bring but I am willing to find out. For all my nerves, for all the tangles in my belly, I am not going to chicken out and move the mirror back. The only concession I have to make is to put myself in the main room now the time is at hand. I couldn’t just be standing there at the counter as he came by.
I even have my back to the doorway, although any number of mirrors will let me witness anyone entering behind me. I look at my watch for the hundredth time this hour. I hear the door open and the growl of traffic noise grow and then cease. I am sure I hear the click of the door catch being turned to lock it. The trembling in my legs increases. Sounds tell of an approach and then he is there in reflection. I see him although my back is turned. He is in a plain shirt and those tapered trousers and smart shoes. His expression is serious today, telling me that he is here not for jokes or bets but to carry out what he did in my head last night. He will see my face in some reflection somewhere. He will see I want this deal of his.
His arms come around me and he presses his lips to the top of my head. He stays like that for maybe a minute, just to calm me and to get me used to the close contact. We can see into each other’s eyes in the mirror before us. No words are going to be needed here. He turns me gently and my arms go around him too. It’s the last sign of my acquiescence he need seek. We both know the deal from here on in. The first touch of skin on skin is electric and goes right through me. His kisses start a lot softer than I’d anticipated but the hunger quickly grows and he even takes my bottom lip between his teeth to bite upon it. The press between us is close, his arms keeping me tight. I can feel the swell of him at my belly. I love his scent. He feels like someone I’ve known for ages.
His shirt is unbuttoned and comes off as we stand. Mine too. It is not a ripping-off of clothes. It is fast but not frantic, giving me hope that this will not be over before it has barely started. He keeps his lips pressed to mine as he slips off his shoes. He doesn’t wait for me to take the initiative. He undoes his trousers himself and they slip down. Still he keeps our lips in contact as he bends to pull them clear and remove his socks. You wouldn’t think that last thing could be sexy but it so is, especially in these surroundings, where a quick fumble seems the most likely scenario. He wants to do it right.
As he pulls me in tight again I realise with a start that he is naked. I can feel his stiff pole unleashed against me. Unless his underwear dropped by magic he wasn’t wearing any. That means he came here sure that it would happen. Something about me made him think I would agree to his deal. He doesn’t seem at all fazed at standing here nude with me. I can see him, obviously. All around is his reflection for me to snatch glances of. It could be like being in the most sensual of art galleries except that I am able to seek out the very rudest, most revealing views of him. It is like watching others making love whilst doing it yourself. It is like being watched by others doing it too. It is like being part of an orgy.
My skirt is unzipped and slips down. The clasp at my back is undone and my breasts fall free. Instinctively I keep close at first but my inhibitions are melting rapidly. There is no hiding here anyway. Only my knickers remain. We both know they are still in place only for a grand unveiling soon to come. His hands are down there, squeezing flesh through thin fabric, pulling me in, searching lower for the tell-tale dampness that betrays my excitement. Then his hands are at my breasts. Our kissing is fevered and wet now, the urgency still growing.
His head bows and he feasts upon me. I gasp and my eyes open again. In reflection I can see his teeth baring to press and nip at each breast in turn. I can see his tongue-tip swirling and flicking at the little stiff teats, see his cheeks hollow as he sucks hard. It is somehow so much ruder seeing it in reflection – again, like you are witnessing it in others whilst having it done to you. It doubles the intensity. He drops to his knees before me, his hands on my hips. His face is level with my belly, his eyes down. I hear his long exhalation; a victory sigh that his prize is right there for him. I have soaked the fabric of my knickers and he will have my scent in his nostrils. One downward movement of his hands will see my final defences peeled away, revealing the soft mound I shaved purely on his say-so – a man whose name I do not yet know.
I can see the contours and shadows and muscles of his body. Each mirror tells me something new about him. I can see his long cock straining up for me, the pulse in it. My hands are gripping his hair, my breath heavy as I wait with no patience left. I am dying for him to see me. Then he does. I feel the sweep of lace at my thighs as my knickers come down. The hairs there stand on end. Another long exhalation, this time felt as well as heard, a small, cool gust on my hot puss. His eyes drink me in. I see the sparkle in them, the hunger and raw lust. I’ve never seen this much in a lover before, but then I’ve never made love surrounded by mirrors before.
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