Through the Looking Glass

Masturbation has always been such a dirty word to me - luckily, the word wasn't bad enough to deter me from making the action behind it one of my favorite things to do.

I love photography and sex and watching myself as I come. This also applies to mirrors.

Sometimes I tilt this full length mirror against the wall and sit on the bed, legs spread and fuck myself with torrid fingertips. The blush rising up in my cheeks, my breasts becoming colored and my nipples becoming sensitive and full. My neck to fall back just a little bit, my beck to arch and my kitten to drip and become slick.

I love to watch the process of it all. The glory of my own sex.

Now perhaps vanity is coming into play here, but its also sexual fascination. I am still amazed by my own orgasms, that I can reach them and that they rock me so hard. Sometimes Ive even been disorientated by it all, the rush in my mind just a little too much to bare -but I love it.

Maybe all things are better on the other side of the looking glass?

Orgasms are like techno to me, they pound and rush and have their own beat, their own totally engulfing beat. They rock your mind, your soul your body. My throat gets tight and my body thrashes - not disimilar to when I dance in a club. The music pounds away and my body moves, glides and bumps. Orgasmic dancing. I think that praps all human behaviors are linked to sex, and its movements, its pontifications. Our hands smooth over things, take in the sensations and our mind relays its feelings, its observations from texture, heat and form.

Bray had just turned forty during the summer, his black hair strung with sexy threads of silver, glossy and shining. I liked to run my hands through his hair and see the different ways the light could play in it. Gray hair, like age in men, drives me wild. Don't ask me why, I can't even begin to think.

He always remarked on my body, my skin and how he loved that I took pictures of myself and made them into art - cropping, clipping and colorizing them. Id even won awards for my warped self photography. His fingers slid over my prints, my fingers slid over his shoulders, my fingers pressing and needy.

Sometimes I swear that a man can feel the heat of your mind when it wanders over lustful thoughts. I love it.

His hand slid up to cover mine and pressed down over my small fingers. His head swiveled back and his lips met mine, so infinitely warm and slippery. I repositioned so that I was sitting in his lap, a leg on either sie of him, my toes gently tipping to touch the floor. His hands slid heated down my back, under my skirt to my bottom, cupping my soft cheeks, testing my flesh. I love the way it feels when a hand slides under your panties and the heat of the hand is pure sensation upon your body, your bottom, your kitten. His hands felt like hot iron against my soft skin, his hands torrid and needy - like mine.

I whimper, he feels it too. My nipples are painful little blots under my shirt, the buttons of it surging with the weight of my breasts against them. His hand slides up and under my shirt, under my bra to touch my silky nipples, the supple flesh of my breasts. My head falls slowly back, my long hair touching his knees, touching my bottom.

The buttons pop slowly as he undoes them, my bra pops when he commands its clip, my breasts whimper at the light, the heat and the air. When I feel his lips upon my breast, I moan, my throat soft and amiable. His teeth softly grip my nipple and pull slightly.

Yes, hurt me - just a little.

My shirt is gone, my bra has lost its way and my panties are on vacation, far from the slick kitten. His eyes are fire, his hands are electric and with one gaze into the deep pools of his pupils, I know his mind is conjuring a dastardly sexy plan,

I have an idea, are you wet? his voice is like coffee in the morning.

I nod and begin to touch myself softly, testing my proclamation.

Stand up and turn around, yes like that and sit back down on me.

When I do so, I see theres a full length mirror in front of me. I gaze adoringly at my breasts, flushed crimson with their pink nipples in full bloom. His hands slide from behind me and cup them, his fingers teasingly pinching me. My pleated skirt looks like a half moon draped over my lap, its black silken layers next to my pale legs.

Put one foot on the desk and Ill hold the other one...Oh good girl.

When Ive sorted myself with one ankle in his strong hand, his elbow resting on the arm of his chair, I can see why he wanted this. Before me was myself, my legs spread wide, light shining on my deep pink kitten, spread and looking like a wet flower.

Touch yourself, come for me.

My face flushes and my kitten drips even more. With his hand on my breast and my hands on my tummy, I timidly slide one hand down and spread the lips of my kitten, my fingertips of my other hand sliding softly over the hot and slick flesh of myself. I look into his eyes as I touch my clit, slide a finger inside myself. It looks like fire dances behind the soft lids of his eyes, he's licking his lips, staring at me while I bring myself to solemn collapse.

It doesnt take long before Im bucking and arching my back, my clit so hot and swollen. His words dont stop as they flow into my ears,

You are such a good girl, flick that little clit, put your finger inside yourself. Mmmm, I can smell you, youre almost there.

Im his doll, his self propelled puppet. Yes, you want me. Yes, I touch myself for you. Do you love it? When I come, my head rolls back over his shoulder, my teeth digging into my bottom lip. I cry out and moan, my breath just panting and humming. His hand is cruel on my breast, squeezing it in time with my writhing body. The harsh sensation brings me further into it, my mind lost in light and pain....the divine pain of climax.

When at last my body is hush, he is holding me tenderly, like a child. My head upon his shoulder, his arms enfolding my whole body. His hand strokes my hair and he speaks, his words are lost to me, Im still gone. My mind is lights and soft muted soft, blurred color and sensation. My heart is rapturously slow after such a tumult of acceleration and heat.

I just want to be someone's baby, their love and their light. I want pleasure and pain and love and desire, lust. I want so much that I have wandered to find. I want that divine moment where it all just falls, more than an orgasm, but a fall of spirit. Where sex is at its height and you're lost.

Lost down the rabbit hold, lost through the looking glass, lost in the eternal garden of singing flowers and sensation is all you can know.

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