Forum & Adult Stories
Smoke and Mirrors
It's evening, a perfect Saturday in late July. I crack open the bedroom window, taking advantage of the warmth. The wind stirs the air around me as I take a long, satisfying drag of a joint. Half weed and half tobacco, I feel the smoke travel to my lungs. There's nothing quite like it.
I'm humming to myself as I cautiously layer mascara, attempting to fan my lashes outwards. My hand is steady, but my heart races as anticipation grows. Tonight will be riveting. I've planned a naughty surprise for after dinner. I glance at the time, and the fun starts in an hour.
I wave the wand once more and step back from the full length, ornate mirror. It's brass, vintage, and really fucking heavy. Giving myself the once over, I appreciate the aesthetic. I've kept the makeup delicate, adding a bit of blush and exaggerating the slant of my eyes. Blinking, I think I look innocent enough. My lip gloss has clumped in the very corner of my mouth, and I slowly swipe my index finger along my bottom lip. Spreading the glisten across the entirety of my plump, soft skin.
Perhaps explained by the summer night humidity, my breath is shallow. Sheer excitement has me giddy and I fail to fill my lungs to capacity. I'm already dressed, in the first and most important layer. An all white, lace-trimmed teddy. The stockings are sheer, climbing to and gripping my upper thighs. The panties...are crotchless. A small, red rose stuck at the center of my chest catches the eye and holds it. I feel like a vixen.
Continuing my self-examination, I let my hands cup my breasts over the silken material. My long, natural fingernails match the blood red from the rose and the synchronicity is pleasing. The bra is lined with thin polyester, and the warmth from my skin permeates the fabric. I massage each boob and trap my nipples between my fingers. Rolling them through the lingerie. A deep plum color, my large areolas are barely visible. I reach up to release my frizzy curls from their clipped-back shackles. The motion makes my breasts threaten to spill over the demi cup.
Shaking out my hair, I enjoy the feeling of each tendril swaying on my neck. The breeze outside has picked up and I'm definitely starting to feel the high. I turn the volume up, SZA playing on repeat and start to sway my hips. Back, and forth, and hum some more. I can feel the music move through my veins, infused with weed and nicotine. My blood pumps to the heady rhythm, more intoxicating than either drug. My hands are back in my hair, caressing my face and neck as I dance for myself in the mirror. The trail of smoke from my ashtray swirls up in front of me, and now I feel like a gypsy.
I nimbly wander my fingertips down the dip between my ribs. My hips roll from left to right as my hands choreograph their own dance. Trailing, twirling the small jewelry fixated at my belly. I close my eyes and reminisce about your mouth on it, sucking...I tug ever so softly to mimic the feeling. My pussy lets out one hard throb and my eyes shoot back open. I chuckle a little to myself, tickled with how easily I am aroused. I take the last hit of my roach and press out the embers. I blow the smoke towards myself, no longer enthused. I'm high, hot, and horny.
I look at my phone, and wonder how to fill up half an hour. A glance at the TV grants no promise of entertainment. Ugh...I roll my eyes hard at no one.
I scroll through my playlist to recalibrate the mood for the evening. Change the momentum. I can only listen to "Good Days" so many times in a row. "Drew Barrymore" starts playing through the small speakers and I sing aloud this time.
"Warm enough for ya inside me, e, e..." I light a candle as I harmonize with the song. The warm, sweet smells of vanilla and lavender fill my nose.
I'm not insecure. My face is symmetrical, save for a beauty mark on my left side. Wide brow, high cheekbones, stubby nose. My eyes are dark. Deep, yet immediately reflective. As if my irises are mirrors themselves. As if there are secrets right below the surface, that I'll never be privy to. Maybe that's why I'm so familiarly perplexed with my reflection. I've never known who I was looking at, or who was looking at me. The girl on the other side stays a mystery.
I lean over and give myself a kiss on the lips. The gloss leaves a smudge in that archetypal shape and for some reason, it pisses me off. The jolt of anger turns me on. The bass in the music gets louder as I sink to the floor in front of the mirror. I feel my head throb, expand in the way it does when you're high. I continue singing as I crawl toward the base and sit, criss-cross applesauce.
I can't be blamed for just touching myself while I wait. It'll be like a primer. I close my eyes and let my finger rub my slit. Feeling the ridges with my fingertip, tracing the edge of both lips. My head is tossed back, lost in the sensation of my finger pervading the hole where my panties should meet. Half-lidded, I crane my neck back up to see my hand through the reflection. It's getting slick now, my pussy starting to yearn for more. I put one finger in and bite my bottom lip. That's nice.
I bend both knees and give myself a clear view of my womanhood. It's overtly vulgar, my most private part completely exposed. Undeterred by clothes, shiny from my arousal, and begging. The way my hips are tilted toward the mirror gives me full access to my G spot and I press it hard with my first finger. Pushing the button slowly at first, feeling each taste bud of the swollen, rough tissue. Gradually increasing speed, my toes and eyebrows scrunch at the same time. I put in another finger and start humping my hand.
Fuck it, I think, standing quickly to grab my vibrator from my nightstand. The window is still open and I peer outside, secretly hoping someone sees me. The possibility reinvigorates my commitment, and the way I slide down to my knees is perfectly theatrical. I keep my lips barely parted as I flip my hair to one side of my head. Dragging the vibrator down my chest, over my thighs. Watching its flight in the mirror, feeling simultaneously sexy and ashamed.
To start, I turn it to its lightest setting. The gentle purr over the thin panty fabric massages my mound. My juices threaten to drip directly onto the floor, and I still haven't touched my clit. Turning my back to my reflection, I get on all fours and put the vibrator between my legs. I painstakingly rock back and forth, spreading my soft insides to the smooth, pulsing silicone. Another two notches on the power setting, and the drilling on my clitoral hood is enough to make me shiver. My core starts to squeeze and my hips buck involuntarily.
My breath is coming fast and hot. One hand holding the stick, the other pulling back my clitoris's sheath. Exposing thousands of nerves to the incessant, overwhelming hammering. My titties feel left out, and I almost remember that I should wait for you to get home. But then I am yanked back to the precipice of rapture, of complete and utter abandon.
I twerk to the rhythmic thrum of the music still playing in the background, and the sliding effect has both of my hands covered in wetness. Hips dropping with each beat of the snare. My face is on the ground, and I grind my chest into the carpet beneath me. Nipples puckered, dragging along the rough surface. The friction is exactly what I need, and I edge closer and closer to coming.
Finally I sit back, pushing the vibrator inside of me. The ball of tension has swollen in my abdomen, the pressure reaching the back of my throat. My pussy eagerly accepts the toy inside. It stretches me out, and I slide it in until I feel the head at my cervix. I shake my head feverishly from side to side, not wanting to fully release, to fully surrender to the tidal wave of euphoria. For a second, I hang in total suspension, my heartbeat loud in my ear.
The stimulation from inside is too much, and I gush all over the floor. Legs shaking, I let out a low moan. I find it funny again that my panties are missing the most valuable part, and that my stockings are wet from the spray. I turn back and sit facing the mirror again. I am panting and my cheeks are flushed, the earlier-applied blush unavailing. I run my fingers through my tangled curls and smile at my reflection once more. This time, she smiles back.
...
I hear you close the door to the apartment from upstairs. I'm still completely exhausted from my rendez-moi, and haven't changed out of the lingerie. When you get to the bedroom, I blow out smoke from the newly rolled joint in-hand. I stand to meet you and kiss you full on the lips.
'What took you so long, baby? I'm starving.'
