The Woman in the Mirror

I had never known myself to wish to be a woman.

I had never realized I wished not to have a cock, but a nice, wet, needy pussy.

I had never considered that to use my body to serve cock, rather than to have a cock, was the ultimate honor, a deeply satisfying, orgasm-generating pleasure so intense that it made all these things feel not just obvious, but second nature to me.

I had never realized any of this... Until she came.

I can barely remember how it began now; it feels like so long ago, and such a different person to the woman I am now, that it feels somehow fake, as if I have inherited a memory that belongs to someone else—when, well, in truth, I suppose I had.

It all began one horny, lonely evening, doing what no self-respecting internet user should do; chilling on adult forums, discussing porn, sexual acts, and men being women, signing myself up to forums and mailing lists I barely understood, and typing my email address into username boxes and subscription fields just so I could get past them and onto the nakedness that lay beyond. At one point I did get involved in a trans discussion thread, getting quite defensive of the process and animatedly discussing the finer details of the drive behind doing so. By the time I had abandoned the discussion threads and focused on the porn to finish in a moderate, unimpressive wank, I had already received seventeen new emails, three upvotes, one DM, and I knew I would never be seeing the end of the "horny women who need YOU" and "42 barely underage girls in YOUR area" subject lines from then onwards.

But then hers arrived. A new email—something unique, something that bypassed my spam filter. I couldn't be sure where it had come from—the forums or the porn pages—but It contained no attachments, no links - not even any images. All it told me was that my wildest dreams awaited me, and I had done the only step needed to gain access; sign up to her mailing list. To view the content, which included—I must admit, I was surprised—over nine hours of personalized, private porn from her, all I had to do was look her website up and type in the email address I had already used in the first place.

Throwing caution to the wind, I did as I was told, finding her at her domain, prettyplasticprincesses.com. It was a simple, ad-free page, and, typing in my email address, I quickly gained access to pages of videos featuring one particularly attractive woman straddling a powerful-looking black toy, variously posed in front of hanging curtains, lush bedding, sleek couches and several other settings, no doubt strewn around her house. "Let me help you find the true you..." the website's tagline said at the top.

My cock already twitching despite having only recently done its duty, I clicked onto her first video, and was greeted by a no-nonsense video player that got right into the action. She was live on some sort of cam-girl website, and we had joined her right as her first big donation came in. In the next nineteen minutes, she proceeded to moan, shake, vibrate, and squeeze her way to a squirting, squirming, hot little orgasm, all while a gentle club beat played in the background. It was decidedly hot, for a cam recording.

I clicked through to the next video, aroused enough to want to see more of the admittedly quite hot woman as she put herself through her paces. This next video featured her ass in full frame, the bulbous black nub splitting two hairless pink folds as she pressed the toy between her pussy lips, both blurring and warping as the intense vibrations from the toy shook her body. It was a short video, and for good reason; it only took six minutes of high-strength vibrations between those round, shapely ass-cheeks to bring her to an orgasm that soaked the toy and had droplets of crystalline fluid spurting all around the camera.

I didn't know it at the time, but over the next hour, as I watched the hottie in the videos cum over and over and over again, squirting and bucking her way through tens of positions in multiple places around her house, my cock eventually returning to my hand to be stroked through a second ejaculation, she implanted something in me through those videos that awoke a primal, irresistible need. By the time she had blown me a kiss and waved goodbye, a puddle from her most recent orgasm soaking into the couch between her spread legs as my cock gently pulsed in my hand, semen rolling down my fingertips, I was beginning to think about her tight, slender body. It was still in my mind's eye ten minutes later, as I rubbed soap throughout my crotch, cleaning the semen from my skin. She was still there, as clear as day, an hour later, as I heated up a cup of two-minute noodles and toasted some stale bread, her perky, bouncing tits dangling like ghosts before my eyes as I dumbly spooned food into my mouth without really thinking about it. She was still there that night as I slept, her body slithering over my own, her warm, wet pussy leaving a cooling trail on my skin as it stroked up my body, rising higher and higher, leaving my cock behind as it approached my face, closing in, coming closer and closer until it closed around me and—

Jerking awake in time to feel the throb of my cock as the wet dream caused my orgasm, I groaned, knowing, but daring not to think too hard about what had made the ejaculation occur.

That night, having been unable to get her warm, wonderful pussy off my hallucinatory mind, I clicked onto her website once more, and this time I didn't stop watching her videos until spurts of semen had cascaded from my throbbing head onto my floor—twice. It took nearly three hours.

It was after that night that I began not just fantasising about her, but fantasising about being her. I imagined myself in her body, her long, flowing hair pouring over my back, her two perky, round breasts bouncing from my chest as I moved, her tight little ass and hairless, dripping pussy between my legs, wet and so desperate to feel the vibration of my toy parting my lips, sending shivering waves of bliss up my body that forced me irresistibly closer to a spraying, whole-body orgasm that would knock me from my senses for the next few minutes.

I tried to stay away, thought the videos might have been causing something alien to awaken inside me. But the more I thought about it, the more I realised that, through some miracle of circumstance, she had awakened the true me, rather than something alien. I think a deeply contained portion of me had always harboured the idea of being a woman; I used to think about it as a child, and throughout my teenage years, I had often enjoyed female-perspective or lesbian porn much more than anything with a man in it. I often enjoyed imagining having breasts or how a vagina might feel—especially whenever I saw the types of toys women could enjoy, compared to the meagre and inconvenient tools available to men—but I had never truly put two and two together and come out with that one, final, conclusive answer to it all: transgenderism.

It was the same day that I came to that conclusion, actually considered that I might wish to be a woman, that I went back to her.

That night, I screamed out as I watched her widely splayed legs quiver either side of an empty, bared pussy, front-and-centre in the frame, the camera on a hyper-close-up. Moments earlier, she had torn her signature toys from her body, and pushed herself over the edge with a few expert vibrations of her hand across her bulging clitoris, and now I had the pleasure of spurting my brain out as I stared into the soft, pink opening of her vagina, feeling as if her squirting orgasm was my own. I could practically taste her, feel her warm wetness on my skin, smell her tender sex as she came in my face. Her pussy seemed almost to speak to me, as if it were saying "do you see? This is the type of pleasure we can feel. Your penis is nothing compared to how powerful a pussy can be."

And I believed her.

That was when the invite arrived. Though I did not remember asking for it, that night as I slept, an email came to me from her address, and it offered me a simple trade. She would be hosting a meet-and-greet next weekend, and if I came, she would give me the chance to experience what it was like to be her. It could well have read like a cheap gimmick line, but to me... It meant everything and more.

A week later, I was pulling my car into a rather empty motel in a city I had never been to, a suitcase in my trunk, and—I was no longer ashamed of it by this point—a firm erection in my pants.

I was handed the key to my room by a rather quiet woman at the front desk and let myself in without trouble. It was as I was unpacking my clothes that my door opened, and I turned to see her standing there, looking at me. She smiled, her plain black t-shirt and form-hugging jeans already as intoxicating as the videos of her pussy splitting around toys, dildos and hands alike. She seemed unabashed as I stood there, my mouth agape, unable to conjure any words with which even to greet her.

'It's alright, my pet,' she said softly, stepping closer to me and letting the door swing shut as she did so, her soft voice deep, sensual and tinged with a foreign accent. 'No need to think now. You're in my world.' She stepped up to me, and I could feel the warmth of her body on my own. My erection pulsed stiffly, my heart pounding as I stared at her. 'You can let me do the thinking from now on. Your job will be entirely... Physical.' She smiled, and I felt the soft rush of her breath on my face as she exhaled. I nearly packed my pants full then and there.

'Come...' She said, and I nearly did, unsure if she meant for me to accompany her, or to ejaculate. What she did next made the answer crystal clear. 'Come for me, my girl... Cum for Mistress.' Her words were accompanied by the touch of her hand right at the centre of my bulging shaft, and as it closed around it, warm and soft and intimate, cupping my shape, I shook in an irresistible, pent-up ejaculation that had me tipping into her bosom and holding her close as I came at her command.

...

I'm not quite so sure what happened next. She held me in her arms as I ejaculated, and I remember her guiding me to the bathroom to undress. I wiped myself clean, and then, the next thing I remembered, I was standing in front of a full-length mirror, looking at my naked body.

'I am a woman.' I said dully as I stared at myself, my erect cock standing to attention before me.

'You are a woman.' A sultry voice said in my ear as a soft shape slipped against my arm, round and pillowy, but capped in a scraping peak. A slender, tattooed torso slithered past the edges of the person in the mirror, and I realised that she was pressing herself against me, herself as naked as I was.

'I am a woman.' I intoned, echoing her words as she stepped to my left side.

'You are a woman.' She said as she passed before me, showing me her body in all it's physical glory, no longer compressed by a video stream and slowed by a frame rate.

'I am a woman.' I said jerkily as the sight of her brought powerful arousal to my genitals.

'You are my woman.' She said, and as she disappeared, for just the briefest of moments, I thought I saw a woman staring back at me in the mirror, a pair of perky, tear-drop breasts hanging from her chest, the dark line of a vulva present between her legs, before my brain corrected itself, recognising the erect penis that was actually darkening my crotch and the shadows cast by the overhead lights beneath my chest. Still, despite the rush of euphoria I felt as I saw the fleeting glimpse of female me in the mirror, I echoed her words obediently.

'I am your woman.'

The touch of her hand between my legs robbed me of any further presence, and the words escaping my mouth were the last things I knew before I was gone again.

More time passed—it could have been hours or weeks. Again, I stood before her mirror, staring at my naked, aroused body.

'I am a woman.' I intoned, now no longer waiting for her to say them before I did. 'I am your woman. I am a woman. I am your woman.'

Again, she circled me slowly, giving me plenty of time to drink in her form before mine returned to my eyes. Each time I did, I thought—for the briefest of moments—that a female stood where I did.

...

I blinked back to the present in time to see the gorgeous, sexy sight of her bosom as it passed through my line of sight, her erect nipples standing proudly to attention right at their peaks. I felt the thrill of pleasure that seeing her body brought me, and as she passed out of my line of sight, I looked beyond her, to see—a woman, staring back at me. I blinked, watching her blink back. She was cute, button-faced; she had a crop of short, messy hair, but it was growing out well. Her breasts, while small, were perky and cute, cupped by shadow from the overhead lights. She had a solid but attractive build, her waist forming a straight cylinder down to her hips, which curved outwards around a hairless, sexy slit. She looked like she was wet, and I didn't blame her; she was hot, and a woman looking like that deserved to be wet for herself.

This time, I didn't lose sight of her, even when my Mistress once again reappeared in my line of sight, her perfect form replacing that of my own. And when she stepped out of the way once more, I once again saw the cute girl in the mirror.

...

I blinked and a rush of sensations hit me all at once. Looking down, I immediately saw what was causing all the intense pleasure that was surging through my body; beneath me, her breasts spread apart, her hair splayed all about her on the pillow was my Mistress, her body bucking beneath me as I moved atop her. I could feel her body below mine, hot and close and intimate, feel the way she moved into my motions, her hot sex pressed tight against me, her soft insides suctioning me closer as we made love. I shuddered in ecstasy, overloaded instantly by the intensity of having sex with her. I could feel an orgasm surging up in my stomach, like a powerful wave preparing to crash over a beach, and I knew it would be a powerful one. I blacked out as it hit, knowing only that it was the strongest release I had ever felt in my life. As I slipped away, I could feel her legs rising to close around me, and knew she was cumming too.

...

My eyelids fluttered open, and I blinked to focus my eyes as I took in the shape of the mirror before me. Recognising it at once, I quickly began to recite my mantra, the words as natural and subconscious as my heartbeat by now. As if in reward, my Mistress stepped from the bed beside me, her nakedness filling my field of view for a few moments before her soft padding feet began to take her on a journey around my form. I shivered, my skin prickling as I felt her nipple drawing a line across my arm, knowing what she was doing long before I saw her step into frame before me.

'I am your woman.' I said, fully intent on saying the words directly to her rather than the female I saw in the mirror. Her lips brushing my shoulder were all I needed to affirm that she heard them as I wished her to, and I smiled slightly as I stared into the eyes of the woman in the mirror.

...

One of the last lucid moments I can remember while still split between my old self and my new, true being was when the synthetic parts arrived. I couldn't remember ordering them, but I knew that we had picked them out together. I came to as the skin-coloured straps slipped up my hairless thighs, both our hands working together to lift the smooth material into place. In the long term, the plan would likely be to have me tuck into the specially-provided cavity between the legs, but quick to harden and sizeable as I was—and for as long as my Mistress enjoyed using my penis—I would instead curve up into a section inside and behind my new pussy, my erections helping to push my new synthetic lips open as I grew hard beneath them. I would also be able to emerge through my synthetic womanhood, allowing me to penetrate her whilst remaining my true self.

The breasts were particularly euphoric for me, complimenting and adding to my own modest chest with a set of sizeable, perky breasts that felt just like the real deal. I fell in love with them the moment the rubbery straps fell into place around my body and their weight settled on my chest, and it was all I could do not to stare into the hanging mounds in the mirror and cum where I stood, overjoyed with the bliss of looking more like my true self. Though both would likely be temporary, they were instantly me, and I loved them—and myself.

I moaned softly as I felt her fingertips slipping over my pussy, aided by the stiff, needy cock I no longer knew I had sitting just beneath it's soft, silicone surface. Looking up into her eyes, I felt her body close in on mine, her breasts pushing against my own. I could feel their weight on my chest, and as we tightened the space between us, I rapidly learned to sense what they did. By the time I rolled beneath her on the bed, her fingertips pressing through my womanhood, my breasts heavy and flowing atop my body, I was complete, and even the lightest contact atop my new nipples could send me shivering in needy arousal despite their rubberiness, the appendages as real to my brain as hers were to her.

I could no longer feel the strange, alien appendage that she worked through my newfound pussy, lifting it out so that she could slide her soaked folds over it, moaning in bliss as she worked herself tenderly on me like I was her hot little toy—which I quite readily was.

I could no longer feel the ejaculation building in my balls as she worked it from me with her tight, wet pussy.

All I knew was that I was burning, screaming with arousal in her arms, needing every bit of her and wanting to give every bit of me back, tender and horny and dripping for her. I felt myself squirt like the bitch in heat that I was as my Mistress used me to get us both off, and together we shared the mist blissful, mind-wiping orgasm on her bed.

I never knew I wished to be a woman.

I had never realized I desired not to have a cock, but a hot, horny, squirty little pussy.

I had never considered that to use my body to serve Her, rather than my useless male form, was the ultimate honor, a deeply satisfying, orgasm-exploding pleasure so intense that it made all of everything feel not just like second nature to me, but like first nature—like I was born to be her woman.

I had never realized any of this, until she came.

The real me.

I am Mistress's woman.

The woman in my mirror.