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.