Mirror Mirror 28

I have stood in this corner every day of their married lives. That would be...1,820 days.

He was the one who found me, actually. Had been looking for an unusual gift for her and I popped up on his assistant's social media one day, freshly uncrated from London where I had stood in another corner for...9,643 days. He scrutinized me carefully, which was not as unpleasant as it has been in the past. He is taller than I, for a start, which is no mean feat. When he stretches his arms on either side of my frame, it is a striking vision of power and a body which knows how to hone it.

I've had a long life. I have seen much. I have never seen the likes of these two before.

As I said, I have stood in this corner every day of their married lives. He found me, but she uncovered me. He held her hips as she faced me, looking over her shoulder into me. I was met with the usual gasps and commentary on my beautiful details. She is particularly taken with my filigree work and the carved fleur de lis that crowns my glorious form.

He allows her only a few moments of adoration before requiring her attention turn...elsewhere. That day, she wore a navy trench coat dress with tortoiseshell buttons down the front and a wide belt at her waist. The moment his fingers began unbuttoning her dress, it was as if I ceased to exist.

Her eyes followed his fingers which moved with an unhurried efficiency down the front of her curved body until her dress was undone and her belt lay limp at her hips. His eyes make their way slowly down her body. He is unsurprised -- he has seen her this way before, it seems. But he is no less pleased. She watched his eyes, at first. Even as his hand carelessly moved her open dress to one side and flicked her nipple. Even as his masculine fingers brushed it back and forth, back, and forth against embroidered navy satin.

But then, she watched his fingers as they plunged beneath a triangle of navy satin and managed to keep her eyes open as she screamed. He worked his fingers inside what I can only imagine was a waterfall because in a matter of minutes, that satin, her tanned thighs, and the heel of his large hand were drenched. His dry hand is in her long, dark hair now, bringing the wet hand to her mouth, which is open seconds before his fingers push inside glossed lips, and still, her eyes remain on him while she cleans off his messy fingers.

His fingers slide down her throat, pushing her single strand of pearls forward as if to allow me to appraise them. His knee pushes her thighs apart while his free hand unzips his trousers. His mouth is at her ear, he is looking into her eyes reflected in me, she is pleading silently. Even if I couldn't see her quivering thighs, I could feel them moving the inlay floor beneath my feet. She pulls the dripping satin aside and I am scandalized to see her sex is completely bare. He covers her hand with his, fingers still down her throat and moves the satin back over her sex.

But he pulls her hand, and the panties up with it so that her swollen lips strangle the satin that is being yanked against them. Even her muffled screams are loud enough to make me blush, but he is undeterred. He pulls on the satin harder, her pink lips growing red now, and just when I think the satin will rip apart, he thrusts fully into her sex. His thick cock is scored with pulsing veins, and her walls clutch at them like a life raft. I think he will break her, but his arm holds her waist against him as though she were no more than a rag doll.

They both glisten as her wetness coats him more with each thrust. She maintains incredible eye contact as he plunges into her relentlessly. His hand is on her throat, now. He is demanding she cum for him. I can't even feign surprise when she releases. It is the only time she looks away from me and turns her face to look back at him alone. This breaks something in him, for he growls and erupts into her and I watch her face turn from primal pleasure to cat-who-ate-the-canary satisfaction.

They stand there in front of me for some time. Breathing resuming normal paces. Chests calming instead of heaving. Long streaks of semen running slowly down her thighs. His arms around her waist and her hands resting atop his. Glints of gold and diamonds at both their wrists and hands. She whispers, "Thank you, Daddy," and his hand cups her vulva before he turns her away from me and they descend the stairs for dinner.

And that was just day one.