Tonight I Want to See You Touch Yourself in Front of the Mirror

I know you’re going to listen to this message right when you get home, with your shoes still on and the day’s fatigue still clinging to you. That’s why I recorded it slowly, so you’ll hear it in bed, with your headphones on and the lights off. We’re far apart this week, Mara, but that doesn’t mean I’ll leave you alone. On the contrary.

First, put on that song. The one you know. The one we played that night at my apartment, when you danced for me without me asking you to. The one that makes your hips move on their own, even when you don’t want them to. Put it on repeat and turn it up until you feel it in your chest.

Now get up. I want you to imagine I’m sitting on the sofa, in front of you, with a glass in my hand and my eyes locked on every movement you make. Don’t look at me with shame. Look at me the way you looked at me that night, with that half-smile that drives me crazy.

Start taking off your clothes. Slowly. Don’t rush, we have all night and no one else but us. Slip the straps of your blouse down first, one and then the other. Let the fabric slide off on its own. Move your hips to the beat of the music while you do it, as if I were guiding you with my hands on your waist.

—Just like that, exactly like that —I’d tell you if I were there—. You dance so beautifully when you think no one is judging you.

Take off your skirt. Leave your underwear for last, don’t take it off yet. I want to see you walk around the room in your underwear, knowing I’m watching you. Walk over to the big mirror, the one in the hallway, the one with the frame you love so much. Turn on only the bedside lamp, the warm light, not the ceiling light. I want soft shadows on your skin.

Now yes, finish undressing in front of the glass. Slowly. Look at yourself. Don’t look at me this time, look at you. In the eyes. I know it’s hard for you to hold your gaze; you always look away when I talk about this, but not today. Today you stay there, in front of your own reflection, until you understand what I see when I look at you.

Lick your lips. Slowly. Again. If you want me to touch you one day the way you deserve, first you have to want to touch yourself. You have to desire yourself. Look at your mouth, your neck, the line of your shoulders. Take in everything you hide during the day under your office clothes.

Sit in front of the mirror, on the floor or on that little bench, whichever you prefer, but with your legs open. Don’t curl in on yourself. Open yourself up to your reflection. I want to see you whole. To see what makes my hands tremble every time I think of you.

Bring your fingers to your mouth and wet them. The index and middle finger, together. No filth yet, just wet them well with your tongue. Then slide them slowly up the center of your chest, leaving a cold trail that evaporates. When you get to your nipples, roll them between your fingers. Pinch them just a little, enough for the sting to run down your back.

—Harder —I’d whisper in your ear—. I know exactly how much you can take.

Work your breasts with both hands, without tenderness, the way you like, even if you never admit it out loud. Wet your fingers again and do it once more, while the music keeps playing and your hips, without you deciding it, start looking for some friction against the bench.

Turn around now. With your back to the mirror. Get on all fours and bring your body as close as you can to the cold glass. I want you to feel that cold on your hot skin, that contrast that makes you shiver. Rest your cheek on the floor if it helps, and arch your back. I know that position makes you feel exposed, and that’s the point. To expose yourself for me even though I’m not there.

Brush against your reflection. Rub yourself lightly against the glass, slowly, with those slow hip movements you’re so good at. Run your hand over your lower back, lower it more. Don’t rush, I told you already. Every time you hear my voice asking you to do it, do it one second slower than you want to.

Stay like that for a moment. Breathe deeply and feel the glass give back the heat you gave it yourself. I wish I could see you from behind right now, the curve of your back, your bare nape, your fingers gripping the edge of the bench. Every inch of you feels like an invitation to me, even if you think there’s nothing special about you. You’re wrong, and tonight you’re going to find out for yourself.

Remember the first time we slept together, when you didn’t know where to put your hands and I guided them. Tonight you’re the one being guided, but with my voice dictating every step. It’s almost the same, don’t you think? It’s as if my fingers were yours, as if my mouth were saying what you don’t dare think out loud.

***

Sit back down facing forward. Legs wide open again, heels planted, knees falling outward. Look at your eyes in the mirror. There’s that intensity that hooked me the first time, the one you have when you stop pretending this doesn’t turn you on.

Wet your fingers again, but this time with intent. Put them in your mouth as if they were mine. Lick them slowly, circle your tongue around them, suck them to the knuckle. I want you to moan while you do it. Yes, out loud, even if it embarrasses you, even if you think the neighbor might hear you. Moan while you suck your fingers and watch yourself do it in the reflection.

—Louder —I’d say—. I want to hear you from here.

Can you already feel the dampness between your legs? Do you notice how everything down there is starting to ask for attention, how your belly is tightening? I’d bet yes. I know you. I know that with three sentences you’re already ready, even if you brag about your patience.

Those fingers you just soaked with saliva, take them slowly between your legs. Not straight to the center, not yet. Trace yourself first, top to bottom, with your palm flat, pressing a little each time you move down. Part yourself with two fingers and leave the clit exposed, in front of the mirror, so you can see it yourself. Look at what you’re about to do to yourself.

Start rubbing there, in slow circles. No hurry. I want you to feel the pleasure rise little by little, not lunge after it. Keep the rhythm of the music. Keep your eyes on your reflection. If you close them, you’ll miss the best part: the face you make when you start letting go.

Keep moving your clit with one hand and, with the other, go a little lower. Bring two fingers to the entrance. Just the tip first. Slip them in and out, teasing, no depth. Slowly, I said, slowly. Enjoy that boundary, that instant when your body asks for more and you deny it one more moment.

Now yes, go in. Slowly at first. As you build rhythm, go deeper. I want to imagine you hearing your own sounds, the sound of your fingers going in, the sound of your breath breaking. Watch how your body answers you in the mirror, how your stomach tightens, how your mouth opens on its own.

—It feels so good, doesn’t it? —I’d whisper against your neck—. And I’m not even there yet.

Tonight you’re mine, even if I’m far away. Say my name. Say it out loud between your moans, as if I were there to hear it. Renata. Again. I want to be the only thing that crosses your mind while you pleasure yourself in front of that mirror.

Move your fingers inside, find that spot you know, the one that makes your back arch without warning. When you find it, don’t let go. Press there while your other hand keeps working your clit. Yes, both at once. I know you can do it, I’ve seen you.

If you can fit another finger, put it in. Slowly, never hurting yourself. Feel yourself filled. Imagine it’s me behind you, the one moving that hand, the one biting your shoulder while I watch you in the reflection. Imagine my mouth going down your back, my tongue where your fingers are now.

***

Speed up now. Stop holding back. Patience has done its job, now it’s time to let everything go. Ride your own hand, seek friction, move your hips as if you were riding me. Let the mirror throw back the image of a woman who wants herself, who isn’t ashamed of what she wants.

Think of me. Of my mouth open against yours. Of my legs tangling with yours, of the two of us rubbing against each other at the same time, not knowing where one ends and the other begins. Think of how I’d lick every inch of you when you finish, not letting you breathe, until you beg me to stop.

Come on, my love. Let go. I want to imagine the exact moment your whole body tenses and then breaks, the tremor in your thighs, the moan that slips out of you without permission. Come thinking of me. Come as if I were there to take it all.

And when you’re done, don’t move right away. Stay there, in front of the mirror, with your breathing still ragged and your skin shining. Look at yourself. The one you see trembling is the woman who drives me wild. Memorize that face, because that’s the one I plan to see in person the next time we meet.

I’d give anything to have heard you live, to see your wet, flushed reflection, to be there to finish what you started. You get me hot just imagining it.

Tomorrow you’ll tell me everything. Every detail. What you felt, when you said my name, how long you lasted before obeying me. And after you tell me, I promise I’m going to tell you what I’ll do to you when I finally have you for real in my arms. You won’t be able to sleep.