The Man in the Mirror

My return from another life-induced hiatus is this little short story. I do have some longer pieces lined up too including a return to some old favourites and i can't wait to share them all with you. But for now: enjoy!

- J

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Wrapped in a fluffy white dressing gown, he looked over the clothes he'd picked out hours ago: a black shirt with subtle floral patterns stitched in it, and a pair of jet black Levi's. Next to them was a small holdall carefully packed with his favourite toys. Handcuffs and chains were carefully packed around blindfolds, silk ties and plastic gags so that they wouldn't rattle as he walked. A selection of leather belts were coiled up like snakes waiting to strike. And on top of it all, was a pair of old brown leather gloves, that he once had worn almost everywhere from October until March, but now he saved just for her. He glanced at them for a moment, recalling how the teeth marks had been left in the fingers, and how her makeup had somehow managed to colour the leather in a way that

just would not come out. Placing them back in the bag, he began to get dressed, but stalled as he looked at himself in the mirror.

He had done everything he could to try and look his best, but no amount of exfoliation or ointments or moisturisers that smelled of hemp or chocolate or strange implacable chemicals ever seemed to stop his skin from being flaky and red. He glanced again at the all-black outfit, and sighed; she loved it when he wore dark clothes like that, but it wasn't easy to make it look good when you have a skin condition. Still, if that's what she liked, that's what he'd do: he needed every advantage he could get. He was tall, but in an awkward lanky way more than in a handsome and imposing one. No amount of gym work has helped his spindly frame and as he had gotten older he had noticed that whatever weight he did put on seemed to go to his belly or his chest, rather than his arms or his legs. Neither had time been kind to his hairline: whereas once he had had so many thick brown curls he never knew what to do with them, now he only seemed to have half a head of hair, although still just as curly. Where his skin wasn't red from eczema or scarred from blades, it seemed to flab and wrinkle more than anyone could ever expect of someone in his mid 20s. The more he stared, the less he liked what looked back at him, but his attention was suddenly drawn to his phone as it buzzed and lit up.

A message from her.

"Hey master, I know you're not due over for a while but I'm all ready for you, maybe I got a little too excited and started a bit early... But I look so good, you'd not going to be about to keep your hands off me."

He smiled as he typed his reply. "Oh kitten, I can never keep my hands off your gorgeous body..."

"Oh and I can't blame you, I mean I do have such grabbable hips... And big, round... Eyes. 😉"

"And such a fucking crushable throat." He felt the energy bubble up inside of himself as he tapped at the keyboard. That side of him didn't care how he looked, and he was happy for it.

".... Fuck..." Was all she managed to reply. He could picture the twinkle in her eye and the submissive look that washed over her whenever he turned on the dominance.

"Such a cute, spankable butt. You know what would make you look even better though, kitten?"

"Damn.... What, master?"

"A nice selection of red marks. And blue ones. And black ones."

"Jesus... Hurry up and come do that to me... Please."

"See you soon, kitten..."

As he glanced up at the mirror once more, it wasn't a lanky, ugly weirdo he saw. He saw a tall figure with glinting emerald eyes, flowing with energy that she brought out of him better than anyone else he'd ever known. Straightening his posture, he threw off the dressing gown and pulled on his underwear and jeans, before unhanging his shirt and fastening it up his body. With every button he closed, his confidence grew. He wasn't just some guy who looked twice his real age, he was every bit the threatening figure she loved him to be. He wasn't just an ugly looking man with terrible skin, he was a dom to the most incredible sub anyone could ever wish for. Whatever he might have been or not been every other day, when he was with her he was one thing only: her master.

Bubbling with confidence as he looked over her teasing, pleading messages, he gave himself one last squirt of her favourite aftershave and, grabbing his bag from the floor, headed to the car.