Mirror Mirror Day 19

You may recall that I have stood in this corner every day of their married lives. I came to them in the weeks immediately before their wedding. As the days tick by, the flurry of activity accelerates. They are out almost every evening. I hear things being moved downstairs and more rings of the doorbell than before. Most days, she is gone from the house as long as he. He brings home a black garment bag protecting a custom-made tuxedo; she a pink garment bag swollen with a ballgown. She spends more time at her secretary desk penning notes; one of which makes its way into the jacket pocket of his tuxedo while he shaves. He watches her try on cocktail dresses before deciding which she will wear and when. He hides a blue velvet box beneath a false bottom of one of his dresser drawers. She rotates between filling their closet with various shopping bags and emptying it into various pieces of luggage.

None of this deters their...rituals. I know no other word more appropriate. Each morning, she peels back the duvet and awakens him with her mouth around his penis. When she finishes trying on her dresses, she drops to her knees and crawls to him, her eyes on his all the while as she unzips his trousers and sets her mouth around his erection. Dressing for their evenings out, they stand as they did the day she unveiled me: her in front of me, he behind her. Except these times, she is clad in varying forms of lingerie: corsets, garter belts, gartered slips, while he makes her orgasm on his fingers. When they return from their evenings out, she is tied to the bed in some form or fashion. Sometimes his hands repeat their assault on her rear. Sometimes he torments her body and controls her orgasms for what seems like hours. Always he mounts her like a lion and thrusts so ferociously that she spews her orgasm everywhere. Always he fills her womb with his semen and allows her to lay there and marinate in it. Always she settles between his legs and cleans their juices off of his penis.

Today is different. They have been discussing the fact that they will be apart for two days, beginning tomorrow. Some segregated type of pre-wedding engagement. This displeases them both. They have yet to spend one night apart.

He stirs first this morning: anomaly one. Last night was acrobatic and her limbs must be exhausted; she fell asleep within minutes with her mouth full of his softening cock. He picked her up and placed her on his chest. She didn't open her eyes as she settled in and did not move once until the day breaks. Until his hips arch, his thighs bulging, and he groans in that satisfied way I know now means he has sheathed himself inside her sex. The smile slowly splits her lips as she moans "Daddy..."

He holds the back of her head in his hand, her raven locks fluffing around his fingers, tangled as they often are. Every other part of their bodies touch: her thighs clench around his, stomachs together, her breasts crushed atop his chest. They only move when he lifts them with his hips, impaling her on his engorged cock. Their gazes are unbroken. He offers no commands; she doesn't cry out. They move together, rising and falling, nothing changing unless one were to pay attention. For example, his fingers tense in her hair, she tilts her head to lean into his tug. His shaft glistens from her arousal and the room fills with the sounds of wet flesh smacking. He lets her rock her hips atop him, sawing back and forth against his cock. As they climax, there is nothing but quickened breaths before their bodies still.

Shortly after their morning romp, they will either shower together or he will shower, and she will descend the stairs to make his breakfast. This morning, she remains impaled on his cock, her thighs beginning to clench once more, trying to keep his semen from leaking out of her: anomaly two. His hand cups the side of her face, rewarding her with "Good girl." for the first time today. Her teeth capture her bottom lip - the look she makes when she concentrates on controlling her body to not orgasm.

His fingers glide into her hair and I know they are about to pull on it. They do, and her neck - naked: anomaly three - is exposed. He sinks his teeth into it, and she cries out, bright pink nails piercing his ribcage. He is sucking at her neck, I half expect to see her jugular exposed. Before he draws blood, he pins her to her back and pushes his cock so far into her I think it will exit her open mouth. Her legs part like a wide V as he assaults her so violently that his semen is forced out and onto her labia and their sheets. Not to worry, he erupts and plants another load into her swollen cunt within moments. Angrily, he flings his body up the bed and shoves his dripping penis into her still open mouth. She sucks hungrily, greedily, as he opens the nightstand drawer on his side of the bed and withdraws a black velvet bag and a black leather case.

Her legs, though shaking, remain open wide in welcome. He thrusts his hips forward and her throat bulges from his shaft. She is rewarded with a "Good girl" before he dismounts once more. Standing at the foot of the bed, he appraises her while opening the black velvet bag and the black leather case. From the case he selects a steel rod of moderate thickness, like a wand, and places it horizontally between her lips. She holds it in her mouth while he removes a steel speculum from the bag. Kneeling between her splayed legs, he inserts the nosed end of the speculum into her sex. Her breath intakes as he fastens it open wide. Wider. Widest. He looks inside of her opened womb, directly into her cervix, with a foreign mixture of hunger, pride, and adoration. He moans as he inserts his index finger, probing the sensitive walls within. Her lips tighten around the wand in her mouth as she moans with him.

"Tender, I know. Tender and coated with Daddy's cream. But that's not nearly enough, is it, Princess?" She mutters "No, Sir" around the wand. "That's right." He replies, pleased, though her replies can hardly surprise him. It's barely been three weeks, and they hardly surprise me.

Leaving her thus exposed, he steps back and retreats into their closet. Even I admire the muscled form of his powerful body, especially when nude. He returns with a camera in his hand. Yes, today is different indeed.

He plants himself a few inches from the foot of their bed. His stance is enough to cast her in shadow were he too close. His perspective must capture her subjected body in its entirety: toes pointed atop spread, quivering legs. Sticky, golden thighs shimmering from their glaze of semen and secretions. A clinical, steel instrument protruding from her swollen labia, exposing what I assume is a bruised cervix soaked in his seed. To say nothing of her heaving bosom and the drool beginning to leak around the steel she is sucking in her mouth. The click of the camera is lightning fast. He takes at least a dozen pictures of her this way. More as he steps forward, until he is holding the lens at the mouth of the speculum. Here, the clicks multiply. The vulgarity of these two.

When he is photographically satisfied, he collects the wand from her mouth, but not before sliding it vertically past her lips, making her wet it with her saliva. He smiles at this whore-like behavior. He draws the wand from her lips and taps it against one full breast. He looks at her this way for some time. The taps become raps. The raps become slaps. Her legs shake precariously, but they do not bend. He stills the wand. "Good girl." She quivers her response of "Thank you, Sir." while he resumes his place between her legs.

"As those pictures will help me last the next nights without you, I will be leaving you with several ways to help you last without me. That bite on your neck was the first. You will send me pictures of how it changes and purples each morning and each evening while you're in Chicago." He holds up the steel wand. "This is the second." Moving the wand into the speculum, he pushes it into her depths. Her arms stretch on either side of her body and her hands clutch the duvet. "Breathe." He half-coaxes, half demands. What this man expects of her body constantly stuns me. I realize the steel has nowhere to go other than into her cervix and it is then I understand that he is inseminating her womb with his semen. He is careful and ruthlessly methodical. His fingers manipulate the wand into her cervix; each inch lubricated with the ropes of creamy semen he carries from her sex into her depths.

She is a whimpering, sobbing mess by the time he finishes forcing every last drop inside her womb. I have never seen her so disheveled. He does not look at her as he lays the wand on the bed and removes the speculum gently from her vagina. Leaning over her body, he offers the coated tool to her. Her eyelashes are heavy with tears and exhaustion, but she takes it between her lips. This is not the last time I will feel disgust and pity for her. His hands caress her locked thighs and ease them down onto the mattress. The backs of his hands brush her now-spasming muscles tenderly. He lets them rest as he mounts her again and splits her aching, abused cunt on his relentless cock for the third time this morning.

If only this was the worst of it.