back he wasn’t remotely talking about buying mirrors. He was talking about a hot, totally premeditated, naughty fuck with someone you barely knew. No words needed, just a sign. Simply to do now as he suggested could make you hussy enough to go through with the whole thing. And he will be wondering if I will. He might be imagining me doing it, the razor taking off the foam to reveal the smoothest, palest, most vulnerable skin anywhere on my body. Right now he might very well be picturing my shaved cunt, and, as vulgar a thought as that could be, it is also a genuine turn-on.
Despite the bet he made me, he knows he will never be forced to buy all my stock. He knows I would have to admit he was right. I mean, how could you not feel sexier than ever before when not only were you as smooth and naked and inviting down there as you had ever been, but you were also advertising the fact deliberately as a way to lure a man to you? I’ve been up for a bit of hanky-panky in my time but I’ve never yet put a sign in a shop window to let some passer-by know that my freshly shaved vag needs a damn good seeing-to!
I feel more open now than I can remember. I feel genuinely sexy for the first time in ages. I feel attractive, and dirty – in a good way. I am hot and wet and I know that right now someone is thinking about me showing off to them, about licking me, about being inside me. His deal is so surreally simple I can hardly think of one good reason not to take him up on it. But I won’t. Something in me will prevent it. The foam and the razor will only get used on my legs. I will clip myself short down there, as I have done countless times before, just to give me a stronger taste of the fantasy. But tomorrow that mirror he so liked will still hang where it hangs now, and when the time comes I will be in the main room so that as he passes I won’t have to look at him.
I almost never bathe in the morning, especially if I’ve showered the night before. Today was an exception. Now I find myself sitting naked on the edge of the bath once more, legs wide open, the mirror still in place where I left it last night. The closely clipped hairs are now covered in shaving foam. The razor is poised in my hand. I can take the fantasy one step further without taking it all the way. That’s what I told myself last night when I couldn’t sleep for thinking about him. I need to feel the cool tingle in my lips as the blades expose me. I need to open myself up again. I need to feel the prickling thrill of my underwear against my bare crotch to remind me what a hussy I can be. I need to have the pulse-quickening excitement of pretending that I might go through with the whole thing, since a more sensual, more erotic moment will surely never come my way again.
It’s another hot bath so I’m glad to be naked for a while. I’ve left the water in to rinse the foam. Your average gal might not have steam-free mirrors but I’m an expert in the field so I most certainly do. I can see everything in this close, clear detail. I am holding off, I know it. Maybe it’s to savour the moment or maybe it’s because it seems like a personality change and not something to rush. But then anticipation takes over, the razor glides to leave a strip completely smooth, and there is no going back.
It is erotic. He is on my mind, secretly watching. The urge to play is strong. It is something not to be rushed so it feels like a tease. It gets me tingling, not just from the contact but from the implications of doing it. And the poses required to do the job properly make me feel like a stripper. Wide open, splayed, thrust forward or stuck out backwards at my own reflection. Totally smooth – a new, much naughtier me. The feel of it is so sensual, both when patted dry and afterwards, when the soothing cream has been applied. It is partially innocent but mostly overtly sexual.
I feel much more self-aware but in a good way. I can become insecure, seeing reflections of myself all day, but today I like it. I feel more confident. As the hour approaches, the devil in me doesn’t run for cover. I take the mirror he liked from the wall and carry it through to give it pride of place in the front window. I still don’t know what doing this will bring but I am willing to find out. For all my nerves, for all the tangles in my belly, I am not going to chicken out and move the mirror back. The only concession I have to make is to put myself in the main room now the time is at hand. I couldn’t just be standing there at the counter as he came by.
I even have my back to the doorway, although any number of mirrors will let me witness anyone entering behind me. I look at my watch for the hundredth time this hour. I hear the door open and the growl of traffic noise grow and then cease. I am sure I hear the click of the door catch being turned to lock it. The trembling in my legs increases. Sounds tell of an approach and then he is there in reflection. I see him although my back is turned. He is in a plain shirt and those tapered trousers and smart shoes. His expression is serious today, telling me that he is here not for jokes or bets but to carry out what he did in my head last night. He will see my face in some reflection somewhere. He will see I want this deal of his.
His arms come around me and he presses his lips to the top of my head. He stays like that for maybe a minute, just to calm me and to get me used to the close contact. We can see into each other’s eyes in the mirror before us. No words are going to be needed here. He turns me gently and my arms go around him too. It’s the last sign of my acquiescence he need seek. We both know the deal from here on in. The first touch of skin on skin is electric and goes right through me. His kisses start a lot softer than I’d anticipated but the hunger quickly grows and he even takes my bottom lip between his teeth to bite upon it. The press between us is close, his arms keeping me tight. I can feel the swell of him at my belly. I love his scent. He feels like someone I’ve known for ages.
His shirt is unbuttoned and comes off as we stand. Mine too. It is not a ripping-off of clothes. It is fast but not frantic, giving me hope that this will not be over before it has barely started. He keeps his lips pressed to mine as he slips off his shoes. He doesn’t wait for me to take the initiative. He undoes his trousers himself and they slip down. Still he keeps our lips in contact as he bends to pull them clear and remove his socks. You wouldn’t think that last thing could be sexy but it so is, especially in these surroundings, where a quick fumble seems the most likely scenario. He wants to do it right.
As he pulls me in tight again I realise with a start that he is naked. I can feel his stiff pole unleashed against me. Unless his underwear dropped by magic he wasn’t wearing any. That means he came here sure that it would happen. Something about me made him think I would agree to his deal. He doesn’t seem at all fazed at standing here nude with me. I can see him, obviously. All around is his reflection for me to snatch glances of. It could be like being in the most sensual of art galleries except that I am able to seek out the very rudest, most revealing views of him. It is like watching others making love whilst doing it yourself. It is like being watched by others doing it too. It is like being part of an orgy.
My skirt is unzipped and slips down. The clasp at my back is undone and my breasts fall free. Instinctively I keep close at first but my inhibitions are melting rapidly. There is no hiding here anyway. Only my knickers remain. We both know they are still in place only for a grand unveiling soon to come. His hands are down there, squeezing flesh through thin fabric, pulling me in, searching lower for the tell-tale dampness that betrays my excitement. Then his hands are at my breasts. Our kissing is fevered and wet now, the urgency still growing.
His head bows and he feasts upon me. I gasp and my eyes open again. In reflection I can see his teeth baring to press and nip at each breast in turn. I can see his tongue-tip swirling and flicking at the little stiff teats, see his cheeks hollow as he sucks hard. It is somehow so much ruder seeing it in reflection – again, like you are witnessing it in others whilst having it done to you. It doubles the intensity. He drops to his knees before me, his hands on my hips. His face is level with my belly, his eyes down. I hear his long exhalation; a victory sigh that his prize is right there for him. I have soaked the fabric of my knickers and he will have my scent in his nostrils. One downward movement of his hands will see my final defences peeled away, revealing the soft mound I shaved purely on his say-so – a man whose name I do not yet know.
I can see the contours and shadows and muscles of his body. Each mirror tells me something new about him. I can see his long cock straining up for me, the pulse in it. My hands are gripping his hair, my breath heavy as I wait with no patience left. I am dying for him to see me. Then he does. I feel the sweep of lace at my thighs as my knickers come down. The hairs there stand on end. Another long exhalation, this time felt as well as heard, a small, cool