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cute-n-curious · 2 months ago

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Monster Dating App [5]: Man in the Mirror

[Author's note: this one is long but lots of fun, we're going on an adventure! I could've split it into two parts but thought it's easier to keep it in one post. As always, no need to have read previous stories - the premise of this series is super simple, a mysterious app sends you monsters to "date" (and fuck). List of stories in pinned post.]

With those 2 disasters fresh in your head, now here you sit, waiting for match #5 to make his appearance. After those lacklustre dates, you decided to shift from dressing for "easy access" back to dressing "respectably cute", with a flattering tight cami and your second-most ass-hugging pair of jeans. The hour of the date is upon you, and you’re reclined on your couch, scrolling through Instagram on your phone while hoping and praying that your date will buzz the intercom and walk through the door, rather than crawling through the window or oozing out of the faucet.

As the minutes tick by, you start to wonder if monster men have the same tendency as their human counterparts to flake on dates just when you’re feeling the most needy and accommodating, when you see flashes of movement out the corner of your eye. You turn your head towards the black surface of your dormant TV set, and are shocked to see the hazy shape of your hand waving to get your attention. You pivot in your seat and turn to face the screen, and see the darkened shape of your reflected body stand independently and wave hello, with your other hand resting on your hip. After a moment of staring back dumbstruck, your reflection gestures in the direction of your bedroom, as if urging you to walk there.

Puzzled, but taking the hint, you walk into your bedroom and turn and look expectantly into the full-length mirror beside the door frame. Just as you suspected, your reflection begins to move independent of you, stepping closer to the glass surface and looking you in the eyes, smiling.

“Good evening, beautiful” you hear your own voice say. The lips of your reflection articulate the words, but the origin of the sound feels close and intimate, as if it were coming from the front of your own face and not from the position across from you. “Sorry if you were bored waiting, I’ve been trying to get your attention for fifteen minutes now, but I only become synchronised with your other senses when you’re looking at me.” You’re starting to get it now, but it seems that your date this time is at least comfortable to look at and speak to, so you might as well take advantage and ask what’s on your mind.

“Sorry I was too glued to my phone to notice you. So, are you some kind of sexy mirror-ghost?” you ask, playfully.

“You’re the one bringing the sexiness,” your reflection responds in your voice, “And while I wouldn’t call myself a ‘ghost’, I’m not a human who died and is now haunting your pretty face, it’s a reasonable shorthand to describe a disembodied being like me.”

That word puzzles you. “Disembodied?” you repeat, sounding a little disappointed. “While I’m sure you’re a fantastic conversationalist, I’ll be honest and confess that my intentions in surfing a monster hook-up app are to have some very, well, EMBODIED experiences…”

The reflection responds with a silent gesture. She places a fingertip on her (or rather, your) chin, and then seductively rakes it down the front of the neck and between the subtle cleavage of the low-cut top. As you watch this, you feel the distinct sensation of skin on skin, not only sliding erotically down your neck and chest, but also the pressure of sliding touch on your own right index fingertip.

“Oooh, I see. Very ghostly…” you coo. “Do you feel what I do, too?” you ask, upping the ante by sliding your hand up under the front of your top, gently caressing your on belly, and sliding your hand up under the soft cup of your bra, groping yourself.

“I can,” your own voice replies to you softly. “When we’re sensory locked through the reflection, we are of one skin, one flesh. You feel my touching as your own, and vice versa. The symmetry of borrowing this alluring image of yours.”

Your mind races with the possibilities, and you flush a little with the heat of the narcissistic chemistry between you and this aloof version of yourself. You give your tit another squeeze, and see your reflection writhe and sigh, but then she surprises you with the boldness of her next move. She grabs the lower hem of your top and peels the top above her head, prying the soft bra off with it, exposing your own bouncing tits to view. The sensation is bizarre, and you expect your real shirt to fly off like in a comedy sketch, but it stays perfectly in place as you feel the strange mixed sensations of being clothed and topless at the same time. The sensation only magnifies as your reflection pulls loose the waist buttons of your jeans, and seconds later she’s stepping out of the pants and panties in the mirror, defiantly presenting your own naked body to you while you watch, fully clothed but feeling strangely vulnerable.

“As you can see, there are some discontinuities. Though these kinds of changes are local to the surface,” explains your disrobed doppelganger, gesturing towards the door to your adjoining bathroom. Taking the hint, you step to the side and lean over to meet eyes with your reflection in the smaller mirror above the sink counter, and are a bit surprised to see your fully clothed torso looking back at you, copying your moves exactly before pausing and winking back at you. You pivot back to the full length mirror to see your nude self running her hands over her flanks, and it is only when your eyes lock back onto that reflection that you feel the sensual touch on hands on thighs. “Get the picture?” she asks playfully, “Because I can keep demonstrating if you need some time to think…”

You see in the mirror and at the same time feel the probing embrace of your own fingers, one hand pinching your right nipple, the other gently parting and caressing the wet and needy folds of your pussy. It’s such a weird yet alluring feeling, to feel fingers on and then inside your horny opening, but contrasted with the still present and incongruous reassuring feel of wearing a pair of sensible pants. You’ve always loved getting finger-fucked, and you’ve masturbated a thousand times in your life, most commonly with just your fingers, but there is something truly unique to feeling someone else apply their own technique and urgency to pinching your clit and grinding your g-spot through the familiar tools of your own fingers. Especially when you can look down at your own fully clothed crotch, and then your innocent empty hand, yet feel the wet, hot friction of them probing and massaging each other.

You’re not sure if you imagined it, but the physical sensation begins to fade for a second, but once you return your eyes to the mirror, the feeling and the voyeuristic arousal returns with full force. Your wanton, naked reflection is really putting on a show for you. She sits down on the floor, faces you and casually leans back, one knee drawn up and legs spread wide, while she continues playing with herself while looking you right in your eyes. You can’t help but stare, entranced, at your own flushed naked body, moving and writhing in angles you can’t usually see, and she spreads and fingers her pussy, your pussy, with unflinching confidence. You recall the idiom “drive it like you stole it”, and god, she had stolen your likeness and was taking it for quite the joy ride. You breathing descends into whimpers and grunts as your climax builds to a crescendo, though its hard to tell where your passive moaning begins and the reflections assertive moaning ends. You cum hard, feeling your juices soak the inside of your panties and jeans, while you admire your own flushed and bare heaving chest in the mirror, as she pulls her soaked fingers free and inserts them into her, your, mouth. The heady, tangy musk of your own pussy juice suddenly fills your mouth and nostrils, and as your naked self-shaped date stands back up, the deep narcissism of the whole exercise suddenly dawns on you.

“That’s what I love about syncing up with a goddess like yourself when getting her off, I don’t have to ask if you just came as hard as I did. For now, we are one flesh, and that flesh is delicious and tingling…” she says in your breathiest, most seductive tone, while again sucking her fingers and filling your skull with the flavour of your juices and musk.

“That was great, really intense, but…” you begin. This is a tone you recognised in yourself from half a dozen conversations with drunk female friends who were getting handsy and emotional in a shared moment. This is your "sorry, but my preference is cock" voice. “I got on the app looking for some hot monstrous men to fuck me. And while that was a hotter finger-fucking than I could give myself on my best day, I was hoping to enjoy a piece of anatomy that I can’t find in my own pants…”

Your own jubilant laugh jars you as you watch your own breasts bounce with mirth in the mirror. “Of course,” your reflection replies, “You love getting stretched out and hammered by cock, mmmm, with a pussy like yours I can feel why, you’re practically built for it.” You flinch with an awkward burst of pleasure as she casually plunges your fingers deep up inside your opening, swirling them around for fit like a ladle stirring to gather the last scoops of soup from a pot.

From there, your oversexed counterpart presses herself against the glass, giving you a flash of the cool feel of glass against your nipples, and grins widely in satisfaction as she speaks in your most coy and conspiratorial voice. “Your perception locks your other senses to my activities, but I’m not limited to borrowing just YOUR reflection. If you have a small mirror here, something hand-held, you can take me outside with you, and we can find someone else’s reflection for me to borrow. If its cock you want, let's go find you one, and we can bring it back here to stuff you just as full as you like…”

Within seconds you’re in your dresser drawers, scrambling to dig out an old disused makeup compact hidden in the back. You open it to check it has a mirror before glancing over your shoulder back to your still naked, but smiling reflection. You can only hear and feel it when you’re looking, so it had waited patiently for your returned glance to keep explaining its bizarre powers.

“Just get me and your intended in frame together, and you can carry me in his form to any new reflections you like. Oh, and keep your eyes open while we look, I’ll be sure to keep putting on a show for you to help you decide…” God, do YOU sound that slutty when making salacious offers to people? A part of you really hopes so.

You feel a bit sheepish, stepping out of your apartment with the compact mirror open in your hands, hoping it doesn't look too out of the ordinary. The sensory link with your date is maintained by perception, apparently, so you can't just keep him folded up in your pocket, you need to keep checking in with him in the small reflective surface every few moments. To keep you tuned in, he is controlling your reflection to run its fingers through the hair behind your ears. Whenever you feel the affectionate stroking and playful little tugs begin to fade, you know to need to glance back at the mirror to keep your connection alive. You're aware you must look like you have a mice nest in your hair for the way it shifts and bunches with an unseen force, but given how good he is with those fingers, this might be the least distracting option.

As you reach the lobby of your apartment building, you pass by one of your neighbours, a portly middle-aged man with receding hair and an unfriendly disposition. When you pass him, you pause by the door and look back at him through the compact mirror, and are surprised to see him turn to face you, smiling roguishly while undoing his belt-buckle. Your eyes widen in instinctive alarm, and you turn your head to see the man himself locking his mailbox and turning to walk away from you. Suddenly, to feel a thick, brawny hand audibly slap and grab onto your ass cheek, and you glance into the mirror in your hand. The tiny, close view is crowded, but you can make out the borrowed reflection of your neighbour huddled up beside you, and you feel his hot breath and the sound of his voice beside your neck.

"Not the most appealing image, but I thought it'd be wise to show you a test run before we hit the street," the gravelly, flirtatious voice says. You could count on one hand the number of times you'd heard your squat neighbour speak, and certainly never like this. Speaking of one hand, you feel your own hand being guided by the wrist into a region of empty space, but you feel your fingers close around the hot flesh of a stubby, hairy cock and balls. "Not a lot to work with, I'm afraid," the reflection's borrowed voice said with a husky disappointment, "but he is very sensitive and pent up, feels like he hasn't had a woman grasping his cock in a decade."

You give the short, invisible erection a playful squeeze, mashing the spongy cockhead under your thumb. A smirk creeps over your face as the phantom genitalia retreats from your grip. The unseen brawny hand holds onto your elbow and pulls you towards the door.

"Gentle, please, it's still me cumming when you milk that dick, and I'd rather have some more fun together before that happens. I take it you want to scout for a superior specimen?" Your mind races with ideas as you step out onto the busy street with your ghostly date.

"Oh yes, let's go shopping. Show me what the local boys are hiding in their pants..." you murmur, feeling your excitement mounting.

You were always aware that your local area had a lot of reflective surfaces, thanks to the gentle everyday narcissism of checking your look from different angles when walking to work. But the various shop windows and driveway caution mirrors take on a new meaning with your current focus on getting appraising angles on unsuspecting handsome men. Your date maintains his invisible physical contact with you until he vanishes to acquire a new form, and every time a reflected man within view locks eyes with you, you know what is coming next...

For ten minutes straight you were an actress, playing the part of a wholesome non-degenerate just out for a walk in her neighbourhood. You tried your best to not react with shock or delight on your face every time the reflection of a nearby man suddenly turned seductively in your direction and began putting on a quick and playful striptease. A part of you had hope that the "sensory bond" that anchored you to your mirror ghost date meant that this public play would be magically private. It was clear that while only you could hear his voice and feel his increasingly amorous touch, no matter whose image he borrowed, the changes to the reflections themselves were somehow real while he was in possession of them. Anyone who glanced at the right surface at the right time saw the horny doppelgangers whipping out and pumping their hard dicks as you walked past, and once they started paying attention, their other senses would catch up as well. This was bad enough when it nearly gave an old woman a heart-attack seeing the reflected image of her cute college-aged grandson suddenly lewdly waving his long pink hard-on in the open air. But when it was the targeted man himself who caught a glimpse of his reflection, he felt the same clashing sensations you had when your date first introduced himself, the confusing juxtaposition of being clothed and unclothed, touched and untouched, all at once. Thankfully the effect immediately ceases once your "date" jumps to another reflection.

You stop at a street corner, a few body lengths over from a tall handsome man, with broad shoulders, a neat beard, and flawless mahogany skin, locking eyes with his reflection in the jewellery store window across the street. His reflection winks at you, and he peels his tight grey t-shirt up and over his head like a victorious soccer player, exposing his surprisingly dense chest hair and toned, flat abs. The voyeuristic thrill intensifies as the woman beside you does a double-take, switching her glance rapidly between the man beside her and his reflection as the image across the street yanks down his pants to his thighs, causing a painfully erect cock, dark and veiny, to spring loose and bob obscenely in the air in front of him.

This is the nicest body and cock you've seen so far today, but you're enjoying this window shopping a little too much to stop right now, so you look your supernatural showman in the eyes and give him a playful lip-bite and small shake of your head, and he relinquishes the poor man's reflection before he or any more people notice. You feel vicariously powerful, knowing that if that poor hunk were to glance at his own reflection when it's in this state, he'll experience that same delicious, incongruous feeling you felt earlier this afternoon, of being nude and clothed at once, close to the edge and yet stable and placid, but for him it would be wholly unexpected and unwelcomed.

Your pussy has become so wet and needy it is almost unbearable, like exactly one part of your body had been thrown into a pool during an out-of-control party. It wasn’t just the ceaseless, naughty parade of horny disrobing men you saw in every reflective surface… Tall men with cute little boners that barely stuck out past their pubes, meek looking chubby men with tight balls and extremely curved members, athletic guys hard abs and shaved crotches primed for frequently-sent dick-pics, even one fit trans man whose pussy looked surprisingly alluring above his toned manly thighs… No, you were also getting off on the feeling of power, of knowing you could claim any body you liked the look of for yourself, and your date would march it straight home for you and fuck you with a body and cock whose owner has no idea what is going on. In principle, it isn’t especially different from seeing a gorgeous man on the street, holding his look in your imagination, and going home to masturbate to the idea of him fucking you silly. But in practice, this was more real, more participatory, knowing you’d get the full and truthful experience of your chosen man’s shape, and feel, and smell, and taste…

You pass an outdoor café where, right next to the shiny, opaque window, a wholesome looking but strikingly handsome dad was eating waffles with his wife and three children. Worth a look, you can’t help but think, tracing your eyes over his beautiful jawline and alluringly salt-and-pepper temples. Your date had already taken the image of the thin, cosmopolitan waiter, but following your gaze and the needy jerk of your head, he switched targets. Not wanting to traumatise any children, you were happy when you saw the dad’s reflection disappear from beside his wife, and walk into frame on it’s own on the dark window closer to your side, already reaching down to pull his baggy, homebody sweater up over his head. Your jaw drops as his lean, muscular chest swells into view, and the bundled up shirt and sweater peels off his defined brawny shoulders and dense, powerful arms. This wholesome, unassuming dad has a secret side to him, or at least a colourful history, because he is in incredible shape, with exotic tattoos criss-crossing his upper arms, chest, and provocatively angling down in arrow-like shapes straight towards his crotch…

Your breath catches as the reflection unbuckles the DILF’s tight jeans and yanks them down to the floor, as an immense, springy, engorged cock springs triumphantly into view, slapping comically against his hard abs. Jesus, what a specimen, his dick was likely the longest you’d ever seen on a human man. Those audacious arrow-tattoos extended down past his shaved crotch and up the lengthy sides of his big manhood, and the underside of his twitching behemoth was lined with several small bumpy piercings, clearly intended to rake and stimulate the inside of some lucky pussy when he pistons that battering ram inside. Flushed, you glance back over at the wholesome 40-something-year-old man giggling with weary patience beside his wife and kids. What a secret to be hiding! It made your pussy tingle thinking that this body, this tremendous cock, was some hidden treasure that only that mousy-haired mom got to enjoy when the kids were off at soccer practice… That this sweet family man was concealing powerful muscles and a pussy-slaying weapon beneath his clothes wherever he went.

The wife turns in your direction unexpectedly, briefly locking eyes with you and wrinkling her nose in distaste. She strikes you as a woman who knows what she has, and is warily accustomed to random sluts eyeing her husband and thinking naughty thoughts. You return your eyes to the fully naked, hard reflection, that was already drawing some awkward doubting stares from people walking past you on the street.

“Sorry ma’am,” you whisper to yourself, “I have a bit of an emergency here, and I’m going to have to commandeer your husband’s big sexy cock for the afternoon…” You pivot on the spot, raising the compact mirror to capture the reflection in frame to bring home with you. “I hope you understand,” you continue, now speaking to your date as much as the woman you were about to cuckold, “official business.”

As you stride down the street back towards your apartment building, with the kind of shaky-legged urgency that only a burning need to get fucked hard can summon, you could feel your ghostly date’s delight that you have finally made your choice.

“Wonderful pick,” a new, surprisingly smooth and gentle voice whispers huskily in your ear. “I can already feel, this guy FUCKS, hard, and I think he’s packing just what you need to release all this tension…”

Your posture twists awkwardly as you suddenly feel a large, strong hand slide down the back of your jeans, probing a long, thick finger between your flushed ass cheeks, and curling around until it sinks three knuckles deep into your hot, sopping pussy. You yelp in surprise and nearly stumble forward, but the invisible naked body striding beside you hoists you up effortlessly, and keeps you walking along awkwardly, like a puppet being controlled by a single, NO, now two… fuck, THREE fingers, curling and sliding up inside you from behind. You reach your hand into the empty space beside you, and touch the hot flesh of a heavy-breathing masculine chest, and you instinctively run your hand down until your fingers (barely) close around the hilt of the huge protruding baby-maker that your date was bringing home for you.

“Fuuuuck” you exhale in breathless pleasure, your grasping hand pumping the long distance back and forth beside you on the unseen shaft, your fingers grazing the erotic piercing bumps on the underside, “I can’t walk around like this, people will think I’m having a stroke..."

As the word 'stroke’ left your lips, the invisible hand tending out the ass of your pants twisting, until the middle and index fingers were tickling and pinching your swollen clit, and the big thumb plunged hard into your gooey hole, mashing into your g-spot like he was being fingerprinted by the police. You shudder mid-step, cumming hard and biting your lip, your left hand pumping the huge, slick, unseen member back and forth as if you were pushing yourself along on invisible cross-country skis. If anyone were watching, they'd see you stumble, one hand bracing yourself against a nearby wall, the other curiously around an invisible object, knees buckling as you moan softly and bite your lips, eyes glazed. Thankfully, no one has noticed, yet.

The sensation of the fingers and the dick beginsto fade, and you instinctively glance back into your compact mirror to re-sync the sensation, and nearly cum again from the erotic sight of your own flushed face, and the predatory grin of that handsome father-of-three caressing your ear between his perfect lips, looming behind you, seen only in that tiny reflection. He jerks his head to the side, and temporarily vanished from the mirror. You turn your head to the large laundromat window to your right, and see the full erotic reality of yourself shuffling down the street, a mewling manhandled slut, being half carried by your chest and pussy by a fully naked tattooed stud, whose huge, curved cock was visibly dripping a stream of precum onto the sidewalk as you pumped him vigorously. A woman inside the laundromat drops her basket in aroused shock as sees your lover's reflection molesting your writhing body, and you cum again, hard, as you continue shuffling down the street as quickly as you're able to in the circumstances.

You waddle in through the front door of your apartment building, smiling and nodding apologetically at a sweet neighbour of yours as she greets you warmly. You’re still doubled over forward, being invisibly finger-fucked, and her eyes are drawn to your breasts, which mysteriously compress and distort from the unseen manhandling of some invisible molester. As you pass her and reach the stairs, you feel a moment’s relief from the relentless fingering as his hand slides out of your jeans, and you feel yourself suddenly lifted off the ground into a powerful pair of phantom arms. You adjust your mirror to frame you and your date together as he bounds up the stairs with surprising athleticism, and you struggle with your keys at the awkward angle as he licks and bites your neck, his hot breath leaving you trembling as the door finally opens. Like a newlywed bride, you are carried over the threshold sideways into your home, the door slamming shut behind you, and you find yourself tossed playfully onto your own bed. Also like a newlywed bride, you are about to have a relationship THOROUGHLY consummated, but as you look to the full length mirror next to your bed, it is the toned naked ass of ANOTHER woman’s husband that steps into frame.

You kick your shoes off in giddy excitement, and feel his strong hands tug at the ankles of your jeans, shucking them all the way off just as you get the waistband button unhooked. The unseen hand hoists your ankles together and straight up, and your ruined, drenched panties are peeled off your legs and discarded, and you feel that hot breath wash over your puffy, well-fingered labia as your legs are parted and your date drops his mouth onto your pussy. He tongues you and drinks your nectar in long passionate kisses, taking full advantage of the borrowed dad’s surprisingly long and thick tongue, making you cum again and again. But you find yourself frustrated that you can only see the side of his muscular arm and shoulder in your mirror, and excuse yourself to stand up, peel off your top, and then drag your full-length mirror into it’s rightful place right in front of the foot of your bed.

Then you see him shift over and sit right in frame. Fuck he’s gorgeous, and that cock… No wonder he has three kids, if you were in that mousey-haired mother’s shoes you suspect you’d have something closer to eight by now… You walk yourself over, guiding your depth perception with your hands while glancing back at the mirror for guidance, as you straddle the reflected stud, invisible in person but all man in the reflection. You lift yourself high enough to feel the huge, oozing mushroom head of his cock plant itself against your opening. Despite being as wet as you can remember being, you slowly slide down on the immense daddy-dick, feeling your back walls stretching out as the piercing bumps tickle your insides as they drag past.

It is too surreal to be looking down and seeing nothing but yourself hovering over your bed as you cowgirl your invisible date, so you close your eyes and pump yourself up and down, only getting a few strokes in before you’re cumming again, hard, on his big probe while his strong hands knead and massage your ass cheeks. You tremble and pulse on his dick, but feel the sensation start to fade and your pussy begin to collapse on itself. Shit, stupid, out of habit you’re facing away from the mirror, making it hard for you to keep an eye on the reflection.

You lift up on your haunches, awkwardly looking over your shoulder, and he chuckles as he helps you reposition yourself, so that now you’re sitting on his lap, reverse cowgirl, fully impaled, facing yourself in the mirror. You hold his gaze in the mirror as you grind your hips back and forth, and he pinches your nipples firmly. In this position, the piercing bumps graze right against your g-spot as you shimmy and ride him, and you cum again surprisingly quickly while he lovingly nibbles your shoulder from behind.

“How sturdy is the frame of that mirror?” he suddenly asks.

“Uh..” you don’t have time to fully reply before he launches up to his feet, toppling you forward. You reach out and brace yourself against the mirror as he squats down his long muscular legs to match your pelvic height, and begins to vigorously doggy-fuck you as you fog the mirror’s surface with your ragged, up-close breath. His hands lock in on the round swell of your naked hips, and he pulls his immense manhood back an obscene length before slamming it back in with full force. Your worries for your jostling mirror quickly evaporate as he pulverises your pussy with fast, incredibly long strokes, making you feel full to bursting every time he buries himself to the hilt inside you. Your climax builds again and again, as that oddly gratifying piercing rakes and jostles the front wall of your vagina with each pistoning slide. He slides his long fingers over your hips, up the front of your body, and cup your tits hard, his grip sinking in for leverage as he pulls you backward by your chest, suspending you while he continues to fuck you furiously.

The requirement to keep visual contact is a burden, but a stimulating one. The only downside is that it makes you feel self-conscious. Its genuinely hot to start back through the mirror as the striking hung DILF passionately rearranging your insides, watching him sweat and groan and struggle to focus as he gets closer and closer to erupting. But by necessity, there you are in his groping arms, even more dripping with sweat, mouth slack with heavy breathing, cheeks flushed, eyes barely open, vaguely aware of how loudly you're orgasming. Your neighbours will be giving you judgmental looks over this for weeks but for now you don't give a fuck. It makes you feel like a porn star, but a thoroughly unprepared porn star. The visual feedback of being jackhammered by this stud cock is so stimulating, but there is no polished performance here, you’re watching him take you apart pussy-first, and this forced awareness of your own exhausted body makes you long for the everyday comforts of squeezing your eyes shut and focusing purely on the feeling of being railed…

“Oh fuck, I can’t hold it, you feel so fucking good. Where do you want me to cum?” he half whimpers, half growls in agonised horny desperation. Your mind screams ‘inside me!’, but you remember the problems you caused for your first wonderful date begging to be creampied when your profile specifies ‘no breeding’. You sober a little from your cock-drunk state to compose a sentence in English.

“I want you to cream my insides but I don't want the consequences...” your own voice comes out whinier than you expected, sounding like a horny, bratty girl who can’t believe she’s telling a man to maybe NOT pump her needy pussy full of cum.

“Oh, no need to worry about that,” he breathes raggedly into your ear, clutching his arms under your shoulders like a wrestling lock, increasing his leverage for even harder and more urgent thrusts. “When I pump you full of this guy’s baby-batter, his millions of swimmers will absolutely rush straight for your womb to make you a mommy…” he groans loudly as he says this, cock pulsing deep in your pussy, as he tips himself over the edge. You feel the hot, spreading warmth of his eruption against your back walls, pushing you over the edge as well from the sensations as well as his words. His tries to catch his breath as he continues, “but once we break the sensory link, the cum will no longer be in contact with you, and will fade out of your pussy like a warm memory…”

The reassurance washes through your body on the back of your orgasm, and you tiredly grind your ass up and down against your phantom lover, feeling his long rigid shaft, still surging and spurting, thrum inside you as he rides out the shuddering pleasure. As he pulls out of you, his immense tattooed dick slowly wilts and twitches in the mirror, and you can feel the rush of hot, thick cum glide down the inside of your thigh, and you verify in the reflection that it is glistening and pearly white. He holds you close and peppers you with kisses, and after a minute or two of nuzzling and fondling, you’re both surprised to see the huge mushroom head of his cock inflating and rising again with renewed desire.

“Mmmm, yes…” you purr, looking in the mirror to guide your hand as you grope over the fuck-slicked head of his cock and lightly finger the pink opening as he hardens. “No wonder this guy has so many kids.”

Like a smaller microcosm of the mind-melting fuck you’d received on your first date from the app, few things turn you on as much as being creampied and then immediately fucked again by the same man, too stimulated and addicted to the feeling to stop with one. Your first date had clearly cheated, having a small army of ready cocks to rotate through, but something excites you even more as your current date re-inserted himself into your well-battered pussy. This wasn’t the result of some special supernatural power, this was the very human enthusiasm of your disembodied date being channelled through the shockingly virile anatomy he’d borrowed from a wholesome-looking husband and father. The fact that the real man most certainly fucks his wife just like this behind closed doors makes you feel an unspoken sistership with that overworked-looking mom. ‘Thank you, sister, for finding and training the stunning cock I am now enjoying’ you think mischievously, as you spread your legs to allow him deeper as you feel his muscular frame press down on the front of your body.

The second fuck was as intense as the first, but your accumulating fatigue made the requirement of keeping one eye on the mirror harder and harder. In addition to feeling more and more self-conscious looking at your own flushed and over-fucked face, with hair stuck to your forehead and cheeks by sweat, the temptation to blissfully close your eyes and focus on your building orgasms got harder and harder to resist, and you were left frustratingly teased a couple of times as his feel began to fade when you kept your eyes clamped shut for too long. Your date was wonderfully understanding, clearly having grappled with this problem with other women before.

“Tell you what, beautiful,” he begins playfully, licking up your chest, up the front of your neck, and nibbling on the bottom of your chin, “I’ve had an amazing time, but you’re clearly struggling to keep our sensory bond. Instead of continuing our date after this creampie, chatting over the reflection of some dinner, how about we finish this with a bang, I’ll fade this form away before you get pregnant, and you can hit me up again when you want some more?” His cocky confidence was alluring. Even though he was borrowing his physicality from a surprisingly hung DILF, this was his power and his skill making you cum so hard, and he was right that you wanted more.

“I like the sound of that,” you respond huskily, “fuck me and fill me until you fade away, leaving me gaping and cumming in the absence of that glorious cock.”

He squeezes his hands under your ass cheeks and lifts you like a ragdoll. To your surprise, he plants you back on your back at a perpendicular angle, so instead of watching yourself get fucked side-on in the mirror, you are now facing the mirror straight-on, with your head hanging upside-down over the rim of your bed. You watch your own eyes widen as the squatting adonis, cock still embedded in you, lifts your legs by your ankles again and folds you over on yourself. His weight bears down on you, driving his cock as deep as it will possibly go, making you feel like you’re about to burst, and be begins fucking you harder than ever. The sensation is incredible, you begin to cum almost immediately, and the climaxes pancake on each other like a highway pile-up, each one chaining onto the next, more intense, as your exhausted over-stimulated pussy is pushed beyond the limit.

You stare at his lusty, straining, upside-down form in the mirror, as he jackhammers faster and harder with each passing moment, until you let out a guttural scream as he slams and holds as deep as possible while he erupts for the second time inside you. The rush is so hot, so voluminous, you feel your mind melting as you clamp your eyes shut and savour the shudders of pleasure quaking through his body as he pours everything he has out into you. Your convulsing pussy milks him hard as he gasps for breath, and just as your orgasm crests and begins to subside, you feel the sensation begin to fade as his sensory presence softly vanishes.

The feeling is uncanny, your hot and flooded, overstuffed pussy is suddenly empty, collapsing down on itself without the internal pressure to keep it tented and stretched. The gratifying weight of his body, the immense heat of his sweating skin, all suddenly gone. You are alone, thoroughly gratified, but breathing hard, feeling the stillness of your room. You’ve had guys cum and sneak out on you in the past, but to literally go from filling you to vanishing is… jarring… But wow, what a finish.

As you step into your shower and let the water rush over you, you still feel an incongruous post-coital sensation. You’re very well-fucked, but so many of the pleasurable traces that are left after an excellent fucking; the drip of cum, the musky smell of a man’s passion, all of it vanished with him, and you can’t help but feel like you were somehow just imagining and masturbating uncommonly hard.

He had warned you that contact with him would be irregular, that "The Foundation" maintained an always-on phone, in front of a mirror in a locker for him to use the app, but you couldn’t wait to hear from him again. The idea of having him in your rotation from now on, just an appointment away when you need another amazing fuck, fills you with joyful anticipation.

It is only when you’re pecking away at your dinner, still glowing internally with gratitude for the monster dating app on your phone, that the realisation hits you.

“Oh fuck, where am I going to get that reflection again for future dates?” The look of scorn on that mousy-haired mom’s face flashes back through your mind. “Am I going to have to become some kind of stalker to keep getting fucked like that?”

#monster smut #monster fucker #monster dating app #teratophillia #x reader #cr3ampie #0rgasm #smut #reflection monster #hot dilf #v0yeur #mirror sex #mirror fucking

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cute-n-curious · 2 months ago

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Monster Dating App [4]: Misadventures in Profile Preferences

[Author's note: you discover that not all monsters are beasts in bed, but variety is the spice of life right? Don't worry, the next story is really good if I do say so myself... ^_~ This is a little palate cleanser, a breather between all the fucking. As always, you don't have to have read other stories in this series (see pinned list for links). The premise of the series is that a mysterious phone app sends you monsters to "date", or more, if you're game...]

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a woman in want of sexual gratification from a dating app must get more bad offers than good. Your time spent on Tinder, Hinge, and even Bumble, had only reinforced the core warning you had received from other women: dick is abundant of low value, and for every virile stud capable of fucking you into a gratified stupor, there are three inadequate men convinced that they're studs, and five men with redeeming features who have been hollowed out into insecure shells because they know the studs are out there overshadowing them. A dehumanising meat grinder, to be sure, but where else can a lady hunting for meat go?

For some reason, you had hoped that perhaps this very human dynamic might not extend to the "monster dating app" that your best friend invited you to. By her initial description, it was a ticket to an all-you-can-fuck buffet of big, bizarre, and universally superior-to-normal inhuman cocks. An unending parade of mythical paramours who step straight out of the pages of folklore and leave her with curled toes and a tingling pussy. But your mileage has very much varied. The new app has certainly had higher highs than you’ve experienced on the human meat-market (especially your now lost first match), but the middles have been weirder and smellier, and the lows, well…

You once again sit slightly overdressed in your apartment, the scene of every monster date you’ve had so far, nervously waiting for your mysterious fifth match to arrive. You find your usual excitement replaced by tense reflections on just how poorly matches number three and four had recently gone. Your date with match number two, the shark-man, had gone well enough for you to invite another date based purely on the stated preferences “Limbs – Elongated” and “Phallus – Multiple”, but it is painfully clear in retrospect just how much your imagination had failed you in terms of what a male meeting those criteria could look like.

Your mistake, of course, had been assuming that any creature that had both the sapient mastery of language to use the app and a specific interest in having sex with a normal human woman, must be at least some flavour of humanoid. Talk about making an "ass" out of "u" and "me", because when you heard the tapping on your bedroom window on the fateful night of your third date, you naively felt a twinge of excitement that some man with Spider-Man-like agility was about to wall-crawl in and rock your world. But your breath caught in your throat when the window opened, and four tremendous hairy probes jutted through the opening, hauling behind them the hulking, nightmarish face of a full-fledged, pony-sized spider!

You thought you were going to die, either from a heart attack or being eaten alive, and you scrambled backwards across your floor, only registering the sound of your own screams when you heard the massive spider begging with you in raspy, spoken English to calm down.

"Please, don't be afraid! I'm your date! From the app!" it gurgled, its eight eyes reflecting your own horror back at you.

You were as apologetic as you could bring yourself to be while staring down something so viscerally frightening. You gently, but matter-of-factly, explained that you simply couldn’t ‘get in the mood’ for a partner so obviously non-human, and you hadn’t been aware of how wide the range of creatures on the app were. In a manner absurdly similar to every fugly man who’d ever tried to talk you into "giving him a chance", the colossal arachnid made some mildly pushy attempts to draw your attention to the engorged penile palps on either side of his head.

“You did say you like multiples, if you close your eyes, women say they feel amazing…” he had rasped, in a mockery of a coy upward inflection.

“No, sorry, but when I say I’m not into it, I mean it.” You replied, surprising yourself with how easily you were able to switch from "fearing for your life" to "read the room and put your dick(s) away".

At first you wanted to praise the monstrous bug’s respect for boundaries, as he immediately turned, crestfallen, and climbed straight back out your window, but then you remembered the intrusive observational power of the mysterious app. These monster boys had a keen understanding that these dates are invisibly chaperoned. You had previously cursed the app for exiling your amazing first date for the technical "rules breach" of creaming your insides after agreeing to the profile condition that he wouldn’t. But as the massive hairy spinnerets of a giant, horny tarantula disappeared out of your window, you suddenly felt grateful for the mysterious surveillant forces that these inhuman creatures seemed to fear and respect. If only Tinder had this kind of power to ensure women’s boundaries were being honoured.

As you let out a breath of relief watching the spider ambled away, you were back in the app deactivating your limbs and phalluses preference as fast as the lagging interface would let you. Recalling the little crosses you saw next to each entry on the drop-down list, you decided to take the reverse tactic. Playing around with the preferences and advanced settings, you landed on:

✓ Monster/Non-human - subtype: "surprise me"

☓ Arthropods: no

☓ Aquatic: no

You felt a little guilty about the latter one, that hunky shark-man had made you cum hard while briefly double-stuffing your pussy with his twin prongs. But it only took a single deep breath to remind you that you still hadn’t fully removed the briny odour of his fish-smelling salty cum out of your carpeting, from the section of your living room where he’d carry-fucked you and then let you drip his overflowing load all over everything. If you were going to continue to be a homebody AND a monster-slut, you had to consider the pounding your security deposit was going to take, as a side-effect of securing poundings for pussy.

---

It was less than a day before your re-shifted preferences had been processed and honoured, with a new date offer coming in from a fourth new match. You were still a bit rattled from your encounter with the big spider, and a wave of relief had washed over you when you heard your apartment intercom buzz, indicating that your chosen date was arriving on foot, at the front door, just like any sensible humanoid would. As you buzzed him into the building, your first verbal exchange has been a deep but nasally “it’s your date for tonight”. Nothing that sounded like puckering mandibles. Another low bar cleared.

The knock on your door had sounded strong and assertive, exciting you a little, so you were surprised to open the door and be greeted with the hunched over form of an elderly, overweight woman, wearing a thick jacket, a vaguely eastern-European head scarf, and dark glasses. He must had read the confusion on your face, because that deeper more masculine voice immediate insisted “sorry about the disguise, it was the only one left that fit”. Stepping into your living room, listening to sound of you closing and locking the door, he continued, “mind if I get straight out of it? It’s hot in here.”

You’d nodded, and watched the human suit roll back uncannily and expose the bold green skin underneath. A smooth scalp, pointed ears, taut ropey muscles around the shoulders and arms, and small sharp tusks at the corners of his mouth, framing his hooked ridgey nose. You being you, your eyes next immediately darted to his crotch, covered in a near tan pair of loin-cloth-like shorts cupped around his bulge. The movement of your eyes emboldened him a little, and he smiled when your eyes returned to his. “Never seen an orc in the flesh before?” he asked, puffing out his chest a bit and stretching up to his full height.

His full height, however, was only a few inches taller than the old woman disguise he’d arrived in. Not diminutive, really, but noticeably shorter than you. Perhaps you were too influenced by fictional depictions of massive, thick-muscled orcs, but your date struck you as much more closely fitting the description of a ‘goblin’, and those social connotations were a lot less favourable. You recalled that, at least by Tolkien lore, "goblins" and "orcs" really are the same kind of being, but this short, twitchy-fingered green fellow calling himself an "orc" had exactly the same vibe as men you’d met up with who swore up and down that they were "basically six feet when wearing the right shoes". The male tendency to imagine yourself wearing stilts runs deep, it seems.

While he was ugly, no question about it, there was a kind of charm to his ugliness that only a woman pretty desperate to finally get fucked again would be capable of seeing. Kind of like those odd-faced character actors whose uneven looks grow on you the more time their character spends on screen. The two of you had only chatted sitting on your couch for a few minutes before the obvious and impressive anticipatory bulge at his crotch caught your attention, and when he came at you with an unexpected raking of his long tongue up the side of your arm, you found your hand wrapped around his turgid manhood, guessing at the strange but enticing bumpy texture you felt through the cloth.

He proceeded to roll you back with your legs in the air, peeled off your panties in a smooth lifting gesture, and began putting his long rough tongue to use on your aching lips and clit. While you thought you’d cum in seconds, as he plunged his tongue deeper, the complication hit: the tusks. His curved little mouth-horns were as sharp as they looked, and while it was a little exciting feeling them jab at the outer edges of your pussy and the undersides of your thighs, as he gave it more force the scratches and pokes got worse and worse. This delayed, but thankfully didn’t completely prevent, your much-needed impending orgasm, and as soon as you’d gushed in his mouth, you were happy that he pulled back and yanked down his waistband for the main event. Or at least, you were momentarily glad, until his penis sprung into view.

Women like your best friend, who make a real sport of fucking monsters, must have pretty strong stomachs and pretty open minds. You broadly thought of yourself as possessing both, but you’ve recently been pushed to your own limits more than once. His dark green cock was clearly a point of pride for him, he brandished it from its base like a sword, its impressive length looking tremendous compared to his short goblin body. But that bumpy texture you had felt did not match how you had thought his dick would look. Each node was a bulbous, shiny round swelling, with a taut brownish outline and a bright yellow colouration across the top. They were irregularly positioned and varied in size, with the biggest of them bulging out like ancillary cock-heads surging out at odd angles. As he rubbed his red-purple tip up and down your labia, you knew, intellectually, that this was probably just part of his species anatomy, and that like a weird-looking dildo it would likely feel spectacular one it got to massaging your insides, but one haunting word stuck in your head and wouldn’t dislodge itself: pustules. His dick looked genuinely diseased, and there was no stopping the crushing sensation of arousal being replaced by disgust. There was no way you were letting that thing inside you.

“Wait, stop, I just..!” you blurted out, scuttling backwards with your hands press over your mouth, which was flooding with saliva as a wave of nausea hit you, “I’m so sorry, I know its probably supposed to look like that, but I don’t think I can…”

He rose up and reached his clawed fingertip is a shushing gesture, aiming for your lips but not quite reaching them as you slid to the corner of the couch, clamping your thighs together. “Look, I know orc cock is bigger than you’re used to with humans, but I can go slow, you just tell me how deep to go.”

You try to stifle a surprised burp of laughter, which thankfully sounded more like a whimper through your clamped hands. His revolting dick was pretty big, and looked huge on his small frame, but it was definitely shorter and thinner than the two biggest human cocks you’d ever taken. In this very living room less than a week ago, you’d been stuffed full of two shark-dicks at once, and EACH of them had dwarfed his goblin member. But you regained your composure quickly, seeing the opportunity.

“I’m sorry, I’m just too scared, your huge go-, uhm, huge "orc" cock would just split my little human pussy in half. I’ve struggled with dicks half that size, and it’s really freaking me out.” Rejecting the spider was one thing, but you couldn’t look this goblin in his horny little green face and tell him his cock is so disgusting you’d rather drip it in acid than your pussy. You didn’t have it in you to be that cruel, especially not to a short king who was clearly proud of his grotesque equipment and was hoping to share it with willing ladies. Thinking back to the spider, even his penile palps were bigger and nicer-looking that this lumpy monstrosity. You tried your damnedest to keep a straight face.

“I understand…” he said, somewhat dejectedly, pulling up his pants with the unpleasant tip of his penis jutting out, pressed up against his belly, “I don’t want to put any pressure on you. My contact will stay in your date history, hit me up again if you get some more non-human experience and get curious about how much better big and bumpy can feel.” He flashed a roguish smile before turning to pick up and re-fasten his old lady disguise. You felt bad for this aborted dated but you were not so talented an actress as to disguise your revulsion indefinitely, and the sooner that diseased-looking dong was out of your apartment, the better. You gave him a peck on the cheek goodbye, which also scratched the sides of your face unpleasantly with his tusks, and to your great relief, date number four was done. Your "blacklist" grew three items longer that night:

☓ Tusks: no

☓ Goblinoid: no

☓ Hobgoblinoid: no

You weren’t even sure what that last one referred to, but it seemed like a reasonable precaution.

[Don't worry, it gets better again. Next part released.]

#monster smut #monster fucker #monster dating app #teratophillia #x reader #terrible dates #monster x human #orc #goblin #spider monster

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