BURNING MIRRORS – NICOLE AND RACHEL

Squinting at the sunlight flooding the tiny studio apartment, Nicole watches Rachel gasp when the last mirror is placed and unwrapped.

Nicole nods in satisfaction, “you can place them differently but this is what Alex and I was thinking when we got them for you. They anchor and define your bedroom space very nicely.”

” I can’t believe you got me into this building. These mirrors are exquisite. They probably cost more than everything I own.” Rachel looks closely at the carved finial and trailing swags.

“Well, it will be perfect having you right here. I can assure you Alex…and I…. will put these mirrors to good use. Come stand in front of this one.” Nicole gestures Rachel over to the Edwardian antique cheval mirror. Standing behind Rachel, she reaches around to play with the buttons on the plain suit jacket before pulling it away from Rachel’s shoulders.

“Why don’t you give this mirror a try? What does it look like when you undress in front of it?”

Rachel stares into the oval beveled dressing mirror, surrounded by ivory and sycamore inlaid. She slips her hands under her cotton shirt, under her bra. Her body shudders, and then slackens. Small cool hands that cup small cool breasts. The mirror image is hypnotic. Beep click click, beep click click click. She turns to the sound with palms covering pinkish brown baroque pearls, large for her tits, full in temptation. She tosses her head back and contemplates at the reflection to Nicole’s camera with large glassy, dark recalcitrant pools.

Watching Rachel triggers a deep, familiar longing in her. Nicole could feel Alex’s lustful, urgent gaze. No dithering, no equivocating, he wants, he craves, he takes. Easing herself down on the bed, she looks and measures, then commands, “Take the rest off, Rachel. Do it so it makes me wet. Do it so it makes him hard.”

Rachel gawks salaciously back at Nicole through the mirror. Her arms reach slowly behind, unbuttoning, unzipping. The skirt cascades down the lace of panties, the silk of stockings. She sees the slight lick of Nicole’s lips, the edge of tongue. Thumbs hook lace, hips wiggle, and panties shimmy down to the ground.

Positioning herself on the bed in view of the second mirror, Nicole extends her legs, running one hand along her thighs, the other through her hair which has streaked all across the bed, all tangled in a web, yet glossy and slippery. Clothes peel off. Creamy skin gleaming in the mirror topped by carved capitals, supported with silvered socket castors.

The blonde temptress prowls onto the bed in a flash; claws yank at dark silky tresses. She hovers over her, gliding fluidly over soft, smooth skin. Forcefully, she yanks Nicole’s head by the hair, mouth opens, head arches back, neck exposes, and then she sinks her mouth onto the throbbing pulse. As Nicole’s hair drips through her fingers, Rachel’s pants vacillate high and low.
Her mouth moves up to gnaw at Nicole’s ear, with a pitch low in gripped control, voice adulterated in jagged stings, “He pets your hair and watches you sleep, you know.”

“Yeah, I know. Like I know you were with him yesterday before he came home to me,” she moans thickly, and moans like she’d tastes blood, all hot and metallic and viscous. She brings Rachel’s hand back into her hair. “Go ahead, feel me, feel what he pets.”

With the one hand petting Nicole’s hair, her other hand grabs Nicole’s hand and pushes it between her legs. Nicole’s fingers find her. And Rachel replies, hard and deliberate, “Yes, go ahead, pet me, pet what he wants.”

Limps wrap around each other. Rolling over and over, each with similar force pressing against the other. Pinning down, pinned down. Wet on wet. Palms gripping faces. Fingers pulling hair. Nails scoring skin. Friction, concordance – deliciously intense flare. The world drains away except for the sunlight flooding the apartment, bouncing off the mirrors and igniting the fire on the bed.

After heart rates lower, the sweat trickles down their backs and between their breasts, free flowing like condensation on beer glasses sweltering at a sports bar. It beads on Rachel’s forehead and drips down her face as Nicole pushes the damp blonde locks from her eyes. Nicole can taste her own salty sweat on Rachel’s shaky and icy cold fingers tracing her lips.

Their faces so close that when Rachel gathered her voice, it is like a slow seductive rub of lips, “Nic…. are we….. okay?”

“Because you cause me ……discomfort?”

“Because it’s scary to reckon with you?”

“Scary is exciting.”

“I’ve never been more excited.”

“Then kiss me, Rachel, kiss me, and do me again.”