Lena pushes the door open, and her reflection pushes open a door too, multiplied infinitely. The room is a trap of glass and silver – walls, ceiling, even the floor made of mirrored panels. My pulse hammers against my Adam’s apple, a wild drummer in the silence. I stay on the threshold while Lena enters, her steps on the glass don’t echo, they swallow themselves into nothing like a secret. She turns slowly, her dress bares her shoulders, and each movement throws back a dozen Lenas, each one a different nuance. “Do you like it?” she asks, and her voice comes from everywhere, from all lips at once.
I swallow. “Yes.” That’s all I can get out. I rented this room because I wanted to watch. Lena knew it – she laughed when I suggested it, and said, “So you want to share me with myself.” Now she stands there, spins in a circle, and I see her from all sides simultaneously. Her body, which I know so well – the curve of her hip, the line of her neck – becomes foreign in this hall of mirrors, each facet a new promise. I step closer, stop two meters in front of her. She smiles, and the smile shatters into a thousand facets that dance around me.
The Dance of Gazes
“Undress,” I say. Not as a command, but as a plea that hangs in the air. She hesitates a moment, then grabs the hem of her dress and lifts it over her head. The fabric glides over her breasts, her waist, her thighs, and falls to the floor like a second skin. Naked she stands before me – and before herself, again and again. Her nipples are hard, little buds in the coolness, the fine down on her pubic mound glistens in the diffuse light that comes from all sides. I see her from the front, from the side, from behind, and in each reflection she is different. Sometimes shy, sometimes challenging, sometimes a stranger I discover anew.
She steps closer, the distance melts. “And you?” she whispers, and her breath brushes my cheek. I open my belt, unbutton my shirt, strip off my pants and boxers. My cock is already hard, the glans glistens, a drop beads at the tip. Lena scrutinizes me, and in the mirrors twenty pairs of eyes scrutinize me, each with a different hunger. The feeling is intoxicating – to be watched, but to be the observer yourself, a voyeur in your own game. I wrap my hand around my shaft, stroke slowly along its length, feel the warmth under my fingers. Lena watches my hand, her eyes grow dark, and she bites her lip.
Touch in the Labyrinth
“Touch me,” she says. Her voice sounds hoarse, a scratch in her throat. I step behind her, place my hands on her hips, the skin warm and silky. In the mirror before us I see us both – her breasts, rising and falling, my hands holding her, her closed eyes, eyelids trembling. I kiss her neck, the soft skin under her hairline, and she leans her head back, surrenders. My hands wander forward, over her belly, until they cup her breasts. The nipples are small, hard pearls under my fingertips, I roll them gently, and she moans softly. The moan bounces off the walls, multiplies into a chorus of lust that surrounds us.
I press my hips against her ass, let her feel the pressure of my arousal, the heat radiating from me. She pushes back, and my cock slides between her ass cheeks, a foretaste. Not yet, I think, not yet. I let one hand wander lower, over her belly, through the curly hair, until I find her slit. She is wet, the moisture runs down my fingers, a sticky river. I play with her clit, circle slowly, first gently, then harder, and she moans louder, bends forward, braces her hands on the mirrors. Before us we see her face, red and open, mouth half open, eyes glassy.
“See us,” I whisper in her ear, my voice a breath. “See how you need me.” She opens her eyes, stares into the mirror, and I see the realization jolt through her – she sees herself, being seen, naked and desiring. Her vagina contracts around my fingers, an involuntary pulsing, and she presses against my hand, seeking more. I feel her arousal grow, her breath quicken, and I kiss her shoulder, bite gently into the skin. “Not yet,” I say, and pull my hand back. She moans in disappointment, but I lead her to one of the mirror walls, press her palms against the cool glass. “See us,” I repeat, and she obeys, her gaze fixed on the reflection, as I position myself behind her. My hands glide over her sides, her hips, then I cup her breasts from behind, squeeze them together, roll the nipples between thumb and forefinger. Her head falls back, her eyes closed, but I gently force them open again. “Look,” I whisper, and she obeys. In the mirror we see ourselves, an endless row of couples caressing. I let one hand glide lower, over her belly, through the wet slit, and play with her clit while I knead her nipple with the other. Her moans grow louder, her hips press against my hand, seeking more pressure. “Please,” she whispers, “please take me.” I smile, her face in the mirror is desperate, beautiful. “Not yet,” I say, and kneel behind her. I kiss her ass cheeks, bite gently into them, and she flinches. My tongue finds her slit from behind, I lick her, slow and deep, and she cries out, leaning heavily on her hands. The mirrors show me her pussy from all sides, glistening and open, and I suck on her clit until she trembles. “Come,” I say, and she comes, her climax bursts out of her, a scream that shatters a thousandfold. She sinks to her knees, and I catch her, hold her.
Then she turns around. Her eyes bore into mine, demanding, without hesitation. “Now you,” she says. “Lie down.” She points to the floor – to the reflection beneath us, staring at us. I hesitate briefly, then I lie on my back, the glass cool against my skin, a shock that jolts me awake. Above me I see myself, infinitely repeated in a flight of light, and Lena, bending over me, her shadow falls on me. She kneels, her face above my cock, her breath brushes the glans, warm and soft. “Watch,” she says, and then she takes me in her mouth.
Her lips close around me, a moist spell, her tongue circles the glans as she glides deeper slowly. I moan, the sound shatters in the mirrors, returns a thousandfold. My hands grip her hair, but I
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