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Her scalp thrummed with sensation. He pulled it harder, fingers squeezing the strands between them.
“Keep your head up. That’s my girl. Don’t ever hide your face.”
Her pelvis twitched inward, belly curving, undulating as he touched her, pinched her clitoris, rolled it between his thumb and index finger. Her breath shuddered through her, keeping her eyes dizzily forward into the reflection.
“Good girl,” he whispered.
Then he circled that little inflamed kernel of pleasure, slow, and her legs nearly gave out to flatten herself right onto his hand. Intermittent teasing flicks brought it to agonizing levels of sensitivity. She didn’t dare drop to the bed. That was punishable by more searing slaps to her already-welted bottom. She liked where his hands were right now, so she struggled to keep herself up, even as he sped up slowly, curving inward, splitting her labia with one intrusive stroke there. A keening note of despair welled up from her, her arms threatening to weaken again.
She focused on their reflection. She was utterly naked, which was the way he preferred to see her when they were alone. Her breasts hung like lovely peaches, her nipples crimson from the delicious abuse. On all fours, bending her hips and her legs spread, she looked like a youthful virgin offering herself in supplication to an unyielding deity, every curve glistening in oil and sweat. And her god was with her. He was beside her, and above her, his lips against her ear, watching her as raptly as she watched herself in the large oval mirror in the headboard facing the massive king-sized mattress. His jeans strained around his bent thighs while he crouched, his bare arms and shoulders rolling deliciously as he held her with one fist in her hair, and one vanishing into the dark shadow past her belly, between her thighs, spreading her with his fingertips, coercing the most lewd noises from her mouth.
Her tear-stained face ruined the illusion of a joyous abandon.
This was torture.
This was deliverance.
Her hips swayed, rocking in time with every intrusive push of his finger. Her silk wetness dripped, tickled down the insides of her thighs. Her arms kept shaking, and she saw all of this in vivid clarity - then she looked into his eyes, hooded with darkness, that sparkled in the candle light. She bit her lip, whining her plea.
Good little girls didn’t speak tonight.
Suddenly he stopped. Her body sagged just the slightest bit at the loss of contact, and just because it pleased him, he raised his hand, sticky with her honey, and struck her against the back of her right cheek. Electric pain lurched through her and she did wail. He struck her again. He sat up, and pulled her up and held her throat. The blows came more rapidly, faster and faster, left and right and right again, Sherry crying and sobbing beneath each contact against her scalding ass, her knees jumping and her legs writhing together - glorious friction - until he pushed her face forward again, and bent her legs apart. His zipper growled above her, and she couldn’t help the painful agonized throbbing her sex began to feel at the sound, aching like never before. She watched him hungrily lapping the sweat between her shoulderblades, his eyes lifting to peer over the planes of her skin to see himself.
“Fuck,” he whispered, and pushed her cheeks apart. His cock speared her, and she could see it through the mirror - he pulled her hips up, her ass good and high, and she watched as his inches vanished between her legs, her back arching, her breasts squeezed under her. It was so slow, and she felt her own sudden growl of impatience threaten to overwhelm her.
She never growled at anyone before.
She wanted him to hurry up, but she was terrified of that look in his eyes, as he devoured the sight of them. She clung to the mattress, her knuckles white, never daring to remove her eyes from the mirror. She liked the way she looked too, suddenly - her eyes smoky, her body so vulnerable. Suddenly she lifted her head a little of her own volition, her bruised lips parting in a moan. She felt a rush of satisfaction as he focused on her face now: her tongue sweeping across her upper lip slowly, her shoulders as she rose to push back against him, feel more of him plunge into her. She never tried that before, and she felt a flood of heat between her legs around him as she experienced a sense of her own power over him in a way.
His breath hitched just for a moment. Then he dropped forward, his hands balancing his weight beside her hips, his head bowed as he mouthed at her bare skin, tasting, biting, and his hips snapping furiously back and forth. Her first cries were exquisite - it hurt, but he knew she would relax for him. He pushed her hips down to the mattress, his thumbs finding the little hollow dimples in her back as he rode her harder.
Sherry was shrieking, and at once she buried her face to the mattress to muffle herself, and at once his hand caught her under her jaw and turned her face to the side, denying her the safety of being muffled, of drowning out her own noises. He liked to hear them, while she had struggled her whole life to not feel embarrassed by them. She was so vocal, and she hated it, but he wouldn’t hear any of it.
He owned her, and he owned her voice, and he will hear her. His finger probed at the corner of her mouth, and she tasted herself as she opened, letting her cries spill against his hand as if he were catching them. His thrusts grew shallow, but focused. His pace slowed but he didn’t stop his onslaught as he rubbed his finger against her tongue, her teeth. She nibbled him, her voice quivering in a sob. His cock sunk along her inner walls, and with short, rapid little thrusts, glanced against her g-spot… and he did that repeatedly, listening, watching in silence, as her renewed cries pitched into furious desperation.
“Oh Jake please please oh please Jake just like that--“ And she made that long, quavering little wail again and again. She didn’t need his permission to come. He licked at her mouth for a kiss, taking her harder, his abdominal muscles burning. She came hard, as if the sound of her own begging drove her passionately into the crest of climax and he didn’t stop, riding it higher, giving it momentum. She closed her eyes and tried to muffle her scream, but he pulled her hair and lifted her head back, lifting her body up and she wasn’t holding onto anything - she hung nearly weightless in the air against his hips, from her hair, her body his instrument, and he played her out until she was sobbing and hysterical for mercy.
He sighed against her, falling against the sheet beside her as her whole body seemed to squirm and dance in his grasp, shuddering as the sensations echoed along her nerve-endings in tantalizing waves. She didn’t want to open her eyes and see herself so unraveled, so frenetic. Her whole being seemed to be buzzing. Slowly, as he stroked her hair and whispered to her, she calmed, but took those deep exhausted breaths, and shuddered every once in awhile beneath his hand.
He decided, as she fell into exhausted sleep, that if they ever moved in together, he’d like a bed with a mirror just like this one. He hoped Leon didn’t mind that they’d used his for now.