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Shard 261.2: What Do You See?

She examined her face in the mirror, trying to get inside his head.

She had just showered, and readied herself in the bathroom for him, knowing he would be coming up to the bedroom soon. She scrubbed her face with soap and hot water and a simple white washcloth. She added a thin trace of lipstick across her lips, Rouge Noir, a color that he loved and recognized, even though he could never name the color.

He knew it when he saw it.

She applied a whisper of scent at her neck with the tip of her finger, Atelier Bois Blonds, again his favorite, though he could name her perfume, and took a certain pride in his ability to do so.

Nothing fancy. Nothing in the larger-than-life histrionic role-playing mold, requiring costumes and props and back-story and secondary characters.

Though she did have the kitty ears laid out on the counter, just in case.

She smiled at the thought of it.

She dabbed on a hint of blush. She leaned into the mirror, judging the effect.

She pictured the boyish light in his eyes when he’d first see her, his lopsided grin as he walked into the room and kissed her. She wondered what she’d look like in his eyes. How he’d see her hair, her eyes, mouth as he leaned into her. She examined her face in the mirror, trying to get inside his head.

What does he see?

She imagined kneeling naked on the floor, her wrists bound behind her, his cock sliding between her lips as he teased her with the throbbing heat of it. How must she look from above, helpless and docile? She studied her reflection, judging the effect of the lipstick, the blush, the perfume. As she observed herself from his point of view she felt her nipples thicken and grow hard.

What does he see?

She envisioned her face inches away from his as he fucked her relentlessly, his hand gripping her neck, holding her down on the bed. She, helpless on the bed underneath, jerking and crying out with each furious thrust, her eyes unfocused, her mouth slack with the mask of submission. She met the gaze of the woman in the glass, taken with the sight. The lips of her pussy began to swell and part.

What does he see?

She took her eyelash curler in one hand, took up the hair dryer with her other, warming the metal of the curler before bringing it to her eye, watching her counterpart in the mirror all the while. As she focused on the sight of her lashes she conjured an image of him watching her, rapt in her attention to detail. Her pussy tingled.

When she had finished curling her lashes she lowered the curler to her left tit. She pinched her erect nipple between the warm metal bows, closing her eyes and whimpering as she felt the first nail of pain drive through her nerves. He loved to pinch her nipples, and watch her face as he pulled on them, twisted them. Eyes shut tight, her pussy grew moist as she watched him watch her in her mind’s eye.

She clamped down harder, feeling the sting, her whimper turning to a low moan.

When she could take the bite of the metal no longer, she relaxed her grip and opened her eyes.

He was watching her.

His eyes met her gaze through the conduit of the mirror from just beyond the bathroom door. His cock bulged, outlined through the material of his jeans.

She was momentarily disoriented, imagining seeing herself through his eyes only to find herself staring into those same eyes. She felt faceless. Robbed of seity.

How long had he been watching her?

“How long have you been watching me?” she asked absently, not yet fully returned to the moment.

“Not long,” he said, aware he had inserted himself into some sort of private reverie to which he was not given explicit access. “But long enough,” he added, grinning at her.

“What do you see?” she asked, with sudden earnestness. “When you look at me. What do you see? Really.”

“I see you,” he said. “That’s all. That’s everything. You. Just you.”

She fell into awareness with liquid ease, a slow and comfortable journey back to herself, identity restored, ready for any role.

“Now put on the ears,” he told her.

She smiled.


The Shard series is a collection of flash fiction pieces that focus on short scenes from the experiences, memories, fantasies and dreams of the narrator.  Think of them as shards of a broken mirror.


This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

Copyright © 2018 Verbal P. Incandenza | Yeah, not my real name, but I still wrote this. Be cool. Please don't steal it.

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