Her Reflection Begins To Change

Crimson hands slid forward to grope the reporter's breasts—and was it Lois Lane's imagination, or did the tiny titties of her reflect seem a little bigger as the fingers teased the pink nipples. As the cock slid in and out of her in a seemingly endless rhythm, Lois focused on that. Stared into her own eyes, the dark pupils in the center of the violet irises containing her own reflecting, infinitely magnified.

Once, she had interviewed a mystic who claimed that you could hypnotize yourself that way. Just stare into your own reflection and let your mind fixate on that object...on your identity...on who you were...

For a time that Lois Lane could not determine, she simply was. Existing eternally as her ass was pounded, staring into her own reflection, her mind and spirit becoming attuned to that one purpose, that one truth of herself...and she was not consciously aware when the pain in her reflection's face gave way to a kind of calm. Little by little, the outlines of the reflection began to fill out. The red fingers seemed to sink into soft titflesh, now. The booty thrown back to meet the crimson cock clapped, the cheeks thicker and softer as well. Hints of muscle and bone gave way to fuller curves...the lips plumped as they sucked the cock reaching out through the mirror.

Until the images seemed to match. Until she was staring not at some skinny, prudish bitch, shocked and alarmed at what was happening to her.

"Is that you?" A voice whispered, surprisingly feminine, in Lois Lane's ear. In the mirror, she could make out a woman's face, the skin as red as blood, the mouth wide and generous, dark horns curling up from a broad forehead. The cock pulled from her mouth and retreated back behind a shrinking hole, leaving Lois gasping, drooling from beestung lips and staring at her own face in the mirror. "Answer me, Lois. Is that slut in the mirror you?"

The whisper had half-broken Lois out of her meditation. For a moment, the old pain, the old fear flickered in her reflection's eyes...and they were so much alike now, that Lois wasn't sure for a moment whether she was the real reporter or her reflection, whether she was on this side of the mirror or that, and her whole being felt perched on a precipice, so that the slightest movement would send her tumbling down one way or another.