Mirrors Ch. 01

You and I are going to have a tragic and lust drunk affair.

I smell your pussy on my fingers when I'm eating my wife's cookies. When I fuck her later it's your orgasm face I think of, and I start to come and my wife starts to come. I'm constantly thinking about you. I've been jerking off in the bathroom before I go to the office.

At the conference in Las Vegas I introduce you to people as my wife. They ask how we met and I listen to you make up lies and charm them. A tipsy sales rep from Chicago hits on you. When you walk off toward the lady's room he watches your ass swing, then says to me, "Is that really your wife?" I say no. "I knew it." I say you're actually a high-priced escort. "How much?" he says. I say he doesn't want to know, hell I won't even know until I get the bill. It depends on what I want off the menu tonight. When I tell you this story later you say, "Well what do you want off the menu tonight?" I can't tell if you're angry or amused. "Well?" you say. I ask what's on the menu. You take out your lipstick and write on the mirror:

Blow job: $600

Straight fuck: $800

Anal: $20

I ask if that's a mistake. You shake your head while you look at yourself in the mirror and paint your lips red. I look in my wallet and all I have left is $42. I toss a twenty on the dresser.

"All I can afford," I say.

You're on your knees on the bed and I'm fucking you in the ass and we're watching ourselves in the mirror with the menu scrawled across our reflections.

You'll do things my wife won't but that's not why I like being with you.

We meet at a motel out at the beach. You bring a bottle of whiskey. You do a strip tease for me while I drink and take pictures.

"Did your wife ever do this for you?" you ask.

"Of course."

"How about this?" You sit up on the dresser, spread your legs, and masturbate for me to watch.

"Of course."

You stand next to me and push your breasts into my face with your hands smelling of your pussy. You jerk me off and I watch us in the mirror. After I come, you lick my cock and your fingers clean. You don't miss a drop. "How about that?" you ask.

"Of course," I say, but this time it's not true.

You're ten years younger than my wife is but that's also not why I like being with you.

One night I accidentally call you by my wife's name: "Slow down, ________." I stop and apologize. You say "Shhh" and keep fucking me. You move your hips fast and hard and I come inside you. Afterward you say, "Is that the way you look at your wife when you come?"

You arrive at the New Orleans conference with your hair bleached and your makeup done differently and you're wearing a red dress and black heels that make you look startlingly like my wife did in a number of older photos.

"You look different," I say.

"My husband bought me this dress," you say. "So, ___." Not my name. "How was your flight?"

In the bar you make small talk. You keep calling me ___. You keep checking your watch. "___, I need to call my husband. I'll come to your room afterward."

I hand you the key card. When you arrive twenty minutes later, you say, "Sorry. If I don't call when I land, _______ gets antsy." My name this time. So you've observed my habit of taking phone calls from my wife when she's also traveling for work. I always step out of the room but I guess it's obvious. Less obvious is how you chose this red dress, how you knew I bought it for her.

I watch you bend over to adjust the strap on your shoe and the black nylon over your painted toenails. The hem of your dress rides up. I think you hiked it a little to give me a peek of your stocking tops. You have a rounder, tighter bottom than my wife. Smaller, firmer breasts. (I always remember you at our house at brunch the day we met, having arrived still damp from your yoga class.) You stand up and adjust the silk to hide the black lace fringe of your bra. "_______ likes me in this dress." My name.

"I can see why," I tell you.

"You don't think it's a little tarty?" You rotate your hips and make the hem flare.

"A little, maybe," I say.

"You think my husband likes me looking a little tarty?"

"Could be," I say.

"You think my husband thinks about other men looking at me like you're looking at me?"

"I imagine he must. You're a very sexy woman."

"Do you think he enjoys it when other men see me dressed like this?"

"Probably," I say. "He probably wants them to admire his wife."

You stand facing me, your back to the mirror, and you hike the skirt higher behind you so that in the mirror I can see the bottoms of your bare, stocking-framed buttocks. Are you not wearing panties? There's a small bruise on your left thigh. I wonder where it came from.

"Sure," you say. "But I mean, it doesn't just look sexy. It's a little slutty, isn't it? This dress is a little too short and a little too low-cut." You press your breasts inward with your arms, and your cleavage plumps upward. "You know what I think? I think my husband wants me on display. He wants other men to think about what it would be like to have me."

I shrug but I feel a little tightness in my throat. It occurs to me that this thought has been there in the back of my mind. You're looking at me intently. You also know the thought is there.

"It's like he's whoring me out a little bit, right? I mean not actually whoring me out. But the hint of it is there. This is my wife. My private whore."

"Private?" I say. I raise my eyebrows.

You raise your eyebrows back. "Well, here I am. So maybe not so private tonight. You're not just going to look at me. You're not going to just think about it. Are you?"

I shake my head. I feel myself getting hard.

"Do you think my husband imagines this?" you ask. "His wife in a hotel room with a stranger."

"Maybe not," I say.

But now your trick has worked. My imagination is rolling ahead, and not on what I'm going to do to you. I'm thinking about my wife doing those things to another man.

You've gotten down on your knees. You're petting the bulge in my slacks. You press your nose into my crotch and smell me.

"I want you to do something my husband won't. Will you do that?"

"What's that?"

"Use me."

"How would you like to be used?"

"Like you own me."

Then you open my pants and untangle my hard cock from my underwear and start running your tongue the length of me. You're looking up into my eyes. I'm watching you suck me but you're looking at me expectantly and waiting for something more.

You repeat: "Like you own me."

Then you take hold of my wrists and you put my hands on the sides of your head and you urge me on until I'm fucking your face. You gag a little but when I hesitate, you still urge me on. You force my cock past the back of your tongue. Your spittle is slobbering down onto your black lace framed cleavage and you're hanging onto my slick balls as if to keep yourself from being thrown off as I thrust into your throat.

When I pull out, you sit back on the floor, your legs splayed and drool hanging from your chin. Your red lipstick is smeared everywhere. You purse your lips into a kiss. I take my phone out of my pocket and take a photo of you like that. In the background of the photo my lower body and hard wet cock can be seen in the mirror.

"What are you going to use me for?" you ask.

A fury of lust is on me now. You look so delicious and wanton.

I say: "Your ass."

Your smile is wicked. You stand and turn your back to me and lay forward over the dresser. You smile at me in the mirror. Then you flip up the hem of your red dress and peel your thong from between your cheeks and show me why you're smiling.

"Oh, now that is a sweet thing. And yes, I'll agree now that you're looking slutty."

There's a jeweled butt plug glittering in your asshole. You've been wearing it there for I don't know how long. Your pussy is shaved clean and glistening wet. You stand there waiting for me. I spread your cheeks, slide out the plug, set it with a clunk on the dresser, and push my cock still slick with your spit slowly into you. The plug has you ready. You're open and easy. I sink into you with only a moment's resistance. Your asshole opens for me and squeezes me with a soft firmness. You're watching me in the mirror. I grab you by the hair, press your lips to your own reflection, and smear what's left of your lipstick across the glass as I sodomize you.

"Would your husband do this to you?" I ask.

"No," you whimper. "He'd be gentler."

I look down. The sight of my shaft gripped in your slick asshole, and the sight of your wet face against the glass, it all incites me. I drive myself deep into your ass. I'm in you to the root. Your whimper turns into a guttural moan. Now I call you by my wife's name and it's not an accident. I fuck your ass in deep long strokes, and you moan some stranger's name back at me.

"Doesn't your husband know how you crave this?" I growl.

"I don't let him," you manage to say.

"You don't let him know or you don't let him fuck you in the ass?"

"I don't let him fuck me there." You're panting and thrusting your ass backward into me. "This. Is just. For you."

"You're lying," I say.

You moan deeply. "I'm not!"

"You're lying. I can tell you're lying."

"It's not a lie. I swear it's not."

I look down. Your pussy is distended and dribbling. It's running down your thigh and wetting your stockings.

"But you love this," I say.

"I do love it. I do. I love how you fuck my ass."

"Then why don't you let him do it?"

"I wanted to give you something special."

"You're lying."

"I'm not. Oh. Oh no. I'm..."

I lose you for a few moments to a shuddering orgasm. Little spurts from your pussy are spattering my thighs. Then you clench hard and you shake and you splash. Your ass ejects my cock but that's fine because watching you come is so delicious that I almost came with you. But I don't want to be done yet. I look at your swollen vulva, your relaxed anus, your wet stockings. It's too much. I go to my knees and bury my face in you and suck until you're barely able to stand. You're holding on to the dresser. You almost knock over the TV. You're so open from the fucking that I can sink my nose right into your asshole while I suckle your lips. I'm jerking off the whole while, I can't help myself. You come again. You drench my face. My cock is so hard it hurts.

You're limp. I help you upright, then push you onto the bed. You collapse face down but you spread your legs wide to me and arch your back so your ass is presented like the fine gift it is.

You just say: "More."

I grab you hard in my hands and squeeze and spread your cheeks. Then I straddle you and sink my cock far into your ass again. You let out a long low cry. I'm in you to the roots. You reach between your legs and start to pet your clitoris. Your hand wanders up now and then to stroke my balls and you hold them against your wet open pussy. Where we meet, where I'm slowly fucking you, everything is a hot and slathered and sticky slick mess.

"This," you moan. "This. This. This."

After I come in you, I sit back, breathing hard, legs open, cock still stiff and twitching, and I watch you for a few moments. You're still rubbing yourself. My come is leaking out of you and running down over your fingers and over your lips and you're rubbing yourself and shivering. You look back at me over your shoulder and you smile. I pick up my phone and take another picture. I'm far from done with you tonight. But years from now this is how I'll remember you.

* * *

The day comes when you tell me your husband found out. We're at that quiet little wine bar you said no one goes to except to have affairs.

"You're married?" I say. I'm stunned.

You just smile sadly.

I never knew. I guess I never asked. I didn't want to know. I assumed. You being married was part of our fantasy but in the fantasy I was the other man. I never imagined it was real.

"How did...? I mean."

"He found some photos on my phone."

"Oh Jesus. I'm sorry."

You smile ruefully and shrug.

"So. What happens?"

"You and I stop seeing each other. My husband and I work it out. He had an affair too, last year."

I pause for a long time. When I finally respond, I say, "Well I hope I gave you a good time, for a revenge fuck."

Your eyes are wet. I didn't mean to say something hurtful. Your response: "You were wonderful. But you were never a revenge fuck, _______. I was. You just haven't realized it yet." You wipe your nose on your napkin.

I just take a sip of my wine. I don't know what to say.

"Do you think you'll ever tell her?" you ask after a moment. "Your wife."

"No," I say. "We tried that once. Now we keep our secrets."