1 comments/ 30453 views/ 2 favorites Mirror, Mirror Ch. 01 By: kinkynkazoo Janna steers her mustang convertible up the long driveway, having already passed the vine and rust covered gate at the entrance. It had been a long day and she was looking forward to the evening's party. She's always been impressed with Kelly's house, wondering how she's managed to maintain such a stately bed and breakfast by herself. Janna drives around the circular drive like she's done a hundred times before, still amazed at the electricity in the air every time she steps out of her car. This evenings party would be like none other and Janna was not about to miss it. Janna turns her head quickly as she hears Kelly's shout of joy as she comes rushing towards her friend. "Hey Kelly" Janna returns her hostesses smile and warm embrace. "Im so glad you got here early. I could really use your help" Kelly exclaims. "Sure thing. You know I'm here for you", Janna says with a wink. If only Kelly knew how badly I wanted her, Janna thought to herself. They have seen each other naked many times in the past, sun bathed nude, even showered together once. Some day Kel, I'll have you Janna continues to think silently. That evening Kelly and Janna welcome the guests as they arrive and give each of them a mask for Kelly's masquerade party. Both couples and singles arrive with great fanfair and everyone enjoys the evenings festivities. Kelly walks up the grand staircase part way tapping her champagne glass in hopes of getting everone's attention. "Ladies and Gentlemen" she speaks loudly. "It's time for the evenings main event. By now, everyone should have had plenty to drink and many of you wont even remember this night. So I reccommend that you all pick a partner or partners, and get ready" she announces. Janna's curiosity is piqued as Kelly never mentioned anything like this earlier. She walks closer to Kelly in hopes that she will be her partner. "One lucky party gets to spend the night in a room that I've had specially outfitted for this evening." Kelly proclaims. "I dont know who has what mask so it'll be a total surprise to me as well." she adds. "Each of you has a special message written on your mask written in glowing ink. I'm going to turn on a unique blue light so everyone can read their message. But you must all do exactly what the message says." With that she hits the switch illuminating the room in dark blue light. Everyone takes off their mask and reads their special message following the instructions completely. Kiss the person on your right, one message says. Remove an article of clothing from the person you've chosen to be your partner, another one says. Janna watches in facisination as she looks around the room, choosing to watch for a moment before reading her special note. Your a special guest is all Janna's note says, unsure if that means anything or not. Kelly watches with great interest to see which party has the one note of invitation. When no one comes forward to proclaim their prize, Kelly gets a little dissapointed that no one was interested in her invitation. She looks at Janna, realizing that it must be her that got the special mask of invitation. "It looks like we have our winner" Kelly announces pointing at Janna. Groans are heard throughout the room with the expected "Fixed" yelled out with some amount of laughter. Janna takes the opportunity to parade around the room the rest of the evening making lighthearted fun of those who got other messages. It's been an intoxicating evening. Champagne and drinks had been flowing all night and Janna is feeling the effects. She's thankful that she gets the special room and gives Kelly a small kiss on the cheek. As the party died down, Janna staggers up the stairs of the enormous house to her bedroom. It's four poster king size bed seems too empty. Hmm, I could have a great deal of fun with this bed, she think's silently. Kelly says goodbye to the last of her guests and heads up the stairs to her own bedroom. She's excited about the new furnishings and is feeling somewhat anxious. She goes to the attached bathroom, brushes her teeth and takes a quick shower, always wanting to feel clean before going to bed. Kelly hears a noise from the adjacent room, knowing that it belongs Janna. Visions of her shoulder length blonde hair, her slim toned body and good looks, run rampant thru her head. Hearing the shower in her room, Kelly again thinks of Janna, her bold looks appearing in her minds eye. She was wearing an alluring lavender silk dress, with matching dyed lace that covered one shoulder and only part of her midriff. It's tapered hem angling from her lower right to her upper left thigh. Kelly thought Janna was a knockout. "If I was ever going to be with a woman, it'd be you Janna", Kelly tells herself gazing at the full length mirror that was installed only a week before. She walks over to the light switch, turning off the light in her room and is about to climb into the big empty bed when she notices movement in the mirror. This is no ordinary mirror, having replaced the original with this new one. Casting more than a reflection, this mirror allows viewing into the next bedroom without it's occupants knowing. It's my magic mirror Kelly tells herself. Sitting on her bed, she watches Janna with fascination as she begins her own shower. Having left the bathroom door open, Kelly can see Janna through the glass enclosed shower, her hands caressing her arms and breasts, up her neck then down her belly and then her pussy. Janna removes the shower head and sprays it directly on her clit. Having done this often herself, Kelly knows the sensations Janna's feeling. Her excitement is appearant and Kelly watches with fascination. Janna's hands spread her pussy lips apart, allowing the water to spray directly on her clit. Almost able to hear her moans of ecstasy as she continues to spray herself, Kelly decides that next time, she'll hide speakers in the special room. Kelly's hands reach to her own breasts, feeling the pert nipples harden. Just touching them makes her pussy wet. Her excitement grows watching Janna in the magic mirror. Feeling no anguish at invading her privacy, she watches as Janna turns the shower off, having yet to bring herself to orgasm. Compelled to look more, Kelly sees Janna toweling herself off. Her long blonde hair is in wet strands. Even in this state, she's beautiful Kelly thinks silently, almost embarrassed at her sudden feelings of passion for her. "I really need to get to sleep" she tells no one in particular. Kelly climbs into her own big four poster bed and attempts to sleep, but sleep is not want her body wants. It's far to excited to let her rest as she reaches down and feels the moistness between her legs. Kelly reaches to her toy drawer and finds her favorite vibrator and again plays with herself. Janna walks towards the mirror, still unaware of the onlooker on the other side. She brushes her hair and little beads of water cascade down her neck, over her shoulder and down her breast. A single droplet of water dangles on her nipple before falling to the floor. Kelly has never wanted more than now to take her nipples into your mouth, to lick and suck them, to pinch and squeeze them, rolling them between her thumb and forefingers, just like shes doing to herself now. She continues to watch as Janna looks at herself in the mirror. Her hands reaching up to her breasts to wiping off the little droplets of water. Her hands lingure there, playing with her nipples before moving back down to her pussy again. Just like in the shower, she spreads her lips and begins to rub her clit, masturbating and watching herself, unknowlingly being watched at the same time. Her eye's close, her head tilts back and her hands and fingers quicken their pace as she becomes lost in her own passion. Kelly has never seen her exposed this way before, but she likes what she sees. "Hmm Janna, you look spectacular. I want to taste you", Kelly says to the mirror. Kelly's body begins to weaken at the touch of her own hands. Her legs begin to quiver as she quickens her pace, rubbing her clit with greater intensity, mimicking Janna's every move as she pleases herself. Janna's face expressing the nearness of her orgasm. Her mouth opens and she moans softly. Seeing her about ready to cum makes Kelly's juices flood down her thighs. Wanting to cum with her, she works her fingers harder and faster on your own clit. Her vibrator providing the added stimulation that always gets the job done. Janna's body shakes, her knees buckle as she grinds her pussy against her hand. Kelly climbs off her bed and walks toward the mirror. Standing there, rubbing her clit in unison with her best friend. Kelly's knees also buckle with the building orgasm. She pushes her pussy against the mirror in an attempt to feel Janna's pussy grinding against hers. Only inches from her face, Kelly lays her cheek against the cold of the mirror, her hot breath fogging it with each gasp. She presses her breasts against Janna's on the other side, her lips kissing hers, wanting to taste her. Kelly's tongue twirls on the mirror in an effort to feel the same sensation in return. Janna's efforts had not gone wasted as she plunges her middle finger deep into her pussy as her entire body squirms with an earth shattering orgasm. Her attempt to keep her moans soft failing as she screams out in ecstacy. Kelly hears Janna's moans become louder and she pulls herself away from the mirror, wanting to see her friends expressions when she cums. A sly smile crosses her face as Janna's body quivers with each spasm. Kelly takes her vibrator and pushes it deep within her, letting the clitoral stimulator do it's trick on her. Moments later, Kelly collapses on her bed in orgasmic pleasure, her face in her pillow as she screams out Janna's name. Slowly, Kelly turns over and looks into her mirror. Its dark on the other side. She falls asleep thanking Janna for a wonderful evening. Mirror, Mirror Ch. 01 The world is now painted in the crimson of sex and the dark secret colour of fear. Other emotions and colours are leeched and blackened by the waiting, the expectation of punishment. Flashes of intensity and rebellion break through, but I control them. It wasn't always this way. One of the strongest memories from after my father died and my step-mother became the cold and hungry Queen of everything: Curled up on the cold stone window seat, raggedy-hemmed dress underneath me to keep my feet from touching the chill, I talked to the mirror. We whispered in the dark often; me trying to make sense of the changes in my life, and sympathetic to a girl whose memories of loving safety were almost as fresh as the welts stinging on her back. "I think," I said slowly, "that she's so horrible because she can't have any children of her own. That's why she hates me." I was only nine. The mirror was silent, turning his floating face away from me into the blackness on his side of the glass. "What?" I asked, fearful of being childish. "You search for goodness in one who has none," he replied heavily. "You think evil must be the result of some tragedy." There was another long silence. "It's not." I didn't say anything. Sometimes silence achieved more with the mirror than the prompt of a question. "She did have children once, long ago," he continued. "Before she became powerful." Quietly, I waited for the rest. Mirror's stories always finished with a strong ending. "I was one of them." * * * * * My dress, no longer ragged, whispers against my legs as I climb the narrow tower stairs. The stone steps wind up into the pressing darkness, lit dimly by the candle sputtering in my hand. The queen does not permit me to have a candle holder. I think she likes to imagine the hot wax dripping onto my hand, to know that if I want light, I must choose pain over my fear of the dark. When I was a child, I'd bounded up to my tower room, eager to escape the endless chores and petty humiliations dreamed up by my step-mother. Now I walk slowly, my long legs carrying an adult weight, plus my burdens of anticipation and dread. The cold iron collar at my throat, full of heavy enchantment and sordid malice, wears away at my body and my will. I feel it with every step. I've learned the skill of hemming over many candle-lit nights, using the silk threads teased from the fabric and a broken needle smuggled with careful slight-of-hand from the floor of the seamstresses' workroom. It took me far longer than it should to realize my step-mother let me make my careful alterations because it pleases her to keep me on the barest edges of dignity. How much amusement could I provide if I slipped into abject servitude? The work I put into my garments creates an illusion of modesty, one she delights in stripping away on a whim. Everything I wear is a cast-off from her closet, from the enormous boudoir where she keeps her endless wardrobe. The dresses start as resplendent silks and satins, elaborate and beautiful, but by the time she drops them at my feet with a knowing, cruel smile, they are rags, ripped by her partners' desires, stained with their desperate sweat and the results of their coupling. Often she makes me wait in attendance on her while she receives her paramours, men drawn by the intensity of her dark eyes and the candle-lit sprawl of her curves. They pause briefly in the doorway to take in the rounded shadows and breathe in the musky scent of her arousal and -- no matter their intention beforehand -- be drawn deep into her, passing me without a thought or a glance. She lets them live for a few days. But in the end, she breaks them all, drains them all, leaving nothing behind but the husks, withered piles of white sticks curved like bone, but without its strength, bound together by the flaking parchment of old skin. I gather them up, with reverence if she allows me, and take them to her garden, where I bury them in neat careful rows. Unpredictably, on random nights, she sweeps out into the garden, trailing silk and darkness behind her, to examine her 'conquests', walking between the carpets of flowers to finger the mementos on each grave-marker. It pleases her to fix a reminder on each of the crosses -- a ring, a brooch, a scrap of their cloak, so she can summon to mind their flavour as she strolls through. Her fingers will trail absentmindedly over her trophies, and she will smile to herself in feral, sharp-toothed satisfaction. During her gloating walks, she often clips a leash from my iron collar to her jeweled belt, or dangles it from one negligent white hand. These times she might speak of the men, of the intensity of their desire, the hardness of their cocks, the desperation of the thrusting. Watching my face to see my reaction. If I give her none -- for my tears had dried up long ago, and I find it difficult to fake distress past the numbness ruling my life -- she draws me in closer, hand over hand on the leash, and echoes the stories she tells. Her long-fingered hands trace the curve of my breasts, dipping inside my bodice to spill them out into the crisp night air, so she can enjoy the sight of the hardening points, and brush a glistening nail against the tips. Her voice hisses in my ear as she presses herself against me, thrusting her knee between my legs, and working my skirt up my thighs. "You wish it was you," her favourite whispered theme, "spread open, wet and waiting. Your sweet little pussy stretched, opened, filled." The queen's fever-hot hands slide up my bare skin to find my heat, and the quivering, wet lips of my inner-most self. I always tremble at this point in her ritual, with fear and longing. Sometimes she strokes me gently before the pain, easing one fingertip inside my slick folds. "You slut." She draws her hand out of my body, and rubs my wetness between her finger and thumb, her other hand twining in my hair, a sharp pull to jerk my head. She stares into my normally downcast eyes, the lines of contempt on her face. "With the men, I have to use a little spellcasting, a little help to bring on mindless lust, but with you..." she would trail off, her perfect face hard with derision. "You're naturally a desperate little whore, are you not?" The words change, but the meaning behind them never varies, and the ending remains the same. Her hands become cruel, pinching and kneading my sensitive breasts, flicking her nails at my clit, harshly pulling the soft curls surrounding my pussy. I end on my knees, face pressed hard into the fabric of her skirts, breathing in the faint scent of lavender and the underlying smell of hunger. Nails digging into my scalp, she grinds my face into the cloth, her unnatural strength keeping me imprisoned as the bone under her pubic mound grinds against my mouth. The thick smell winds its way through me, into my limbs, making them weak. The skin of my chest flushes red and grows hot, my breasts changing into something heavier and fuller. I grip the sides of my dress, pressing the mended seams into my palms so I will remember why I should not open my mouth, or reach to touch my aching flesh. If I give in, perhaps she will give in to her hunger too. And then who will bury my corpse in the garden?