in the glass. Two of him. Two of her. His desire doubled as did his humiliation.
Regan took his hands in hers and brought them to her breasts. “Touch me,” she ordered.
He held her breasts with a firm grip in both palms, held them and felt the heat of her body and the smoothness of her skin. Her nipples hardened but not enough for him. He wanted them hard as diamonds. He cupped the mounds and ran the pad of his thumbs over and around the nipples. The skin puckered and tightened. He wanted a reaction from her. He was as tired of her coolness as she was of his coyness. Lightly, he pinched both her nipples and saw in the mirror as her lips parted in a gasp.
Arthur found it was easier to let go and do what he wanted if he wasn’t looking at her but at her reflection. He pinched the taut brown tips again and then tugged them gently. They grew harder against his fingertips. He pinched and plucked them and the woman in the mirror, who wasn’t Regan but instead was some bewitching girl he couldn’t stop staring at, gasped again, this time audibly. That strange woman in the glass…he wanted to watch someone sucking her nipples. He lowered his head and took her left breast in his mouth, latching on to the tip.
The mirror woman arched her back to give the man in the mirror more of her breast to suckle. The mirror man licked softly, licked hard, covered the areola with his lips and pulled the tip into his mouth, pulled more and harder, as her back arched even more until she seemed to hang from his mouth, as if it was all that was keeping her standing.
Whoever he was, that man in the glass, he wanted that woman. His cock was engorged, a livid red, dripping. It rubbed against her hip as he sucked her breast, massaging the nipple with his mouth and tongue, unable to get enough. In the mirror, the woman put her hands into the man’s hair and held him to her breast, then wrapped her arms around his head and pushed her hips into his stiff organ.
She pulled back and took his head in her hands, forcing their lips to meet again. Arthur closed his eyes and the man in the glass was gone. He was himself again, kissing Regan, pushing his tongue into the hot cavern of her mouth, opening her lips wider to press in deeper.
She broke the kiss first, which almost broke him. But then she turned around, lifted her hair off her back with one graceful motion and draped it over her shoulder. The cheval mirror stood at an angle in the corner by the fireplace and reflected the whole room—the bed, the door, the shrouded painting of his great-grandfather. Now the mirror showed him Regan reaching out to grip the edge of the fireplace mantel. It showed her leaning forward slightly and arching her back. It showed her spreading her thighs and lifting her buttocks.
Then it showed him bringing his hand between her thighs, finding her vulva and stroking the silky soft hair he found there.
The hair was damp, and he sought for the source of the dampness. He found the sealed folds of her vulva and ran his fingers along the seam. Wetness, more wetness. He pushed into the seam and parted it, found slick bare flesh, hot against his hand and wet. Up and down he stroked along the slit. Regan said nothing, but her breaths were fast and ragged. He found the hidden little hole into her, and he slowly pushed two fingers inside. The sound that came out of her throat caused his cock to stiffen even more. His muscles were hard as steel, his cock a rod of iron.
The man in the glass did as Arthur had done—pushing two fingers into the woman in the mirror. He watched the man’s hand moving in and out of her body, watched his hand turning and going in at another angle. He saw the woman’s lips part and her eyes close tight as the fingers inside her spread apart, opening the hole.
Regan turned her head to meet his eyes in the mirror.
“Enough playing with me, Brat. Put your cock in. I want to see you watching yourself in the mirror while you do it.”
He took his penis in his right hand and guided it to her wet and swollen seam. With a