The Beach House Mirror - Part 5 (Patreon)

Part 5: Through the Glass

Her eyes met the reflection’s.

Brown, intelligent, ringed in curiosity, but different now. Lidded. Smaller as the roundness of her face and cheeks pushed them slightly closed. Playful. Confident.

And then a wink.

Sarah gasped softly. Had she winked? Or… had the fattened woman in the glass winked first?

No time to think. She closed her eyes.

And felt it.

Finger tips.Thick, warm, plush. Not her own. They slid between her fingers and squeezed, the grip was affectionate. And so very soft and reassuring. 

Then came the pull. Gentle, but undeniable.

She wants me to join her. 

Maybe I could? Maybe I could see what it’s… like? Just for a minute. 

Yeah… just for a moment. 

Sarah-Jane stepped forward.

A flash of light. A wave of heat. 

She was pushed into an embrace of warm, soft flesh that surrounded her. She instantly felt at home with it. She felt at one with it. 

And then she stumbled forward.

Her eyes flew open.

She was alone in the attic. Only the attic was different. 

It was a spacious, warmly lit bedroom with sand-colored walls and sheer curtains waving in a sea breeze. French doors were open to the sound of waves in the distance.

But all she could focus on… was herself.

She was still standing in front of a mirror. This one was elegant, antique, and unblemished. And in it, reflected without distortion, was her normal, thin self. What could possibly have happ…

She looked down. 

She was now huge. Fat. Gluttenous. Gorgeous.

The black dress hugged her like a second skin stretched taut over an outstuffed and abundant body. Her belly was enormous, full and round, rising in a proud curve that shifted visibly with her breath. Her breasts, heavy and large, sat like twin melons atop her soft torso, jiggling with every move.

Her arms were thick, mottled and luscious, dimples forming at the elbows as she raised them, trembling, to her face. Her fingers were no longer slender, they were chubby, packed with softness. She watched them squeeze her own cheeks, then sink… sink into their soft fullness.

She gasped. And heard herself for the first time. Her voice was lower, huskier. Her breath caught as her hands began to roam her belly, her hips, her thighs.

Oh fuck! Her thighs.

They pressed together, no gap in sight, pale and dimpled and thick as tree trunks. She gave one a slap just to feel the motion. The aftershock of it almost made her audibly moan. She bit her lip, fast. 

“Holy shit,” she whispered. “I’m… huge.”

She turned to the side. The dress rolled slightly beneath her belly, fabric dragged up by her movement. Her ass was a shelf. Broad, round, obscenely huge. The hem of the dress barely covered it. Her love handles softened over the waistline, smooth and deep.

She grinned. Actually grinned. Why was she grinning?

She knew why of course. 

There was no horror. No self-loathing.

There was just the thrill of it.

She was still herself, just more. Much more. More to touch. More to admire. More to explore.

Her plump hands roamed again, more slowly this time. She felt the weight of her breasts in her hands. The curve of her belly. The jiggle. The bounce. God! The freedom. Oof! The feeling. 

She bit her lip again. That’s becoming a habit. 

She smiled. This was going to be fun.