Determined to regain control I yank off my clothes and throw them away. Wait, what?

I made my way around another couple of turns without any real plan. I guess I was hoping that just being alone and stopping for a moment would sort of reset things, make the series of events that were occurring stop and hand control back to me.

And then as I was about to do just that I walked into a mirror. If it was the full-length mirror at home I'm sure it would have fallen over, but this one was made of sterner stuff and like a bully it threw me to the floor. I lay there, stunned, staring at myself in the mirror, seeing straight up my skirt in all the mirrors around me.

My gash was reddened and plump, glistening like it had been oiled, and the skin all around it, so carefully waxed yesterday, was smooth as silk, hair-free and shiny. Trails of love-slime disappeared into the thigh-highs, showing just how turned on I must have been all this time.

Without any prompting from me my hand moved toward my crotch, fluttering like a butterfly, and I watched it slowly pull up the skirt and descend toward my overflowing pussy. I moaned in anticipation, but some perverse part of me froze the fingers mere millimeters from the screaming nerves of my vulva, making me mewl in frustration.

"Too easy," I gasped out, not even thinking. Maybe I wasn't thinking either while I unzipped the boots and wiggled my feet out. While avoiding my aching breasts those same traitorous hands undid my top, yanking it off without a care for its well-being before propping me up off the ground and yanking harshly on my little mini-skirt.

Clambering to my feet I gazed around me, seeing nothing but my own naked body and the small mound of clothes at my feet. No one was there. No one could see how my nipples had thickened, or how trails of glistening liquid had made their way down to my knees. How could I possibly have gotten this turned on from the disaster this day had been?

The sane part of me told me to put the clothes back on and march back out and go home.

Instead I scooped up the articles of clothing one item at a time, closed my eyes and twirled them around over my head and let them sail up and away. Each throw - starting with the boots and then the shirt and then the skirt - was more forceful than the last, and it wasn't until the last article was thrown that I opened my eyes and seemed to regain control.

A long horrified moan emerged from my mouth, my hands clasping themselves over my lips to muffle it as I stared wide-eyed at myself in the mirror. Why had I done that? It was true that the day was meant to be an erotic adventure where I teased men mercilessly, but it was supposed to be with me completely in control and I'd just thrown every last bit of control away.

I looked around, desperately hoping to find that I'd simply thrown my clothes over my shoulder and that they'd landed right behind me. Instead I twirled around and saw nothing. Except for one lonely boot. I rushed forward.

And thumped my head straight into a mirror. Both me and the mirror wobbled - me much more unsteadily - and I bounced a little in frustration. With hands outstretched I tried to find a gap in the mirrors, to get straight to the thigh-high boot, but instead of going straight to the boot I ended up find a gap in the mirror wall behind me, and had to head away from the boot.

"...totally giving us 'fuck-me' eyes. I mean, you saw her playing with herself before, and then she was licking her lips while she looked at us," a voice said, and right in front of me one of the men from outside stepped into the room.

"House of mirrors is such an awesome make-out spot," a second guy said, coming in behind the other. It was only when they didn't immediately grab me that I realized it was the mirrors making it look like they were right there. I was so disapp... so relieved.

"I know, right? She must love seeing herself getting plowed by dick from every angle," a third man commented as he came in.

"And every hole," a fourth snickered.

"What a kinky slut," a fifth said. God, how many more were there?

"Well if she's in here I'll find her. I know they layout by heart," a sixth said.

"Do they every change it?" a seventh asked.

"Occasionally, but they stick to the same four layouts," the sixth said, as the never-ending stream of men stopped.

As if to hide myself from their gaze I dropped to all fours, lowering my head.

"There she is!" one of them cried out, and I closed my eyes, certain that at any moment the figures rushing toward me would turn into real men, with real dicks.