2 comments/  25985 views/  4 favorites

Looking Glass

By: Ropetease



Robin needed to relax. Her favorite way to do so was to do some self-bondage. Something about the ropes wrapping around her body relaxed her. Master had taught her how to do a full body tie and today was the perfect time to practice. Robin started with a warm bath and thought of the time when Master first tied her in his ropes.

Closing her eyes and drifting off into a light sleep, Master's image came into her mind. Without realizing what she was doing, one hand cupped her breast, her other hand went down between her legs. Robin felt her pussy contract as her fingers rubbed her clit. She pinched her hard nipple. Slowly, she rubbed her clit, while Master's image wrapped the rope around her body. With each wrap of the rope, her body started to tremble. Her fingers twisted her nipple, pulled on it as her climax started to build. Her finger's pinched her hard clit, as the first wave shook her body, clamping her legs around her hand. 

Carefully standing up on her weak legs, Robin stepped out of the tub. Taking the large bath towel hanging on the rack, Robin dried her body. Staring at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, she combed her hair still thinking of her Master. When she was done with her hair, Robin walked back into her bedroom towards her dresser where she kept her toys and ropes. Robin selected a few ropes from her drawer of different lengths and textures, placing them on the bed. She also selected a few clothes pins and placed them on the bed by her ropes. Picking up the longest rope, Robin walked towards the full-length mirror that was in her room.

Uncoiling the rope in her hands, her image growing larger in the mirror, her tanned body bathed in the sunlight coming though the window stared back at her. Standing in front of the mirror she held the rope in her hands, feeling the texture of the rope that would be wrapping around her body. Closing her eyes, she remembered that first time.

When Robin opened her eyes, Master's image appeared in the mirror. He was behind her. His hands were lightly resting on her shoulders. His mouth was next to her ear, the image of him behind her made her body shake with pleasure. Robin felt her pussy contract and get moist. Gasping at his image, Robin let the rope fall to the floor.

"Relax, slave, I am here to help." Master whispered.

Without hesitation, "Yes, Master. Thank you, Master." she whispered.

"Now bend over, pick up your rope and we will begin." Master whispered.

"Yes, Master." 

Robin doubled the rope folding it in half. Placing the loop over her head, measuring the distance for the first knot that was just above her breasts, Robin slipped the loop back over her head measuring the distance for the second and third knots. The fourth and last knot was for her clit. Knowing that knot would torment the most, she shivered.

Before she slipped the loop over her head, she placed the rope back though the loop that was to go around her neck, leaving a large circle. Stepping into the circle, raising the loop over her head she lowered it around her neck. Carefully pulling the loose end tight, the rope tightened up towards her freshly shaved pussy. She felt the rope touch her clit, adding a little more pressure tightening the knot more firmly on her clit.

The next step was to separate the strands, one for each side of her body. Reaching behind her back and pulling the ropes over the top of her breasts, she then began threading the rope just above the first knot and then bringing the strands back behind her body. When the rope tightened above her breasts, she drifted back to the time Master did this to her. 

Robin was in Master's dungeon. She was standing in the center of the room naked. A lit candle was the only light in the center of the room. Making their shadows dance on the wall, his arms holding the dark strands off the rope.

Her legs felt weak and she felt her pussy contract, flooding her inner thighs. Her body shook at the sensation of the rope pulling a little tighter on her pussy. Looking over her shoulder she began running the loose strands under the rope behind her back, all this while Master was watching her in the mirror. Robin saw him smile when the breast rope went back under her breasts. Threading the loose strands under the second knot, pulling them behind her back adding more pressure to the rope, it was then she dropped one strand of rope.

"Relax, my slave, let me help you." Her body quivered as she heard his calming whisper in her ear.

Closing her eyes, Robin started to feel the ropes move on her body. Master's hands taking the rope around her body tightening the strands. His warm moist breath was on her neck, sending signals straight to her pussy, the clit knot increasing the pressure on it as Master adjusted the rope. He finished the tie, knotting it on her waist. Master placed his hands on her shoulders, gently sliding them down her arms, stopping at her elbows. Feeling his grasp tighten around them, his lips kissing her neck, her body shuttered at his touch.

Opening her eyes, she saw his eyes gazing over the ropes that wrapped around her body. Her body betrayed her as a shuddering orgasm rushed through her. Standing there in his grasp, her body shaking as the waves poured through her, her knees buckled as Master held her in his strong arms. As the waves subsided, her legs to weak to hold her, Master laid her on the floor. The glow of the candle fading as Robin closed her eyes.

"Time to wake up, slave," Master's voice penetrated her foggy mind. 

"Yes, Master." Robin said opening her eyes. As her eyes adjusted to the brightness, Robin realized that she was in a different place. She was inside the mirror now looking at her body lying on the floor. The ropes were still tied around her, Master's hands resting on her shoulders. His cock rubbed against her ass.

"Follow the path of light, slave." Master whispered. 

As Robin turned to walk away, a white glow appeared surrounding her. She turned her head looking back at the image on the floor shrinking from view. In the distance, Robin saw a cabin in a meadow with smoke coming from the chimney. There was a man cutting wood in front of the cabin. As she got closer, the man she saw was her Master. 

"Hello," he called out seeing her walk up. "Are you ready to continue?" he asked.

"Yes, Master."

Master took her hand in his, pulling her towards the cabin door. Master opened the door stepping aside so she could walk inside. When she entered the room, it suddenly changed into an elegant ballroom. There were people dancing to music, a party was going on. The music stopped playing as they entered, the crowd of people parting, letting them walk in. Looking down, she saw she was dressed in a red satin evening gown now. She knew the ropes outline showed though the dress.

"Everyone, she has arrived," Master said to the crowd. 

The males in the room began to clap as Master led Robin into the center of room. Turning around Robin noticed the women were dressed like her in evening gowns. Some were topless, showing their bound breasts. Others had their hands tied behind their backs with leashes on their necks.

Master stopped in the center of the room, raising His hand for silence. "Today we have a special guest here with us," He announced.

Master signaled the orchestra to play. Bowing, he asked Robin to dance with him. She felt her body floating on air as she danced with her Master. A slow waltz played as they danced gracefully around the room. Master was a good dancer leading her around the room effortlessly.

When the music stopped at the end of the waltz, Master led her to the center of the room. The crowd gathered around as Master took the straps of her gown from her shoulders. As the straps fell away from her shoulders, her breasts freed from the gown, the rope became visible to the crowd. Robin felt the eyes of the crowd on her as Master ran his hands over them making her nipples grow under his touch.

"Stand here, pretty one," Master whispered in her ear. A slave with her breasts bound walked up to Master handing him more rope. "Now I will show the proper way to bind your slave's breasts," Raising his voice so the crowd could hear. 

"Bend over slave," he said placing his hand on her back.

Robin bent over, her breasts falling away from her body.

"Far enough, slave, hold that position," he said. "Always have your slave bend a little when applying this tie for better results," he told the crowd. 

The other Masters had their slave's bend, their eyes watching his hands place rope around Robin's breasts. Master started tying them with the rope. He made several loops around them. Her pussy tingled with each loop that Master placed on her body, the moisture flowing from it down her thighs.

"Now when you have them bound, have your slave stand straight. To keep the rope in place, take the rope up over her shoulders and around her neck. Then bring the rope back over the other shoulder. This will keep the rope in place." He told the eager crowd.

Robin stood there watching Master finish tying her breasts. Her breasts now bound with her body tie, Master led her around the room showing the crowd. As Robin followed her Master, her pussy sent shivers up her body with every step from the rope that was between her legs. Her eyes gazed down to her swollen breasts from his perfect tie. 

"Master, I am close. Please let this unworthy slave cum. Please, Master, may I cum for you?" Robin whimpered.

Master replied, "Not yet, slave."

Her legs trembled more with each step, she could not last much longer. Master stopped and he slid his hand between her legs parting them. His hand cupped her pussy. Her wetness flowed out of her pussy when he rubbed her clit.

"Cum for me slave, show these people how you cum for your Master," he whispered as he kissed her neck. It happened, her body shook violently as the climax tore through her body. Master held her in his arms as the waves ripped through her and she fainted as the last wave passed her though her body. The sounds of the party faded away and it felt like she was floating on clouds.

As Robin opened her eye,s she was still in the mirror looking back in to the bedroom. Her body was still lying on the floor. It was then that she noticed her breasts were bound in rope. Placing her hands on the rope, she felt the tightness of it. She sensed his presence before she felt his touch. 

Master's hands touched her back, gently stroking her shoulders.

"Master, please tell me what is happening to me," she begged.

"My slave, look out from the glass at your body lying on the floor. What you feel here is real. The emotions you have here happen to you out there. But here, in this world, you have no boundaries." Master explained.

She stood in the mirror watching her image on the floor. Robin's image opened her eyes. Her hand touched the rope on her body. Robin watched as her reflection struggled to stand up. She watched herself caress her body. However, here in the mirror, it was Master's hands touching her, his fingers rubbing her nipples and cupping her breasts.

"See, slave. Whatever you do here, she feels the same out there." Master said as his hand slid down her stomach.

Robin watched her hands slide down her stomach. Her legs slightly parted as Master placed his hand between them. Her reflection parted her legs as her hand went down her pussy. Master's fingers slid up her wet pussy. Her image mimicked the motions. Master pulled on the rope between her legs and Robin watched as her reflection pulled on her rope.

"Here, slave. Put these on your body, one for each nipple and two for your pussy lips." He said, handing her the clothes pins. 

Robin took them from his hand. Her nipples were already hard. She opened the clothes pin placing it on her nipple. She felt the bite of the pinch as it clamped down. Then she placed the second one on her other nipple. She watched as her image walked over to the bed. Her image picked up four more clothes pins and started to walk back towards the mirror.

Robin watched as she placed two of them on her nipples. Robin carefully placed the last two clothes pins on her pussy lips, one on each side. Her image copied her movements. She stood in front of the mirror parting her legs. Carefully, she applied the clothes pins to her pussy lips.

"Turn around, slave, your bed is here. Go and lay down." Master said.

"Yes, Master." Robin turned around and saw her bed. She walked over to it and carefully lay down.

Robin watched as her image walked over to her bed to lie down as well. Master began to touch her body with his hands. He moved the clothes pins and sent chills throughout her body. Robin opened her eyes and watched her reflection do the same.

Master's hand stroked her bound breasts. His fingers dragged across her pinched nipples. With each touch of his hand, her pussy contracted sending more wetness flowing between her legs. His hand stroked her inner thighs, dragging his fingers ever so slightly up towards her pussy. Robin moved her hips towards his hand. Her body responded to his touch making her moan.

Robin heard her moans also from the other side of the glass. Robin watched as she used one hand to touch her nipple. The other hand rubbed her clit. Master pulled on the rope that covered her clit. She felt his warm breath on her clit as he placed his tongue on the top of her aroused clit. Robin felt his lips encircle and suckle on her clit. Her hips lifted off of the bed as she tried to push her pussy harder on his mouth.

Her image on the bed responded by raising her hips off the bed. Her finger's pinched her clit. Master licked the slit of her pussy with his tongue, dragging it slowly up towards her clit. His hand still pulled on her nipple twisting the clothespin. Her moans increased with each sensation of his touch.

Robin watched as she pulled aside the rope covering her clit. Her finger slowly slid between her pussy lips bringing it slowly upwards. Her other hand pulled on her nipple. Her moans grew louder as her body moved on the bed. 

Master settled on the bed, his hand held his hard cock. Robin spread her legs wider as Master placed his cock in her soaked pussy. Robin saw her reflection slide two fingers in her pussy slowly, pushing them deep. Master pulled back slightly and started to slowly pump his cock in her. Her reflection's fingers matched each of Master's strokes. 

Master's cock pumped faster. His hands gripped her hips forcing his cock deeper in her. Her fingers went deeper as she raised her hips of the bed with each stroke of her fingers. Master's cock drove her closer to the edge. Robin was trying to hold back the climax that was building deep inside her. 

Robin watched as her reflection closed her eyes. She heard her reflection gasp for breath as her hips moved on the bed. Robin could not hold on any longer as the first wave hit. Locking her muscles as the waves increased. Her own body bucked as the climax overtook her. Robin saw her reflection tense as the climax hit her. Robin felt her body float away as the light slowly faded from her eyes.

She was lying on her bed when she opened her eyes, her body covered in sweat. The ropes were still tied around her and her thighs were soaked. She sat up listening for sounds of any movement. The sun light was fading as her eyes focused on the mirror. Robin's mind flooded with images of what had happened. Robin then saw her own image staring back at her from the mirror, she was sitting on her bed and Master was still behind her, his hands on her shoulders.

Looking-Glass Ladyboy



I was taking a walk to stay--all right; I'll admit it--to get in shape, when I saw the "Going Out of Business" sign in the second-hand furniture store a block north of my condo. I wasn't in the market for anything, new or used, but I can't resist a bargain, and what was better for finding a bargain, I asked myself, than a store that was having a going-out-of-business sale?

The store offered everything you could imagine, in every condition you could imagine--sofas, tables, chairs, bookcases, beds, lamps, china cabinets, sideboards, hassocks, you name it. Some items looked almost new; others bore the scars of generations, in the same or a succession of families. There was nothing special, but the prices were agreeable.

A couple of large prints of original erotic paintings, etchings, and illustrations tempted me, as did their price tags, stirring my cock as well as my thoughts, but I passed on them, doubting--all right, I'll admit it--knowing that I wouldn't have the balls, as it were, to hang them in my condo. They'd join the naughty statues I'd bought as a younger version of myself, right after high school, when I'd rented my first apartment--cloven-hoofed satyrs, mostly, their erections jutting from their hirsute groins as they pranced among naked, dancing nymphs. The statues had looked sexy, even decadent--or so I'd thought, in my younger days--cavorting upon the end tables that had flanked my black leather couch. Now, they just took up closet space. No doubt, so would a copy of a Eugene Le Poitevin illustration, an Aubrey Beardsley sketch, a Mark Blanton painting, or a Giulio Romano etching.

I was about to leave when the looking-glass caught my eye. As soon as I saw it, I knew I just had to have it, no matter the price. It was love, I guess you could say, at first sight. It was a full-length mirror, of highly polished glass, in an ornate, bronze frame carved into ivy vines and leaves of intricate and beautiful detail. This was a find, indeed; it was a treasure!

No doubt, it would be horribly expensive, too, I thought, as, with a sense of despair, I took the price tag on the string that was tied around a space between the tendrils of leafy vines, turned it over in my trembling fingers, and, holding my breath, dreading to see the price, which, surely, would be--must be--beyond my means--and I beheld the sum for which the proprietor would agree to part with this wonderful masterpiece.

My eyes bulged. I frowned and looked again. Surely, I had misread the tag. No sane man could let such an item as this beautiful looking-glass go for the absurdly low price that was printed on the tag.

I read the numbers: $10.00.

Ten dollars!

Such a price was unbelievable.

It was impossible.

Surely--fear clutched my heart at the thought--there must be a mistake.

The proprietor had meant $100.00--perhaps even $1000.00--not a mere $10.00.

What if he the owner had made a mistake? I asked myself. He'd marked $10.00 on the tag, I reassured myself, and, if the mirror was tagged at $10.00, I'd make him accept $10.00 for it. If he hesitated, if he balked, if he refused to sell the looking-glass for such a ridiculous amount, I'd charge him with fraud, with false advertising.

I felt ashamed of myself. It wasn't like me, I told myself, to take advantage of another man's mistake, nor should I.

A shameful thought presented itself to me: You are not responsible for the incompetence of others.

No, I wasn't.

Was I?

Would it be taking advantage of a man--or an act of sheer stupidity on my part--to let such a good deal go, even if the bargain had been unintended on the seller's part? Hadn't there been a saying, among shopkeepers, since the days of ancient Rome, which was used to justify their own taking of advantage of buyers? Caveat Emptor: Let the Buyer Beware.

Well, by the same token, shouldn't I, a buyer, be willing to let the seller beware?

I was rationalizing. I know that. I knew it, then, too, at the time. But I wanted that mirror. Desperately. I had to have it, and I couldn't afford to pay $100.00 or $1000.00. Ten dollars, though, was affordable. It was very affordable.

I took the mirror from its place upon the wall, surprised at how light such a seemingly ponderous object was, and made my way, ever so carefully, down the narrow aisle, past heaps and mounds of merchandise on tabletops and racks, mindful, every step of the way, of the opportunities of chipping the frame or breaking the glass of my treasure, and arrived, finally, before the counter upon which reposed the proprietor's ancient cash register, willing to shout and curse and rant and rave and threaten and cajole and plead and beg, if need be, to make the purchase I had set my heart, my mind, and my soul upon making, here and now.

The store's owner, a stooped and wizened old man reminiscent, to my mind, of the sin-aged portrait of Wilde's Dorian Gray, with but one eye, and it as hideous as that of the old man in "The Tell-Tale Heart," which Poe's narrator describes as "the eye of a vulture--a pale blue eye, with a film over it." There was also something of the mesmerizing quality of Coleridge's ancient mariner about both the "glittering eye" and the demeanor of the old man. Despite his slight figure, the old man's appearance gave me pause. There was something about him that didn't seem quite right; that seemed, despite his diminutive form, dangerous, in fact.

My hands trembling, I lifted the mirror--gently, carefully--and set it down, with infinite caution, upon its back, atop the counter, and, clearing my throat, said, with attempted insouciance, but in a voice hoarse with nervous tension, "I'd like to buy this mirror, please."

The old man met my gaze, and my very blood ran cold, for there was, despite his stooped and fragile frame, something sinister behind his single, piercing eye, something beyond mere menace, although he smiled--or, rather, seemed to sneer. He plucked the price tag up, in his bony fingers, and examined the florid script in which someone's hand--his own, I'd wager--had written the numbers the label bore. Inwardly, I cringed, just knowing that he'd say the price was wrong, that it was a mistake, and name the true amount he required, which would be too dear for me to pay.

Instead, he nodded. "That'll be ten dollars," he said--or croaked--for his voice was not the deep bass of the demonic creature I'd imagined him to be, behind the mask and costume of the flesh that he wore. Instead, his voice was the wheezy near-whisper of the truly aged.

I handed him the money, and he handed me a receipt. "All sales are final, you know," he cautioned as I lifted the mirror from the counter and hugged it to my breast. "I can grant neither a refund nor an exchange, not even with your receipt. I'm going out of business."

"I understand," I assured him. There was no way I would ever exchange the mirror for anything else in his store or for the measly ten dollars it had cost me, even if he were agreeable to a refund or an exchange.

His smile broadened, and he looked like the little old man he was, my overactive imagination, stoked by the fear that my intended purchase would be denied to me, aside. "You got quite a bargain, my lad," he said, "quite a bargain, indeed."

I thanked him and hurried home--as fast as I could while exercising all due caution and diligence, lest I break the mirror--and installed my treasure in the living room, on the wall to the right of my fireplace, feeling as victorious as a warrior who'd stolen priceless spoils from a conquered monarch's palace.

* * *

The Internet has made us wealthy beyond measure, because it delivers goods and services at minimal cost--and often free--that would otherwise, in the all-but-infinite variety available to us, at least--be beyond our means, and all with no more trouble than the pressing of a few keys. Like many people who live alone, I surf the 'net a lot; too much, my ex-wife insisted. I check out plot summaries of the latest books, fiction and otherwise; watch clips of the latest Hollywood flicks; look up all sorts of stuff, trivia, mostly, on various websites and online encyclopedias; check the meanings and spellings and etymologies of words; see what my favorite radio talk show hosts and TV personalities are up to; read the dirt that today's armies of gossip queens dish on celebrities; and, of course, like all red-blooded males everywhere, American and otherwise, feast upon the smorgasbord of porn.

There's so much tits and ass--and cock and balls, for that matter--on the Internet that I doubt there's a complete and dedicated heterosexual or a homosexual left in all the world. We've all become bisexual, I think--or pansexual. I know I have. I mean, how many times can a guy look at naked men, even if they are fucking naked women, and not eventually get into both naked men and women?

Sure, guys may deny it, but that doesn't mean that they're not secretly fantasizing, that they aren't "curious" about what it would be like to be on the giving or the receiving end of a stiff, hard cock, right? I used to be straight, but surfing porn on the Internet has made me as interested in men as I am in women. There's no mystery, then, that I find the combination of the sexes and genders that shemales represent to be my real cup of tea. I'm a ladyboy lover, and proud of it. Being a shemale lover is, it seems to me, the logical and inevitable outcome of being a porn addict.

Since buying the mirror, I surf the 'net more than ever, and I already surfed it more than most, even before my purchase. I'm on my computer from dawn to dusk on the weekends, and as often as possible during the workweek. If I could, I'd sit before my console twenty four hours a day, seven days a week, week in and week out, month after month. I find myself perusing porn more and more, too, since I bought the mirror, spending less and less time on any other content. Oh, and I've become a home nudist. I never wear clothes at home anymore. Don't get me wrong; I'm not saying I've become a nudist-cum-porn freak because of the mirror, just since I bought the damned thing. There's no cause-and-effect relationship, I'm sure; it's just a coincidence.

Oh, and I masturbate more, too--a lot more--since buying the mirror.

* * *

I missed seeing the mirror, so I moved it. It's not on the living room wall anymore. It's here, on the study wall, with me.

Before I relocated it, I'd see it only when I took a break for a cup of coffee or a sandwich or an apple, and, then, I was right back in my study, naked at my desk, checking out the latest pictures and video clips of anal intercourse, analingus, bestiality, bondage and discipline, bukkake, cock-and-ball torture, sperm-filled condoms, cunnilingus, daisy chains, dildos, enemas, exhibitionism, fellatio, fetishism, forced feminization, fisting, frottage, homosexual couplings, incest, inter-femoral intercourse, irrumation, lactating lesbians, masturbation, nudism, sadomasochistic shenanigans, spanking, tit fucking, tit torture, vaginal intercourse, voyeurism, and water sports, although not necessarily in that order.

Having the mirror nearby, just basking, as it were, in its presence, makes me feel content. I find myself smiling, even humming, as I click link after link in my sleazy universe of pornographic cyberspace, feeding the polymorphous perversity of my omnipresent, pansexual cravings.

One day, I saw a dude--a twink--who has an astonishing resemblance to me! Hell, the bastard could have been me; that's how close the resemblance was. At first, I thought some surreptitious asshole had snapped a picture of me and uploaded it onto the website, but that's preposterous. I guess it's true that everyone has a double, which is an idea I'd always thought was just pretty fucking absurd--because mine was sure as hell grinning out at me, his face wet with streaming pussy juice while his ass was crammed with thick, hard cock. The only difference was that he had blond hair, while mine's brown. I guess, if you surf the 'net long enough, you'll see everything, including your own doppelganger.

I had to admit, the guy was a handsome bastard, just like me. In fact, after checking him out, I thought maybe I might look even more handsome as a blond, like him, rather than as a brunette.

I rose, my cock erect from ogling the blond-haired twink with my face and build, his face wet with cunt juice and his ass full of cock, and ambled across my study to the mirror. I wonder how I'd look with blond hair, I thought, eyeing my brown locks. Would I look as good as the blond twink on his knees in the picture, I wondered.

Whoa!

My heart stopped, and I stared, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, at my reflection in the full-length mirror on my study wall. My hair was no longer brown; before my eyes, it had changed, becoming, in the same instant as I had wondered what I'd look like with light hair, rather than dark, blond, like the hair of the twink on the Internet site. Even my eyebrows were blond. I looked down, and, sure enough, the change in my hair color was complete, with even my pubic hair blond, now, instead of brown.

The change scared the hell out of me, as you can imagine.

What the hell was going on?

What I had just seen was impossible, pure and simple. Shit like this just didn't happen. It couldn't happen. There was no way in hell that it could happen.

Yet, the mirror showed me, whether it could happen or not, it had happened. I was a blond.

Maybe it was a trick mirror, I thought. Hell, yes! That had to be it. It was a trick mirror. A novelty item along the lines of funhouse mirrors. It had to be.

There was an easy way to tell. My erection swaying before me, I hastened from my study, walked down the hall to the bathroom, and got another heart-stopping shock as I saw, in the bathroom mirror, the same sight that I'd beheld in the looking-glass mounted upon the wall in my study: I was a fucking blond!

I happened to notice the mole at the right corner of my mouth. The accursed blemish had been a source of misery since I was old enough to name the thing. As I said, I'm a handsome cuss--false modesty is hypocritical--but that fucking mole mars my looks. It's the one thing imperfect about my countenance. It's not big, and, thank God, it's not hairy, but it draws the eye--or, at least, it draws my eye--like a magnet. It's an insult to the handsome features of my otherwise perfect face, as much a cause for lamentation as the biggest, darkest purple facial birthmark or harelip or scar that ever spoiled a man's otherwise handsome face, and I longed, all my life, to have it removed, but took the advice of plastic surgeons, instead, who counseled against the procedure, saying it could cause complications far worse than the mole's insult to my vanity.

But, now, I might have the perfect--not to mention free and painless--way to remove the accursed growth, once and for all time! If the mirror could change my hair from brown to blond, surely it could also remove this damnable, unsightly mole!

I fairly ran from the bathroom to my study. Standing before the looking-glass, I closed my eyes, and said, out loud, "I wonder what I'd look like without this mole on my face."

I felt nothing, and I feared that the accursed growth was still there, where it had always been, since the day of my birth, an outrage and an offense worse than the excrescences with which Joseph Merrick, the so-called Elephant Man, was afflicted--worse, at least, in my own estimation, for the mole afflicted me.

Dreading the sight of the mole's not only insulting, but also mocking, me with its presence, I opened my eyes, squinting into the mirror within the ornate frame. In the glass inside the bronze ivy which bordered the glass, I saw--and my heart leaped!--the accursed growth of skin was gone as completely as if it had never been!

The change was exhilarating. It was marvelous. It was also more than merely frightening; it was terrifying. In the twinkling of an eye, just because I had wondered how I might look as a blond and without the accursed mole I'd borne from my birth, I was changed.

Irreversibly?

Permanently?

God, I hoped not, for, although I could live with the blond hair and welcomed the loss of the mole, what if I had wished for something else, in a moment of mere idle curiosity, without considering the ramifications of the thought? What if, in such a moment, I had imagined something that I didn't want to retain forever, such as myself, perhaps, as a three-headed monster, a dwarf, a giant, a disembodied penis with wings, or, most ludicrous of all, a woman, for God's sake? Would I be stuck, as it were, in such an incarnation to my dying day? Would I be buried as such?

There was a way to know, I thought, and I said, aloud, "I wonder what I'd look like with brown hair." Nothing happened. My heart seemed to shrink and my stomach to fall. The effects of the mirror were irreversible. They were permanent. I must be very careful, indeed, what I wished in front of the looking-glass. But then another thought occurred to me. Maybe the mirror hadn't reversed its spell because I already knew what I looked like as a brunette, having had brown hair before I'd wondered what I might look like as a blond. Instead of having said, this time, "I wonder what I'd look like with brown hair," maybe I should simply have wished to be a brunette again.

I tried this approach, and, to my great relief, I saw my hair turn from light to dark again, resuming its original color in the looking-glass. I thought about wishing the mole back, but I couldn't abide the possibility that it would return and that I would then be stuck with the hideous growth at the corner of my mouth forever afterward. Besides, the change in my hair color proved that the mirror's effects were not permanent, that they could be reversed, hadn't they? To be sure, I wished my blond locks back, and my hair, once more, was transformed, going, in an instant from brown to fair.

* * *

It was absurd to suggest, even to myself, that the looking-glass was responsible for my obsession with pornography and my newfound identity as a home nudist. If anything, these changes, unlike the change in my hair color and the loss of my mole, were merely coincidental to my purchase of the mirror. It was odd, though, how I'd changed from a relatively modest man into one who flaunted his nude body, if only to himself, going about, whenever possible, naked, my cock erect, more often than not, and wearing women's panties or a butt plug up my ass when I ventured out to tend to errands or went to work. At home, always naked, often masturbating, I surfed the 'net, more or less continuously, in a never-ending search for more and more images, both still and moving, of the perverse and decadent.

A man shoving his erection through another man's asshole and deep into his impaled partner's rectum; a man kneeling behind another man, his face buried in the other's buttocks as his own tongue probed his lover's anus; a woman mounted by a German shepherd, the animal's bizarre, red cock thrusting frantically into her sopping-wet pussy; a woman kneeling in the center of a circle of standing men who, each in turn, masturbating, delivered volley after volley of ejaculate into her sperm-frosted face; nails driven through scrotal flesh; condoms, large and pendulous, loaded with sperm; one woman's face between another's thighs, her tongue lapping at her lover's stiff, swollen clit and dewy cunt; a circle of men and women, each orally servicing the one who lay or knelt before him or her; artificial penises of extraordinary length and girth, plunging into anuses and vaginas; tubes inserted into rectums to flush and cleanse them of their fecal contents--I devoured image after image and video clip after video clip of these activities, and, still, I was not satiated with depictions of such behavior; always, I wanted more.




Looking Glass Rose



He was John Jepperson and she Lauren Smith, their parents covering their first and middle names with all the surnames of relatives with money. Someday, it may pay off. Who knows? Estates happen.

Although they were different genders, and so classified fraternal twins, they were identical in appearance - same color, hair, everything. As they grew older, Jepp grew taller and Lauren lovely. He became lean and muscular, she slender and quite female. In fact, by the time she was in double-digit years, her looks were startling; she had willowy, almost fragile beauty that became much stronger when she smiled. That was often.

By the time they were teenagers, nobody could tell they were twins unless they were together, side by side, and then the resemblance was so astounding nobody could remember why they ever doubted it. Their sheer "twin-ness" so enchanted a grandmother that she tried to dress them alike when they were very young, but her daughter, their mother, overruled it, leaving many feathers ruffled and holidays huffy. Mom had read a book that professed dressing children as a set could bobble their psychological circuitry. Besides, it was hard to get exactly the same clothes for boy and girl.

Jepp was a couple of minutes older than Lauren. He was, and always would be, her big brother. From the time he was two days old, he'd been Jepp, although his grandfather favored Jack. Nobody called him John.

Lauren was mom's favorite, the girl she always wanted. And nobody ever called her anything but Lauren. A few hick relatives tried to saddle her with Smitty, but even as a toddler she'd stamp her foot and demand to be called by her proper name. She was teased for that, but she stuck with it. Lauren grew up with a special distaste for ridicule - especially when she saw it aimed at someone else. All her life, everyone in school knew they could talk to her, she would be friendly, and she'd never betray them, regardless of where they stood in the merciless caste of childhood.

When he was around, Jepp would protect her. The first time their mother saw them toddle to the kindergarten door, she saw him put his arm on Lauren's shoulder, and almost wept. She knew her little girl always would be safe with him. So, Jepp spent their early school years protecting her from taunts. ...Both of them, really. Frequently, identical twins of opposite sex are targets for childhood cruelty in a way few others are. They were beautiful children, especially as they grew older, so often jealousy fueled the taunts.

Jepp was Lauren's hero, and almost through middle school, she worshiped him. She would defer to him, and seek his shelter when anything bothered her. More than their parents, he was her rescuer and exemplar. If she thought he'd look good in shining armor, she'd imagine him as her own rangy knight. But silvery metal wasn't his color; she was a girl who knew all about that.

Then, in eighth grade, things began to change. Lauren became more independent. She even began a kind of natural sibling hostility toward him, dismissing her past adoration by calling him "hero" and, sometimes, "little man" ...Never behind his back, or even cruelly. Mostly, it was her answer to his "your majesty" and "girlie-girl", which she especially despised. Lauren was one - and liked it.

In high school, she was more popular than he, a cheerleader and all-round class leader. Straight-A student and overachiever, Lauren had mapped out her future, and by junior year had dumped a string of boyfriends she deemed insufficiently mature, or, as she saw it, of doubtful promise. She was serious about the success she intended her life to be, and didn't mix long with boys she thought too frivolous or juvenile; it was as if she believed her drive might be diluted by sheer proximity of indolence.

This applied especially to her brother Jepp. A star athlete in his first years at high school, he dropped off the football team after the second game of his senior year. He'd begun to hang with a different crowd. Some of them were school musicians, some wannabe punks. A lot of them read - too much of it for pure entertainment. All of them smoked weed and slacked their way through school in a kind of aimless drift, waiting for life to deliver to them some sign, a map for proceeding - or snuff them out. Some of Jepp's friends took anti-depressants; some had attempted suicide.

Life was becoming, for all of them, much more serious.

Lauren ripped Jepp to shreds over what she saw as fall from grace. She upbraided him for his apathy every chance she got. He would merely look at her and drawl some soft riposte like, "Go get 'em, tiger."

She didn't really like anything about him, including his girlfriend, tough girl Dena, who called her "princess". Once, after a diatribe against everything Dena was or touched, she finished with, "I don't see what he sees in her. And she's so totally unlike him." Her friend Jane listened half-interested, waiting for the chance to dump her own problems, and said, "Well... she's not so different from you. In fact, you and she are just alike." Waiting for Lauren to calm down after that bombshell, Jane continued by noting they were both driven - for different things, sure, but endless energy was there in both of them. "I think both of you like change. You're always moving on to the next goal. And Dena... dyes her hair six colors a week."

One anonymous, chilly day in late fall, Lauren saw just ahead of her Mike Finder, walking alone and slowly. Mike had been a close childhood buddy of hers and Jepp's. Then, in that way adolescence brusquely sorts status and desire, he... receded. He was still part of the crowd Jepp hung with, most of school's misfits were; people like Mike stuck there, never rising above that marginal social tier.

Something about him caught her eye, and she walked a little faster to catch him. When he didn't respond to her, she jumped ahead of him. Her smile of greeting melted away when she saw the ugly shiner around his eye.

"I'll give you a ride, Mike."

He didn't want to look at her. When he finally did, seeing her face, flush and healthy, the wind gently blowing her hair in filmy tendrils around it, something tore in him. At the look of concern in her eyes, tears welled up in his. He wiped at the wrong one and winced in pain from the bruise.

"C'mon, Mike," Lauren said, touching his arm. "I'll take you home."

It was her nature to take in strays, to show kindness to someone who needed it, but just outside the school grounds, as Mike slumped beside her in the seat, Lauren found herself growing surprisingly angry.

"Who was it?"

"Jockhead and John Fitini," Mike answered.

"Why do you let them do it to you, Mike?" Her free hand was across her brow, and her eyes were narrowing.

"Strong rule the weak."

"There's nothing about them that's strong, Mike. You should know that by now. They bully you because they know they can bully you. They make you feel weak and they look strong. They make you look worthless and they feel important."

She swerved into a turn so sharply, her tires squealed. "That's delusion of every bully. There's nothing strong about them. They're weak and violent and stupid. They wouldn't pick on you if they thought you'd fight back."

"...Whoa, there, Danica Patrick. We don't have to go all Starsky and Hutch emergency ward. Let's be happy in the thought somebody will shoot them someday."

"I'm angry at you, Mike, not them."

"Huh?"

"You mope through life. No goals. Schlubbing along. C'mon, you're almost out of high school."

"Why do you care?"

"We're friends."

"We were friends," he said, before she'd finished, "before puberty turned you into you and me into a schlub."

Lauren drove on. She began to calm down. He was right. That clinical, cold pecking order that is high school swept him off the A-list and she barely ever spoke to him again. Shame began to replace her anger, and she thought of the childhood friends she'd allowed to fall away.

"Besides, are you angry at me - or Jepp?"

"What do you mean?" she asked, a little startled. She snorted, absolutely unconvincingly, at the idea.

"You cut him dead at school. He's as invisible to you as I am; only I'm not in your Christmas pictures."

"Mind your own business, Mike."

"I didn't tell you to mind your own business," he answered.

Mike looked out the window and tried to look nonchalant. Lauren wondered if she'd hurt his feelings. She reached over and touched his hand and he jerked it away. "You can leave me here," he said. She kept driving, although the awkwardness in the cab strangled both of them.

Occasionally, as they drove on, he'd glimpse Lauren's reflection in the odometer cover. She has very merry eyes, Mike thought; they squinted when she smiled and lent her face a tart, fresh delight. Lauren's lips were just full enough, and her upper front teeth showed prettily when she talked. Something fresh, she was, very much like everything he wanted.

After awhile he asked, "Is this a kidnapping?" And she blew a chuckle through her lips. She reached over and pinched his cheek, then playfully slapped the spot gently. "I'm riding with The Godfather," he said, and this time she busted out a big, honest laugh.

Just before they got to his house, she apologized. Mike got out of the car and looked back in, genuine and honest. "You've gotta let people be themselves, Lauren."

She tried to say something. Her mouth moved but nothing came out. She knew Mike didn't intend it that way, but he'd punched a much-denied fact right through her.

Watching her slowly car drive away, Mike thought to himself how impossible it would be for anyone else to be like Lauren.

She had trouble steering the car, and wiped her eyes. Damn it, she thought. ...Typical crybaby girlie girl. She looked at her eyes in the rearview, dabbing them with a tissue while dangerously navigating at the same time. Lauren reached up and angled the mirror toward her. 

"You don't have to be me, Jepp."

That night, she came to Jepp's door after brushing her teeth. She stuck in her head and wished him goodnight, then a shy but genuine smile. Jepp smiled back, a little puzzled. Gradually, over a long months, Lauren eased off him; she felt she understood his creeping alienation with her own anxiety about the end of school. She began to feel sorry for him and resolved to never let that show.

Once, after offering to help him apply to schools, she turned and sauntered to her door, and Jepp watched that charming little wiggle she'd always had. It seemed different now; it seemed more impressive to him in a way he didn't want to admit. Jepp had noticed her olive branch. He noticed and liked it, especially when she made a point of coming to his door to say goodnight. He knew, in his heart, she pitied him, and that stung him deeply.

Each day, from then on, Lauren began taking the same route as Jepp leaving school. She didn't know why, and wouldn't admit the little pang of excitement she felt when she saw his car. Taking this scenic route rambled far out a wide loop to the outskirts of town, and Lauren knew that was where Dena lived. Sometimes Lauren saw Jepp's car at Dena's house and felt pangs of anger and hurt. She told herself it was concern for Jepp, that she simply felt the girl wasn't good enough for him. There was only a tiny molecule in her that knew this explanation was utter nonsense, that jealousy had been a rare though familiar companion since she was 11, and saw Beverly Danridge kissing Robbie Carter - her secret Robbie - at a birthday party.

In a house that once was better maintained, Jepp and Dena would flop on the sofa and familiarize themselves with each other's bodies. He didn't particularly like being there, since it seemed smothered with the darkness that so struck her family. 

Once, at the beginning of the year, Jepp confessed to Dena that his sister pitied him and he didn't like it.

"C'mon," Dena said with an impish grin. "She worships you."

"You're out of your mind."

"Oh, she may be pissed at you - because you're not an A-type, heart-attack-at-45 like her," she continued, rolling a joint. "But... no... You're still the big guy in her life."

Jepp made a pffft sound. Dena put down the finished joint and took a sip of beer. She bobbed up to her knees beside him and twisted a finger in his hair.

"Question is.... how do you feel about her?"

"OK. I guess. She's my sister, Dena."

"...Right."

Jepp looked at her and shook his head. "You don't know my sister," he said, studying Dena's deeply dimpled chin, so much like Lauren's.

"I know her better than you." Dena said. "We have one big thing in common."

"What?"

She tipped his head up with a single finger under his chin and kissed him. It took it's time getting done. Coming up for air, he looked at Dena and shook his head. Then he smiled to let her know he didn't take her seriously. It wasn't how he felt, though, not really. Finally, he kissed her again, just to keep her shut up.

The first warm day of the year, everyone gathered at the Rockpile, a natural pool in the foothills above town. On one side were jocks and wannabes, on the other, everyone else. Jepp's friends were in a tiny knot near the side without shade.

"Your brother ever gets tired of his hippie poets?" Gary sneered at Lauren, gulping a beer. She was a little tired at all the bellowing and noise. Her boyfriend beat his chest and made chimp sounds when he wasn't customizing his laugh to be as harsh and scary as possible - as did all the athletes. She made a mental jot to dump the asshole before summer.

Gary yelled, "Jepp brought the whole Spahn Ranch." Then Fitini, for whom Lauren had all the affection she held for grass stains, chimed in: "Fan boys! Riot Grrrlz! Let the jack-off begin!"

Shooting a sizzling glare over her shoulder, she spat at Gary, "I told you not to bring that jerk." Gary shrugged a "what could I do" gesture. Eventually, to Lauren's relief, the monkey cage grew settled. Behind her sunglasses, and turning her head occasionally, she froze to her face an amused grin to seem immersed in Rockpile's tackling-dummy spirit and yet stay a billion miles away. Sometimes she'd catch a word and nod or say something with a laugh. But she was light years from everyone in her physical proximity. Lauren was on the other side of the pond, sizing up Jepp's girlfriend with growing distaste.

Dena already had some ink on her arms and sometimes wore her nose ring to school. Lauren had to admit she was quite beautiful. Many of the jocks, today, eyeing her particle-bit bikini whistled and echoed Gary's charming Cheetah act. Dena's butt was half-exposed, her breasts all but falling out. Wonder why she bothered to wear anything, Lauren thought. 

But what really began to scald Lauren was how Dena just couldn't seem to keep her hands off Jepp. Was she afraid her little sex battery would sizzle out if she broke connection? It was if she was auditioning to be his new skin layer; it was impossible for Dena to burrow herself deeper into him. It was astounding Jepp could breathe. 

Dena simply wasn't good enough for him, and when the time was right, Lauren promised herself to tell Jepp just that.

Dena plopped on her towel and unstrung her bra, waving a middle finger at the jocks as they went wild. For a moment, Lauren was impressed at how deeply Dena's spine rutted the length of her back. She understood the erotic component of their relationship. She's very sexy, Lauren told herself. ...In a cheap, vulgar way. And she broiled some more.

Suddenly, Gary banged into her, almost knocking the Coke from her hand. He was horsing around with the other Godzillas. Lauren rolled away from him, walked to the water's edge and waded in. Up to her chin in a few moments, she swam away from everyone, over to the sheer rock cliff from which the thin waterfall sprang. Swimming under it, she squealed as it bathed her head. She was in the deepest part of the quarry, now. And that's when the cramp hit her with a jolt.

Her body folded on her, dunking her head underwater. She came up sputtering. Don't panic, she told herself. The tightness paralyzed her trunk, so moving her legs was difficult, foiling her attempts to tread water. Lauren went under. She held her breath going down but the cramp was lodged just under her ribs and she couldn't inhale deeply. Slowly, she rose, broke the surface and sank again before she could inhale. She tried to keep water out of her nose and throat; slowly, she raised again, her starved windpipe in ripping pain. This time, she barely surfaced at all, and then she saw the rippling light receding above her. She thought she could hear her friends, laughing, unaware. It was all spinning around her, a slow carnival ride, light getting dim. Water poured into her nose and throat and she gagged. But, then, she calmed. This was how it was. It wasn't that bad. Eternity was just there, so close. She wasn't scared. Everything began to blur in darkness.

The water exploded in bubbles around her and Lauren thought a war-movie torpedo had roared into her. She felt strong arms around her, and she was tight against someone's trunk; together they powerfully launched to the surface. She burst with her helpful rocket into sunlight, and she gripped a neck tightly, spewing water down a familiar back. Lauren gurgled and tried to hold her head up, then more water poured out of her, then her lunch. She gagged and groaned. 

Lauren felt something solid, not against her skin, but inside her. She looked down and through bleary eyes realized her rescuer had swept her up and was carrying her to shore; it was footsteps on solid earth she felt bumping up through them. She looked up and saw Jepp's face inches from her own. He was looking at her intently, almost furious with concern. Lauren leaned her head against his chest. His muscle wasn't rock hard, she noted. It was very solid, though. Resting against him was the easiest thing she could remember ever doing.

Very gently, like she was made of priceless china, he put her down on her towel. Everyone was around them now, and gradually the noise of their attention surrounded her in a static roar. Looking the other way, she was face to face with Dena, again, inches away. She saw her mouth "Are you OK?" fear in her eyes, and sound of the words came in garbled, as if from across the Milky Way. She felt strong hands gently clasp her face and turn her head. Jepp now was looking deep into her eyes, as if searching for absolute proof she was fully back to life.

Lauren nodded to Dena and tried to smile. "Get some water," Dena commanded the crowd, and gently put a cup under her mouth to drink. Lauren sputtered again, and then swallowed some. Blinking, she made a 'thumbs up' signal. Now self-consciousness and embarrassment at being so helpless, and center of attention so unwanted, washed over her.

Jepp told her, in clear words now, that he was taking her home. But Gary elbowed in and demanded to do it. "We'll go by mom's house. She's a nurse." Jepp and Lauren looked at each other, and she nodded again, making an A-OK sign this time, and winking.

Then she smiled sweetly to him, and blew him a kiss. He did the same.

A couple of weeks later, as she followed him discreetly home, Lauren came upon Jepp parked on the roadside, unloading his jack. Getting out of her own car, she mentioned absent-mindedly that he should get a newer one. "How does that thing keep running?" When he didn't respond, she knew she'd poked his eye. It was another reminder, another judgment of his status and value. She wanted to apologize, but knew that would only make it worse.

Instead, Lauren grabbed the jack, making some explanation that she needed practice changing tires. Jepp helped her only slightly, amazed at her brisk energy, how adept she was with the tire iron, popping off bolts. Finished in about five minutes, she stood at the trunk replacing - in perfect order - the car jack with all its accoutrements. With her legs shown off in shameless cutoffs, Jepp was mesmerized by their length and golden tone, especially by the sheen behind her knees.




Looking Glass Rose



Finishing up, she returned to her car, and he followed, mumbling thanks. She leaned across her seat and asked suddenly if he wanted to grab a burger. He waited a moment. She watched him closely. As he leaned at the window, he seemed to vibrate with energy, she thought - although nothing moved. Lauren realized she herself was a little excited; this was the first time they'd spent together in... Who knows how long?

They dropped off his car at the house and she drove to a place on a cliff above the coast. Once in, seated, ordered and facing each other over Formica, the words began to choke off again. Out of the blue, to break the tension, she asked him if she should cut her hair. He chuckled and shook his head.

"I'd like us to be close again, Jepp," Lauren said. "We're almost adults."

This time he nodded. "I've wondered how we ever got so far away." Seeing discomfort in her, that she recognized her own part in pulling away, he said, "It's complicated. Maybe we were too close as kids. Maybe it's because of what happened then, being twins, all the hassle."

"We couldn't be TOO close, Jepp. There's no way that could happen," she said emphatically.

For a split second, he thought she was about to cry. Jepp wanted to tell her how he felt. It occurred to him to tell her, right then that he sometimes felt about her in ways he shouldn't. He never could admit that to himself before, much less her. Of that, he dared not speak. She looked at him with sympathetic eyes, searching in him for something she could heal, comfort. 

"It's complicated." he repeated, shrugging. He knew he must've looked pretty uneasy, and was relieved when his cell phone rang to take him outside. Through the glass, Lauren could see him leaning forward when he spoke, punching the air with his forefinger. Every movement was fired with angry tension. She knew he was having an argument. And she knew it was with Dena.

After awhile, he steamed back inside.

"Jepp, if you need to go, I'm fine," she said soothingly. "Are you OK?"

"Don't feel sorry for me," he suddenly shot at her.

Lauren felt anger rush to her face in a flush. She was furious, not so much at his assumption of her pity as his expectation of it, that he saw himself as pitiable to anyone. More than anything else, she wanted to kick him in the ass and tell him he could do anything he wanted, anything he set his mind to do. Lauren felt she saw promise there that was invisible to him, but he sounded like a hopeless cause.

"I don't feel sorry for you, Jepp," she said, her eyes cold now. 

"I'm not you."

"Oh, I know that. You don't have time for hokey stuff like getting an education and earning a good living. You're an artist. ...Very romantic. Who's the blueprint this week? Leonard Cohen? Want to live in a garret in Paris with rats?"

"I don't have to live on Wall Street with Citibank and thieves. I don't need to be a winner and grind everyone else to powder."

"You don't have to hurt people to achieve something for yourself, Jepp."

"You sound like mom."

"I knew you were angry." she said, sitting back in the booth. "You're angry at everything. Mom's right, you're lazy and this was a mistake."

Lauren threw down her napkin and got up to leave. He suddenly reached out and took her hand. The contact startled both of them. 

"Wait."

"Would you rather I went back to stone? ...To ignoring you?"

Jepp shook his head.

"Sit down a moment, sis," he said quietly. "Please. People are looking."

Lauren sat again, her eyes darting around the room. "I don't care who's looking," she lied.

A waitress approached. "Can I get you folks anything?"

"We're fine," Jepp said quickly. Lauren covered her eyes. It was all she could to keep from biting someone's head off. 

"Lovers' quarrel?" the waitress asked with maternal friendliness.

"No!" Lauren and Jepp practically yelled, in perfect unison, enough for the waitress to jump back in surprise.

Lauren rose quickly. "I'm sorry," she said. "We've just gotten some bad news. We didn't mean to shout." 

The waitress nodded in uncertain acknowledgement and walked away. Lauren and Jepp looked at each other and burst into laughter. Then Lauren reached out and squeezed his hand.

"I don't feel sorry for you, Jepp. I think you beat yourself up a lot. This is going to sound like bullshit, but I'm very proud to have you as a brother."

Although his first inclination was to wave off this kind of testimonial, when he looked up her expression stopped him. Lauren peered intently at him. Jepp looked down at her hand as it gripped his.

"Thanks, sis, I mean that." He looked down again. Jepp snatched the bill and they walked to her car. On the way home that night, Lauren thought she saw tears on his face in the oncoming car lights. When she turned into the driveway, and they got out, she expected Jepp to leave in his car and patch up the quarrel with Dena. And everything else they do when they're together. Instead, he followed her to the door.

"I thought you were going somewhere."

"Where?"

"I'm sorry, Jepp. I just assumed that was Dena on the phone."

"I told her I wouldn't be able to see her tonight."

"She was angry. So were you," Lauren said, and when he looked puzzled she added. "I saw you through the window. I know a telefight when I see one."

"Yeah. She'll get over it. It's OK."

They went inside and watched a crummy horror movie together, Jepp's running commentary was more fun than lines the absurd script put in unfortunate actors' mouths. Absently, as they munched popcorn and laughed, they snuggled together. The polished knobs of Lauren's knees were upright just below their view, then they were bent against Jepp, and occasionally found their way into his lap. Jepp stifled the electricity that ran through him every time they did, and both of them did everything they could to appear unfazed by the closeness.

Lauren began to realize, somewhere between an hysterical local car commercial and the monster's devastation of Las Vegas, that Jepp had broken off seeing Dena because he wanted to spend the evening with her. When she snuggled closer to him, he looked down at her face. She didn't dare look back.

In the hallway, as they approached their bedroom doors, Lauren said, "I'm glad you spent the evening with me, Jepp."

"Me, too," he answered. They didn't say goodnight for fear something in their voices might betray what they were feeling.

Lauren walked to her bathroom and looked in her mirror. She was thinking about what her friend Judy said about Jepp's girlfriend, that Dena resembled him. "I know he's your brother, but that's some kind of ego." Lauren responded by asking Judy if she and Jane had been comparing notes, and wondered just how many of her friends were putting her family on their study-hall therapists' couch. Lauren let it go, because she knew Judy had such a bust-out crush on Jepp, but it was true. They did look alike. Dena was darker, with lustrous black hair, but in her face was something of Jepp's mirror image.

"...and mine," Lauren said, staring at her face in the mirror. She'd known for some time her feelings for Jepp were deeper than they should be. It's pure ego, she thought. He's my mirror image, that's all. That's why I want... she hesitated. That's why I want him. 

Down the hall, Jepp finally heard the door to her bedroom close. He stared at the ceiling, envying her boyfriends, wondering what they felt when they slept with her. How she felt. How she tasted. He licked his forearm. "We're from the same womb," he told the ceiling fan, "Roommates, even." Salty skin. Hers would be sweeter. And slowly he drifted off to sleep.

The next day, Lauren returned from the tennis court, and tossed her racquet on her bed. She began to take pins from her hair and shake it loose. Lauren walked to her dresser mirror and stared again at her reflection. Brushing her cheek with her fingertips, she silently regarded her face. She knew she was beautiful, and wondered if people who weren't could imagine what a drag it could be. She'd become accustomed to mean words and hostility from others convinced she needed to be humbled, brought down to earth. Even worse, unwanted, gibbering lust had become repellent; she couldn't believe there was a time she'd smiled and indulged it, flattered at leering attention. She shuddered a moment.

She narrowed her eyes and continued her looking-glass conversation from the night before, telling herself, in her mom's voice, "It's masturbating - playing with yourself" ...Then finished with a Wizard of Oz witch's cackle. She looked long in the glass. "...Making love to him." When she said the words, she could see a change in her face, in her expression. Her eyes stared into space and she disappeared.

Pulling her top over her head, she strolled to her window and looked out to see Jepp lolling in the backyard. Splayed out on the grass, on his towel, she recalled how he'd look in his bed when they were children. Sometimes she awoke to see him just this way, like a tight coil inside him had sprung loose. Even as a child, she would pull the covers up over him and kiss him gently on the head. She smiled at him, the big lug, and curled the hair at her ear around a finger.

Outside, Jepp enjoyed the day. He loved this time of year, and he was in the perfect spot - shaded, but with enough diffuse sunlight through a thin spray of leaves to allow a slow cook. The day was very warm, and the sun seemed very close to him, a breath away. Even still, there was a hint of coolness in the background, as if the season hadn't yet taken hold. Blooms were just out. Vinegary calycanthus in an aroma tussle with sweet honeysuckle gave the backyard a winery smell.

The screen squeaked open and then banged shut. Jepp looked up to see Lauren crossing the yard. Directly across their tiny, kidney-shaped pool, she unrolled her towel and busied herself with all the stuff with which girls find a way to busy themselves. Jepp looked at her sandals and thought, amused, that there were few girls who could walk so gracefully in flip-flops.

"Y'know. You are a girlie-girl," he said.

She looked at him and smiled. "Proud of it," she said, strolling around the pool to his side. She wore a simple, sleeveless blouse - saffron - that dropped just to the tops of her thighs. Jepp fixated on her wonderful pair of legs; he tried to come up with descriptive better than shapely and lustrous, but that's just... what they were. Must be the heels. Only Lauren could find flip-flops with heels like that. Her tan was just there - not too deep, honey colored. Her cheeks, knees and elbows, just about any prominence from her body, had mesmerizing pinkish hue atop the brown. On each side of her hips, thin cords dangled and teased from under her shirt hem.

Lauren returned to her side of the pool and ruffled through her bag. Her appetizingly bare limbs, the languid pool and thick vineyard air lent the afternoon a restless bacchanal anticipation. At least it stirred Jepp; he let a long column of air burble through his lips to relieve his unsettled tension.

Shaking a bottle of lotion, Lauren crossed back to Jepp. She raised her shades and looked around. "Almost hot," she said.

"Been hottah," Jepp replied in an Old MacDonald voice.

"Bet you wouldn't have any spare tanning lotion, hombre," Lauren said. 

"Trade you," he said, holding out the bottle. "It's yours if you spread some on my back."

"Deal."

Jepp rolled on his back as she knelt beside him. He heard the gurgle of the lotion as she squeezed some into her palm. At the first touch of her hands, he felt tension run out of him. And he felt the smooth skin of her thigh against his trunk. Would the sensation be so delicious, he wondered, arousal heating in him, if Lauren weren't so beautiful, if her legs weren't so graceful and there wasn't that inviting sheen behind her knees? ...If her youthful gloss didn't soak through her? Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder, he thought to himself.

"What?", she asked softly.

Jepp looked back at her.

"You mumbled something," she continued. "Sounded like 'holder'... Or 'hold her'.

"I said 'hold it' right there, you just hit a real sore spot. Up a little. Yeah... right there," Jepp said quickly. "You're good at this."

"Mom gave rubdowns in the Navy. It runs in the family."

Jepp remembered mom's stories and smiled. Photos showing her in uniform, standing with endearing pride before a too-patriotic backdrop were a source of much amusement between the two of them a million years ago. Mom was very spic and span. And pretty.

Pressing her palms into the skin of his back, Lauren wondered how her brother had become so... angular. She was impressed with his lean muscle layout in the architecture of flesh and bone. Deciding she could do this all day, she leaned down close over him, careful not to tickle him with her hair. She could smell the cocoa butter burning into him; she wanted to pour herself there, and shook off the thought.

Jepp could feel her very close. Occasionally, her breath would buffet his skin and he stifled the urge to wiggle. He didn't want her to become self-conscious. He didn't want her to move away. The little grunting noises she made as she kneaded his flesh were particularly charming, and he could feel them vibrate through her hands.

As soon as the thought entered his head he acted on it to overcome wisdom with speed - and he spun around on his back. Lauren almost collapsed on top of him and she gasped shyly. Their faces were inches apart. Lauren smiled, and when he didn't return it, hers melted. They froze there a moment, very still. From the corner of his eye, Jepp could discern her armpit, exposed by her blouse; in its sultry nakedness, it seemed an intimate place of delicate privacy. They felt each other's breath, and Jepp thought hers very sweet.

Lauren brushed her hair back and slowly sat upright, feeling as if she'd slipped on a banana peel in a crowded church. She started to say something and stopped, still staring at Jepp, locked on his eyes. He can see I'm flustered, she thought to herself, and wondered how he felt about that.

Jepp thought of making some excuse. I startled her, he thought. She'll leave now, miffed at my stupid pranks. He cursed the moment soundlessly. His whole gambit was designed to kiss her, but a shaft of fear shot him down in the last split-second. He rolled back on his stomach, unwilling to see her go. I won't apologize, he thought. I'm not sorry.

Waiting for isolation to creep around him, Jepp buried his eyes in his folded arms. Then he heard a rustling nearby. Fabric. Then there was a tug on his towel. A heft of gentle weight grounded itself beside him. He knew she was several inches away, lying next to him. 

In glacial movement, imperceptible, he turned his head in micrometers just enough for his most proximate eye to bring her into view. Once in place, with his chin on a forearm blazing with the sun, he cocked that somewhat pained eye her way.

Lauren was on her back, face skyward, and her blouse was gone. Now his arousal came in spasms, so strong he feared she could see them rattle through him. She spread languidly before him, almost naked, one knee slightly bent. Tan lines striping her lower hips were slightly wider than the thin strings now holding together what was barely swimsuit, and glared in contrast to the rest of her. Never in recent years had Jepp seen her so close to naked. He wondered if she'd done it for him. As she breathed, he watched in awe, almost envy, as her chest and round breasts rose and fell, trailing a slight ripple down the delicate mound of her belly.

Wondering if it was merely her imagination, and disappointed if that were so, Lauren thought she could feel his gaze. Was she beautiful to him? Did he want her? Could he see she was as rigid as pine board, and her loll was theater, an uneasy impersonation of relaxed drape? The bikini underlined her near-nakedness, and that was her intention. Its strings on her skin made her feel vulnerable, and she found that beguiling.

At the point suspense was becoming painful, Jepp rolled to his side and she to hers at the same time. Facing each other, they spoke simultaneously, the tone of their voices striking a jolting chord.

"Why don't we..."

"I have an idea..."

They choked off their words for an instant and then burst into laughter. Lauren picked up a tube of zinc oxide and dabbed a white spot on his nose. Jepp took off his shades to see himself in his mirrored shades. "Ah... très pimp."

"Very Ronald McDonald, Bozo."

"Glad you don't have a pie."

Replacing the opaque shades, he shamelessly ogled her. Her lissome body arched out to him, her smooth torso quivered when she laughed. Jepp thought she'd never been so close, so near-tactile. The globes of her breasts, glossy smooth, were edged with crescent folds of skin as they rested sideways against her chest; a pronounced midline ran down her trunk from throat to pubis, punctured arrestingly by her gently gaping scoop of navel. He wanted to press her to him, to embrace her in a dangerous squeeze and feel her warmth.

"I'll miss you," Jepp said.

Her eyes narrowed. "Am I disappearing?" Then she got it. "Oh... this fall. It's not even Easter yet. We've got time." The last sentence was said with a tenderness she didn't see coming.

"How many scholarships did you get anyway?" he said quickly, to lighten the moment.

"I can only go to one."

"...Business, right?"

"You think I'm such a nerd, don't you?

"You're too sexy to be a nerd." Damn it. He gritted his teeth. It just popped out of him.

That stopped them both. Their smiles faded.

In a low voice she didn't intend, Lauren said, "Thanks." What was with her vocal cords today? "I'll miss you, too, Jepp." The softness in her voice just wouldn't leave. 

They looked at each other, deep in the eyes, for a long time.

"We've been together quite awhile," she said.

"Shootin' the tube," Jepp answered. And they smiled again.

"It isn't even Easter yet," she repeated, and they faked laughter at the redundancy, pointing at each other. Tension was building; small talk was more difficult and they both knew it.

In pantomime of luxuriating in the warmth, Lauren said. "Isn't Southern California wonderful?" She stretched her body, unable to keep from proffering it to him. She wanted, desperately, for him to touch her, and she didn't care if he knew. Out of nowhere, tears welled up in her eyes. Her belly ached and she wanted to bend forward to relieve it, but she strained to keep it bowed out to him, yearning for him to kiss her there, kiss her neck and nipples. "Hay fever," she said, swallowing, and wiped her eyes.

She suddenly couldn't stand her reflection in his mirrored shades. To do something, anything, she suddenly reached up and pulled off his sunglasses, saying, "All I see is me in there." 

"We're twins. What's the difference?"

She smiled. The dimples showed at the edges of her mouth.

"Now I can't stare at you," he said, this time deliberately.

She started a little - almost imperceptibly, and involuntarily toward him. Still smiling, she asked, "Were you?"

"You're very beautiful, Lauren," he said.

She again stopped smiling. Self-conscious, Lauren squirmed a little. To break the spell, to keep from sobbing outright, she said in a shaky breath, "That's ego. Remember, we're twins. You're looking at yourself." She wiped her tears away.

"Sometimes it doesn't feel that way," he says.

She stared at him. Her voice was very quiet. "I know." 

"What are you thinking?" he asked after awhile.

"You know," she said.

He leaned forward. She trembled and began to say "we shouldn't". In the last few inches between them, they crushed themselves together, their mouths melting in contact. She made a high-pitched squealing noise through her nose as the tension broke in her, and rubbed her mouth into his. Both of them felt the sudden release, as if their bodies, so coiled, suddenly sprang loose.




Looking Glass Rose



Jepp pressed his body into her and her into his. Reaching around to the back of her head, he cupped it tenderly in his hand and eased her onto her back. As he lay atop her, holding his weight on his elbows and knees, she arched her back, rubbing her belly against him and sighing coos in his mouth. Her lips widened and they played thickly with their tongues. In that moment, neither of them had tasted anything so sweet.

Rising and lowering himself on her body, Jepp planted his lips on the sensitive recess of her navel and kissed deeply. Lauren shuddered and pressed her belly up to him, opening herself to the insistent thrusts of his rough tongue. A jolt hot and cold ran the length of her to curl forward her big toes, so strongly she winced in pain.

Crawling back up her, planting strong kisses along the way, he found her mouth again and they locked. Jepp felt her smile under his lips and her hands barged into his swimsuit, grasping his dick and rubbing in tenderly. He popped free of her mouth and bit at the corded knot holding together the triangles of her bra; pulling it loose with a snap of his head, her breasts popped into view and she gasped and hissed in mock outrage. The nipple bobbed a moment before he began licking it and finally covering it with his mouth to suck deeply. Lauren wanted milk to shoot into him. She pulled at his dick with one hand while another entwined itself in his hair. Jolts of sensation shot through her from the connection devouring her nipple.

Jepp rose, just high enough to let his fingers trail down Lauren's midline to her bikini bottom and slip inside. A finger found her slit now covered in lava. She yanked a tie on her bottom and it fell away; he began pulsating the tip of his finger on the button of her clitoris. Lauren's hand left his trunks with one last squeeze on the head of his dick, and, like the other one, stretched out to grasp the towel at the end of her reach. She moaned deeply with each sensation of his touch, first vibrating, and then running the length of his finger across the spot.

As Lauren began to quiver, Jepp increased the pressure slightly. Then, there was a bang at the driveway. The gate! They looked to see their mother's shadow walking along the garage pathway - just moments from their sightline. 

Lauren leaped into the spa beside the pool, flipping on the blower for camouflage. The jet of bubbles almost blew her off her feet and she gasped, stumbling. Jepp covered with a towel the bikini bottom that had slipped off her. Mom waved from the corner of the garage just as Lauren let out a long shuddering moan through clenched teeth; Jepp realized sudden immersion in warm, bubbling water had pitched her over the edge, and she'd climaxed.

"What's wrong, honey?" her mom asked, approaching with concern.

"...Nothing, mom. Water's a little hot. Oooo."

Their mom squatted in front of Lauren and held her cheek. "Are you sure you're OK?"

She could only nod, avoiding mom's eyes.

"You look so frazzled, Lauren."

Jepp bounded to his feet. "Let me help you with those groceries, mom." And off they went to the house.

Lauren looked at herself in the bobbing water of the spa a long time.

"Boy," she said quietly. "Oh, boy..."

They avoided contact the rest of the day and evening. They couldn't even glance in each other's direction. They communed only once, during dinner, when their father was pontificating about injustice of water-rate boosts that could cause cutbackn care. Jepp cleared his throat, held up a straight forefinger, and after daintily dabbing his mouth with a napkin, said, "We tempt shame of same when we aim to defame." ...And Lauren sprayed a mouthful of asparagus across the table.

After an agonizing interval alone in his room that night, Jepp heard a soft knock on the door and bounded up to open it. Lauren came in quickly, inadvertently heading toward his bed before making a sharp turn to the window seat. She stood there and looked at him.

Right then, she realized it was stupid, stupid, stupid to wear only a T-shirt for this moment. Something foolish and weak within her made her do it, and she lashed herself for it. The thin fabric clung like tape to her erect nipples. She dared not look down. Lauren crossed her arms to cover herself, realized it was obvious and very lame, and dropped them again. The damn thing gripped the sensitive nubbins like a horny middle-schooler, practically presenting them to him.

"Jepp we can't do this," she said, then amended it. "We can't do this again."

"OK." His voice was stone dead.

Lauren sat on the window seat, pulling at the bottom hem of her T-shirt demurely. It barely covered her. Those legs again, Jepp thought.

"Don't you agree?" She couldn't have been more officious if she was clicking through a PowerPoint presentation on an irrigation project. Jepp scratched his head, crossing to her. He tried not to smile at her businesslike act; he must do nothing to make her angry, to drive her away. ...The smell of her wafting behind her stride through his room, the way she looked right now. He couldn't let this go. Not now. It would kill him.

He sat beside her. "That's not what you want, Lauren."

"You can read my mind?" she shot back.

"It's not what I want," he said very seriously.

"It doesn't matter, Jepp. This isn't right and we're stopped... We've stopped. We..."

Jepp reached up and brushed a lock of hair from her face. Her eyes blazed a moment.

"Don't make fun of me, Jepp."

"I'm not."

They looked at each other a long time. Lauren blinked repeatedly, trying to meet his steady gaze. "Jepp, I can't do this alone," she pleaded. Her eyes were wet and her voice quavered. Very slowly, he reached his hand toward her and placed it on her knee. She jolted and closed her eyes. Shaking her head, she begged in a soft whisper, "Please... Jepp." 

"The only way to stop this is leave."

Her head dropped. "You know I can't," she replied. Jepp put a crooked finger under her chin and brought her up to face him. He leaned closer and she gently put her hand on his shoulder, unable to push him away. Jepp felt her leg trembling. She shut her eyes. He kissed the meat of her upper arm, just below her sleeve. "Oh, Jepp," she whispered in a shaky sigh, as he let his mouth open in wet warmth on her fresh skin. Jepp rose slowly to her face, then to her lips, as she moaned out the last moments of resistance.

Then their lips met and she pressed her mouth to his. He thought her lips aflame. They kissed hours, their heads rotating side to side to cover every micrometer of tender flesh, to feel every burning sensation. She made cooing sounds of pleasure as they clung together, their spit and breaths boiling hotter.

Jepp's hand moved to the underside of her thigh. It was warm and moist, irresistibly soft - Updike's 'smack-warm'. In tremors, she put her hand to his cheek, gently cupping his face. He began stroking inside her thigh in even movements, building a gentle warmth in friction, moving tantalizingly higher with each course. Lauren shook in his grip. Finally, his fingertips grazed her pubic patch at its most delicate spot, and she bucked in spasm. He let his forefinger play along the lips of her vagina, now slick in wetness and heat.

Bending down, he kissed her knee. Her head rocked back, she gasped softly for air. In one movement, he dropped to his knees and spread his mouth on the warm flesh of her thigh, working from top to tender inner skin, sucking and licking. Lauren eased back to rest her back against the window seat and spread her legs wider to give him entree. As he neared the point of her genital triangle, Jepp's sucking became stronger and more insistent. She began to fear his mouth would be too strong on her most delicate anatomy. 

Suddenly, his mouth closed over her vagina and she jolted; a brief squeal erupted from her and she muffled it with her knuckles while her other hand gripped his hair. But Jepp's mouth just stuck there, immobile, tender, blazing on her flesh. There was no pain, just circuits of heat that ran from his mouth up into her belly. His tongue ran up and down the opening of her lips, then Jepp opened his mouth wider and drank her in; she was sour and fragrant, and her tangy juice covered his lips. The light pungency of women was familiar to Jepp, by now, but his sister was different. She had a sweet back to her flavor and he couldn't get enough of her messy excitement.

Finding the button at the top of her furrow, Jepp probed it with the tip of his tongue, each connection wringing a shudder from Lauren. His eye looked upward and he saw a heaving landscape still covered by T-shirt. It rippled before him, topped by foothills of breast and Lauren's chin rocking between them. Illumination from outside cast it in blurry illusion, a blanch-white earthquake in slow motion. After a good licking, he cupped his mouth over it and gently sucked, occasionally raking the tongue across its tip.

Lauren felt molten flow rising from within her, surfacing on the moist skin of her abdomen, then up, bursting through her umbilical knot, through her stomach, finally spreading across her chest in an inverted triangle of searing rash. She knew it wouldn't take long. Her belly began to spasm, and Jett looked up to see her geography rippling faster, like a flag in a gust. Lauren felt her insides give way and a rush of heat blossomed like a fireball in her belly. Groaning loudly and irresistibly, she bucked against him, and Jepp locked his mouth on her.

Finally, her thrashes subsided and she lay back, spent, breathing heavily. Jett rose, taking her hands, and brought her up to him in a kiss. He slipped off her T-shirt, lifting it from her hips and finally off arms she'd already raised. Naked, she pressed herself against her brother and he embraced her warmly. She eased away a moment, and bending over, jerked his boxers to the floor. He pulled her back to him and she stood a moment allowing him to tongue her mouth; they both reveled in naked sensation. She squashed her breasts against him. In moments, their contact was boiling in sweat, making easier fevered grinding of their bodies. Lauren undulated herself into him with every thrust of his tongue, then entwined his neck with her arms and waist with her legs in one, graceful movement.

Jepp turned to the bed and lowered her atop it on her back, never breaking contact with her until they'd both settled on the sheet. Then Jepp let the tip of his dick find the warm wetness soaking her pubic hair, and pushed the long penis inside her. A squeal escaped through Lauren's nose and she broke away for a long, shuttering moan as Jepp ran his dick deep, finally resting at stretched ceiling of her channel. Jepp cupped her face in his hands as she made little sounds of alarm and pleasure, a pleading tone in them. Then he began fucking her.

Her head rocked from side to side and she continued arching her midsection into him, its rippling driving him crazy. Occasionally her back would collapse in a tremble after particularly deep thrusts into her. His mouth worked on her neck, sucking strongly, then returned to her mouth. He was drunk on her heaving gasps, her pulsating desire, each time he coursed into her belly.

After only a few strokes, he stopped. She opened her eyes, and her head stopped rocking. Trembling, she asked him with her eyes what was wrong. "Hold on," he said. "...Too soon." He winced, straining. Lauren tried her best to freeze all movement. She nuzzled her forehead against Jepp's chin to give him encouragement. Then, he began feeling Lauren's vaginal walls twitching involuntarily against his penis. It was driving him out of his mind with excitement. He tried to hold on, but rivers must flow. He began stroking her with all his might, hoping he could bring her at least close before eruption. Lauren's eyes widened and then popped with each ram against the very limit of her tender organs.

In only a few strokes, Lauren again felt the heat running in her. She closed her eyes and began another high-pitched wail that Jepp covered with his mouth. She bucked again and Jepp felt warmth flood over his dick, and then his explosion came. He clamped himself to her and their teeth bumped in an almost painful moment as the two of them shook through a long, convulsive orgasm. A moist pool now coated the bed under Lauren's bottom and it felt very good, evidence of her raw heat.

They became quiet in slow, pulsating, moments. They spent long time pressed into each other, an occasional jolt still breaking through them. They kissed deeply, and they could feel major veins thumping in tight contact of their bellies.

Finally, Jepp rolled off her. After a moment or two, they giggled. Then they talked about how wonderful each of them felt in words they'd never used to other partners. After a pause, Lauren asked Jepp if he believed in God. He said there must be something out there. She asked if he ever considered religion, and he answered that it was best left unconsidered. Finally, he said whatever force controls the universe is like the equator. It has no physical presence, no beginning or end, but it's there.

Jepp rolled over and looked at Lauren; she stared at the ceiling, looking anxious. So he began rubbing her belly again. He licked and sucked each of her breasts, then mounted her. The air rushed out of her at his deep penetration and he began again to stoke her.

"Yes," she sighed softly.

Then, a sound down the hall and both of them froze. It was from their mom's room – her door. They heard her footsteps in the hall and a knock at Lauren's door. Mom softly called out her name, and then the footsteps continued. Still enmeshed, they listened intently, hearing mom stop at Jepp's door. "Locked?" Lauren soundlessly mouthed. At Jepp's sheepish look, she shot him an exasperated dagger.

Then the footsteps moved back up the hall. Mom's door closed again.

Lauren looked at Jepp and smiled; they both let out a burst of muffled chuckle. Then Lauren's vagina began a jolting spasm he could feel, and she glanced at Jepp with a look of alarm. Suddenly, she came again, and he covered her mouth to smother what would have been a loud squeal. The puddle under her widened and now Jepp could feel it.

Feeling his depth inside her, Lauren realized he hadn't come and, still spindled, she rolled him over until she was atop him, straddling him. She began thrusting up and down. "I'll take care of you," she said with a devilish grin, and ran her hand down his cheek. It excited her to see him on bottom, mindless with arousal, his own head rocking back and forth. She rubbed his chest and bent down to suck his nipples, she pressed her thumbs into him and was delighted to discover his navel was as erotically sensitive as her own, so she mercilessly explored him.

Jepp reached up and pulled her down to kiss. His hips rose from the bed and now he controlled the pumping. As the depth and rhythm increased, her arms weakened and he rolled over atop her. Jepp began his "deep stroke" action, holding himself just above her so they were contacted only by penis and engorged vagina. His thrusts came faster. Then Lauren felt something give inside, and she froze again, wincing. Jepp instantly stopped and cradled her. When she looked at him pleadingly, he withdrew slowly. As he did so, underneath him, she let out a low gasping groan, as if he was pulling a long arrow from her belly.

When he was lying beside her, she put her hand over her vagina and pushed her fingers inside, then looked at them. Scared, Jepp thought: Is she checking for blood? Did I hurt her? Studying her hand and seeing it was clear, though soaked, she breathed a little sigh of relief. Lauren put her arms around Jepp's neck and kissed him. "Hit that spot again, cowboy," she said in gentle command. He sank his dick back into her and she struggled to contain him, again and again, until they erupted once more.

They would make each other come a few more times before falling asleep. When Jepp awoke, he was alone. He stared for a moment at the ceiling as early-morning birds began to waken in their sweet cacophony of chirp-songs.

He tried to draw a mental diagram of exactly how much trouble they were in.