4 comments/ 4873 views/ 1 favorites The Mirror Ch. 01 By: ringerosie Michael was very inexperienced when I first met him. He was only 23 and only ever been with 2 girls, so his sexual needs may never have really been fulfilled. Although we talked about his conquests, I could tell he was very nervous and wanted to show himself as a man and a lover. So the things he was telling me may well have been a slight over-exaggeration. I had only met Michael by accident. I'd heard about him, but never met him. In fact, I was led to believe that he was not a nice person, pretty ordinary in appearance and a bit of a 'user'. Of course, all that information came from his ex, who, by the way, was happy to let him drive her here, there and everywhere as she didn't have a car. So it was very fateful when she began an affair with my husband and soon decided to brag to Michael about sleeping with a married man. He'd heard a lot about me too and so decided to come and tell me, apparently thinking he was doing the right thing, even though he'd never met me before. One night after he dropped her at my house, he waited till he saw them drive off, then came back and knocked on the door. The funny thing was that when I opened the door, there was no need for an introduction, I knew exactly who he was. He fumbled for words initially but eventually told me that he thought I needed to know. I explained to him that I already knew and that I allowed it to happen as there was no sexual satisfaction between my husband and I and hadn't been for years. He seemed surprised and asked why, before he even realized these words had been spoken. I laughed and tried to put him at ease. I was 12 years older than him and I'd had my fair share of lovers but wasn't sure how much to tell him about my life and how it all worked. So I told him the bases of our relationship was that if it was good for one, then it was good for the other. With his eyes wide open, he asked 'so you are allowed to sleep with whoever you want?' I smiled and replied 'basically, yes'. He then looked me in the eye and asked if I would sleep with him. To which I burst into laughter, embarrassing him even more. I'm still not sure if he meant for those words to escape his lips, but they released without warning. 'I'm so sorry' I said, still smiling and giggling like a child. 'This was just so sudden, I was not expecting you to ask me that question, we are strangers'. He apologized but said he just got caught up in the moment and the thought of sleeping with an older woman was such a turn on. And he considered it would be especially nice if the feelings were returned. I told him things don't always happen that quickly and suggested we put the kettle on and discuss this over a cup of coffee. As we got up from our seats to head for the kitchen, we heard a fairly loud buzzing sound and with a couple of flickers, the lights went out. I headed for the light switch and tried to turn them on, but that wasn't working. Michael headed for the window and peeling the curtains back, showed me into the dark of the street, where not even a street light was on. I reached for the phone to ring the power company, to find that without power, I had no phone. We both burst into hysterical laughter as I reached for my mobile. I rang the number for the power company, only to hear a recorded message saying that the power was out in several suburbs, mine was one of them. The air was a little lighter now and remembering that the stove was gas, we could still have that coffee. So we ventured out to the kitchen, lit the gas and put the kettle on. Now, I must point out here, that Michael was not as I thought. He did not appear to be any of the things that I'd been told he was and I realized that I had pre-judged him unfairly. Thinking that I was not going to like him if and when I ever met him appeared as a foregone conclusion, but it now seemed otherwise. I liked the look of him, his youth, his body and especially his deep blue eyes and his eagerness appealed to me. Michael seemed like a genuine person, actually concerned for me and what he thought I was going through. The thought of him wanting to sleep with me was a real turn on for me, his age, in fact his whole demeanour and the sliver of light coming through the kitchen window, compliments of the moon, appeared to add to the naked gas flame as if it was setting the mood even more. I decided that I wanted to do this. Michael was not really a stranger as I'd been hearing about him for almost 6 months and now I began to wonder what the real reason was really like. Perhaps she knew I would be interested, but didn't want to share him. Perhaps she really did still have a hold on him and didn't want that changed. Well, that was all bad luck as I had now, very quickly, made up my mind. I had the chance to seduce this eager young man and decided to give it a go. Michael and I were standing on opposite sides of the cooking area of my kitchen, around a metre away from each other. We were both leaning against opposite benches with folded arms. I wanted to see the expression on his face so I asked him straight out 'so, are you really interested in sleeping with me or did you only ask to see my reaction?' He looked a little surprised but managed to get a few words out 'I would really like that' he said. I walked the couple of steps to where he was standing and offered him my lips. It was like he was expecting me and he arms unfolded ready to take me. As he took my offer, I pressed my body against his and as I felt his lips against mine, I teased his open mouth, running my tongue along the inside of his lips. I could feel him harden against me as his excitement rose. I realized by the intensity he showed when he kissed me again, that I already had my answer. I reached over and turned off the gas, took him by the hand and led him to the bedroom. He had no clue where he was going as he couldn't see in the dark, so he followed me closely. We entered the bedroom and I moved him ahead of me and reached back to close the door. The last thing I wanted was for them to come home and us be in a compromising situation. We had an unwritten rule that if the door was closed, then you don't go in without knocking first. I took his hands and slid down to his wrists, placing his open palms on each of my breasts, letting him feel the fullness of them through my shirt. As his hands and fingers moved over my breasts, I reached around and undid my bra, the unbuttoning my shirt, I slide it off my shoulders, Michael moving his hands slightly to allow it to expose my breasts. His eyes were glued and widening as I exposed my upper body to him. I used my foot to push open the wardrobe door, showing a full length mirror and as I turned to face it, I told him to take my straps down. His trembling fingers slid under the shoulder straps and he pulled them down my arms until my bra fell from my body. I took his hands from behind me and cupped a breast with each of his hands, using his forefinger and thumb to gently pinch each nipple. I looked into the mirror and could see his hands on me, with him looking over my shoulder, not realizing the mirror was reflecting what he was doing. Using my foot, I turned it slightly to catch the feint light that was coming from the night. It caught his eye and he raised his face to see his hands and fingers supporting my breasts and I heard him moan. 'This is so nice to watch' he said. I let him watch for a few minutes before I turned again, facing him, letting his hands rest on my back. There was no resistance or hesitation as I began to unbutton his shirt and remove it. Nor was there any resistance or hesitation, as he kicked off his shoes and let me remove his track pants. But as I put my hand on his growing member, so wanting to remove it from the restriction of his underwear, he stopped me, putting his hand on mine. And making some very slight movements and sounds of his own, I realized he was done. I put my arms around him and snuggled against his chest, feeling his heart pounding. No words were spoken for what seemed like an hour. We just stood there, holding each other. I suddenly realized this was a very awkward moment as he was left with a mess inside his underwear, his clothes thrown around the room and me, almost still fully dressed. I looked up at him and smiled, trying to relax him a little. I spoke quietly so as not to ruin the moment. 'You know something?' I enquired. 'No' he said, sounding quite embarrassed. 'Well, I am happy to think that the thought', I hesitated as I spoke, ensuring that I chose my words well, 'and the thought alone, of being intimate with me, excites you so much that you expressed it the way you have'. He was very nervous and still unsure of what I meant. So I explained that I was actually a little flattered that the excitement of the thought of sleeping with me got to him so much. It showed me that I obviously did something for him and that pleased me. I also told him that we could try again, if he was interested. 'Name the time and place' he responded as he reached down to let his lips further express how much he was looking forward to this. I left him alone, directing him to the bathroom and toilet and went back to put the kettle back on. Within a few minutes he joined me and we made the coffee. The subject of our conversation over the next hour jumped from one topic to another as I began to plan our next meeting in my mind. We began to build a new friendship, one that I both treasured and nurtured for almost a year. The Mirror Ch. 01 Chapter 1: James just can't help himself -- he's a sucker for girls' and women's feet. Twenty-one-year-old James Noble was happily spending his evening where he spent most of his evenings: over at Debbie's, his twenty-year-old girlfriend. The couple had been going steady for almost three months now. Well, reasonably steady ... considering James's all-consuming passion: his foot fetish. Not that Debbie was complaining -- because she certainly wasn't. Debbie loved it that James loved her feet. She loved the foot rubs ... and much, much more. She loved it that she could so easily stir him up so much, with her foot teasing. That she could so easily ... light his fire. But James's uncontrollable obsession -- that went back as far as he could remember, he'd told Debbie -- was prone to landing him in hot water. Sometimes, resulting in a highly unpleasant experience, not only for himself, but also for anyone else who might be with him at the time ... latterly, Debbie. James and Debbie were in the living room, sitting on the sofa and watching a TV show. Debbie was sitting to James's left and, her back comfortably supported with cushions, she had kicked off her comfy flats -- her pair of black, years'-old, extremely well-worn and supple ones that she only wore about the house now -- and was sitting length-wise, with her bare feet in James's ever accommodating lap. James was repeatedly tracing his fingertips along the bare sole of Debbie's right foot; from the bottom of her heel, to the ball of her foot, to the bottom of her heel ... over and over. Debbie had told him she found his various attentions, his ... ministrations, both pleasant and relaxing. Also in the living room, was Debbie's thirty-six-year-old mum, Doris. Doris owned the 3-bedroom, semi-detached house in south-west London, not far from Wimbledon. And her daughter, who was struggling, on her modest salary as a pharmacy assistant to save up enough money for a deposit on a flat, was still living with her. Doris was very fond of James. She thought he was a nice boy, and he certainly seemed devoted to her Debbie. In fact, he and Debbie seemed to be made for each other; had hit it off, right from the get-go. And he certainly wouldn't do a runner, as Debbie's father had, as soon as Doris had told him she was pregnant. No -- Doris knew that James would be thrilled to pieces. But ... why did there always have to be a fly in the ointment? she thought. Doris was of the opinion that James's ... predilection for girls' and women's feet, was way out of hand. And that he should do something about it -- and soon, before he had a real disaster. Doris said that James's "problem" was probably all down to some faulty gene, or something like that. A glitch in his biological circuitry. But, she'd said, where there is a will, there is a way. Maybe James's GP could refer him to some sort of counsellor. Or even to a hypnotist, as outlandish as that might sound. Or, as a last resort, maybe put him on some sort of medication, some kind of ... mind-altering substance. Trouble was: James didn't have the will. And anyway, Debbie wouldn't hear of it, either. She'd kicked each of her mum's well-intentioned suggestions right into the long grass. Debbie thought she'd found the perfect man -- her Mr Right. Debbie was a very sexy, and sex-loving young woman. She loved all of the feet-based foreplay ... and the hot and passionate sex that invariably resulted from it; resulted from her saucily ratcheting up James's desire to fever-pitch levels, making him crazy for her. And she didn't want to go jeopardising all of that, by having her James put on some sort of medication, as her mum kept on suggesting. Some kind of ... inhibitor. Debbie understood, that James's foot fetish was ingrained. Understood, that it was too inherent; too much a part of who he was, to go meddling with the balance of his psychological make-up. Understood, that it was ... intrinsic. Debbie and her mum, with their blue eyes and blonde hair, were strikingly similar in appearance. In fact, when James had first met Doris, he'd assumed that she was Debbie's older sister -- her eyes, just as sparkling, her hair, just as lustrous, her figure, just as (well, almost) well-toned -- until Debbie had revealed the amazing truth, when she'd introduced Doris as her mum. What was almost as amazing, to James, was that Doris was still a single mum. But this was because, when the sixteen-year-old Doris had told Debbie's father that she was pregnant, he'd made a sharp exit, disappearing faster than fumes from an exhaust pipe, never to be seen or heard of again. And after that, even though she'd received several offers of marriage, Doris had declined each of her besotted suitors' proposals, choosing instead to remain single. On TV, was the 'Domestic Goddess', Nigella Lawson. She was in her kitchen, creating yet another of her to-die-for, awesome chocolaty confections -- and looking good enough to eat, herself. But James wasn't paying much attention to Nigella's cookery programme. And it was no wonder ... What, with the highly agreeable distraction of Debbie's bare feet in his lap: watching the lovely long toes of her right foot, scrunching and splaying in response to his fingertip strokes; and feeling the toe pads of her left foot repeatedly stroking his sensitive inner thigh, sending wave after wave of sensual shivers through his whole body ... how could he? Also diminishing James's ability to concentrate on the sultry Domestic Goddess's culinary pronouncements, was Debbie's look-alike mum, Doris. Just beside James, Doris was sitting in the armchair to the right of the sofa and, with her feet propped up on her squishy dark red leather footstool, ankles crossed, one of her mule slippers was slap-slap-slapping against the bottom of her bare heel. Upon her noticing James's ... divided attentions, Debbie raised her right leg, and gently placed the ball of her bare foot upon James's left cheek, firmly pressing her toe pads against the side of his forehead. And, to James, Debbie's toe pads were like five electrodes, connecting directly to ultra sensitive receptors in his brain. Plugged into his neural pathways, her toe pads seemed to emit a mild, regulated charge, that was like a gently pulsating, 'brainwashing' electric current. James closed his eyes, in ecstasy at the exquisite sensation. And, just as Debbie knew he would, James turned his face to his left, facing towards her ... and facing the sole of her bewitching bare foot. With her toe pads, Debbie played with James's lips; pressing and probing, and pulling and tugging, before finally cupping his nose in her long toes. And, just as Debbie knew he would, James moaned softly, in his lustful pleasure at inhaling her intoxicating, in-between-the-toes foot scent. "Ah, Debbie, Debbie," moaned James, quickly getting carried away. "I'm ... oh god, oh god, I'm ... I'm—" "Er ... I hear you are in trouble again at work, James," said Doris, breaking the spell, and snapping James back into the here and now. "I don't suppose you've mentioned it to Deborah though, have you? Julia was telling me all about it. Haven't you got any control over yourself at all, James? I mean ... really!" Julia, was Julia Carson. She was a long-time friend of Doris, and their friendship went back to their high school days. And she was Julia Carson, of Julia Carson & Associates. A small firm of south London insurance brokers, at which James was the only male member of staff. And, a little over two months ago, it was only as a special, for-old-times'-sake favour to Doris, that Julia had taken the then unemployed James on as a junior member of staff -- he knew about as much about insurance, as the Man in the Moon. In fact, Julia Carson had created a new, minimum-wage (she couldn't justify paying more -- at least, not as a starting salary), menial position to accommodate James on her staff. James's duties would entail performing the simplest and most mundane of office chores. And to make the tea, keep the office clean and tidy, and to run errands for Julia and her office girls. In other words: to be at the beck and call of all of his female colleagues -- their general dogsbody and gopher. James would earn his corn, by freeing up some of Julia's office girls' valuable time, thereby increasing their productivity ... At least, that had been Julia Carson's thinking. But Miss Carson had already given James numerous 'final warnings', and she was now fast approaching the absolute limit of her tolerance with him. And the only reason that James was still hanging on to his job by the skin of his teeth, was because she was loath to risk upsetting her long and valued friendship with Doris ... by sacking her old friend's daughter's boyfriend. But the clock was ticking, for James. James's problem was that he was too easily distracted, in the open-plan office. He found his work as dull as dishwater. But nonetheless, he spent far too much time, watching the absentminded, under-the-seat shoe-playing antics of his black leather office pump, dark pantyhose wearing, female colleagues ... and far too little time, getting any work done. The slightest of under-the-seat movements, would attract James's ever-alert eyes, and the faintest ruffle of dark pantyhose feet, toying with leather pumps, would reach his finely tuned ears. Debbie was very grateful to her mum, for managing to wangle an unlikely job for her boyfriend at Julia Carson & Associates. Really, she was. But she didn't want to hear it, not now -- not again! "Aw, Mum! Leave James alone. I'll -- I'll talk to him, okay?" said Debbie, removing her teasing bare foot (unplugging her five electrodes) from James's face, and returning it to his (now steeply-tented) lap. "Oh, you'll talk to him. You'll talk to him, will you? And what good, Deborah, do you think that will do -- when you are always encouraging him? Look! Even now, you're still ..." "Oh! Come on, James," said Debbie, swinging her feet to the floor. "Let's go to the pub. I need a drink!" "You might need a drink. But it's treatment, that James needs, Deborah. Treatment!" Debbie slipped her bare feet into a newish pair of flats, and grabbed her handbag. "We won't need our coats, James -- it's warm out," she said. "Debbie, couldn't you ask Mr Marsden, at work, if he knows of any ... nullifying drug, that might help James? I mean, he's a pharmacist, so maybe—" "I'll see you later, Mum," said Debbie, as she leaned over the back of Doris's armchair and gave her an affectionate peck on the cheek. "I won't be late, Mum." "Er ... I'll maybe see you tomorrow then, Mrs Morris," said James. He still couldn't bring himself to call her Doris ... he wouldn't dare. "All right, James. See you tomorrow, love," replied Doris. "Come on then, James," said Debbie, taking hold of his elbow, and steering him towards the door. Out on the street, walking to the pub, James said, "How come you were so keen to go out, Debs? We could have stayed in, and had a glass of wine with your mum." "Because I wanted a chance to talk to you, about Mum ... about her birthday, in two weeks' time? And we could hardly talk about that, right in front of her, could we?" * * * It was Friday night, and the Cock and Bull was busy. Debbie and James were lucky though -- another young couple were vacating a table just as they were coming in. Debbie sent James to the bar, and she sat at the circular-shaped table, waiting for him. The young couple who'd just vacated the table had left a copy of the local newspaper behind, and Debbie picked it up, turning to the classified advertisements pages. The bar counter was crowded with Friday-night drinkers; the end-of-the-working-week crowd, either propping up the bar, or sitting upon the high, chrome, red leather topped bar stools. James spotted a small gap, between two young women perched upon bar stools, and he squeezed himself into it. On the bar counter in front of the two young women were half-pint glasses of lager, almost empty. They were both stunning, Beauty-Queen gorgeous, thought James, when they both turned to ... assess him, as he invaded the small space between them. The two beauties were a couple of years or so older than him, thought James, at maybe twenty-four or twenty-five. And they both had blue eyes, and blonde, shoulder-length hair, that was of a similar shade to that of Debbie and Doris's. Added to that, they both had the beautifully tanned, curvy, gym-toned figures of glamour models, that he'd found hard to look away from as he'd approached the small gap at the bar between them ... especially, as they were both wearing flip flops. James then felt himself blushing furiously, under their combined, frank regard. Under their ... appraisal. James, with a £10 note in his hand, vied to catch the eye of the rushed-off-her-feet, brunette, and busty barmaid ... who then gave him a don't-hold-your-breath look on her way to the row of optics with two glasses, her flip flops slap-slap-slapping against her bare heels in a busy-busy-busy sounding rhythm, en route. The stunning blonde to James's right -- her friend and herself having now finished their drinks -- then took a £10 note from her handbag ... but she made no attempt to attract the barmaid's attention. And then James's eyes almost popped out of his head, when the barmaid, who James thought couldn't be any taller than about 5' 4", reached right up on tiptoes to push the rims of the two glasses into the adjacent vodka and dark rum optics. It was a lovely sight: the skin of the barmaid's arches, stretched taut and smooth; her heels, round and prominent. As the vodka and dark rum were being dispensed into the two glasses, the barmaid looked over her shoulder ... and then frowned, upon her seeing where James's avid gaze was being directed. And then, upon her noticing that the stunning blonde to James's right was holding out a £10 note, she distractedly acknowledged her, "I'll -- I'll be with you ... in a sec, Sharon." "Don't worry, Joan. There's no rush, sweetie," replied Sharon. After she'd served the drinks and put the takings in the till, Joan the barmaid came over and, after giving James a funny look, said, "Same again, Shaz -- two halves of Stella?" "Make it two Bacardi and Cokes, please, Joan," replied Sharon. "Oh, and grab us a couple of bags of crisps, too. Cheese and onion flavour, for Jennifer, and prawn cocktail flavour for—" "Um ... I think I was first," interrupted James ... And then wished he'd kept his mouth shut. Joan the barmaid, who James thought was maybe twenty-five, gave James a bleak look, and the stunning blondes on either side of him -- Jennifer and Sharon -- turned their gazes on him again ... and they didn't look very happy with him, either. And as Joan the barmaid walked over to the Bacardi optic, to James's ear, the slap-slap-slapping sound of her flip flops against her bare heels now seemed to have an ... angry, quality to it. When Joan the barmaid had served the two Bacardi & Cokes, put Sharon's £10 note in the till and given her her change, neutral-voiced, she then addressed James. "Right then, what can I get you?" "A pint of Stella, and a glass of dry white wine, please," replied James. At hearing the dry white wine part of James's drinks order, Jennifer and Sharon half-spun around on their bar stools to see who the glass of wine was for, and they saw Debbie, sitting with her back to them, and engrossed in reading something in the left-behind local newspaper. Joan the barmaid reached up, and grabbed a wineglass from the overhead rack, and then reached down, and grabbed a bottle of dry white House wine from the under-the-counter chiller cabinet. She poured out the glass of dry white wine, and placed it on the bar counter in front of James. Then, when she was pouring James's pint of Stella, the stunning blonde to his right, Sharon, said, "So ... what's with the flip flops tonight, Joan? What happened to your new shoes, those awesome red pumps?" Joan the barmaid's face contorted, as though at painfully remembered, fresh-in-the-mind agonies, and she stopped pouring James's Stella, mid-pint. She slipped her right foot from her flip flop, and raised her leg up behind her, displaying her rather angry-red looking bare sole. "See here, Shaz, Jen," she said, pointing to the back of her heel, "they've been rubbing the hell out of my heels ... And, see here, and here," she said, pointing to the ball of her foot, and to the bottom of her heel, that were also the same sore-looking, pinkish-red colour, "they've been crippling me," she complained. "And it certainly doesn't help, that Janice has been off sick." Sharon and Jennifer tut-tutted, and made the appropriate sympathetic noises. "My other foot's the same, look ... I'll wear the red pumps again, on a quieter night," she said, as she resumed pouring James's pint of lager. Well! That was certainly an unexpected treat, thought James. Joan the barmaid certainly had a lovely pair of shapely, dainty feet ... And he'd certainly love to rub lotion into her hard-working, tired and achy soles, after one of her hard night slogs behind the busy Cock & Bull's bar, he thought, as he brought the drinks over to the table where Debbie was waiting for him. He took a seat opposite her, facing towards the bar. "You took your sweet time. Where have you been, James -- to Bordeaux, to press the grapes? Ah, the lengths you will go to for me ... such devotion," said Debbie teasingly. "Oh! Ha ha! Very funny, Debs. I was lucky to get served this quickly ... And, anyway, I would walk to the ends of the earth for you, Debs, you know that ... What's that you're reading, anyway -- the local rag?" "Yes. I'm reading through the classifieds -- you know, the items for sale section. You just never know what you'll see in there." James picked up his pint of Stella, looking forward to that first, ice-cold, nothing-else-like-it, ultra refreshing gulp of lager ... but it didn't reach his lips. For James's eyes had been drawn, as though by some kind of magnetic pull, and become fixated upon the captivating, awesome sight directly in front of him. The two stunning blondes, perched upon their bar stools, had both let their thin-rubber flip flops -- Jennifer's, pink, and Sharon's, yellow -- fall from their feet, to the floor. And both of them were displaying their bare soles, albeit at a rather acute angle, as they hooked their toes around their bar stool's chrome, rounded stretcher bar. And then Joan the barmaid, seemingly having a quiet minute between serving customers, came over and started chatting to her two drop-dead-gorgeous friends ... And then James's hand actually began to shake; the lager in his glass spilling over the rim, so that he had to put it back on the table. Because Jennifer and Sharon, who were now engaged in an animated conversation with Joan the barmaid, were leaning slightly forward on their bar stools and, for counterbalance, they had both put their feet behind their bar stool's rounded stretcher bar ... totally exposing, to James, the bare soles of their suntanned, shapely feet. The soles of Jennifer and Sharon's bare feet were slightly grimy, from wearing their flip flops all day, assumed James. And, as they chatted with Joan the barmaid, James avidly watched Jennifer and Sharon's toes, as they variously scrunched, splayed, and wiggled, in apparent accordance with the differing stimuli of their lively conversation ... of their girl-talk. And the two stunning blondes' sexy soles show was quickly becoming too much, for James. "You know it's Mum's birthday in two weeks' time, James," said Debbie, obliging James to tear his eyes away from the super-sexy antics of the two stunning blondes' beautiful bare soles. "Have you decided on a present yet? This is your chance to really get into her good books. I know you think Mum has got a bit of a downer on you, because she's always going on about your ... well, you know, 'problem'. But Mum likes you, James. Really, she does. She says you are Noble by name, and noble by nature." The Mirror Ch. 01 "Did she really say that, Debs? That really means a lot to me ... But no, I've been thinking and thinking, but I haven't decided on a present yet. I want to buy her something unusual, not just boring old, run-of-the-mill flowers and chocolates -- although I'll probably give her those as well. No, I want to give her something that's, you know, not only useful and long-lasting, but a bit ... off-the-wall, as well. Something that, whenever she looks at it, it'll remind her of me." "Hmm ... very thoughtful, James, I'm sure," replied Debbie dryly. "Well, maybe I've found just the thing, James -- here, in the classifieds. It's a mirror. But not just any old mirror -- although it's certainly old. An antique piece, in fact." Debbie rummaged in her handbag, found a Biro, and circled the item. "Here. Have a read, James, and see what you think," she said, passing the twice-folded newspaper across. Debbie watched James's face as he read the item. She thought she'd stumbled upon just the right thing, and she was hoping James would think so, too. "Debs, this is just the right thing!" exclaimed James. "Seventeenth-century artefact, it says here, and in remarkable condition ... Wait a minute, though. This price must be a misprint, mustn't it? Only twenty-five pounds, for something like that? Besides, it's probably been sold by now -- this is yesterday's paper." "It isn't. It is. And it's not," replied Debbie, rather cryptically. "What?" said James, his face contorting in incomprehension. "It isn't a misprint. The mirror is, only twenty-five pounds. And it's not been sold yet," Debbie elucidated. "I phoned the contact number on my mobile while you were at the bar. Actually, James, it was all rather odd ... The lady who answered said she's still got the mirror, and that she can't wait to be rid of the damn thing -- not that there is anything wrong with it, 'as such', she'd hastened to add. 'As such', she'd said ... whatever that's supposed to mean. In fact, she said if we can come and look at the mirror tomorrow, she'll let you have it for just twenty pounds." "Well, that's brilliant, Debs! It's Saturday tomorrow, we're both not working ... that's settled, then! Looks like I've found your mum's birthday present, Debs." "Yes, James," agreed Debbie. "I can't help wondering, though, why the lady is so keen to get rid of it. I mean, after all, it's just a mirror ... isn't it?" * * * "I'll have a look at the entertainments page, shall I, James, see what's on at the cinema tomorrow?" Debbie suggested. "Yeah, okay, Debs," said James, returning to his own idea of entertainment: watching the exciting antics of the two stunning blondes' sexy feet. And Joan the barmaid, apparently having another quiet minute, had just stopped to chat to them again. Oh, and Jennifer and Sharon's feet were certainly worth watching, thought James -- talk about entertainment value! Still resting behind their bar stool's chrome, all-the-way-around, rounded stretcher bar, their gorgeous bare soles were still being displayed, totally exposed, to James. Unconsciously, Jennifer and Sharon were pushing his buttons ... If only they knew! And oh, what awesome soles, they both had! Lightly suntanned, and shapely, with nice, generous arches, longish toes, prominent heels ... sexy as all hell! Eye-candy, at its finest. And, the fact that their soles -- their heels, the balls of their feet, and the pads of their toes -- were slightly begrimed, from a mixture of work-a-day dirt and sweat, only served to enhance James's rising excitement. His growing ... arousal. But then, Joan the barmaid, chatting to Jennifer and Sharon at the bar, and positioned in between them, happened to look past them ... and she saw the look on James's face. She beheld his dreamy expression. An expression that seemed, at the same time, to be both unfocused, and yet sharply focused. Joan the barmaid saw where James's avid, unfocused/sharply-focused gaze was being directed ... and frowned. Upon their seeing Joan the barmaid's frown, Jennifer and Sharon looked over their shoulders, to where her gaze was being directed ... and they also frowned. But, so totally engrossed, was James, and so oblivious was he, to the fact that his voyeurism had been well and truly rumbled, that he continued to stare ... and stare ... and stare. Until something made him look up ... and James saw three pairs of indignant eyes, looking right back at him. Glaring. "Had a good eyeful, have you, eh?" shouted Joan the barmaid, loud enough to stop conversations, and attract the attention of everyone in the Cock & Bull ... including Debbie, a look of oh-no-not-again dread, immediately clouding her lovely features. "I thought he'd been looking at my feet, earlier!" said Joan the barmaid, hotly. "At first, I thought I must be mistaken ... well, you would, wouldn't you? But now I've caught him staring at your feet, too!" she informed Jennifer and Sharon -- and all the rest of the Cock & Bull's Friday-night drinkers. Joan the barmaid's flip flops went slap-slap-slap-slap in rapid fire as, face flushed in umbrage, she marched to the end of the bar counter. She lifted the flap (that allowed access to the customer side of the bar), latched it open, and stormed over to James and Debbie's table. Looming over James, her ample bust on a level with his now bright-red face, she demanded of him, "What's your game, then? Eh? I mean, what's with you? Can you give me one good reason why I shouldn't ban you?" James had no answer. Shamefaced, he looked into the amber depths of his as yet untouched pint of Stella ... he couldn't bring himself to look at the mortified Debbie. The two stunning blondes, Jennifer and Sharon, slipped down from their high bar stool perches. They slipped their feet into their flip flops, and joined Joan the barmaid, standing to either side of her at Debbie and James's table. "So ... what have you got to say for yourself, then? Don't you know, that it's rude to stare?" said Jennifer, who then drew back her arm, and administered her summary punishment: a sharp, resounding slap to James's left cheek. "Yes. How dare you?" demanded Sharon, who then also drew back her arm, and delivered an equally stinging slap, to James's right cheek. At first, the patrons of the Cock & Bull were stunned into a near, hear-a-pin-drop silence, broken only by a few females' gasps, ranging from surprise to shock, by the no-nonsense, retributive actions of the two stunning blondes. And then some of the tipsy tipplers started to giggle. And the more inebriated drinkers, to laugh, and wolf-whistle, and clap their hands delightedly. Debbie looked at James's stricken face. She watched stark white imprints of Jennifer and Sharon's hands appearing, superimposed upon his otherwise bright red cheeks, and she wished that the proverbial hole in the ground would swallow her up. But, worse was to come ... Joan the barmaid, performing the coup de grace, picked up James's still untouched pint of lager, and she slowly poured the entire, almost ice-cold contents over his head. "There ... Maybe now, you'll learn some manners!" she told him. And now the Cock & Bull erupted. Erupted into a bedlam of giggles, delighted laughs, wolf-whistles, approving and appreciative hand-clapping, and drunken shouts of encouragement, urging Joan the barmaid and the two stunning blondes to further and yet more severe comeuppances, for the caught-red-handed, denounced and disgraced voyeur. Debbie had seen enough, heard enough ... and had enough. She abruptly stood up, grabbed hold of James's shirt collar, and dragged him up and out of his chair. "Come on," she said through gritted teeth. "We're going." Out on the street, and once out of earshot of the uproarious commotion in the pub, James said dejectedly, "Your mum is right about me, Debbie. You should give me the boot." "Ooh, don't tempt me! I know where I'd like to kick you -- right at this moment! And, I keep telling you: Mum doesn't say that about you, James. She just thinks you need to seek treatment, that's all. And, well ... maybe she's right, James. Don't ... don't you think? After tonight? Maybe it's for the best. I mean, maybe there is, something you could take. Something your GP could prescribe. To, you know ... take the edge off." When James made no reply, Debbie sighed and said, "Come on. Walk me home, James." As he saw Debbie safely home, not for the first time, James wondered what it was that Debbie saw in him. Why did she stick with him, through thick and thin? Through rough and smooth. Through rain and shine ... When there was so much thin, and so little smooth, and she was always getting douched on. Any other girl, he thought, would have dumped him well before now -- him, and his "problem". "I'll see you tomorrow then, James," said Debbie, giving him a decidedly chaste peck on the cheek, as she let herself into the house. With a great, inward sigh, James told himself that the best thing he could do now, was to get home to his flat. Take a shower, and have an early night. Tomorrow, was another day. Tomorrow, he had a mirror to buy. * The Mirror continues, in chapter 2. The Mirror Ch. 01 Author's Notes: Hello and welcome to a new series of stories. If you have read my other series and are wondering why I haven't been working on that series, well... I just haven't had the time for a new chapter. The idea of this set of stories came to me in a dream and I took bits of borrowed time over a couple weeks to write up the first chapter. The Mirror Ch. 01 Many thanks to you all for the response to my last posting of Greg's Mum. This is dedicated to Alice B, your love and appreciation is reciprocated. ***** I smiled to myself as I heard my mother call, "Donny, would you come here for a moment please? I'm in the bath." Normally she had a shower, but recently had started to have a bath, mostly when my father was on night shift. As I entered Mum was sitting with her knees drawn up trying to cover her breasts. I say trying to, because they were quite frankly, large, all of the women in her family had big breasts, but even in this exalted company, she stood out. Her breasts were known as her, 'magnificents.' It may be that it's because she's my mum and every boy is in love with their mother, but I think that for the rest of my life, I'll always see her body shape of flat stomach and large breasts as being perfect. She didn't work out at all, this was just her natural build. "Yeah Ma what's up?" I didn't really need to ask as we had the same conversation every time that she'd called me into the bathroom recently. "Can you wash my back for me please love, your Dad's at work and I can't reach, when you've washed it can you just scrub it a bit with the loofah, not too hard, just enough to get the blood going please?" I'd done this several times recently, and always when Dad was on night shift, I saw nothing in it until I realised that she never asked me to do it when he was home, and I'd been waiting to see if she'd call me this week. She had called, and on the very first night he wasn't there. I wondered what her thoughts were, and if I could push the boundaries a bit and challenge her, just for the fun of it of course. I got the soap, worked up a good lather in my hands and started to wash her back working in an all around motion, straying just a little bit onto the side of her breast, the action could be seen as perhaps an accident due to their enormous size. I held my breath as I continued with the circular motion once again running my hand down the side of her right breast. There was no acknowledgment from her that anything untoward had happened. I ran my hand wide again almost pushing it between her breast and her arm, nothing was said so I did it again, and then again. She must've known what I was doing but chose to ignore it every time. As I'd done most others nights previously, I dropped the soap so that it went down behind her. Also as I'd done previously and without thinking about the consequences, I plunged my hand under the water searching for the soap but quite openly running my hand across her bum. It was obvious to both of us what I was doing, she let it go for a while and then said, "I'll get it," however to do so she had to move her right hand under the water behind her, and twist her body so that her magnificent right breast was now fully exposed. She appeared not to notice, or care, and even when she handed me the soap her breast was still on view. She didn't engage eye contact, I thought that that was significant as she knew that she was on show but took no action to cover her breast, or try to catch me looking at it, which I of course was. As soon as I had the soap back, I again worked up a good lather and went back to moving in wide circles, not always touching her breast but doing so every second time or so, still she said nothing. Eventually I thought I should stop and I got the loofah, pressing it against her back, quite softly at first but increasing it a little, and then a little bit more until Mum started to push back against me, whilst arching her shoulders. The net effect of this was that both her breasts were no longer contained against her knees, but were almost on display. As she pushed harder against my pressure, I reduced it slightly so that she had to push more to get the feeling that she wanted, and her breasts became even more on show. I thought that she must have known, but she said nothing. Eventually however she called out, "ok, ok that's enough, enough already, my back's starting to hurt." I had to stop looking at her breasts because they were now back to being at least partially hidden against her knees. I was shocked as I looked down at her back, it was very red, "sorry Mum I pressed a bit hard, I didn't realise." "No it's ok, I stopped when I wanted to, is it red?" "Just a bit, not to bad," I lied. "Ok it's stinging a bit but it should be all right, I guess." I poured several hands full of water over her back but it was still redder than it should've been. In the past I'd then gone out of the room and left her to enjoy her soak, but for this time I'd planned ahead and thought out a couple of topics that I could discuss with her. I sat on the floor and started to ask her advice about a nonexistent problem that I had. She started to answer, and then realising that as I was now on the floor and below the level of the bath, she could lay right back, so that the only part of her that I could see as we talked, was her face. The conversation, as many do, moved into other directions and she seemed quite comfortable to be lying there naked talking with her son as if that was quite normal. I let her move the conversation in any direction that she wanted, and she seemed happy to talk. That was ok with me, as this was what I'd wanted to happen. When out of the corner of my eye I caught a movement to my left. My father had hung a mirror on a hook on the wall at the end of the bath, so that he could shave whilst under the shower, and the mirror had slipped around so that it wasn't facing where it should have, but was hanging down at an angle, and the movement that had caught my eye in the reflection was my mother, as she settled further into the bath. What had grabbed my attention was that I was now able to see her pubic area, and as she had her knees parted slightly I could see her very clearly indeed. As I watched I saw her hand come down and rest over it. She continued talking as normal, I found it hard to know where to look, at her, or the mirror. By looking almost, but not quite directly at her, I was able to see the mirror out of the corner of my eye. Peripheral vision is a wonderful thing. Now her other hand came into view, slipped between her legs and spread her lips wide, not only could I see the movement of her hand as she gently rubbed herself, I could also hear as the water lapped against the side of the bath caused by that rubbing. She had no awareness of the noise, she was talking and teasing herself at the same time, and as all of her senses were occupied, she just didn't hear it. Mind you, if I hadn't been able to see the mirror, I wouldn't have known what the noise was anyway. This went on for a couple of minutes when as she was speaking, and on an impulse, as many things in life are, I got up quickly, moved to the side of the bath and said, "we have to get you out of there, you've been in for ages, and you'll end up like a prune." She had no time to move anything other than her hands, and was totally exposed, as she said "eerr, ah well, aarr, umm, son, I'm aahhh, not sure about this, I'm your mum and I'm not sure I should be with you...you know, like this." "Come on you'll be cold I'll get a towel and dry you". I said, ignoring her protestations. I threw the towel over my shoulder and bending down pulled out the plug, then took both of her hands in mine to lift her out. All the time I was talking about how she'd look like a prune, how cold she'd be, anything to prevent her from getting a word in to try to stop me. With an unsure look on her face she just did as I asked, as she'd no idea what to do or how to handle it, and then there she was, standing naked in front of me, with water dripping from a large bush of pubic hair and both of her long brown nipples. Her 'magnificents' were hanging there right in front of me, enormous, pure white and shining beautifully, coated in water. I didn't even try not to look at them openly, I just stared. "Truly magnificent, Jesus Ma, you're not bad for forty five, all of the other mums of your age are fat, odd shapes and sizes, or all of the above, but you are indeed truly magnificent." I murmured as if to myself. She just stood there rooted to the spot. "Stay there I'll get the mat," as I bent down to put it on the floor I raised my eyes slightly and had a wonderful view between her thighs which showed me that her lips were out, wide open, and obviously wet, touching yourself does that for a woman. Standing up I took both of her hands in mine, moving backwards, so that she had to lift her leg over the side and step out, or fall over. There she was stark naked and still dripping wet. I got the towel in my hands, "turn around I'll do your back first." She turned without a sound and I dried her back, I was still talking, rambling on about everything and nothing, I worked my way down to her bum and then skipped all the way to her feet to start working my way back up her legs. As I did her feet, my face was only inches away from her bottom and the view between her legs was as clear as day, everything could again be seen, especially her lips which were still swollen and hanging down. I took my time doing her feet. This was going better that I could've hoped, in fact I'd originally had no plan other than to see how often I could get my hand onto her breast. This far hadn't even been in my thinking, but you can't look a gift horse in the mouth as they say, so I pressed on. Now I was working inside her thighs and moving upwards, taking my time as if this was quite normal. Soon I had the top of my hand, covered by the towel of course, hard up against her lips. I moved my hand as if drying her but then moved it away leaving the towel stuck between her thighs and pressed against her. Mum hadn't said anything now for at least two minutes and seemed to be frozen into her uncertainty. I was now the one with the problem, what to do, how far to go, how far would she let me go. What would the repercussions of this be, now, or if it got out of hand, and of course how far was I prepared to let it go? Questions, questions, questions, I didn't have the answers in fact I didn't even understand the questions my head was spinning so much. I was ready to stop with the towel the instant that she showed any signs of being uncomfortable , but deciding to push on, I left the towel between her legs, and using her hips, turned her around to face me. Getting another towel I stood up and looking straight into her eyes dried her face and shoulders, her arms and hands and then quite openly, her breasts which required both hands attention as I couldn't contain them in one. I made sure to work her nipples as much as I could. By now she had a really weird look in her eyes, and had remained silent for a long time, I felt that she wasn't really that comfortable with what was happening, but was unsure of how to retake control of the situation.. After her breasts, I moved down her stomach and then her legs, all the way down to her toes, leaving her 'sex central' with the towel jammed against it to the very last. Then standing fully upright. I threw the second towel over my shoulder, looked straight at her, and then without breaking eye contact, ran the back of my hand slowly down her stomach, across her pubic hair, rubbing it twice, before slipping my fingers into the towel jammed between her legs, and pulled it very, very slowly upwards, so that it dragged along her already swollen lips. She gasped and bit her bottom lip, her eyes were still wild and she trembled noticeably. I held eye contact with her for several seconds more before dropping the towel at her feet. Taking the other towel from my shoulder I started to dry those swollen lips which was impossible because the more I 'dried' them, the wetter they became. I was still looking deep into eyes, "please," she said softly in a strained and trembling voice. I'd been waiting for a sign that she wanted me to stop and thought that this was it, so I stood up, and after putting the towel around her shoulders, walked her to her bedroom door, making sure to get a full view of her rear as she walked. "Nice, very nice," I murmured as if to myself, but loud enough for her to hear clearly. We got to her bedroom door, where she seemed to be in a state of shock, turning around she said, "thank you" in that very low soft voice and before she could close the door behind her, I repeated, "nice, very nice." She sort of nodded at me with her eyes blinking and going everywhere, and then without saying another word, closed the door silently. I moved to her door to listen, and soon heard the first of her six climaxes for the evening, she must've had her face in the pillow as the sound was muffled, but she could still be heard, it's very difficult to disguise that sound. When she went off for the sixth time it was very loud, and the head of her bed banged hard against the wall, so that even with her face in the pillow, I think that I would have heard it in my bedroom. Dad came home at 6:00am as usual whilst I was in the shower, Mum was still in bed. He went into the shower as I came out, and after exchanging a few words with me, went to bed. Mum never surfaced and I think she may have given him a fair work over, as when I went to work at 7:00am they were still in bed. Nothing was said when I got home, mum was normal, in fact both she and Dad were laughing at something that only they knew about, I guessed they must've stayed in bed long after I'd gone to work. Almost as soon as Dad went to work that night Mum headed for the bathroom, called me in, and we went through the same procedure as the previous night. Right up to the point that I again pulled the towel up across her vagina, she was trembling, as I thought she was anticipating it, and so after pulling the towel for only a small distance, I stopped, looked into her eyes, and then recommenced pulling it very, very slowly. She responded by blinking her eyes, licking her lips, with her breath coming in short rasping bursts. As soon as the towel was clear of her, in a voice of authority I said, "Bedtime." She nodded meekly and walked naked to her door, I stood there watching and as she got to the door, she turned to me as I again said softly, "nice, very nice indeed." She had no idea what to say, gave me a weak smile and closed her door behind me. I hung up the towels' moved to my room and lay on my bed as we both ended our nights in the same manner, my thoughts of the previous night were correct, that even with her face in her pillow, I could hear her cries of pleasure, and the bed head banging. This of course heightened my arousal. When I came home from work the next night her eyes were twinkling and she gave me the warmest smile. But before she had time to say anything I told her, "no dinner for me tonight Mum, I forgot to tell you, I'm playing squash with Jimmy, and I'll get something to eat at the courts. The smile went totally from her face to be replaced by disappointment and before she had the time to work out a reply I was on the way to my room to change. I had a shower at the courts after we'd finished playing and when I arrived home at 11:30, I thought at first that I saw a light in the house, but when I got inside, the place was in total darkness. I always sleep naked and as I slipped into bed, the normal feeling of shock as the cool sheets hit me wasn't there. In fact my bed was warm, I got out and drew back the sheets, as I did it allowed the unmistakable scent of a woman to rise to my nostrils. If I was in any doubt about who'd been in there until only a few moments ago a very small, faint wet spot gave up its secret to my touch, to my nose and then to my tongue. My mother had been masturbating in my bed and may have even fallen asleep to be woken up by my homecoming. It was interesting to ponder what would have happened if she hadn't woken up in time. The next night was the last he was to have on nights for three weeks so I again waited for the call and sure enough it came. "Donny." I ignored it until she called a second time, I didn't answer but walked to the door, I knocked and walked in at the same time, without waiting. Mum must've heard me coming as she was starting to sit up, she turned to me, "can you do my back please but not as hard with the loofah as the other time, it was sore all the next day?" She'd only lifted her knees about a half the way up, so from the start her breasts were mostly on show and she had a smile on her face and her eyes were alive. She knew exactly what she was doing, and I knew what she was doing also, she was using me to get her horny for Dad when he came home. But that's ok two can play that game, besides, I now had a plan. Last year I heard Mum say to her friend Lois, that he thought that all she needed was for him to have a stiff dick, and about a month later I heard Dad telling his mate Kevin how highly sexed Mum was, and that all he had to do was touch her and she fired up, "like an old 427." At the moment I was pissed off at him as he'd put a large scratch in the side of my car whilst putting the mower away. He'd refused to pay for it telling me to claim on my insurance, this was the latest in a number of 'fuck you,' moments in the last year. To be frank he'd become a real pain in the arse for some time now. Since I'd been working full time, he seemed to think that he had to show me that it was still his house, and he could do as he wanted, so the thought of me getting Mum ready for him got right up my nose, but I now had a plan to get even. If it worked, it would be my 'fuck you,' moment to him. "Right," I said to her, "I can do that without any trouble Ma, lean forward," as I got the soap. She did so but didn't bring her knees up any further so her breasts were still on show, which I was sure that she was aware of. The other nights had either set the standard for what was acceptable, or given us a baseline from which we could start to move the boundaries outwards. I thought she was more about the former, and I about the latter. Let's see who's the stronger, did I intend to have sex with her? Hell yes, that was the plan, but not tonight, I'd wanted her to become comfortable with me in the bathroom with her naked first, and we'd accomplished that quickly. I wouldn't even try to get into her tonight, but who knows what the future held if I played my cards correctly? I soaped up my hands and used them to massage the muscles around her shoulders and neck and then down her spine to the water line, I paused for a moment before continuing on, so that soon I was massaging her arse, she made no comment or move to stop me, and I hadn't even had to drop the soap this time. The bath was the old type in the centre of the wall, with a shower curtain around the end that I could push out of the way, and get to the end of it, to be right behind her. In this position I could run my hands up her sides all the way to her armpits, obviously cupping the sides of her breasts as I did. My fingers and thumbs were massaging as they went, so that if she commented I could claim to have misjudged the distance, but she said nothing. and after three runs my hands came around the front, and ran up her stomach stopping just as the tops of my thumbs touched the bottoms of her breasts. What I was doing was asking her permission to touch them, or giving her the option of saying stop, but nothing was said. So I moved all the way around and cupped both her breasts for about five, maybe even ten seconds, I squeezed and bounced them in my hands as I'd seen my mother do to test cantaloupes in the supermarket many times, the difference was of course that these 'cantaloupes' had nipples which my thumbs and forefingers sought out, I squeezed them quite hard, and then without any sincerity at all said, "sorry Mum," removed my hands, got the loofah and started to work it on her back. The Mirror Ch. 01 "Not as hard as before, remember the other time was too hard." Was that all she had to say? I'd just cupped her breasts in my hands squeezed her nipples several times, and, nothing was said, nothing at all. The other nights had not only set a minimum standard, but had opened the door fully for me to access more of her body. Touching her private parts with my hand in a towel was one thing which could maybe have been explained away as accidental, but bare hands working on bare breasts and nipples, were there going to be any boundaries at all? She must have believed that at the moment of truth she would still be in charge enough to say no, we were going to see about that, but not tonight. I of course had a plan. She didn't push back quite as hard this time which allowed me to work not only her back, but also the area of her body between her arms all the way up, making sure that the sides of her breasts were included, and then as her skin started to go a little red I moved the loofah around the front and several times ran it firmly over her nipples. The rough surface caused her to draw in her breath quite sharply. Thinking that I'd pushed far enough tonight, I poured water over her back several times, running my hands over her shoulders and then her back. I ensured that I went all the way below the water line to the cheeks of her arse, and then up to cup her breasts again, making sure to pull on her nipples, leaving no questions in her mind what I was doing. I was feeling her bum and her breasts quite openly now. As I finished with the water I stood alongside her looking at her body, "I have to say Mum you've held up pretty well, you know most of the women I see aren't in your class at all, not an ounce of fat on you. I think from the photos I've seen, you must still be at your wedding day weight". "Four pounds over it actually, I weighed myself only last week," this as she sat wearing only a smile, and leaning a little more backwards, I could see all of her body very clearly. "Mum that water must be cold by now." "It's getting there." "I suppose you're waiting for me to dry you?" "No it's all right, I can manage." But she was smiling as she spoke. "Come on you know you like being dried, it takes you back to being a little girl when your daddy dried you." I was standing by the bath but she made no attempt to cover herself as I pulled out the plug, and then got the bathmat for her. She stretched herself like a cat and running her hands along the side of her face and across her ears, said, "s'pose I should get out." Without my helping her she stood up, then held her hand out so I could assist her from the bath. Again she stood there naked with water dripping from her. She had a smile on her face as I looked openly at her. "Boy dad's a lucky man, if you ever came on the open market you'd fetch ten sheep, and at least four goats." She still made no attempt to cover herself as the water again dripped from her bush, breasts and very erect nipples, putting her hands on her hips and adopting a models pose, she said, "only four goats." "I said at least four." It was surreal standing there with her naked, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, doesn't every mother stand naked in front of their son? "You must be getting cold, would you like me to dry you now?" "I am a bit, so yes please." So we went through the same procedure as before, turning her around drying her back down to her waist, moving to her feet and then up to her arse, doing the inside of her legs until touching her lips, I wasn't waiting for her to say no, or don't tonight. As I moved my hand upwards, she responded by moving her hips slightly. I knew that she thought she could control it as she'd done before, so I moved my hand against her with a little more pressure as if drying it but she, and I both knew what I was doing. She'd dealt with it before and thought she'd be able to again tonight, and as I wouldn't move on her tonight, she'd be correct. But why would I not make my move tonight? Well, because it was a part of my plan to own her long time, not just once. I stopped and turned her around, her eyes were wide open when she looked at me, all of her was dry now, even her face and breasts. But I started on her again holding her gaze as I had before, not only as I dried her face but as my hands went again to her breasts, I still held her gaze as I pulled down on her nipples again and again. I dropped the towel and just kept pulling her nipples which were thick and long. There was no pretence now I was playing with her breasts out in the open, nothing underhanded about it. I continued to pull on her nipple with my right hand and then ran the back of my other hand down her stomach and then lightly across her pubic hair twice, she was trembling, and her eyes darting all around the room, she was by then unable to hold my gaze. I knew that I'd have to stop soon before it got out of control so holding her face I leant down, gave her a light kiss on her mouth, held it for a moment, slid my tongue lightly across her lips, and then picked up the towel, put it around her shoulders and walked her into her bedroom. Her eyes were wide open, she'd no idea what I had in mind, and I knew that I could've taken her there and then. Instead I said "better get your nightgown on, you don't want to get cold," as I casually fondled her arse. As any son would. She dropped the towel, got out her nightgown and put it on, as it fell I let her see me looking at her body, "shame you have to cover up, you look fabulous, maybe in the right circumstances...well perhaps it could be different." She got into bed and I left, I knew she'd masturbate again tonight, but I didn't care. My plan was coming together very nicely I thought. ---------------------------------------------- My father and I work in the same industrial estate, in separate streets about a half a mile apart, I work in a garden supply yard, I'd started as an eighteen year old straight out of school, and now three years later I was still there. He's a computer technician in one of the country's smaller banks. They'd decided to pursue an aggressive expansion policy over the last five years, buying three smaller home loan companies, and had now decided to move into the world's fastest growing area of South East Asia, by opening a branch in Jakarta. But before they could do that a lot of work had to be put in by my fathers department which meant that his night shift went from one week in six to one week in three. They had to work at night when no one else was on the system. One day four weeks ago as I was getting lunch at the sandwich shop in the estate, two women came in wearing the banks uniform and started talking about one of them, Doreen, having had to get her passport as she'd been chosen to go to Jakarta for the launch. She and three male colleagues were to set up the new computer systems, and they'd be away for three weeks. One of the men was called Matt, I wondered if that was Dad, but probably not as everyone called him Mathew. That night I asked him if he was going to Indonesia and he said he didn't know as the decision hasn't been made yet. Mum asked Dad if he thought that he may go, and if he did, should she get her passport to go with him, so that she could see the sights whilst he was at work. But he said there wasn't a chance that he would go as he wasn't senior enough. He again said that the decision hadn't been made yet. I almost said what I'd heard at the sandwich shop, but held back. The next day at the same time I waited for the two women to arrive, before going in and standing behind them listening as they talked about Jakarta and what Doreen would get up to. I was close enough to hear most of what they said, but I'd brought a small book with me so that it looked as if I was more interested in that than what they were saying. I also had my phone set on to record poking out from under the book. Doreen made it quite clear that she and Matt were going to sleep together as they'd been seeing each other for the last year or so, it was becoming a big thing in her life, not just an opportunity to have sex, and now that they could go away together, who knows what it may lead to? I was beginning to realise that this Matt was dad, and I also knew that he was lying to Mum about the decision not being made, and of course, why he was lying. I made no attempt to move the phone and left it recording, even though it was almost right under their noses, they were so into their conversation that they didn't notice. I wasn't really listening as I knew I could hear it all later, even though they were speaking softly. When I got back to work I sat away from everyone else and listened to the recording, Dad had told Doreen that he and Mum didn't have a sex life, he claimed to have told her that he'd lost his sex drive. Both the women laughed when Doreen said, "I know where it is though, I swallowed it. It must be hard for her though" said Doreen, "Matt tells me that she's always ready, anytime day or night." "So what's the problem, why isn't he screwing her?" "She doesn't suck his dick and I do," again they both laughed Doreen then said "apparently one thing she and I agree about though, is that we both go crazy for anal, and he does it really well." Ten days before his colleagues were to go to Jakarta, Dad came home and said that one of those chosen wasn't able to go, and as he was the only one with a visa for Indonesia he'd have to go in their place. Mum tried to get a passport but there wasn't enough time, he'd travelled a lot before they were married, but Mum had been nowhere and kept saying, "I must get a passport, you never know when I might get the chance to go overseas." Now Dad told her "I said you should just get one, but you never listen to me." This was bullshit, as neither Mum nor I had ever heard him say that. When she asked him who was going he said, "Oh Kenny, Peter and Peters' woman Doreen, he's been poking her for over a year now, and pulled strings so that she can go and they can sleep together for the entire time." Mum was really upset to have missed out, she'd really wanted to go and was pissed that she hadn't got her passport in time. "Next time" he said with a laugh." I smiled to myself, I was about as upset about it as he was, but for a different reason. Two days later it was her birthday and he asked me what he should buy her, "Dunno, maybe some of those massage oils her sister got for her birthday, Mum thought that they smelt very nice. When he gave them to her she said, "you'll have to use them on me." "Sure" he replied, "but it'll have to be after I come back from Indonesia." For the last four nights before they left dad worked night shift, and every night mum called me in to wash her back, she made little or no attempt to cover her body, and got out to let me dry her without being asked. Standing there totally naked, with the water again dripping from her bush, breasts and nipples, whilst I gently dried the whole of her body, a process that took longer every night. To indicate that her back was dried, I softly kissed her on her arse, and to tell her that her front was finished I softly kissed her belly about an inch above her pubic hair just as softly. On the last night, we again went through the whole procedure, right up to the point where she expected me to pull up the towel, but tonight was special as this was to be the night that I pushed the boundaries a whole lot further. So that instead of pulling the towel upwards, I slipped my hand inside the pocket that the towel had made, and used my index finger to probe between her lips, whilst at the same time using my thumb to massage her clitoris. If the towel hadn't been there it would have openly been foreplay, as it was there was no mistaking what it was that I was doing. It was foreplay but of a different sort. She knew what it was, I knew what it was, and her eyes told me that she knew that I could see that she was being affected by it. I kept it up until her knees began to tremble and then said, "that's it for tonight, go to bed now please" It was an order and she obeyed it. She moved as if in a dream to her bedroom door where she turned, still totally naked and with the towel still hanging between her legs. She said something that I couldn't work out. It may have been thank you or good night, but whatever it was, it was really irrelevant, so I just smiled and nodded at her. Before she was fully through the doorway her hand was running down her stomach heading to between her legs, and it wasn't long before the muffled sounds of her pleasure again caressed my ears. Finally the great day came, there was a whole lot of, have you seen my...do you think I'll need my...did you get some...for me. As soon as the taxi pulled into the drive he grabbed his luggage and almost ran to the car, I hung back to be sure that Doreen didn't recognise me, and then he was gone,. The taxi drove out of our drive and down the street for a ten pm flight, we were left all alone. I saw tears in Mums' eyes. "What's the matter Mum?" "He never even said goodbye to me, he just waved his hand, but who was the one in the blue dress?" Mum asked. "Doreen, I think she said, why?" "Did you see the body language between them? He's been acting a bit different lately, I suppose I'm just sensitive, because I really wanted to go with him. But when I saw him pat her on her arse twice, not once but twice, that was confronting. The first time I thought it was an accident, but after he'd done it they both looked at me right in the eye, smiling as he played with her again. After that he just waved his hand to me as they got into the cab. He was playing with her arse and letting me know about it, and now I know why he's been strange lately. They must have been laughing at me all along, I feel such a fool, but I never suspected anything at all." "I didn't notice anything Ma, anyway, she doesn't compare to you, her arse is so much bigger than yours. Don't worry about a thing, if a man wants to play around he doesn't need to leave the country to do it. Dad would be stupid to get involved with someone else, especially at work, look what he's got to lose. Of all the people in this world, I'm someone who knows what he has to lose." It was a reference of course to the fact that I'd seen what it was that she had for him to play with, and of course for him to lose. She gave me a funny look as soon as she caught on, almost smiled, shook her head and then choosing to ignore what I'd said, started to beat herself up again adding, "so are her tits bigger than mine." I laughed, "No one has bigger boobs than yours, anyway yours are better, much firmer." "Thank you Donny, but I think you may be biased, anyway you know what?" "What?" "I don't think I really care any more if he's screwing that slut or not, I'm so hurt that he didn't take me with him, I've always wanted to travel, and that may have been my only chance, and because of him I've missed out." "Forget about them Ma, they're gone, we're here, and tonight we're going to have a pizza, with a good bottle of wine. You my dear mother are not going to cook on your first night of freedom. Not only that I'm going over to the one on Casey Street where they're wood fired, and you like them from there." "Great," she said "darling that'll be awesome." "I'll leave now as there's always a long wait." "Ok, drive carefully". I ordered the pizza and a nice white wine to go with it, and was back home in just less than forty minutes. As I walked back in Mum turned the television off leaving only a small light in the room. We sat and chatted as we ate, and then drank the wine, we both became quite relaxed after a while. At ten o clock, coincidentally, just as his plane was taking off, she said, "I think I'll have my bath now," this of course was what I was waiting for. "Ok, call me when you want your back done." "No don't worry, just come in now and bring the rest of the wine with you." I followed her in and after turning on the water, without any hesitation she undressed, and bending over placed her clothes onto the floor. As she bent over, her feet were apart and the view between her legs showed me that her lips were open and hanging down. She then got into the bath, it was obvious that she was by now very comfortable being naked in there with me. I looked at her briefs lying wide open on top of her clothes and noticed that they were glistening wet. Her eyes caught mine and she gave me a shy smile and then dropped her eyes, but she knew what I'd seen. I sat at the foot of the bath, from where I could see clearly between her legs, as we talked and drank the last of the wine, she didn't seem to care. She turned the water off before the bath was filled and started to wash herself, it was as if she was in a hurry to get finished. "Do my back for me please, just a quick one, I'm very relaxed from the wine and I want to get out soon." After only about 30 seconds she said, "that's all, get me out please," as she pulled out the plug herself , and then stood up without waiting for my help. Quickly she was out and I was drying her, spending most of the time on her breasts, stomach, legs and arse, I was happy to play with her good bits, but there was a different emphasis now to what we were doing, so that when she took the lead and said, "I'm dry enough now, let's go." I followed her through the doorway. She walked naked ahead of me into her bedroom, and without turning on the light reached for her nightgown, but didn't put it on choosing to stand there with it in her hand. I knew that the massage oils he'd bought for her birthday were on her chest of drawers unopened, so I said, "did he ever use those oils on you that he bought for your birthday?" "Nah," she laughed, "they're an absolute waste of money, they'll never get used." "Why not?" "They just won't, I don't know why he bought them", she said standing there with her nightgown still in her hand. "I'll probably give them to my sister she went through hers in record time." "Would you like me to give you a massage with them?" "No, I don't think that'd be right." "Why not?" "I don't know really." "Give me three good reasons." There was silence in the room as she stood there naked, fully illuminated by the light behind us. Her breasts seemed to be even more prominent tonight, perhaps it was her nipples which were standing up trying to attract attention to themselves. She stood still and then ran her hand nervously down her stomach, resting it just above her pubic area, before running it up, and then down her stomach again. Her eyes were darting around the room and she was swallowing nervously, both of us had known that we were going to get to this point eventually, but she had to make the big decision, and she alone. "Three good reasons? Christ I can't even think of one," as she threw her gown onto the bed. "Where do you want me?" "Put the towel in the middle of the bed and lie on your stomach." She took the towel from me, spread it on the bed and then lay down. As her legs weren't tight together the light behind me fully illuminated the gap between them. I stood in silence looking at her for several seconds, until she asked, "what're you doing?" "I'm looking at you." Instantly her legs tensed and pressed hard together. "No," she said quite sharply, "don't look there." "My dearest mother," I said "for the last two months you've called me into the bathroom whenever he hasn't been here, I've seen every square millimetre of your body many times over, and you knew then that I was looking at you. Not only that, but when I've dried you, I've spent ages touching you and both of us have enjoyed it, and you also knew then that I was dragging it out as long as I could. If you cast your mind back, on more than one occasion I've openly played with your nipples, and you've never protested, so why tell me not to look at something that I've seen, and enjoyed looking at many times over these weeks." The Mirror Ch. 01 She was silent as she pondered the logic of my argument. With only a small sigh of resignation she relaxed her legs, and was again on display to me. "It's very dark in here Ma so I can't see you clearly, can you spread them a little more for me please?" That excess weight that like all ladies she carried at the top of her legs, gave me evidence that her body was trembling, and then slowly her feet moved two or three inches further apart. "It's still too dark for me to see." Her feet moved another few inches apart. "Not quite wide enough for me to see you clearly Mum." Realising that she wanted to be seen, as much as I wanted to see her, she abandoned all pretence and spread her now noticeable shaking legs further apart. She was finally wide open, and fully on show for me. I dropped to my knees, put my hands onto her calves and kissed both of her ankles. Shudders ran through her body, and as I looked up between her legs, as if by magic, and right on cue, her lips slowly parted for me, they only opened a fraction at first but as I watched, they spread slowly wider, it was caused I thought by the shudders running through her body. I fully expected the Twentieth Century Fox theme to be playing in the background as her curtains opened and the show began. Her wetness glistened in the light from behind me. I got up moving across to get one of the bottles of oil, her eyes followed my every move. Making sure that I held her eyes, I slowly and deliberately took off my shirt, my shorts and then my briefs, throwing them carelessly onto the ground in front of me. I was now naked. Her eyes quickly left mine and travelled down to my cock. I stood there letting her enjoy the view, she bit her bottom lip, and then her tongue poked out for a brief moment to lick both her lips, then a slight moan escaped her throat, as she once again bit down onto her bottom lip. After letting her eyes drink in the sight of my rigid cock, I moved behind her, got onto the bed putting her left leg between both of mine, which allowed my sac and cock to rest on the top of her thigh. I then started to pore a little oil all along her spine, not stopping until just a very small amount was starting to run down between her cheeks. I moved back to the top of her spine and taking my right thumb nail, ran it hard all the way down until it stopped just short of her first hole. Just as when I'd used the loofah on her in the bath, she arched her back against the intrusion into her skin, by this time her only communication was by whimpers, sighs and body movements. Again I ran my thumb nail hard down her spine, again stopping just short of the brown hole, her hips raising to meet my thumb showed me that my stopping was the only thing that she was disappointed with. So that when I ran my nail hard down her spine for the third time, I didn't stop but went all the way down to, and then right into her little hole, as far as it would go. Right where she obviously had wanted it to be. Putting it quite simply, she exploded, calling out strange noises, banging her head into her pillow, and clutching at the doona with ten nails that threatened to rip it to shreds, all the while pushing back at my intruding thumb, which was so far inside of her that my index finger was actually pointing straight up to the ceiling. My hand was totally soaked and it wasn't all from the massage oil. I waited until I thought she'd finished coming before slowly removing my thumb from within her. This caused even more currents and tremors to attack her body as it withdrew, and I then watched with fascination as her hole closed slowly after it. Taking the bottle again and after pouring three more drops between her cheeks I said to her, "it says on the label to not let any of this get onto the doona as it'll stain it, ok?" She grunted to show that she'd heard me. "Ok Ma?" "Hu hu" My thumb and fingers were all now tingling so it would appear that there was something in the oils to get the blood flowing, I wondered what that was doing to both of her holes as I watched the oil slowly move down across one, and then on to the other, her already wet lips seemed to twitch. I squeezed out two more drops which rolled easily between her cheeks, following their trailblazing cousins across her very swollen, openings. As my thumb nail returned to its journey down her spine, to once again stop just short of the first hole. Sharply I called, "Hey Ma don't let the oil get onto the doona, it'll stain it badly. Hearing my words she slid her hand down under her body for it to appear between her legs to catch the oil before it stained anything. This was what I'd been waiting for, quickly I grabbed her hand and then her index and middle fingers, forcing them as far inside of her as they would go. Her body jerked at this intrusion, and a small gasp escaped her mouth, but as I continued to move her fingers in and out for her, her body took over and soon she needed no help from me at all, she'd done this to herself many times before, and knew exactly what to do to herself, to do herself. As soon as she was in the groove I took her other hand and guided it over her cheeks, moving the middle finger of that hand to the other hole, instantly she knew what I was suggesting, and her finger slid easily to be as deep inside the now well lubricated passage as I'd been previously. I was rock hard as I watched my dear, darling, beautiful, pure as the driven snow Mother, as she rubbed one off, working on both of her holes, calling out as if in great pain, and then still not satisfied went seamlessly into a second climax, and then just as seamlessly, and just as noisily into a third. When Doreen had said that she went berserk for anal, I'd no idea that it would be so intense, no one could even have guessed. I became aware that I was starting to leak an amount of semen onto her leg, unable to restrain myself my hand went down onto my cock, gripped it, and instantly a large rope of cum shot out of me to land on the back of her head, hanging off the strands of her hair. Followed by another spurt, not as big this time, and then another two coated her arse before the pressure dropped and the rest of my load dribbled out, I moved up so that the last of it fell onto her hands. She was made aware of what was happening by the noises that I was making. Before I'd properly finished, and was still depositing the last drops onto her, I used my other hand to drag as much of my semen as I could down her back and then watched as it rolled slowly down between her cheeks. I again ran my hands across her back and buttocks spreading the rest of my mess all over her. She must have felt it oozing between her cheeks and her fingers started to work again, they seemed to be trying to push as much of it as possible inside both of her holes, which started her off again, moaning and pumping her hips as if this was her first climax, and not her fourth. As she finally finished, and still with both hands inside her she rolled over onto her back, any thoughts about staining anything long gone from her mind. She was gasping for air, and coated in perspiration, her hair everywhere, she looked truly fucked already. I hadn't even started on her yet, and I was still rock hard. I sat on the bed and watched as she regained her composure, finally she took her fingers out of herself and brushed her hair from her face, she tried to look embarrassed at first, but her broad smile made that difficult to achieve. I was in awe of the display of pure sex that I'd just witnessed, "how the fuck could he walk away from you for that fat slut Doreen?" "Who cares? But don't spoil our time together by talking about him, he's gone for now so let's just enjoy each other, just give me a couple of minutes and I'll be ready for you to be inside of me, but for now just hold me in your arms." She moved closer to me and laughed as I 'stabbed' her, "soon big boy, soon," she said patting it. Well 'soon' arrived pretty quickly, and before I knew it I was kissing my mother, this was the one thing that I hadn't been at all sure about, but all that I can say is if you get the chance, don't miss out. I kissed my mother as if there was no tomorrow, or should I say she kissed me. It may have helped me that she was the aggressor and I soon became sure that this was something that I was going to enjoy, my mouth was being raped by her tongue and the back of my neck was suffering from an attack of the killer nails. If I'd been unsure about kissing her, it was obvious that she'd given no thought at all to it, and was I glad. Kissing is the most important part of the sex act if you really care about someone, and we cared about each other, as our mouths set about proving. As my hands roamed all over her body, so hers roamed over mine. As my hands sought her sex, so hers sought mine. Before I knew it she'd pushed me back down and was swinging her leg over me impaling herself on my cock, she was very wet so I slid in easily. Almost instantly I was close to coming when she stopped, saying, "no that's not what I really want, this is." She then raised herself up and moved forward the width of one membrane, sliding me slowly into her other hole. She was very well lubricated, and I was also from my being inside her, she took it slowly but with no real effort at all she was soon sliding up and down on my pole, so that when she landed down onto me it was with the sound of her wetness hitting me. As she slid up and down she leant back to get a different angle to give her a different feeling, and that meant that I could now put my thumb against her clitoris enhancing the sensation for her. Soon the moaning and whimpering started to grow until we reached our climax together. When it turned into a loud scream from her, it was so totally all consuming. She with her hips pumping back and forth, me trying to impale her further, or as it seemed to me at the time, maybe even trying to buck her off. As she finished she fell sideways off me and seemingly gallons of my juice exited her body. Her eyes were alive with fire as she moved to drape herself over me. When she finally caught her breath, she said, "I know that you've wanted to do me for ages, but you've no idea how long I've also wanted to feel you inside me." I was stunned, I thought that I'd been the one who'd chased her, "really, what're we talking about here, a couple of months or what?" "No," she said, "about five years." "Five years!!?" "Yes, every time that I did the washing, I'd notice when you'd had sex and I'd get jealous." "How'd you know that I'd had sex? "There are stains and aromas that told me, and..." as she poked out her tongue and made a licking motion. "You licked my underwear?" She nodded, "and don't tell me that you've never licked mine also." My silence and my grin condemned me. She continued, "I know you have, from time to time I noticed a pair missing, I figured it was you or your father, and I was damn sure that it wasn't him." "You didn't mind?" She raised herself up onto one elbow, "no, I didn't mind, you see the entire emphasis of mother son sex is geared towards fulfilling the son's fantasy. The old saying is that every son wants to have sex with his mother, but no one ever thinks that it might be that it's the mother who wants to feel her sons' cock inside of her." I was blown away as she told me that she'd had the hots for me for five years, "so Ma what's happened to bring it to the surface now?" "As your father's neglected me, it's been harder for me to control it, he and I have gone from two or three good sessions a week to maybe about once a month, if I'm lucky, and only when I insist and force the issue. Sometimes I almost have to rape him to get some action. Soon I stopped looking at him as my only source of supply, I wasn't prepared to get involved with anyone outside, or at work, and so I let my feelings for you take over, and taken over they have, haven't they my dear son?" She continued on, "now I guess we've got this situation to deal with, in case you aren't aware, we've just had sex, it's not uncommon for it to happen between a mother and her son, but it is wrong, and also illegal." I told her, "we both wanted it to happen, right or wrong doesn't matter, we both enjoyed it, and both know that it'll happen again." My tone now got harsher. "You need to know that as long as he's away you're mine, whenever I want you, morning noon or night, and even when he comes back, you're mine. You also need to know that I'm not sure that I'm prepared to let go of you without a fight. He's lost you as far as I'm concerned, he doesn't deserve you as far as I'm concerned, and I'm going to fight like hell to keep what I've just had. You know that I've wanted you forever, and now that I've had you, I aim to keep you. You... are now mine... all mine." Even in the dark her eyes showed that she wasn't sure that she'd thought this through as a possible outcome. From her point of view, it'd all been caused by his neglect, and the fact that she was always ready, as Doreen had said. "You," I repeated, emphasising my words by stabbing my finger into her nipple, "you...are now mine." The only sound from her was a small gasp, and then, "no, no I didn't mean for that to happen, I just wanted to try it once." I told her in still in the same harsh voice, "you knew that I'd wanted you for ages and you played along with it because of what you alone wanted. Now I've got you, and I intend to keep you, you may not have been playing for keeps, but I was. Old story baby, play with fire, get burnt. Now you're mine." I repeated, and again pushed my finger harshly into her breast, and this time for further emphasis pulled her nipple down hard, "all mine." "Oh Christ, please don't hurt me." Slowly I said " Beverley, oh my Beverley," as I held her face in my hands, and looking deep into her eyes added, "I won't hurt you, but before I'm through with you tonight, the neighbours may well think that you're being murdered," as I slipped one and then two fingers deep inside of her. Her body responded to this, and I could feel her muscles grabbing at them. Her hands grabbed at mine trying to get them out of her saying, "no more, please, no more," but I continued to move my two fingers inside her. At first she didn't have the strength to remove them, and then as they worked their magic on her, she didn't have the resolve to do it either. She started to move her hands harder against mine and then she took over completely, using my hand as she would have a dildo, pushing it hard into her and at the same time raising her hips to meet it. "Mum, can you see why we have to continue with each other?" Her eyes opened. "He never takes this much time with you does he?" She shook her head. "He thinks that all he needs is a stiff dick because you're always ready, he's never tried to see where he and good sex could take you, has he?" There were tears in her eyes as she shook her head slightly, and so softly that I could only just hear her said, "no." "Tell me Beverley, has that piece of shit, soon to be ex husband of yours ever tied you up?" Suddenly the room was lighted by the glow of a thousand suns, as she smiled, "tied me up?" "And spanked you." I added. "Spanked me, oh God," she moaned. "I've asked him to do it for years and he just plain refused. The last time I asked was only about a month ago when I actually begged him to do me like that." I already knew about that conversation, as I was standing under their bedroom window masturbating, as they were having a bout of their infrequent sex. "Why not?" I asked, "why would that piece of shit, soon to be ex husband of yours refuse to give you the pleasure that you craved?" Her hands now moved away from mine and she used them to push me over onto my back, slid her face down my body, and just before putting my cock into her mouth said, "he wanted something from me that I wasn't prepared to give to him. But when I think about it, it's probably going to be a pretty good deal for both you and I now." After sucking on my cock for only a few seconds, she took me out of her mouth and said, "I'm warming to the other idea also." "What's that?" "Ex husband." "Good, fuck him then." "Never again my darling boy, never again." That was all that she could say at that point, because Beverley, now of course and forever, my Beverley, was such a well brought up lady, who'd always been told by her mother, never to speak with her mouth full. Don't you just love it when a plan comes together? The Mirror Ch. 02 Chapter 2: His Turn "Vicki," screamed five-year-old Billy, "hurry up with the dishes!" "William, I told you not to call me that!" "Vicki, Vicki, Vicki!" "Mother!" Seven-year-old Victoria was going through her "formal" stage, where everything is serious and nicknames are for children. "Vicki, ignore him. You know he's just trying to make you mad." "Mother, my name is Victoria. It says so on my birth certificate." They had recently updated the scrapbooks and Vicki had taken quite an interest in her birth certificate. She'd been telling everybody the exact time of her birth and how big she was. She'd also begun insisting that people call her Victoria, much to her parents' and friends' annoyance. "And why doesn't he have to help with the dishes? It's not fair." "Victoria," Cindy said, exasperated, "you know that Billy isn't big enough to reach the sink. He helps carry the dishes from the table to the counter. All you have to do is rinse and fill the dishwasher. Your dad already scrubbed the pans." "Yes I did," said Jeff, walking up behind Cindy and hugging her. "Now finish the dishes so you kids can watch the movie." Biting Cindy's neck gently, he whispered, "and Mom and Dad can go play." "Jeff," Cindy giggled, "stop that." But she didn't really mean it. She loved the way he teased her. "It's still not fair," pouted Vicki, turning back to the sink and rinsing the few remaining dishes. The latest crisis averted, Cindy turned to Jeff. "Get everything set up while I make sure Dee Dee has a fresh diaper." Jeff smiled, nibbled her lip quickly, put the popcorn in the microwave, and headed to the family room. "Ready for the movie, big guy?" Jeff walked over to the entertainment center to select a movie. Billy was squirming in Jeff's recliner, excited about having the seat of honor for the movie. "Yeah! What are we gonna watch?" "How about," Jeff said, turning around quickly and holding up the kids' favorite movie, "Monsters!" Two-year-old Dee Dee, who was in the process of wrapping her arms around Cindy's neck, screeched, "Kitty!" and let loose in her diaper. Cindy laughed. "Thanks, Jeff." "Hey, at least we know she won't have to go for a while." "Dad," said Vicki as she walked into the room, "why do we always have to watch baby movies?" Vicki insisted on formality with everybody but Jeff, who was still "Daddy" when nobody else was around. She even liked him to call her Vicki when it was just the two of them. "Victoria, it's not a baby movie. Your mother and I like it just as much as you do." Just then the microwave beeped. "Can you help me with the popcorn and juice?" Jeff and Vicki returned to the kitchen while Cindy headed to the bathroom again with Dee Dee. Seven years of diaper changing, she thought, had to be more than enough for anybody. She loved her children, but she was happy she didn't have any more. She couldn't complain, though, as she got to stay home with the kids and Jeff always helped out when he could. She smiled to herself as she thought of how good he was as a father. "Vicki," Jeff said in the kitchen. "You have to learn how to ignore Billy's teasing. Whenever you get mad, you're doing exactly what he wants. If you stop paying attention to him, he'll stop. Besides, he's always known you as 'Vicki.' Making him call you 'Victoria' just confuses him." "I know, Daddy, but sometimes he's such a little brat." Vicki brought the two popcorn bowls over so that Jeff could fill them. "I'll try to be better." "That's my girl," Jeff said. "Now let's start the movie." Jeff and Vicki returned from the kitchen just as Cindy was returning with Dee Dee. Jeff handed a bowl to Billy. "You be quiet and watch the movie. No teasing your sisters or I'll send you to bed before the movie's over." "Okay, Dad. I'll be good." Vicki sat down on the couch, popcorn bowl in her lap, next to where Cindy was placing Dee Dee. Jeff turned off the lights and joined Cindy on the love seat positioned between and slightly behind the couch and recliner. "Just like old times," he whispered, wrapping one arm around her back and turning to kiss her lightly. "Wanna fool around?" "Jeff!" She giggled and returned the kiss, snuggling up to him and watching the screen. As the opening credits rolled, she reflected on the last three weeks. Ever since The Mirror Incident (that's how she thought of it, complete with capital letters) her sex life with Jeff had been anything but ordinary. Getting up in the morning now was a pleasure. She'd get the kids out of bed and make it back to the bathroom in time to watch and sometimes even help him finish his shower. More than once he took her right there, bent over the bathroom sink before getting dressed for work. The first time that happened, Vicki had walked into the bedroom and almost caught them at it. Cindy was careful to lock the bedroom door now. Since The Mirror Incident, Cindy and Jeff had made love almost every night, enjoying each other like they did when they were first going out. Rather than the lights off bedtime quickie that had become their staple, they spent hours with the lights on, exploring one another as they hadn't done in years. They still had to keep quiet to avoid waking the children, but they didn't have to be completely silent. Jeff had called right before lunch the day before, saying that he was on his way home and would be taking the afternoon off. With Vicki and Billy off at school and Dee Dee down for a nap, she'd changed into the same blue negligee and robe that had started The Mirror Incident, and met him at the door. Jeff took one look at her and pushed her against the wall, lifting her legs up around his waist and kissing her deeply as she fumbled with his belt and zipper. With his pants and underwear around his ankles, her hand around his firm shaft guided him to her entrance. Breaking their kiss and looking deep into each other's eyes, he smoothly penetrated her, sinking to the hilt in one long slow stroke. It was the most urgent lovemaking that Cindy could remember. Her legs wrapped around his waist, heels at his back pulling him in as he thrust furiously. He tore open the negligee, reaching for her breasts and lowering his mouth to her nipple. Licking, sucking, biting the way she loved, his hands supported her breasts, massaging as she moaned in appreciation. Her hands wrapped around him, fingernails digging into his back as she tightened her muscles around his thrusting member, pleasure building so quickly that it took them both by surprise. With a final thrust, Jeff lifted his mouth from her nipples, groaning incoherently and locking his mouth over hers in a deep probing kiss as her orgasm overtook her and he exploded deep inside. It was a clutching, grabbing, screaming climax, breaking their kiss and yelling out their pleasure before slumping to the ground, coming to rest with her straddling him, his softening cock slipping out of her. They held each other in their post-coital bliss, kissing softly and catching their breath until they heard Dee Dee stir in the other room, wakened by their lovemaking sounds. Jolted out of her reverie by Jeff pulling her with him as he leaned back in the love seat, Cindy shivered in anticipation at the tender kiss he placed on her temple. Sighing contentedly, she relaxed to watch the show. Jeff was ecstatic about the new sexual energy that had developed in their relationship since that weekend afternoon in front of the mirror. What had been a mostly boring and predictable sex life had become more exciting than anything he had dreamed of. Whatever the cause-- familiarity, job stress, or parental duties--their desire for each other had waned and he had resigned himself to the infrequent lights-out roll in the sack. But now, with Cindy at least as excited about sex as he was, their lovemaking had taken on a new flavor: an experimental air and an intensity that was totally new to him. He'd also become able to overlook or laugh at Cindy's quirks that used to annoy him, and he'd noticed that she was much less critical recently, as well. After a while, Cindy shifted and Jeff's hand came to rest covering her breast. She reached to push it down, but he kept his hand there. "Jeff, the kids," she whispered urgently. "Can't you wait until later?" "Honey, they're watching the movie. Even if they looked this way they wouldn't be able to see anything." He was right. The kids were completely engrossed in the movie. She relaxed again against Jeff, enjoying the feel of his body and of his hand cupping her breast lightly. She jumped a little and shivered with pleasure when his fingers brushed over her nipple. "Jeff..." "Shhhhh. Watch the show." They sat holding one another, watching the movie and keeping an eye on the kids as the story unfolded. Jeff's hand would be still for a while and then he'd move his fingers or squeeze gently. She turned to face him, putting the movie out of her mind. They kissed lightly, then more urgently as her nipple hardened under his touch. It was like high school again, making out in the back row of the movie theater, seeing how far they could go without being caught. She pushed one hand under his shirt to feel his skin, lightly raking her fingernails over his chest and stomach. Cindy was a little surprised at how excited she was. She'd always liked the way Jeff touched her, but having to be quiet to avoid alerting the children to their activities--the danger of being discovered--added an unexpected thrill. Jeff's hands moved freely over her body as they sank into the love seat, kissing deeply. From time to time they'd pause to catch their breath, and Jeff would look up to check on the progress of the movie and to ensure that the kids were watching the TV and not their parents. Dee Dee, predictably, fell asleep within the first 30 minutes. Billy and Vicki, as usual, couldn't tear their eyes from the screen. Cindy placed her hand in Jeff's lap, applying a little pressure to see if he was as aroused as she was. "Is that for me?" "You know it is," he whispered in her ear. "Just as soon as the movie's over." Jeff dropped his hand to her lap and lightly scratched her inner thigh under the shorts. Cindy clamped her legs together, trapping his hand. "Not so fast, lover. Unless you're planning on putting the kids to bed early." "No," he said, pinching her nipple and kissing her to hide the gasp. "I think you need to wait a little longer." She chuckled. "Tease." "Uh huh." Momentarily satisfied, Jeff and Cindy sat back in the couch, holding each other with their heads together, watching the movie. Their hands weren't still, though, continuing to explore the other's body, or pausing to apply light pressure in those spots that all long-time lovers discover about each other. A small touch there accompanied by a nip on the ear or a nibble on the neck would bring memories flooding back, increasing the arousal of both. Halfway through the movie, Cindy turned to Jeff and kissed him hard on the mouth. "Right back, honey. I need to pee," she giggled. "Hurry back," Jeff said, taking the opportunity to shift in his seat to get more comfortable. He then reached into his shorts and adjusted his erection, which had become increasingly uncomfortable as he and Cindy continued to play. He smiled to himself and glanced at the TV to catch up on the movie's progress. He was looking forward to getting the kids in bed so that he and Cindy could finish what they were starting here. Billy stirred when he saw Cindy walk back into the room. "Mom, can I have more juice?" "Me, too, Mother. And William, it's 'may I'", said Vicki. "Vicki, Vicki, Vicki," responded Billy, sticking out his tongue at her. Vicki, surprisingly, ignored him and held her cup up to Cindy. "Kids. If you don't be quiet I'll turn off the movie right now," said Jeff. Vicki looked over. "Sorry, Daddy." Cindy went to the kitchen for more juice and returned to the living room, passing out the cups and returning to sit next to Jeff. As she sat down, his hand slipped under the tail of her shirt to feel her warm soft skin. She put her hand on his as he caressed her stomach. "What do you think you're doing?" "Just trying to feel up the most beautiful woman in the world," he whispered. "Oh," she said, turning her body to lie against him. "Then don't let me stop you." She released his hand and dropped her hand to his lap again. Cindy reached under the leg of Jeff's shorts, scratching his inner thigh with her fingernails. Jeff continued to caress her stomach, fingers lightly touching. She giggled when he poked his finger into her navel and then lightly circled it. Her fingers were making their way slowly up his leg and she smiled at the tension she could feel in his body. As she reached the top of his leg, Cindy pressed herself against Jeff's body and she kissed him, just a little brush across the lips at first and then a deep, probing kiss as she cupped her hand, lightly squeezing his balls through the tight fabric of his briefs. Jeff moaned his approval, returning the kiss thirstily and moving his hand up to caress her breast. He grunted in surprise when he discovered that she had removed her bra, and he wrapped his fingers around her protruding nipple. Cindy gasped, tightening her hold on him and arching her back. It was Cindy's turn to moan as Jeff explored her breasts, his fingers moving slowly over her soft skin, pausing to cup his hand and feel the weight, massaging gently and rolling her nipple between his fingers. She always lost her train of thought when he touched her that way, as though he was studying new territory. He'd move his hand slightly, press just so, and listen for her reaction before moving again. She knew from experience that his full attention was on her: her body pressing to his, the feel of her breasts in his hand, the reaction of her nipples to his fingers, and the taste of her kiss in his mouth. He responded to the lightest subtle shift of her body, placing his hand exactly where she wanted it. She broke the kiss and nuzzled his neck, pulling at his ear lobe with her lips and whispering her encouragement. Struggling in their awkward position, checking on the kids again, Jeff reached down with his other hand and tickled the inside of Cindy's thigh. "Yes," she whispered in his ear, "touch me. I want you to feel how excited I am." She then slid her hand further up the leg of his shorts, feeling the hard outline of his erection trapped between his stomach and his briefs. As Jeff's fingers moved quickly under the leg of her shorts, Cindy found the small wet spot at the head of his cock and she smiled to herself. Jeff got another surprise when he reached the top of Cindy's leg and found that, not only had she removed her bra when she went to the bathroom, but her panties as well. He felt the thick curls of her pubic hair and her soft wet folds. She bit his ear lobe and purred into his ear when one finger separated her lips and slid slowly up to circle her clit. She thrust her pelvis forward, trapping his hand and moving side to side. Her hand gripped and released his shaft in time with her movements, and her breathing increased. When Jeff turned his hand and slipped first one and then two fingers into her slick warm opening, she hissed in his ear, careful to be quiet so as not to disturb the children watching the movie. "Jeff, I'm so close," she whispered, continuing to thrust against his hand, taking his fingers as deep as she could and squeezing them tight. The heel of his hand rubbed against her clit as she thrust. Jeff held her as best he could, one hand on her breast, fingers toying with her nipple. The other hand was trapped between her legs, his fingers wriggling inside of her. Cindy kissed him urgently, mashing her lips against his and plunging her tongue into his mouth, stifling a cry in her throat and squeezing his shaft in her hand. With one final thrust, she buried his fingers deep and clenched around them, her body shaking. She bit her lip and whimpered in his ear, overcome with the intense pleasure of the moment. Finished, she slumped against him, kissing his neck. Removing his hands, Jeff wrapped his arms around his wife and held her close, kissing the top of her head. "Thank you, sweetheart," she said, her fingers tightening again around his hard shaft. They held each other quietly, enjoying the closeness and kissing softly from time to time. Jeff kept an eye on the children and tried not to groan out loud when Cindy would stroke him through his briefs or tighten her grip and then release. "You're such a tease," he said, leaning down to kiss her forehead again. "I know, darling. But you love it." Jeff chuckled softly and then gently pushed her away as the final credits began to roll. Dee Dee, of course, was fast asleep with her head in Vicki's lap, and Billy was struggling to keep his eyes open in the big chair. Vicki, too, was barely awake. She smiled sleepily at Jeff as he stood and picked Dee Dee out of Vicki's lap. "I'll put Dee Dee down," he said, hurrying out of the room. He didn't need his children seeing the tent in his shorts when the lights came back on. While Jeff cleaned up Dee Dee and changed her diaper, he could hear Cindy getting Vicki and Billy ready for bed. They were tired enough that they didn't even have the energy to fight her instructions to brush their teeth, or to bicker with each other about the placement of the toothpaste tube, the strength of the water, or who's splashing who with what. Bedtime, like almost any other time with three kids around, was usually chaotic. But tonight it was pleasant, and Jeff smiled as he finished with Dee Dee. "Good night, sweetie," he said, kissing her and placing her gently in her crib. Dee Dee just smiled sleepily and rolled over to her side, curling up with her favorite blanket. Passing Cindy in the hallway, Jeff ran his hand up her leg and patted her butt softly. Pausing to kiss her neck he whispered, "don't be too long, love," then hurried away before she could respond. Cindy smiled, watching Jeff head towards the bedroom. She didn't know exactly what was in store, but she was definitely looking forward to it. Five minutes later, Vicki and Billy were tucked into their beds, and Cindy went through the house turning off the lights, quickly straightening the living room, and making sure that the house was locked up for the night. She paused in the hallway outside her bedroom, listening to the quiet and reflecting on how fortunate she was to have such a wonderful family. And then her mind turned to the possibilities that lay behind the closed bedroom door. Hand on doorknob, she turned, pushed, and walked in. The first thing Cindy noticed when she entered the room was the smell of candles: a faint odor of sulfur from the match that Jeff had used to light them, and the sweet aroma of lavender; which Jeff knows is one of her favorite fragrances. Four candles sat on the headboard, their flickering flames causing light to jump and dance on the near wall, and their reflection in the mirror at the foot of the bed filling the room with a soft glow. Jeff sat at the end of the bed naked, feet on the floor, looking into the mirror as his hand absently stroked his half-hard penis. He jerked his head up quickly when Cindy entered the room, a look of complete surprise on his face. He stopped stroking, pulled his hand away quickly and stuttered, "I uhhhh..." "You what?" Cindy asked, as she entered the room fully, knocking the door with her hip to close it. Feeling for the handle, she pushed the lock and smiled over at Jeff. "You were ... going to give me a show?" She faced him fully and smiled, raising her eyebrows and dropping her eyes to look into his lap." "Cindy, I don't know if ... I mean, it's ... I.." Jeff was obviously uncomfortable at the prospect of what Cindy had in mind. It showed not only in his incoherent speech, but also in the nervous twitch of his eyes, the way his shoulders slumped, and his inability to meet her gaze. The Mirror Ch. 02 Cheryl began to stir in the bed. Without opening her eyes, she reached over, as if looking for something, but found only empty bed. Her eyes slowly opened and she looked over at the emptiness. The bed was still warm. Cheryl looked around the room; her clothes were still in a pile on the floor in front of the mirror, and her glass dildo was on the nightstand. She turned her attention to the dildo, picking it up. It was wet... and warm. That was when Cheryl heard the water running in the bathroom. She set the dildo down. Was the water running this entire time? Cheryl began to get out of the bed. The sheets were stuck to her thighs. She walked to the door of the bathroom. It was open a crack and she looked in. She saw a silhouette against the shower curtain. She stood there watching the silhouette. She slowly began to open the door to get a better view. She was about to take a step in when she heard a moan "oh, Cheryl!" the silhouette breathed. Cheryl pulled back the curtain. Surprised, Emily shrieked. Cheryl jumped into the shower with her girlfriend. Emily's smooth, wet skin touched Cheryl's sending electricity through both of their bodies. Emily's full lips kissed and sucked Cheryl's. "You scared me," Emily said, moving down to Cheryl's neck. "Yeah? Did it turn you on?" Cheryl asked with hope in her voice, sliding her hands along Emily's skin finding Emily's hand between her thighs. Cheryl slid her hand on top of Emily's meeting her fingers deep in her sopping pussy. Emily moaned into Cheryl's neck, holding her close. They stood under the spray of water hitting their skin as they embraced. Cheryl pulled her fingers out of Emily and brought them to her lips, enjoying the taste. Cheryl kissed Emily, letting her get a taste of the honey as well. "Here, let me wash you" Cheryl said after a moment, grabbing the soap. Cheryl rubbed her sudsy hands all over Emily's body, paying close attention to her round breasts. Cheryl let her finger run over Emily's nipples making them grow hard. She felt their weight in her hand. Meanwhile, Emily, with one hand busy at her pussy found Cheryl's with her other hand. Excited, Cheryl slid her soapy hands along Emily's skin pulling them together. They held each other close feeling their bodies against one another. A shiver went through Cheryl as Emily's fingers sank into her pussy. Cheryl bit down lightly on Emily's shoulder as the fingers in her were thrust into her. Cheryl's hips began to buck and grind into Emily's cum-covered hand; Cheryl's juices flowed from her sopping pussy freely. Cheryl's moans filled the shower, bathroom and overflowed into the bedroom. Cheryl's legs were weak under her; she had to sit down. She slid down Emily's body, her sensitive nipples rubbing against Emily's skin. Emily thrust her pussy into Cheryl's face. With her nose in Emily's bush, Cheryl began lapping at the wet lips in front of her. Emily's tangy taste flowing through her lips, across her tongue and dripping down her throat. Emily stood there wither her hands on Cheryl's head, her arms pushing her breasts together with the shower spraying down hard on her erect nipples and Cheryl's tongue working wonders on her clit. Emily's moans replaced and surpassed Cheryl's earlier cries, making neighbors aware of their lustful play. Back in the bedroom Cheryl and Emily continued their lovemaking grinding their pussies into each other. They kissed harder as their pussies slid more easily. Suddenly, Cheryl stopped and looked over at the nightstand, Emily still franticly thrusting her pussy into Cheryl's. Sparkling, the glass dildo looked brilliant as the sunrise reflected off of it. She took it in her hand and shoved it into Emily's unsuspecting honey hole; however, Emily was so wet, the cold dildo was still able to slide in easily. The icy glass touching Emily's fiery lips made her shiver. She began to shake more as Cheryl guided the dildo in and out of Emily. Emily quickly lost control and came all over Cheryl's thighs, the splash making Cheryl's pussy quiver. "Oh, I'm so sorry! And we just finished taking a shower" Emily apologized obviously embarrassed. Cheryl just laughed and told her to "clean up" the mess she made. Smiling wickedly, Emily snaked down Cheryl's body kissing and sucking her nipples, dragging her wet tongue against Cheryl's smooth, dry skin, reaching Cheryl's now wet lap. She kissed and licked inching closer to the wet core she longed for. Emily let her tongue peek out and lightly graze Cheryl's clit, sending waves through her body with every touch. Emily began licking and kissing Cheryl's pussy more ravenously, hungry for her sweet nectar. Emily, with her face deep in Cheryl's pussy, lifted her ass into the air, the glass dildo still immersed between her swollen lips. With her left hand she took the dildo and began pushing the dildo into herself, letting her tight pussy push it back out again. At the same time she took her other hand and caressed Cheryl's breasts, kneading them, pinching her nipples. Emily felt Cheryl's pussy tighten around her tongue, massaging it, before the flood came covering Emily's face in thick syrup. Emily jumped onto Cheryl, kissing her softly. Both of their juices mixed together creating a love potion on Emily's face, which Cheryl was determined to have every drop of. The two girl's movements began to become sluggish. They were both exhausted, and were soon asleep, entangled within each other, the glass dildo still stuck between Emily's tired thighs. The Mirror Ch. 02 Chapter 2: James seals the bargain ... and seals his fate. On that fateful Saturday morning, James Noble's waking thoughts were of the previous evening's highly ignominious events, at the Cock & Bull pub. And James groaned, wretchedly. This wasn't something he wanted to have to think about; toe-curling recollections, that just didn't bear dwelling upon. James moaned miserably. He screwed his eyes shut ... but the disturbing images were still there, persisting; the mental playback, set to a recurring loop of hideously embarrassing torment. So he pulled the duvet over his head, as though it was a protective shroud; a forcefield, that might at least deflect some of the poisoned-arrow memories that were relentlessly assailing him. But it wasn't a very effective shield ... James remembered the two barstool-perched stunning blondes, Jennifer and Sharon, both of them giving him a stinging, retributive slap in the face; he remembered the footsore bartender, Joan the barmaid, slowly pouring his untouched, ice-cold pint of lager over his head: his humiliating punishment ... Because they'd caught him staring at their feet. All of this, to the enthusiastic approval and uproarious delight of the Cock & Bull's Friday-night drinkers; those boisterous, letting-their-hair-down, end-of-the-working-week revellers. And, the worst of it -- the absolute worst of it -- was that his girlfriend, Debbie, was there to share in the unspeakable humiliation. James sighed in resignation ... there would be no more sleep for him, this morning. He got out of bed, and padded to the bathroom. Taking a shower, James remembered about the present he was going to buy for Debbie's mum, Doris, for her birthday in about two weeks' time. Debbie was coming along too, and she'd told him to pick her up at home at about half-past eleven. First, he'd sort himself some breakfast. And then, he thought, he'd better give his flat a bit of a tidy-up -- not that he lived like a slob, because he certainly didn't -- to make sure it was decent for when he and Debbie returned later ... with the mirror. * * * It was 11:25, when James arrived at Debbie's to pick her up. He got out of his twelve-year-old, seen-better-days silver-grey Vauxhall Astra, and locked it up. He opened the front gate, walked up the path, and knocked on Debbie's door. Or rather, Doris's door ... and it was she who answered. And Debbie's mum was a foreboding, unnerving presence, this morning. Filling the doorway, she stood with her arms crossed, and glared at James. "Er ... Hello, Mrs Morris ... Nice, today, isn't it? I've -- I've come for Debbie. Is she ready? Can you let her know that I'm—" "So, what's all this I've been hearing, James, about what happened at the Cock and Bull last night?" demanded Debbie's mum. "Deborah never said a thing -- not a word! I had to find out from Mrs Ogden, the newsagent, when I went to buy a paper this morning. She says everyone's talking about it! Well, James? What were you up to, this time? What were you—" Then Debbie suddenly appeared, saving James from Doris's inquisition. With forced cheer, she said, "See you later, Mum." Squeezing past Doris, she said, "James would love to stop and chat, but we've got to be going. Bye, Mum!" "You haven't heard the last of this!" shouted Doris, at the hastily departing James and Debbie. "Not by a long shot. I'm not letting it drop -- not this time! Do you hear me, you two? When you get back, we're going to have a serious talk." Putting her seatbelt on in the car, Debbie said, "As you've probably gathered, James, Mum is not a happy bunny this morning." "Hmm. Yes, I did sort of get that impression, Debs." "Oh, well ... Come on then, James. Start up this heap of junk of yours, that you call a car. Let's go take a look at this mirror." * * * A ten-minute drive, and they were arriving at their destination; a street in a tranquil, leafy suburb in south-west London. James drove slowly along the quiet road, while Debbie scanned the house numbers, looking for the address she'd been given the previous evening. In contrast to the other houses in Springfield Crescent, number thirty-seven's front garden was looking rather unkempt, thought Debbie as James pulled up at the kerb. But, after James and Debbie had entered through the front gate, it wasn't so much unkempt, thought Debbie, as sadly neglected: There was a private-hire taxi parked in the drive, its tyres going soft; the opened front gate was hanging off one of its hinges; there were weeds growing between the cracks in the flagstone paving; and heaven knows when number thirty-seven's windows last saw soapy water, thought Debbie as she and James made their way to the front door, holding hands. Debbie rang the doorbell, and a few seconds later a blurred image appeared behind the door's frosted-glass panel. The woman who opened the door was brunette, brown-eyed, and she was in her mid-thirties, Debbie guessed -- Mrs Leadbetter, if she was the lady she'd spoken to on her mobile, from the Cock & Bull last evening. She had a good figure, and an engaging, pleasant face. She was very welcoming, too ... though her demeanour seemed rather agitated, to Debbie. Standing just behind the lady, was a man -- Mr Leadbetter, Debbie assumed. But he wasn't so welcoming. Wasn't so hospitable. In fact, to both Debbie and James, his enmity was palpable. His expression was sullen, and he emanated resentment. With open hostility, the man looked James and Debbie up and down, and James felt Debbie's hand tighten its grip in his. He certainly had a thing or two to learn about doorstep etiquette, thought James. Debbie, though, rather more charitably, thought the man looked unwell. He looked overtired, haggard -- gaunt. His skin had a pale, unhealthy looking pallor, and he had large and unsightly purple-black pouches under his eyes, as if he hadn't slept properly in some time. And Debbie was sure he hadn't shaved for at least a week -- maybe even two weeks. And if Mrs Leadbetter was looking agitated, then her husband looked outright panicky. "Yes?" said the lady politely. "Can I help you?" she asked, addressing Debbie. "Hello, Mrs Leadbetter -- it is, Mrs Leadbetter, isn't it? We spoke on the phone, yesterday evening ... about the mirror?" "It's not for sale!" barked Mr Leadbetter aggressively, taking James and Debbie rather aback. "The mirror's not for sale -- go away! And don't come back!" Mrs Leadbetter glowered at her husband. "How -- how dare you, Howard Leadbetter? Embarrassing the life out of me, in front of this lovely young couple. I've told you! Now, and for the last time: The mirror is going -- and that's that. Get over it!" Mrs Leadbetter turned back to James and Debbie, her face creased in abject apology. "I hope you'll forgive my husband's appalling rudeness. But, for some unfathomable reason, he's become terribly ... attached to the mirror. It's up in the attic. His little retreat, from the world ... and from me. Won't -- won't you come in, please ... to see the mirror?" Debbie and James exchanged discomfited glances ... there was definitely something strange, something weird, going on here. Mr and Mrs Leadbetter led the way, preceding James and Debbie up the ladders and into the attic. Mr Leadbetter had tugged on a pull-cord light switch, and the attic was illuminated by a naked light bulb dangling from the rafters. James's first impression, was that the attic -- Mr Leadbetter's "little retreat" -- was actually quite spacious. As James looked around, though, he thought that his initial sense of roominess was deceptive. For, in the top-of-the-house, bare wooden floorboards room, there were only three items taking up space: a coffee table; a small folding seat, made of grey tubular metal and dark-green canvas; and, just a few feet in front of the little flimsy chair, supported by a two-foot-tall, plinth-like wooden stand, was ... the mirror. "Well ... what do you think, dears?" prompted Mrs Leadbetter encouragingly. James regarded the mirror with keen interest. It was quite intriguing, he thought. Not that he was any expert, but he was sure it must be a very unusual piece; what the presenters of The Antiques Road Show on TV might call a 'curio'. The mirror was unusually large, too, thought James. Rectangular in shape, James estimated the mirror to measure about two feet tall, by four feet wide. Of similar dimensions, he thought, as his recently bought pride and joy -- his Internet-capable 46-inch flat-screen TV. The mirror was framed in an ornately carved, highly-polished hard wood, that James thought might be mahogany, or maybe teak. And he thought the mirror glass itself was in remarkably good nick -- just as was claimed, in the local newspaper advertisement that Debbie had seen. Hmm ... he mused. This was an antique mirror, crafted in the seventeenth century. Yet there was no sign of ageing; no sign, of the pitting, patina, or any other age-related blemishes that James had been expecting to see upon such an old glass surface ... No sign, of imperfection. The mirror's glossy, dark wood frame was in very good condition too and, though it did look its age, its succession of owners had obviously cared for it extremely well, over the long years of its existence. James had already decided that he was going to buy the mirror, it being such a fine looking piece. Debbie's mum was going to be over the moon with it, he thought. Nonetheless, he turned to Mr Leadbetter and asked, "I'm just curious, but ... is this the original mirror glass?" "Oh, yes. It's the original glass," Mr Leadbetter assured James. "It wouldn't work, otherwise," he added cryptically. Debbie and James exchanged discomfited glances again. Was Mr Leadbetter right in the head? they wondered uneasily. And now Debbie, for some ... instinctive reason, was having second thoughts about the mirror. Second thoughts, about letting James buy the mirror as a present for her mum's birthday, in about two weeks' time. She couldn't put her finger on it, but, there was something ... disturbing, about the mirror. Debbie was experiencing a niggling, ominous feeling about it. And Mr Leadbetter's strangeness; his weird behaviour, and the way he was so clearly letting himself deteriorate -- not to mention, Mrs Leadbetter's obvious eagerness to be rid of the mirror -- only served to unsettle Debbie further. She felt foolish. Told herself not to be silly. It was crazy, she knew, crazy to think this way. Yet ... It must just be her over-active imagination, thought Debbie, brought on by her growing sense of deep unease, that she felt her fingertips tingle unpleasantly as she traced them along the top of the mirror's ornately carved wooden frame. Nonetheless, Debbie hastily withdrew her fingers, and she asked Mr Leadbetter, "What -- what are all of these ... weird symbols, carved into the frame?" "They are a sort of, well ... spell," Howard Leadbetter supplied. "The mirror was designed and crafted by Edward Landry, a seventeenth-century practitioner of the occult. See ... here is his signature, in the bottom right-hand corner of the frame. The mirror's ... powers, pass on. Transfer, from owner to owner." "Now, that's enough! Stop spouting your nonsense, Howard! Do you hear me? I won't have it!" railed Mrs Leadbetter, her voice high-pitched in great annoyance. "Don't think I don't know what you're trying to do: you're trying to frighten this young couple -- trying to put them off buying the mirror." Turning to Debbie, Mrs Leadbetter said, soothingly, "Take no notice of my husband, dear. If you want to buy the mirror, it's yours -- and for just twenty pounds, just like I said last night. An absolute bargain, in anyone's book." But Debbie wasn't soothed. In fact, her unease was deepening by the second. And whether the mirror was going to cost twenty pounds, or Mrs Leadbetter was actually going to pay her and James a removal fee just to get the damn thing the hell out of her home, was no longer of any account. Debbie had changed her mind about the mirror; wished she had never set eyes on the newspaper advertisement. And now the thought -- just the very thought -- of her mum giving that odious thing pride of place in their home, in two weeks' time, was giving her a bad case of the heebie-jeebies. In growing trepidation, Debbie asked Mrs Leadbetter, diffidently, "May I -- may I ask why you want to sell the mirror?" Mrs Leadbetter emitted a great, eloquent sigh, suggestive of long-suffering. "The honest truth? Because I want my husband back. Back to the way he was ... before he bought the mirror. It's as simple as that, dear. He bought it at a car-boot sale in Crawley, three months ago, for a hundred pounds ... and he's not been the same since. "I'm sure you must have noticed the state of him, dear," she went on. "Look at him ... But he's actually quite a handsome man, believe it or not ... underneath all that. He's a self-employed taxi driver. But his cab hasn't moved from our drive in three months, and so we are getting behind with our mortgage. And, as you can see, he's letting himself go all to pot; no longer taking any pride in his appearance. He spends every waking moment, up here in the attic ... with the light off. That's -- that's the funny thing: For hour, after hour, in the dark, he just sits in that canvas fishing-chair, and stares at the mirror. Lord knows, what he sees in it -- if you see what I mean. Sometimes, I'll quietly come up here, to find his eyes absolutely glued to it ... in the dark. Just staring, and staring, and staring at it. And he's letting the house and garden go all to pot, too, besides his own appearance. He just shuts himself away up here, and doesn't so much as lift a finger around the house. "So, there you are," said the unhappy housewife, addressing both James and Debbie. "That's why I want to sell the mirror. It's been turning my life upside-down. I've had enough, and I want to get back to normal. So ... Do you -- do you want to buy it, then? For just twenty pounds? I'll let you have it for twenty pounds. Just like I promised you, last—" "Done! You've got yourself a deal, Mrs Leadbetter," said James brightly. Smiling in self-congratulation, James handed Mrs Leadbetter a £20 note, the agreed upon sum. She promptly handed James's money over to her husband ... thereby completing the transaction: Sealing the bargain, and confirming the mirror's transference of ownership. "Um ... actually, James, I'm not so sure about this, any more," demurred Debbie uneasily. "I -- I think we should forget about buying the mirror, James. There's -- there's something about it ... something—" "Don't be daft, Debs! Just listen to yourself!" James chided, with a foolish grin. "Like you said last night, Debs, it's just the thing for your mum's birthday present. She's going to love it!" Turning to Mr Leadbetter, James said, "If me and Debbie stand down below, Mr L, will you pass the mirror down to us, please?" At seeing a stern and reproving look from his wife, Mr Leadbetter finally nodded his reluctant acquiescence. Resigned, at last, to the fact that the mirror was going, he said grumpily, "Oh, all right, then." * * * The mirror wasn't too heavy and, with it still attached to its two-foot-tall, plinth-like wooden stand, Debbie and James managed to carry it to James's car easily enough between them. It was only after James had opened the Astra's hatch, and they had lifted the mirror out of its stand, that Debbie thought they might have a problem. "Um ... I'm not sure the mirror is going to fit, James," she said uncertainly. "Maybe you'd better fold the back seat forward to accommodate it -- I don't want to have to struggle with this thing any more than is necessary. Go on, I'll hold the mirror until you've folded the back seat down." "Okay, Debs," said James. As the Astra's central-locking no longer worked, in order to get access to the back seat, James had to open the driver's door again, and then pull up the door lock on the rear door. Having folded down the back seat, James then walked to the back of the car, where Debbie was waiting for him. "It should be easy enough, James. I'll hold this end, you hold that end, and we'll lift the mirror into the car together. We'll put it in face-down on the boot's carpeting, and the stand can sit on top, okay?" James nodded his understanding and acquiescence. James had gotten a good, firm hold on his end of the mirror, and he was just about to start lifting when, reflected in the mirror, he saw a from-the-knees-down view of a girl or a woman's legs and high-heeled, open-toed strappy sandal shod feet approaching. Her legs were tanned and shapely, her toes were painted a lovely shade of pink, and he could hear that exciting sound of high heels clack-clack-clacking on a hard surface getting louder and louder, as she drew nearer and nearer ... and then it was the receding backs, of the girl or woman's legs and feet that James saw in the mirror, the clack-clack-clacking sound of her high heels, growing fainter and fainter, as she walked further and further away ... James was nonplussed. Mystified. How could that be? he thought in amazement. What he'd just seen ... How could it possibly be? He looked over the Astra's roof, looking for the walking-away girl or woman he'd just seen in the mirror ... but there was no girl, there was no woman. In fact, there wasn't a soul on the quiet street -- either way -- apart from him and Debbie. "Er ... when you're ready, James," prompted Debbie, her voice conveying that she was wondering why he wasn't lifting his end of the mirror yet. "Did -- did you see her, Debbie? Didn't you -- didn't you hear her?" James stammered. "What are you on about, James? See who? Hear who?" said Debbie in puzzlement, surveying the street in both directions ... the empty street. "There was -- there was a ... didn't you see, Debbie?" James stuttered incoherently. "I haven't seen anyone ... Now, are we going to stand here all day, like two morons, or are we going to put this mirror in the car? On a count of three, okay, James? One ..." James had gotten another good, firm hold on his end of the mirror, and was waiting on Debbie's count to three, when, reflected in the mirror, he saw a from-the-knees-down view of a girl or a woman's legs and feet, walking away. This girl or woman's bare legs were quite pale, and she was wearing a pair of well-worn looking black flats. "Two ..." said Debbie. James turned around. He wanted to see the girl or woman; to actually see her, with his own two eyes. He wanted to see the real, live, in-the-flesh, girl or woman, to see who she was, to see what her face looked like ... but there was no one there. "Three!" said Debbie. James turned back to the mirror, to see the walking-away girl or woman suddenly stop. She slipped her foot from her right, well-worn black flat, and James saw her hand reach down for her shoe. She upended it, rapped the heel of her flat against the pavement, and James saw a tiny stone fall out and roll away. "Ah, gotcha!" he heard the girl or woman say, her relief and satisfaction plainly evident in her voice. The girl or woman then raised her right leg behind her, and James got a superb view of her bare sole, looking all hot, and sweaty, and smelly. Her arch was pale, starkly contrasting with the redness of the bottom of her heel, the ball of her foot, and her toe pads. But he had no more than a brief, tantalising glimpse of the highly arousing sight, before the girl or woman gave her toes a quick, splaying wiggle, and then pulled her flat back on again with her hand. "Aaahhhh!" wailed Debbie, holding her hand to the small of her back. Angry and upset, she demanded, "What the hell, James? I've hurt my back! Why -- why didn't you lift? Oh ... I could really throttle you, sometimes!" The Mirror Ch. 02 "I'm sorry, Debbie. But -- but I saw ... I thought I saw ..." "What? You saw what, James? What the hell is wrong with you? There's no one here but us! I'd said: On a count of three. Didn't I? And now ... and now my back's hurting. Oh, I said we shouldn't have bought the mirror! Didn't I? I told you I was having second thoughts about it, that there was something ... something about it. But, would you listen? No. "Anyway, James," said Debbie, getting into the front passenger seat of the car, "you'll have to find someone else now, to help you lift the mirror into the back of the car." James's mind was all over the place. He didn't know what to think. What to think, about the girls or women he'd seen walking along the pavement, reflected in the mirror ... girls or women, that Debbie hadn't seen. Was he having some kind of ... episode? He was distraught, too, that he'd caused Debbie to put her back out, and ... and how was he going to explain that, to Debbie's mum? James looked up and down the street, hoping to spot a likely helper ... and he saw Mr Leadbetter. Mr Leadbetter was in his drive, with a bucket of soapy water and a sponge, about to start washing his private-hire taxi. He'd had a shave, James noticed, and combed his hair. And already he was looking healthier: less gaunt, more sparkle-eyed, and the pallor of his skin wasn't quite so pale; even had a bit of colour to it now. And he had a look of get-up-and-go about him, too, that hadn't been there before. Looks like Mrs Leadbetter is getting her husband back, thought James. Looks like he's getting back to the man he was ... "before he bought the mirror". "Er, Mr L ..." James said, walking over to him. "Couldn't do us a bit of a favour, could you? Help me get the mirror into my car? Debbie's put her back out, you see, trying to lift—" "Yes, I know. I saw what happened. I've been watching ... and waiting. Waiting for the moment, when you found out. When you ... realised." "Realised what, Mr L?" Mr Leadbetter stared at James for some moments, before saying, "The mirror. It ... it tunes in, to you. And it knows you, now ... Just as it knew me." "Um ... Right you are, Mr L ... Er, any chance of a hand, then, Mr L? It'll only take us two ticks." "All right, then, come on ... And my name's Howard. My friends call me Howie." * * * Fifteen minutes later, James was parking the Astra at the kerb outside Debbie's. "How's your back feeling now, Debbie?" asked James solicitously. "Terrible, thanks for asking." "Oh," said James. "And James, make sure you get someone to help you with the mirror when you get back to your flat. I don't want you ending up with a bad back as well," Debbie said while unbuckling her seatbelt. "No ... I mean yes, Debs. I'll get Mr Jessop to help me. He's the caretaker at Hopwell House. We're on friendly terms, Joe and me. He'll give me a quick hand with it, no problem." "Come on then, James. Come in for a cup of tea, before you go back to your flat." But, having seen the pair return, Debbie's mum was waiting for them on the doorstep ... and James didn't like the look of her body language. Doris was standing there, arms crossed, and with a face like thunder. "Right then, you two," she said in no-nonsense tones as Debbie and James came in through the front gate. "As I said earlier, I want a word. You are in trouble, James. I want to know what you were up to last night." "Er, oh-oh ... I think maybe you'd better make yourself scarce, James," Debbie said quietly. "Mum's on the warpath." James didn't need telling twice. When Debbie's mum was on the warpath, you'd better look out -- if you knew what was good for you. "Oh! Debbie, love, what's the matter with your back?" exclaimed Doris, upon seeing her daughter holding her hand to the small of her back. "Er ... It's nothing, Mum. Just a slight twinge, that's all. I'll -- I'll probably be all right, in a few hours." "Come back here, James!" shouted Doris, at seeing James making a sharp exit. "James! James!! I said: come here -- you've got some explaining to do!" she yelled, as James hastily let himself out the front gate, leaving it wide open behind him. "Come back now! I want a word with—" "Um, James can't stop, Mum. He -- he's ..." Debbie and her mum watched, as James raced headlong to the Astra. He flung open the driver's door, slammed it shut behind him, hurriedly fastened his seatbelt, started the engine, and then floored the accelerator, wheel-spinning away about 2,000 miles' worth of tread as he shot away from the kerb with a loud squeal of tortured tyres, and leaving behind him the lingering, acrid stench of burnt rubber, and the oily tang indicative of worn piston rings. Debbie looked at her mum and smiled. "Looks like that old heap of his has got some life in it yet, Mum." And Debbie's mum, though she tried to remain stern-faced, couldn't resist smiling back. Linking arms with her daughter, she said, "Come on, Debbie. Let's go in and have a cuppa." * * * James didn't live far from Debbie's, and so it was only a matter minutes before he was arriving at his flat at Hopwell House. He parked the Astra in the residents' car park, and looked out through the windscreen for any sign of the caretaker. And, as luck would have it, there was the fifty-something, brown-boiler-suit-wearing caretaker, Mr Jessop, wielding his hard-bristled sweeping brush. He was tidying up outside the six-storey block of flats; a sure sign that he had nothing much else to do. "Joe! Just the man!" said James cheerily through the now half-lowered driver's window, causing the crouching caretaker to pause and look around just as he was sweeping a discarded crisp packet into his dustpan. "Give us a quick hand here for two seconds, Joe, will you, if you've got a quiet minute?" The caretaker deposited the piece of litter into his black plastic refuse sack, straightened up, and arched his back. "Okay, James. Bit it'll have to be quick -- you can see how busy I am," Joe quipped. "Yes ... and backbreaking work it is, too, by the looks of it," James quipped back. Smiling, the caretaker walked over to the Astra. Patting its roof, he said, "How the scrap man hasn't got his hands on this thing yet, I'll never know, mate." "That's what Debbie keeps saying. It's a cracking little runner, though. Never lets me down." "Hmm ... So, cock sparrow, what do you need a hand with, then?" By way of answering, James got out of the car, opened the hatch and, after taking out the two-foot-tall, plinth-like stand and placing it on the ground, he pointed at the mirror. "This, mate. It slots into its stand, so we can carry it to my flat all in one piece. I've bought it as a present for Debbie's mum's birthday, in about two weeks' time -- which is why I've brought it here. You know, to keep it out of her sight, so the surprise isn't spoiled. So, what do you think? She's going to love it, Joe ... don't you think?" "Hmm ... A mirror." James, remembering what the mirror's previous owner, Mr Leadbetter, had said about it, thought he'd josh his caretaker friend a bit. "Ah! But not just any old mirror, Joe. It's a seventeenth-century antique mirror, designed and crafted by Edward Landry, the infamous practitioner of the occult. Look, see all of these scary symbols, carved into the frame? And look, here's his signature, in the bottom right-hand corner of the frame. See, Joe, the mirror has ... special powers." "Ha ha ha! A supernatural mirror? And you are going to give it to your girlfriend's mum, for her birthday! Ha ha ha! Priceless that is, mate. Just priceless ... Seriously though, James, at times, you do talk an awful lot of—" "Not me, Joe. The bloke I've just bought it from. And he was being dead serious, too. Honest, he was. He was desperate to keep it, too. It was the missus who made him sell it. She said her husband was sitting in front of the mirror all the time, up in the attic, and in the dark too, just staring, and staring at it. Talk about loony tunes! Bonkers, he was. I'm telling you, mate, I've never heard such a load of old cobblers: The mirror had 'tuned in' to him, he told me. He said that it 'knew' him. And now, because I'm the mirror's new owner, it 'knows' me." "It takes all sorts to make a world, James, doesn't it, mate?" "Yeah, I suppose. Sad, really ... Anyway, shall we get it inside, then? It's not very heavy, but Debbie told me not to carry it by myself." "No problem, cock sparrow. No problem at all." * * * James was in his kitchen, making a cup of coffee. And he was chuckling to himself. He was remembering the utter gibberish, the unadulterated hogwash that Mr Leadbetter had spouted ... Edward Landry's occult mirror, indeed! He shouldn't laugh though, really, thought James in self-admonishment. Mr Leadbetter was obviously a marble shy of a full bag. But ... It was weird, though, he mused. What he'd seen reflected in the mirror -- and heard, too, come to that -- just as he and Debbie had been about to lift it into the back of his car ... but that Debbie hadn't seen, hadn't heard. The approaching -- and then, inexplicably, impossibly, receding -- from-the-knees-down view of a girl or a woman's tanned legs and high-heeled, open-toed strappy sandal shod feet, her toes painted a lovely shade of pink, clack-clack-clacking along the pavement ... when the street had actually been deserted in both directions. And then, his seeing the second ... manifestation? ... of the second, from-the-knees-down view, of the walking-away pale-legged girl or woman ... Seeing her stop, to remove her right, well-worn looking black flat. And, at her rapping her upended shoe on the pavement, his seeing a tiny stone fall out and roll away. And, upon which, his clearly hearing the girl or woman's relief and satisfaction, plainly evident in her voice when she said, "Ah ... gotcha!" ... And, his seeing the girl or woman then raise her leg behind her, preparatory to pulling her flat back on, and getting a superb view of the sole of her bare foot, that looked all hot, and sweaty, and smelly ... And, his seeing her foot so vividly, too: her pale arch, contrasting starkly with the redness of the bottom of her heel, the ball of her foot, and her toe pads ... And, his seeing the girl or woman give her toes a quick, splaying wiggle, the deliciously teasing sight glimpsed but briefly, in the tantalising moment before she pulled her flat back on with her hand ... Again, when there had been no one on the street, but him and Debbie. Absolutely no one. James was trying to pooh pooh the weird incident. He was trying to dismiss it -- trying to expunge it -- from his mind. Trying to chalk it up, as just 'one of those things'. Well, what else could he do? It was just some ... some strange trick of the imagination, that's all. Wasn't it? What people meant, when they said you must be 'seeing things'. So why, then, he thought, did he remember all of those details -- such arousing, details -- so clearly? And so vividly? And with such total recall? As if they were now indelibly imprinted in his mind, for the purpose of ... ready recollection. In fact, there was now a steadily growing bulge, at James's crotch, just at the very remembrance of those images. Images, that he now seemed unable to dismiss. Unable to expunge ... And could no longer pooh pooh. Images, that were now persistently demanding the undivided attention of his mind's eye. Images, that now seemed, somehow, to be irrepressible. Insistently asserting themselves, imposing themselves ... insinuating, themselves. Images, that were ... invasive. And James realised that he was rhythmically stroking himself, through the fabric of his trousers. Rub, rub, rub ... Rub, rub, rub ... Oh, for Pete's sake! he thought, trying to dislodge those sexy sights from his mind. This was ridiculous! Get a grip! he admonished himself. He didn't want to have to go and ... After all, he didn't have to do this -- he had Debbie, to care for his needs. James reached up and opened a cupboard, looking for some biscuits. Seeing there were only two or three chocolate-chip cookies left in the packet, he emptied the remaining few treats out onto a small plate. Refreshments prepared, he put his coffee and biscuits on a small wooden tray and took them through to the living room. He'd put the telly on, thought James. He'd watch the Parliament channel. That should help take his mind off ... things. He sat down in front of the TV, in his most comfortable chair; a black leather, high-backed, and well-padded armchair, carefully placing the tray in his lap as he sat down. The remote was on the coffee table, just to his right. And he was just about to take the TV off Standby when, for some reason, his attention was drawn to his right ... towards the mirror. James looked at the mirror. Mounted on its two-foot-tall, plinth-like stand, it was up against the right-hand side wall of his living room, where he and his caretaker friend, Joe Jessop, had placed it so that it would be out of the way. What had drawn his attention? he wondered. At first, James couldn't put his finger on it. And then ... No. It had to be his imagination, thought James. Had to be. Didn't it? Or some trick of the light. Yes, that must be it. After all, light could do funny things. Maybe it was just sunlight, somehow glancing in off another window somewhere. Anyway, whatever it was, there would be a rational, logical explanation for it ... Nonetheless, James put his tray on the coffee table. He got up, and went over to draw the curtains closed ... To find that it wasn't, his imagination. That it wasn't, some trick of the light. That it wasn't sunlight, somehow glancing in off another window somewhere ... And, that there wasn't a rational, logical explanation for it. In profound disbelief, James stared at the mirror. And then his phone rang. James didn't move ... just stared at the mirror, in wonder. The phone rang four times, and then his answer-phone kicked in automatically. It was Debbie, and her voice was all bright and cheerful and sing-song. "James? Are you there? If you are there, James, pick up ... Oh, bother! I suppose your caretaker friend is still helping you in with the mirror. Anyway, it's about tonight. About what we said about going to the cinema tonight ... remember? There's a showing of a film called They Came From The Beyond, at seven. Duh, I know ... it's bound to be really naff, some silly supernatural flick, but a least it'll be a laugh, won't it? And, I could do with a laugh, after last night! So come and get me at about half-past six, will you? Oh, and Mum's not mad at you, James. Honest, she's not. In fact, she's -- ha ha ha! -- she's hardly stopped giggling, since she saw your bat-out-of-hell impression! See you later, then. Bye." James continued to stare at the mirror ... and there was no doubt about it. No longer, could he try to deny the evidence of his own eyes ... Not now. No way, could he shrug this off, as just a trick of the light. No way, could he blithely palm it off, as being some strange trick of the imagination. No way, could he so nonchalantly account for it -- conveniently categorise it -- as being merely 'one of those things'. Because James knew ... he wasn't 'seeing things'. There was a discernible glow, all around the edges of the mirror, where it fitted into its ornately carved frame. A glow, that grew brighter, and whiter, even as he watched. The glow continued to brighten, yet it didn't dazzle him. The glow brightened, until it became impossibly white ... And then, slowly, the glow began to lose intensity ... and pulse. Something was about to happen. James knew it. He just knew it. But what? James waited. Waited, in wonder. He waited in fear, too. In fear of the unknown. Mostly, though, he waited in awe. But the mirror didn't keep James waiting, for long. The Mirror continues, in Chapter 3. The Mirror Ch. 02: Amanda's Fuck Toy Amanda was tired, it had been a long day at work, moving up and down, repositioning things on shelves and having to deal with annoying customers. She was in between jobs, frustrated at her boss and the only thought that kept her going was her boyfriend Eric back home. Amanda smiled at his image and his voice calling her and ordering her and pleasing her... She glanced at the gigantic clock on the wall. Once home, Amanda cursed at how much longer her boss kept her at work and now she didn't have much time to enjoy her bath and get ready for Eric. It was a good sign he wasn't back before her. She quickly undressed and walked into the shower. She let her brown, shoulder length hair loose and felt the hot water washing the day away. She lathered a good amount of her favorite bath wash, which smelled of vanilla and cinnamon, all over her body and felt her senses awakened. She wished Eric was here now. She dripped some of her favorite sweet almond oil on her body and her hair and rubbed a little cocoa butter on her lips. Amanda wrapped her towel around her and went into the bedroom, where Eric was already sitting on the bed, taking his shoes off. "Hey, I didn't hear you come in!" She smiled and went to sit on his lap and hug him. Eric put his arms around her "You were indulging yourself in that shower Amanda" and took his t-shirt off. She felt irresistible with that oiled skin and the glistening hair but that feeling didn't reach Eric, who was as tired as he could get. "I need a hot shower too, Amanda. And dinner afterwards; I'm beat." Amanda wrinkled her nose, remembering her fast walking back home in order to get deliciously ready for Eric. "OK, go on. There's hot water and we're having tomato soup and homemade bread." Eric nodded and took off his jeans before he entered the bathroom. Amanda wrinkled her nose again, felt a complete loss of appetite and begun searching her bottom drawer. She exclaimed happily when she found her lilac scarf, a large washed off scarf of thin cotton. Eric had bought it for her on a day they went for a walk on the beach, saying it contrasted brilliantly with her soft brown eyes. Yeah, well they were so in love then. Now the mundane of life had taken over and she felt she had to shake things up because, damn it, she was still deeply in love with Eric. She wrapped the scarf around her naked body and sat lazily on the bedroom's armchair, looking in the mirror and playing with her hair, twisting some curls and pulling it over her shoulder. Eric showed up with his towel around his body and droplets of water on his chest. "Hey, babe, I couldn't find my shampoo, so I used yours. I hope you don't mind." "Come over here, I wanna smell you!" Amanda teased him. Eric grinned and tilted his head towards her. "Can't reach you. Lower a bit..." Eric was tall so lowering was awkward. He decided to kneel. "That's better..." Amanda murmured. She opened her legs to reach the sides of the armchair and pushed herself forward. Part of the scarf moved away, half revealing her pussy to Eric's eye level and along bringing her womanly scent mixed with her vanilla cinnamon shower gel. Eric pressed her knees on the armchair and lowered his head between her legs. "Mmm not before dinner!" She gently pulled his hair up. "On second thought, get up Eric." He did. She gently pushed him on the sheets. "Suppose..." She started and bit her lip "...you were my personal toy, my own obedient fuck toy? Just for the night?" Eric was turned on immediately, but the idea of giving up control was new to him. Yet her eyes were looking blazingly into his and it had been a long time since he had felt true passion in their sex life, maybe he had forgotten how sexy Amanda could be and was when he had first met her. He grinned and grabbed her scarf to unrobe her. "No, baby. You just follow orders, you're here to please me." Amanda drew closer to his ear, licked it and whispered, "That's the definition of a fuck toy!" She unwrapped the scarf slowly and folded his hands with it. "It's only symbolic," she whispered and tied the loose ends to the bed. Eric saw her desire and felt his cock twitching. He could make this sensual woman want him, crave him, stage him, fuck him. As she crawled on his body, she pointed to the mirror and said in a hoarse voice, "Look at us." This made Eric get harder. He let out a moan he wasn't prepared to let out. It was a sign that Amanda had won the seduction game. She crawled and parted his legs, pushing them with both her hands and looked at him, smiling at the gasp he didn't show, but she felt deep down. Her tongue touched his balls, circling them, leaving wet traces but never overlapping the same spots. Eric moved his hips but her hands steadied him. She looked at him again, whispering, "Do you wanna see how wet you've made me?" and without waiting for his answer she got slightly up and straddled one of his strong thighs, rubbing her wet pussy on it, slowly, while pushing it on his hard muscles. Yes, he saw how wet she was. She slid back on his legs and put her head between his legs. She took in her mouth as much of his rock hard cock as she could, her hands on his hips, pressing them as she tried to take him. Eric felt so good, he closed his eyes at the first contact with her warm mouth. It wasn't something Amanda treated him with frequently. She moved her head up down a couple of times, having Eric moan louder. The warm feeling suddenly left Eric's cock since Amanda let him all alone, hard and swollen, dripping pre cum and moved towards him. Before he could protest, she put her finger on his mouth and whispered in her lowest voice, "Don't talk my precious fuck toy" and licked his lips with the tip of her tongue. Eric felt her tight pussy pressing on him and instinctively thrust harder to enter her. She let a small cry from the sudden stretching and tilted her body on his, her full breasts touching his chest, as she went up and down slowly. They both lost their words and they both lost their breaths. Amanda moved slowly on his cock and took a glimpse on the mirror "Look at us, baby." Eric wanted to grab her ass and push her hard on his cock but restrained; he wanted to play her game. But he could talk. He paused the small movement and asked her in his manly voice, "What do you want now? Tell me." Amanda brushed her nipples on him, circling his own and answered, "I want to fuck you like you've never been fucked before Eric. Do you hear me?" She rode him slowly and painfully deep for some moments and then took him out of her. She turned her back to him and lowered herself on his cock but leaned forward and opened her ass a little. She turned her head to look at him and said, "Just take a small taste" while taking him in her ass. The oil she had used after her shower made it easier for Eric to slide in, not without difficulty. He couldn't believe his luck; he had been begging her to let him take her ass and had only succeeded once. Now he was thrusting inside her, opening her and hearing her cries that made his cock grow bigger, if that was ever possible. She grabbed his legs in pain but instead of asking him to stop she said, "Take my ass baby, Eric, take my ass, fuck it like you fuck my pussy..." Eric didn't need anything more to start taking her as she rocked her hips on him. God, he had to fight the feeling to come, it was too good, way too good. Amanda felt him throbbing and let him slip out. She got up, swaying her incredibly sexy ass and brought the wine bottle, Eric was about to open for dinner. She took a big sip in her mouth and lowering her face on him, on his cock, let the wine slowly drip on him. When it was covered with the red fluid, she opened her legs and took him inside her once more. They both let a cry, as the stiffness of the wine covered her walls, his shaft and added an unbearable warmth when they moved. "Take me Eric, take me like only you can... Please, I need you to fuck me now..." and she pulled the ends of the scarf to untie his hands. Eric turned her over, back down at once, with one move and entered her, all at once. "Big mistake to let your fuck toy free, baby" he managed to say between breaths and started fucking her steadily but hard and fast. Like a broken fuck toy, like non-caring and like not listening to her moans. But he could sense that was what she's been wanting all along. He had her underneath him and for once he didn't control the depth or the time or even the hurting of their fucking. Eric was giving her the absolute abandoned fuck and he felt her orgasm building so fast, she had nothing to do with it, no control over it and no option to quit even if she wanted. He heard his name among her cries and felt her before she would murmur what sounded like 'I'm cumming' and then he let go, not that he too, could have stopped or prolonged it even if he wanted. He came into her, the same time with her, just like she had asked him a thousand times in the past but had never really happened. Eric was so lost that it took him some moments before his mind registered that it was Amanda lying there. She was looking into his eyes, trying to connect the man that took her so wildly with the guy that had licked her or kissed her or held her. Her Eric. She glanced at the mirror to see him still over her body, his hands strong and still tense on either side and his head between his shoulder blades, down, eyes closed. When he finally got off her and laid beside her, Amanda stated bluntly, "If that's what a fuck toy does, then by all means, I wanna play with you every fucking day." ***** This one goes out to the one who inspired Eric, but is way sexier! I'm not yet as good as a writer to describe him! Hi and Thanks! An added thank you note to my valuable editor! The Mirror Ch. 02 Cindy found this quite an odd turn of events. Whereas they didn't have anything like a Dominant/submissive relationship, she was normally very submissive when it came to sex, always following Jeff's lead. He was a considerate lover and, although they'd certainly become more experimental over the last few weeks, he'd never pushed her into anything that was uncomfortable. But now she found something that she really wanted, and to get it she would have to become the dominant partner. Reminding him of their previous encounter in front of the mirror wouldn't do it. Nor would pleading. To get what she wanted, she would have to excite him--to get him started and then make him forget about what he was doing. Cindy took two steps away from the door, halving the distance between herself and her husband, who was still sitting naked on the bed with his eyes studiously avoiding hers. Lifting her hands to the top button of her shirt she said, "Jeff, look at me." Jeff looked up, his discomfort in meeting her eyes plain to see. "I want to see you touch yourself, Jeff." She slowly unfastened the top button of her shirt. "I want to watch your excitement. I want to see how you like to be touched so that I can please you better." Her fingers slowly worked the second button on her shirt. "Touch yourself." Holding her eyes, acutely aware of her slow undressing but unable to look down, Jeff slowly moved his hand to wrap it lightly around his now-limp penis. He gave it a gentle squeeze, wondering if he'd be able to manage an erection, or if his fear would render him impotent. He wanted to please Cindy, but the idea of masturbating in front of her was so frightening. "That's right, Jeff," Cindy said as she released the second button and spread the shirt. The tops of her breasts were clearly visible and she ran her fingers over the exposed skin. "What do you think about when you're touching yourself?" She moved her fingers to the third button. Jeff felt that familiar stirring in his groin as he held his wife's eyes. He wanted to tear his eyes away and stare openly at her slow undressing, but he somehow knew that she wanted him to see her eyes. He knew also that she was in control now, and that he would do anything for her. He could feel the blood starting to flow, his shaft lengthening, becoming firmer in his hand. Cindy, too, wanted to pull her eyes away and concentrate on Jeff's lap: to watch closely his reaction to her teasing. She saw his shoulder move, and knew that he had given in to her request--that tonight she was in charge and he would do as she asked. She smiled and nodded her head; her full breasts pushing the shirt open as the third button was released. "Tell me, Jeff." She reached up, hands cupping her covered breasts. "Tell me what you think about when you're all alone, holding yourself like you're doing now." Almost at full hardness now, Jeff stroked slowly up the length of his shaft. "I think of you." His hand rolled over the bulging head and Cindy saw him shudder in pleasure. "I think about being with you," he said, once again filling his hand and stroking down. "What about me, Jeff?" Cindy was becoming very excited watching her husband begin to stroke himself and also feeling very charged by her control of this situation. She held her breasts more firmly and brought her fingers up to surround her nipples, feeling the hard nubs through the light material of her shirt. "What do you think about me?" "I think about..." Jeff placed one hand on the bed and leaned back, giving himself a better angle. He stroked himself softly, slowly, pausing on each upstroke to squeeze the head and then pulling all the way down until just his thumb and forefinger were wrapped around the base. "I think about kissing you. About touching you." "Oh?" Cindy was beginning to really enjoy this game, and she pinched her nipples in her excitement. Jeff saw her eyes widen and her body tremble before she regained her composure. "Is that all? Where do you want to touch me, Jeff?" She lowered her fingers to the button just below her breasts. Two more and the shirt would be free. "I build a," Jeff began, and then shook when his hand rolled over the head of his cock. At full hardness now, he was beginning to lose his inhibitions. "...fantasy. I start by imagining us together, holding. Kissing. Like we always do." He found it increasingly difficult to hold her eyes, wanting very much to look down, but holding her gaze because that's what she wanted and tonight, she was in charge. Cindy stood two paces from Jeff, still smiling and working the last button of her shirt. She saw in his eyes that he knew when she'd finally unfastened it, and she reveled in the power she had over him. She could see him wanting to look down--wanting to devour her with his eyes. "Don't look away, Jeff. I want to watch your eyes," she said as she slowly pulled her shirt open, baring herself from neck to waist. Shrugging the shirt off her shoulders, she let slide off her arms to the floor. Jeff opened his eyes wide, as if doing so would enable him to see Cindy's breasts more clearly. He stopped stroking for a moment and just wrapped his hand tightly around his shaft. "I think of touching your breasts. That always excites me to hear the way you sigh when my mouth closes over your nipple." He released his shaft and wrapped his hand around the head of his cock, squeezing and thrusting. Quickly closing the space between them, Cindy lifted her hands to hold her breasts in Jeff's face. "These? You want to suck on these?" She brushed her nipples over his lips. Jeff flicked his tongue out to touch her nipple, and reached up with his hand to hold her breast to his opening mouth. Cindy stepped back quickly, shaking her head. "Uh uh, lover. Mouth only. Your hand has other business." Jeff looked at her in surprise for a moment--long enough that Cindy was starting to think that maybe the game was over. But soon he relaxed and positioned his hand to resume the stroking. Smiling again, Cindy stepped forward between his legs and offered him her breasts. Jeff opened his mouth and wrapped his lips around one nipple, sucking and swirling his tongue around it while his hand began to build a slow rhythm up and down the length of his shaft. "Yes, you do know how I like to be touched," Cindy sighed. Eye contact broken, Cindy looked down into Jeff's lap, watching closely as his big hand moved up over the head of his cock and squeezed. She shifted slightly, keeping her eyes on his hand and turning her body so that Jeff could taste her other nipple. She was fascinated by the difference between how it looked with his hand rather than hers wrapped around that hardness. "Stroke yourself, Jeff. Imagine that it's me touching you. That my hands are holding you and my mouth sucking." Jeff groaned and lifted off the bed again, thrusting his cock through his hand and then lowering himself back to the bed, leaving his hand in place so that the smooth hard shaft withdrew until once again his hand covered the head. Jeff was in the rhythm now, closing and opening his fist as he thrust, fucking his own hand and sucking on his wife's nipples. All thoughts of embarrassment or of this being wrong had left his mind. He was concentrating on the sound of his wife's voice in his ear and the taste of her nipples. Cindy, too, was losing control. She had long fantasized about watching Jeff masturbate, but had never envisioned it quite this way. Nor had she expected that she would be as excited as she was now. Leaning forward to let her breasts fall in her husband's face, she quickly unfastened the snap on her shorts and pushed them to the ground. Her movements were not lost on Jeff, who moaned loudly and opened his mouth to engulf one breast, his hand tightening around his cock. Knowing that his wife was completely naked, and able to smell her arousal, Jeff wanted nothing more than to push her onto the bed and enter her quickly, burying himself deep within her velvet embrace. But he also knew that, although she wouldn't say or even show it, she would be disappointed. She wanted to watch, just as he watched her in this same position three weeks before. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on her breast in his mouth and her sighs and moans of appreciation. Her hands free, Cindy moved them down over her stomach, spreading her legs a bit further and pushing Jeff's legs apart. She reached down between her legs, fingers lightly touching the soft petals of her lips, so damp now with her arousal. Between her husband's mouth on her breasts, sucking and biting her nipples, the sight of him thrusting ever harder into his hand, and her fingers parting her lips to spread the moisture, it was all she could do to remain standing. Slipping one finger slowly into her wet channel, she moaned out loud and brought her legs quickly together. Sensing that Jeff was close, and unable to maintain her position due to her own excitement, Cindy climbed onto the bed to kneel behind Jeff. She reached between her legs again and, with her lips at his ear she whispered, "and do you think of this?" She brought her hand around and rubbed her wet fingers over Jeff's lips. Jeff groaned loudly and thrust hard into his hand as he opened his mouth to suck his wife's fingers. He was close now, thinking about nothing but reaching his climax. His hand moved more quickly up and down the full length of his cock, rolling the hand over the head and squeezing, the smell of his wife's sex in his nose and the taste in his mouth as she brought her other hand up to his lips. "Look into the mirror, Jeff," Cindy growled in his ear. "Open your eyes and watch." Her breasts pressed tightly against his back, Cindy watched Jeff open his eyes and capture her gaze in the mirror. He looked at his own face set in concentration, mouth partly open around his wife's fingers, breathing in huge gasps. He dropped his eyes, watching his hand moving in the mirror, his cock disappearing and reappearing in his fist. "That's right, Jeff. I want to see." Cindy dropped her hand and placed it lightly over his. "Do it, honey. Do it for me," she said, flicking her tongue out and then biting and pulling on his ear lobe. Jeff's entire body went rigid and he lifted his butt violently off the bed, thrusting hard into his hand. He lifted his eyes, catching hers in the mirror. One quick jerk of his hand and another thrust, then two quick jerks and he closed his eyes, tightening the grip on his cock and yelling, "now" as the first stream of semen shot out of the tip, rising to splash against his chest. Cindy pressed herself against his back, eyes open in amazement, her hand following the movements of his as he thrust again and another stream burst forth to land on his stomach. Jeff's body went slack and he loosened his grip, stroking more slowly, the remainder of his ejaculation drooling out of the tip, coating their hands and running down the length of his shaft. With all the activity--the earlier encounter on the love seat as they watched the movie, the thrill of the power she held over Jeff as she seduced him into masturbating for her, the feel of his mouth on her nipples, and the incredible vision of him losing all control while she whispered commands into his ear--Cindy was so aroused that she could hardly sit still. She had her arms around her husband, her fingernails scratching his stomach and chest. He was leaning against her, slowly regaining control of his breathing, his mind still clouded and his body still twitching from the intensity of his orgasm. But Cindy wanted more. Needed more. Her whole body was tingling. She was as excited as she had been before when their positions were reversed and it was Jeff whispering in her ear. She quickly moved from behind him, pushing him onto his back. She snuggled up to her husband on the bed, throwing one leg over his body and kissing him hard on the mouth. Jeff brought his arms up, lightly holding her with his hands on her back. "Jeff, honey, that was beautiful," she said, kissing harder and squirming against him. She wanted to let him rest, but she was just too needy. "But I need some help." Rolling over on top of him, Cindy straddled Jeff's chest, her knees trapping his arms to his sides. She slowly slid forward, looking into his eyes, pleading for him to take care of her problem. As she got closer to his mouth, she reached down and spread her lips with her fingers. Knowing what she wanted and happy to oblige, Jeff lifted his hands and grabbed Cindy's ass, pulling her forcefully forward, burying his face between her legs, and extending his tongue to probe. "Jeff, don't tease me. Just finish me. Now!" Needing no further encouragement, Jeff shifted his focus, wrapping his lips around Cindy's engorged clit and sucking. Flicking his tongue over it, his hands holding her firmly to his face, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her buttocks. Cindy let her body fall forward until her hands were on the bed. She squirmed on Jeff's face, totally out of control now, a low moan building. Jeff continued the assault with his tongue, trying to keep his mouth on her as she wriggled and squirmed. He could feel her start to tremble, that low moan turning into a cry and then cut off as she buried her face in a pillow to keep her scream from waking the children. Jeff held on as best he could through Cindy's powerful climax, savoring the taste of his wife and reveling in the knowledge that he had brought her this pleasure. When she finished, she rolled over onto her back and lay there, panting. Looking dreamily at her husband, she opened her arms, inviting him to come cuddle. Jeff crawled up the bed to lie beside his wife, draping one arm across her body. His head on the pillow was positioned so that his lips were right next to her ear. "You really liked watching me, didn't you?" Cindy shivered. "Uh huh." "I'm glad you encouraged me, because I wasn't going to do it." She turned to kiss him. "Thank you for letting me." Jeff kissed her back. "Did you like being in control? Do I have to worry about whips and chains next time?" "Jeff!" She slapped him playfully. "No. But it was fun telling you what to do and watching you do it." "Yes it was. But not every time, okay?" "Of course not, sweetheart. I like the places you take us." "Goodnight, my love," he said, tightening his arm briefly around her and kissing her neck. "Goodnight, Jeff." The Mirror Ch. 03 Chapter 3: James makes his no-turning-back decision. In profound disbelief, James stared at the mirror. An eerie white light pulsed, all around it, emanating from where the mirror's glass fitted into its ornately carved, highly polished hardwood frame. And James couldn't believe what was happening. He just could not believe, what he was actually seeing ... and hearing. What he was hearing, were mingled sounds ... The confused vocal blend, of laughter and conversations: Quiet, idle chit-chat; ribald banter; animated discussions -- heated arguments, even. And Juke Box music, too: What James was hearing, was the early-Saturday-evening hubbub of noise ... in the Cock & Bull pub. And what he was seeing -- and from exactly the same, from-behind view as he'd had the previous evening -- was the most stunning, almost heart-stopping view of the two barstool-perched, stunning blondes, Jennifer and Sharon. Just as on the previous evening, Jennifer and Sharon had let their thin-rubber soled flip flops fall to the floor and, to aid balance and purchase as they leaned forward at the bar counter, their toes were firmly gripped around the rounded, all-the-way-around chrome stretcher-bar of their high, red-leather topped barstools. So profound, was James's incredulous shock -- his sense of unreality -- that he felt his legs buckling under him; felt them threatening to give way altogether, as if they'd suddenly turned to jelly. So, before James fell down, he sat down. And, as though he was a Buddhist, sitting in lotus position before a shrine, he sat down, cross-legged ... right in front of the mirror. And then, as if in spasm, James's heart was thumping and jumping erratically -- leaping about in his chest like a cat in a coal sack. As though controlled by some ... supernatural cameraman, the mirror was steadily homing in on Jennifer and Sharon's feet. Zooming in, until the Barstool Blondes' beautifully tanned, slightly grubby bare soles were filling up the whole of the mirror's two-foot high, four-foot wide 'screen'. James was breaking out in a sweat. Already, he was in thrall. Already he was succumbing, to the mirror's ... influence. James's powers of self-control seemed to be diminishing by the second. Already, at the highly arousing sight before him, James was touching himself through the fabric of his trousers. Rub, rub, rub ... And already, he was nearing ... breaking-point. James was starting to fear a heart attack -- he really was. What he was seeing! What he was feeling! The sheer intensity of it was far beyond anything he'd ever known ... He was being blown away, by an increasingly insupportable overload of sexual excitement. James had never experienced such an intense, all-consuming thrill. Had never experienced, such overwhelming, pulse-quickening, barely tolerable excitement -- had never been so ... turned-on. And never before, had he experienced such instant, lustful arousal ... Or such undeniable need. And things were only just getting started ... Through the fabric of his trousers, James's fingers began stroking with more urgency ... Rub, rub, rub ... Rub, rub, rub ... James admonished himself. Told himself to stop playing with himself -- after all, he had Debbie to care for his needs. But he couldn't stop -- he just couldn't help himself. James had never known, such a stirring in his loins, such ... stimulation. In ecstatic awe, James stared at the mirror. He stared at it, in amazement. And in wonder. It was like some fantastical dream come true ... that is, a foot fetishist voyeur's fantastical dream. James loved to look at girls' and women's feet ... when they didn't know anyone was looking. Because that was when their shoe-playing antics were at their most exciting; at their most varied and inventive. It could be a huge turn-on. It was just amazing -- awesome -- to watch some of the things girls and women did. And he liked it best, when they were seated right in front of him; the best angle of view, to watch the ... action, unfold. Yes, it could be a huge turn-on. But he really loved to admire girls' and women's feet. Loved to ... appreciate them. And, whenever such ineffable beauty happened to be on open display before him, where was the harm in looking? In paying ... homage? James suddenly thought of the mirror's previous owner (and highly reluctant seller!), Mr Howard Leadbetter. He'd told James: "The mirror. It ... it tunes in, to you. It knows you, now ... Just as it knew me". Well, Mr Howard -- "my friends call me Howie" -- Leadbetter. I wonder what it was, then, that you saw in the mirror? thought James. Somehow, James doubted that Howie was a fellow foot fetishist ... though you never knew. Howie's wife had complained that her husband had sat up in the attic, for hour after hour ... in the dark. Sitting in the dark, and just staring, and staring, and staring at the mirror ... in his fishing chair. So ... was Howie an ultra keen fisherman, then? Did Howie patiently sit there -- as fishermen do -- imaginary fishing rod in hand? Did Howie sit there, an imaginary fisherman, with an imaginary fishing rod in hand, on the alert? On the alert, for that first tell-tale movement of his float, ruffling the still surface of some tranquil lake, or of some slow-moving river somewhere ... in the mirror? It took some swallowing ... Ah, what was the point in speculating? thought James. It could be anything, that Howie saw. What James was seeing, was the most amazing view. The most amazing, voyeur's instant-hard-on view, of the soles of the Barstool Blondes' bare, and rather grimy bare feet. Grimy, from an all-day accumulation of dirt and sweat, while wearing their thin-rubber soled flip flops ... Rub, rub, rub ... Except, that it wasn't, the most amazing view ... Because the mirror then zoomed in closer. And even closer. The mirror zoomed in, focusing upon just Sharon's right sole. Zooming in, until her right, suntanned, slightly grubby bare sole now loomed ... larger than life. His mouth hanging open in wonder, and his eyes like saucers, all but hanging out on their stalks, James stared at the mirror. He thought he was hyperventilating. He was trembling; shaking from sheer force of excitement, as the mirror zoomed in even closer -- ultra close. So close, he could barely make out what he was actually seeing; what he was seeing, as the mirror's 'lens' zoomed in closer, and still closer, to a mind-boggling mega magnification. Such was the astounding, incredible close-up detail, it was as if he was seeing all of the peaks, troughs and ridges of some unlikely cartographer's ordnance-survey style map of Sharon's bare right sole. Then slowly, the mirror zoomed out, until the features -- Sharon's heel, arch, ball of the foot, and toes -- were all once again readily recognisable. And now, the mirror proceeded to give James an extreme close-up, 'grand tour' of Sharon's right, suntanned, grimy bare sole ... The mirror's 'sight-seeing' tour began at the bottom of Sharon's dirt-and-sweat smudged heel. And James was at it again; he just could not restrain himself ... Rub, rub, rub ... The mirror's 'tour guide' then showed James around the other 'places of interest' on the itinerary: Sharon's arch, where the mirror paused, so that the awe inspiring 'sight' could be duly appreciated; then, on to the ball of Sharon's foot, that was a pinkish-red colour, just like the bottom of her heel ... And then, seemingly considerately, Sharon moved her foot so that it was resting behind the rounded, all-the-way-around chrome stretcher-bar of her high barstool, and so revealing the undersides of her long toes, and her slightly grubby toe pads ... Rub, rub, rub ... And, the 'picture'! James marvelled. The mirror's 'picture'! James was awestruck. He had an almost brand-new, Internet-capable 46-inch flat-screen TV, and its picture was superb. But, the mirror's 'picture' ... well, the mirror's 'picture' was ... something else. Such vibrant colour! Such clarity of vision! Such sharp, high-definition detail! The mirror's 'picture', James marvelled, was just so amazingly realistic. So incredibly ... lifelike. The mirror then zoomed out again, until the whole of Sharon's right sole, and then both of her dirty bare soles were once again filling up the whole of the mirror's two-foot tall, four-foot wide 'screen'. The mirror then panned across to Sharon's left foot; to her left, suntanned, rather grimy bare sole ... And started to zoom in again, as the close-up view, 'grand tour' began all over again ... Rub, rub, rub ... And the inevitable happened ... James, uncontrollably rub-rub-rubbing away at himself through the fabric of his trousers, barely made it half-way through the mirror's close-up view, 'guided tour' of Sharon's left, suntanned, grimy bare sole. Really not wanting this to happen; not wanting to ... soil himself, cresting the point of no return James moaned despairingly, "Nnnooo! Nnnnnnoooooo!!" as he found himself unable (and now, unwilling) to prevent the inevitable ... Well, now he might as well ... enjoy himself. Enjoy himself, to the max. Frantically, James undid his zip ... and out 'he' popped. Even considering his highly erotic ... stimulus, James was still greatly taken aback. Taken aback, in the throes of the resultant mind-shattering upheaval of his shuddering, eruptive climax. Taken aback, at the convulsive, body-wracking force of the initial spurting, spraying gout. And taken aback, at the seemingly never ending after-pulse, pulse, pulsing of his seed over his still continually cajoling fingers. James had messed up the front of his trousers. Damage done, though, there was nothing else for it: James continued to jack off, in an in-for-a-penny-in-for-a-pound abandon, milking the moment for all it was worth. And then the mirror, as though it was ... satisfied, was panning left, across to the grimy bare soles of the other Barstool Blonde, Jennifer. So ... you were right, Howie, James finally conceded, in reluctant acceptance: The mirror has, tuned in to me. It knows me. And now, its exerting its ... influence. It was the only explanation, James reasoned. The only explanation, for such ... manipulation. And, in avidly watching the mirror's second guided tour, James didn't 'survive' for long this time, either ... Rub, rub, rub ... Drinking in the incredibly arousing sight of Jennifer's dirty bare soles: the bottoms of her round and prominent heels, dirt-and-sweat smudged; her longish toes, clutching the rounded, all-the-way-around chrome stretcher-bar of her high, red-leather topped barstool, it was now, that James finally abandoned any last and lingering notions of resistance. James now finally realised, that the mirror -- or the mirror's controlling ... entity, would not be denied. Finally acknowledged, also, that the mirror could not, be denied. And then, seemingly coming from the nether regions of his mind, James heard a voice -- quite clearly, a female voice -- asking him why should he deny, himself? Why should he deny himself, such intense, incredible, almost heart-stopping pleasure? And James really had to concede, that the question posed by the mysterious female voice he'd just heard, had a valid point: This wasn't just some casual, every-day wank, that he'd just had. No -- it was the mother of all jerk-offs. James's phone rang. Just as it had earlier, the phone rang four times, and then automatically went to his answer-phone ... And again, he heard Debbie's voice. "James? Are you there? If you are there, James, pick up ... Oh, bother! You must have just popped out ..." James continued to stare at the mirror, mesmerised. Mesmerised, at the awesome sight of Jennifer's dirty bare soles, that were teasing the living daylights out of him. He just couldn't stand it! Now his dick was in his left hand and, with his zip now opened to its fullest extent, less hampered, less encumbered, less restricted ... more liberated. And already, it was fully erect again; all business, and ready and raring to go. All gooey and slippery from his first release, his palm and fingers slid up and down his slick shaft easily and smoothly ... and now, they were starting to slide up and down easily and smoothly in an increasingly urgent rhythm. "Oh well," continued Debbie's phone-voice. "It's too late to go to the cinema now. But if you get this message before nine o'clock, ring me back, will you? We could still go out for a drink -- but not to the Cock and Bull! We wouldn't want to run into those two blondes again, would we? So call me back, James, yeah? Bye." James continued to stare at the mirror. Continued to stare, at Jennifer's excitingly displayed, suntanned, grimy bare soles ... and the result was inevitable. His second coming, was just as inevitable as his first. His seed, this time, though still apparently quite plentiful, did not gout and spurt quite so spectacularly. But still it pulse, pulse, pulsed over his fingers in surprising quantities as, in a state of pure, unadulterated lust, with his eyes glued to Jennifer's dirty bare soles, James tried to pump, pump, pump himself dry. By now, James was making a hell of a mess, down there. But he didn't give a damn. He really, truly didn't care. By now, he was well beyond caring. By now, James just couldn't bear the thought of walking away from the mirror. Couldn't bear the thought, of leaving its ... presence. Not even for a moment. Not even to just nip to the bathroom: He wouldn't even -- or, maybe by now, couldn't -- sacrifice just the few seconds it would take, to clean himself up a bit, and then grab a few sheets of direly needed tissue-paper, for ... next time. So James continued to sit there on the floor, cross-legged, and covered in his own sticky mess ... in front of the mirror. James was enthralled, entranced, by the mirror ... Enchanted. And now the mirror was panning upwards and, when James saw the backs of the Barstool Blondes' upper bodies, he received yet another jolting shock. Printed in black on the backs of Jennifer and Sharon's bright yellow T-shirts, were the silhouettes of pairs of bare feet. The silhouettes were like footprints: like imprints, left in firm wet sand on the beach; heels, balls of the feet, and toe pads, all depicted in relief. There was also a local telephone number. And emblazoned across the shoulders of their bright yellow T-shirts in bold black lettering, was the legend: Tootsies. What was that, all about? wondered James. And now the mirror was letting James see between Jennifer and Sharon's blonde heads ... And there was Joan the barmaid. Joan was chatting to Jennifer and Sharon, apparently enjoying one of her few and much appreciated quiet moments between serving customers. Tonight, early-twenties, brunette Joan was wearing a body-hugging, high-hemmed dress, that was of a deep red colour, and that displayed her voluptuous figure to the greatest possible advantage. And hell, she was a real looker! Joan's curves were certainly in all the right places, thought James admiringly. And, wearing her attractively made-up, 'Saturday night' face, she was drop-dead gorgeous. And now, things started to get really interesting, for James ... "I don't know about you two," said Joan the barmaid conversationally, "but I still can't get over that guy, last night. Can you believe it? I mean ... staring at our feet?" James heard a slightly dulled clack-clack-clack sound. And the mirror accommodatingly panned downwards. Panned down, from the busty barmaid's attractive face, down past her ample cleavage, on past her short-skirted, million-dollar legs, and all the way down to her feet. And the clack-clack-clack sound, James now realised, was the metal-tipped heel of Joan the barmaid's right shoe; the sound of it, rap-rap-rapping against the hard, grey linoleum-like floor covering behind the bar. Tonight, Joan was wearing a pair of bright red, four-inch heeled pumps. And the reason for the clack-clack-clack sound, was Joan, enabling herself to ease free her right heel, to give her foot a brief moment of much-needed respite from her rather tight-fitting pump. James watched, courtesy of the mirror, as Joan gratefully eased her shapely bare foot all the way out of her bright red pump. He watched, as Joan then momentarily rested her bright-red painted toes upon the top of the heel of her shoe ... and then pressed her toes down, causing the sharply pointed toe end of her pump to point up vertically ... Rub, rub, rub ... "But," Joan the barmaid went on, addressing Sharon, "we certainly gave him what-for! Didn't we, Shaz? You didn't half give him a really good slap! And Jen, too! Slap! Slap! Ooh, I bet it hurt. I can still hear the smacking sound, even now. Like an echo. The punters all really enjoyed seeing that, didn't they? And then me -- ha ha ha! Pouring his pint of lager over his head! So, he got just what he deserved ... Stare at my feet, will he?" Joan the barmaid then slipped her right foot back into her shoe -- it took some forceful inserting -- and then ... clack-clack-clack ... Joan was easing free her left heel, from her other rather tight-fitting, four-inch heeled, pointy-toed red pump. Sharon replied, "Actually, Joan, me and Jen were talking about him today, at the salon. And it made for a good little anecdote to amuse our clients with, too. Didn't it, Jen?" "Yeah," said Jennifer. "We think he's probably got a foot fetish, Joan. That would explain it; explain him staring at our feet, the way he was. You see, Joan, as hard as it might be to believe, some guys actually like girls' and women's feet. I mean, really like them. They -- they actually ... get off, on them." "You're -- you're having me on, you two!" exclaimed Joan the barmaid, in utter incredulity. "Aren't you? You pair of little wind-ups! This is just another of your jokes ... isn't it?" The mirror panned back, to behind the Barstool Blondes' high, red-leather topped barstools. And once again, their suntanned, slightly grimy bare feet were filling up the whole of the mirror's high-resolution, two-foot high, four-foot long 'screen'. Upon their opening this new and intriguing topic of conversation, leaning forward slightly against the bar counter, the Barstool Blondes settled a little more comfortably upon their high barstools. With the toes of their left foot firmly gripped around the rounded, all-the-way-around chrome stretcher-bar of their barstools, Jennifer and Sharon both hooked their right foot behind their left ankles, and their toes started scrunching and splaying like there was no tomorrow ... Rub, rub, rub ... "No, we're not having you on, Joan, honest," said Sharon. "It's just the way some guys are. I know you were kind of, well ... weirded-out, last night. But foot fetishists are usually submissive by nature, so they are harmless enough, really. Actually, some of them are just so incredibly submissive, and so eager to please, it's like they put their girl up on a pedestal. Joan, sweetie, if you chose to, some of them, you could wrap right around your little finger ... or toe, as it were." At seeing Joan's still disbelieving 'Yeah -- right!' look, Jennifer corroborated. "Shaz is right, sweetie. And actually, foot fetishists are not all that thin on the ground, either. There's more of them than you might think ... well, not you, Joan, because you didn't know about them. But you know what I mean. In fact, some of our clients at the salon have got boyfriends or husbands who are really into their feet -- who actually worship, their feet. See, Joan ... foot fetishists, they like girls' tits, and ass, and legs, just the same as regular guys. But, it's girls' and women's feet, that really push all of their buttons." The Mirror Ch. 03 Ah, thought James, getting it at last: Jennifer and Sharon run a pedicure salon, called Tootsies. How about that! "You're -- you're actually serious ... aren't you?" exclaimed Joan. "I can see now, that you are both telling me the truth. But -- but I still find it hard to believe. It's -- it's incredible! I mean ... you are seriously telling me, that there are guys, out there, who actually like girls' and women's smelly, stinky feet? Guys, who actually ... get off, on them? And -- and that they ... put their girl up on a pedestal?" Jennifer and Sharon smiled at Joan, and took sips of their halves of lager. Sharon put her glass down on her coaster, and said, "Joan, if you had one of those foot fetishists as a boyfriend, trust me: just as easy as pie, you could fire his burners up. And then you'd have yourself a sky rocket to climb aboard -- fly you to the moon! The launch-pad would be ready, and all systems would be Go! And you, Joan, would be the one in control of the countdown. The countdown, to ... blast off!" Giggling girlishly, and the metal tips of her high heels going, clack-clack-clack ... clack-clack-clack ... like crazy, Joan the barmaid flapped her hand at her two friends. "Oh -- you two!" James was going crazy. The Barstool Blondes, Jennifer and Sharon, and Joan the barmaid, were talking about him! Well, about his 'kind', yes. But they'd talked about him, in particular! And he was loving it! Loving, listening to their girl-talk. Loving his secret, undetected -- and undetectable! -- fly-on-the-wall voyeurism. But the best thing of all, was that, thanks to the mirror, James could actually stare, and stare, and stare at their sexy feet to his heart's content -- but, without the slightest fear of discovery ... and, of course, of punishment. With total, absolute impunity, James could freely observe, and ... appreciate. Quite openly, he could ogle, and admire, and revere -- worship -- this most delicious of visual delicacies. He could adore -- pay homage -- to this most satisfying, finding-the-spot, eye-candy. And, with absolutely no possible danger, of ... come-back. James was not, going to be slapped very hard across his face, by the Barstool Blondes! James was not, going to have a pint of lager poured over his head, by Joan the barmaid! James was not, going to bring shame, embarrassment, disrepute, and ridicule down on his head -- and, by her association with him, upon Debbie's head, too. No! He was not! When Joan had finally stopped giggling, Sharon, who'd laughed along with Jennifer, resumed their conversation. "We had a really good day at the salon today, Joan. Easily our busiest Saturday, since we opened last year. Wasn't it, Jen?" "Ah, I thought you two must have had a late finish today, and come here straight from your pedicure salon," observed Joan, nodding at Jennifer and Sharon's bright yellow T-shirts. T-shirts, that depicted in black the silhouettes of pairs of bare feet: like imprints, left in firm wet sand on the beach; heels, balls of the feet, and toe pads, all depicted in relief. A local telephone number too. And, emblazoned across their shoulders in bold black lettering, the legend: Tootsies. Jennifer said, "Yes. Me and Shaz are busier than ever, Joan. And if it wasn't for the fact that our job entails sitting down, and standing still, we'd be rushed off our feet -- ha ha ha! We put it down to the two sunbeds that we installed last month. They were a big expenditure for us to take on at the time -- and more than a bit risky, too, with the current economic climate being what it is at the moment. But they've turned out to be a brilliant investment. The two sunbeds have really boosted our trade, Joan. What, with all of the extra business we've been getting from spillover clientele -- you know, from the girls and women who initially come to the salon just to use the sunbeds, but then decide to make an appointment to come back and have a pedicure, or maybe a reflexology session -- sometimes, both services -- as well as topping up their tans." "In fact, Joan," said Sharon, picking up Jennifer's thread, "me and Jen think it's time we took on an employee. To do most of the basic, menial prep work -- you know, trimming and filing toenails, and sloughing off dead or hardened skin from the bottoms of our clients' heels, and from the balls of their feet. That sort of thing. She'd also make cups of tea and coffee for us and for our clients; be a general dogsbody, really, while we gradually train her up as a professional pedicurist and nail technician, and hone her reflexology skills. See, that would free up a lot of valuable time for Jen and me, allowing us to concentrate on the more skilled work -- and the more lucrative! We'll be letting the Job Centre know soon that we're looking to take someone on. And maybe we'll put an ad in the local paper, too. See who might just turn up at the salon, asking about the vacancy." Joan said, "Shaz, you said 'her', and 'she'. Train 'her' up, you said. Does your new employee have to be female, then?" "Well ... no, Joan," replied Sharon, sounding rather thrown by Joan's question, as if it was coming at her from right out of the box; as if the very thought of taking on a male employee had simply never occurred to her, it being so outlandish a notion. "Not -- not strictly, I suppose. And anyway, it would be against the law; it would be considered to be sex-discrimination, if me and Jen stipulated a female-only requirement. It's just that ... well, pedicure salons are predominantly -- if not, exclusively -- run by female staff. After all, it's not really a man's work, is it? I mean, Joan, come on! What guy do you know, who would want to spend his working days massaging and prettifying girls' and women's feet?" "Ha ha ha!" laughed Joan the barmaid, her answer at the ready. "The guy from last night -- the foot fetishist, as you called him. Him -- that's who! You should get him, to come and work for you at the salon! Just think! He'd be a cracking little worker, for you -- ha ha ha! He'd be very ... conscientious." "Well, Joan," replied Jennifer, in a tone that suggested she was taking Joan's suggestion seriously. "I know you speak in jest ... But that's actually not as daft an idea as you might think. In fact ... it's not a bad idea at all. Is it, Shaz?" "It's a brilliant idea!" exclaimed Sharon, struggling to keep a straight face. "Of course, his ... ardour, would be the obvious stumbling-block. Hmm ... I don't know. Maybe we could put something in his tea? But, having said that, some of our clients would just love it, wouldn't they, Jen? I mean, having their feet adoringly pampered and fussed over, by a young, eager-to-please, good-looking guy -- every single one of them, up there on his own, personal pedestal." At seeing a look pass between her two friends, as they each took another sip of their lager, Joan exclaimed, "Now I know, you are both having me on! Put something in his tea! You two! Well, actually, I do, happen to think it's a very good idea. Don't you see? You could really put him in his place! You could—" "Hey, Joan! Any chance of a drink around here, or what?" called an impatient drinker, demanding a refill. Banging his pint glass on the bar counter for emphasis, he complained, "I'm dying of thirst, here!" "Duty calls," said Joan the barmaid with a theatrical sigh. James was going nuts, listening in to the Barstool Blondes' and Joan the barmaid's conversation -- their conversation, about him! The things they were saying -- especially Joan the barmaid! After serving the man's drink, Joan the barmaid went to the till to pay in the price of a pint of Stella, and retrieve his change from the £20 note he'd given her. And, as soon as the till was open, the metal-tipped four-inch heel of Joan's right, rather tight-fitting bright red pump clack-clack-clacked again ... and the mirror zoomed in. The mirror zoomed in close ... and James watched, in barely contained excitement. He watched in awe as, with a grateful sigh Joan eased her heel free, and then, knee bent, she rested her foot inside her pointy-toed red pump, her now slightly wrinkled sole facing upwards. And Joan scrunched her toes up tight; real tight, displaying her bright-red painted toe nails. And James went bananas. He felt his heart lurch alarmingly, at the incredibly arousing sight ... Rub, rub, rub ... He just couldn't take much more of this! Couldn't take much more, of this incredible excitement. His senses, just seemed so finely tuned, so incredibly ... heightened. "Oh, I see you are wearing your new red pumps tonight, Joan," observed Sharon appreciatively. "Gorgeous, they are. But I thought you said they were hurting you, Joan. That you were going to wait for a quieter night, before trying them on again for work ...?" The mirror then panned back, to behind the Barstool Blondes. As if on a cue, from the mirror's 'director', Jennifer and Sharon simultaneously unhooked their right foot from behind their left ankles, and placed both feet behind the chrome, all-the-way-around stretcher-bars of their high barstools. And once again, from heels to toes, their grimy bare soles were openly displayed to James ... Rub, rub, rub ... And now, there was yet another escalation, in the mirror's invasive influence over James. An incredibly intense yearning, began to overcome him. A yearning, that was like a physical ache. A yearning, that went way beyond the usual parameters of his foot fetishist's desires. James now found himself in the powerful, unyielding grip of a desperate craving. A craving, to sit on the bar's floor, behind the Barstool Blondes. A craving, to adoringly kiss the soles of Jennifer and Sharon's bare feet. James craved to humbly accord, to Jennifer and Sharon, the respect and the reverence -- the adoration -- that they so deserved. He craved, to acknowledge their ... status. And, to acknowledge his own status, too. To duly acknowledge, his ... "place". And James now wondered what it would be like, to be allowed to sit at Jennifer and Sharon's barstool-perched, dirty bare feet. To be ... stationed, at the Barstool Blondes' feet. To be their loyal, and faithful, obedient little 'lap' dog. To lick their work-a-day, grimy bare soles clean for them, while they enjoyed their nice, relaxing drink and chat at the bar, with Joan the barmaid ... Rub, rub, rub ... For Pete's sake! thought James. What was wrong with him? These ... these thoughts! After all, he had Debbie, to take care of— The mirror, as though to divert James's thoughts away from his darling Debbie, promptly panned back to Joan the barmaid. "I know, Shaz. I'm a fool to myself, aren't I? I should have worn my flip flops again tonight, like I said. My feet! These pumps, are absolutely killing me!" she bemoaned, as she scrunched and wiggled and flexed her toes; her bare, slightly wrinkled sole still facing upwards ... Rub, rub, rub ... And then James's phone rang again. Just as it had done twice earlier, the phone rang four times, and then was automatically picked up by his answer-phone ... And, for the third time this evening, it was his Debbie. "James? Are you there? If you are there, James, pick up ... Oh, botheration! Don't say you've popped out again! Well, it's too late now, anyway, for us to do anything tonight. I was just wondering why you hadn't got back to me, that's all. Anyway, if you get this before eleven o'clock, call me, yeah? Otherwise, come and pick me up tomorrow, and we'll go out for the day somewhere. And Mum ... Mum sends her love. Bye, then." Having now gathered the correct change, Joan the barmaid clanged the till drawer shut. "But all the boys say my legs look dynamite, in my high-heeled red pumps, Shaz," said Joan, giving her tortured toes a final relieving scrunch, wiggle and splay, before reinserting her bare right foot into its rather tight-fitting confines ... Rub, rub, rub ... Rummaging about in her handbag for something, Jennifer said to Sharon, "What Joan needs, Shaz, is a really good foot massage ... Shaz, have you -- have you got one of our—" "Yeah, got one right here," said Sharon. With a flourish, she placed a small printed card on the bar counter. "There you go, Joan. On us: A free voucher for a one-hour reflexology session at Tootsies. Just give us a call to make your appointment. See here ... our number's on the card." Jennifer said, "At the moment, Joan, we've got a special promotional offer on: six months' half-price membership at Tootsies Pedicure Salon. For you, Joan, if you'd like to take it up, me and Shaz will increase the six-month half-price membership offer, to a full year -- won't we, Shaz?" Smiling, Sharon nodded in ready affirmation. "And for that, Joan, you'll be entitled to a weekly one-hour reflexology session, a weekly pedicure, and the supervised use of our sunbeds. And in addition to that, because of a reciprocal arrangement we have, your membership at Tootsies will also entitle you to fifty per cent discount vouchers for Jim's Gym, the local swimming pool, and the local leisure centre." "Plus," Jennifer added, "for every referral you give us, resulting in a new client taking up membership at Tootsies, me and Shaz will throw in an extra reflexology session. How's that?" Now, and for the third time, James was cresting the point of no return ... The fingers and palm of his left hand, sliding with ease, up and down the length of his slick and slippery, cum-coated member, James now took his balls in his right hand, and gently squeezed. This would help, too ... Help, to sacrifice his essence. James was in a fever. In a ferment of arousal, thinking about the sort of reflexology session he'd like to perform for Joan the barmaid: A full hour, of putting his industrious tongue to work on her bare, sweaty, tired and achy after-work soles -- that's what! Oh, her poor, poor feet! They needed him. They so, so needed him ... Yes! They did! They needed him -- James Noble! James imagined himself in Joan the barmaid's bedroom, kneeling at the foot of her bed -- where he belonged, goddammit! ... The tired, footsore, post bar-shift Joan lying prone upon her bed, covered by her duvet ... except for her feet, which are overhanging her bed, toes pointing downward. And, for a full hour, he would ... serve. Serve, Joan the barmaid: putting his tongue to work, on her tired and achy, needy and deserving bare soles. And then, when her hour was up, he would let himself out the front door, quietly closing it behind him so as not to disturb her peaceful slumber. Oh, for heaven's sake! thought James. What was he thinking? What on Earth, was he thinking? He had Debbie, to care for his needs. And that was enough. It was plenty. Just right. Perfect. But ... But, these ... these thoughts! These thoughts! What's happening to me? thought James desperately, despairingly ... even though he knew the answer. It was as though he no longer had control over himself; neither motor, or mind. As though he was no longer his own puppet master; as though someone else -- something -- else, was now pulling his strings. As though, he was ... possessed. He wanted to give everything he had left -- wanted to sacrifice every remaining drop of his ... devotional offerings -- to the Barstool Blondes, and to Joan the barmaid ... Rub, rub, rub ... Only now, because he had already almost drained himself dry, it was no longer just rub, rub, rub ... But it was also ... Pull, pull, pull ... Tug, tug, tug ... Yank, yank, yank ... And, squeeze, squeeze, squeeze ... It took longer, this time. Achieving his third climax. And that was only to be expected. But, it was, inevitable. Just as it had been inevitable, the first time. And the second time. It just took a little longer, that's all, to ... produce. To achieve satisfaction. A little longer ... to satisfy the mirror. As now he must. For, in buying the mirror, James had made his bed ... And now, he must lie in it. And, by the time James had finally finished frenetically rubbing, pulling, yanking and tugging his todger and squeezing his much depleted balls, in his steadfast determination to devote every last drop he had left to the Barstool Blondes and Joan the barmaid, he was, quite literally, spent. Suddenly, the 'picture' on the mirror's two-foot high, four-foot wide 'screen' disappeared. All that remained, was a gradually dimming glow. A gradually dimming glow, all around its edges, where the mirror's glass fitted into its ornately carved, hardwood frame. The mirror's 'broadcast' had ended ... for now. The mirror was satisfied ... for now. Exhausted -- drained -- James got up from the floor, in front of the mirror. Gratefully, James collapsed into his most comfortable chair; his black leather, well-padded armchair. And, sitting in front of his Internet-capable 46-inch flat-screen TV, he slept ... ... And then awoke, to darkness. James felt groggy, a bit woozy, and still very tired ... After all, a lot had been taken out of him. And when he saw what time it was -- still only 9:35 p.m. -- he was very surprised; realised he'd only catnapped a while. But he knew what he needed to do. Quickly, James cleaned himself up, and changed into a clean pair trousers. Then he went out to the residents' car park, and started up the Astra. He needed to nip out to the local supermarket before they closed at 10:00 p.m. For ... provisions. * * * When he returned to his flat, about thirty minutes later, James quickly put all of his supermarket purchases away ... except for an economy-size box of Kleenex. This, he put on the coffee table, next to his most comfortable chair. James then went into his kitchen. He made a cup of coffee, and tore open one of the fresh packets of chocolate-chip cookies he'd just bought, emptying more than half of them straight out onto a plate -- he was ravenous. Refreshments prepared, James loaded them onto a small wooden tray and took them through to the living room. He put the tray down on his coffee table, next to the big box of Man-Size tissue paper. James knew, that he was on the brink of making a no-turning-back decision. But he still had a choice ... if only he could summon the will. He could get straight on the phone to Howard Leadbetter. Tell him he didn't want the mirror, after all. Tell him he could have it back, for nothing, just call by in his taxi-cab and pick it up. Of course, Howard's missus wouldn't be best pleased, at seeing her husband reunited with the mirror ... and seeing him take it back up to the attic. But that wasn't James's problem. James paused for thought ... He really, really didn't need to do this. He had Debbie, to take care of his needs. With his lovely Debbie, he was happy -- as happy as could be. He was fulfilled. He didn't need, to ... Except, this need; the need that had so overcome him, was a need quite unlike anything he had ever experienced before, quite ... alien, to him. He seemed to have become totally bereft of will. As if his mind was no longer his own. Overpowered and overwhelmed, James was wholly unable, once in its thrall, to ignore the mirror's siren temptations. Unable, to resist its bewitching allure. Howard -- "Howie, to my friends" -- Leadbetter, had been right about the mirror, James knew. Howie had not been a crackpot, when he'd told James that the mirror had been designed and crafted by the seventeenth-century practitioner of the occult, Edward Landry, and that Edward Landry had put a "spell" on it. Howie had not been off his rocker, when he'd told James that the mirror had "tuned in", to him. Howie had not been one marble shy of a full bag, when he'd told James that the mirror "knew him", now. The Mirror Ch. 03 And now, James was no more able than Howie Leadbetter had been, to defy the mirror's ... unnatural imperative. Howie Leadbetter: who'd sat in his attic, in his flimsy fishing-chair, for hour after hour ... in the dark. James pushed all of these jumbled thoughts aside ... And made his no-turning-back decision. He went to the back of his Internet-capable 46-inch flat-screen TV, and pulled the plug on it: Pulled out its leads and cables from the wall sockets. And then he pushed the large TV, on its castor-wheeled stand, over to the right-hand side wall of his living room, where it would be out of the way. Even now, James still had a choice. He could get a sheet, or a blanket, or a couple of bath towels, even, and cover up the mirror's 'screen'. Or just simply turn it around, facing the wall, so that he would be unable to see its 'picture'. And just leave it there. Just leave it there until he gave it to Debbie's mum, Doris, for her upcoming birthday, in about two weeks' time. But ... something, wouldn't let him. And so James went right ahead ... and crossed the Rubicon. Very carefully, and with the mirror still slotted into its two-foot tall, plinth-like stand, he dragged it across his living room carpet. He positioned the mirror, exactly where his prized-possession TV had been ... giving the mirror "pride of place". It was 10:25 p.m. when James sat down in his most comfortable chair ... in front of the mirror. And once again, the mirror -- or, the mistress of the mirror -- didn't keep James waiting, for long. James had just finished his coffee, when he suddenly discerned a soft, eerie glow. A glowing white light, emanating from all around the mirror's edges, where it fitted into its ornately carved, hardwood frame. And the glowing white light began to glow brighter, and whiter, until it glowed impossibly white -- yet it didn't dazzle James. Slowly, the eerie white light began to lose some of its intensity ... and started to pulse. And now James confirmed -- set the seal -- on his no-turning-back decision. Quickly; without even taking just the few seconds it would take to untie them, he pulled off his trainers. Then he took off his trousers, and removed his boxer shorts. Now, there was nothing to get in the way: He was unrestricted, unrestrained, unencumbered, unhampered -- liberated. Nothing in the way, to impede his ... movements. Now, he was just exactly how the mistress of the mirror wanted him. And now, there was just one last thing to do. James got up from his most comfortable chair, and turned the light off. Yes ... It was better, in the dark. The Mirror continues, in chapter 4. The Mirror Ch. 04 It was Saturday night. It was 10:40, and James was sitting in his living room ... in the dark. Because it was better, in the dark. And, in his most comfortable chair; his black leather, well-padded armchair, James was sitting in front of the mirror ... waiting. Waiting, for the mirror to begin its next 'broadcast'. There was an eerie white light, all around the edges of the mirror, emanating from where the glass fitted into its ornately carved hardwood frame. And the eerie white light was now pulsing. Which was the sign, James now knew, that the mirror was about to resume 'transmission'. About to resume 'transmission', on James's own, personal, foot fetish 'channel'. And James was ready: Naked from the waist down, he'd ensured there was nothing to get in the way, this time. Nothing to get in the way, of his ... enjoyment. Naked, he was now unrestricted, unrestrained, unencumbered, unhampered - liberated. And so there was no impediment to pleasure. Nothing to get in the way, of his ... movements. Which was just exactly how the mirror - or, the mirror's controlling female entity - wanted him: Naked, before her, as she mercilessly manipulated his maleness. Naked, before her, as she wickedly exploited his ... vulnerability. Naked, before her as, 'willingly', he sacrificed his ... essence. Naked, before her, as he 'willingly' offered up to her, his ... devotions. And, because James was by now almost totally in thrall, entranced - enchanted - by the mistress of the mirror, he duly complied ... Obeyed. Obeyed, the mistress of the mirror's telepathic command, to ... enjoy himself. Unthinkingly obeying the unnatural imperative from his new, relentlessly demanding mistress, James 'willingly' sacrificed his essence, compliantly and unstintingly giving up to his prurient predator every last remaining, increasingly hard-won, determinedly squeezed-out drop of his precious seed. And the more of 'himself' that James 'willingly' sacrificed, the more the mistress of the mirror grew in strength, got more powerful, and became even more dominating ... While he grew weaker, got more debilitated, and became even more ... enchanted. James, the latest of a long line of owners, had owned the mirror - designed and crafted by Edward Landry, the infamous seventeenth-century practitioner of the occult - for less than twelve hours. But already, it seemed as though he'd been under its ... influence, for much longer. Already, he was in the mistress of the mirror's grip ... Ensnared. A remarkably manipulable ... subject, James was proving to be an easy victim ... Easy prey. Easy prey, to the mistress of the mirror. Easy prey, to the mistress of the mirror, who had now "tuned in", to James. And so, "knew" him. And, in so knowing him, and being so tuned-in, to him, she was therefore in possession of all of the necessary ... wherewithal, to arouse him - to push his buttons. To turn him on, as he had never been turned-on before. And to coax him to climax. Coax him to climax, after climax, after climax: Coax him, to ... produce. And now, the mistress of the mirror was flourishing. Flourishing, on James's ... production. Flourishing, upon her ravenous, greedy - insatiable - intake of essential ingredients, as were contained in such bountiful, munificent plenitude in her latest victim's nourishment-rich 'production'. Frenziedly feeding, upon the invigorating, fortifying nutrients of James's special-ingredient 'willing' sacrifices, the mistress of the mirror was thriving ... Developing. Now, and at long, long last, once again the mistress of the mirror was undergoing the rejuvenating, revitalising, reviving process of ... reawakening. But it had been a long, long time. And she'd had a long, long wait ... And she wasn't the patient sort. Her previous victim, self-employed private-hire taxi driver, Howard - "My friends call me Howie" - Leadbetter, had provided her with only the most insipid and meanest of thin gruel. Had kept her on a 'nourishment'-poor diet, indeed. And, under her previous two owners before him - Gordon Grace (astronomer), and Peter Potting (trainspotter) - she'd fared no better, dining on only the most miserable and unappetising of fare. What, with Gordon Grace, always gazing into space, and Peter Potting, forever trainspotting, to say that she'd been on a starvation diet would be the grossest of understatements. And the mistress of the mirror, being the 'hot-blooded' female that she was, in being unable to satiate herself for so very, very long, was now suffering from a most chronic case of ... malnutrition. She had gone 'without', for far too long. For a span of time barely exceeding three decades but, to the mistress of the mirror, seeming like three centuries, on her ... sub-subsistence diet, she'd existed in an almost hibernation-like, semi-cognizant, all but comatose state of being. But now, at last, her sub-subsistence diet had finally come to an end. Things were starting to look up again, for the mistress of the mirror. Taking a decided turn for the better. Once again, she had been provided with bountiful hunting grounds. Because at long, long last, better sustenance was again available to her ... in the form of James Noble. Her new sex slave. And now, she would feast. Feast, upon her new sex slave's nutrient-rich, 'willing'-sacrifice 'production'. James Noble, a twenty-one-year-old foot fetishist, with a special penchant for rear-view voyeurism of shoe-playing girls and women (preferably seated, but he was perfectly okay with standees, too), was proving to be easy prey. Easy prey, to the mistress of the mirror. Who was going to suck him dry. * * * With bated breath, James waited ... And then, just as he now knew it would, the mirror's eerie white light suddenly ceased pulsing. And James, leaning forward expectantly in his armchair, was agog with awed anticipation anew ... What next? he wondered excitedly as, without taking his eyes from the mirror's resolving 'picture' he grabbed another chocolate-chip cookie from the plate on the coffee table beside him. And then he caught his breath; gasped in astonishment, upon recognising the scene now depicted in the mirror's two-foot high, four-foot wide 'screen'. James couldn't believe it. What he was seeing, as though it was being beamed to him like a live feed from a telecommunications satellite, was ... the town centre. High Street, to be exact. High Street was brightly lit, James saw as he munched mechanically on his biscuit. And not least, by the plethora of neon signs shining out from the plate-glass windows of the fast-food outlets, casting out their variously hued glows. At this time on a Saturday evening, people were beginning to come out of the town's pubs, cinemas, and from various other entertainment venues, and the fast-food joints were already doing good, brisk trade. On this mild evening, the door to Khan's Kebabs was left open, to expel excess heat and food odours, and to admit fresh air ... And the mirror panned inside. And again, James was transfixed, by what he saw. He gasped in astonishment. He just could not, believe it. At the head of the queuing customers waiting to order take-away food at the serving counter, were Jennifer and Sharon - the Barstool Blondes. "Yes, darling. What can I do you for?" said the cheerful Turkish guy behind the counter, addressing Jennifer with easy familiarity. "A small, lamb shish kebab, please, Ali. Oh - and could you hold the mayo, and let me have some extra lettuce instead, please?" asked Jennifer with a winning smile. As she gave Ali her order, Jennifer bent her right knee and, with the toe end of her thin-rubber soled flip flop resting on the floor, she began rolling her knee from side to side languidly. The mirror panned right down to floor level ... and zoomed in. And James's eyes almost popped right out of their sockets, as he avidly stared at the stupendous, close-up view of the grubby bottom of Jennifer's bare right heel. For, as viewed with his ... newly altered perception, as seen through the mirror's high-resolution 'picture' it was an incredible, awesome sight to behold. Repeatedly, his view was briefly interrupted, when Jennifer caused her flip flop to slap against the bottom of her heel as, following the motion of her leg, her heel swung from side to side too. Not that James minded. On the contrary - it was one of the things he so loved to watch girls and women do. And now, James's ... sacrificial hand duly reached between his bare legs ... Rub, rub, rub ... "Tut tut tut," said Ali in mock admonishment, in response to Jennifer's low-calorie request. "Always on a diet, you girls. And look at you - not an ounce of fat on you! No problem at all, though, sweetheart. Anything you say," said the jovial purveyor of the tastiest kebabs in town. And Ali duly obliged, placing a small-portion skewer of diced lamb onto the fire-blackened bars of the flame-grill. Jennifer watched as, as per her request, Ali spooned a generous helping of crisp, freshly-shredded lettuce into a fast-food carton, and then added two nice wedges of lemon as well, as a finishing touch. "Won't be long, kitten," he told Jennifer with a cheeky wink. As though in response to Ali's mild flirtation, Jennifer's from-side-to-side knee-rolling action became a little more exaggerated. And, her thin-rubber soled flip flop, altering its initial, slow-paced idle rhythm, started slap-slap-slapping against the bottom of her heel more quickly as, absentmindedly she manipulated her highly flexible footwear all the more ... Rub, rub, rub ... The bottom of Jennifer's heel was dirt-and-sweat smudged; workaday grime, from wearing her flip flops all day at the salon - Tootsies Pedicure Salon, the ladies' foot care business that she co-owned and ran with her business partner and best friend, Sharon. And, after an unusually late finish at the salon, instead of going home first to shower and change, Jennifer and Sharon had gone to the Cock & Bull pub straight from work. Though the wrinkles on the arch of Jennifer's swinging-from-side-to-side sole were slightly dirty too, it was especially the ball of her foot and her toe pads, as well as the bottom of her heel, that were particularly grimy by now. And, as seen through the mirror's two-foot high, four-foot wide high-definition 'picture', the sight was incredibly exciting, to James ... Rub, rub, rub ... Ali's wife, Miriam, addressed Sharon familiarly. "Your usual, is it, Shaz? Small, chicken kebab, with everything?" "Yes, please, Miriam," confirmed Sharon, smiling. "The works: everything added, nothing taken away. I'm starved. All I've had since lunchtime is some peanuts and a packet of crisps." Confirming Sharon's order, Miriam said brightly, "Coming right up!" As Miriam began busying herself preparing Sharon's order, she asked Sharon, "Is your offer still on, Shaz, at the salon? You know, your half-price, six-months' membership at Tootsies? Ali wants me to take it up. Don't you, hon?" said Miriam, to her husband. The mirror panned behind the serving counter, to floor level ... Mid-twenties, five-foot-five, slender-figured Miriam was wearing a pair of well-worn looking strapless leather sandals. The tops of her rather dainty feet, James saw, were the colour of milk chocolate. Then, just as the mirror panned to behind Miriam's heels, Miriam slid her left foot from her leather sandal and, hooking her foot behind her right ankle, she stood balancing herself upon just her right foot. Miriam's sole, James now saw, was of a lighter, cafe au lait colour. She had the daintiest foot, and the loveliest little toes, thought James. And he watched with rapt attention, as the clear-varnish painted toes of Miriam's left foot repeatedly flexed, and scrunched ... flexed, and scrunched ... Rub, rub, rub ... And, James saw, attached to Miriam's left ankle with a thin gold chain, was a gold anklet ... in the shape of a foot. James watched, as the fast-food outlet's bright overhead lights glinted on the anklet as Miriam worked her toes ... flex ... scrunch ... flex ... scrunch ... And Miriam's gold anklet, James saw, as the mirror accommodatingly zoomed in closer for an even better view, was inscribed in flowing script with a single word: Ali. "Ah, bless him," said Miriam of her husband, beneficently. "At the end of a long day of standing up in this place, he'll massage my feet for me. Of course, he will. Ali's always been very, well ... attentive, that way. I love the attention, and he does his best. But ... well, he's no expert. I mean, talk about 'All fingers and thumbs'! As you know, Shaz, he'll—" "Miri!" interjected Ali in alarm, turning all bashful and embarrassed suddenly - his confident, saucy chat-up persona evaporating faster than a wisp of fatty steam curling up from the working-flat-out chip fryer. Chuckling in amused understanding at Ali's now beetroot-red face, Sharon said, "Yes, Miri, our offer is still open. Until the end of the month. So you've still got another two weeks, to apply. Just pop round to Tootsies and sign up," she said pleasantly. The mirror panned back to the customer side of the serving counter ... and zoomed in on Sharon's right foot. As she talked to Miriam, Sharon, knee bent, rested her right foot on top of her thin-rubber soled flip flop, her suntanned, begrimed and now slightly wrinkled sole facing upwards ... Rub, rub, rub ... James's pulse was racing. His heart was pounding. In all of the history of mankind, surely a human heart had never beaten faster, nor pumped harder. And human blood, had never circulated through arteries and veins more quickly, or with such force of urgency. The soles of Jennifer and Sharon's bare feet were just so, so sexy. Just so incredibly exciting - so incredibly arousing - to look at. To see them, was to want them. And to want them, was to need them. And James was trembling with lust. Shaking with need. His mind was in such a ferment, such a lather of torment, from such tantalising, titillating teasing, as he would never have believed was possible. And his body was wracked, with such an urgent, needful, desperate desire, to ... sacrifice. He just couldn't take much more of this, before ... The sole of Sharon's upturned foot was just so shapely, and so adorable ... And so totally worthy, of his concentrated, complete and undivided attentions. James felt as though, via the entrancing medium of the mirror's 'screen', he would be content to view Sharon's right, suntanned, dirt-and-sweat smudged bare sole, for all of the endless eons of eternity. Somehow even grubbier than Jennifer's, Sharon's toe pads, the ball of her foot, and her heel - all of her sole's impact points - these features were therefore all even more pronounced. And so, all the more ... highlighted ... Rub, rub, rub ... And, at that moment, James wanted nothing more, than to be able to go down on his hands and knees behind Sharon. And, on the hard, black-and-white tiled floor of Khan's Kebabs's customer packed fast-food outlet, like some boiled-brained, sun-crazed cur, lick and lap away at her upturned, dirty bare sole until nary a vestige of workaday dirt and sweat remained to sully it. And then ... go on, licking and lapping away ... Rub, rub, rub ... Pull, pull, pull ... Feverishly, James imagined just what it would feel like, to press his lips in an adoring, reverent - worshipful - kiss, upon the warm foot flesh of Sharon's upturned, suntanned sole ... Rub, rub, rub ... Pull, pull, pull ... Tug, tug, tug ... Feverishly imagined, putting his nose into the ... catchment area of the undersides of her longish toes, and greedily inhaling the intoxicating, penis-engorging aroma of her stinky, in-between-the-toes foot scent ... Rub, rub, rub ... Pull, pull, pull ... Tug, tug, tug ... Yank, yank, yank ... Feverishly imagined, as he now cupped his balls in his right hand, just what Sharon's dirty, grubby sole would taste like; just what her begrimed, all-day-accumulation, workaday dirt-and-sweat smudged sole would taste like, were he only able to put his yearning, craving, ravening tongue to work on it ... Rub, rub, rub ... Pull, pull, pull ... Tug, tug, tug ... Yank, yank, yank ... Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze ... And the result was inevitable. James's climax came like an explosion. The likes of which, was quite beyond anything in his spectrum of experience. An orgasmic upheaval, of both body and mind. An orgasm of the mind that, from sheer, pure ecstasy, almost drove him insane; his eyes, rolling up until only the whites showed. And an orgasm of the body, that manifested itself in a forceful, cataclysmic eruption that sprayed and spurted his seed all over the place. James could hardly believe, that his already (today) thrice-emptied balls had replenished so quickly and so fully. And, with his rubbing, pulling, tugging and yanking left hand, going at it twenty to the dozen, and his ball-squeezing right hand, assiduously ensuring that he milked every last possible drop of 'himself', he continued his frantic ... manipulations, until the gradually weakening after-pulse ... pulse ... pulse ... of his seed finally dried up to nothing. At the end of his ... endeavours, James was exhausted ... drained. Breathing heavily, and sweating lightly, he gratefully leaned back into the embracing comfort of his black leather, well-padded armchair ... While he got his breath back. What a mess, he'd made. What an awful, disgusting mess, he'd made ... Not that he cared. In the ... newly adjusted state of mind, he was in, he didn't care at all. Not a jot. In fact, he couldn't care less. Still ... Pulling a few Man-Size squares of super-absorbent tissue-paper from his economy-size box of Kleenex, James set about wiping up the resultant sticky mess. The resultant sticky mess, of his ... 'willing' sacrifice. * * * Saturday night: 11:15. The mirror panned out of Khan's Kebabs, and back onto High Street. And set off in search of more 'stimulation', for James. Once again, the mirror didn't take long in finding it ... And once again, James was aghast. Stunned, he gaped in amazed, awed incredulity. James just could not, believe it. "Have a good night, ladies!" called the cheerful minibus taxi driver to his collective fare, before pulling away from the kerb outside Krystal's nightclub and rejoining the light late-evening traffic of south London. "Thank you, driver. We most certainly will!" replied Miss Julia Carson. Of all people! Miss Julia Carson, James's boss at insurance brokers' firm Julia Carson & Associates. Julia Carson & Associates, where James was the only male member of staff. And even then, he'd only been very reluctantly taken on by Miss Carson as a special, for-old-times'-sake favour to her longtime friend, Doris Morris ... Debbie's mum. Right from the start, Miss Carson had had deep misgivings about the arrangement: James didn't know the first thing about insurance; and on top of that he would be a male employee, on her otherwise all-female staff. Not that Miss Carson actively fobbed off any prospective male job applicants. After all, that would be sex-discrimination, and she would be violating the labour laws. It was just that, with her all-female workforce, there was the sort of harmonious ... tension-free atmosphere in the office that, as she'd found in the past, you just didn't seem to get with a mixed-sex staff. And so she would have much preferred to have kept things the way they were. And it was only on the grounds of her longstanding and much valued friendship with Doris - a long and abiding friendship, that went way back to their high school days - that Julia Carson had allowed her arm to be twisted, as it were, and agreed to employ Doris's daughter's boyfriend. The Mirror Ch. 04 Regrettably, Miss Carson couldn't possibly warrant paying James anything like the going rate - that is, the attractive salary that her five trained and diploma-qualified office girls (Associates) earned. At least, not as a starting salary. But she wanted to be fair. So, to start with, she'd told Doris, she would pay James the national minimum wage. And then she would see how things panned out; see how things went from there, and periodically revise James's pay scale, according to how he shaped up in the office. And, James's duties: To perform the most mundane, most basic and simple of routine office duties - so that Miss Carson and her five office girls wouldn't have to. Principally, so as to save them the trouble, as and when they required him to do so James would operate the fax/printer/copier machine for Miss Carson and her office girls. Though Miss Carson and her office girls would keep him busy (or, as Miss Julia Carson had put it: "Keep him out of mischief") with plenty of rudimentary, unskilled desk work, as well. In calculating how to turn this undesirable situation to her advantage, Miss Julia Carson's how-to-turn-a-negative-into-a-positive thinking had been that James would thereby at least be earning his keep. He would at least be earning 'his salt', simply by freeing up some of her office girls' valuable time, enabling them to focus more of their attentions upon the really important matters. And so, to this end, James would be Miss Carson's and her five office girls' underling: their menial, at-their-beck-and-call gofer, tidy-upper, tea maker - their office dogsbody. But, two months later, and despite the decidedly technically undemanding nature of James's office duties, not only was he still being paid the national minimum wage rate, but he was also very lucky to still be in Miss Julia Carson's employ at all. In the open-plan office, seated at the bottom desk of the V-shaped, 3-2-1 style work station, behind the five dark-pantyhose wearing, black-leather pump shod office girls (Miss Julia Carson had her own separate, private office), so distracted was he by their almost incessant, absentminded under-the-seat shoe-playing antics, that he just simply couldn't get enough desk work done ... Enough work, that is, for Miss Julia Carson to justify keeping James on her payroll - even at the national minimum wage rate ... He just wasn't earning his salt. No. James was just too under-productive - he just wasn't pulling his weight. And there was simply no room in Miss Julia Carson's office, for a shoe-play watching, dead weight like James. And - longstanding, way-back-when friendship with Doris, or no longstanding, way-back-when friendship with Doris - James had been issued his final "Shape up, or ship out!" warning, by Miss Julia Carson. And now, Miss Julia Carson was 'here'. Actually 'here'. And she was accompanied by all five of her office girls: Lisa, Stacey, Maxine, Gail and Jane ... But not, as James knew them. If not for recognising Miss Julia Carson - or rather, her authoritative, she-who-must-be-obeyed voice - so readily, James might not otherwise have recognised the office girls. After all, he'd never seen his early-twenties female colleagues looking like this, before: with their hair let down (metaphorically speaking, as well as literally); dressed up to the nines, in body-curve enhancing dresses; faces attractively made-up; and, wearing 'killer-heel' shoes, in place of their two-inch heeled, black-leather office pumps - just generally so knockout-looking. At the door of the newly opening Krystal's nightclub, Miss Julia Carson said to one of the two black-suited, six-foot-something hunky bouncers standing sentinel there; the slightly older, early-thirties one, who looked more authoritative, "Good evening. There's six of us, altogether. Myself, and my five ... friends." James thought she'd been about to say 'Associates'. Keeping his face deadpan, the authoritative-looking hunky bouncer replied, "I'm sorry, love. But I'm going to have to refuse you and your friends' admission to Krystal's." At hearing this, and seeing his boss's comical-faced reaction, James's face broke into a grin. Miss Carson's face was a real picture, he thought as he reached for another chocolate-chip cookie. "What? But - but why?" blurted a disbelieving Miss Julia Carson; highly aggravating visions of her and her office girls' night-club night out going all to hell - Lisa's twenty-first birthday night-out treat, going all to hell. Still deadpan, the bouncer said shortly, "Health and Safety regulations." "Health - Health and Safety regulations? Health and ... What - what are you talking about?" demanded the by now highly disconcerted Miss Julia Carson. "Well," said the authoritative-looking bouncer and, smiling now, eliciting a smile from the other bouncer too who, Julia now realised, was clearly the authoritative-looking bouncer's underling, "it's because you are all ... dressed to kill." At first, Julia didn't get it. And then Lisa giggled girlishly ... and then Julia got it. Got it, that the authoritative-looking hunky bouncer had paid them all a lovely compliment. "If I didn't know better, Miss Carson, I'd say he's got the hots for you," said Lisa mischievously. "Quiet, birthday girl!" said Miss Julia Carson, admonishing Lisa. "And I've told you, Lisa: it's Julia - we're on a night out, here!" Of course! thought James, upon his remembering it was Lisa's twenty-first birthday, today. Yesterday (Friday) he'd presented her with a very nice card, and put £10 into the office whip-round collection for her. The other office girls had popped out to the shops Friday lunchtime, and bought Lisa's birthday present with the money they'd raised: some sort of scarf, that James didn't think was up to much, but that Lisa was absolutely delighted with; and a tiny bottle of perfume. To Miss Julia Carson, the authoritative-looking, early-thirties hunky bouncer said smilingly, "Steve Conroy. Owner of Krystal's nightclub. Sorry if my er, little joke got you going there, for a minute. But perhaps free admission and first drinks on the house, for all of you lovely ladies, would go some way towards atoning for my sin?" She's actually blushing! thought James as he avidly watched the scenario, as relayed to him via the medium of the mirror. Well, well, well ... Maybe it isn't ice-water running through her veins, after all, James conceded. And maybe Lisa is right: maybe Steve Conroy has, got "the hots" for Miss Carson. And, why not? James had always thought Miss Carson was a very attractive woman. And, credit where credit's due, she was certainly looking very glamorous and sexy tonight. Miss Carson actually seemed flustered, thought James. And almost lost for words, which was so unlike her usual cool and collected self. But, under the dark-haired Steve Conroy's frank appraisal - under his penetrating, unwavering blue-eyed gaze, Miss Carson seemed to be melting. "Um ... Thank you, Mister Conroy. That's - that's very good of you. But, really, there's no need for any—" "Nonsense! Please, let's hear no more about it - and it's Steve. Only my staff call me Mister Conroy. And, did I hear you say it's someone's birthday ... Lisa, wasn't it? Well, this calls for champagne!" Miss Carson flapped, "Oh no! We couldn't possibly—" Turning to his bouncer, Steve Conroy said, "Dean, just nip to the bar, will you? Ask Benny to put a bottle of Moet on ice for Lisa, here, for her birthday celebration toast. And make sure you tell him it's on me; to put it on my tab, yeah? Got that?" "Yes, Mister Conroy," replied Dean, who then went off to do his boss's bidding. Just then, a gleaming black stretch-limo pulled up at the kerb. And when a uniformed driver came around to the rear kerb-side door and opened it, a mid-twenties, six-foot tall, suntanned, sun-bleached blonde-haired guy got out of the car. And, upon his seeing Steve Conroy, grinning delightedly and with his right hand extended in familiar greeting, the new arrival made straight for the Krystal's nightspot owner. "Dave!" exclaimed Steve Conroy warmly, reaching for the newcomer's outstretched right hand, equally delightedly. "It's great to see you! And how can I ever thank you? Thanks for coming over, and fitting me in, mate. I know you must have pulled out all the stops; maybe called in a few favours." "Ah, don't mention it, mate. After all, what are friends for? And anyway, would I miss your opening night? As if! And don't forget, Steve ... you'll be paying me a fair wedge!" Laughing, Steve Conroy replied, "Yes. But you're worth every penny of your outrageous fee, Dave." Then, gesturing to Miss Julia Carson and her five office girls, Steve Conroy said, "Ah, where are my manners, eh? Dave, allow me to introduce Miss Julia Carson, and her five friends - including Lisa, here, whose twenty-first birthday it is, today." Then, to Miss Carson and her five office girls, Steve Conroy said, "Miss Julia Carson, and friends, allow me to introduce a great friend of mine: Disco Dave. He's in big demand, these days. He's booked-up in Ibiza all summer, doing the amazing nightclub scene there. But, as a personal favour to me he's flown over especially, just for Krystal's opening night." Disco Dave said to Miss Carson and her five office girls, "I'm very pleased to meet you all - delighted, in fact. And, Lisa, I'll be sure to play you a birthday dedication song - just pop up to the stage later, and let me know what sounds you'd like me to play for you." Steve Conroy then said, "Well, in you go then, ladies. Have a nice night at Krystal's." Then he added smilingly, looking directly at Miss Carson, "And I'll pop by later, to make sure you are all enjoying yourselves." "Ooh! He's definitely got the hots for you, Miss Carson!" exclaimed Lisa, as soon as they were inside Krystal's and safely out of the earshot of Steve Conroy and Disco Dave. "No, he hasn't! And don't be so vulgar! And I keep telling you, Lisa: it's Julia. We're not at the office now. We're all on a night out, here!" Maxine then piped up, militantly, "Well, Jules, I agree with Lisa. Steve Conroy has, got his beady eye on you. Anyone can see - it's so obvious! You are well in there - and you know it. And, a hunk like him, too!" Blushing even more furiously, Miss Carson blustered, "Oh, just shut up, Max. See what happens, when I give you lot an inch? You take a mile. I mean ... Jules, indeed! And Mister Conroy has not, got his eye on me - beady, or otherwise. And, I am not, well in there, as you so vulgarly put it, Max." Hmm ... mused James. Methinks Miss Julia Carson protests too much. Abruptly, the 'picture' then disappeared from the mirror's 'screen'. But then the eerie white light began pulsing again, all around the edges of the mirror, where the glass fitted into its ornately carved hardwood frame. Pulsing, signifying that ... something, was about to happen. Without taking his eyes away from the mirror, James reached for another chocolate-chip cookie. Saturday night: 11:30. And the night was yet young. * * * Saturday night: 11:31. Heedless as to where his biscuit crumbs were falling, James watched, waiting in awed anticipation as the mirror continued to pulse. Pulsing its eerie white light, that emanated from all around the edges where the glass fitted into the ornately carved hardwood frame. Pulsing, signifying that ... something, was about to happen. And then it was suddenly an altogether different scene, that was being 'televised' on the mirror's two-foot high, four-foot wide ultra high-definition 'screen'. And once again, James was left slack-jawed in disbelieving, delighted amazement. Once again, courtesy of the mirror, James was brought into the highly 'stimulating' presence of Jennifer and Sharon - the Barstool Blondes. Jennifer and Sharon, James saw as the mirror panned around, were in nice surroundings, and sitting in very comfortable looking tubular chrome and pale-beige leather chairs. They were looking comfortable and relaxed, each with a long-stemmed, wide-bowled glass of red wine cupped in their hand. And they were sitting side by side, so as to be able to share the very comfortable pouffe - the matching, square-shaped, two-foot high pale-beige leather squishy-topped footstool - that was propping up their relaxing bare feet. And on the floor, by the pouffe, were two pairs of high-heeled strappy sandals: one pair in dark blue, and the other pair in dark red. Then James heard the sudden chirping ringing tone of a mobile phone, and he saw Jennifer reach over and pick up the phone from the glass-topped coffee table beside her. Upon seeing the caller ID, she said to Sharon, "It's Carl." "Okay, Carl," said Jennifer into her phone, a moment later, after listening to what Carl was saying. "Park your car round the back, in the residents' car park. If the caretaker says anything, tell him that I said to let you in, okay? And we'll see you and Graham in a couple of minutes. Bye, sweetie." Hmm ... mused James. I wonder where they are? At either Jennifer or Sharon's house or flat, most probably. And I wonder who Carl and Graham are? Jennifer and Sharon's boyfriends, most probably. And, are they about to go out? James wondered. They are both looking drop-dead gorgeous, in their body-hugging one-piece dresses; Jennifer's, dark blue, and Sharon's, dark red ... Ah, hence the matching shoes. After taking a sip from her glass of red wine, Sharon said, "I've been looking forward to this all week - opening night, at Krystal's. And they've got Disco Dave as DJ. How did they manage that? I thought he was all booked-up in Ibiza, for the summer. Anyway, after how hard we've both worked all week - and especially today - I think we've earned it. Don't you, Jen?" "Oh, and that's a fact!" replied Jennifer in wholehearted agreement. "And Carl and Graham will be here any minute. Carl said he'd just turned into the street." The mirror panned down, to two feet above the dark-beige carpeted floor. And then panned around, until the mirror's 'lens' was pointing directly to the relaxing soles of Jennifer and Sharon's side-by-side, pouffe-propped bare feet and, beyond them, their lovely faces. And then zoomed in ... until Jennifer and Sharon's shapely bare soles and beautiful faces were filling up the whole of the mirror's magnificent, two-foot high, four-foot wide ultra high-resolution 'screen'; its breathtaking, just-like-looking-through-a-window 'picture', awesomely realistic. James thrilled, to the sight. Thrilled, to the close-up, ultra high-definition view of Jennifer and Sharon's bare soles; and to their dress-and-shoes-matching painted toes, scrunching luxuriantly in relaxed pleasure as they took small, appreciative sips from their glasses of red wine. Most of all, James thrilled to the amazing fact that he was actually staring at the awesomely displayed soles of their shapely, sexy feet, and looking right at their very attractive, break-your-heart faces while, though apparently staring boldly right back at him, quite evidently Jennifer and Sharon were unaware - totally oblivious - of his ... interest. Totally oblivious, to the fact that James was avidly watching their every move, and keenly listening to their every word. Totally oblivious ... of James's voyeurism. And the effect of this 'stimulation' - of this erotica - upon James, was instantaneous. Immediately, James's ... sacrificial left hand was once again reaching between his bare, unencumbered legs. And, adoringly staring at Jennifer and Sharon's pouffe-supported bare soles, he just couldn't help himself ... And he was at it again ... Rub, rub, rub ... Sharon said, "Have you mulled over my idea from earlier, Jen? About taking on two employees, rather than just the one? The second one, who would go—" Interrupting Sharon mid-sentence, came the sound of the intercom buzzer. It sounded four times in quick succession: short-long-short-long. "Ah, here's Carl and Graham now," said Jennifer, putting her glass of red wine down on the coffee table beside her. Gracefully and effortlessly she got up from her comfortable looking tubular chrome and pale-beige leather chair, walked over to the wall-mounted intercom and pressed the Answer button. A male voice said, "Are you and Shaz ready, Jen? Or do you want me and Graham to come up?" "Me and Shaz will be ready in about ten minutes, Carl. So come on up, the pair of you ... and you can make yourselves useful, for ten minutes," Jennifer instructed. Jennifer pressed the door-release button for the building's front entrance, and then walked over to her flat's front door and released the catch. She then resumed her seat, once again resting her bare feet upon the ultra comfy, squishy-topped pouffe, right beside Sharon's bare feet; ankles crossed, now, as were Sharon's. So, it was Jennifer's pad, James mused. And she didn't live in a house, but an upper-storey flat. And Jennifer had nice taste, he thought. He liked the way she'd kitted her place out: He liked her modern-style, chrome-and-leather furniture; the still-life picture prints on the walls; the brilliantly coloured and beautifully patterned vase on one occasional table, and the attractively shaded lamp, on another. He also liked the subdued, recessed lighting, and the quiet and relaxing colour scheme. A moment later, when she heard Carl's familiar knock at the door, Jennifer called, "It's open!" And in walked Jennifer and Sharon's good-looking boyfriends, two mid-twenties, dark haired, six-foot, well-muscled guys: Carl and Graham. Carl and Graham made a beeline for their beautiful and statuesque girlfriends, Jennifer and Sharon, respectively, and the two couples engaged in a little smooching. "Love the dress, Jen," Carl said, running his eyes admiringly over Jennifer's dark blue, body-hugging, one-piece Saturday-night outfit. "Not to mention the shoes!" Graham exclaimed appreciatively. "Just look at those shoes, mate," he enthused, directing Carl's attention to the dark-beige carpeted floor by the pouffe, to Jennifer and Sharon's high-heeled strappy sandals: Jennifer's, dark blue, and Sharon's, dark red. And then, without even being asked (" ... and you can make yourselves useful, for ten minutes."), Carl and Graham seemed to know just what to do. James watched avidly, as Carl and Graham took up their respective positions: going to their knees at their girlfriend's feet, before the two-foot high, pale-beige leather squishy-topped pouffe. And then reverently, as though they were being allowed to handle in their unworthy hands, priceless, sacred objects, they solemnly took hold of their respective girlfriend's right foot. James watched as, as if it was an Olympic event, in unison, and perfectly matching each other's apparently carefully timed and precisely regulated movements, like a two-man synchronised foot-massaging team Carl and Graham began to perform their ... routine. From their demeanour, James got the distinct impression that this was an oft repeated, routine and regular ... dutiful service, that Carl and Graham so attentively performed for their put-up-on-a-pedestal girlfriends, Jennifer and Sharon. And right away, James could see that he might learn a thing or two here, some nice little pointers - some valuable lessons. For Carl and Graham's foot-massaging technique was clearly of a highly advanced - 'gold medal' - standard. For sure, it was more than a cut above his own, comparatively clumsy, disorganised style, as performed on his own foot-massage loving girlfriend, his lovely Debbie. His lovely Debbie ... Upon his so suddenly and unexpectedly thinking of Debbie, for just the merest moment of time, James's maliciously manacled mind seemed on the point of a sudden liberation. Seemed about to snap its mental chains, and break free from the diabolical restraints that held it captive. Seemed about to rebel, from its sly subjugation ... Seemed about to challenge, actually challenge, the wicked, tyrannical authority of the mistress of the mirror. The Mirror Ch. 04 Because, in that fleeting, glimpsing, chink-of-light moment when James's mind was almost his own again, James understood that what he was now doing - looking in, via the medium of the mirror's two-foot high, four-foot wide ultra high-resolution 'screen', upon what unsuspecting girls and women were saying and doing within the (presumed) privacy— no, the inviolable sanctity, of their very own homes - was wrong. Very wrong. Abominably, unutterably wrong. Because he understood, that he was spying. Spying. Which was a very different thing altogether, to James's way of thinking, to innocently admiring girls' and women's feet clandestinely, as they absentmindedly shoe-played in front of him in a public place. But, most of all, it was because James now understood that, when it came right down to it ... he didn't need all of this, anyway. That was the revelation: He didn't need, any of this ... spying, after all. Not really, he didn't. Because he had Debbie, to take care of his needs. All he needed, and all he wanted, was his Debbie. He didn't need, or want, anyone else. He didn't need, or want, anything, else. Just his Debbie. But the mistress of the mirror, in sensing that something was suddenly amiss, immediately clamped down ... And slammed shut James's suddenly-opening window of opportunity - firmly battened down his 'escape hatch'. The mistress of the mirror had, somehow, sensed the competing vibe from another female. The competing vibe, that was the direct cause of James's sudden uppity behaviour. The competing vibe, that was wholly attributable to her new sex slave's out-of-the-blue insubordination. Another female, she sensed, who had achieved something that she, the mistress of the mirror, could never hope to achieve: win James's heart. No. The mistress of the mirror could never win James's heart ... But she could repress it, suppress it, and ... imprison it. That was the main thing. She could lock it up, put it in solitary confinement ... and throw away the key. She could incarcerate James's heart. And deny it ... visitor access. Never allow it to see the light of day, ever again - or, at least, for as long as James owned the mirror. The mistress of the mirror had immediately sensed the threat. The threat, that came from another, competing female. The threat, that came in the form of an undermining vibe, and signalled a red-alert warning; klaxon-called a clear and present danger, to her unspeakably heinous stronghold over James's heart and mind. The threat, that she had quickly neutralised. Because James was hers, now. Hers, to ... exploit. Hers, to control. James only had room for one ... major-shareholding female in his life. And it was her - the mistress of the mirror. Because he had bought the mirror, James belonged to her, now. And only her. He was her prize, and her property ... her sex slave. Prizes such he - this James Noble - came along so rarely ... And she meant to keep him. She had gone 'without', for so very long. But now, through James Noble, once again she was feasting. And flourishing ... Developing. Through the essential ingredient, nutrient-rich sustenance of James's 'willing' sacrifices, she was being ... satisfied. Satisfied, by his ... devotions. And so, the mistress of the mirror, in jealously guarding what was hers, now, had instantly and mercilessly put her foot down. She'd put her foot down, trampling down James's incipient, barely-gotten-started rebellion. Ruthlessly, she'd stamped on it. Putting it down. Utterly crushing it - annihilating it. Consigning James's fledgling insurrection, and his would-be liberation, to oblivion. And so, like some callous owner of an irksomely misbehaving young mongrel, in so cruelly tightening his yoke, and so ruthlessly and viciously yanking on it, the mistress of the mirror had brutally brought James back to heel ... where he now belonged. So re-establishing, her dastardly power. So reinstating, her insuperable authority. So regaining, her diabolical heart-and-mind control, over James. And, once and for all, reasserting her ... influence. ... Carl and Graham's ... routine service, James now saw, looked to be supremely competent, well-practiced, and highly efficient - efficacious - if Jennifer and Sharon's now blissful-looking faces were anything to go by. To James's eye, the movements of Jennifer and Sharon's boyfriend's fingers appeared completely assured: deft and knowing, and the rotating, firmly pressing pads of their expert fingers and thumbs unerringly applying accurately targeted, finding-the-spot ministrations. Hmm ... mused James. There was clearly a heck of a lot more to this reflexology lark than he'd ever imagined ... And it was then; right then, that James had his mind-searing flash of crystal clear 'revelation'. For James 'realised', what it was that he really 'wanted' to do: He 'wanted' to serve, at girls' and ladies' feet. It was all so 'clear', now, to James. Innocently admiring girls' and women's feet clandestinely, as he was wont to do, was all very well and good. But, as enjoyable as it was, as thrilling as it was - as arousing, as it was - it was not the way to achieve true fulfillment, he now 'realised', with absolute 'conviction'. No. The way to achieve true fulfillment, James now 'realised', was through servitude. Servitude, at girls' and women's feet. Serving, in a worthwhile, useful, and enjoyable way - enjoyable, that is, to them: to the girls and ladies ... His betters. His superiors. That way - by serving at girls' and women's feet, in a worthwhile, useful manner - would come his own enjoyment, he now 'realised'. And his own fulfillment. His own fulfillment would thereby be achieved, he now fully 'understood', by selflessly putting aside his own, self-self-self, self-pleasing, and self-satisfying desires. And instead, selflessly applying himself to serving his betters, his superiors - the girls and ladies. Putting them all - each and every one of them - up there, upon his own, personal pedestal. But, James wondered despairingly, how could he possibly bring about such a situation? Carl and Graham certainly put their girlfriends up on a pedestal, observed James. And why shouldn't they? In James's opinion, Jennifer and Sharon deserved nothing less. For all the world, Carl and Graham looked to be Jennifer and Sharon's own, personal foot servants ... And Carl and Graham both looked to be very happy, too, in their worthwhile and useful roles. To Jennifer, Carl said, "Now, just sit back and relax, you two, while you finish your wine." To his fellow member of the two-man foot-massaging team, Carl said, "Me and Graham know what's expected of us - don't we, mate?" And Graham readily concurred. "Yes, that's right ... We've been taught well." James could hardly believe what he was hearing ... and what he was seeing: Seeing Jennifer and Sharon's boyfriends' almost slavish, devotee-like attentions ... And James was at it again ... Rub, rub, rub ... And yes: this, was the life for him, too, James now 'realised'. He, too, wanted to go to his knees at the feet of girls and ladies, and put blissful smiles upon their faces. Yes. It was all so very 'clear', now, to James. A life of servitude, at the feet of girls and women. Up there - each and every one of them - upon his own, personal pedestal. Regal, reigning ... and ruling him. James now 'understood', that this was his ... place. His 'rightful' capacity. Breaking into James's 'seeing-the-light', 'life-affirming' thoughts, Sharon, picking up from where she'd been interrupted earlier, said, "So ... about my suggestion, Jen. What do you think? About us taking on two employees, instead of just the one trainee that we'd initially planned on recruiting?" "It sounds like a great idea, Shaz. Just go through it again for me, while we finish our wine." Sharon, by means of lifting her left foot from the pouffe, and wiggling her toes at him, signalled to Graham to put down her right foot, and start massaging her left foot ... and Graham immediately and wordlessly complied with Sharon's instruction. Hmm ... James mused. Graham knows when to keep his mouth shut: Jennifer and Sharon are talking. After taking a sip of her red wine, as requested Sharon then began laying out the salient details of her second-employee idea to Jennifer. "This is the gist of it, Jen: One of our two employees - we'd decide which of them would be best suitable - would go mobile. She would perform off-premises reflexology sessions and pedicures. We'd buy a small van, and logo it up - and just think, Jen: as our mobile foot care consultant drives around town from one appointment to the next, our little van would be an advertisement on wheels, for Tootsies!" "That's brilliant!" enthused Jennifer. "Go on, Shaz." "See, Jen ... After we've given her a crash-course tuition programme in the pedicure and reflexology sciences, the employee we choose to go mobile would then work out of our van. We'd kit the van out, especially for the purpose. She'll have on board, all of the equipment and paraphernalia she could possibly need to meet the varying requirements of each and every assignment. And she'd serve our clients at their home, or in their workplace - or wherever else, they might like to arrange their appointment. We'd call it our Clients' Convenience Service." James could see that Carl and Graham were listening to every word of Jenifer and Sharon's conversation. But they remained silent. Sharon took another sip of red wine. And, after using her toe-wiggling method of indication to Graham to let him know that she wished him to switch back to massaging her right foot, she continued speaking to Jennifer. "Okay, so a couple of ideas here, Jen, to run by you. To recap: Just as it is at the salon, the mobile pedicure service provided would be extremely flexible. Fully customised, so as to accommodate the varying demands of each of our clients' individual requests and requirements: the Clients' Convenience Service. "And then there's my second - and more lucrative - idea ..." Sharon took another sip of wine, before continuing. "... See, Jen, instead of our standard reflexology treatment, if they wished to take it up in preference, our clients would have available to them another, alternative, more ... client-oriented option: Our clients themselves, for the duration of their thirty-minutes or one-hour session, could choose to personally instruct our service provider; actually personally supervise her, as to exactly how they would like their feet to be massaged. And we'd call this more client-oriented service, our Clients' Convenience Service Extra." Sharon took another sip, finishing her wine. "So ... what do you think, Jen?" "You've convinced me, Shaz ... So let's do it! First thing Monday morning we'll get in touch with the Job Centre. See if there are any suitable applicants for us to interview. With any luck, we might even find someone who can start work for us straight away. Oh ... although, wait a minute, Shaz. I can't help thinking, that many applicants might be rather put off, by the idea of providing our Clients' Convenience Service Extra service ... Don't you?" "What, Jen ... you think it would smack too much of being, well ... servile?" "Yes, exactly. I mean, it's one thing, turning up at an appointment with the intention of performing a standard reflexology treatment, where you know beforehand exactly what's expected of you, and you are perfectly okay with it. But it would be quite another thing altogether, to report somewhere for an ... Extra, and then find yourself being ... well, ordered about, by clients. Actually being told, by clients, to do this, do that, and do something else, simply according to whatever whims they might happen to have. I mean, some job applicants might say that being placed in such a ... well, subservient position, would be just too embarrassing, and so demeaning - humiliating, even. Wouldn't they, Shaz?" "What, Jen ... you think that some of our off-premises clients might, well ... take advantage?" "Yes, exactly. It's human nature, Shaz. I mean, some clients, I've no doubt - probably not many, I'll grant you, but some - would see our Extra service as an opportunity to go on a power trip. You know, maybe show off to their colleagues at the office, or wherever. Maybe, if they are just outright malicious and mean - a real bitch, in other words - they might even threaten our service provider; try to put her over a barrel, saying they will submit a highly unsatisfactory report to us about her, to complain about her ... recalcitrance. Maybe even threaten to demand their money back, if she won't do ... whatever." "Hmm ... 'She', you said, Jen." "What? You've lost me, Shaz," said Jennifer with a puzzled frown. "Oh, nothing, really ... It's just that you said 'her', and 'she', Jen. I was just thinking back to what Joan said last night, in the Cock and Bull. She said that, too, didn't she? You know, when she talked about the possibility of our taking on a male employee - in particular, the guy who we caught staring at our feet ... Ha ha ha! That would take the biscuit, wouldn't it, Jen? If he came strolling into the salon on Monday, asking us to employ him as our new mobile foot care consultant!" "Ha ha ha ha!" laughed Jennifer, tickled pink at the very thought. Kidding along, Jennifer said, "Yes ... And that would solve our Extra service problem very nicely, wouldn't it? We'd have no qualms in throwing him, to the wolves! Would we, Shaz? Ha ha ha!" James couldn't believe it. Albeit, in a bantering, non-serious, jokey way, Jennifer and Sharon were talking about him! About actually employing him, as their new mobile foot care consultant. Well, thought James, they might be laughing, but many a true word is spoken in jest ... And James was at it again ... Rub, rub, rub ... "No, no qualms at all," agreed Sharon emphatically. "In fact, Jen, he'd probably enjoy it! Can you imagine, Jen, some of the things our Extra clients would have him doing, once they realised he was up for absolutely anything? He, wouldn't feel embarrassed, or demeaned, or humiliated. Would he? He'd, probably be more than happy, in performing whatever foot service our clients told him to do. And then, when word inevitably got around about his ... amenability, he'd be in great demand, and we'd make an absolute fortune out of him! Ha ha ha ha!" James just could not, believe it. There's no probably, about it! he thought ... Rub, rub, rub ... Pull, pull, pull ... "Ha ha ha!" laughed Jennifer. "Oh ... in theory, it's a nice idea, isn't it? But, come on. Let's get real, Shaz. It would never work in practice ... Unless, as we jokingly said to Joan, we really did find ... something, to put in his tea." Perversely, at hearing Sharon's heinous proposal to inhibit his ... natural urges - to 'destimulate' him - for the diabolical purpose of exploiting his 'amenability', and making "an absolute fortune" out of his "up for absolutely anything" Clients' Convenience Service Extra foot services, James was stimulated all the more ... Rub, rub, rub ... Pull, pull, pull ... Tug, tug, tug ... "Ah, well ... back to the real world, then," said Sharon with a wistful sigh. "Are we ready then, Jen? Ready to go to Krystal's?" Jennifer indicated with a nod that she was ready. Then she said to her still foot-massaging boyfriend, "Okay, Carl, that was lovely. You can stop now, sweetie. Me and Sharon are ready now. Go and bring the car round to the front of the building, please, there's a love. And we'll be down in a minute." When Sharon's boyfriend made as if to go with Carl, Sharon said, "No - not you, Graham. You can stay, and put mine and Jen's new high-heeled strappy sandals on, for us." At Sharon's words, Graham's face lit up like a million-watt bulb. "An honour," he said. And James could see that Graham meant it. He really, really meant it. Well, why not? thought James, having now 'seen the light'. It was, an honour, he 'realised'. It was, a wonderful privilege, he 'understood'. And James watched as, like some humbly attending acolyte gravely entrusted with the holiest of sacred objects, Graham solemnly picked up Jennifer and Sharon's high-heeled strappy sandals - Jennifer's, dark blue, and Sharon's, dark red. And, reverently, as though adoringly kneeling in the radiant presence of two goddesses, Graham duly performed this worthwhile and useful service ... Rub, rub, rub ... Pull, pull, pull ... Tug, tug, tug ... Yank, yank, yank ... And then, via the unnatural medium of the mirror's two-foot high, four-foot wide 'screen', James watched as Graham, Jennifer and Sharon finally left the flat. And by now, James was going bananas ... Rub, rub, rub ... Pull, pull, pull ... Tug, tug, tug ... Yank, yank, yank ... Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze ... And the result was inevitable. As the mirror zoomed in close, tracking the mesmeric progress of Jennifer and Sharon's gorgeously shod, sexy feet, James was arriving at yet another mind-shattering, body-wracking, ball-draining climax. Once again, James's seed erupted out of him, spurting and spraying everywhere; blobs and gobbets of the viscous, sticky substance landing where they would. James couldn't believe there was so much of it ... Again. Frantically, James rubbed, pulled, tugged and yanked his dick with his left hand, and squeezed his balls with his right hand. And, never for a moment, did James take his popping-out eyes from the mirror's 'screen', as he maniacally manipulated, and assiduously squeezed, until the after-pulse ... pulse ... pulse ... of his seed finally dried up to nothing. And, at the end of his ... achievement, James was exhausted. Wearied. Run down ... Spent. Gratefully, he collapsed back into the comforting confines of his black leather, well-padded armchair. What a mess, he'd made. What another awful, disgusting mess, he'd made ... Not that he cared. He didn't care a jot. For, in his newly altered ... mindset, James couldn't have cared less. Still ... Pulling a few Man-Size squares of super-absorbent tissue-paper from his economy-size box of Kleenex, James set about wiping up the resultant gooey mess. The resultant gooey mess, of his ... 'willing' sacrifice. * * * 12:15 a.m. Saturday night / Sunday morning. As viewed through the paranormal medium of the mirror's two-foot high, four-foot wide ultra high-resolution 'screen', opening night at Krystal's nightclub was turning out to be a resounding success, James could see. Celebrity DJ, Disco Dave, the musical maestro who had flown over from Ibiza especially, was, in James's opinion, earning every penny of his "outrageous fee". The back-spinning, in-great-demand turntable wizard was on top form. The dance floor was packed; heaving with ravers. Their wildly gyrating bodies and expressively waving arms, awash with brilliantly coloured laser lights and strobes as they tripped the light fantastic to Disco Dave's 'sounds'. And, right among the letting-their-hair-down throng, James saw as the mirror panned around to them, was his boss, Miss Julia Carson, and his five female office colleagues: Dancing together, and ... all of them barefoot. But that wasn't all. For, dancing along with them, and also barefoot, was Jennifer and Sharon - the two proprietresses of Tootsies Pedicure Salon. Or, as James still thought of them: the Barstool Blondes. What's going on here, then? wondered James, upon seeing that they'd all apparently gotten acquainted with each other ... And, at the sight of all of those lovely legs and sexy feet moving to the music, he was at it again ... Rub, rub, rub ... But, where are their shoes? James wondered. The Mirror Ch. 05 Chapter 5: James steps into another fine mess. Sunday morning. 10:45. It wasn't the first time that James had woke up in such an advanced ... state of excitement. But on that Sunday morning he woke up with a hard-on that he couldn't believe. Such dreams, he'd had! They'd all seemed so vivid, so real, so ... happening. All woolly-headed, he was struggling to come to his senses ... as if he was struggling to exit one realm of existence, and re-enter this one. At first, with his living room curtains closed up tight against the light, he struggled to remember where he was. And why wasn't he tucked up in bed? he wondered. Instead of in his ... And then it all came flooding back. He was sitting in his favourite chair: his black leather, well-padded armchair ... In front of the mirror. Where he'd sat all last evening, and well into the small hours. Being 'entertained'. Watching the mirror's 'transmissions'. For all of last evening, and well into the small hours of Sunday, James had watched the mirror's 'broadcasts'. As though relayed live to him via some telecommunications satellite, James had watched a succession of 'broadcasts' on the mirror's incredibly true-to-life, two-foot high, four-foot wide ultra high-resolution 'screen'. Incredulous, amazed, and uncontrollably 'excited', James had watched raptly as the mirror had tracked, for James's own, personal ... delectation, the Saturday night / Sunday morning movements of his boss, Miss Julia Carson, and her five accompanying office girls, and also the movements and activities of Jennifer and Sharon, the proprietresses of Tootsies Pedicure Salon. After which, in a state of totally 'spent', dog-tired exhaustion he'd fallen fast asleep in his armchair. Where he had then spent the night. Spent the night, sitting in front of the mirror that, yesterday, he'd bought as a present for Debbie's mum, Doris, for her birthday in two weeks' time. Spent the night, sitting in front of the mirror, that, after having removed his pride-and-joy 46-inch Internet capable flat-screen TV from its two-foot high plinth-like stand, he'd given the mirror pride of place, in its stead. And, as a result of his 'enchantment' – the result of the all tuned-in and all-knowing, button-pushing and turning-on mistress of the mirror's unnatural influence, over him ... what a mess, he'd made. What an awful, disgusting mess he had made, he thought as he surveyed the ghastly litter. The ghastly, insanitary litter of the Man-Size squares of Kleenex super-absorbent tissue-paper that he'd ... soiled, and then carelessly strewn about his living room. And there was still some of the sticky, gooey mess on his body, too, from the mind-blowing climaxes of his incredible succession of 'influenced' jack-offs. Yes. The man he had bought the mirror from, Mr Howard – "My friends call me Howie" – Leadbetter, had tried to warn him, James realised. This was the mess he had made, due to the mistress of the mirror's being "tuned-in" to him now. And therefore: "It 'knows' you, now", the mirror's previous owner had told him ominously. And, in being so tuned-in to James, and so knowing him, the mistress of the mirror was therefore in possession of all of the necessary ... wherewithal, to enable her to push all of his 'buttons'. Each and every one of them ... for he could have no secrets, from the mistress of the mirror. Thus ... informed, she was enabled to turn him on. And turn him on, as he'd never been turned-on before. And, turning her new 'sex' slave on, as he had never been turned-on before, the mistress of the mirror had coaxed twenty-one-year-old James Noble – her latest, in a long line of 'sex' slaves – to climax, after climax, after climax ... In honour of herself. And now, after more than three decades of having gone 'without', due to the ... inadequacy of her previous three owners, upon frenziedly feeding upon the essential ingredient, nutrient-rich production of James's 'willing' sacrifices as he duly paid his 'devotions', the mistress of the mirror was flourishing ... And developing. An uncommonly ... suitable subject, twenty-one-year-old James Noble was turning out to be easy prey, for the mistress of the mirror. In fact, she'd never had it so good. * * * James was usually a full-of-beans sort of person in the mornings. But today, he was lethargic. It seemed so hard to galvanise himself, this morning; to motivate himself to movement. He just had no energy. No get-up-and-go. I'll be okay though, once I'm up and about, thought James gamely. I'll get up, take a shower – that'll wake me up ... And I need a shave, too, he thought, rubbing his bristly chin with his fingertips. Then, I'll have a good tidy-up in here ... Just look at the state— Interrupting his thoughts, James's phone rang. But for some reason, James just stood there, and made no move to answer it. Just listened to it ring. It was like he'd suddenly been put under some kind of trance. His phone rang four times. And when James didn't pick up, the call was automatically transferred to his answer-phone. It was his girlfriend, Debbie. And she was sounding decidedly miffed. "James ...? Are you there? If you are there, pick up ... Oh, this is getting ridiculous, James!" complained Debbie in vexed frustration. "You still haven't returned any of my calls from yesterday and ... it's now nearly eleven o'clock, and we were supposed to be going out for the day. Weren't we? Come on, James. What the hell are you doing? I'm starting to worry now, James. At least call me, yeah?" pleaded Debbie, sounding concerned. Now that Debbie's call had gone safely unanswered, James came out of his 'trance'. Hmm ... Debs had a bit of a cob on this morning, thought James. But then, she was more than entitled, he admitted to himself. He'd better postpone his shower and shave, he thought, until after he'd called Debbie back. That was his first priority. He'd never failed to promptly return her calls before, and he needed to put her mind at rest. She was probably thinking he'd crashed the Astra, or something. James was still naked. But as he was about to take a shower common sense dictated there was no point in getting dressed. So he just went over to his laundry basket and grabbed the pair of muddied up white shorts that he'd played football in for his local pub team, and pulled them on. Now that he was 'decent', James went over to the phone to call Debbie. It would be humble pie, for breakfast. And lots of it. He would apologise unreservedly for not returning Debbie's calls and causing her to worry about him. And today's day out – wherever they ended up going; and Debbie could choose – would be on him. His treat. James's hand was on the receiver, and he was about to pick it up when, looking over towards the mirror, he noticed that the eerie white light was pulsing again. Signifying, James knew, that ... something, was about to happen. The strange pulsing went on for some moments; the eerie white light, emanating from all around the edges where the mirror glass fitted into its ornately carved hardwood frame ... And then suddenly the 'picture' resolved. The 'picture': the amazingly realistic, true-to-life quality image, as depicted on the mirror's two-foot high, four-foot wide ultra high-resolution 'screen'. James took his hand off the telephone receiver. And, all thoughts of calling Debbie having suddenly gone from his head, he walked over to the mirror. Standing in front of the mirror, James instantly became totally absorbed in what he was seeing ... absorbed, that is, in what the mistress of the mirror was purposefully 'broadcasting' to him. Lying upon the white, pleated quilt of a double-size bed was a stunning blonde woman. Her beauty was breathtaking. She had a face that could launch a thousand ships. And it was immediately obvious, to James, that she had 'it'. It was all in her eyes. She was the sort of woman who, exuding sex appeal, turned men's heads wherever she went ... and raised their temperatures. She was in her mid-twenties, James guessed. And she had the most gorgeous tan; the sort that took a lot of 'work'. All she was wearing was a yellow string-bikini, and a pair of high-heeled mules that were of the same bright-yellow colour as her decidedly skimpy clothing. And, just as had happened last night at Jennifer's apartment, with Jennifer and Sharon, the stunning blonde woman looked right at James ... without seeing him. Her captivating blue eyes looked right into his, yet she was obviously unaware of his 'presence'. Totally oblivious, to James's ... interest. The highly alluring lady was lying on her front, and facing the foot of the bed. The white-cased pillows behind her were rumpled and deeply dimpled, from where she'd been repeatedly thudding her high-heeled mule shod feet into them. She was reading US Today magazine, and James saw that a photo of Hilary Clinton was on the front cover: 'Hilary for the Hill?' read the caption. The spellbinding blonde woman desultorily turned the pages of her magazine. And as she did so she repeatedly raised and lowered her beautifully toned and tanned lower legs behind her and, with her bright yellow high-heeled mules balanced precariously on her feet, she absentmindedly performed the most extraordinary feats of shoe-playing 'tricks' that James had ever witnessed. Such antics! Bug-eyed, James was entranced. Inevitably, as he was admiring the awesomely attractive blonde woman's highly exciting shoe-playing performance, James became more and more aroused. To simultaneously watch the changing expressions on her beautiful face, as she read her magazine, and her playful and 'expert' feet as, with her lower legs raised behind her, she absentmindedly toyed with her high-heeled mules, was a recipe for ... The gorgeous blonde woman's super-exciting shoe-play show continued for a few more minutes ... And James was at it again – he just couldn't help himself ... Rub, rub, rub ... But upon looking at her wristwatch, the fabulous blonde suddenly let her sexy shoes fall from her feet. And James clearly heard the soft thuds, as she allowed her not insubstantial mules to drop to the all-rumpled-up and deeply dimpled white-cased pillows behind her. James then heard the snap-and-crackle crinkling of glossy pages and, having folded it over to the page she'd been reading, the blonde bombshell put down her copy of US Today magazine for later, and then sat on the side of her bed. Then, as if ... something, had made her look up, she looked right at James ... without seeing him. And James felt all tingly, as he stared right back into her captivating blue eyes. And then the soles of her golden feet were flashing at James, as she headed for the bathroom ... Yes, the bathroom: The door was left open, and the shower stall was clearly visible inside. Where is she? James wondered. Is she in a hotel room, or something? James watched the breathtaking blonde as, with her back to him she divested herself of her scanty little bright yellow garments; her bare buttocks, all round, and lovely, and ... all-over tanned. The blonde goddess tucked her golden hair into a shower cap. And then the soles of her beautifully bronzed feet briefly flashed at James; first her right foot, and then her left, as she stepped into the Perspex-walled shower stall, and the gorgeous blonde's curvy contours became obscured within. James then heard the roar of the power shower. He could hardly believe it. Via the medium of the mirror's 'audio system', the fantastically realistic, true-to-life sound quality was amazing. It was as though the power shower was right here; right here in his own living room. In moments, the opaque Perspex walls of the shower stall were steaming up and, as she began soaping herself, James could barely make out the blonde goddess's divine form. James had a right boner. Not meaning to, James continued to think of the blonde beauty's lovely, launch-a-thousand-ships face. Moreover, he continued to think of her so, so sexily shoe-playing feet as, without even thinking about it, she'd expertly manipulated her mules. James was in awe, of her 'skill'. James was in awe, of her almost miraculous, incredibly precarious dangling 'abilities'. He was in thrall, to the thrilling way that she crossed and recrossed her shapely ankles and, as she read her magazine, absentmindedly caused the bottoms of her bare heels to slap-slap-slap-slap against her mules. Such exquisite teasing! And the sights and the sounds of the gorgeous blonde's 'teasing' were now indelibly imprinted on James's mind. And, playing over and over, those highly arousing sights and sounds were already starting to drive him crazy with desire – with lust. There was only one thing for it ... But no. No! He would not, reduce himself to such ... self-satisfaction again, to obtain the necessary blessed relief. He would not, reduce himself to such frenzied pulling and tugging and yanking away at 'himself', to bring about a relief that had by now become only very temporary – and increasingly short-lived. After all, he had Debbie, to take care of his needs. How best to take his mind off it ...? For some strange reason, the thought then popped into James's mind that he hadn't cleaned the mirror since he'd bought it ... yesterday. That wouldn't do. Oh, no. All of the mirror's previous owners had cared for the mirror lovingly and adoringly ... and dutifully. And twenty-one-year-old James Noble would be no different. 'She', would see to that. The mirror's ornately carved hardwood frame – in particular, its occult symbols – must be adoringly and lovingly polished. Regularly. Every single day. Without fail – and no excuses ... Devotedly. But, what about the mirror's glass? First, he'd clean the glass, James decided. And then he'd polish up the mirror's ornately carved hardwood frame. James was sure he had a tin of furniture polish lying around the place somewhere. He would pay particular attention, he thought, to all of those arcane, weird-looking shapes and patterns on the hardwood frame. "Scary symbols", Debbie had called them, when she'd first seen the mirror, up in Howard Leadbetter's attic. Okay, kiddo. Let's get to it! James said to himself, with an unaccountable sense of purpose. James returned to the mirror with his plastic bottle of Sparkle window cleaner. He positioned the spray-bottle's nozzle about five inches from the surface of the mirror, and then sprayed. He pulled the trigger five or six times, aiming the generously spurting ammonia-based liquid at different areas of the glass. James was about to wipe the glass surface with a clean dry cloth, when he realised that, although he'd seen the glass cleaner spray out mistily from the nozzle, he could not see any of it on the mirror's surface. Yes: it was a quick-evaporation spray. But this was ridiculous! James sprayed a second time. James watched more closely as, from just three inches away, this time, he again pulled the trigger five or six times. And again, although he saw the misty spray come out of the bottle's nozzle, not a single droplet of it landed on the surface of the mirror. James was perplexed. Tentatively, with his hand still holding the cloth, James made to touch the three-centuries-old mirror's already spotlessly clean and totally unblemished glass surface ... Upon which, he saw his hand and the cloth disappear into the mirror. With a shocked cry, James quickly pulled back his hand. What, the ...? To his great relief, James found that he still had his hand, complete with all five digits. So he put down his clean dry cloth ... and put his hand inside the mirror again. And then his right foot ... which he then also retrieved, a moment later. And all was still in good, apple-pie order. Hmm ... mused James. When he'd put his right foot through the mirror, to the ... other side, he'd thought he'd felt a carpeted floor, under his bare foot. And then – without pausing to consider what might be the possible consequences; without taking so much as a second, to dwell upon the unknown and unknowable ramifications of his doing so – without thinking – James went through the mirror. By first inserting his right foot, then ducking his head and body through, and finally bringing his left foot through after him, James went through the two-foot high, four-foot wide mirror ... And found himself in the stunning blonde woman's bedroom. James couldn't believe it. This was amazing. Just awesome! The mirror, then, James marvelled, wasn't just a brilliant TV. But it was also some kind of gateway. Some kind of ... portal. Looking around the bedroom, James's eyes were drawn to the beautiful blonde woman's shoes; her pair of bright yellow high-heeled mules. They were on the deeply dimpled pillows of her bed. Just where she'd let them fall from her expertly shoe-playing feet – the finest absentminded shoe-play 'exhibition' that James had ever witnessed – upon her deciding it was time to take a shower. James went over to the sexy blonde woman's bright yellow high-heeled mules, and picked them both up. James was in awe. Holding the blonde goddess's shoes in his hands, he felt all tingly. It was like he could actually feel her vibe now; feel some ... residual something, of herself. He turned the incredibly attractive blonde woman's left shoe around; this way, that way, admiring it from all angles. Then he concentrated his worshipful gaze upon the indentations, and upon the dark imprints, she'd left. The dark, black-on-yellow imprints, that the undersides of her toes had made, and the bottom of her heel ... the residual something, of herself. And James could not believe, just how incredibly exciting it felt, to actually hold that gorgeous woman's recently worn sexy shoe in his hands; still warm, from the sole of her foot. James could not believe, just how unbelievably uplifting – heart-soaring – it was, to adore it. Could not believe, just how awesomely arousing it was, to actually smell the sex goddess's shoe – to sniff up and inhale, deep into himself, that ... residual something, of herself. And to kiss, the blonde siren's shoe. Kissing, all over. Kissing her shoe, in respect, in reverence, in adoration – in worship. And to lick, the blonde bombshell's shoe. Licking, where the undersides of her tanned toes had been, and the bottom of her golden heel. Licking – working his craving, ravening tongue into all of those irresistibly alluring indentations. Licking, at all of those dark, black-on-yellow imprints, and savouring the unbelievable flavour – loving the mind-blowing taste – and devouring that ... residual something, of herself. What it was! thought James. What it was, to worship the breathtakingly beautiful blonde woman's shoe: Her left, bright yellow high-heeled mule. What it was, to adore it! To hold it in his hands, and appreciate its great, iconic beauty. To have his worshipful eyes, solemnly behold its awe-inspiring, majestic splendour. To lose himself, in all of its loveliness ... Its sexiness. What it was, to kiss it! To hold it in his hands, and actually feel his own, humble and unworthy lips, paying due homage. What it was, to sniff it! To hold it in his hands, and to sniff up and inhale – to breathe, deep into his body and mind, that ... residual something, of herself. What it was, to lick it! To hold it in his hands, and work his craving, ravening tongue into all of those irresistibly alluring indentations. Licking at those dark, black-on-yellow imprints – licking, at the ... residual something, of herself. The Mirror Ch. 05 What it was, to hold it in his hands, and ... And then the power shower was turned off. And the stunning blonde woman – the drop-dead-gorgeous foot goddess, who's face could launch a thousand ships, and who had 'it', in spades, and who had so expertly performed the finest and most exciting absentminded shoe-playing 'exhibition' that James had ever witnessed – stepped out of the opaque-Perspex walled shower stall ... Large as life. And facing James. Facing him, in all of her considerable glory. James was panic stricken. How could he have been so impetuous? he thought. Coming through the mirror, like that. Coming through the mirror, without so much as a thought about the upshot! Urgently, James turned around ... to find there was no sign of the mirror! The stunning blonde woman screamed; a high-pitched shriek, that went on for about five seconds but, to James, seeming like five minutes. The adjoining door to another room burst open, and the gorgeous blonde woman's husband, a tall, dark haired, muscular-looking man in his late twenties stood in the doorway. Uncertainly, he surveyed the decidedly singular scene. He also had a great tan; the kind you have to 'work' on. Regarding James – stubble-faced, hair all over the place, dressed only in his pair of white, all-muddied-up football shorts, and holding his wife's pair of bright yellow high-heeled mules – with a look more of puzzlement than of hostility, the man said in an American accent, "Who's he, Sandra? And, where'd he come from?" Now glaring at James, and hastily donning a white towelling robe as she did so, Sandra replied, "The hell do I know, Chuck? He's just ... some guy. And I don't know where he came from. And besides, he'd have had to get past you to get in here, wouldn't he? So how come you didn't see him, Chuck?" Chuck couldn't answer that one. "Well, I heard you scream. So, what was he doing here, Sandra ... in our bedroom?" "I just stepped outta the shower, and, well ..." "And what, Sandra? I've never known 'just some guy' make you scream before." "He was ... making out with my shoe, Chuck. You should have seen him! He was actually licking it! Ugh! Can you imagine? And the look on his face! All sorta depraved. That's why I yelled. I – I guess he kinda freaked me out, okay? I mean, he's gotta be some kinda pervert, hasn't he? Licking my shoe, where my sweaty foot's been?" "Um ... I guess," said Chuck. "Well, what are you waiting for? Get him, Chuck! We've gotta make a Citizen's Arrest. But first, I wanna piece of his ass! No guy makes out with my shoes!" James was wondering how the hell he was going to get out of this one – and keep his ass in one piece – when Chuck made James's mind up for him. As Chuck charged at him like an angry Rottweiler, sicced on him by an even angrier mistress, James drew his right arm back and with all the strength he could muster he hurled Sandra's left, bright yellow high-heeled mule right at Chuck's fast-approaching head ... And got lucky. It was like Chuck hadn't seen the projectile coming, because he could have easily batted it away. But somehow, James's missile sailed through the air in a seemingly undetectable parabola, and the heel tip of Sandra's left, not insubstantial mule hit Chuck right in the mouth, chipping one of his front teeth. Upon his being so assailed, Chuck stood stock-still and, holding a hand to his mouth he emitted a high, barely audible keening sound. James knew he was in trouble now. Big trouble. If Chuck got his hands on him now ... He needed to seize this fortunate chance to escape ... but where to? In blind panic James rushed past the temporarily immobilised Chuck, and into the adjoining room from which Chuck had emerged ... And yes: there was the door to the outside! "Bathdard!" said Chuck, ineffectually pawing at his evasive assailant one-handed as James took his chance to dink and dodge past him. "He's getting away, Chuck!" wailed Sandra. "Stop him! He's still got one of my shoes! Don't let him get away, Chuck. I wanna piece of his ass!" "Don't worry, Thandra. I won't let that athole get away. Becoth I wanna pieth of hith ath, too!" lisped the enraged Chuck. James threw himself out of the adjoining room's door, and found himself in a narrow corridor. Numbered doors were spaced at irregular intervals on either side ... I must be in a hotel, James marvelled. To his right, just up ahead at the end of the corridor, was another door. Time being of the essence – Chuck wouldn't be immobilised for long – James ran to it headlong. He frantically opened the door, stepped through ... and James just could not believe, what he saw. Now it was James, who was suddenly stopped in his tracks, and standing stock-still, temporarily immobilised. And, despite his desperation to escape from the outraged and enraged Chuck, and his lovely sex-kitten wife, the vengeance-hungry Sandra, James could only stop, and stare, at the scene that greeted his eyes. James had been right: He was, in a hotel ... sort of. A floating hotel. In stunned amazement, James stared at the most beautiful blue sky he had ever seen. And at the endless expanse of blue-green ocean; misty spray, breaking free from the whitecaps of the larger swells. In utter incredulity, James stared at the rows and rows of sun-loungers, occupied mostly by young women. Some of the young women were topless. While others wore skimpy, nothing-to-them bikinis ... so they might as well have been. And there, on a flag, fluttering and flapping in the breeze atop its flagpole, was a travel company logo he recognised: On a cheery bright yellow happy-faced-sun background, printed in bright blue letters was the legend: Sunshine Holidays. James couldn't believe it. He was actually aboard an ocean-going liner – a Sunshine Holidays cruise ship. Sunshine Holidays, James knew, was a British-based travel company, with affiliated offices and agents worldwide. And, upon his seeing another fluttering flag, James saw that she was actually the Lady Caroline – the pride of the fleet. She was named after Caroline Flynt: the British Prime Minister, and leader of the Authoritarian Female Party (AFP). Her sister ship, James knew, was the Lady Theresa. She was named after Theresa Maynard: Home Secretary. And, just as the majestic-looking ships were coming in to commission last May, upon the Authoritarian Female Party's landslide General Election victory, Sunshine Holidays had also named all of the other ships of this splendid new generation of cruise liners after AFP Cabinet Ministers. Making his way down towards the crowded sundeck, James observed the rows and rows of young women on sun-loungers, who were 'working' on their tans. All of the sunbathers appeared to be in their twenties, and James wondered if this was one of Sunshine Holidays' 18 to 30 holidays. Upon arriving at the rows of sunbathing young women, James saw that most of them were lying on their fronts, so as to feel the sun on their backs ... And so that they were facing away from him, with their bare soles excitingly displayed to his view, toes pointing downwards. Though some of them, with their lower legs languidly raised behind them, absentmindedly waved their feet in the air as they read their book, or magazine, or newspaper. Some of the sunbathers, though, were lying on their backs, so as to feel the sun on their fronts ... And so that they were not facing away from James. But facing towards him. And, as he slowly walked past them, the female sunbathers – and a few men, too – who were facing towards him, raised their sunglasses, and lowered their book, or magazine, or newspaper, and regarded with open curiosity the unkempt, unshaven, all-muddied-up white football shorts attired James. As James promenaded past all of those bronzed babes' bare soles, under the mistress of the mirror's ever strengthening influence over him James was making virtually no attempt now, to disguise his keen ... interest. Those young ladies who were lying on their fronts, and who were as yet unaware of James's watchful presence – and oblivious, as to his ... interest – continued to languidly raise their lower legs behind them, and absentmindedly wave their feet in the air. Some of them, with their legs up straight, angled their feet this way, that way – every which way. While others idly crossed and recrossed their ankles; their soles, too, catching the sun from ever changing angles. Though the sun-kissed soles of most of the other, non-foot-waving young women were relatively motionless, James's finely tuned antenna unfailingly picked up on any such sudden absentminded movements of toe scrunching, wiggling, and splaying as was 'on offer', as they idly whiled away yet another shipboard day in the hot sunshine. Now though, the lovely Sandra was emerging through the door behind James. And, his ... unconventional dress-code attired figure being so hard to miss, she spotted James's ambling, insouciant form immediately. And now it was the stunning blonde's turn, to be stopped in her tracks, and stand stock-still, temporarily immobilised. She couldn't believe it. The sheer gall, of the guy. Just nonchalantly strolling along the sundeck, and blatantly staring at the sunbathing women's feet, marvelled Sandra. Sandra was barefoot and, holding aloft her left, bright yellow high-heeled mule, the gorgeous blonde angrily and loudly demanded of James, "Hey, you! Gimme that shoe!" And her chipped-toothed husband was right behind her. "Bathdard! I'm gonna have a pieth of your ath! And thath a promith!" vowed Chuck. In the sudden commotion caused by Sandra and Chuck's threats of impending violence, almost everyone on the sundeck was aware of James's presence now. "Stop him! Stop that guy! He's some sorta foot pervert!" yelled Sandra. "And he's got one of my shoes!" Most of the sunbathers merely looked on with mild interest, and remained where they were ... 'working' on their tans. But a good number of them, perhaps seeing it as their moral duty as good citizens to aid in the fugitive's capture – or maybe they were just bored of soaking up the sun all day, and so were glad of the opportunity to participate in this small, monotony-relieving diversion – sprang up from their sun-loungers, and eagerly joined in the chase. "Where are all the guys?" asked Sandra, of the nearest of her summarily recruited female posse members. "They're all watching the World Series," was the reply James heard. "Who the hell is he? And what's he done?" James heard one of his other female pursuers ask Sandra, in tones of breathless excitement. "I dunno. He's ... just some guy. But he suddenly appeared in my cabin – appeared out of nowhere! I'd just stepped outta the shower, and I caught him making out with my shoe! You should have seen him – the look on his face! All sorta depraved. He was licking my shoe – actually licking it! Can you imagine? Ugh! Licking my shoe, right where my sweaty foot's been! Ain't that right, Chuck?" "Yeth. He'th thum thort of thyoo-kithing, thyoo-licking thicko. And, tho help me, I'm gonna have a pieth of hith ath!" "What?" asked yet another of the pursuing female posse members. "You mean, he's one of those ... foot fetish guys?" "You got it!" confirmed the stunning Sandra. Thoroughly panicked, James darted into the first corridor that he came to – and found himself trapped. James had blundered into the cruise ship's keep-fit gymnasium, and the chasing mob were right behind him ... Now, he was for it. At first, James thought there were more than twenty young ladies in the gymnasium. Not least, because the sentiments of angry indignation that assailed his ears were vociferous and vitriolic, at his having burst into their aerobics class so rudely. Then James realised his mistake: it was an optical illusion. Because the lower walls of the gym were faced with mirrors, the multitudinous reflections had fooled James into thinking there were many more leotard-wearing young women in the gym than were actually present – about a dozen, rather than the twenty-plus that he'd initially imagined. But whether there were a dozen, or twenty-plus leotard-wearing, all-sweated-up and angry young women, James was still in the same quandary. But now, at their seeing the entrance of the angry-looking Sandra and Chuck, closely followed by their large and mostly female posse of superbly tanned young women, the ladies of the aerobics class fell silent, looking on bemusedly. "Now, we've got him!" exclaimed the exultant Sandra. Wielding her left, bright yellow high-heeled mule like some preferred weapon of combat, and eyeing James maliciously, like some evil-minded female conqueror, the stunning Sandra gloated, "Oh yes ... Now, we've got him." The lady in charge of the aerobics class – a very attractive, lean and fit-as-a-fiddle blonde in her early twenties – complained exasperatedly, "Er, excuse me. But would you mind telling me just what the hell is going on? I'm trying to conduct an aerobics class here!" "Yeth. We're gonna have a pieth of hith ath," explained Chuck. By now, James was almost backed up against the far wall ... there was nowhere left to go. To James's horror, Chuck started to advance threateningly on him. Pointing to his newly chipped front tooth, Chuck snarled, "Thee thith? Bathdard! I'm gonna have a pieth of your ath!" he promised. "Tho help me." "I'm very sorry, sir," offered James. "I didn't mean it." "Not so fast, Chuck!" commanded Sandra. "I want my turn with this little jerk-off, first. Ya hear me? I'm gonna make him pay – and pay real good! Now, back off!" she told her husband authoritatively. "Nobody metheth with my wife! Not even me! Ha ha ha!" Chuck blustered, and laughed awkwardly, in trying to save face in front of the watching posse of mostly female pursuers, and the annoyed ladies of the interrupted aerobics class. "You'll thoon thee," he assured them. To James's dread, the stunning Sandra started to advance menacingly on him. He knew the game was up ... it was all in her eyes. "This is the end-game, shoe guy. And now ... I'm gonna finish your ass," promised Sandra as, with her left, bright yellow high-heeled mule tightly gripped in her right hand, she exultantly moved in on James. At seeing James cringing defenceless before her, and awaiting his fate in mute trepidation – his fate, at her hands – the stunning Sandra paused to stand triumphantly over him, and savour her highly satisfying moment all the more ... Oh, she was really going to enjoy this! As her rapt, admiring husband, and her excitedly anticipating audience of female fugitive-pursuers and leotard-wearing aerobics ladies eagerly looked on, Sandra gleefully told James, "Now, asshole. You little foot freak ... you're gonna get what's coming to you." Even more encouraged, by her husband's and her larger audience's vociferous and enthusiastic sentiments of approval, the fabulous Sandra went on, "So, you like my shoes, do you? Well, let me tell you something, you shoe-kissing pervert, you – you shoe-licking little jerk-off. I like them, too. And I don't appreciate them being all slobbered and slavered over! See where I'm coming from?" "I'm very sorry, Miss," offered James. "I didn't mean to. I ... I couldn't help it." The gorgeous Sandra waited for the riotous noise of the latest wave of encouragement to abate some, before going on. "Before I hand your sorry ass over to the ship's Captain, I'm gonna give you a good taste of my shoe, sonny, that you ain't, gonna like so much. And that you ain't never gonna forget," promised the crowd-pleasing, incomparable Sandra. "See what you've done to my Chuck's teeth, shoe guy? Well, that's what I'm gonna do, to your shoe-kissing, shoe-licking little head with the heel of my shoe: Chip it. All over ... Chip. Chip. Chip. Chip ... All over." Chuck shouted excitedly, "Yeah, baby! Go girl! I can't wait to thee thith! Let him have it, Thandra!" The time for talking, was over. And, thus encouraged, the lovely Sandra menacingly raised her left, bright yellow high-heeled mule high above her head, and like a wildcat she launched herself at James, intent on delivering on her head-chipping promise. James braced himself. Braced himself, against the chosen chastisement that he knew the sensational Sandra was about to administer. About to administer, with the heel of her left shoe. About to administer, with the heel of her left shoe, a frenzied flurry of retributive blows to his vulnerable head ... Chip. Chip. Chip. Chip ... All over. And, James knew, as they avidly witnessed the sweet-faced Sandra's merciless downpour of blows showering down upon his gravely under-protected head, Sandra's all-fired-up audience would enthusiastically shout and yell their approval and encouragement, and energetically urge Sandra on to even greater efforts ... to even greater, head-chipping. Now, at seeing the start of the supreme Sandra's left, high-heeled mule's doom-laden descent, in sheer panic James tried to back away further ... Only to find that he now had nowhere left to go. That he was now almost backed up to the gymnasium's reflective lower wall. And, in that moment, when time seemed to stand still, James could see it in Sandra's eyes. Could see it in her eyes, that she knew she had him, now. That she had him, exactly where she wanted him. That she had him, at her mercy. That he had nowhere left to run to. That he had no avenue of escape – that he was trapped! This was it, then ... James was trapped, by his angel-faced assailant. Hopeless, James resigned himself to his fate. James would never forget the look on the superlative Sandra's lovely, launch-a-thousand-ships face; an expression of such malicious glee as, with great velocity, Sandra brought down the heel of her shoe – her left, bright yellow high-heeled mule. The shoe, that James had so reverently held in his very own two hands, and so excitedly sniffed, and so adoringly kissed, and so lustfully licked – so ardently worshiped. James would never forget the look on the sublime Sandra's angelic, come-to-bed face; an expression of such malevolent delight as, powerfully and accurately, and viciously and cruelly, Sandra brought the heel of her left shoe down towards his gravely under-protected head at frightening speed. At a speed, James feared, that was going to crack his skull ... the first of many, such cracks. Crack his skull, just as easily, and just as surely, and just as remorselessly as Sandra would crack the shell of a soft-boiled egg with her breakfast spoon ... Chip. Chip. Chip. Chip ... All over. James would never forget the look on the spectacular Sandra's captivating, head-turning face; an expression of such triumphant, vengeful glee as, eyes shining in victory, she eagerly anticipated the now fast-approaching moment when the heel of her left, bright yellow high-heeled mule would impact the top of her helpless and hopelessly trapped victim's vulnerable head with a resounding, and highly satisfying crack! The resounding, and highly satisfying crack, that would be only the first of many. The first of many, that the sensational Sandra would sadistically administer ... Chip. Chip. Chip. Chip ... All over. But, in the split-second moment before the first of those terrible vengeful impacts could become a painful reality, James instinctively cringed back from the incoming blow. Cringed back, from the sweet-faced Sandra's shoe-wielding assault ... And passed through the mirrored surface of the gymnasium's reflective wall ... and back into his living room. James could not believe it. Upon hearing the sounds of familiar voices; voices that were raised, in confusion and frustration and anguish, James hurriedly got up from the carpet where he'd just been ... deposited. The Mirror Ch. 05 And, looking at the scene, as depicted by the mirror's two-foot high, four-foot wide ultra high-resolution 'screen', he didn't know who was the more stunned, and the more disbelieving: himself, or the flabbergasted folk he'd just left behind. Left behind, in the reflective-walled gymnasium aboard the Sunshine Holidays cruise ship, the Lady Caroline. James had safely returned, he now realised, by means of having passed through the mirrored lower wall of the ship's gym. The reflective surface of which, apparently having served as some kind of gateway. Some kind of ... portal. Stunned, and shaken to the core, by his incredibly narrow escape – and by his fantastical experience – James gratefully plonked himself down in his favourite chair; his black leather, well-padded armchair. There were a lot of puzzled people in the ship's gym, and that was for sure. There was Sandra and Chuck, and their mostly female volunteer-force posse of sunbathers, and the leotard-wearing ladies of the aerobics class ... And now, the ship's Captain, who'd apparently been called to the scene by the aerobics instructor. "What appears to be the problem, here," inquired the calm-voiced Captain. And, at the resultant clamour of overexcited voices, he held up both arms in placation and said, "One at a time, please." "The athole dithappeared!" blurted Chuck. "Who disappeared?" said the Captain. "He was ... just some guy," explained the splendid Sandra. "But he just vanished ... right through there," she said, pointing to the exact spot where James had inexplicably gone through the gym's mirrored lower wall. "Oh, and he sounded English," added Sandra, as though as an afterthought. At seeing the expression on the Captain's face, Sandra gestured to those around her and shouted at him aggressively, "We all saw it! And we all heard him!" Upon everyone voicing their emphatic agreement with Sandra, the Captain sighed deeply and replied, "All right, all right ..." But the Captain's patronising tone only angered Sandra all the more. She stood confronting him, hands on hips. To Sandra, the Captain said, "Hmm. You say he was ... just some guy. And he just vanished ... right through there," he said, gesturing to the exact spot in the mirrored lower wall that Sandra had pointed out. "Oh, and he sounded English." Sandra asserted, "Yes, he was. And he did ... You got a problem with that?" she challenged the ship's Master belligerently. "Well ... there are no English people listed on the passenger manifest, for this voyage," the Captain informed Sandra. Sandra was stuck for a reply to that. Thinking that humour might be the best way to calm his obviously agitated and unsettled passengers, the Captain said, "Well, we shouldn't be too surprised, should we, if someone disappears? After all, we are in the ... Bermuda Triangle." But the Captain's attempt at humour didn't work – fell totally flat. In fact, he'd only succeeded in agitating and unsettling his passengers further. It was obvious, in the expressions on his freaked-out passengers' faces. Expressions, that clearly said: Will I be next, to ... disappear? The scintillating Sandra, frustrated at so mysteriously being denied her vengeance against James, blurted angrily, "What the hell, Chuck! Where is the little jerk-off? I mean, I just don't get it. How can he be here, and then just not, be here?" "Thyuckth! I dunno, Thandra!" replied the equally bewildered Chuck. "I thyure don't know. There'th no thign of the thyoo-kithing, thyoo-licking lother! He'th jutht dithappeared – ith ath thimple ath that." * * * The mirror then panned out of the reflective-walled gymnasium, along the corridor, and out through the door to the sundeck. James observed the rows and rows of sun-loungers, most of them occupied by young ladies. Some of them were topless. While others wore skimpy, nothing-to-them bikinis ... so they might as well have been. Those of them who were lying on their fronts, causing the brilliant Bermudan sun to glint off their bare soles at ever changing angles as, with their lower legs languidly raised behind them, they absentmindedly waved their feet in the air. And, James saw, as they read their novel, or newspaper, or magazine, some of the young ladies absentmindedly scrunched, or splayed, or wiggled their toes, as they did so. And all of the sunbathing ladies, James noticed, were superbly tanned. The sort of tan, that they'd had to 'work' on ... And were still, 'working' on. Now the mirror started to pan out. There, James saw, was the cruise ship's flag. Fluttering and flapping in the breeze atop its flagpole, it displayed the well-known travel company's logo: a cheery bright yellow happy-faced-sun background and, printed upon it in bright blue letters was the legend: Sunshine Holidays. The mirror panned out further ... And, as if he was listening to it through some ultra high-fidelity sound system, James heard the tremendous, realistic roar of the cruise ship's boiling wake, as the Lady Caroline's enormous propellers churned the blue-green waters astern to a seething white maelstrom. And the mirror panned out further still ... Until all James could see, was the most beautiful blue sky that he'd ever seen. And the endless expanse of blue-green ocean; misty spray, breaking free from the whitecaps of the larger swells ... And the receding spectacle of the majestic cruise ship. She was the pride of the fleet. Her name, James could still make out on the graceful lines of her stern: Lady Caroline. And then she was gone. * * * But James remained seated in his favourite chair; his black leather, well-padded armchair. Because the mirror was pulsing, now. Pulsing its eerie white light. The eerie white light, that emanated from all around the mirror where it fitted into its ornately carved hardwood frame. Pulsing. Which signified, as James now knew well, that ... something, was about to happen. James stood up, and quickly pulled off his pair of white, all-muddied-up football shorts. So that he would be unrestricted and unrestrained, unencumbered and unhampered – liberated. With nothing to get in the way of his ... movements. No impediment, to ... pleasure. The mistress of the mirror was once again summoning James. Summoning her latest, in a long line of 'sex' slaves, to ... service. Summoning him, to offer his 'devotions' ... In her honour. So that, through the essential ingredient, nutrient-rich nourishment of James's 'willing' sacrifices, she would continue to flourish ... And develop. James waited ... The mistress of the mirror wouldn't keep him waiting for long, he knew. No. It wouldn't be long. It wouldn't be long, before the mistress of the mirror once again brought him to such peaks of almost unbearable pleasure, that, frantically pulling and tugging and yanking away at 'himself' in yet another frenzy of climactic ecstasy, he would duly deliver up his 'devotions' – the precious seed, of his 'willing' sacrifice. And deliver up, to the mistress of the mirror, a little bit more of himself. As James waited, his fingertips sensuously caressed what he lovingly cradled in his hands ... The sensational Sandra's right, bright yellow high-heeled mule. And, especially in the dark, black-on-yellow imprints, made by the undersides of the stunning Sandra's tanned toes, and by the bottom of her golden heel, the little residual ... something, of herself. The Mirror continues, in chapter 6. The Mirror Ch. 06 Chapter 6: James does the right thing. Monday. 11:00 a.m. James had slept for eight solid hours. Or rather, he'd been unconscious, for eight solid hours ... which wasn't quite the same thing. Because, upon finally clawing his way back to consciousness from his nonstop succession of highly erotic, female-feet related dreams; dreams, that were so lucid, so incredibly vivid, so awesomely ... happening, he felt drained, depleted ... spent. Spent, from being so relentlessly pestered. Pestered, by his clingy – clinging-like-a-clam – 'sex' pest ... the mistress of the mirror. * Since Saturday lunchtime, James had barely had a moment's rest. He'd barely had a moment's rest, from being 'entertained'. And from ... enjoying himself. Whether he was awake or asleep, whether it was day or night, the mistress of the mirror was mercilessly making the most of him. Mercilessly ... taking it out of him. Ravishing him. Using his mind, to ravish his body, the mistress of the mirror was, in essence ... possessing James. The mistress of the mirror – the unnatural nymphomaniac, to whom James had become ... enchanted – was making a glutton of herself, on 'sex'. Satiating, herself. Just as he'd done, yesterday morning, James was sluggishly waking up in his favourite chair; his black leather, well-padded armchair ... in front of the mirror. Where he'd sat up all night, for the second night in succession. As naked as the day he was born – so that there would be no hindrances, no encumbrances, no restrictions; nothing to get in the way, of his ... movements, he'd watched, well into the small hours, the mistress of the mirror's endless string of hit-parade, finding-the-spot, on-location 'movies'. Watched, well into the small hours, his prurient predator's relentless succession of 'knowing', just-for-him, button-pushing 'broadcasts'. And, time after time, the pliable, malleable – like-putty-in-her-hands – James, had ... rose to the occasion. Rose to the occasion, to 'satisfy' the mistress of the mirror. Time after time, the helplessly susceptible James had responded to her ceaseless importuning. Unthinkingly obeying her diabolical demands, he'd duly fulfilled her fiendishly exacting requirements: delivered up his 'devotions' ... in her honour. Duly delivered up, his 'willing' sacrifices. Duly delivered up his 'willing' sacrifices as, each and every time she'd expertly and unfailingly coaxed him to yet another cataclysmic, almost unbearably ecstatic climax, he'd yet again 'devoted', to the mistress of the mirror, the resultant 'offering' of his precious seed. The mistress of the mirror had gone 'without', for so very long. But now, with her latest 'sex' slave, she was making up for lost time. She was making up for lost time, with twenty-one-year-old James Noble ... Her helplessly vulnerable and, to her, effortlessly manipulable, conquest. Frenziedly feeding, upon her latest 'sex' slave's 'willing' sacrifices – the essential ingredient, nutrient-rich 'production' of twenty-one-year-old James Noble – the mistress of the mirror was flourishing, thriving ... And developing. And now, before James had even had a chance to rub the gritty sleep from his bleary eyes, the mistress of the mirror was summoning him again. Summoning him, to 'service' her. The mirror's eerie white light – the eerie white light, that shone from all around the edges, where the mirror's glass fitted into its ornately carved hardwood frame – was once again pulsing. Pulsing. Signifying, as by now James knew well, that ... something, was about to happen. * * * In a state of wondrous anticipation, James stared at the mirror. Stared, at the mirror's two-foot high, four-foot wide ultra high-resolution 'screen'. Stared, until the 'picture' once again resolved ... as he now knew that it would. As though relayed live to James by some sort of telecommunications satellite, the mistress of the mirror was purposely and purposefully 'broadcasting', to James ... The scene from work: Julia Carson & Associates. Just forty-eight hours ago, James wouldn't have been able to believe it; wouldn't have been able to believe, just what he was actually seeing, and hearing – actually witnessing – via the unnatural medium of the mirror. But that was forty-eight hours ago. And now, in the insurance brokers' open-plan office, the mirror panned low ... and James saw that Miss Julia Carson's Associates – her five industry-trained and fully diploma'd office girls – were, as usual, all 'at it': Shoe-playing. And such was the complete thoroughness of the mistress of the mirror's mental ... conditioning, of him, James didn't even realise that, unthinkingly responding to the guileful wiles of his prurient prompter, he was once again already 'at it', himself: priming himself, to serve her – to resume, serving her ... Rub, rub, rub ... Rub, rub, rub ... Rub, rub, rub ... Mindlessly obeying her, as he watched the captivating and highly arousing absentminded shoe-playing antics – the unconscious, can't-tear-your-eyes-from 'teasing' – of his five attractive, in-their-twenties female colleagues. The unconscious, mesmerising 'teasing', of the dark-pantyhose wearing Lisa, Maxine, Stacey, Gail and Jane, as their seemingly ever active feet toyed with their black leather, two-inch heeled office pumps as they studiously pored over the items on their work desks. His five female colleagues just never seemed to stop, thought James excitedly as, as the mirror panned closer, giving him the most awesome close-up views of their dark-pantyhose'd feet, he raptly watched each of the five office girls doing their own, individual and unique shoe-playing 'thing' ... Rub, rub, rub ... Rub, rub, rub ... Such mesmerising manipulations! Rub, rub, rub ... He didn't need to see his female colleagues' faces – he knew who each of them were, just from watching their signature 'routines' ... Rub, rub, rub ... Just look at Lisa and Maxine: their dark-pantyhose'd soles momentarily on open display, as they rested the tops of their feet in their office pumps ... Rub, rub, rub ... Such exciting sights! Rub, rub, rub ... Sometimes, the office girls would leave their feet like that for minutes' at a time ... Rub, rub, rub ... No wonder he could never get any work done! Sometimes, though ... he was almost convinced that his five female colleagues were actually doing it on purpose – actually ... attention-grabbing. Almost convinced, that their apparently absentminded, apparently subconscious shoe-shuffling performances ... were actually a ruse. Almost convinced, that they were deliberately ... entrancing him. Deliberately, trying to get a ... rise, out of him. Deliberately, winding him up ... And keeping him wound up. It was as though they actually wanted him to pine away, after their shoe-playing, dark-pantyhose'd feet. As if they were all getting some kind of a kick, out of it. As if they were getting a kick, from the very idea of their male co-worker actually lusting after them all ... in that way. Getting a kick, out of having him in their power ... And, of exerting their power. Exerting their power, to keep their junior, at-their-beck-and-call office boy firmly in line ... and under their full control. Exerting their power, to keep their male underling obedient, respectful – reverent. Exerting their power, to keep James ... in awe of them. Because somehow, they knew ... Knew that, in his own way, James was, in awe of them. James suspected that his five female office colleagues shoe-played – or rather, had increased, their shoe-playing activities – because they had somehow fathomed out that he would put any shoe-playing female he saw, up on a pedestal ... And then humbly and reverently and adoringly look up to her ... Idolise, her. Because, to him, they were, goddesses. And in his own way, he worshiped each and every one of them, as such. It was discernible – apparent, even, once you 'knew' – in his deferential manner, to them all ... In his meek obeisance. His female co-workers, James suspected, had somehow intuited the ways and workings of his ... mindset. Intuited, the unusual way that his brain was ... hardwired. Intuited ... where he 'lived'. James had lately come to strongly suspect all of these things. Strongly suspect, that his five female office colleagues had somehow actually become aware of his ... predilection. And strongly suspect, too, that they were acting on their insightful discovery. Strongly suspect, that they were 'playing' him. But ... I'm not in the office now, thought James ... and yet, they are all shoe-playing like crazy. So, has shoe-playing now actually gotten to be a habit with them all – an unconscious habit, that they don't even realise they've picked up? That is to say: have his five female office colleagues now actually become 'genuine' absentminded shoe-players? It certainly seems so, James concluded, as he continued to thoroughly enjoy the mistress of the mirror's latest amazing, true-to-life, on-location 'broadcast' ... And continued to enjoy, 'himself' ... Rub, rub, rub ... Rub, rub, rub ... As the mirror panned at low level, visiting one pair of dark-pantyhose'd playful feet after another, and giving James the most eye-popping, jaw-dropping close-up views of them all ... Rub, rub, rub ... James then saw Miss Julia Carson emerging from her own, separate office holding a thick sheaf of papers and saying, "James, I want you to ..." Her voice trailed off, upon her realising that James – the at-everyone's-beck-and-call, factotum office boy – was not at his desk. Miss Julia Carson seemed to look right at James; seemed to look right into his eyes ... and not see him. Just like everyone else, on the 'other side' of the mirror, she was totally oblivious, to his ... voyeurism. Miss Carson said, "Has anyone seen the foot boy?" James couldn't believe it. His boss, Miss Julia Carson, was actually referring to him as "the foot boy"! And his five female office colleagues, he'd noticed, hadn't so much as batted an eyelid. Had barely reacted at all, in fact, at Miss Julia Carson's casual use of his ... sobriquet. James was rocked. Oh my god! thought James. Does this mean, then, that they all ... 'know'? That they actually 'know'? Upon receiving only murmured noes and distracted, negative shakes of the head from her five, intent-upon-their-work office girls, Miss Carson further queried, "None of you have sent James out for a special coffee, or for pastries, or on some other errand, then ...? What about you, Maxine? You've always got James running here, there, and somewhere else, for you. Have you sent him out, doing some of your bidding?" Maxine replied, grumpily, "No, Miss Carson. James hasn't come in to work yet. And it's gone eleven o'clock now, so I don't suppose he's going to – which is a nuisance, actually. I wanted him to run down to the Deli for me, for a pastrami on rye, with a side-order of dill pickle, and then pick up my dry-cleaning on the way back. And I needed him to do some photocopying for me, as well, for the Urquhart-Stewart account. And I'm not the only one – the other girls have all got some errands for James to run, too." "Right, that's it!" said Miss Julia Carson decisively. Striding purposefully towards Lisa's desk, she intoned in annoyance, "This is the final straw ... The last, and final straw ... James is history ... History! ... He's had his final warning – I told him: 'Shape up, or ship out!' ... Well, he isn't shaping up – so he's shipping out! ... There's no place for passengers, in my office!" I'm history? Noooooo! wailed James inwardly. After the way Debbie's mum had needed to pull out all of the stops to get me the job in the first place? Yes – I'll be history, all right! As it happened to be the desk least cluttered with paperwork, it was the edge of Lisa's desk that Miss Julia Carson chose to sit on, to use the desk phone. To get comfortable, Miss Julia Carson crossed her right, dark-pantyhose'd leg over her left and, while she waited for the ringing phone to be picked up at the other end, she informed her five office girls, "The foot boy's had his chips, girls." I've had my chips? Noooooo! thought James despairingly. I darn't lose this job – Debbie will strangle me! The five office girls put down their pens, turned away from their computer monitors, quickly terminated their phone calls ... They were all ears, now. Miss Julia Carson went on, addressing her now fully attentive office girls. "And I can't say that I'm sorry, either – I never wanted a male employee in the office, in the first place. I've found in the past, that, with an otherwise all-female staff, it disturbs the harmonious working atmosphere, and can be overly disruptive. And it was only as a special, for-old-times'-sake favour to my old friend Doris, that—" "Hello, Doris. It's Julia, here. Um ... it's about James. I may as well just come straight to the point. I have some bad news, I'm afraid ... James hasn't come in to work today. He hasn't phoned in to say why, and ... he's not here to look after my girls. And he's on his final warning – I told him: 'It's shape up, or ship out!' And it's not as though I haven't given him plenty of chances to shape up, is it? I'm sorry, Doris, but enough is enough. I'm going to have to ... let him go." Let me go? Noooooo! thought James despondently. I'll be right in the doghouse – Doris will never forgive me! As if the mirror was a TV, switching its own channels, it was suddenly Debbie's mum, Doris, who James now saw on the mirror's 'screen' ... "Julia, love, please don't do anything drastic – at least, not yet," pleaded a very anxious looking Doris. "But, Doris, love, I've already made up my—" "Debbie is very worried about James. In fact, she's been close to tears – distraught. James hasn't kept to the arrangements they'd made for the weekend, which is so unlike him. But it's not just that ... Debbie hasn't seen him since around Saturday lunchtime, and he hasn't returned any of her calls, either – which is unprecedented, for James." "But, Doris, I can't—" "James dotes on my daughter, and I know he loves the very bones of her – I can see it, Julia, in his every word, look and action. And so his highly unusual behaviour is very worrying to me, too. I can only assume that ... something, has happened to James." "Doris, don't be so melodramatic! And besides, I've given James every opportunity, to—" "Please, Julia. Don't make your decision final, just yet. That's all I'm asking. Just give me a chance to find out what's happening with James. Me and Debbie will go around to James's flat during Debbie's lunch break ... Please? Please, Julia ... for old-times' sake?" "Oh, Doris. If it wasn't for our long friendship ... All right, then. But James is hanging onto his job by a thread! Bye, Doris," said Miss Carson rather abruptly, sounding very frustrated at the negative outcome as she ended the call to her longtime friend. Upon hearing the things Debbie's mum had just said about him, James was all choked up, thick-throated with emotion. In fact, it felt as though there was a golf ball stuck in his gullet, such was the painful lump that Doris had put there. Putting herself out on a limb for him, like that! Testing the resilience of the bonds of her and Julia's lifelong friendship. All but going cap-in-hand, for him – calling in all her favours, in his behalf – to her longtime friend. Had he not heard Doris's imploring, heartfelt words with his own ears, he wouldn't have believed it. How would he ever be able to repay Doris? Such gratitude, he felt! And such warm affection, too. And Debbie – his lovely Debbie! Doris had said that Debbie was worried about him. That she was close to tears – distraught. And all because of him! "I'm glad you've changed your mind about firing James, Miss Carson," said Lisa. "I was actually very worried there, for a moment." And James heard Lisa's sentiments enthusiastically echoed by the other office girls – especially Maxine, who was now trying to make up for her rather peevishly complaining about James's absence ... Trying to make up, for unintentionally dropping him in it with Miss Carson. "But I've not changed my mind, Lisa. You heard what I just said: James's fate is finely in the balance – hanging by a thread. And whatever excuse my friend Doris comes up with, for the foot boy, it had better be good!" "I'm sure James will have a good reason for not coming in to work today, Miss Carson," said Lisa. And James heard the other office girls' murmurs of agreement. "James may well have a good reason, Lisa. But he's supposed to tell me what it is, isn't he?" "He's a sweet boy, Miss Carson," persisted Lisa. Who, on Saturday night, along with her other female office colleagues, and Miss Carson too, had celebrated her twenty-first birthday at the newly opened Krystal's nightspot, where Ibiza legend DJ, Disco Dave, had presided at the turntables. Again, James heard Lisa's opinion of him warmly seconded by the other office girls. Especially Maxine, who said, rather assertively, "I think James deserves a second chance, Miss Carson." And James felt himself getting all emotional again. Lisa and the other office girls were actually sticking up for him – fighting his corner. They didn't want Miss Carson to sack him! They all wanted her to give him another 'second' chance! And they were all fronting it up with her, showing their solidarity, in the cause! James had had no idea that they all cared, so much. Miss Carson replied exasperatedly, "I know James is a sweet boy, Lisa. But this is a place of work – not an entertainment centre! I'm not prepared to let him stare at my office girls' feet, the whole day long, and not get any work done." This remark, by Miss Carson, got the five office girls all giggly. And James could hardly believe his ears. "And, now that we're on the subject," continued Miss Carson, "I rather think that some of you girls are doing it on purpose – deliberately, getting James all ... hot and bothered. Especially you, Maxine. You love 'performing' for him – and don't think I'm not aware of it, you little minx!" To which accusation, the red-haired, green-eyed Maxine responded by swivelling around on her castor-wheeled office chair and, crossing her right, dark-pantyhose'd leg over her left, she popped her right heel from her black leather, two-inch heeled office pump, and let it dangle saucily from the tips of her toes. With mock innocence, Maxine then replied, "What ... me, Miss Carson? Heaven forbid." That got the office girls going ... Now they were all getting in on the act: heel-popping, saucily dangling their office pumps, and giggling girlishly as they did so. Between giggles, Jane managed to say, "I wonder what James would think, Miss Carson, if he found out we call him 'the foot boy'?" Miss Julia Carson was giggling, too. "It's not funny!" she admonished, helplessly laughing along. "I'm trying to run a business, here – ha ha ha ha!" Om my god! thought James. Well, I had my suspicions. But ... And, still sitting on the edge of Lisa's desk with her right, dark-pantyhose'd leg crossed over her left, Miss Julia Carson popped her right, black leather, two-inch heeled office shoe from her heel and, in imitation of Maxine, let it dangle precariously. Working her toes, she then caused her vertically dangling black office pump to swing up and down. And James's eyes were popping out. Popping out, as he excitedly beheld this impromptu shoe-playing show ... Man, could Miss Julia Carson shoe-play! ... Rub, rub, rub ... The Mirror Ch. 06 Then Stacey, all emotional-voiced, and her lips all quivery, said entreatingly, "Really, Miss Carson, you can't sack James. Really, you can't. It would be such an awful waste. Such a tragedy." "Stacey's right, Miss Carson," agreed Gail wholeheartedly. "We've all got James wrapped around our little finger ... it's as good as having a slave." "Yes," agreed Jane vehemently. "We've never had it so good, Miss Carson, since James started work here." Dripping sarcasm, Miss Julia Carson replied, "Oh, James has actually started work, here, has he? Well, you could have fooled me, Jane." Jane responded, with spirit, "But, that's only because you don't see, what we all see, Miss Carson! Every day." Gail said, supportive of Jane's argument, "It's true, actually, Miss Carson. Because of the ... way, he is, James is like an always available, ever-ready, eager-to-please genie who we can all summon from his bottle whenever we want ... To do, whatever we want. Nothing, is ever too much trouble – is ever any, trouble." "Actually, Miss Carson," Maxine piped up, "I can't help but feel we are all missing a trick. We could all be making even more use, of James. I mean, why shouldn't we all take maximum advantage, of his little ... weakness? In between the jobs we give him to do, and the errands we send him to run, we could have him going from desk to desk, massaging our feet, for us. That would be nice, wouldn't it? I love having my feet massaged!" James could hardly believe his ears. Could hardly believe, just what Maxine – Maxine the "minx" – was actually proposing. Miss Julia Carson replied, uncertainly, "Um, Maxine ... I'm not so sure, that that would be—" "That would be great, Miss Carson – and you know it!" asserted the rather forthright Maxine. Under her five Associates' relentlessly increasing pressure – especially, from the rather imperious Maxine – the usually dauntingly authoritative Miss Julia Carson said, diffidently, "Maxine, as an employer, there are certain ... um, standards, that I must adhere to. Certain ... um—" "Don't tell me, Miss Carson, that you wouldn't enjoy summoning James into your office, every day, and have him massage your feet, for you," argued Maxine forcibly. "I mean, we all know he'd like to do it – for you, Miss Carson, and for all the rest of us, too. So ... why not let him?" Backing Maxine up, Lisa contributed persuasively, "And, when you really think about it, Miss Carson, it does actually make a lot of sense, from the productivity output aspect. I mean, James will knuckle down to his work even more, then, won't he? So as to earn himself more time, for massaging our feet. And ... and it would be ever so nice. Don't you think, Miss Carson?" Miss Julia Carson blustered, "Well ... yes, I do. Of course, I do. I enjoy having my feet massaged, just as much as any of you. But ... I – I don't know, Lisa ... I really don't know. I mean, it's really not the sort of thing, is it, to ... to subject a member of staff, to such—" "But, that's just it! No one would be subjecting James, to anything! Would they, Miss Carson? Not when we all know that he actually wants, to do it," countered Maxine, reasonably. "Maxine ... Um ... as an employer, I have to be—" "Oh, come on, Miss Carson!" Maxine interrupted, in exasperation. "What's the matter with you? Give it the go-ahead! Give it the green light! We all know that you want to! And there's no real reason not to! Come on, Miss Carson – it's not like you, to look a gift-horse in the mouth!" Gail said, in support of the exuberant Maxine's proposal, "I agree with Max, and the other girls. James would make an excellent ... well, we may as well call a spade, a spade ... foot servant. And I think I understand what your issue is, Miss Carson. But, as I'm sure we will all agree: whatever went on, in this office, would stay, in this office ... and I'm sure James would agree to that." James could hardly believe it. Could hardly believe it, as he saw all of the office girls' emphatic nods, and heard their sentiments of wholehearted agreement, that, yes: James most certainly would, agree to that. Yes, they were her five Associates ... And so they were perfectly entitled, to voice their thoughts, and perfectly entitled, to offer their input – perfectly entitled, to a certain say, in matters. But, sometimes, Miss Julia Carson wondered who was really, the boss in this office ... "Oh! All right! All right! I'll – I'll give it some thought, then ... okay?" she capitulated, at last. Now, James's five female office colleagues, having successfully secured their boss's submission to their proposal – because they all knew that she had, submitted – went back to studying their computer monitors, and studiously poring over the items on their work desks ... and absentmindedly shoe-playing. James had been going nuts. Going nuts, watching Miss Julia Carson and her five office girls, showing off, and comparing their shoe-playing skills – competing, with their pump-dangling daring-dos! Going crazy, at listening to what they were all saying – saying, about him! Going bananas, at discovering that they all called him 'the foot boy'! Going off his rocker, that Miss Julia Carson had as good as given the "go-ahead"! That she had as good as given her five office girls the "green light"! That they were all – Miss Julia Carson included – actually going to use him, as their going-from-desk-to-desk "foot servant". That they were all – Miss Julia Carson, Lisa, Maxine, Stacey, Gail and Jane – actually going to let him massage their— The front door to the office opened ... "Er ... I thought I'd just pop round ... You know, like you told me to. Is ... is this a good time?" said Mr Steve Conroy, owner of the newly opened Krystal's nightclub. "I mean, I just looked through the window, and you all seemed very ... animated. Were you having one of those ... clear-the-air, meetings?" Miss Carson got up from the edge of Lisa's desk and, with a big welcoming smile, she said, "Oh, it was nothing. Just ... girl talk. Um, come this way, Steve. We can discuss your nightclub's insurance requirements, in the privacy of my office." With a soft click, Miss Julia Carson's office door closed behind herself and Steve Conroy, and the horizontal blinds dropped down over the door's clear-glass panel ... And the five office girls exchanged knowing looks. Looks, that said: 'So ... It's "Steve" now, is it?' * * * Monday. 11:45 a.m. What now? James was wondering excitedly as, once again, the mirror's eerie white light was pulsing. Pulsing. Signifying, as James well knew, that ... something, was about to happen. Expectantly, James watched the eerie white light ... And, once again, the 'picture' resolved: The 'picture', as depicted on the mirror's two-foot high, four-foot wide ultra high-definition 'screen'. And, at what he was seeing, James was instantly on high alert. Pictured on the mirror's amazingly realistic, true-to-life, ultra high-resolution 'screen', was the interior of Tootsies Pedicure Salon. The salon's proprietresses, Jennifer and Sharon, were seated opposite an attractive, dark-haired and rather full-figured girl. She was nineteen or twenty, James guessed. It must be the staff interviews! thought James. From the mirror's 'broadcasts', he knew that, as part of their business expansion plan Jennifer and Sharon were hoping to take on two new employees today: One of them, to work alongside Jennifer and Sharon in the salon. While their other new employee would be mobile – going from assignment to assignment, in the salon's logo'd and fully kitted-out van. "So, Melanie. Tell us why we should take you on," invited Sharon pleasantly, addressing the pleasant-featured and full-figured young woman. "Why should we employ you, instead of one of your rival job candidates?" Upon Sharon's receiving only a careless shrug, and a blank, unresponsive look from Melanie, in friendly tones Jennifer prompted, "What would you, bring to the job, Melanie? What are the qualities, would you say, that separate you from all of the other job-hunters?" Melanie kept up her unresponsive, blank-look facade of sullen indifference for a few moments longer ... And then, with the frankly appraising, earnest regard of Jennifer and Sharon filling the ensuing silence ... she finally folded. And as the mask fell away, the effect was startling as the real, and actually very personable Melanie was revealed. "Oh, I may as well tell you – just to get this ridiculous farce over with," said Melanie. "I mean, you both seem very nice, to me, and I wouldn't like to waste your time – you don't deserve that ... I'm only here because the Job Centre sent me. They told me I'd be sanctioned if I didn't attend the interview – that I'd forfeit two weeks' dole money. And no way can I afford that. Don't get me wrong; it's not that I don't want to work. I do, want a job. But, with all due respect – and you two do seem like very nice ladies; in fact, the sort of people I'd like to work for – I don't think that massaging girls' and women's feet and painting their finger and toenails all day, is for me. It would just be ... well, too boring. I mean, I'd rather do something that had a bit more ... well, job satisfaction, to it. You know?" James saw Sharon and Jennifer exchange meaningful looks. Sharon said, "Thank you for your honesty and candour, Melanie. But let's not be too hasty. Based upon what you have just said, I don't think you have a full appreciation of what our work here at Tootsies is really all about. I think you would think rather differently, if you did." Jennifer chimed in, "Sharon is right, Melanie. Sure, our clients come to Tootsies to top up their tans on our sunbeds, have their finger and toenails painted, and enjoy a nice foot-massage. Reflexology is an art, though, that requires training, knowledge and skill. And it's not just a foot-massage, either – it's much more than that. You'd be amazed, Melanie, at just how many nerves there are in the soles of your feet. And proficiently manipulating them – performing reflexology – does the whole body a power of good. In fact, it is actually an alternative form of medicine; you know, like acupuncture, for example. And nail craft – although of course that has more to do with appearance – has become a quite sophisticated and technical skill these days, too." Melanie said doubtfully, "Well ... maybe. But—" Jennifer continued, "I think me and Sharon are agreed that, despite your best attempts to disqualify yourself from consideration, you are a genuine person, with a pleasant and engaging personality – just the sort of young trainee girl we are looking for. Our clients will love you, Melanie – I just know they will." Sharon said, "Yes, that's right. We think we are fairly good judges of character, Melanie. And we think that, in you we've found the young trainee girl we're looking for to work alongside us in our salon." "It's very nice of you to say that, but—" Sharon quickly went on, "So ... we'd like to offer you a month's trial, Melanie. If you wished to, though, you'd be free to leave at any time – with no hard feelings on our side. And you wouldn't have a problem with the Job Centre about it, either. We'd tell them that you just weren't cut out for this particular type of work. Not your fault at all." "That's – that's really very good of you both. Really, it is. But ... I honestly don't think, that I—" Sharon interrupted again, "Tell me, Melanie ... have you ever had reflexology performed on you?" "No, I haven't. But, I really don't imagine, that I—" "Right then, Melanie, we're not letting you escape from our grasp, this easily!" said Jennifer, pleasantly but firmly. "Just come and lie on one of our comfortably padded treatment tables, for five minutes, and give Sharon and me a chance to convince you of the magic of reflexology." "Oh, no! Really! Really, I couldn't possibly. You see, I've ... I've got such stinky feet. You don't want to get your hands, all—" Sharon said, "Handling girls' and women's stinky feet is all part of the job, Melanie. But it's not nearly as bad as you might imagine. You'll soon get used to it ... you'll see. Actually, it was only very soon after we started our business, that Jennifer and me realised that we didn't mind the smells of girls' and women's feet, at all. In fact, to us, far from unpleasant, our clients' foot aromas have become rather like exotic perfumes, that we actually find quite ... intoxicating. Each and every one of our clients, we'd soon realised, have their own, individual and unique foot scent. And, believe it or not, Melanie, I'm sure I could recognise most – if not all – of our clients blindfold, just from the aroma of their foot scent." Jennifer agreed. "Me too, Shaz. To us, the individual foot scents of our clients are their distinctive signatures: once sniffed, never forgotten." "To listen to you two," replied Melanie in incredulous amazement, "anyone would think you actually like the smells of girls' and women's stinky feet!" Sharon replied, "Well, Melanie, I'm sure you'll find this very hard to believe, now, but I suppose you could say that the heady aromas of girls' and women's feet have gradually, well ... grown, on Jen and me." "So come on, Melanie," said Jennifer persuasively. "Now that you know me and Shaz find the smell of girls' stinky feet far from objectionable – on the contrary; that we are actually something akin to ... connoisseurs – just lie on this nice and comfy bench, on your front. Just relax – we'll take your flats off for you." "And in just five minutes, if me and Jen haven't convinced you that reflexology is one of the most wonderful and enjoyable things ever, and to come and work for us at Tootsies, well ... I'll be a monkey's uncle," predicted Sharon with certainty. "And after all, sweetie," said Jennifer brightly, "you've got nothing to lose, have you? – but a free foot-massage to gain!" "Well, if you put it like that ... All right, then ... I suppose." said Melanie diffidently. "If you insist. But – but don't forget: I did warn you ... about my stinky feet." James was going crazy. Such talk, he'd been listening to! He could listen to Sharon and Jennifer and Melanie's foot-talk, all day long. Talk, that was just so incredibly exciting – amazingly arousing – to listen to ... And inevitably, James was at it again ... Rub, rub, rub ... Raptly, James watched the unfolding scene, as depicted on the mirror's amazing two-foot high, four-foot wide high-resolution 'screen'; the true-to-life 'picture', awesomely realistic ... and his fevered anticipation built and burgeoned. Built and burgeoned, as the attractive, dark-haired and full-figured sanction-fearing job applicant finally managed to overcome her reluctance, and did as invited. Lying on her front, upon the firm but comfortable black-leather faced treatment table, Melanie finally gave herself up to the proposed five-minute massage ministrations of her prospective employers, Jennifer and Sharon. James was going nuts ... Rub, rub, rub ... Pull, pull, pull ... Jennifer and Sharon – who James still sometimes thought of as the Barstool Blondes – were going to massage the self-confessed stinky feet of their reluctant prospective employee, Melanie ... And James had a 'ringside' seat! Jennifer and Sharon positioned themselves at the prone Melanie's feet; Jennifer taking Melanie's left foot, and Sharon taking Melanie's right foot. Together, the two reflexologists removed Melanie's well-worn black leather flats – being very flexible, they came off easily – and placed them on the floor. The mirror now zoomed in, for a close-up view ... And James now saw that Melanie's soles were nicely shaped and lightly suntanned. And that her slightly rough-skinned toe pads, heels, and the balls of her feet were a pinkish-red colour. Her low-to-medium arched, slightly fleshy feet, thought James, were maybe a little smaller than he might have imagined for a girl of her height and build. Melanie, thought James, had typical girl-next-door feet ... and he was totally wowed by them. Sharon announced, giggle-voiced, "Tickle test, Melanie ..." From the bottom of her heel, straight down to her middle toe, simultaneously Jennifer and Sharon slowly ran the pad of a forefinger down Melanie's bare soles ... And James watched Melanie tightly scrunch the toes of both feet, in an acute response. The undersides of her toes disappeared from sight, as her toe pads urgently curled towards the balls of her feet, and James now saw that Melanie's toenails were painted a glossy black. Rub, rub, rub ... Pull, pull, pull ... Tug, tug, tug ... "Ticklish, sweetie?" asked Jennifer with a smile in her voice. "Um ... no. I mean, at least I didn't think I was. I ... I just liked the feel of your fingers. It's a nice sensation, very ... I don't know. A bit ticklish, yes. But, sort of ... nice, too." "I know, sweetie," said Sharon. "It does feel nice, doesn't it? You've got sensitive feet – which is good. The nerves in your soles are very responsive. That's a good sign. You are likely to respond well to treatment – and enjoy it, too!" "That's right," agreed Jennifer. "In fact, let's do our other little sensitivity test, Shaz." Jennifer and Sharon moved to their side of the treatment bench (Jennifer to the left, Sharon to the right), level with Melanie's knees. Taking hold of Melanie's lower legs, Jennifer and Sharon raised them so that Melanie's lower legs were pointing up vertically, and her feet were about level with their chests. James watched, enthralled, as Jennifer and Sharon then rapidly worked their well-practiced and expert fingers; their dancing fingertips a blur of lightning-speed movement upon Melanie's bare soles as they gently but firmly pressed and probed knowingly. "Aaah! Aaaaahh! Stop!" squealed Melanie almost immediately. "Aaaah! Ha ha ha! Stop! Aaaaaahh!! Ha ha ha! Stop! Stop!!" she pleaded, almost in hysterics, though the sensitivity test had barely lasted ten seconds. "Yep, Jen," said Sharon. "I think I can safely say that, in my considered opinion, having gently manipulated a few of Melanie's primary receptors, her feet are maybe just a mite sensitive." "Yes, Shaz. That is my professional opinion, as well. After conducting my own experiment, I wholly concur with the findings of your test results. Ha ha ha!" Melanie moaned softly, "My god, that was just ... horrible." But she wasn't fooling anyone: Not Jennifer, not Sharon – and not James. Rub, rub, rub ... Pull, pull, pull ... Tug, tug, tug ... Yank, yank, yank ... "And, now that you've both had hold of my stinky feet," said Melanie, "you know what you'll have to do now, don't you? Wash your hands in disinfectant. I did warn you, how stinky they are." Upon which, Sharon said, "We'll soon see." In disbelief, James watched as Jennifer and Sharon both grabbed a tight hold of 'their' foot, buried their nose deep into the undersides of Melanie's now helplessly wiggling and splaying and scrunching toes, and took several long, deep inhalations. "Aaahh! Aaaaahhhh!!" squealed Melanie, upon feeling her prospective employers' nostrils sniffing deeply between each of her pried-apart toes. Sharon then said, "Hmm ... What are you getting, Jen?" "Shaz, it's quite incredible ... So complex, so characterful – so sophisticated ... I'm getting the most delicious, and wonderfully aromatic blue-veined cheese ... with just a vague hint of wine vinegar. What about you, Shaz?" "Mmmm ... Yes, Jen. I'm getting that, too. Such ripeness! It's just like the rich, flavoursome, thick ripe rind, that you only get on a good and well-matured Stilton ... and with just that subtle suggestion of a vinegary tang ... The fumes of the bouquet are so strong, and rich and creamy, that I can actually taste them, and they are lining my throat with a silky, lovely full-flavoured coating." The Mirror Ch. 06 "Yes – so fabulously pungent!" agreed Jennifer. "You are absolutely right, Shaz. I'm getting that, too. I'm getting all of that! It's a really wonderful blend: Tantalising notes, that are blissfully pleasing on the nose, and with an extremely satisfying, long and lingering, palate-coating finish." Sharon took some more deep, appreciative sniffs from right in between the now 'voluntarily' splayed toes of Melanie's right foot, and said, "Mmmm ... In fact, Jen, it's got me craving for the complementing flavours of a lovely glass of Chablis." "Oh my god!" exclaimed Melanie in a mixture of instant, amused disbelief, and awakening, titillated delight. "You two are so gross! Ha ha ha ha! You both actually like the smell of my stinky feet! Don't you?" Jennifer said, "Yes, we do, Melanie. Your feet smell wonderful – take it from us." Sharon said to Melanie, "Okay then, sweetie. Now you just relax, while Jen and me go to work on these lovely feet of yours ... After all, there is, a serious side to this – it's not all, fun and games!" Rub, rub, rub ... Pull, pull, pull ... Tug, tug, tug ... Yank, yank, yank ... Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze ... And the result was inevitable ... "Actually, Melanie," said Jennifer as she gently but firmly pulled individually on the toes of her prospective employee's left foot, and firmly manipulated each pinkish-red toe pad between her thumb and forefinger, "reflexology can also be performed on the hands, and on the head, too. But Shaz and me enjoy just specialising in feet – it's a lot more fun." The result was inevitable ... as James avidly watched Jennifer and Sharon performing their five-minute massage upon their reluctant job applicant's stinky, girl-next-door feet. Firmly pressing and rotating her thumbs into the pinkish-red ball of Melanie's right, damp-looking foot, Sharon agreed, "Yes, Jen – and to think that we actually earn our living, for doing what we do!" Inevitable ... as he listened to Jennifer and Sharon's prospective employee's growing moans of pleasure as their knowing fingers expertly pressed, probed and manipulated her sensitive soles. "My god ... I'd never have believed it," said Melanie softly. "Please, please, don't stop. This is just, so ... awesome." Inevitable ... as ... As Debbie let herself into his flat with the spare key he'd given her, accompanied by her mum, Doris. * At the sight they beheld, Debbie and Doris were utterly dumbfounded. They could only stand, and stare, aghast. Stand and stare, aghast, at the sight of all the ghastly litter. The ghastly litter, that was carelessly strewn about James's living room – the dreadful debris, from James's don't-waste-a-moment, ready-eating and fast-food 'provisions', resultant of his long weekend of 'entertainment', in front of the mirror ... Countless wadded-up wodges of 'soiled' Kleenex Man-Size tissue-paper; the scrunched up empty packets of chocolate-chip cookies, and of various other biscuits and snacks; empty soft drinks cans and bottles; empty Pot Noodle tubs; microwave meal cartons, with their cold and congealed remnants ... But, most of all, Debbie and Doris were aghast, at the sight of James. The sight of James, sitting in front of the mirror ... and jacking himself off, as if his very life depended on it. "So ... What do you say then, Melanie ..." James heard Sharon ask, as her highly proficient fingers continued to cause Melanie to moan in blissful pleasure "... to our job offer?" Inevitable ... as James achieved his latest mind-shattering, cataclysmic climax. In an effort to maximise his 'devotional offering' to the mistress of the mirror, frenetically rubbing and pulling and tugging and yanking away at 'himself' with his left hand, and assiduously squeezing his balls with his right, James's pent-up seed was finally released. "Oh my god!" wailed Doris as, from sheer force of ecstasy, James's eyes rolled up, showing only the whites. "James! Come out of it! James!!" yelled Debbie hysterically, as James's explosive eruption spurted and sprayed all over himself. But, so totally ... enchanted, was James, he was completely oblivious to the sudden presence of his girlfriend and her mum. Debbie and Doris could only stand, aghast, and look on. Stand, aghast, and look on, as James continued to frenziedly milk himself – rubbing and pulling and tugging and yanking away at 'himself' with his left hand, and squeezing his balls with his right. Milking himself, until the after-pulse, pulse, pulsing of his precious seed slowed, to a drab little dribble ... and then finally stopped, drying up to nothing. The precious seed, of his 'willing' sacrifice. His 'willing' sacrifice, to the mistress of the mirror. The mistress of the mirror, who, frenziedly feeding upon the essential ingredient, nutrient-rich nourishment of James's 'willing'-sacrifice production, was flourishing, and thriving ... And developing. "Come out of what, Debbie?" said the bewildered Doris. "Is James having some kind of ... episode?" "It's – it's the mirror, Mum!" yelled the acutely distressed Debbie. "It must be!" "What? What are you talking about, Debbie? What do you mean?" James heard Melanie say, coyly, in reply to Sharon's question, "I think maybe ... another five minutes of this, might help me decide." James opened his eyes ... To see Jennifer and Sharon smiling happily – they'd as good as got their girl! They'd managed to win their reluctant job applicant over! Happy faced, they were more than willingly starting in on a second five-minute foot massage, on their new employee's self-confessed "stinky" feet. "It's the mirror, Mum! The mirror!! I know it is! I – I knew there was something weird about it! Something ... not right." "Oh Debbie, love. Don't be so melodramatic! Do you know how ridiculous you sound?" "Yes, Mum! I do know how ridiculous it sounds. Which is why I haven't said anything – until now. But just look at James, Mum! Just look at the state of him! And – and look what he's ... doing. You can see that the mirror is obviously affecting him, somehow," railed Debbie in great frustration ... and not a little fear. "I knew there was something wrong, Mum! I knew there was a reason why James hadn't been round to the house all weekend, and hadn't returned any of my phone calls. And this is it, Mum – the mirror!" "Oh, please, Debbie," said Doris incredulously. "Really! You can't be serious ...? It's a mirror. Just a mirror! What can he possibly see in it – besides himself, of course?" "But, that's the thing, Mum! It's something that only the owner of the mirror can see!" "Oh, Debbie! Really!!" said Doris in exasperation. James listened to Melanie say, happy voiced, "I accept! I accept! Can I ... can I start tomorrow? Jen? Shaz? I'll go down to the Job Centre this afternoon, and tell them I want to sign off. It's funny, and – and I know I've changed my tune, and all, but ... I can hardly wait, now, to ... learn about reflexology." Jennifer said, "Of course you can start tomorrow, sweetie – we start work at nine. You are going to love working at Tootsies, Melanie. I just know you are. It's all very laid back and relaxed – really, it is. In fact, it's not really like actual work, at all." Sharon said, "Well, Jen, we've taken on one new employee, then. But we still need one more – to go mobile, for us ... Have you given any more thought, Jen, about trying to find out if that young guy would be interested? You know, the guy who was in the Cock and Bull on Friday, with his beautiful blonde girlfriend, and our friend Joan the barmaid caught him staring at our feet? What about him, Jen? I know Joan suggested him, half-jokingly ... But, after giving it some thought over the weekend, I actually think he could be worth giving a try ... Of course, he would be junior to Melanie." Melanie piped up, "If he's my underling, I'll get him to practice his reflexology on my stinky feet, every day! It would be my little perk of the job – ha ha ha!" Jennifer responded, "Yes, Melanie, absolutely – and you can practice your relfexology, on me and Shaz!" Melanie replied, all shy-voiced now, "Well ... I'm already looking forward, to ... doing that." Sharon said, "Ahem ... as I was saying ... See, Jen, there's some tablets I've found out about, that will keep him ... quiet. He'd be able to get them on a monthly repeat-prescription, and we'll reimburse him the cost. The tablets are actually very good, in that not only are they very effective, but they are also very quick-acting, wear off quickly after the prescribed duration, and have no side-effects. "The tablets are called 'Inhibitol Ten'. Which means they would bottle-up his urges, and keep him 'quiet' for up to ten hours. That way, he would actually be able to concentrate on his foot massage and pedicure work all day, and save all of his, you know ... for when he gets home from work ... What do you think, Jen?" Jennifer said, "Hmm ... It's funny you should bring him up, Shaz. I've been thinking the same thing myself, only I couldn't solve the problem of his ... well, problem. But yeah. Let's try and look him up, Shaz. I think Joan will probably be able to find out who he is for us. Surely, one of her customers at the Cock and Bull is bound to know him. We'll ask her this evening, Shaz, when we call in for a drink, and ..." James was exultant. The mobile foot care consultant's job is as good as mine! he thought elatedly. And there will be no need for Jennifer and Sharon to try and find me, either – I'll come straight to them, at Tootsies! What a surprise, they'll get, when I suddenly turn up at Tootsies! Melanie was going to be brilliant, thought James, as a reflexologist and pedicurist for Jennifer and Sharon, at Tootsies Pedicure Salon ... And he couldn't wait for her to get him, as her "underling", to practice his reflexology on her self-confessed "stinky" feet, every day! But he, could be Jennifer and Sharon's prized asset ... Driving Tootsies' logo'd and fully kitted-up van, and going from assignment to assignment: offices, factories, homes, leisure venues ... And earning them an absolute mint of money, from serving at the feet of their off-premises clients. Debbie, taking a heavy and bulky object out of her Harrod's shopping bag, said, "Well, Mum, this is kind of ironic ... I'm going to have to use this Waterford crystal vase that I'd bought for your birthday, in two weeks' time, to smash that ugly, dreadful mirror – your birthday present from James, that he'd hoped you'd give pride of place in our living room. "And, do you know what, Mum? I'm really going to enjoy smashing that awful, hideous thing to a thousand pieces. It's got some kind of ... power. You only had to take one look at the awful state of the man James bought it from, to know that. Believe me, Mum, that mirror is a malicious, malevolent monstrosity, and I'm going to take the greatest of pleasure in totally destroying it. "And look, Mum, at what it's been doing to James: When did he last wash? Shave? Eat properly? Tidy up in here? Mum, he's actually put the mirror on the stand, where his big pride-and-joy TV had been. And on top of all that, he didn't go to work this morning. And, on top of all that, he is actually sitting there, naked, and ... masturbating – if that's what I can call it – right in front of us both! "Isn't that, enough to convince you, Mum? What more proof, do you need? In fact, I can still remember the ... ugh! ... the horrible, tingly sensation I got, from touching the weird symbols on the mirror's frame, and—" At Debbie's ominous words, the mirror's eerie white light suddenly began to pulse; the eerie white light, that emanated from all around the edges, where the glass fitted into its ornately carved hardwood frame. Pulsing. Signifying, that ... something, was about to happen. But now, the eerie white light was pulsing like crazy. James had never seen it pulse so fast, so erratically ... As if the mistress of the mirror, was actually ... panic-stricken. The scene from inside Tootsies Pedicure Salon suddenly dissolved from the mirror's 'screen', and ... and the hairs on the back of James's neck stood on end. The hairs on the back of James's neck stood on end, as reflexologists Jennifer and Sharon and their new employee Melanie were immediately replaced, by ... the mistress of the mirror. Because of the dire threat she suddenly faced, from this other, competing female – the dire threat, from Debbie – the mistress of the mirror had actually revealed herself ... And James was instantly flaccid. James was freed. Freed, from the mistress of the mirror's influence. Freed, from her absolute control, over him. Freed, from his ... enchantment. Freed, from his 'sex'-slavery. No longer in thrall, to the mistress of the mirror's ultra hard-on causing, cataclysmic-ejaculation inducing, relentless succession of hit-parade, finding-the-spot, button-pushing 'broadcasts'. No longer entranced, by her on-location 'movies'. James was aware, again. Right back, in the here and now. And fully aware, of the disgusting state of his living room. Aware, of his body's unwashed, stinking, filthy condition. Aware, of his nakedness. Aware ... of Debbie and Doris. The mistress of the mirror might have been beautiful once, thought James ... about 350 years ago. When the notorious practitioner of the occult, Edward Landry, had first conjured her up. But now ... But now, thought James, as he beheld with unspeakable horror the unnatural manifestation before him, as depicted on the mirror's two-foot wide, four-foot high ultra high-definition 'screen', it would be extraordinarily complimentary and flattering indeed, to call the hideous hag – the witch – that he now beheld with much revulsion, and not a little trepidation, a wizened old crone. And for almost three days, now, James had been paying his 'devotions', to the horrible apparition before him ... to the mistress of the mirror. Relentlessly jacking off – devoting himself totally, abusing himself dreadfully, and donating the resultant, and increasingly hard-won precious seed of his 'willing' sacrifices – to her! Freed, from the mistress of the mirror's near absolute control, of both body and mind, James now fully realised the nature and the extent of the unspeakable manipulations she'd been perpetrating against him ... to satiate herself. And James now fully remembered – and remembered well, with an ultra high-definition clarity of inner vision, and super high-fidelity audio – all of his 'willing' sacrifices, to the mistress of the mirror. Remembered well ... Every single, rubbing-and-pulling-and-tugging-and-yanking-away-at-'himself', ball-squeezing one of them. And he hoped to hell, that those amazingly realistic, true-to-life memories would not be long-lasting ... or he'd never, get any rest. With a knurled and bony, long and curling thick-nailed forefinger, the mistress of the mirror pointed at Debbie, and imperiously addressed James. In her croaking, dry and raspy, centuries'-old voice, she commanded, "James Noble ... sex slave! You are mine! You belong to me! Get rid of her ... Now!" "Oh my god!" wailed Doris, finally convinced, now, that there was something "not right" about the mirror. To the mistress of the mirror, Debbie yelled, at the very top of her lungs, "No – bitch! I'm getting rid of you, instead!" With the heavy Waterford crystal vase, Debbie took careful aim and, with all of her might and fury she hurled her mum's birthday present right at the centre of the mirror. Seeing it coming – seeing her imminent and unstoppable, no-more-'sex' doom coming – the mistress of the mirror wailed despairingly, "Nnnnnooooooooooo—" And then she was silenced. Silenced, by Debbie. Silenced, as the devastating impact of the heavy cut-glass vase sundered the mirror's glass; large pieces, tumbling to the carpeted floor. James looked from Debbie, to Doris ... and from Doris, to Debbie ... and he didn't know what to say. "Deb's, I ... I can't ... I don't ..." Taking a firm grip of James's right ear, still querulous-voiced, Doris said, "Well, I know what you can, and what you will do, James! Up! Up! Up!" she commanded, as she hauled him to his feet. "Bathroom!" she ordered sternly, leading James by his right ear. Debbie took hold of James's left ear between her forefinger and thumb. She then gave it a painful twist, as she admonished facetiously, "James, I can't believe you were two-timing me, with her!" "Good lord, Deborah!" exclaimed Doris incredulously. "How can you possibly joke about it? I'm going to be having nightmares for years." "Because I'll go mad otherwise, Mum!" "You'll, go mad, Debbie? What about my ... future son?" James said, "Future son—" "Stand in the bath, James," instructed Doris. James meekly obeyed, and submitted to having his whole body soaped and vigorously sponged down by the two women – his future wife, and his future mother ... It sounded like a wonderful future, James thought ecstatically. He would hero worship his Debbie for ever, for the courageous role she played in rescuing him from the dreadful, scrawny clutches of the mistress of the mirror. Rubbing the hell out of his face with a soapy sponge, Doris said, "James, love, your boss phoned me, just before me and Deborah came here. Julia told me that she wants to keep you on, after all. She seems to have had a remarkable change of heart, I must say! I don't understand it at all. In fact, she said she wants you back in work straight away. All of her office girls are missing you, she said." And he would dote on Doris, for the vital role she played, in ensuring that he got yet another 'second' chance, working at Julia Carson & Associates. "Doris, thank you – I mean it! I'll never be able to repay you, for ..." James was lost for words. He could hardly reveal that he'd 'witnessed', via the medium of the mirror, Doris and Julia Carson's awkward and rather strained conversation ... reveal, that he had listened to Doris's cap-in-hand pleading and beseeching, on his behalf. "All right then, James," said Debbie brusquely. "Come on – get into the shower now! Miss Carson said she wants to see you back in work by two o'clock – so you'd better get a move on! I've got to run back to work now. So I'll see you tonight!" "Yes, Debs, see you tonight. I can't wait!" And with that, Debbie and Doris left James to finish his ablutions, and made to let themselves out of his flat. On her way out of the bathroom, Debbie shouted over her shoulder, "Oh, and James ...? I'll be wanting to know where that yellow high-heeled mule came from!" * * * Monday – 1:00 p.m. Washed, shaved and dressed, James was now ready to go back to work. James was going to have a major job on his hands when he got home from work, he thought, in restoring his living room to a reasonable level of cleanliness and tidiness. James looked at the pieces of broken mirror on his living room carpet ... Now, he was going to have to find another nice present for Doris's birthday, in two weeks' time. Did he have time to clear up the pieces of broken mirror before he went to work? he wondered. Or should he just leave it until he got back home? With the heavy Waterford crystal vase – which, James now saw, was still wholly intact and undamaged, and Debbie was going to be very pleased about that! – Debbie had said that she was going to smash the mirror to a thousand pieces. But ... But the mirror's glass had only broken up into five big, smooth-edged pieces ... Funny, but there were no small, sharp and jagged chips and shards of glass, that he would have expected to see as a result of such a violent destruction. The Mirror Ch. 03: Define 'Cheating' Amanda found herself mad at Eric. No, this wasn't correct, she was jealous of Eric. She had accidentally opened his laptop to google a beauty product when the last opened tab was one from an erotic forum, a site where he was logged in and obviously corresponding, if that was the correct word, with some women under naughty, outrageous names. Blood flushed on her face. Her Eric, who said she could fulfill all his sexual desires, the one that knew her so well he could control when and how she would orgasm, her Eric that she cared for, daydreamed of and slept with? The open page suggested a series of sentences and responses, describing a hot, hotter than hot, sex scene, their real names and some intimate words. What the fuck? She quickly closed the lid and left the room as Eric was approaching from the kitchen. "Amanda, would you mind if I didn't stay for dinner tonight? Alex has arranged to watch the soccer game with the boys at his local bar." Would she mind? Now that she saw that, hell yes! "No, Eric, go ahead. I'll catch up with my book." She had been trying to read it for months now. He kissed her on her cheek, grabbed his jacket with more enthusiasm that Amanda would consider normal or acceptable from a woman's point of view, and left. She took a hot shower, put on her least sexy PJ's, omitted her yoga routine, had a chocolate bar and, feeling unwanted and indifferent, making a whole scenario in her head of a break up and tears, drama and girlfriends' nights out; she fell asleep. Next day at work, Amanda was abrupt one moment, forgetful the next and an obedient employee the rest. She couldn't place herself and questioned her earthy sexiness. During her another-yet-scenario-making moments, she turned and bumped into someone. "Sorry" she murmured questioningly, as she hadn't seen this employee before. "I've been here since yesterday" the young man said lightly, seeing her puzzled, "I'm Peter, the new assistant." Amanda didn't lose her puzzled look because Peter had to add "Nice to meet you, and you are..." Amanda automatically replied her name but she was wakening from her breaking up scenario in her brain by a deep, male voice and a set of bright green eyes. Eric who? The rest of the day the scenarios were much shorter and her watching this new assistant larger in proportion. When she needed something there he was, up and smiling. Once he even touched her shoulder, probably during her daydreaming moments, and she jumped like a schoolgirl in love. Eric who? Back home she was more aware that Eric knew her time schedule, when she left and returned, and that he was a little, untraceably little bit more anxious when she was about to leave. Yes, he'd sure as hell turn on his laptop the moment she was gone and equally sure he'd play with his dick while talking, or worse Skyping, those women. No wonder, he didn't pay as much attention to her new underwear or her new fragranced body lotions as he used to. They had celebrated one year being together and she was sad that he appeared to feel, what would she call it, bored? Not as excited? Not in love? Eric always had many interests that Amanda gladly followed, learning from him and admiring him for his various skills. But that was close to cheating, right? Or not? The whole week was lost in agonizing thoughts at home while at work Peter's green eyes were on her the whole time. He was tall, so Amanda had to raise her head every time talking was involved and that made her more conscious of his presence. By the beginning of the next week, her name was slowly replaced by responses like 'Yes lovely', 'Right up sweetheart', said in a casual way but having a strong impact on Amanda. On that Thursday, while their shift was prolonged by new arrivals, Amanda felt a firm hand on her waist and her hair lightly pulled back from behind. Peter's voice commanded her, "Be quiet, there's no one around but you need to be quiet." He went on with a hoarser voice, "Amanda I want you to stay like that, your face on the wall, your legs slightly open and you try to get as wet as you can. Remember who's in charge now." Amanda froze and got warmed at the same time. Eric was about sharing, fucking with pleasure for both sides, leaving her space to ask what she desired and taking her some other times, but all in a sharing, nonviolent context. Oh Eric, was a wonderful lover. Now, an alluring, almost unknown man to her, was commanding her the way no one had ever done before and that brought waves of chills down her spine and deep in her cunt. She was experiencing something she never felt before. Peter pushed her forcefully but knowingly on the wall, always having her hair wrapped around his fist, tore the first two buttons of her work suit to let her breasts free and pushed some more against the coolness of the plaster. Amanda let a small cry and Peter's hand moved quickly to block her mouth, "Bitch, I told you to be quiet, didn't I?" She thought about protesting but two of his fingers entered her mouth and started fucking it, filling it all and even stretching it. With the movements she was forced to have, his body was pressing her more against the wall, his cock hard pressing in all the right places, grinding on her ass and lower back. Amanda's small cries were lost now on her filled mouth. Peter pulled her hair some more, to find her ear and hissed "I'm gonna make you cum today and will get to fuck you one of the next days. I'm gonna own you lovely, you understand that?" Oh she understood well this was a situation that would bring a lot of trouble to her life. This man was magnetic and controlling and Amanda was a wounded woman. Before she could think or get her senses back, she felt his hands momentarily leaving her body, which was pinned only by the force of his own body. Seconds later, she felt his hand pulling her work suit up, pulling her panties aside in quick, easy but firm moves and smearing something on her clit. What? Her body was immediately on fire. A hot, burning spot formed where her clit should be. "Cinnamon essential oil," he whispered in her ear, spitting his words. "You're gonna love it lovely. Will make you cum in spasms," and by saying that he inserted two fingers in her pussy whilst rubbing her numb clit. His other hand had to be on her mouth, cause the sensation was unbearable. A couple of minutes later, as soon as Peter inserted a third finger in her tight hole, fucking her steadily and painfully, Amanda came as he had promised, in spasms, pouring her juices all over his fingers and warming his hand that closed her mouth with her ragged breath. When she was half way getting back to herself, Peter whispered intimidatingly in her ear "I own your orgasms now my lovely bitch. Now go get clean your face and leave; it's getting late. I'll keep on with these" and he nodded at the rest of the packages Amanda had to take care of. She couldn't believe her sore pussy or her ears. He was a tender guy underneath his rough fucking? That could be mostly dangerous. Dangerous radioactive zone. Back home Amanda tried to pull herself together and while preparing dinner for her and Eric, she was trying to redefine cheating. Now which one was more real, more threatening and more fulfilling? Which was more pleasuring and more emotional giving? Hers or his? ........ I owe my editor a hot cup of tea at least! I owe my inspirational, motivational guy a hot kiss! Story dedicated to London.