Our honeymoon trip was a long drive along the California coast punctuated by languid afternoons of sexual exploration. We fucked in front of a mirrored wardrobe in Mendocino and spent a delicious night completely alone in a Victorian inn near Point Arena. During our lovemaking that night, Cliona’s eyes stayed fastened an overhead mirror as she watched my hips thrusting into her and her hands involuntarily clawing at the sheets. We each came explosively.
We spent our last night at a turn of the century Union Square hotel in San Francisco. The place was recently renovated, and everything about our room was luxurious, from the rich upholstery to the mountain of pillows, to the expensive sheets. The bed, a canopy affair, was surrounded by mirrors on three sides.
Dinner that night was sushi, a meal that has always been particularly sensuous for each of us. Twice during dinner, Cliona mentioned the massive bed and mirrors in our room.We flirted, wrapped our lips around raw fish and got pleasantly drunk. As dinner wound down, I stared directly at my wife and said, “Let’s have desert at the hotel. Strawberries, champagne.
Cliona’s answer was sharp and equally direct:” Yes. Let’s go.”
Back at the hotel, we didn’t wait for room service. While I phoned in the order, Cliona stripped and climbed into bed. We kissed and groped and held each other, waiting for the food to arrive. Nude and thoroughly aroused, Cliona hid in the bathroom while I signed the room service check.
We cracked the champagne and swirled strawberries in the glasses. I bit a fat strawberry in half and fed one piece to Cliona. Then another strawberry followed by a second bite. This time, I took the uneaten half of the berry and traced Cliona’s curves with it. She sighed as I drew it across her breasts and then took her nipples in my mouth. I then slid down to Cliona’s lap and twirled the berry over her pussy before parking it in her navel, I lowered my mouth onto her vagina and entered her with my tongue.
With Cliona watching in the surrounding mirrors I slowly and relentlessly ate her pussy. Flat on my stomach, I held her thighs apart and took my time. Cliona grunted and bucked. My wife groaned and shook with her first orgasm. I withdrew my tongue, retrieved the berry from her navel and returned to the head of the bed. I kissed Cliona deeply, feeding her the berry and slathering her lips with her juices.
“Get on your knees,” I commanded. Instantly, Cliona went to the foot of the bed and offered herself to me, all the while staring at the mirrors. I knelt between her legs and slowly entered her wet pussy. My eyes then found Clinton’s string back at our full-length reflections.
I slammed into her pussy, holding her thighs tightly. I thrust more urgently, grunting. Cliona moaned louder, and I withdrew momentarily standing on the bed, adjusting the angle and re-straddling my wife, this time with my thighs outside of hers. I pierced her again, now slamming Cliona so hard that each stroke lifted her off of her knees, while her tits bounced wildly and we stared transfixed at ourselves.
I delivered a dozen thrusts, each one harder than the one before. Cliona screamed, “Yes! There! Like that!” Cliona’s face is contorted. She is gasping.
I erupted into my wife, holding her by her shoulders, pulling her onto my dick, controlling her completely, delivering powerful thrusts, staring at our jungle fucking, reflected on three sides of us and regressing endlessly into the two mirrors that faced each other, seemingly a dozen couples all fucking in unison. Cliona convulsed, crying. Spent, I dismounted her, and we collapsed into each other’s arms. We kissed deeply and fell into a deep sleep, dreaming of a week in the looking glass.