...Her heart was still pumping at a thousand beats per minute, and her breasts were practically jumping out of her bodice for the chance to feel his mouth—the mouth that caressed and demanded all at the same time. The reflection staring back at her revealed all she wished to hide. Certainly, she could not attend breakfast when she ached for release.

“Is there any chance to resist that man?” she whispered more to herself, but clouding over, the mirror prepared to answer.

When the smoke cleared, the glass revealed a mysterious room draped in burgundy velvet—a room frequented during masquerade balls, a room where the unspeakable happened, including murder and sensual acts considered lewd at any other time of the year. She’d never attended the masquerade, but there she was in the center of it, arching on a bed in garter stockings and a lace bustier. Three men emerged from the shadows, all with hidden faces and bare bodies, boasting just enough muscle to instill confidence, but not too much to intimidate.

One of the men in the mirror climbed over her, straddled her on his knees, and slowly pressed his erection into her mouth.

She felt the weight of his member against her tongue as her reflection began to suck him.

Sebastian.

She’d yet to see his face, but she knew it was him. Knew the salt of his flesh, the swell of his cock. Swallowing, she tasted the bitter spill of pre-ejaculation, and her cunt clenched with need. She salivated for that taste, yearned to feel hands in her hair, directing the speed and depth of oral sex.

Involuntarily, her legs crossed. One thigh rubbed over the hard button between them, and shirred, creating friction against her clit. Uncrossed. Crossed again.

The need escalated, and as her reflection took a testicle into her mouth, her tangible hands began to gather her indigo skirt, digging to find its hem. Her breaths came faster and faster, and dewy perspiration broke at her cleavage. At long last—too long—her hand dove into her satin pantaloons and grazed against the smoothness of her labia. The first finger stroke against her wet clitoris sent a jolt of pleasure through the channel it guarded.

His balls, too, were smooth, and with every sweep of her tongue against them, he groaned, retracted, and dipped in again. She alternated one testicle after the other, and couldn’t decide on a favorite. His hips rocked in rhythm, and when his balls had had enough, he withdrew, rested them on her chin, and rubbed the base of his pulsating rod against her lips.

She licked her lips, wanting it all. Outside the looking glass, her straddled legs tensed as she rubbed harder and faster, climbing higher toward orgasm.

Strong hands—hands of a gentleman, marred with neither callus nor scratch—pressed against her inner thighs, spreading her legs wider; the second man had joined the mix in the mirror. As her mouth strained with Sebastian’s girth, so did her pussy with another’s.

She cried out in pleasure as the third man, with cock pistoning through his fist, sucked on her toes, licked the arches of her reflection’s feet. All three men sighed and grunted and groaned, sending lightning bolts to her breasts’ centers. To think she was the center of pleasure for three men at once!

While her reflection maneuvered around the tangle of limbs to massage a lace-clad breast, she reached into her bodice and easily cupped one. Thumbing her areola and fingering her clit, she observed as the third man, still devouring her toes, sank his erection into the second’s manhole, inch by difficult inch. The second’s cock pressed all the way up her slit with the pressure of the third filling him.