SpiralledEye
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Mirror, Mirror [A FtM and MtF TG]
🕑 Added 2025-09-24 12:04:11 +0000 UTCTier Reward for Erynne
A magical mirror stores the visage of whoever looks into it, then gives them the body of the person before them. For model Mia and antique dealer Daryl, this works in their favour.
~
The early afternoon sun beat down on Mia, its harsh rays catching in her platinum blonde hair, making it gleam like spun gold. She squinted against the light, trying to hold the perfect pose as the photographer barked orders at her. Her eyes flicked to the book sitting on her chair; she’d just gotten to a really good bit, too. She couldn’t wait to find out-
“Angle your body to the left, Mia. Look over your shoulder. Hold it, just like that!”
She obeyed without question and smiled brightly. She was a master of smiles now; she’d been modelling since she was a child, ever since her mother put her in her first set of baby heels as a toddler and walked her first pageant stage. She knew how to look perfect and happy, no matter how bored and tired she really was.
She turned to let the wind catch her dress, pressing the fabric tightly against her front to show off her ample curves while flowing behind her. The dress was beautiful, designed to showcase her body, slender legs, wide hips, big boobs. The figure of a whore in a Madonna’s dress, as the photographer had described it.
Another click of the camera.
Mia pouted, then smiled, eyes wide, lips parted just enough to look inviting but not too much. The photographer stepped back and glanced at his camera, nodding with approval.
“Great. Just a few more, and we’re done. You’ve been perfect, Mia”
Of course she was, she’d been doing this her entire life. The perfect smile. The perfect pose. The perfect body. That was all she would ever be to most people. A body.
Her heart ached as she shifted her weight, the heels she wore biting into her feet. They were painfully high, the kind of shoes made for show, not comfort. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was the way her legs looked in the sunlight.
When the shoot wrapped, the photographer tossed out a “Thanks, Mia. We’re done for now,” and immediately turned to talk with the assistant. She stood there for a moment, the warm sun making her skin feel tight and uncomfortable. She picked up her book and tried to read, but she could feel too many eyes on her.
“Do you think she understands it? The book, I mean?”
“That bimbo? No way, she’s all air. Just trying to look smart.”
Mia sighed; always the same, just because she had blonde hair, a body made for sin and dressed like a party girl didn't make her stupid. But that’s all everybody saw, a stupid, dumb blonde who was only good for pictures. She needed air.
Mia wandered away from the set, stepping off the manicured grass and onto the sidewalk. People walked by, most of them barely noticing her, while a few glanced at her. The familiar, hungry eyes sizing her up, measuring her worth by her looks alone. Blonde. Tall. Beautiful.
It didn’t matter that she had a degree in history. Or that she could recite quotes from the works of Victorian poets without even blinking. No one cared about that. They only cared about her surface.
Mia walked aimlessly, her feet carrying her without direction, until she found herself standing in front of an antique shop tucked away between two towering office buildings. The small, weathered sign above the door read ‘Haven for Oddities’.
“Maybe I’ll fit in.” She sighed.
The scent of aged wood and dust greeted her, a welcome change from the sterile, modern world she had just left behind. The shop was dim, its shelves cluttered with an eclectic mix of oddities: Victorian lace gloves, tarnished silver tea sets, books with cracked spines.
Mia’s fingers brushed over a weathered book, the leather cover cracked and fragile under her touch. She had always been fascinated by the past, by the stories that lived in objects long forgotten. Her eyes landed on a silver brooch with intricate designs of roses mixed with a modern looking building, well, modern for the time. Her breath quickened with excitement. It was beautiful.
The shopkeeper, a man with a thick salt-and-pepper beard, looked up from behind the counter. He eyed her for a long moment, his gaze flicking down to her outfit.
“Can I help you, miss?”
“This piece is gorgeous,” she said, holding up the pendant. “The way they blended industrialisation with classic English values... It’s fascinating.”
The man looked her over, his eyes lingering on her face, her skin, her body. He gave a brief, almost dismissive smile.
“You like the Victorian stuff, huh? Most people do. But...” He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You might not really understand the cultural significance of it. You look more like someone who’d prefer something a bit flashier*”
The sting of his words hit harder than she expected. She swallowed, forcing a smile that felt as thin as tissue paper. Why argue? Even if she convinced him she knew about this stuff, he’d just get annoyed. People hated it when the bimbo turned out to have a brain.
“I suppose,” she murmured.
She walked toward the back of the room, not caring if he was watching her. She was used to it. Used to being dismissed for the way she looked, used to being treated like a shallow accessory rather than a person with thoughts, ideas, a mind of her own.
At the back of the shop, she found a large object covered by a dark cloth. Without thinking, Mia reached for the cloth and yanked it away. It was a mirror. The frame was ornate, covered in delicate carvings of vines and flowers, its dark wood gleaming faintly in the dim light. Something about it called to her, an inexplicable pull that had her stepping up to the glass with an odd sense of anticipation.
For a moment, she just stared at the reflection staring back at her. The same reflection she had seen a thousand times: the blonde hair. The wide blue eyes. The perfect skin. It was all too much. Too polished. Too perfect.
But then the reflection suddenly shifted, her reflected self smiled and walked away, despite the fact that she was standing still. For a moment, the glass was empty, and Mia watched, confused and fascinated, as a man stepped forward. He wasn’t anything special really; handsome enough without being a show stopper, with short, slightly fluffy brown hair, glasses and freckles across his nose.
He looked like a young professor, the approachable kind that people would love to listen to. The kind of man who was good looking enough to get in the door, and wow people with his brains. The kind of man Mia wished she could be, in a way.
“What’s the deal with this thing?” She muttered, raising her hand and watching as her new reflection did the same, then waved. Mia didn’t wave.
But as she took a step closer, so did her new reflection, and it began to shift. A strange warm sensation spread over Mia’s skin, and she felt the large cups of her bra start to empty. In shock, she looked down to see the cleavage so many people coveted slowly flattening down, like balloons with the air let out. Her bubbly butt was going the same way, and the dress that was stretched so tight over it was getting looser by the minute as her hips squared to suit the new taut shape of her cheeks.
Mia turned on her toes, wobbled for a second and yelped in shock as her heels disappeared, only to be replaced with a pair of boring, but comfortable loafers, just like the man in the mirror.
“Oh, these…wow, these are so comfortable.”
They really were. After years in nothing but strappy heels, wearing a pair of normal shoes felt heavenly. Her flowing dress was disappearing too; the fabric shifted, changing in thickness and shape to fit her new, flatter body. Her bare legs were covered in jeans, then her chest in a soft turtleneck sweater. A proper one, not the kind designed to show off her tits by hugging her body as closely as possible. Not that she had tits anymore. They were totally gone now, as was her long blonde hair. It was darkening to a honey colour and receding back into her skull.
It was the strangest sensation, but Mia couldn’t help but enjoy it. When the hair finally stopped, it was short and fluffy, just like the reflection. It was copying her now, and she watched and ran her fingers through the soft waves. It would be so much easier to wash now and manage.
Her whole body jerked, and a strange pressure formed between her legs that made her bend over double. Her palms were braced against the glass now; her reflection in the mirror looked down at her. They looked like they were mouthing a word: ‘push’? A second later, the pressure in her lower stomach grew, and Mia moaned, feeling something slide down between her legs. A length, one that hung there in her boxers, a cock and balls.
For a moment, her vision blurred, and Mia felt her face reshaping into something more solid and square. When she blinked, the thick, sticky mascara was gone from her lashes, and so was the red gloss from her lips. She looked down at herself, and she had become the man from the mirror! And in the glass stood…her old self: blonde, bimbo body with an airhead smile. The figure walked to the edge, and the glass was empty for a moment before her new self appeared again, perfectly mirroring her movement.
“How…” She breathed, clearing her throat in shock. It was so deep and masculine now.
Somehow, she had become the man from the mirror. It should have been terrifying; she should have screamed and run, but instead, she just stood there and smiled. It wasn't her usual, fake smile either; it was real and felt warm on her new face. She couldn’t be a model anymore, not like this, but perhaps there would be new opportunities for her now.
“Sir? I'm sorry I didn't see you come in.”
It was the shopkeeper; Mia quickly covered the mirror and held out the pendant still clutched in her hand.
“I was just looking at this piece, fascinating. 1890s?”
“Yes, a good eye you have! Do you know much about the era?”
Mia grinned from ear to ear, looking at the attentive way the man’s eyes were locked on her own. Not her chest, her face.
“Yes, I know quite a bit.”
~
Daryl flipped the sign to closed and sighed in relief. What a day. Antiques selling was far more taxing than most people realised. It involved a great deal of paperwork, including authentication papers, buying records, taxes, and all the usual business matters. He hated it. He hated the maths, the people, the paperwork. He remembered the model woman who had walked in earlier; what he wouldn’t give to be like her. All she needed was to look pretty, and the rest of the world bent over backwards for her. Daryl sighed to himself, imagining how much easier life would be if he could just take a photo and sell it for hundreds of dollars.
He did one last sweep of the shop, wandering past the mirror at the back and brushing the sheet off it as he went. He picked it up and went to throw it back over when he caught his reflection in the glass. Salt and pepper beard, a face that looked older than it was. Yeah, no way he could ever model.
Daryl grimaced and went to cover up the mirror, only for a glimmer to catch his eye. The edges of his reflection seemed to ripple, as though the surface of the glass had become a pool of water. His gaze sharpened, his breath catching in his throat. For a brief moment, he thought the mirror was simply playing tricks, but then the ripples became more pronounced. His reflection wavered, the solid shape of the man blurring and stretching, until his reflection looked like somebody entirely new.
It was the woman from earlier today: her eyes were wide and innocent, impossibly large, with dark lashes. Her cheekbones were high and sculpted, the skin so smooth it looked as if a wrinkle or imperfection had never touched it. Her expression was sweet, yet mischievous, the kind of look that made his pulse quicken, his breath catch in his throat.
Then, his own body responded. Not in the usual way, with a hardening between his legs, but a tingling in his face. His square jawline softened, the thick stubble of his beard receding, leaving behind the delicate, rounded features of a woman. Daryl’s lips parted in a wide, dazzling smile, and cascading waves of golden hair shimmered as they flowed from his skull. The blonde locks spilled down her shoulders in gentle waves that caught the light and made him gasp in wonder.
The sensation intensified, crawling through his chest. The muscles in his neck and shoulders softened, his back arching slightly as his frame began to narrow in places and widen in others.
His breath hitched as his torso contracted, his chest expanding and shifting. A soft, round fullness bloomed where his ribcage once was, and his waist began to cinch inwards, taking on an hourglass shape. He could feel the weight of his hips widening, soft curves blossoming where there had been nothing but flat before. All his angles were rounding; what was once straight was becoming more shapely.
The changes should have been terrifying, but they felt so right. He cupped his new chest as the breasts continued to grow; his spine started to strain under their weight, but then his clothes started to shift to fit his new body. Underwire threaded beneath his new orbs, and suddenly the weight was supported and his breasts pushed up to form even tighter cleavage.
His pants disappeared, and for a moment, his legs were bare. The long skirt of the dress was so feather-light against his skin that it was like it wasn't there at all. His stomach twisted and fingers tingled, then burned as they lengthened. The twist in his stomach moved lower, and Daryl moaned, feeling his dick slowly start to shrink.
He was becoming the woman in the mirror. The idea was so ridiculous he couldn't stop a sudden, high-pitched laugh from escaping. Daryl clutched at his throat. He sounded so different; his deep, throaty chuckle had transformed into something light, a lilting giggle that sounded almost musical.
The reflection in the glass warped, revealing his old self. It waved and then stepped out of frame, only for his new, true reflection to return. Daryl looked down at himself; there was no trace of the man he had been. The woman in the glass was all that was left.
Daryl took a hesitant step back, feeling his, or rather her, new body shift with each movement; the subtle bounce of her chest, the sway of her hips, the soft rustling of her hair as it brushed against her back. Her eyes met her reflection again, a slow smile creeping across her face, her lips curling into something she had never felt before: confidence. By the looks of it, this body was even a few years younger than he was; not only had he gained beauty, but youth as well.
Daryl smiled and winked at the mirror. Youth, beauty and an easy life, perhaps. He walked through the antique store with a confident smile on his face, enjoying the sway of his hips as he shut the door behind him for the final time. With a face like this, he wouldn’t ever be going back.
