Chapter 3: Strangers

Holding onto his cold hand, Rose led the mysterious young man—whose name she had not yet learned—up the flights of stairs and into her apartment.

Rose’s place was small but charming. What struck you first were the two sets of tall, narrow windows that opened up to balconettes. Rose liked to step outside to smoke her vape pen and have her morning tea.

Currently, her drapes were pulled open and the twinkling lights of the city at night glittered through the tall panes of glass.

“Would you like some wine?” she offered. “Or more weed?”

He contemplated for a moment before responding: “I’ll take another hit on that vape.”

She brought it to him and cracked open one of the large windowpanes. He leaned against it without stepping outside. After pouring herself a glass of red wine, she leaned against the opposite pane, facing him.

“What’s your name?” she inquired.

He drew a long puff on the vape and exhaled a white stream of smoke that dissipated into the night air as it mingled with a gentle breeze. “Can’t we keep this anonymous?” he asked in response.

Rose sipped on her wine. “As you like,” she told him with a shrug. Anonymous could be sexy.

She downed a large gulp of the crimson liquid and set down her glass. She drew closer to him, keeping her eyes on his. Her hand explored the air for his and she gently purloined the vape pen from his fingers. She slipped the pen into her mouth and sucked. Using her finger, she parted his lips and blew her vaporous clouds into his open mouth. She then sealed his mouth with her own.

Their lips, tongues, and smoke mingled playfully. The intensity of their making out amplified when Rose felt a faint bite on her lip. Her nails clawed in response, digging into the flesh that she desired with increasing hunger.

With a knowing smile, she pulled herself away from him. She grabbed the bottom edges of her shirt and pulled it over her head. This action revealed the sumptuous mounds of her breasts peeking out from a black-lace bra.

She grabbed her wine glass and finished what remained. Then, with come-hither finger motions, she instructed him to follow her to the bed. She took out a condom from her nightstand and tossed it in his direction.

Both now sitting on the bed, she took hold of his icy hands and placed them on her lace-clad tits. He squeezed them eagerly and released a pleading moan. He then pulled her greedily toward him and reengaged her lips with his own. Reaching behind her, he unclasped the hooks of her bra and released her tits. He brought his lips to each nipple, licking and sucking and biting ever so gently, each in their turn.

He took hold of her body with both arms and laid her supine on the bed. Together, they yanked off the remainder of their clothes. His cold hands spread her legs open, and he dove tongue-first into her exposed pussy.

His tongue licked and flicked the spiraling contours of her clit. It twirled and tangoed inside the deep cavern of her cunt. A finger joined in, then another. This added rhythm and bass to the symphony of pleasure he was performing. The occasional bite added a staccato, and sent a cymbal crash throughout her body.

Rose’s eyelashes fluttered shut as she allowed all her focus to parade down to her pussy. Each lap of his tongue, each thrust of his fingers, each electric tease of his teeth sent a bolt of pleasure through her body.

The sensations radiated from her pussy outward like a nuclear bomb detonated in the ground zero of her erogenous zones. When he triggered her g-spot, she could not hold back an explosive cry, a mad scream signaling climax.

Rose collapsed in satisfaction, her lungs gasping for air and beads of sweat collecting like dew on her forehead. “You’re very good at that,” she chuckled. “You must have had a lot of practice.”

“I’ve been around for a long time,” he muttered under his breath as he unzipped his pants and released his erection, now thick and hard and pulsing with desire. He hovered over her for a moment and inspected her body. He clenched his eyes shut and bit his lip, as if trying to hold something back.

Before his eyes reopened, he felt a warm hand grasp his hard cock. Rose had unwrapped the condom and was sliding it onto his erection. She then guided his sex into her own. They each moaned in response.

Having been invited in, he began with slow plunges, sliding in and out with ease thanks to the dripping wetness of Rose’s eager pussy. He pulled himself mostly out and teased the foregrounds of her pussy with the head of his cock, inviting her to moan uncontrollably in anticipation. 

His thrusts then got harder and more determined. He propelled his dick into her and pumped with ferocity. He gripped her tits and brought his mouth back to them. In their jostled movement, Rose found her head hanging off the side of the bed with the mysterious stranger perched above her, thrusting himself ever harder and deeper inside her.

She hoisted her hips upward, allowing her clit to feel the full, vigorous pounding he was bestowing.  He cupped her ass cheeks to support her arched back and discovered this enabled him to go even deeper.

Rose felt the penetration through her entire body, almost as if his dick had reached her throat internally from her pussy. Her tits bounced and her headboard rattled as she again sang out cacophonous cries of pleasure. Rose hurled her body upright, and with him still inside her, she pushed him backward. With him sprawled along the bed, she rode him furiously. 

Bit by bit, her cries increased their volume, each new one encouraged by the last to go louder. The rising pitch and volume of her screams filled the small apartment like air being blown into a balloon until the whole thing burst with the final, screaming wail of utter ecstasy.

Rose fell off him onto the bed. She could barely open her eyes. Her heart raced and her head swam with a toxic mix of pot, nicotine, wine, and sex. She could feel herself breathing heavily, she could feel her pussy quiver with the tiny aftershocks of cumming. The haze in her mind was blissful, the electricity in her skin was exhilarating.

She felt the tingle of frosty fingertips along her body and she opened her knees to allow the fucking to continue. She felt his thrusts resume and accelerate. Already so charged up and aroused, it didn’t take much to ignite the short fuse of another orgasm for her. She felt the build up inside her, the race to the finish line, the shot to the target, the storm clouds propelling themselves toward a thunderous clap.

He felt it rise up in her too. He felt her body clench and tighten, he felt the walls of her pussy contract around his cock. With a final, fatal thrust into her pussy and against her clit, he brought her to and then over the edge of another dazzling climactic thrill.

And just at that precise moment, he plunged something else deep inside her. But it was not a finger or a tongue. A bite—quick and powerful—sank into the skin where her neck met her clavicle. She winced, not from pain, but from an overwhelming sense of rapture. At that same moment, he came inside of her.


Striptease: The Dream (Transformation)

He explained that he couldn’t spend the night. Unsurprising, Rose thought, for someone intent on remaining anonymous. She stayed naked in her bed, hair tousled and knotted, as he dressed and let himself out. He seemed nonplussed and in a hurry, but Rose didn’t give it much concern. In fact, she was eager for him to leave so she could go to sleep.

Rose was still feeling a bit out of it, her head was still cloudy from intoxication and sex. Though her mind was fuzzy, she felt herself radiate a golden halo, a sparkling afterglow of pleasure and satisfaction. Though entirely content, her muscles felt weak, her body exhausted. 

Through the tall windows, whose drapes were still pulled open, she admired the indigo and gold of the night’s landscape. The city was quiet at this late hour, apart from pockets of revelers and drifters.

She allowed herself to stay in bed and nod off to sleep without completing her usual bedtime chores: brushing her teeth, washing her face, tidying up, closing the drapes, etc. She knew she would regret the aftertaste of wine and cigarettes in her mouth the next morning, along with the various other unpleasantries of leaving chores undone, but she was too tired to dwell on that too much. Her eyelids were heavy and the morning was only a few hours away anyway. Surely things could wait.

A moment after her head hit the pillow, the edges of her world began to blur as a dream overtook her. She was sure it was a dream, even while in the midst of it. It had to be a dream…

She saw black lace and sheer black muslin. These fabrics enveloped her, twirling like the skirts of a belly dancer. Then a large, gilt-framed mirror manifested before her. A witchy glitter washed over her and she saw her reflection appear like another person in front of her. It was unsettling yet mesmerizing.

She felt a pang of panic strike her stomach, but she could not draw herself away from that reflection. Her reflected self seemed to mirror her panic. The reflection seemed, strangely, like it was trying to escape her—an impossible liberation. Every time it began to back away, it was pulled back toward her.

Then, like an old photograph, her reflection began to dissolve around the edges and fade into half-opacity. Except for her lips, that is, which remained vivid red in the reflection.

Rose became fixated on those lips. Her eyes were glued to them as the rest of her reflection dissipated around them. Rose held up her fingers to the lips in the reflection, but it was impossible to touch them. That was the nature of reflections. Only her eyes could capture them.

A glance upward showed Rose that what remained of her reflection’s eyes were terrified, like those of a caged animal. The shadowy image of herself with the fiery red lips and dying eyes resembled a hostage trapped inside a glass casing.

Rose wanted to run, to grant her imprisoned reflection the gift of separation. But she still could not draw herself away. Rose’s eyes fell again to her reflection’s lips. Those crimson lips stared back and parted as if about to speak. But what emerged were not words. Rather, her top lip curled upward to reveal two white fangs jutting menacingly out from under their scarlet sheath.

Awed and bewildered, Rose moved her face closer to those ivory daggers. She came as close as she possibly could to the reflection before being blocked by the glass. She pressed herself hard against it and felt the icy smoothness of the mirror against her skin. Frosty prickles invaded every inch of her.

Rose felt compelled to press her own lips against those of her reflection. Having given up on running and freeing her imprisoned reflection, Rose now felt she needed to be one with this version of herself inside the mirror. She felt that the only way to save her from fading completely away was to accept her into herself, to merge and become one.

Pressed fully against the glass, Rose felt calm. And then, like a fatalistic Alice in Wonderland, Rose fell through that mirrory surface and into the realm of her wispy doppelganger.

Rose tried to scream but no sound emitted. All that emerged from her lips were the painful sproutings of her own pair of pointed fangs. She attempted to cry out again, but, as before, in place of a scream were merely two pearly daggers.


Rose awoke with a start. The blaze of the morning sun through her windows was always an unwelcome intruder. Hence, her purchase of the black-out drapes. But on the rare occasions she forgot to (or simply didn’t) close them, the fiery streak of the morning sunbeam on her sleeping face was a stark reminder of why she had bought them in the first place.

But the flash of sun on her face this morning felt especially excruciating. She swore she even heard the insidious hiss of a sizzle emanate from her illuminated cheek. Shielding her face with her arms proved insufficient, as her whole body seemed uniquely sensitive to the morning rays of this brutally glaring sun. Ducking the sunbeams, she frantically pulled the drapes closed.

She then ran to the bathroom to throw some cold water on her face. The splash of water was refreshing, but upon opening her eyes she realized she was facing an even graver problem than sun-sensitivity.

She looked in the bathroom mirror—the same one she looked into nearly every morning—but something was wrong. Something was missing. Something was gone. All she could see was the towel behind her that hung on the back of the bathroom door.

Rose shook her head in disbelief. She hadn’t smoked for hours, but could she still be high? She had barely had any wine, but was it possible she was drunk?

She scurried from the bathroom and ran to the full-length mirror propped up next to her bed. Nothing.

She scoured her apartment for other mirrors—hand mirrors, compacts, anything with a reflective surface. Everywhere, no image peered back at her.

She opened up her phone camera, switched it to selfie mode and, with much shock and relief, saw her face looking back at her. She had no reflection; but at least she was not a ghost.

Yet her dream from the previous night haunted her. Waking from a nightmare about reflections to a world without functioning mirrors was far more unsettling than the dream itself.


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