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The author of this story has read and accepted the rules for posting stories. They guarantee that the following story depicts none of the themes listed in the Forbidden Content section of the rules.
The following story is a work of fiction meant for entertainment purposes only. It depicts nonconsensual sexual acts between adults. It is in no way meant to be understood as an endorsement of nonconsensual sex in real life. Any similarities of the characters in the story to real people are purely coincidental.
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- This story ist part of the Ravished in a Flash Tournament
- It competes against Infinity in the QF-4
- Theme: Infinity
The mirror of infinity
She didn't remember how many hours had passed. The room was cool, the walls gray and bare. The only object in the room was a huge mirror that took up the entire wall and mercilessly threw back every glance.
Emma knelt naked on the smooth floor. Her wrists were fixed behind her back; a narrow, black ring gag held her mouth open, from which sperm dripped — robbing her of every word, allowing only quiet, uncontrolled breathing. The ground beneath her knees had hardened, and the pressure on her joints had long since dulled, hovering somewhere between pain and numbness.
In front of her, in the mirror: her own image. Naked, sweaty, her hair disheveled, her cheeks reddened, and her eyes filled with tears. The pupils dilated by the darkness and the tension.
He stood somewhere behind her. She heard him and felt his gaze, but she couldn't turn around. That was the rule. Always straight ahead. Always into the mirror.
His voice was calm and dark. "Do you see yourself, Emma? Do you see what has become of you? And this is just the beginning. You're my piece from now on."
He stepped closer. Her skin tightened as he slowly ran a hand along her shoulder, and his touch sent goosebumps over her body. She trembled. Not from the cold. Not even out of fear. But from this incomprehensible mixture of humiliation and dread that had long since overwhelmed her.
"You know what's coming now," he whispered. She knew that; he had announced that everyone was going to fuck her tonight. Everyone? She didn't know who. She didn't know how many. She only knew that he wanted her to be used again and again.
His hand gripped her chin, forcing her gaze directly into her own eyes again. She saw herself. She saw the tracks, the trembling. And she knew: this was no passing moment. This was a never-ending loop.
"Mirrors never forget, Emma," he said.
Emma closed her eyes for a moment — but even then, there was still her own image, deeply burned into her mind. She didn’t know how long she had been like that. Minutes, hours? Time had dissolved, had become meaningless in this room where only the mirror and her own reflection mattered. She did not dare to avert her gaze. She knew the rules.
A hand touched her between the legs. Not coarse, not brutal — no, tender, almost seductive. A tremor ran through her, a reflex of fear and expectation, almost lust. Her chest rose and fell faster, sweat beading down her temples.
"You will stay here," he said quietly. "Beyond this room, there is only what you have learned here."
Emma felt the game, the power that lay between them. And while her body waited for his touch, she realized that what she had thought was a moment of lost control had long since become something else.
It was a test. A ritual of the will — and looking into the mirror was the gateway to infinity.
He stepped behind her, his voice right at her ear. "When you're ready, blink once."
Emma closed her eyes. Her thoughts were a vortex of fear and curiosity for more.
Then she opened them again. And blinked.
Emma felt the slight tremor in her muscles. Not only from remaining in the same position for so long, but also from the inner struggle that raged within her. A part of her was screaming to get up, run away, and free herself — and yet there was this other voice, quiet, dark, and seductive. How often had she dreamed of being kidnapped by a stranger and being used by him as he wanted?
Why do you want to flee?
Why?
Her gaze was fixed on her own reflection. The image of a woman she barely recognized. The pale cheeks, the flushed lips, the loose hair sticking in strands to her shoulders. The dilated pupils that revealed more than she wanted.
And suddenly she realized:
The mirror was never the enemy. It was her confidant. The only witness who saw everything and yet condemned nothing.
What does freedom mean? Was it complete control over oneself? Or was it perhaps this moment when you shed all constraints, including your own pride, and simply accepted what was?
Emma's breath quickened when this thought struck her. The rational Emma, the student from Hamburg, the daughter of a wealthy family, the emancipated young woman with firm convictions — she would never have allowed that to happen.
And yet she was here.
In a space without time, without rules, except for one: Look at yourself.
The longer she did this, the more the boundaries between humiliation and desire, between resistance and devotion, became blurred.
And at some point, in the middle of this mental vortex, a sentence appeared in her consciousness. As clearly as if someone had whispered it in her ear:
"Infinity begins when you stop fighting back."
A shiver ran over her skin.
Emma closed her eyes. Not out of exhaustion. Not out of fear. But because she wanted to know what it felt like to let herself go — without a mask, without control, without the constant inner dialogue.
In this darkness, she was no longer Emma, the student, no longer the stranger in the city. She was a whore, his fuck piece.
And at that moment, she knew: The mirror would never forget what she had discovered that night.
She was excited. It was a harrowing, banal thought. But it flashed through her like lightning. The pain in her knees, the dull throbbing in her head, the soft tugging in her wrists — all this was proof.
Emma closed her eyes again, inhaled through her nose, and concentrated on the sounds. Footsteps in the distance. A scratch. A whisper of several voices. The thoughts in her flared up again, no longer as silent pleading but as clear realization:
Curiosity, lust, and infinite desire.
