This is an excerpt from the upcoming book ‘Mirror Secret Mirror’ – we’re posting the first 2 chapters online, over the next few weeks, in the run-up to publishing the book at the end of May. This is Part C – Click here to start at Part A.
The pain rolled and bounced as the Russian strolled around to the front of the chair. Such an evil bitch! Yet, in this moment especially, she looked stunning, the most attractive woman Charlotte had ever seen. Long, sleek body curling like sexy smoke. Sadistic, smiling eyes delighting to note the lonely tear trickling down her victim’s cheek. She took her phone from an inside jacket-pocket.
‘Nearly seven. I have a date at seven.’ Pouting her lips playfully. ‘He is taking me for romantic birthday dinner.’ Katya searched for an expressive response and correctly interpreted the flash of a question. ‘He going to Vancouver tomorrow, not tonight. Whatever he told you. He spending tonight with me.’ Smile glittering as she basked in victory.
Her victim cuffed awkwardly, ball-bloated cheeks, gag-cords cutting into the corners of the mouth, puppy-dog eyes helplessly conveying respect. Tears licking down the face and dripping onto her thighs. Katya paused thoughtfully, an artist musing on a piece that required a finishing touch. After a few seconds, her eyes lit with an idea and she turned to stride across the room, heels rapping on cold stone. Taking a candle from the stand and disappearing through the door into the storeroom. She entered the office a few seconds later, but didn’t turn on the light. Charlotte watched the flame wisping along on the other side of the magic mirror. The mistress must’ve taken something from the desk, because she was now walking back towards the corner door. The torch momentarily vanishing again.
Katya brandished the candle in one hand and the red rose in the other: the flower he’d given to her, as a symbol of his love. She posed in her entrance for a ravishing second before leaning over to blow out the candles on the stand. She kept the other flame in her hand as she slunk around the room, extinguishing the torches one by-one. An air of ritualistic ceremony. The shadows crept in as the light fell back. Soon the only source of power was the one Katya held in her hands, flickering the darkness across her face. Charlotte loved the feeling of the mistress standing behind her… standing directly overhead. It was terrifying! She could do anything she liked and her victim could do nothing to stop her. The thrill was giddying.
Now lowering into the same semi-crouch position affected when the panties were stripped off. Placing the candle on the floor, so Charlotte could feel the warmth on her left buttock. Although it shivered along with the rest of her body. Katya clasped the rose delicately: the stem twenty centimetres long, mostly silky smooth, but a few sharp thorns menacing. Warm breath on the back of the neck again. Every goose bump standing to attention.
Holding the rose in front of her victim’s face, Katya turned it upside down, so the petals dangled towards the floor. The flower then disappeared behind Charlotte’s back. A few long moments stretched. Now the clean-cut tip of the stem tickling around her bottom, a moment of exquisiteness as she realised. The end of the stalk pushing up between her buttocks, pricking into her asshole, penetrating her in such a degrading way. Charlotte’s feet lifting from the floor, legs straightening out in front. Then paralyzed stone-still, except for the quiver of tension rippling over the surface of her skin.
Katya forced the rose steadily further. More than five centimetres inside before the thorn clawed into the inner butt-cheek. The victim writhed as the barb spiked, hooking into the sensitive flesh. A muffled squeal as Katya let go with a twist. The flower stuck firmly into Charlotte’s ass, poking out and drooping towards the floor… like a little tail. The wife re-grounded her feet and put her legs together neatly, bowing her head. A complete picture of unconditional surrender – obviously she looked ridiculous. She could really feel it now. All of it.
The Russian picked up the candle, stood to her full height and began to pace. Charlotte sensed her tormentor’s satisfied smile and anticipated the laughter. An unexpected type of laugh though: the predictable gloating chortle was there, but also the ring of genuine glee – emotional elation. She was sincerely happy. Why shouldn’t she be happy? She was about to go out to dinner with the man she loved, whilst his wife was imprisoned, shackled and ball-gagged with a flower hanging out of her naked ass.
The mistress circled the chair to appreciate the joke from every angle, finally stopping in front to pose imperiously with hand on hip. The single flame flickered between them, electrifying pleasure radiating from the Russian’s dilated pupils. In the obscene romance of the moment, the wife had the disgusting urge to tell the mistress how beautiful she looked in the dancing candlelight. Katya knew of course, but Charlotte wanted to tell her all the same. Yet all she could do was waffle incomprehensibly through the gag. The frustration wonderfully unbearable.
The mistress’ smile was fading, the joke wearing thin. She was left with a pitiful sight. Her nose snarled up as she shook her head at Charlotte’s shame.
‘You don’t deserve a husband like him. You are boring nobody!’
She spun on her heels, striding away to disappear through the storeroom door, leaving her victim to contemplate in darkness. The Russian was right: he was somebody; his wife was nobody. Charlotte had always been insecure about that. And Katya was somebody as well. It really hurt. Made her feel so… weak. The mistress blew out the candle and switched on the light as she re-entered the office. The wife sat captivated in the shadows of the secret chamber, watching her captor moving around in the illuminated room on the other side of the mirror-wall. Katya tidied a few items away into the desk drawers, including Charlotte’s handbag, which she dropped dismissively into the large compartment at the bottom.
She sat back in her plush swivel chair, feet up on the desk, and began to scan her phone. She was certainly more comfortable than her prisoner. The ball-gag fastened fully taut and the skin at the sides of the mouth red-raw. The handcuffs didn’t constrict blood-flow, but were tight enough to chafe abrasively against the bones in the wrists. The wiry seat prickling and pinching at her thighs. A drop of blood had been conglomerating on the rose thorn hooked into her buttock. It was now heavy enough to creep down the stem of the flower.