The Mirror Ch. 04

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James's Saturday-night fever... in front of the mirror.
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Part 4 of the 6 part series

Updated 10/08/2022
Created 02/01/2014
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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.