Takeshi stopped looking at mirrors.
He stopped jerking off. Stopped opening his laptop. Covered his phone camera with duct tape. Showered in the dark. Brushed his teeth with his eyes closed. He didn't even use utensils with reflections anymore.
None of it worked.
Mizuki still found him.
And every time, she got more aggressive.
---
He went to the town's public bathhouse hoping to clear his head. Maybe soak his aching hips and try not to think about the four times he came last night inside a ghost who climbed out of a mirror, fucked him senseless, kissed him, and vanished.
He didn't tell Kenta. He didn't tell anyone.
Because what was he supposed to say?
"Hey, cousin, remember that porn legend about the well? Yeah, I accidentally summoned a soaking wet sex ghost with tight pussy and dick-destroying stamina. Also, she calls me 'husband' now and wants to get pregnant with my ectoplasm."
Yeah. Fucking believable.
---
The bathhouse was old, half-empty, quiet. A single old man slept in the corner of the changing room while Takeshi stripped off his hoodie and dropped his boxers into a basket.
The mirror over the sink was fogged.
Good.
He didn't want to see anything—not his tired eyes, not his hardening dick, and definitely not Mizuki.
He slid into the hot spring water and sank down to his shoulders.
"Just relax," he whispered to himself. "You're alone. She's not here."
Steam rose all around him. His muscles loosened. His head tilted back.
Then… a whisper.
"You're not alone."
His eyes snapped open.
The mirror above the sinks—the one fogged up earlier—was clear now.
And Mizuki was in it.
Naked. On her knees. Smiling.
"Fuck—no—" he whispered, starting to rise.
Her reflection disappeared.
But the water next to him rippled.
A pair of soft, cold thighs surfaced.
She appeared in the bath—not dripping water, but rising from it, her hair slicked back, body glowing in the steam, tits rising slowly from the surface like two perfect, heavy moons.
"I told you," she whispered, eyes glowing faintly. "Your cum belongs to me."
---
Her arms slid around him from behind.
He felt her tits press into his back, nipples hard against his skin. Her hand dipped beneath the water, stroking his cock under the surface.
He hissed. "Not here—fuck—not in public—!"
"There's no one watching," she purred. "Besides… you're already hard."
Her ghostly fingers wrapped around his shaft, jerking him under the water. The bath muffled the wet slaps, but not his gasps.
Her other hand massaged his balls, squeezing them like she was testing his load.
"You haven't cum today," she whispered in his ear, licking the edge. "I can feel it. It's building up inside you…"
He groaned. His hips twitched.
"Stop—ahh—someone could walk in—"
She kissed his neck, her slippery body rubbing against his back.
"Let them."
His cock throbbed in her hand.
The water rippled violently as she picked up speed, jerking him fast, her palm tight, her grip perfect.
"You need this. Don't you?"
"Fuck—I'm gonna—shit—"
Her mouth found his lips. She kissed him upside down, upside down, upside down—and he exploded under the water.
His cock twitched and unleashed hot spurts of cum into the bath. It mixed into the water, clouding the surface.
She moaned against his lips.
"Ahh~ that's it~ that's my husband's seed~"
---
He collapsed against the bath's edge, panting.
She vanished.
The water cleared.
And behind him… nothing.
---
Later, as he dried off in the changing room, he glanced at the mirror.
There it was.
A message, written in fog:
"You're filling me up nicely."
His heart dropped.
Underneath it, a second line appeared:
"I think I'm pregnant."