She slipped the blindfold off, breathing deeply. She tried to focus but could not understand what she saw. She was everywhere. Each turn of her head she was there, looking back. The room had been transformed. Every wall covered in mirrors. Floor to ceiling, mirrors showing her in every picture. Frames in gilt, wood, metals stared back at her. The sizes were mixed in a random jumble so that each image was a part of the whole.
Her face was fractured, appearing in dozens of mirrors. Each time she turned the new pattern gazed back. Her body was a Picasso puzzle, a cubist dream of sex. The light flickered from the candles spaced on the floor. It made the room glow, betrayed senses, teasing when you thought you could clearly make out the patterns in the squares all around. It was like having a thousand eyes on you, a thousand mouths opened, all saying the same thing at once. Her head began to swim. She felt his arm steady her, caress as he moved close.
He stepped behind her, hands cupping her naked breasts, his fingers gliding over her nipples, touching her as she loved. She saw that first, all those calloused hands on cherry nipples, over and over in one frame after another. She felt his breath on her neck, sank back to him for support. His cock poked in the small of her back, his desire apparent. He whispered that he wanted her to see what he saw, what he dreamed of when she was away.
"While you were away at your parents. You never use this room anymore You have plenty of storage elsewhere. I thought I might find some use for it. Tell me... do you like this, watching us, watching me, you? I want to know... You like?"
She thought about that, turning her head again to look at them on the wall. She thought no, not mirrors, it's like having a hundred windows to look into, a thousand lovers to watch. She arched her back, watched the women do the same, all in different moments, all the fragments of a body turning to show as one. She grinned. It was wicked she thought. Wicked, wicked, wicked. The more she said the word over and over, the more her thighs slicked of their own. Normally she was shy, had refused his requests to let him photograph her. She wanted to run now, but a part wanted to watch what happened.
Her vision went to him, the man in the windows, the one stroking himself slowly, unhurried. It was his cock, she has seen it before, but never watched him. Not like this. This was as close to porn as she could bear. Her hands strayed down to match him, teasing the coral wetness, her fingers slippery at once. She looked again. The girl was touching her pussy, brazen now, in heat. She watched in growing fascination as the fingers pushed in faster, the thighs spread, touches sinking deeper. Somewhere in her ears women groaned. Looking down, she saw feet, dozens of them next to hers; the painted toes were curling, tapping quietly as she fucked herself. She was losing herself watching, detaching from the feelings that flooded her.
He moved closer, the lovers all around reaching out to her. She blinked again, 'God, it's a fucking orgy now. ' He had placed his hand on the woman's. She saw it, FELT it, but only knew it was real when she looked and saw a hundred hands on a hundred bodies. She trembled, moaned, watched all of them shake. They came. She heard voices, did not recognize her own cries. His fist still stroked his cock, hitting her clit, his rhythm matching hers. When her hand fell away she looked to her right, watched a woman's thighs part, a man slide inside her with no effort, no hesitation, his hands cupping her ass to pull her in.
"God yesss... baby yesss, so good... so... so.. fuu... " His voice trailed off. She wondered if the man in the windows was still groaning like her lover, not talking either, just deep patterns of release coming from his chest.
All around, a reflection of a woman slipping down, her hands and knees propping her up. Cocks tapped on asses, the wetness flicking off in droplets of desire. Her desire, the girl's wetness. She no longer even recognized that woman getting fucked, but wanted to reach out to her, coo in her ear 'YES... YES... Fuck him... push. That's what he likes, you move your hips so wonderfully. ' He pumped in silent rhythm with the rest, the sound of hips slapping together loud as she fell silent, was just watched by the eyes staring back at her. Each woman had a smile of contentment. Each face looked like an angel was kissing her, the swell of orgasm hitting her again. His balls were low, full. They slapped against her, making her grunt each time. She reached back to touch him; saw it multiplied again and again. She tickled, teased. The men fell back, sitting on their heels to stave off the bursting inside. She watched a woman sucking him, sucking her lover straight from inside her. She felt perversely jealous, wanted to push her away, but the flesh filling her own mouth kept her rooted to the spot. She slurped her tongue, watched a girl try and outdo her in lewdness, saw them giggling at the display.
His voice was saying her name softly, repeating it like she loved to hear. All of the women moaned in the back of their throats. Each one pushed down; trying to please him, make him feel what they felt. All of them spilled out in a rush, mouths overflowing, chins wet. She held him, still stroking up, down, up, down. He never went soft. She squeezed her eyes to slits as she saw him lay back, watched all of the men in the rooms follow suit. She crawled up, watched her guiding more flesh that she could count into herself. She mused that she finally got that threesome, foursome, gangbang all in one motion.
He never understood her burst of laughter, even years later when she lied, said she had no memory of the sound. She played to the crowd now, her hips rolling like a stripper making her lap dance rounds. They all smiled, groaned approval. They fucked with her, matching her motions. The candles made her skin look golden, the shadows hiding any flaws that she usually picked at in her mind. That woman, the one riding her steed was perfect, a Madonna-Whore in pumps. She bore down, bending to kiss him, wondered if she would feel a dozen tongues fighting for space in her mouth. His hands wrapped around her scalp, burying her face in his shoulder. She no longer saw the others, was with just him. She felt alone then suddenly, wanting to watch and see if the women came with her.
Hips a blur now, pulsing, back, up, down, circles of frenzy. Her body arched up then, eyes staring at the ceiling fan circling in lazy circuits around and around. She saw the room moving in time, spinning, pulling her with it. Her vision caught the others, each one open mouthed, a line of shiny wetness still on their faces.
Each one was beating her tiny fist on him in a tremble as she broke, released, was whole. She fell forward again, breathing ragged gasps as lips kissed, hands stroked her hair. She wondered with eyes shut if she could still see every man touching her. She hissed low in anticipation of the next heated moment when he would slip another blindfold on her, show her a new picture of who she thought she was, how many women actually lived in her head.
"I love this room... kiss me"