Mirror

This one's pretty unpleasant, folks.




She slid the lipstick across her lower lip, rotating the plastic just slightly between her finger and thumb and noting with some satisfaction that she was getting good at this.

At last, pink was overtaken by red. She looked-really looked-at her reflection for the first time as she pressed her lips together. The bitch in the mirror looked her over with indifferent eyes and something less than a sneer. Really, sweetie?

Allison looked the bitch in the eyes like a bull ready to charge and blew the most “fuck you” kiss ever blown. Her expression stared back, satisfied at a job well done. Allison abandoned her one-legged perch on the chair, taking a few backwards strides.

The woman in the mirror (the bitch had gone) stood with a bent knee and a hand on her hip. She was trying a little too hard to be sassy, but she’d been so right to go with blue cocktail dress. Taking her eyes from the mirror for a moment, Allison dared a glance down at herself, and was satisfied. She looked better in heels than she’d expected.

Her gaze moved back to the mirror, and her reflection’s breasts. She giggled a little-they were bundled up like a Christmas present. Too cute. She’d moved the hemline up and down all night, covering and uncovering her cleavage. She’d resolved to leave it alone earlier, and saw now she’d been right. Everything looked perfect.

Allison’s adam’s apple bounced up and down like a plucked string, then, flickering in the corner of her eye and then dancing slowly into the center of her vision. The girl in the mirror swallowed, sending the little lump of flesh soaring into her jawline and then crashing back down to her throat. Allison tilted her head so the woman’s neck wasn’t visible and ignored the beads of cold sweat needling into the center of her back.

Thinking of cleavage had been too much for the thing between her legs, which stiffened, uncoiling itself from its prison. Allison pretended not to notice as she looked over her shoes, questioning aloud whether they were too tight as the thing between her legs rubbed against her inner thighs, pulling its sweaty cargo along through the tightened skin. She adjusted her stance and played with the strap on her left shoulder. The thing’s shaft pulled back like a gun being loaded, drawing upward as the skin stretched.

Allison pulled her thighs together hard, slapping the thing, but the irritation seemed to spur it further. It climbed, slowly and inevitably, up the fabric of her panties. The stimulation from the fabric drew it out, and out and out and out, and no matter how Allison stood, the erection made her pretty blue dress look like a circus tent.

The harder her hands pushed against it, the more her penis fought to stay visible, sliding entirely out of her panties and stamping the interior of her dress with a damp little bead of sweat. It left a stain that would be unnoticeable to anyone but her, but one was enough. As she struggled with it, her hard-on was joined by the little lump in her throat, which bobbed up and down.
The tranny in the mirror was out of a three stooges routine as she pushed down on the lever of meat in her pants with one hand and reached for a scarf with the other. The tranny nearly lost its balance, its legs waving stupidly as the heels tried and failed to carry their awkward weight. The tranny fell once, twice, and then the heel of its right shoe broke. “Fuck!” it yelled in a deep voice.

Allison looked to the mirror. There was a thing in a dress with a hard-on sticking out of its underwear and a lump in its throat that darted around like a fly on a turd. The thing was lurching around in one shoe (the other kicked off and away), every alternate footfall thumping against the floor like a pirate with a wooden leg. Its make-up was smeared by two little streams of water dripping from it’s eyes. It looked like a clown.

She dropped to one knee to unstrap the other shoe, and the tip of her dick jostled lose from its pinned position and jammed against the floor. Her voice growled a second, louder “Fuck!” and then, without meaning to, her eyes turned back to the infernal piece of glass resting against the wall. This thing in the mirror swung a well-toned arm, swatting the shoe away like King Kong swinging at diving bi-planes. As the creature’s carefully applied makeup ran down a face that now seemed Easter Island-like in its proportions, its uncooperative dick drooped over to the left, slapping against a leg that recoiled in disgust.

Looking away from the horror in the mirror, Allison put her hands to her knees and pushed herself up. Her ass was in the air as she got to her feet. Don’t look at it, she thought. Don’t look at it.

Looking didn’t matter; the Frankenstein’s Monster in the mirror made noises, now. A low, bubbling crack of a fart wetted her ass cheeks with filth. The stomachache she thought she’d done away with had returned, apparently, its fumes smelling of male sweat and liquid shit. She turned back to the monster in the mirror who’d sent her this latest insult and saw the scowl on its face and the bulge in its dress and the broadness of its apelike shoulders. It was disgusting.

David pulled off his wig and threw it across the room. The dress was in the garbage an hour later.