The mirror

Luca is thirty-three, and he is not a customer either. Different night, one man, which I wanted after the crowd of the table. I locked up, left the shears where they belong, and stood in front of the tall shop mirror fully dressed. Cream shirt, dark trousers, cropped curls neat. I looked at myself on purpose. I like to see the clothed woman before I watch her get fucked. He stood behind me and waited, which is how I knew the night would work. I told him to keep his hands at his sides while I looked. The mirror showed the cream shirt buttoned, the trousers unbroken, curls close to my head. I like exact cloth. I also like wrecking the picture on purpose. I said he would fuck my cunt where I could watch the whole slide of his cock, and that he would pull out and cum on my face when I said the word. He repeated it, absurd and obedient, and I finally smiled.

I told him to watch the mirror and not my back. I opened the shirt and the trousers and let them fall. My cunt was already slick. I braced a hand on the frame, not on the glass, and told him to put his cock in me where both of us could see it. He did. The mirror gave me the slide, the thickness, my mouth opening, his hips meeting my ass. I like proof. I told him slower so I could watch my cunt take his cock on the way in, then harder so the picture shook. He held my hips and fucked me like a man following a fitting instruction. Exact. I rubbed my clit and kept my eyes up.

I came looking at myself. That is the vain true part. My face went slack, my cunt gripped him, and I said there, there, fuck, without getting poetic. He kept fucking me through it because I nodded at his reflection. When I was done shaking I told him to pull out and cum on my face, and to aim where the mirror could see it too. I turned. I knelt. I watched his cock and I watched the glass. He came on my cheek and across my mouth, a hot stripe I saw land twice, once in the room and once in the reflection. I licked my lip and smiled at both of us.

I did not ask him to stay. I washed my face, buttoned the shirt, and sent him out the front like a guest who had never been a client. The mirror went back to being a mirror. I slept in the back room alone, curtain drawn, pleased with the picture I had not recorded because my eyes had been enough.