Mirror mirror on the wall

'The mirror is from Marrakech. It's ancient, and not to be touched.' Dazzled by the nacre & silver craftsmanship on ebony wood, I stand there struck by it's filigree beauty. The massive reflection stretches from one end of the wall to the other, engulfing the vast room, me and a whole new world. I shut down.

I used to have a lover that craved to observe. His dark skin against mine is the single most moistening image I can recall. He used to hold out his hand and pull me towards his mirror. Taking his time, he would grasp my throat, enter me slowly from behind and watch me and the other me squirm, while letting his husky thoughts pour into my ears.
My hands edging on the cold surface for support, I would watch him, me and the other two until the ecstatic black.