AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“What did I say about that?” Regan demanded. “Eyes open. Here. Look above the fireplace.”
She pointed to the painting. “Berthe Morisot,” she said. “The Psyche Mirror.That’s what they used to call cheval mirrors, because it could show you your whole self. And there she is, seeing herself and liking what she sees. You are going to see yourself tonight. You understand?”
“No.”
“You will. Stand in front of the mirror. Undress,” she said. “All the way.”
“Do I have to?”
She gave him a look and that look answered the question so that no further words were necessary.
He didn’t want to do it. He knew people found him attractive. He was twenty-one and had been doing hard military workouts for two years. Yes, he was in good shape physically, but he still didn’t go around staring at his naked body in mirrors. Too much looking in mirrors was dangerous. You ran the risk of seeing someone in there you didn’t want to see.
What choice did he have, though? For Charlie, he reminded himself as he pulled his t-shirt up and off. This was for Charlie.
He tossed his shirt onto the wingback chair. Then his jeans and pants and socks. And then, there he was, completely naked and standing in front of the cheval mirror. The “psyche mirror.” Regan stood near him, her back to the fireplace mantel, her arms crossed over her chest, studying him again as he stared at himself in the mirror. Seeing himself there, he remembered, finally, what his father had said to him about marriage, how it changes a man…
“What do you see?” she asked, her tone cool and probing, like a psychotherapist’s.
“Just me.”
“Don’t lie. I can tell you’re thinking about something.”
“Earlier today I was trying to remember something my father said to us years ago, and it finally came to me.”
“What was it?” She came to him and rested her chin on his shoulder. He liked that she was tall enough to do that.
“Charlie and I were complaining to Dad one day about how he was always chasing Mum around the house. We thought it was about as disgusting as anything could get. Usually he just said, ‘Put a sock in it, virgins.’ That day he actually sat us down and lectured us about how important Mum was to him. ‘Your wife will be like a mirror to you,’ he said, ‘except she’ll show you your true self. A man can be the life of the party at the pub with his mates and a monster at home to his wife. Who is his real self? Not the mask he wears in public but the soul he shows only to her.’”
“Why were you trying to remember it?”
Because of Monday night, he thought but didn’t say. Because that’s what had felt so monumental about that night, why he’d woken up Tuesday morning feeling like a man for the first time in his life. He’d shown his face to a thousand friends. That night with Regan, he’d shared some secret part of his soul for the first time with someone. With her.
“I was just…you know, thinking about my parents when we were on the phone today. On their millionth honeymoon in New York.”
“I see,” she said. There was a split second when he thought she might look disappointed in his answer. He relished that look.
Regan wrapped her arm around his waist, took his cock in her hand, held it, stroked it.
“What I see is this,” she said. “I see a young man who is getting harder and harder every second that passes, who chose this for a reason that has nothing to do with his brother, even if he won’t admit it. Yet.”
He was so hard it hurt. His erection humiliated him, that he was this easy to manipulate. Everyone thought he was some perfect son, perfect soldier, perfect angel. That’s what Regan had said. But the truth was he was exactly what the mirror showed him to be. An absolute whore for this woman and the way she treated him.
She released him, stood back and undressed. Off came her grey jacket. Down went the zipper of her skirt that clung to her round hips. Then her shirt and lacy white bra, lacy white knickers. She stood before him, naked and glorious, naked but for the pearl drop earrings hanging from her ears.
In the mirror’s reflection, he could see her hair, crimped from her earlier French plait, falling in waves down her back. Her lovely bottom, so soft and round, waiting for his two hands to clench it, hold it. Long lovely naked legs. Long throat and pale olive skin. Breasts that sat high on her chest and firm, perfect handfuls. Nipples a darker brown. Just seeing them and his mouth watered at the thought of sucking them. Narrow waist and the flare of her hips, and then her vulva with the softest curls of hair.
Between her thighs, hidden from his eyes, was what he wanted to see more than anything. See and smell and taste and touch and push inside and fill. But he couldn’t, not yet. He had to wait for her instructions.
She took a step to the right and revealed his body in the mirror again. Now he saw himself and her in the glass. Two of him. Two of her. His desire doubled as did his humiliation.
Regan took his hands in hers and brought them to her breasts. “Touch me,” she ordered.
He held her breasts with a firm grip in both palms, held them and felt the heat of her body and the smoothness of her skin. Her nipples hardened but not enough for him. He wanted them hard as diamonds. He cupped the mounds and ran the pad of his thumbs over and around the nipples. The skin puckered and tightened. He wanted a reaction from her. He was as tired of her coolness as she was of his coyness. Lightly, he pinched both her nipples and saw in the mirror as her lips parted in a gasp.
Arthur found it was easier to let go and do what he wanted if he wasn’t looking at her but at her reflection. He pinched the taut brown tips again and then tugged them gently. They grew harder against his fingertips. He pinched and plucked them and the woman in the mirror, who wasn’t Regan but instead was some bewitching girl he couldn’t stop staring at, gasped again, this time audibly. That strange woman in the glass…he wanted to watch someone sucking her nipples. He lowered his head and took her left breast in his mouth, latching on to the tip.
The mirror woman arched her back to give the man in the mirror more of her breast to suckle. The mirror man licked softly, licked hard, covered the areola with his lips and pulled the tip into his mouth, pulled more and harder, as her back arched even more until she seemed to hang from his mouth, as if it was all that was keeping her standing.
