Chapter 5: First Taste of Her
The dusty air crackled with tension, thick as the velvet drapes sagging from the windows. Megan hovered above me, a silhouette against the moonlit canopy, her eyes burning like emeralds in the gloom. Her hands, strong and possessive, cradled my hips, thumbs digging into the soft flesh just above the damp red curls. The polished wood of the four-poster’s footboard pressed cold against my spine. My skirt was a rumpled bundle around my waist, my thigh-high socks the only barrier left against the world. And there – the heat, the insistent pressure, the slick, blunt head of her cock pressing against my swollen, impossibly sensitive entrance.
"Relax, beautiful," she murmured, her voice a low thrum that vibrated through my bones. Her breath warmed my cheek. "I’ve got you. Just let me in."
Relaxing felt impossible. Every nerve ending screamed. My body, this new, bewildering landscape of curves and nerve clusters, was a live wire. Her touch, her presence at my threshold, sent frantic signals – fear, anticipation, a terrifying wave of need that threatened to drown the remnants of my old self. My legs trembled where they hooked over her stockings. I clenched instinctively, muscles tightening against the intrusion I simultaneously craved.
"Easy," she soothed, her thumb brushing a maddeningly tender circle on my hipbone. "Breathe. Remember how it felt when you touched yourself? That opening? That’s what I need."
I took a shuddering breath, the scent of old dust, our mingled sweat, and my own arousal thick in my nostrils. I tried to focus, to loosen the desperate clench low in my belly. I remembered the slick slide of my own fingers, the shocking heat, the way my body had welcomed it despite the strangeness. Slowly, deliberately, I forced my thighs to open wider, arching my spine slightly off the faded velvet.
"Good girl," Megan breathed, the praise sending another jolt through me. She shifted her weight, applying a firmer, constant pressure. The broad head pressed insistently, stretching me wider than my fingers ever had. A sharp gasp escaped me, my fingers scrabbling against the slick fabric of her witch’s dress where it pooled around her knees. It burned. A bright, clean stretch that stole my breath.
She didn’t thrust. Not yet. Just pressure. Relentless. My body fought it for a heartbeat, then yielded with a sudden, wet give. The head popped past the tight ring of muscle.
"Fuck!" The curse ripped from me, high and ragged. The sensation was immense.Filling. Not just physically, but… existentially. My old self, James, the guy who’d had a cock, recoiled in some deep, instinctive place. This new body, this me, arched violently, trying to take it, hold it, consume it. The contrast was dizzying.
Megan groaned, a deep, resonant sound that echoed mine. Her fingers tightened on my hips, knuckles white. "Oh, god, James... you feel... incredible." She stayed buried to the hilt for a moment, letting me adjust, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts against my neck. I could feel the thick vein pulsing on her shaft, feel the heat radiating from her skin. Her witch’s hat brushed my forehead, askew and ridiculous and utterly Megan.
The initial burn subsided, replaced by a deep, profound fullness. A pressure that seemed to resonate in my very core, pressing against places I hadn’t known existed moments ago. It was terrifying. It was exhilarating.
"Okay?" she asked, her voice tight with restraint. Her green eyes searched mine, intense, searching for any flicker of distress beyond the shock.
I nodded, my throat tight. Words were impossible. I managed a breathless, "Y-yeah. Just… full. So full."
A slow, predatory smile touched her lips. "Good." Her hips flexed. A slow, deliberate withdrawal, dragging along every sensitized nerve. The friction was exquisite torture, scraping the very edge of pain into blinding pleasure. My back arched again, a whimper escaping me as she pulled nearly all the way out, leaving me achingly empty.
Then she pushed back in. Smooth. Steady. Deeper this time, grinding slightly as she seated herself fully. The angle shifted, the head of her cock finding a spot inside me that felt like it detonated a supernova. White light exploded behind my eyelids. My cry was guttural, raw.
"There!" I gasped, my hands flying to grip her shoulders, nails digging into velvet. "Oh god, Meg, there!"
Her eyes darkened, pupils swallowing the green. "Found it, huh?" Her voice was thick, triumphant. She withdrew again, agonizingly slow, then thrust hard, hitting that spot dead-on. Stars burst again. "That’s the spot," she confirmed, her breath hitching. "My gorgeous girl. Taking me so fucking well."
The rhythm began. Slow at first, each deep stroke a focused assault on that newly discovered epicenter of pleasure. Withdrawal: a slow, burning drag that left me gasping. Thrust: a hard, deep impact that made me cry out, my body clenching around her involuntarily. The bed groaned beneath us, a rhythmic counterpoint to our ragged breathing and the slick, obscene sound of her moving in me.
"Look at you," she rasped, her gaze raking over me – my flushed chest straining against the schoolgirl blouse, my red hair fanned out on the velvet, my legs trembling around her waist. "Look at what you are." She punctuated the words with another deep thrust. "Beautiful. Powerful. Mine."
The possessiveness, the sheer intensity of her focus, unraveled me. My climax began building again, a terrifyingly fast ascent. It wasn’t just physical this time. It felt tied to the surrender, to the impossible intimacy of being filled by her, claimed by her in this utterly transformed way. My body remembered the earlier orgasms, the pathways already forged, and this new fullness ignited them all at once.
"Meg," I panted, my voice trembling on the edge of a sob. "I can't... I'm going to..."
"Come," she commanded, her voice rough but certain. Her thrusts became faster, harder, piston-like, driving relentlessly into that sweet spot. Her hand slid between our bodies, fingers finding my swollen, neglected clit. She pressed, circled. "Come on my cock, beautiful. Show me."
The dual assault shattered me. My body bowed off the bed, held down only by her weight and her grip. A scream tore from my throat, raw and unrestrained, echoing off the ornate mirror reflecting our tangled, frantic shapes. Pleasure detonated, blinding, all-consuming. My inner muscles clamped down on her cock in rhythmic, milking spasms, drawing a deep, guttural groan from her. Wave after wave crashed over me, longer, deeper than before, pulled from the very depths of this new body by the relentless pressure inside me.
She rode me through it, her thrusts slowing but not stopping, her fingers working my clit until the sensations bordered on agony. Only when the last tremor subsided, leaving me limp and boneless, my breaths coming in ragged, wet sobs, did she still. She slumped forward, her forehead resting against mine, her own breath hot and labored. Her cock pulsed inside me, still thick, still hard.
We lay tangled, slick with sweat, the only sound our heavy breathing and the faint settling of the old house. Dust motes danced wildly in the shaft of moonlight bisecting the bed. Megan shifted slightly, pulling back just enough to look down at me. Her green eyes were soft now, dazed with pleasure and something deeper, more tender.
"Tight fit, gorgeous," she murmured, a ghost of her usual playful smirk touching her lips. She gave a shallow, experimental thrust, making me gasp at the oversensitive friction. "Think we should've tried this before the magic mirror?" Her thumb brushed my cheek, wiping away a tear track. "Or is this exactly how it was supposed to be?" Her gaze drifted down between us, a new kind of hunger sparking in her eyes as she felt her own insistent hardness still nestled deep within me. The forgotten room held its breath, the ancient mirror reflecting our exhaustion and the crackling promise of what might come next.
The forgotten room held its breath, the ancient mirror reflecting our exhaustion and the crackling promise of what might come next. Megan’s weight pressed me deeper into the velvet, her cock still a thick presence inside me, impossibly hard despite her own climax. Her breath warmed my neck, smelling faintly of sweat and the dusty velvet beneath us.
"Still going strong down there, gorgeous?" Her voice was a husky murmur against my ear. She shifted her hips experimentally, drawing a sharp gasp from me as her shaft dragged against oversensitized nerves. "Feels like it."
"Meg," I managed, my voice wrecked, "you’re still… inside me." The sheer reality of it, the impossible fullness, made my head spin. My body felt liquid, utterly spent, yet acutely aware of every inch of her. My own arousal, slick and undeniable, pulsed against the base of her cock.
She chuckled, a low rumble I felt vibrate through her chest into mine. "Observant." Her thumb traced the damp curve of my jawline. "Seems the magic mirror’s gifts keep on giving." Her gaze flickered towards the ornate mirror across the room, its surface clouded but still capturing our tangled reflection. "Want to see?"
Before I could answer, she began a slow, deliberate withdrawal. The sensation was excruciatingly intense, a drawn-out slide that scraped raw nerves. I whimpered, fingers clutching at her velvet-clad shoulders. "Easy… please…"
"Shh," she soothed, her movements becoming impossibly gentle. "Just easing out." Finally, she pulled free completely. A rush of cool air hit the emptiness, followed immediately by a profound sense of loss. Something thick and wet trickled down my inner thigh. My legs trembled violently.
Megan knelt back on her heels, surveying me sprawled on the rumpled velvet. Moonlight caught the slick sheen coating her cock, glistening obscenely. Her green eyes were dark pools of fascination and hunger. "Look at you," she breathed, her voice thick. "Absolutely soaked. Mine." Her fingers, surprisingly tender, traced the swollen, glistening folds between my trembling thighs. The touch sent fresh jolts of sensation through my exhausted body.
I flinched, oversensitive. "Too much…"
"Just looking," she murmured, though her touch lingered. Her gaze travelled upwards, taking in my flushed chest heaving beneath the tight schoolgirl blouse, the mess of red hair fanned out. "God, James… you’re breathtaking like this." A possessive pride warmed her voice. "My beautiful, transformed girl."
The possessive 'my' sent another shiver through me, different from the aftershocks. It felt anchoring, strangely comforting amidst the chaos. "Feels… surreal," I admitted, my voice still shaky. My hand drifted tentatively down my own body, tracing the unfamiliar swell of my hip, the startling softness of my inner thigh. The skin felt hypersensitive, electric.
Megan watched my exploration, a slow smile spreading across her face. "Surreal’s one word for it." She shifted closer, her damp cock bumping against my hip. "Want to see something else surreal?" She gestured towards the large, ornate mirror leaning against the far wall, its surface catching the fractured moonlight. Dust motes danced wildly in its reflected beam.
The thought of seeing us – Megan with her witch’s hat askew, velvet dress rucked up, her proud cock gleaming, and me, this curvy redhead in a dishevelled schoolgirl outfit, legs splayed, visibly used – was terrifying. Exhilarating. My heart hammered against my ribs. "I…"
"Come on," she coaxed, her tone light but insistent. She slid off the bed, landing gracefully despite her heels. She offered me her hand. "Trust me. You need to see." Her fingers were warm, strong, pulling me up. My legs wobbled, unused to bearing weight after… everything. My thighs were sticky.
She guided me, steadying me as I stumbled, towards the mirror. The dusty floorboards creaked underfoot. The air felt colder away from the bed’s residual warmth. We stopped a few feet before the tarnished glass. The reflection swam into focus slowly, distorted by age and grime, yet undeniably us.
I stared. The redheaded woman staring back looked wrecked. Flushed skin, swollen lips, eyes wide with shock and lingering pleasure. The schoolgirl outfit was a parody, ripped and stained. My thighs glistened. Beside me, Megan looked powerful, predatory, yet her hand on my hip was gentle. Her cock stood thick and proud against her thigh, a shocking counterpoint to the feminine curve of her hips beneath the velvet skirt. The witch’s hat cast a dramatic shadow.
The witch’s hat cast a dramatic shadow across our reflection, making Megan’s sharp features look even more predatory in the grimy glass. My own wide eyes stared back – a stranger with wild red hair and flushed skin, the ripped schoolgirl blouse barely containing my heaving chest. Below, the view was undeniable: my thighs slick, trembling, the unfamiliar curve of my hip stark in the moonlight, Megan’s hand possessive on my waist, her thick cock resting against my hipbone, glistening with evidence of what we’d just done.
"See?" Megan breathed, her voice rough against my ear. Her free hand traced the reflection, fingertip hovering over the sticky mess between my legs. "Look what you are now. Look what we did." Pride laced her words, thick and warm.
A shiver ran through me, unrelated to the cold air or the dust. The sight was overwhelming. Embarrassing. We looked debauched, wrecked, impossibly changed. Yet, beneath the shock, a low hum pulsed deep within my new core. It wasn't just aftershocks. It felt deeper. Hungrier.
"That's... a lot," I managed, my voice thin. My reflection’s lips looked swollen, vulnerable.
Megan chuckled, the sound vibrating against my back. "Understatement." She turned me gently, forcing me away from the mirror to face her. Her green eyes scanned my face, reading the turmoil. "You okay? Really okay?" Her thumb brushed my cheekbone, surprisingly tender.
I swallowed, nodding. "Yeah. Just... processing." My gaze flickered down, drawn inevitably to the prominent heat still pressing against my bare thigh. It seemed impossible it had been inside me moments ago. Impossible it still looked so hard, so demanding. "You're still... ready?"
A slow, familiar smirk played on her lips. "Seems the mirror’s gift keeps on giving." She shifted her hips, letting the heavy shaft slide against my skin. The contact sent a jolt through my oversensitive nerves. "This thing’s got a mind of its own tonight." Her hand drifted lower, fingertips lightly tracing the slick curve where my thigh met my new center. "But what about you, gorgeous? Hmm?"
Her touch, even that feather-light brush, ignited sparks. I gasped, flinching. "Meg, sensitive..."
"Just checking," she murmured, but her eyes darkened with renewed focus. She didn't remove her hand. Instead, her fingers dipped lower, skating through the wetness coating my inner thigh, then venturing closer to the swollen, heated folds revealed by my rumpled skirt. Her touch was exploratory, fascinated. "Still so soaked," she observed, her voice dropping. "Even after all that."
I bit my lip, trying to stifle the moan building in my throat. My legs trembled, threatening to buckle. The sensation was too much. Too immediate. Every nerve ending screamed.
"Look at me, James." Her command was soft but firm. I dragged my gaze up to meet hers. Possession blazed there, mixed with a heat that stole my breath. Her exploring fingers pressed more deliberately against my outer lips, sliding through the slickness. "This," she whispered, her thumb finding the tight, swollen nub above my entrance, "this feels like it wants more."
A choked sound escaped me as she rubbed a slow circle. Pleasure, sharp and intense, lanced through the exhaustion. My hips jerked involuntarily against her hand. "Oh god..."
"Tell me," she breathed, her thumb continuing its maddening rhythm. Her other hand tightened on my waist, holding me steady. "Tell me what this new, hungry little thing wants." She dipped a fingertip lower, brushing against my entrance – still impossibly open, tender, slick. "Is it satisfied? Or..." She pressed the tip of her finger just slightly inside, not thrusting, just applying pressure. "Does it still ache?"
The intrusion, even that small, sent a fresh wave of desperate need crashing through me. My body clenched around her fingertip, trying to draw it deeper. The emptiness from her withdrawal roared back, sharp and undeniable. My knees buckled; only her grip kept me upright. My voice, when it came, was a ragged whisper, torn between shame and overwhelming truth.
"No. It... it still craves you, Meg." The admission hung in the dusty air, raw and final. My pussy pulsed around her fingertip, a visceral confirmation.
The pulsing around Megan’s fingertip wasn't just confirmation; it was a demand. My body arched, seeking more pressure, more friction, more her. The cool air kissed my exposed skin, raising goosebumps even as heat pooled low in my belly.
"Craves me, huh?" Megan murmured, her voice thick with satisfaction. Her thumb pressed harder against my clit, sending sparks skittering up my spine. "Good." She withdrew her finger slowly, deliberately, watching my slick glisten on her skin before bringing it to her lips. Her tongue flicked out, tasting me, her eyes locked on mine. "Still tastes like need."
A shudder ripped through me, equal parts embarrassment and raw desire. My legs felt like jelly. "Meg…"
"Shh." She silenced me, not unkindly, her gaze dropping back down. Her free hand drifted to her own cock, giving it a slow, possessive stroke. The thick shaft looked impossibly hard, glistening under the fractured moonlight filtering through the dusty drapes. "See this?" She guided my trembling hand towards it. The heat radiating off her skin was intense. "It craves you too. Still. Always."
My fingers brushed the velvety skin. It jumped under my touch. The sheer, persistent hardness was bewildering. My old self would have been exhausted. This new body… this new me… thrummed with a different kind of energy, wired tight and humming. "How?" I breathed, wrapping my fingers tentatively around the base. The weight was substantial, the pulse beneath my palm undeniable.
"Magic mirror doesn't do things by halves," she chuckled darkly, her hips pushing subtly into my grip. Her other hand slid back between my legs, fingers spreading my slick folds wider. "Feels like it wants to live inside you." Her fingertip circled my entrance again, teasing the swollen rim. "Think you can take it again? Already?" Her green eyes burned into mine, challenging, hungry. "My greedy girl."
The nickname sent another jolt through me. Greedy. Was I? The emptiness ached, a physical echo of her absence. My hips rocked forward, seeking her touch, her fullness. "Yes," I whispered, the word barely audible. My grip tightened on her cock, feeling the powerful throb against my palm. "Please. Need it."
"Need what?" she pressed, her finger dipping just inside, stretching me slightly. Her thumb resumed its relentless circles on my clit. "Say it."
The demand ripped the truth from me. "Need you inside me. Need your cock." The vulgarity felt shocking, electric, leaving my lips. My reflection in the grimy mirror watched, wide-eyed and flushed. "Now, Meg."
A low growl rumbled in her chest. Triumph flared in her eyes. "That's my girl." She stepped back slightly, pulling me with her by the cock I still held. Her gaze swept the room, landing on the heavy wooden vanity table pushed against the wall beneath the mirror. Dust coated its surface, thick and undisturbed for years. "There," she decided, her voice rough. "Turn around. Bend over it."
My breath hitched. The idea was exposed, vulnerable. Degrading, almost. Yet the pulse between my legs quickened. The cool wood against my flushed skin… her behind me… the mirror reflecting it all… The image alone was potent. I released her cock, my hand trembling, and turned slowly. The vanity’s edge pressed against my thighs just below the bunched skirt. I leaned forward, resting my forearms on the dusty surface. The wood felt cold and gritty beneath my skin. My reflection stared back, breasts pushed together by the angle, face flushed with anticipation and apprehension.
Megan moved behind me, her presence radiating heat. Her hands smoothed up my trembling thighs, pushing the ruined skirt higher, bunching it around my waist. The cool air hit my exposed ass and dripping folds. Her thumbs pressed into the soft flesh of my cheeks, spreading me open wider. I felt utterly exposed. Her cock nudged against me, slick and hot, sliding through my wetness, seeking the entrance she’d just teased.
"Look," she commanded, her voice tight. "Look in the mirror. See yourself. See how much you want this."
My gaze snapped to the reflection. The sight was obscene, mesmerizing. Me bent over, flushed and trembling, skirt rucked up, legs spread. Her witch’s hat shadowed her intense face as she positioned herself. Her cock, thick and glistening, pressed firmly against my slick opening. My own eyes stared back, dark with need, lips parted.
She didn’t tease this time. She pushed forward steadily, relentlessly. The thick head breached me, stretching me wide instantly. A sharp cry tore from my throat, echoed faintly in the dusty stillness. The mirror showed my face contort, eyes squeezing shut for a second before snapping open again, compelled to watch.
"Open your eyes," Megan growled, her voice strained with effort. She pushed deeper, the familiar burn giving way to that overwhelming fullness. "Watch yourself take it." Her hands gripped my hips hard, anchoring me as she drove deeper. My body yielded, accepting her, the slide slicker now but no less intense. I watched my reflection gasp, saw my mouth form a silent 'O' as she seated herself fully inside me, her hips flush against my ass. The stretch was profound, breathtaking. My inner muscles fluttered wildly around the thick intrusion.
She held still for a heartbeat, buried deep. Our eyes locked in the mirror – hers blazing with possession, mine wide with shock and surrender. Dust motes danced wildly in the reflected moonlight around our tangled image. Her breath hitched. "Fuck… you’re tight," she groaned, her fingers digging into my flesh. "Even tighter this time." She pulled back slowly, the drag exquisite torture, then slammed forward again. The impact jolted me against the vanity. A choked moan escaped me. The mirror showed the ripple through my body, the bounce of my breasts, the desperate clench of my hands on the dusty wood.
Her rhythm began, deep and powerful. Each withdrawal pulled a whimper from me; each thrust punched the air from my lungs and sent fresh shocks of pleasure-pain radiating outwards. She fucked me with a focused intensity, her gaze fixed on our reflection, watching herself disappear inside me again and again. The obscene sound of flesh meeting flesh, the slick slide, filled the forgotten room. The vanity creaked ominously with each powerful drive.
"See?" she gasped, her thrusts relentless. "See how beautiful you look? Taking me like this?" Her hand snaked around my hip, fingers finding my clit instantly. She rubbed hard, fast circles, perfectly timed with her thrusts. "See how wet you are? How much you need it?"
The dual assault was brutal, overwhelming. Pleasure coiled tighter and tighter, a spring wound beyond endurance. My cries grew louder, less coherent. I watched myself unravel in the mirror – face contorted with ecstasy, body jerking with each powerful thrust, breasts swaying. The sight was fuel, feeding the fire. My climax detonated without warning, a silent scream ripping through me as my vision whited out. My body clamped down on her cock in violent spasms, milking her desperately.
Megan shouted, a raw, guttural sound. Her hips stuttered, then slammed deep as her own release tore through her. I felt her cock pulse violently inside me, thick jets of heat flooding my depths. She held herself buried, grinding against me as the pulses subsided, her body shuddering against mine. Her forehead pressed between my shoulder blades, her breath hot and ragged on my skin.
We stayed locked together, trembling, the only sounds our harsh breathing and the settling dust. The mirror reflected our utter wreckage: Megan slumped over me, her hat fallen off, dark hair sticking to her sweaty temple; me collapsed over the vanity, legs trembling, eyes glazed, her cock still buried deep inside me as aftershocks rippled through us both. The forgotten room held its breath, saturated with the scent of sex and dust and something electric, charged. The ornate mirror watched, impassive, holding the image of what we’d become, what we’d done. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, broken only by Megan’s low, satisfied murmur against my spine. "Never… going back."