You’re aware of the allure, the temptation, your eyes bright with firelight, your attention pulled toward the hardness hung before you. And there’s a sense of impossible conflict, an awareness, knowing he’s also behind you.
You sense your emotions, their connections tethered to him and tearing you in two, your focus compromised, your inner compass spinning, determined by the pull of two magnetic poles, each demanding your attention, each proclaiming their truth, one to the North the other to the South of you.
Tentatively, you reach out with your hand, cautiously curious, questioning if this male form before you is an apparition or some other illusion, a mere mirrored reflection, then feeling his weight weigh against your palm you feel the reassurance of his validation, his being real and being with you.
Curling your fingers around him, you gain confidence from the squeeze of him within your grip, sensing his pulse, the throb of his heart beating hard through the blood-gorged veins of his cock.
Generously, you begin working the girth of his shaft, your eyes delighting with every fresh stroke, seeing his smooth, fat, cock-head shine, shimmering, slick with pre-cum.
The firelight reflects in the circle of mirrors, along with the repeated imagery of your skilled hand milking his cock, such a sexy sight, kneeling on all fours, utterly naked before him, your free hand tenderly tugging, corkscrewing up and down.
You look provocatively up into his eyes and rhetorically ask: “So where shall I begin?”
“Here?” you offer, not waiting for a reply and lifting his cock to expose his clean-shaven balls, pausing only briefly before slowly drawing the tip of your tongue from the base of his smooth shaft, trailing your touch to the very tip of his phallus, leaving a glistening saliva trail along the length of his flexing cock, watching his eyes close, corrupted.
“Or here?” you offer brightly, flattening your tongue to lick heavily across the smooth deep purple of his, smooth, velvet, blood-gorged cock-head.
“Or maybe here…?” you toyingly suggest, curling your tongue to a spear point and licking the very tip of his erection, gently pushing the tip against the opening of his now oh-so-suck-able penis, tasting the salty wet tear of pre-seminal cum that weeps from within him.
Looking up, you wait for his eyes to open and reconnect, finding his face flushed with arousal, his thoughts caught in the teasing possibilities of your fantasy and foreplay. He looks down, sees his cock held in your hand, your mouth hovering, your lips licking with slow delight, pondering patiently.
“Fox, please” he begs and soothes, his voice gravel dry and cracking.
His eyes stay with yours as your jaw gently eases open, your grip guiding him, slow-motioning his heavy cock-head onto your soft, wet tongue. And with a groan he looks away as your lips stretch around him, awestruck by the feel of your soft mouth stretching around his manhood.
His eyes find you reflected in the firelight of the five mirrors, your imagery surrounding him, as gently you begin to lovingly fuck his cock with your mouth.