Girl In The Mirrored Ceiling. Category: Quick and dirty.
CW: Contains themes of PIV sex, semen and solo masturbation.
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Recently, I’ve been thinking about mirrors as a sexual stimulus. Not in a narcissistic way (I hope), but as self-love in a positive, affirming sense.
That thought process reminded me of a true story – well, event, really – that happened to me some while ago, involving a mirror, so I thought I’d tell you about it.
I haven’t had time lately to do a picture which properly matches the story, so this will have to do! I must make some time to do some more proper boudoir selfies.
Approximately a 15 minute read.
***
Several years ago, my then-boyfriend and I spent a fairly wild ten days in Ibiza. The first week saw us sharing a small villa with friends on the south coast, near a village called, perplexingly, ‘Jesus’. Yes, really. It was a doable taxi ride to the Sunset Strip in San-An, a similarly doable taxi ride to a few of the super clubs and chic beach-bars and in a quiet enough location to allow snoozing on sun loungers well into the day, sleeping off the night before. I’d been to Ibiza a few times before with girlfriends in my late teens and early twenties. This was the first time doing it as part of a couple.
If I’m honest, remembering (sort of) what I got up to when I was single, and care-free made me pine a little for the heady, halcyon days of not knowing who I might wake up next to after a night dancing my ass off and getting out of my head on over-priced cava and, umm, ‘other things’ at Amnesia.
Ibiza had been my awakening to the notion that hedonism is my wheelhouse.
For the final three nights of our holiday, the four of us had agreed that we should throw caution and credit cards to the wind and stay at a certain famous hotel. All white marble, muted furnishings and top-level DJs mixing tunes for the pool area; deep house – my favourite dance genre – in the morning gradually getting harder into the afternoon.
***
First thing (which is about 10am in Ibiza), you would find a few people sitting around on the expansive sofas sipping cold wine to assist with their come-down before heading either to the loungers or bed. The four of us had gone pretty hard on the clubbing thing in the first week and were anticipating a more chilled vibe for our last few days on the White Isle.
You weren’t supposed to swim in the pool before ten, but the rule wasn’t strictly observed, provided you appeared not to be still off your tits from the night before. My fella liked to swim before breakfast when we were on holiday, so this morning he rose quite early and was into his swim shorts, towel under his arm, before I’d even woken up properly. I sprawled naked on top of the sheets, my head fuzzy but pleased with myself that I’d necked mineral water before going to bed, which had resulted in a ‘soft landing’ hangover. I raised my head to down the remainder of the water before flopping back down. The room was like a cube – everything pure white: walls, bedding, furniture. A bathroom with a walk-in shower adjoined. There was a large mirror on the ceiling, right over the bed.
He came to my side of the bed to kiss me goodbye for the whole forty minutes he’d be away.
I wriggled around a little, drawing my knees up and spacing my feet apart, allowing my legs to fall open. I lifted my arms up towards him.
‘Can you just come back to bed for a few minutes? I want your come inside me before you go.’
I didn’t think he would put up much of a fight, and he didn’t. What followed was, I suppose, pretty vanilla, but lovely, nonetheless. It’s not always necessary to be tied up with a metal hook in your arse and a ball-gag in your mouth. Honestly, it isn’t.
Don’t look at me like that.
***
He placed his hands on either side of my head – press-up position – and slid his tanned torso across so that he was resting between my legs. Lowering himself, he sought out my mouth, and we kissed, while I wrapped my arms around the back of his neck, pulling him down to me. I drew my knees higher and clamped them against his hips. Kissing is the greatest foreplay activity, and I’ll argue the toss with anyone on that score. He was a very good kisser – it’s one of the things I loved about him – and as he kissed me slowly, sensually and deeply, I felt his lovely cock hardening and pressing down on my lower tummy where he was lying against me.
This isn’t the story of that fuck. In fact, it wasn’t a fuck; it was about fifteen minutes of lazy, slow, intimate, deep lovemaking.
I seldom come in the traditional missionary position because I can’t reach my clit, and clitoral stimulation is mostly required. I reassured him that a change of position was unnecessary; I just wanted him to empty himself into me. I could sort myself out after that. I felt his cock jerking and the semen pumping into me. Heaven.
After a few minutes of lying with our heads buried in each other’s necks, he rose, tidied himself, kissed me, and left with his towel under his arm and swimming goggles in his hand.
***
I lay uncovered and, in my hazy state, began to do what most women would while lying there looking up at the reflection of their entire body. That’s right, checking the bits of me I wasn’t completely happy with; twisting to look at my bum – I needed to do more squatting at the gym – wondering why one of my tits is slightly bigger than the other and taking an inventory of my tan. That, at least, I was pleased with.
The room was quiet and empty again. Empty but for myself and the girl in the mirror on the ceiling.
I examine her. The bedsheets rucked up, her hair spread across the pillow, arms over her head – her cheeks, neck and upper chest still flushed with sex. As I watch, she draws her knees up and lets her legs fall apart, exposing her glistening sex, wet with the juices from her body and the semen which was jetted deep into her just a few minutes ago.
I see a little trickle of milky-white fluid seeping from her pink slit; the lips of her pussy still invitingly open, engorged and slickly wet. Although transfixed with the sight of the sperm dribbling from her, my attention is distracted by a movement elsewhere. Her hands have moved to her breasts and, squeezing them together, she takes her nipples between her fingers and pinches. This causes her to jolt, and her mouth opens further. She looks a bit out of it – stupefied with lust – wallowing in that just-fucked afterglow.
***
Her arousal is quickly rising again as she watches the young, tanned body that just drew an orgasm from her man, as it slowly undulates, flexing and relaxing to the stimulation of her fingers. She gives a little moan and, clenching her cunt in response to that throb, another dribble of glistening cum trickles out of her.
She reaches down with her hand and curves her fingers around her mound. She scoops the fluids which have slickly coated her perineum and brings this prize up to her face to examine. Her fingers are wet – coated – with this viscous, creamy fluid. She turns her hand this way and that before her eyes, examining carefully in the morning light, wiggling her fingers and watching as the little strings of gloop stretch between them, trickling down to her knuckles. She runs her tongue up her index finger.
Like a well-made cocktail, the separate ingredients blend and complement each other yet remain individually distinguishable. The taste of his come and her lubrication mixed – a faintly sweet ammonia and metallic tang – causes another throb as she thoroughly licks her fingers clean, not willing that any drop of this treat should be wasted. The fingers make the trip a couple more times, but, as yet, she has not penetrated herself. That’s about to change.
***
The hand travels down again, both hands, in fact. This time, instead of scooping up the overflow and conveying it back to her eager mouth, she drags her fingers through the sopping folds of her cunt. There’s no resistance at all; the silky lips are covered in his and her juices, coating her fingers again. She runs her fingertips lower, finding the entrance – the portal to that magic space within her – and she presses, without pause. The fingers slide in without resistance. Her cunt has already been stretched by his cock, and the two fingers that travel into her meet no resistance.
The room smells of fresh sex. She inhales it with each breath, and the aroma of their joining – so recent – ratchets up her lust another notch.
With her free hand, she finds the hard little button of her clit.
With the other hand, pressing two rigid fingers into herself, she has now reached her knuckles, and the cum is oozing from her, squeezed out from around her fingers. She’s moving those fingers around inside herself now, and her just-fucked pussy feels thrillingly sensitive.
She can’t take her eyes off me, and we stare at each other. Having a cunt full of his cum has flicked a switch in her. Her fingers begin to thrust slowly, reaming herself. She pushes hard with each stroke, driving her knuckles against her labia, trying to get every last millimetre inside. At the zenith of each forward thrust, more milky semen oozes from her.
***
The fingers of her other hand are now grazing back and forth across her hypersensitive clit. She moans and arches her back, never breaking her gaze; her eyes locked on mine. Her breasts heave as she pants with the rising swell of pressure which is beginning to bloom from her hips.
Her thighs are spread wide; she wants to make them as wide as she can. This is about exposing herself, utterly wanton, while she fucks herself to a cummy orgasm with her fingers. She’s writhing a little now, her back arching and now relaxing as the gentle fizz increases in intensity. She begins to narrate the approach of her climax.
That’s it. Fuck it into me. Fuck me with your come. I fucking want it, more of it. I want you to shoot your spunk into me. All of it. Fucking all of it!
Her fingers are curled over within herself, stroking the tingling front wall of her vagina whilst mashing her hand hard against her pussy. Her other hand is a blur as she thrums it through the sparkling explosions which are coming from her clit. Pink, coruscating, spangling shards of electricity coursing through her as she twitches, and a deep, guttural moan is driven up and out of her.
***
Her fingers are covered in it. She is leaking it from her cunt. The room smells of it, and the taste, still, is in her mouth. He has marked her; marked her as his own.
As I watch, she withdraws her hand and brings it to her mouth again and, holding my gaze, licks every drop from her industrious hand.
When he returns, I’ll introduce him to the girl in the mirror. He can recline, rest his body, pleasantly tired from his swim, and watch as that girl sucks him to hardness, then straddles him and gets to work on drawing another helping of his moreish essence from him.
Love, Jaimie xx
Links and Stuff
I completely love Ibiza, but I won’t lie, it’s not what it was ten years ago – in my view anyway. Firstly, it’s ludicrously expensive. Last time I went – three years ago – a cocktail at Cafe Del Mar (you have to have a drink on the strip) was eighteen euros. You can do it on the cheap, but you end up in the middle of San An with no chance of getting any sleep. I want to go again, but I think my days of arriving at Pacha at midnight and partying until six are probably over!
Cum though… I’ve written about it before, several times. Here’s the one where I lay it on the line about why it’s so magical.
