The Mirror

"Show me how you fuck yourself."

That again, I thought. Why is it they always want to see that? All of them, every lover I'd ever had, eventually (or not so eventually) got around to asking to watch me get myself off. Rob was no exception. In fact, he was probably more fascinated with looking at my fingers slide in and out of my cunt than any of them. Thinking back on it, I try to remember just why it was I went along. I think I liked to watch him watching-see him get that inexplicable gaze, see his eyes get all steamy and face get closer and closer until I could feel his breath between my thighs. It was always quick after that. He'd bury his face between my legs and lap at my cunt, slipping his tongue in right along with my fingers, and then roughly pushing my hand away when he couldn't wait to fuck me anymore. THEN I'd get what I liked-or at least what I thought I liked-a good, hard fuck.

Of course, the whole time I'd be talking dirty to him, moaning...whatever he liked...whatever any of them liked with the floorshow. I was all over it. In fact, I thought I was having a great time-can't tell you how many orgasms I didn't know I was faking. Don't get me wrong, it did feel really good to play around, get laid...all of it. But every time, I wanted more when it was over.

Well, the next morning, after Rob left, my roommate's boyfriend had this look on his face, like he knew...something. Karen had already left for work, so it was just Chris and I in the kitchen. "What are you doing here?" I half-joked.

"Told Karen I'd fix that shelf in her closet while she's at work," he said. I must've looked at him like he was crazy (he never did that kind of stuff, just said, "Why don't y'all call the landlord?" if anything came up around the house). "Truth is, though, I wanna see what it is you're doin' to yourself in that bedroom that makes you moan so damn loud. You kept me up all night."

I could feel myself flush all over in a wave of hot shame coupled with ... wetness. A sense of embarrassment mixed with exhilaration at the thought of Chris lying awake, listening to me in bed with Rob. I wondered how many times he'd heard me and never said.

"Don't just sit there. Say somethin'! Or do somethin'! Hell, you can slap me if you want to-you prob'ly should!" His southern accent was as charming as ever, if you can call it charming.

I laughed a little, uncomfortable laugh and tried to play off the real temptation I was feeling. "Guess the walls are pretty thin in this old place," I said softly, not meeting his eyes.

"Guess so," he said, staring straight at my face until I met his gaze across the kitchen table. "So? How 'bout it?"

"What about Karen?" I asked. I already knew they had an open relationship. They had even invited me to bed with them one night after we'd all been out drinking, but that's a different story. Likewise, he already knew that Rob was about to get his walking papers. We both knew I was just stalling. "Why do men like that so much?" I asked, really thinking the question would surprise him. It didn't though. I think he was waiting on me to ask.

"I knew you didn't have a clue what you were doin'!!"

"You arrogant son of a bitch! What are you talking about?" I'd always hated guys like Chris! Well, maybe not "hated"....

"Whoa-wait! I'm sorry. I didn't mean that the way it sounded. It's just, well-I've heard a lot of things through that wall, and it all ends up with old Rob snoring and you trying to wake him back up so you can really get off. Just wanted to help, that's all."

"I bet. What d' you know? I get off all the time. EVERY time! Sometimes two or three times!! I don't need you to be some kind of sexual missionary! I'm doing just fucking fine."

"Prove it," was all he said.

Hmmm.... I guess I knew deep down that he was right, or I couldn't take the mixture of anger and embarrassment and arousal that was swimming around in my body about then. "How?" I asked.

"Like I said, just show me how you masturbate."

I started to walk off, and he laughed a little and said, "Don't worry about it. Happens to a lot of girls your age."

"I thought we were going to the bedroom, Chris." For once, I had caught him off-guard.

"Oh. All right, then, but not in the bedroom. Right here."

"Don't you think the kitchen is a little overdone?"

"Not one damn bit," he said. "Now take off your robe."

I was wearing a t-shirt and panties underneath. I started to take my top off, too, but he said, "No. I just said the robe," in this way that made me want to do exactly what he said, no matter what it was. "Slide your fingers along the edge of your panties. That's it...all between your legs. Not cold, are ya? Your nipples look as hard as little rocks right now." When he said that, it made them feel all tight. "Roll 'em around real soft between your fingertips. That's it. You like it a little harder, don't you? You'll have to make yourself wait for that."

No one had ever talked to me like that, instructed me like that, gotten me to learn how to tease myself. He lifted me onto the countertop, right at the corner, opened two cabinet doors, and put my feet against the tops, my legs spread wide. "Now slip your fingers under your panties from the side, there...see if that pussy's wet yet." I didn't have to put my fingers there to know. I was drenched. I could feel how slippery my cunt lips were getting against the silky panties I was wearing. I could feel, too, how hard my clit was, aching to be touched or even for my legs to squeeze together, enclose it in that pressure-anything!

"Can't wait, can ya?" I shook my head, pleading almost, but still waiting for the go-ahead. "See, now? When we get done here, you won't be beggin' for any more. I bet you start fuckin' yourself all the time after this, even when nobody's watchin'." I knew he was right already.

He helped me slide my panties off and put my feet back on the open cabinet doors, a mile apart. "Now, you wait right here ... and you can squeeze those big tits as hard as you want while I'm gone, but keep your legs open...that clit's gonna have to wait a little longer."

I almost had time to wonder why I was doing this when Chris emerged from the bathroom with my make-up mirror. He pulled a barstool over and put it right between my legs. He reached around my waist to plug in the mirror, set it on the barstool, and angled it perfectly. He took pains to make sure I could see both my face and my cunt in its reflection. He rummaged around in the pantry for a few minutes, but managed to hide the items he had procured behind his back, and then behind the mirror. The mirror reflected the glistening folds of my cunt. I looked at it for the first time as Chris looked on. It was deeply red, shining...open. Thin I caught a glimpse of my face in that mirror. I was wearing the same fascinated expression, the same glazed look I'd seen on Rob's face a dozen times!

Chris didn't have that look, though. Just me. He was more like a scientist about the whole thing, or maybe a director. He took something from behind the mirror, but I couldn't see what it was. His arm was in the way. "Lean back a little," he instructed me, "but keep where you can see your pussy real good." I leaned back on my elbows and watched. It was olive oil, and he poured what felt like a cup of it straight onto my clit.

I started to moan, but he touched my lips and shook his head-"Just take it." And I did. I watched the clear oil flow over my entire cunt, felt and watched it drip down millimeter by millimeter until it was dripping past my asshole, tickling it. As much of a scientist as Chris had been up to this point, a glimpse in his direction was all it took to see the hard-on he was sporting right then.

"Aren't you ready to fuck me yet?" I asked him.

"Oh, no. No fucking. It's all you right now. Sit back up and get your fingers all in it."

I watched as my own well-manicured fingers slid down my slit, back and forth across my clit, slow and soft at first, but then quicker, in small, gentle circles around and over the little knob. I could see my cunt lips getting redder, fuller. My pussy felt both empty and ready to explode at the same time. Almost reading my mind, Chris handed me his other surprise from the pantry: an emergency candle. "This," I thought, "is and emergency if I've ever seen one!". I rubbed the candle first against the outer folds of my throbbing pussy, letting it press against my clit for just long enough to realize I couldn't wait any more. I slid the candle in against the pulsing resistance of my hole and was grinding it, letting it glide in and out, almost of its own free will.

I watched in the mirror as my fingers worked my hard little clit for just a few more strokes while I plunged the thick candle inside me.... Then I felt it: my first real orgasm. It started in hot waves that encircled the candle and spread through my whole body. I went limp, and Chris was right there, half-holding me up. I kissed him deeply, wildly. As the moment passed, I was afraid to move my hands or the candle. It was so tender now. I'd never felt this way before.

Chris, ever the scientist, knew exactly what was going on. He tried to experiment a little by running his fingers down my slit and into me, taking the candle gently out before I could close my thighs around his surprisingly well-intentioned hand. I swallowed a couple of times, still riding the waves of the orgasm. When I could speak again, I managed to say, "Guess you were right. I didn't know what I was doing before."

He half-smiled, the smug bastard. "Now you're ready for the bedroom," was all he said. We went.