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 D – Click here to start at Part A.
His lovers waited in their respective positions… for only a few minutes. The secret room was bigger than the office and the mirror-wall was continuous, so Charlotte could see the unlit reception area leading through from the building’s front door. The lights flickered on as her husband entered. His expression relaxed and confident; deep, brown eyes hazed in daydream. Dark hair, wind-ruffled and unruly. She always liked it when he wore a suit. He didn’t often, but today he’d been for a meeting, so Charlotte had ironed his slickest black jacket and trousers. He’d refused to wear a tie, as usual, even though she’d left one out as a suggestion. His travel backpack didn’t go well with the smart clothes and his wife was pleased to see him swing it under the coat-stand. Also glad that he left the jacket on as he strode through to the office. She smiled fondly at the familiarity of his distinctive walk and noted the spring in his step. He was happy. Of course he was: he was due to spend the evening with his beautiful mistress. What a total bastard!
Katya looked up as the office door swung open, a twinkle in her eye and a cute, little smile for him (very different from the way she’d been smiling before). She rose and circled the desk. His hands clasped around her narrow waist and they kissed… passionately. Charlotte’s heart shuddered to witness how good they looked together, both tall and slim, both with dark eyes and dark hair: a strikingly attractive couple. Gazing into one other after the first 15 long kiss, smiling intimately before their lips came together again. They swayed and circled in caress, shifting so that he was closer to the mirror.
The surge of jealousy heated to boiling point, turning Charlotte’s body to steam. She seethed to rise from the chair, but the metal cuffs clenched around her wrists and pinned her down. The blistering fury had nowhere to go – straining, spluttering and writhing around – before collapsing back in on itself… and taking all the other emotions with it. Liquefying and sploshing into the broiling cauldron inside – rage, hate, pain, despair, defeat, envy, resentment, humiliation, betrayal. And the sheer frustration was absolutely excruciating. But she could feel the submission lust consuming all of it. Her masochistic arousal feeding off the suffering… and growing stronger. A demon devouring souls. All her pains and passions twisting up inside. Sick pleasure pulsating in her pussy. She was crying again, one tear of perverse joy for every tear of honest sorrow.
Still holding each other loosely, the beautiful couple talked in a relaxed, flirtatious manner. The wife couldn’t even hear the muffled tone of their voices; the mirror-wall was completely soundproof. Katya leant back and picked up his phone charger, the forgotten item that’d inspired Charlotte’s unscheduled visit to the office today. Oh Christ! She must be telling him that his silly, little wife had come by to drop off the charger he’d need on his trip. What else would she tell him? Surely she wouldn’t tell him Charlotte was bound and ball-gagged a few metres away through the mirror. Would she? And what on earth would he say if she did?
The captive couldn’t see her husband’s face and Katya was standing behind him, so it wasn’t possible to make out what was being communicated. He gestured towards the glass that had recently contained the rose, the romantic token he’d lovingly given his mistress, which she’d (less lovingly) given to his wife. Katya replied with an emphatic hand gesture that was mostly obscured from view. They both laughed. Surely she hadn’t told him where the rose was?! She wouldn’t have told him that. Would she? He wouldn’t have reacted like that. Would he?
Charlotte watched intently, but there was no way of knowing what was going on. What would he do if Katya did tell him? Just laugh and do nothing? Come through the mirror and… Rescue her? Throw her out? Fuck her? Beat her? Like he did to the little, student girl, in this very chair. Charlotte’s pussy flushed as the eroticism throbbed. Although what would her husband think to see his wife in this state? Face burning pink and toes curling up. She tried to swallow the thought, but instead it swallowed her. He would be… Shocked? Distressed? Happy? Angry? Guilty? Lustful? Embarrassed? Horrified? Ashamed? Finding his sweet, innocent wife bound into the bitch-chair in his secret place, holding the rose… the mistress encouraging him to laugh along. Charlotte’s deep red cringe shuddered.
Katya tilted her head coquettishly, bantering with her lover. Her demeanour had changed dramatically since his arrival. Certainly much warmer than she’d been with his wife. Not softer though: hard edges still sharp. It’s just that they were no longer pointing outwards: a cat with claws sheathed. She drifted casually around him, so Charlotte could see both their faces in profile. Admiring the sharp shadow her husband’s half-stubble cut across his cheek. Katya was looking into his deep, dusky eyes and saying something that made them smoulder. She advanced playfully, placing a long finger on his chest to push him backwards.
He smiled at first, but she must’ve said something especially interesting because his expression changed: darkening, brow tightening, teeth gritting behind moistened lips… something burning below. Katya pressed him back to the desk. He seethed, sinking down into the chair, focus transfixed on his lover. No hint of domination or submission between them; she was seducing him. Charlotte’s jealous hatred upsurged once more – the erotic arousal riding on top.
The mistress placed her black, heeled boot up on a desk drawer handle. Long leg poising an elegant right angle. Standing directly between the wife and her husband, facing half-towards him as she curled her body and unzipped the boot, removing and tossing it aside. The same with the other, half-turning away. He tickled his finger up the inside of her thigh, hand searching upwards. But the mistress skipped out of range, wagging a teasing finger as she moved around the desk. Slipping her jacket off and slinging it onto the surface. No bra under her sleek, white shirt. The captive couldn’t tell what Katya was saying, but there was something sinister about her off-hand mannerisms, her eyebrows flicking up seductively as she threw away various cruel comments. Perhaps she was mocking his boring, little wife? The humiliation sank deep, but Charlotte’s submission-lust consumed it greedily – more fuel for the fire.
The performer continued to walk and talk as she unbuttoned her shirt, parading around the room, head lolling side to side. Enjoying the mesmerised attention from both members of her audience. The shirt fluttered open as Katya flashed one side exposed, and then concealed again. Repeating the mocking striptease a couple of times, before removing the shirt altogether. Her snowy, white skin flawlessly smooth and supple. Beautiful breasts shapely and moderately sized: pert, smoothly curved, perfectly symmetrical.
A tattoo, about ten centimetres squared, etched the lower-right corner of the mistress’ back, just above the waistline. Black, red and steel. At first it looked like some kind of devil, but what initially appeared to be horns were, in fact, a pair of mandibles. A robotic ant, rearing up on six metallic legs – gaping pincer jaws aloft.
Katya’s body shook in brisk, posing dance. A light bounce in her breasts. He was looking on with wolf-like intensity: eyes narrowed and white-hot, jaw jutting… breathing in silent, lustful sighs. The temptress put hand on hip as she sauntered, moving part way back around the desk before stopping by the mirror, just out of range. The spot she chose was ideal: to the flank of the desk, level with the bitch-chair on the other side of the wall. In between the married couple but slightly off to the side, so she didn’t obscure the wife’s view of her husband. Charlotte was to watch her perform in the foreground, while seeing his reaction in the background. God, the mistress was so evil and arrogant… and the husband so cruel and callous. But the wife could no longer feel resentment without the encompassing lust. Hatred impurified and entirely subsumed. She loathed herself for it, but that just made it worse. Like fighting fire with fire. Her pussy burning up.
Katya flicked her belt open, unzipping her trousers at the side. Rolling the waistband over her haunches as she gracefully sashayed her hips. The trousers were close-fitting, yet fell away like the breeze. She stepped out of them as they feathered the floor. Long legs elegantly toned, slender yet shapely. Smooth, unblemished skin. Tiny panties: bright red. The performer paused for a moment to let the anticipation build. The wife watched her husband’s eyes melting all over his lover’s body. Katya began to bend, curving her hips to accentuate the delicious round of her ass.
Charlotte realised quite how perfect the mistress’ positioning was as her husband fixated focus on the reflection of that beautiful behind. If he could see through the mirror from that side, then he’d have been looking directly at his wife. A brutal illusion from Charlotte’s perspective – a calculated humiliation. Katya gave a cheeky glance over her shoulder, admiring her body in the mirror and allowing the captive to taste the smugness of her smile. The flavour sickeningly sweet… with a bitter aftertaste.
The audience was rapt as Katya rolled down her panties. Such luscious curves for a slim woman: narrow waist shaping into curling hips… juicy buttocks peaching perfectly. Charlotte looked into her husband as he gazed on. The intensity of the desire inside wilting under its own weight. He grimaced with passion: thirsting, unadulterated lust. The prisoner’s body wracked – a fireball of jealous rage – but her own monstrous masochism just laughed and wolfed it all down. Katya uncurled and returned hand to hip. His eyes moving to admire her pussy. He was sat back on the chair, but clearly wasn’t relaxed. Every muscle in his body bristling with tension, hands gripping the armrests as if holding himself down, cock pushing forcefully upwards to strain against his trousers. The mistress turned to soak up the reflection of her own radiance… and it made her smile.
…
