Reflections In The Mirror |

Kneeling on the floor, my hands clasped behind my back, I gaze up at him, my Dom, with big brown eyes, waiting for his next command. My lips are swollen, smeared with saliva, and my chest heaves as I catch my breath. His cock is hard in front of me, glistening from the slickness of my mouth, as I prepare to take him deeper. This is what I was trained for, my mind raced through everything that had led to this moment. After setting up a Tumblr account to explore my hidden desires and fantasies, it wasn’t long before he reached out to me, inviting me to chat after reading my posts, drawn in by my yearnings.

Our conversations quickly grew charged. What began as just another random chat about our interests—me sharing fantasies, seeking attention— evolved into something far deeper. He had a knack for teasing out my innermost thoughts, and soon, I found myself revealing fantasies I had never dared to voice. I craved the training he offered, my desires pushing me to consent to everything he suggested, soon I was submitting to his commands.

He guided me, molded me, introduced me to edging, making me edge over and over again, while denying my release. He made me practice my blowjob and deepthroat skills on my dildo, while making me edge, making my pussy dripping with need. He made me recite a mantra: “I’m a desperate little slut craving to be an obedient little whore. I’m not allowed to cum until I’ve proven to be a good submissive little slut. My dripping wet pussy needs to be controlled.” Over and over again, while on a regime of relentless orgasm denial and edging, each task igniting a fire within me. I willingly followed his instructions, the thrill of submission driving me wild with anticipation. For the past two weeks, I hadn’t been allowed to cum, and it was maddening. I was constantly wet, desperate, dripping with arousal.

We decided to finally meet up, feeling comfortable with the way things were going between us chatting online, I felt ready to take the next step. When we finally met at the café, I was already soaked with anticipation. He had told me what to wear— a short y black leatherlook mini skirt and a tight white turtleneck top that accentuated my figure. Underneath, a black lace pushup bra and matching thong, heightened my sense of sensuality, while my kneehigh leather boots added an air of kinkyness. While sitting at the table in the middle of a busy cafe, I nervously considered our agreement: if I felt safe enough with him, I would remove my thong under the table and hand it over to him, signaling my readiness to continue and to submit to him. That moment was electrifying. I slid off my thong from underneath my tight skirt, my hands trembling as I passed it to him, the fabric damp with my desperation.

That was the signal for him to move onto the next step, as we left the cafe to his place. Now, in his apartment, everything felt heightened—the anticipation, the tension, the throbbing need that had been building for weeks between my legs. I remembered his promise: if I performed well for him, he would allow me to cum. This thought intensified my eagerness to please him. He wasted no time. As soon as the door closed, he ordered me to strip. My skin flushed as I stood there, naked and exposed, vulnerable but craving his approval. Then, he commanded me to my knees.

Kneeling down, my eyes met his, filled with eagerness and vulnerability, my thick lips slightly parted in anticipation. His hand cupped my chin, tilting my face up to meet his gaze. No words were necessary; he had trained me for this. I took a deep breath, feeling the ache between my legs intensify as I opened my mouth, ready to serve him the way I had been craving.

As I opened my mouth, the warmth of my breath mingled with the charged atmosphere in the room. His eyes were locked on me, filled with anticipation, spurring me on to please him. I leaned forward, feeling the cool air against my skin, and took his cock into my mouth, my body responding to the heat of the moment.

I started slowly, my tongue tracing his length, savoring the sensation. But he quickly grew impatient. His hand tightened in my hair, guiding me with a firm grip. Without warning, he thrust his cock deep into my mouth, making me gag as he hit the back of my throat. My breath hitched, and tears blurred my vision as he set the pace—rough and unrelenting.

“Take it all like a good little slut,” he growled, his voice sending shivers down my spine. I moaned, only encouraging him to go deeper. My saliva began to drip down my chin, my perfect makeup already starting to smudge. His hands pushed me further, faster, until I could barely keep up, my mouth slick and messy with spit.

Each thrust made my jaw ache, and the wet sounds filled the room, the lewdness of it driving me crazy. I wanted to please him, to show him how much I craved this. My mascara ran in streaks down my cheeks, mixing with the tears that spilled from my eyes as I gagged again, my throat tightening around him. The mess on my face only seemed to spur him on.

His breath grew ragged, his hips moving faster, more erratic. I knew he was close. His grip tightened in my hair as he thrust one last time, pulling back just as he reached his climax. With a grunt of satisfaction, he released, hot and thick across my face, the warmth of it splattering my lips, cheeks, and chin.

But he wasn’t done. Grabbing my arm, he dragged me in front of the mirror, making me kneel with my legs spread wide, the cum still dripping down my chin.

“Look at yourself,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “Such a desperate little slut willing to prove she’s obedient,” he pointed out to me, as I looked at myself in the mirror. My makeup was smeared, my lips swollen and wet, and the throbbing need between my legs was unbearable. I looked like a desperate little whore—and that’s exactly what I was. The sight of myself, wrecked and covered in his cum, made me crave his approval even more.

“Masturbate yourself for me while you say your mantra out loud,” he commanded me.

My heart raced as I knelt there, fingers trembling as they hovered over my clit. The same mantra I’d been forced to repeat during my two weeks of edging, when I’d been denied over and over again, now came rushing back. Only this time, it felt even more real, as I saw myself kneeling in front of the mirror, with him standing behind me, my face covered in his cum, desperate for release.

“I’m a desperate little slut,” I began, my voice soft but full of need. “Craving to be an obedient little whore. ”

The familiar rhythm of the mantra took over, just like it had when I’d edged myself, trembling with frustration, repeating it through the haze of denial. But now, the words felt heavier, as I stared at my reflection, fingers slowly rubbing my clit, knowing I was on the edge again.

“I’m not allowed to cum,” I whispered, my breath catching. “until I’ve proven to be a good submissive little slut. My dripping wet pussy needs to be controlled.”

Each word felt like a trigger, pulling me deeper into my submission. My fingers moved faster, my body trembling as the desperation I’d been conditioned to accept overwhelmed me. The memory of the weeks I’d spent edging, repeating this mantra alone in my room, mixed with the reality of now—kneeling in front of him, so close to finally getting what I craved.

“Say it again,” he demanded. “Louder.”

“I’m a desperate little slut,” I gasped, my fingers slipping against my wetness. “Craving to be an obedient little whore. I’m not allowed to cum until I’ve proven to be a good submissive little slut. My dripping wet pussy needs to be controlled.”

The words tumbled out, familiar and degrading, but they made my need sharper. I could feel myself spiraling closer to that edge, the same edge I’d been left on so many times before.

“I’m a desperate little slut craving to be an obedient little whore. I’m not allowed to cum.”

He let me continue for what felt like an eternity, my body trembling with the need to cum, fingers slick with my arousal. My reflection taunted me—makeup ruined, pussy dripping, lips parted in a desperate moan. I was on the verge of losing control, the pleasure too intense to bear.

Until finally he whispered the words I had been dying to hear in my ear. “Cum for me, slut.”

My body obeyed instantly, waves of pleasure crashing through me as I cried out, fingers working my clit furiously as I watched myself fall apart in the mirror. My orgasm tore through me, uncontrollable, leaving me gasping and shaking. The sight of my reflection—cum dripping down my face, my body trembling—burned into my mind. I was exactly what I had always wanted to be—his obedient little whore, as I kept repeating the mantra through my moans.

“Until I’ve proven to be a good submissive little slut. My dripping wet pussy needs to be controlled.”

As the final tremors of my climax faded, I slumped forward slightly, breathing heavily, my body shaking. Slowly, I lifted my eyes to the mirror. My face was a mess—cum streaked across my skin, mascara running down my cheeks, lips swollen and wet with saliva. I looked wrecked, every bit the desperate slut I’d admitted to being.

His presence loomed behind me, his gaze heavy on my bare skin as I stared at my reflection, lost in the wreckage of what I had become. “Look at yourself,” he murmured, his tone low, but dripping with authority. “See what you are now. My little slut, covered in cum, makeup smeared, pussy still dripping. This is who you’ve always wanted to be.”

I stared at the girl in the mirror—no, not just a girl. A filthy, obedient slut. His words sliced through the haze of my fading orgasm, and the weight of what I had done sank in, making my heart pound with the overwhelming reality. I had crossed that line. This wasn’t a fantasy anymore. I was the desperate, needy whore I craved to be. And the truth of it made my body throb all over again.

“See what you really are,” he continued, stepping closer, his heat enveloping me. “A filthy little whore, desperate and needy, willing to ruin herself for me.”

My chest tightened at his words, and I felt my pulse quicken as they echoed inside me. He was right. This is exactly who I was. This was what I had longed for, what had kept me on the edge for weeks. I wanted him to see how far I would fall for him, to know just how much I craved to be broken for him.

“Tell me,” he commanded, his voice sharp and expectant. “What does this make you?”

My reflection stared back at me, a perfect picture of ruin—face streaked with his cum, mascara smeared down my cheeks, lips swollen and wet from his cock, and my pussy still dripping with unrelenting need. I had done this for him. I had become this for him.

“A slut,” I whispered, my voice trembling, barely able to admit it out loud.

His lips curved into a satisfied smirk, his approval washing over me like a reward. “Yes, a good submissive little slut. Look at the mess you’ve become—that’s who you really are. My little whore, broken and ready to be used.”

A shiver of pleasure ran down my spine at his words, the truth of them settling deep in my core. This wasn’t just a role I had played—it was who I was. His little slut, his obedient whore, ready to give myself over completely.

He leaned down, his breath hot against my ear, sending another jolt of arousal through me. “Look at yourself and remember this,” he whispered. “This is who you are now. This is what you’ve always wanted to be.”

I stared at the girl in the mirror, her eyes wide with realization, cum streaked across her face, makeup ruined, her body still trembling from the aftershocks of pleasure. I had become everything I craved to be. This was who I was. And it made me burn with desire all over again.