's how you realize you're thirsty. Thirsty for a deeper and deeper mind fuck, but wishing even more I really would pull out my cock and drive it straight down your throat. You've left your mouth open for me this whole time. So thirsty for cock.

  Meanwhile, I've moved, adjusted, and implanted things enough now that I know you're ready for me. By now you must realize that I don't need the ropes that have stretched you out. I can control you from your mind. I just like the look of those taut red ropes physically pulling you wide apart.

  Yes, I can do anything I want to you. Even...

  The next thing I reach for isn't an image. It's a thin strip of wood. It looks fragile, like it's not meant to be permanent. "This," I tell you, speaking for the first time, "is a simple block that I can place in your mind just so." You feel a tingling as I put it inside your mind, just right. You can almost feel it *snick* into place. "This will prevent you from being able to achieve orgasm. It's a thin little block that will dissolve after 24 hours. Well, for most people. Wet as YOU are, I bet you'll dissolve it in 20."

  My calling attention to your oversexed nature as you lay spread out and completely open to me makes you wetter still. You are my willing slut. You wish I'd say the word, but I don't have to, do I? There's no doubt of it.

  "For the next 20 hours, you'll be able to get excited, you'll be able to ride right up to that edge, over and over and over again, but you won't be able to climax. I have better, stronger blocks I could use, ones that won't dissolve. The kind that can stay in your mind until I take them out...IF I take them out. And by the time you've thought about that for 20 hours without being able to get there, that very idea will become impossibly exciting. I'm using mental chastity to excite you about even crueler mental chastity. But that's the amazing thing about it. I can tell you exactly what I'm doing to you, and you're powerless to stop it. It only excites you more." As you nod lazily, accepting this truth, I add, "Good girl." You smile as if I'd said, "Good slut."

  Then, to show you how cruel I can be, I twist the knob of your horniness up even higher. You're almost blind with lust. And...I turn another nob. It adjusts your sexuality. Your attraction to me vanishes. Have I just set you on lesbian? Why would I do such a thing? You were so ready for me. So ready to accept me. So fucking cock-hungry. Why make you disgusted by me? Why make you hate this? I turn your curiosity down another notch and those questions fall out of your pretty little head.

  Oh FUCK, but you're still so horny. So when I stand up and pull out my cock, it's a whirl of confusing emotions. You obey with an open mouth as the back of your head, no longer supported, comes to rest against the side of the bed. You hate cock now, but you love that I'm filling your mouth—your throat—with it anyway. The shame of how your extreme lust overrides your disgust only amplifies your horniness as I use your throat.

  God, but you're even wetter between your legs. That must be what I'm really going to use. And still there's that violent confusion in you that threatens to rip you out of trance, bringing your mind up, up, up...only to lose itself in sensation somewhere and crash back down to a deeper mindlessness, where you can be accepting of your animal need.

  Is your head still open? Are things falling out of it? You're sure that things must be falling out of it. I'm not being gentle with this throat-fucking. Anything that's not carefully set in place is going to be lost to you forever. Was your identity strapped down as thoroughly as you're tied to the bed? You remember the *snick* of my block being placed. How firmly that block is in you. You wish I'd do something about the need between your legs, that opening weeping to be filled. You don't want my cock, but you NEED filling. And hammering. Violent attention.

  Yes, you're a needy little girl-shaped object, aren't you? I pull out, grab your hair, and lift your face close to mine, savoring the desperation in your eyes. Loving how you hate needing it. That confused rage. And it's in that moment that I jam something deep into your mind, an association that will insidiously thrive after you've left this trance. Remember the golden key I used to open you up? You'll associate keys with ME. Each time you see a key, you'll think of how I have access to your mind. The jangling of keys will remind you of how you're chained to my power. And oh yes, the feel of a key sliding into a lock, well...that will send a heavy wave of arousal through your body as you remember your need to be filled.

  I walk around to the other side of the bed. You're thinking of the feeling of sliding a key into a lock, the need to be filled. You lift your head to watch me. I'm reaching to rub the backs of your thighs. It feels so good. FUCK, you want to feel my key sliding into your lock. You can't really believe that you could feel this horny and not be able to explode. But that block is there. You can still feel it inside you, still remember the feel of it being set in place. It's all too much.

  You look at me, the shadow coming in from the light, and I am a man. The revulsion washes over you, my little victim. The fear of what I have the power to do to you, maybe even against your will, excites you but brings part of your mind forward in terror. Letting your mind take over, you make the mistake of crying, "Don't!"

  So I do the cruelest thing of all. I say, "Okay," and snap my fingers sharply, ripping you out of trance and back to wakefulness in a jarring, no-count, too-soon finale to your time in trance. Leaving you, shall we say, all keyed up.

  Most of your dials will slip back to their original settings. As you settle back to your own personal balance of heterosexual desire, you'll feel almost insane about your rejection when you know how much you needed it. Still need it. Though I never locked in the new values of the dials, that block won't dissolve for at least 20 hours. Poor thing, are you regretting that you chose wrong? Are you wet and throbbing? Is that leading you to the conclusion that you shouldn't have made a choice at all? Good. Good girl.

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