The Mirror Ch. 04

Accommodatingly, the mirror panned around ...

And there, sitting at a table, upon which sat six drained-dry Champagne flutes (the Krystal's nightclub owner, Steve Conroy, having generously gifted a bottle of Moet & Chandon for the now twenty-one-years-old Lisa's birthday toast), were Jennifer and Sharon's boyfriends, Carl and Graham ... and the 'missing' shoes.

Like a specially trusted pair of guards from some elite regiment, Carl and Graham sat sentinel over the eight pairs of high-heeled shoes. The shoes were under the table, piled haphazardly where their owners had kicked them off preparatory to their eagerly joining the heaving dance floor.

Upon Disco Dave's latest 'number' coming to an end, Miss Julia Carson and her five office girls returned to their table and, relieved of their shoe guarding duties for the moment, Carl and Graham made for the dance floor, joining their girlfriends.

"Well, Lisa," said a slightly flushed-faced and breathless Miss Julia Carson, when they'd resumed their seats. "Aren't you the lucky one: a voucher for a complimentary pedicure and a one-hour reflexology session, at Tootsies Pedicure Salon!"

"Yes!" exclaimed Lisa delightedly. "It was just pure luck! Jennifer and Sharon just happened to be at the stage, waiting to put in a request, when I was letting Disco Dave know what I'd like him to play for me for my birthday dedication song. And when they heard that it was my twenty-first, Jennifer and Sharon insisted upon treating me to a one-hour reflexology session and a pedicure at their salon. And, if it's all right with you, Miss Carson - sorry, I mean Julia - I'd like to pop round to Tootsies during my tea-break on Monday afternoon, to make my appointment."

"Of course, Lisa, darling. No problem at—"

"Ladies!" boomed the voice of the suddenly appearing Steve Conroy, who, after smilingly nodding his hellos around the table, turned his gaze directly at Miss Julia Carson.

"I promised to pop by, to make sure you ladies are all enjoying yourselves, and ..." The Krystal's nightclub owner, upon looking down and seeing six pairs of unshod, ankle-flexing, toe-scrunching feet under the table, then added, "... it certainly looks like it!"

Yes! It certainly did, look like it, agreed James as he avidly ogled Miss Julia Carson's and her five office girls' dirty soled, incredibly sexy feet.

And, at that moment, in his newly transformed ... brain pattern, James wanted nothing more, than to be able to ... serve.

To be able to serve his betters.

His superiors.

To be able to serve: to be able to put his tongue to work, upon his boss's and his five female office colleagues' dirty, dance-floor stained bare soles, in a worthwhile and useful manner ... Rub, rub, rub ...

"Yes, thank you, Mister Conroy - sorry, I mean Steve," replied the by now decidedly tipsy Miss Julia Carson, flexing and scrunching her cherry-red painted toes, as the Krystal's nightclub owner openly admired them.

To her five office girls, Miss Carson said, "We are all having a lovely time. Aren't we, girls?"

And Lisa, Stacey, Maxine, Gail and Jane all replied brightly that they were ... while smilingly exchanging knowing looks with each other. Looks, that said: She's pulled!

Pointing to the pile of sexy high-heeled shoes under the table, Steve Conroy commented, "I suppose they, had to come off, didn't they?"

Not missing a beat, and keeping her expression deadpan, Miss Julia Carson replied, "Health and Safety regulations."

And the Krystal's nightclub owner had a good chuckle at that. "Touche!" he said.

Then, nodding at the empty glasses on the table, Steve Conroy said, "Ah, I see you are all empty. I'll get my head barman, Benny, to send one of his bar staff over to take your drinks order." As he headed towards the bar, he said over his shoulder, "Save you ladies the trouble of queuing at the bar, so you can concentrate on enjoying yourselves."

Miss Julia Carson rewarded the Krystal's nightclub owner with a smile that James thought had more in it than just gratitude ... and her five office girls smilingly exchanged some more knowing looks.

Less than a minute later, a black bow-tie'd, black-waistcoat wearing bartender reported to their table. To Miss Julia Carson, he said respectfully, "Excuse me, Miss. I'm Benny, Mister Conroy's head barman. The boss said to send one of my staff over to take your drinks order. But I, well ... I thought I'd better come personally."

Miss Julia Carson gave Benny her drinks order ... and her five office girls smilingly exchanged some more knowing looks.

When she'd sent the respectful, all but cap-in-hand Benny on his way with her order, Miss Carson turned to see the expressions on her five office girls' faces.

"What ...?" she said.

* * *

1:30 a.m. Saturday night / Sunday morning.

By now, James's mind and body were in turmoil.

He was losing it ... really losing it.

Under the progressing, ever strengthening influence of the mistress of the mirror's unnatural ... imposition, James was in a real state of delirium.

Such thoughts! Such thoughts!!

James was feeling such an incredible strength of emotion, of ardour, of passion - of lust. A lust, that totally eclipsed anything in his, insipid by comparison, previous sphere of experience.

For now, James was experiencing such wants, such yearnings - such ravening cravings - the likes of which far exceeded the usual borders of his foot fetishist's desires.

James watched raptly as, relayed live to him via the supernatural medium of the mirror's ultra high-definition 'screen', in glorious, 'technicolour' close-up, he witnessed the bare soles of Miss Julia Carson and her five office girls, and the bare soles of Jennifer and Sharon too, get dirtier, and dirtier ... Rub, rub, rub ...

James saw their feet get dirtier and dirtier, as they continued to dance the night away to Ibiza legend Disco Dave's 'sounds', barefoot ... Rub, rub, rub ... Pull, pull, pull ...

Get dirtier and dirtier, as their bare soles became more and more dance-floor stained.

Stained, from the steadily accruing, layer-upon-layer adherence of a thin and tacky, almost silt-like film, that, composed of dust, dirt, the various liquids of carelessly spilled drinks, and the combined foot sweat of dozens of other female barefoot dancers, amalgamated in a noisome goo that stubbornly stuck to their bare soles ... Rub, rub, rub ... Pull, pull, pull ... Tug, tug, tug ...

And now, in the uncontrollable, feverish throes of his ... induced, rapture - in the unshakable grip of his newly programmed, preternatural state of mind - James wanted nothing more, at that moment, than to be able to offer his ... services.

To be "amenable", in his 'rightful' capacity. As he now 'understood', that he should. And that he now 'realised', was his place.

For, thanks to his mind-searing, 'seeing-the-light' 'revelation', it was all very 'clear', now, to James.

And he wanted nothing more, than to report for 'duty': To go to his knees, at the dirty feet of Miss Julia Carson, her five office girls, and Jennifer and Sharon too, and put his tongue to work on their grubby, grimy, dance-floor stained bare soles.

Licking and lapping away, like some deranged, banged-on-the-head Basset hound, until nary a vestige of dance-floor detritus remained to sully their soles. And then ... keep on, licking and lapping away ... Rub, rub, rub ... Pull, pull, pull ... Tug, tug, tug ... Yank, yank, yank ...

Putting his tongue to work ... in servitude.

Putting his tongue to work, for his female betters.

His superiors.

Each and every one of them, up there, upon his own, personal pedestal.

Putting aside, his own, self-self-self, selfish, self-pleasing, and self-satisfying desires.

And instead, selflessly applying himself in doing something for them - the girls and ladies. Something, that was worthwhile, and useful ... Rub, rub, rub ... Pull, pull, pull ... Tug, tug, tug ... Yank, yank, yank ... Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze ...

And the result was inevitable.

Once again, such was the unparalleled, insuperable effectiveness of the mistress of the mirror's all-knowing, button-pushing, pulse-quickening powers of ... stimulation, achieving climax was easy, for James.

But now, his ... production level, was sadly on the wane.

This time, there was no explosive eruption. This time, there was no plentiful spurting and spraying of his seed, all over the place ... just a pathetic, sorry-looking, drab little dribble.

Nonetheless, James determinedly gave everything he had ... as he now must.

Pumping maniacally, and assiduously squeezing his balls, James managed to make it ... worthwhile.

Giving up every last, increasingly hard-won, squeezed-out drop of his after-pulse ... pulse ... pulsing essence, until it finally dried up to nothing.

Giving up, yet another little bit of 'himself', to the mistress of the mirror.

To the mistress of the mirror, who, frenziedly feasting upon the essential ingredient, nutrient-rich 'production' of James's 'willing' sacrifices, was flourishing ... And developing.

Never in his life, had James felt so dog-tired. So worn out. So ... spent.

Having attained his ... goal, he was utterly exhausted. Completely drained ... All used up.

James couldn't go on, anymore. No matter what, the ... stimulation.

Gratefully, he collapsed back into the restful confines of his black leather, well-padded armchair.

What a mess, he'd made. What an awful, disgusting mess, he'd made. Again.

Not that he cared - because he didn't.

He didn't care a jot.

In his ... reconfigured mentality, James just couldn't care less.

Still ...

Pulling out 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.

* * *

Finally, the mistress of the mirror called it a night, and shut down 'transmission'.

She would receive no more ... devotions, from James tonight.

Her new sex slave, she could see, was finished, exhausted ... depleted.

After all, she'd taken a lot out of him.

Now, she allowed James to remain collapsed back in his most comfortable chair; his black leather, well-padded armchair ... and sleep.

Not that she cared about his well being - because she didn't.

She didn't care a jot.

No. All that the mistress of the mirror cared about, was James's ... recuperation.

So that, when he awoke, James could resume ... enjoying himself.

Because Sunday was going to be another long day, for James.

Another long day, of having a lot taken out of him.

Another long day, of ... enjoying himself.

The Mirror continues, in chapter 5.