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.