The Dark Room Chronicles: Mirror
I stand erect before the mirror; I have no other choice. Small hidden bulbs emit a pool of light that surrounds me and reflects my image back into my expectant eyes. Beyond, darkness and silence press outwards.
I know it to be a large room; I have been here many times before always waiting patiently for it to be my turn in the limelight. I have reclined on chaise longues immersed in the entertainment before me, unfamiliar hands caressing my body and aching for the night when I am pulled from the chattering throng to stand alone bathed in light.
I still wear my mask, the pretty peacock feathers tickling at my outstretched arms, but my shimmering silken dress lies crumpled alongside my Manolo Blahnik shoes somewhere in the dark beyond. Instead my feet have been strapped into a pair of ballet booties fixed to the floor and my arms laced into gauntlets and pulled far above my head.
Now I wait; star spread, balanced on tiptoe, the muscles of my calves and thighs aching, my arms stretched unnaturally high and wide; my limbs fixed. The only movement possible a slight turn of the head or a gentle swaying back and forth of my torso.
The entertainment awaits her audience.
I like my body powdered; a fine coating to take the sheen off my skin and creates that pallid tone that is so fashionable, that screams of the languid idleness of wealth and the placidness of inner beauty but now, beneath the hot lights, I can feel moisture beading on my skin.
I inspect myself in the mirror; there really is nothing else I can do. My body glows, tiny droplets of sweat collect in my plucked and tailored eyebrows and hang heavy on my upper lip. My breasts shimmer as they heave; rivulets cutting through the powder to trickle down my abdomen in dark smears.
I look so common; just another body forced to toil beneath the baking lights.
I feel delectably debased.
My body twitches as I release a soft moan, close my eyes and revel in the joyous dampness that trickles down to coat my inner thighs.
Time seeps by; the ache of my taut limbs more intense with every passing second, salted sweat springing forth from my every pore to drench my skin, the little quivers of sensation that rippled through my pubis rising in a series of minor crescendos, each more assertive than the last and leaving me panting delightfully.
Muted sounds break the silence; the shuffle of feet, the scrape of furniture, the soft resonance of whispered conversation. My chest throbs with pride. They have come. I am worthy. I will be their entertainment. Their eyes will consume my body, shaking before them, bathed, glistening and quivering in orgasmic pleasure as they find each other in the darkness, as mouths swallow throbbing cocks, as fingers flick their way across swollen clitoral nubs, as nipples are sucked, pussys licked, and as phalluses are buried between soaking wet labia all eyes will be on me.
A hush descends, the air weighted with expectation, the only sound the tiny panting mews of need that climb my throat and dribble from my parted lips to cloud the image before me.
He steps from the darkness; thickset thighs, muscular arms, workout enhanced chest and abdomen partially coated in thick dark hair. His face is covered in a demon mask which glares angrily red with bulging blood veined eyes, yellowed teeth and devilish horns. His cock is encased in a codpiece curved like a rhino horn, its tip bulbous and red, it’s surface bumped, gnarled and adorned with crude images of copulating couples.
I lose sight of him as he steps behind me and slides his cold, hard member between my helplessly parted thighs. Its rigidity abrades its way between my dripping labia and across my soaked clitoris. His fingers reach around my swaying torso, squeeze my breasts and capture my erect nipples between his sharpened claws.
I can see his blood red tip protruding invitingly before my pubis. I slide myself forward soaking him as I go, trying to avail myself, eager to have him plunder my wanton depths and release my inner demon. He growls angrily; grabs my stomach and heaves backwards, sweat spraying from my body to splatter the mirrored glass.