Mirror Mirror - That Evening

They returned home late. It was pitch black before I even saw the headlights reflected in the window behind where I stood. It was later still, after considerable noise downstairs, that they made their way upstairs. I could tell she was naked but for her shoes and he was still fully clothed, save for his blazer which I could only assume was with her dress and underthings. His shirtsleeves were rolled up. What on Earth had they gotten into?

I didn't have to wonder for long.

She laid face down on their bed, arms outstretched directly above her head. Her ample rear crudely poised in the air, legs clamped together. The patent leather of her stilettos glistened in the moonlight. He removed his belt and fastened it around her wrists, tying the other end to the middle of their wrought iron headboard. His fingertips trailed a slow, straight line from her forearms, behind her head, and down her spine. Considering what came next, it was a startling difference. He bent his head down; it sounded like he placed a kiss on her ass cheek. Then his hand came cracking down. It was a sound so sharp I would have sworn my interior would shatter. Another crack. Another. Again, again, again. After his hand came down on the flesh of her rear a seventh time, she whimpered.

"Show me." His baritone was the first verbal sound I heard since they left.

Her knees spread out, opening her thighs. With one hand still on her red ass cheek, he moved the other between her thighs, searching. Her whimpers became moans within seconds.

"Good girl." he says, keeping one hand between her thighs as the other pulls back and falls down quickly. She almost screams. Perhaps she does, but her head is buried in the duvet and a hill of pillows. Crack. Crack. Crack. I am sure he is going to break her flesh but then he stops. He moves away from her and towards the nightstand closest to me. There is an obvious tent in his trousers as he reaches for a cut crystal rocks glass, ice swirling inside it. He removes one cube before setting the glass on the mattress.

"Don't spill." he commands as he holds the cube against her tortured flesh. Her breath sharpens, but as far as I can see, her body remains still. He circles the ice around the red handprint his abuse left. Droplets trickle slowly down the roundness of her rear and the back of her thigh. Just as slowly, he reaches for a second cube. This one he places between her thighs. I see her back arch. The glass wobbles.

"What did I say?" he asks. She moves her head to the side to clearly reply, "Don't spill, Sir." He smirks and pushes the cube inside her. She howls but does not move. "Good girl." She is panting like an animal in heat. It is unseemly. The cube he is melting against her rear dissipates and he replaces it with another inside her. And another. She is begging him now. Yelping pleas for him. "Please what, babygirl?" She whimpers before responding, "Please fuck me, Sir." He unzips the fly at his trousers with surprising ease considering the pressure beneath it and simultaneously plunges his fingers into her. Now I am hearing the same ungodly noise they were making downstairs. His fingers piston in and out of her to the point that the veins in his arm are protruding. "Don't." is the one word he repeats to her. I hear a scratching sound and realize it is her nails clawing at the bedclothes. "DADDY, PLEASE FUCK ME!" she cries out. I swear I detect tears streaking her cheeks.

He mounts her like a lion, his fingers in her hair pulling her back to his chest. The sounds she makes are disturbing, but they fuel him. His hips move with power and precision, driving his cock into her icy depths. So forceful are his thrusts that he is moving her body despite his grip in her hair. His free hand spanks her other ass cheek as he thrusts into her, and he growls "That's it. Drip all over Daddy's cock. Show me how much you want it." She moans unintelligibly and he commands her to cum. Her body jolts violently against him and I can hear fluid gushing onto their bed. She keeps going for what seems like an eternity, the only thing interrupting this cacophony is his hand, closing around her throat as he growls his own eruption. His hips force her body forward and he collapses the both of them onto the bed. He spasms several times, his face buried in her hair before he stills, his manhood - all of it - pinning her to their bed.

They seem to be at peace and mercifully quiet at last. Until he reaches up to release her hands from the belt. Her body curls up and I think she must be exhausted but instead of falling asleep, she crawls between his legs. She lays her head on his hip. I hear sucking sounds and see her mouth spread wide around his half flaccid cock. She is cleaning him of their juices, drinking them down like a glass of water.

He caresses her hair and whispers, "Good girl."

It is a refrain I will come to know well.