The mirror

The pen was on the sink because I had put it there, a washable marker from the drugstore, the kind that gives up under soap. Navy tee, coat long since abandoned by the door, hair down. Kostya stood behind me in the bathroom and did not pick it up until I said the rules. My hips and my stomach. Words I choose. It has to come off in the shower. If I do not like a letter, you stop and we wash it. He said them back.

I watched us in the mirror. I asked him to write mine on the low part of my stomach, small, and under it the word stay if he could fit it. He did, careful, the felt tip cool, his other hand steady on my waist. Nothing sharp. Nothing that would last. I looked at the letters and at my own face and I felt something in my chest unclench. I told him to stand behind me and touch my cunt while I read them.

He pushed the tee higher so the writing stayed visible and got his hand into my shorts, onto my cunt. I kept my eyes open. That was the task I had set myself. When I looked down he said the mirror, not the floor, and I obeyed because I wanted to obey. He fucked my cunt with his fingers until my mouth fell open and the word stay moved with my breath. I braced my hands on the sink. The pen rolled and stopped against the tap. He pushed my shorts down, checked the yes, and fucked me from behind, cock in my cunt, one palm spread under the writing without smearing it, the other gentle at my hip.

I watched him watch me. I watched the letters jump when his cock moved. I came like that, eyes on my own face, cunt pulsing around him, which is harder for me than any position, and he held still while I shook and then came in my cunt when I said I wanted to feel his cum. He kissed my shoulder. Then he turned the tap on warm, soaped his hand, and washed mine and stay off my stomach while I leaned into his chest and looked at the ink thinning in the mirror. The lab had never been in the room.