Mirror, Mirror Ch. 03

"She's not here," comes a voice as I wake, strong, male and thankfully familiar. I sigh, knots in my shoulders loosening.

"Where is she?" I whisper, turning from my awkward position sprawled half-off the bed.

"Downstairs, far down. I think in the dungeon. It's harder to locate her in the dark," he told me, the deep voice apologetic and frustrated.

"It will take her several minutes to get up here, even if she left now. We have some time." Anticipation lay behind and over his words.

I stagger to my feet, and across to the vanity.

"We do," I breathe, picking up the tarnished hand-mirror on the table, turning it over from its embellished silver back to the glass surface, so I can see him. She must have left him in the dark again. I wonder what he did to make her angry after she shocked me into unconsciousness. Dark hair frames his face, swept back in two loose wings to a short ponytail. The planes of his face are stern, harsh, and his eyes are intense and brooding. He has been trapped for so long in the mirror, seeing through the glass, seeing what she allows him to see from a featureless room, just large enough for him to stand. Light comes from the window, which for him looks out of the mirror onto the world. If he displeases her, my step-mother turns his mirror face down when she finishes consulting him, and leaves him alone in the dark for a time. If he has done well, she rewards him by leaving him in my room.

We pretend hate.

To her, he criticizes my face, my form, my insipid stupidity. He commands her to bring him more beautiful women, who have wit and conversation. I tremble when she orders me to please him. She thinks it's from fear, and she's right. The fear is from the thought she might discover me. I'm not as dull as I pretend. Behind my flat eyes churns hatred and rebellion.

And for this, for my time with the mirror, eagerness.

"Now," he orders. "Now."

Cradling the mirror in my arms, stroking the embellished edges, I carried him to the narrow bed. Propping the mirror up on at the foot takes me a few moments of mounding the covers the right way, and I fuss a little too much over it, trying to draw out the anticipation.

"Enough," the mirror growls. "Take off your dress and lie down."

I turn to look at him, moving so he can see all of me as I let my dress slide down my shoulders, over the swell of my breasts, down my hips and onto the floor, leaving me in my chemise. The thin fabric cups my breasts, and I know from his sharp indrawn breath he can see the darker outline of my nipples thrusting against the cloth. My hands travel over my body, skimming along my curves, and I let out a long sigh. I ease myself down on the bed, half sitting so he can see all of me, including the blush burning my cheeks.

"Pull up your skirt." His voice is harsh and his eyes are dark.

I grab handfuls of the fabric near my waist and pull it slow, up past my knees, over the smooth skin of my thighs. Up over the hot mound of my pussy.

He groans, deep from his chest. If I wasn't so ready, so eager for this, I might smile, but his reaction instead makes me pant.

"So smooth," he forces out.

"Yes," I agree, dancing my fingers over the newly bare lips of my moist flesh. I watch his eyes follow every stroke, every flicker, every rub. "It was my newest punishment. It hurt." I flinch a little, remembering the hotness of the wax, and the intense burn as she ripped my hair away, leaving me exposed. "But I think maybe it was worth it?" Now I do smile, a tiny smile with an even smaller helping of pleased..

"Yes," he breathes out, "yes. Show me."

I stretch, spreading my legs and drawing my knees up so my feet are flat on the bed. My fingers are edging my pussy now, spreading my juices over my lips. I carefully avoid penetrating myself -- the witch does not allow so much -- but my clit, that I can touch. But I wait for him to tell me it is time. I gasp, and half-laugh, half-sob. So wet, and so ready.

"Your tits. Touch them," he whispers. I'm slow, not wanting to drag my hands away from my aching slit. "Touch them!" he barks. My hands jump away to my top, fumbling with the buttons. I manage them, and my breasts fall out into my waiting hands. I moan with pleasure at the touch. They are so full, so ready, and I can feel the answering throb in my clit as I massage the reddened tips.

"Harder," the mirror commands, and I obey, rolling my nipples between my thumb and forefinger. Back arching, I come off the bed, giving him a better view of my glistening pussy. "Good girl," he says, his voice rough and uneven. I can hear the rhythm of him in his voice, and I know his strong hand his stroking his cock. It's been a long time since she let us be together, so this will be quick. We must hurry.

I keep touching myself, my restless hands moving on my tits, and wait for him to let me move lower. I don't beg, but I roll my hips and plead with my eyes, spreading my legs even wider to show him how badly my cunt needs the attention. The rough material of the bedspread chafes against the swollen welts on my ass.

"Now," he dictates. "I want to see you come." He growls out the last word. Heat rushes across my skin. My desperate hands leap to my pussy, stroking and caressing the inflamed flesh. Flicking a fingertip across my clit, my body writhes as the other hand probes and stretches my the lips around my slit. Wetness slides down into the crack of my ass. Feeling how eager my body is excites me more, and I cry out.

"Fuck me," I sigh, stroking faster. "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me." I don't want to beg, but I need it so bad my voice is rising to ragged edge. There is an emptiness inside my pussy so intense it borders on pain. I know on the level of red raw instinct needs filling by his iron-hard cock, by being held down and fucked, pounded into the bed. "Fuck me! Please!" Hearing myself pant out my desires spurs me on, sends an extra thrill through my body, an electric tingle from my breasts to my snatch.

A ragged yell fills the room, tearing out of him. In my mind, I can feel the hot spurt of cum coating my breasts, dripping down over my belly, spattering my ready pussy. The thought makes me contract, imagining him pushing inside me, the head of his cocking slipping into my warm, eager cunt. My pussy spasms at the edge of orgasm as the ghost sensation plumbs my wetness, deep inside me.

"Going to come," I cry out. Trying to simulate the sensation of fucking, I slap my hand against the lips of my pussy. I'm so desperate to come, but I need cock so badly it aches. I moan and cry out in desperation, and feel more wetness pooling under my stinging ass.

My body goes over the edge and into the chasm, the pleasure radiating out from my clit, rolling through my body. Even as I buck against my hand, I imagine his cock sheathed inside me, being milked by the pulse of my pussy. He should feel how hard he makes me come, know the evidence of my need for him. I want the clench of my pussy to coax every last drop of cum out of his cock, so he knows how much I love his fucking, his cock inside me.

The orgasm doesn't stop; it steams through my body, centering in my cunt and my breasts. I keep slapping one hand against my spasming slit, while the other drifts up to my tits, spreading slick wetness. The smell of my hot pussy is thick in my nose and mouth as I drag my fingers over the tips of my stiff nipples.

It pulses to a final end, little aftershocks of pleasure twitching my legs, making my body shiver. I look down my body, past my tits with the trail of my cum spread over them, and the glistening mound of my pussy, to the mirror and his face. He looks satisfied with me, darkly pleased, but still hungry.

My pussy clenches again and I release a soft moan.

"Good girl," he says. I nod mutely, my hands playing over my body. "You still want it, don't you?" I nod again, more strongly. He laughs, low and grim. "You have no idea how hard I would fuck you." I buck again, my body feeling another lash of pleasure. The heat of his gaze warms me, and I watch as he traces the curve of my breast, the open secret of my pussy. I move my ass a little so he can see the spreading dampness on the covers and know how thoroughly he made me come. He sighs regretfully. "I'd like to see that again. Maybe with you on your knees, your pert little ass in the air. But we've run out of time. Get yourself together, and put me back on the table." He looks over his shoulder as if he can see behind him.

"The bitch is coming back."