The Mirror Ch. 06

Chapter 6: James does the right thing.

Monday. 11:00 a.m.

James had slept for eight solid hours.

Or rather, he'd been unconscious, for eight solid hours ... which wasn't quite the same thing.

Because, upon finally clawing his way back to consciousness from his nonstop succession of highly erotic, female-feet related dreams; dreams, that were so lucid, so incredibly vivid, so awesomely ... happening, he felt drained, depleted ... spent.

Spent, from being so relentlessly pestered.

Pestered, by his clingy – clinging-like-a-clam – 'sex' pest ... the mistress of the mirror.

*

Since Saturday lunchtime, James had barely had a moment's rest. He'd barely had a moment's rest, from being 'entertained'. And from ... enjoying himself.

Whether he was awake or asleep, whether it was day or night, the mistress of the mirror was mercilessly making the most of him.

Mercilessly ... taking it out of him.

Ravishing him.

Using his mind, to ravish his body, the mistress of the mirror was, in essence ... possessing James.

The mistress of the mirror – the unnatural nymphomaniac, to whom James had become ... enchanted – was making a glutton of herself, on 'sex'.

Satiating, herself.

Just as he'd done, yesterday morning, James was sluggishly waking up in his favourite chair; his black leather, well-padded armchair ... in front of the mirror.

Where he'd sat up all night, for the second night in succession.

As naked as the day he was born – so that there would be no hindrances, no encumbrances, no restrictions; nothing to get in the way, of his ... movements, he'd watched, well into the small hours, the mistress of the mirror's endless string of hit-parade, finding-the-spot, on-location 'movies'.

Watched, well into the small hours, his prurient predator's relentless succession of 'knowing', just-for-him, button-pushing 'broadcasts'.

And, time after time, the pliable, malleable – like-putty-in-her-hands – James, had ... rose to the occasion.

Rose to the occasion, to 'satisfy' the mistress of the mirror.

Time after time, the helplessly susceptible James had responded to her ceaseless importuning. Unthinkingly obeying her diabolical demands, he'd duly fulfilled her fiendishly exacting requirements: delivered up his 'devotions' ... in her honour.

Duly delivered up, his 'willing' sacrifices.

Duly delivered up his 'willing' sacrifices as, each and every time she'd expertly and unfailingly coaxed him to yet another cataclysmic, almost unbearably ecstatic climax, he'd yet again 'devoted', to the mistress of the mirror, the resultant 'offering' of his precious seed.

The mistress of the mirror had gone 'without', for so very long.

But now, with her latest 'sex' slave, she was making up for lost time.

She was making up for lost time, with twenty-one-year-old James Noble ... Her helplessly vulnerable and, to her, effortlessly manipulable, conquest.

Frenziedly feeding, upon her latest 'sex' slave's 'willing' sacrifices – the essential ingredient, nutrient-rich 'production' of twenty-one-year-old James Noble – the mistress of the mirror was flourishing, thriving ... And developing.

And now, before James had even had a chance to rub the gritty sleep from his bleary eyes, the mistress of the mirror was summoning him again.

Summoning him, to 'service' her.

The mirror's eerie white light – the eerie white light, that shone from all around the edges, where the mirror's glass fitted into its ornately carved hardwood frame – was once again pulsing.

Pulsing.

Signifying, as by now James knew well, that ... something, was about to happen.

* * *

In a state of wondrous anticipation, James stared at the mirror.

Stared, at the mirror's two-foot high, four-foot wide ultra high-resolution 'screen'.

Stared, until the 'picture' once again resolved ... as he now knew that it would.

As though relayed live to James by some sort of telecommunications satellite, the mistress of the mirror was purposely and purposefully 'broadcasting', to James ...

The scene from work: Julia Carson & Associates.

Just forty-eight hours ago, James wouldn't have been able to believe it; wouldn't have been able to believe, just what he was actually seeing, and hearing – actually witnessing – via the unnatural medium of the mirror.

But that was forty-eight hours ago.

And now, in the insurance brokers' open-plan office, the mirror panned low ... and James saw that Miss Julia Carson's Associates – her five industry-trained and fully diploma'd office girls – were, as usual, all 'at it': Shoe-playing.

And such was the complete thoroughness of the mistress of the mirror's mental ... conditioning, of him, James didn't even realise that, unthinkingly responding to the guileful wiles of his prurient prompter, he was once again already 'at it', himself: priming himself, to serve her – to resume, serving her ... Rub, rub, rub ... Rub, rub, rub ...

Rub, rub, rub ... Mindlessly obeying her, as he watched the captivating and highly arousing absentminded shoe-playing antics – the unconscious, can't-tear-your-eyes-from 'teasing' – of his five attractive, in-their-twenties female colleagues.

The unconscious, mesmerising 'teasing', of the dark-pantyhose wearing Lisa, Maxine, Stacey, Gail and Jane, as their seemingly ever active feet toyed with their black leather, two-inch heeled office pumps as they studiously pored over the items on their work desks.

His five female colleagues just never seemed to stop, thought James excitedly as, as the mirror panned closer, giving him the most awesome close-up views of their dark-pantyhose'd feet, he raptly watched each of the five office girls doing their own, individual and unique shoe-playing 'thing' ... Rub, rub, rub ...

Rub, rub, rub ... Such mesmerising manipulations! Rub, rub, rub ... He didn't need to see his female colleagues' faces – he knew who each of them were, just from watching their signature 'routines' ... Rub, rub, rub ...

Just look at Lisa and Maxine: their dark-pantyhose'd soles momentarily on open display, as they rested the tops of their feet in their office pumps ... Rub, rub, rub ... Such exciting sights! Rub, rub, rub ... Sometimes, the office girls would leave their feet like that for minutes' at a time ... Rub, rub, rub ...

No wonder he could never get any work done!

Sometimes, though ... he was almost convinced that his five female colleagues were actually doing it on purpose – actually ... attention-grabbing.

Almost convinced, that their apparently absentminded, apparently subconscious shoe-shuffling performances ... were actually a ruse.

Almost convinced, that they were deliberately ... entrancing him.

Deliberately, trying to get a ... rise, out of him.

Deliberately, winding him up ... And keeping him wound up.

It was as though they actually wanted him to pine away, after their shoe-playing, dark-pantyhose'd feet.

As if they were all getting some kind of a kick, out of it.

As if they were getting a kick, from the very idea of their male co-worker actually lusting after them all ... in that way.

Getting a kick, out of having him in their power ... And, of exerting their power.

Exerting their power, to keep their junior, at-their-beck-and-call office boy firmly in line ... and under their full control.

Exerting their power, to keep their male underling obedient, respectful – reverent.

Exerting their power, to keep James ... in awe of them.

Because somehow, they knew ... Knew that, in his own way, James was, in awe of them.

James suspected that his five female office colleagues shoe-played – or rather, had increased, their shoe-playing activities – because they had somehow fathomed out that he would put any shoe-playing female he saw, up on a pedestal ... And then humbly and reverently and adoringly look up to her ... Idolise, her.

Because, to him, they were, goddesses. And in his own way, he worshiped each and every one of them, as such.

It was discernible – apparent, even, once you 'knew' – in his deferential manner, to them all ... In his meek obeisance.

His female co-workers, James suspected, had somehow intuited the ways and workings of his ... mindset. Intuited, the unusual way that his brain was ... hardwired.

Intuited ... where he 'lived'.

James had lately come to strongly suspect all of these things.

Strongly suspect, that his five female office colleagues had somehow actually become aware of his ... predilection. And strongly suspect, too, that they were acting on their insightful discovery.

Strongly suspect, that they were 'playing' him.

But ... I'm not in the office now, thought James ... and yet, they are all shoe-playing like crazy.

So, has shoe-playing now actually gotten to be a habit with them all – an unconscious habit, that they don't even realise they've picked up? That is to say: have his five female office colleagues now actually become 'genuine' absentminded shoe-players?

It certainly seems so, James concluded, as he continued to thoroughly enjoy the mistress of the mirror's latest amazing, true-to-life, on-location 'broadcast' ... And continued to enjoy, 'himself' ... Rub, rub, rub ...

Rub, rub, rub ... As the mirror panned at low level, visiting one pair of dark-pantyhose'd playful feet after another, and giving James the most eye-popping, jaw-dropping close-up views of them all ... Rub, rub, rub ...

James then saw Miss Julia Carson emerging from her own, separate office holding a thick sheaf of papers and saying, "James, I want you to ..." Her voice trailed off, upon her realising that James – the at-everyone's-beck-and-call, factotum office boy – was not at his desk.

Miss Julia Carson seemed to look right at James; seemed to look right into his eyes ... and not see him.

Just like everyone else, on the 'other side' of the mirror, she was totally oblivious, to his ... voyeurism.

Miss Carson said, "Has anyone seen the foot boy?"

James couldn't believe it.

His boss, Miss Julia Carson, was actually referring to him as "the foot boy"!

And his five female office colleagues, he'd noticed, hadn't so much as batted an eyelid. Had barely reacted at all, in fact, at Miss Julia Carson's casual use of his ... sobriquet.

James was rocked.

Oh my god! thought James. Does this mean, then, that they all ... 'know'? That they actually 'know'?

Upon receiving only murmured noes and distracted, negative shakes of the head from her five, intent-upon-their-work office girls, Miss Carson further queried, "None of you have sent James out for a special coffee, or for pastries, or on some other errand, then ...? What about you, Maxine? You've always got James running here, there, and somewhere else, for you. Have you sent him out, doing some of your bidding?"

Maxine replied, grumpily, "No, Miss Carson. James hasn't come in to work yet. And it's gone eleven o'clock now, so I don't suppose he's going to – which is a nuisance, actually. I wanted him to run down to the Deli for me, for a pastrami on rye, with a side-order of dill pickle, and then pick up my dry-cleaning on the way back. And I needed him to do some photocopying for me, as well, for the Urquhart-Stewart account. And I'm not the only one – the other girls have all got some errands for James to run, too."

"Right, that's it!" said Miss Julia Carson decisively.

Striding purposefully towards Lisa's desk, she intoned in annoyance, "This is the final straw ... The last, and final straw ... James is history ... History! ... He's had his final warning – I told him: 'Shape up, or ship out!' ... Well, he isn't shaping up – so he's shipping out! ... There's no place for passengers, in my office!"

I'm history? Noooooo! wailed James inwardly. After the way Debbie's mum had needed to pull out all of the stops to get me the job in the first place? Yes – I'll be history, all right!

As it happened to be the desk least cluttered with paperwork, it was the edge of Lisa's desk that Miss Julia Carson chose to sit on, to use the desk phone. To get comfortable, Miss Julia Carson crossed her right, dark-pantyhose'd leg over her left and, while she waited for the ringing phone to be picked up at the other end, she informed her five office girls, "The foot boy's had his chips, girls."

I've had my chips? Noooooo! thought James despairingly. I darn't lose this job – Debbie will strangle me!

The five office girls put down their pens, turned away from their computer monitors, quickly terminated their phone calls ... They were all ears, now.

Miss Julia Carson went on, addressing her now fully attentive office girls. "And I can't say that I'm sorry, either – I never wanted a male employee in the office, in the first place. I've found in the past, that, with an otherwise all-female staff, it disturbs the harmonious working atmosphere, and can be overly disruptive. And it was only as a special, for-old-times'-sake favour to my old friend Doris, that—"

"Hello, Doris. It's Julia, here. Um ... it's about James. I may as well just come straight to the point. I have some bad news, I'm afraid ... James hasn't come in to work today. He hasn't phoned in to say why, and ... he's not here to look after my girls. And he's on his final warning – I told him: 'It's shape up, or ship out!' And it's not as though I haven't given him plenty of chances to shape up, is it? I'm sorry, Doris, but enough is enough. I'm going to have to ... let him go."

Let me go? Noooooo! thought James despondently. I'll be right in the doghouse – Doris will never forgive me!

As if the mirror was a TV, switching its own channels, it was suddenly Debbie's mum, Doris, who James now saw on the mirror's 'screen' ...

"Julia, love, please don't do anything drastic – at least, not yet," pleaded a very anxious looking Doris.

"But, Doris, love, I've already made up my—"

"Debbie is very worried about James. In fact, she's been close to tears – distraught. James hasn't kept to the arrangements they'd made for the weekend, which is so unlike him. But it's not just that ... Debbie hasn't seen him since around Saturday lunchtime, and he hasn't returned any of her calls, either – which is unprecedented, for James."

"But, Doris, I can't—"

"James dotes on my daughter, and I know he loves the very bones of her – I can see it, Julia, in his every word, look and action. And so his highly unusual behaviour is very worrying to me, too. I can only assume that ... something, has happened to James."

"Doris, don't be so melodramatic! And besides, I've given James every opportunity, to—"

"Please, Julia. Don't make your decision final, just yet. That's all I'm asking. Just give me a chance to find out what's happening with James. Me and Debbie will go around to James's flat during Debbie's lunch break ... Please? Please, Julia ... for old-times' sake?"

"Oh, Doris. If it wasn't for our long friendship ... All right, then. But James is hanging onto his job by a thread! Bye, Doris," said Miss Carson rather abruptly, sounding very frustrated at the negative outcome as she ended the call to her longtime friend.

Upon hearing the things Debbie's mum had just said about him, James was all choked up, thick-throated with emotion. In fact, it felt as though there was a golf ball stuck in his gullet, such was the painful lump that Doris had put there.

Putting herself out on a limb for him, like that! Testing the resilience of the bonds of her and Julia's lifelong friendship. All but going cap-in-hand, for him – calling in all her favours, in his behalf – to her longtime friend.

Had he not heard Doris's imploring, heartfelt words with his own ears, he wouldn't have believed it.

How would he ever be able to repay Doris? Such gratitude, he felt! And such warm affection, too.

And Debbie – his lovely Debbie! Doris had said that Debbie was worried about him. That she was close to tears – distraught.

And all because of him!

"I'm glad you've changed your mind about firing James, Miss Carson," said Lisa. "I was actually very worried there, for a moment."

And James heard Lisa's sentiments enthusiastically echoed by the other office girls – especially Maxine, who was now trying to make up for her rather peevishly complaining about James's absence ... Trying to make up, for unintentionally dropping him in it with Miss Carson.

"But I've not changed my mind, Lisa. You heard what I just said: James's fate is finely in the balance – hanging by a thread. And whatever excuse my friend Doris comes up with, for the foot boy, it had better be good!"

"I'm sure James will have a good reason for not coming in to work today, Miss Carson," said Lisa.

And James heard the other office girls' murmurs of agreement.

"James may well have a good reason, Lisa. But he's supposed to tell me what it is, isn't he?"

"He's a sweet boy, Miss Carson," persisted Lisa. Who, on Saturday night, along with her other female office colleagues, and Miss Carson too, had celebrated her twenty-first birthday at the newly opened Krystal's nightspot, where Ibiza legend DJ, Disco Dave, had presided at the turntables.

Again, James heard Lisa's opinion of him warmly seconded by the other office girls. Especially Maxine, who said, rather assertively, "I think James deserves a second chance, Miss Carson."

And James felt himself getting all emotional again.

Lisa and the other office girls were actually sticking up for him – fighting his corner. They didn't want Miss Carson to sack him! They all wanted her to give him another 'second' chance! And they were all fronting it up with her, showing their solidarity, in the cause!

James had had no idea that they all cared, so much.

Miss Carson replied exasperatedly, "I know James is a sweet boy, Lisa. But this is a place of work – not an entertainment centre! I'm not prepared to let him stare at my office girls' feet, the whole day long, and not get any work done."

This remark, by Miss Carson, got the five office girls all giggly.

And James could hardly believe his ears.

"And, now that we're on the subject," continued Miss Carson, "I rather think that some of you girls are doing it on purpose – deliberately, getting James all ... hot and bothered. Especially you, Maxine. You love 'performing' for him – and don't think I'm not aware of it, you little minx!"

To which accusation, the red-haired, green-eyed Maxine responded by swivelling around on her castor-wheeled office chair and, crossing her right, dark-pantyhose'd leg over her left, she popped her right heel from her black leather, two-inch heeled office pump, and let it dangle saucily from the tips of her toes. With mock innocence, Maxine then replied, "What ... me, Miss Carson? Heaven forbid."

That got the office girls going ... Now they were all getting in on the act: heel-popping, saucily dangling their office pumps, and giggling girlishly as they did so.

Between giggles, Jane managed to say, "I wonder what James would think, Miss Carson, if he found out we call him 'the foot boy'?"

Miss Julia Carson was giggling, too. "It's not funny!" she admonished, helplessly laughing along. "I'm trying to run a business, here – ha ha ha ha!"

Om my god! thought James. Well, I had my suspicions. But ...

And, still sitting on the edge of Lisa's desk with her right, dark-pantyhose'd leg crossed over her left, Miss Julia Carson popped her right, black leather, two-inch heeled office shoe from her heel and, in imitation of Maxine, let it dangle precariously. Working her toes, she then caused her vertically dangling black office pump to swing up and down.

And James's eyes were popping out. Popping out, as he excitedly beheld this impromptu shoe-playing show ... Man, could Miss Julia Carson shoe-play! ... Rub, rub, rub ...