The Other Side of the Mirror Pt. 04

Simon smiled, and the girl smiled back. It mattered not how she had got there. He was going to enjoy his evening – as he knew he would – but with some added variety and spice, safe from Emma Wheeler.

The night after, Simon met his colleagues in the pub. Good to sit, chat and drink beer, perhaps even better to see Alec hand over a twenty to the landlord for no apparent reason... only he now knew it to be the hire of a certain room... for a time, and its wonderfully large mirror.

Once more the climbing of the stairs and pausing outside Bedroom No. 3, as Alex fitted the key into the door's lock.

Again the oddness of undressing with others when not in a changing room, taking all his clothes off with other men, a certain sheepishness and embarrassment and then finding he was the first undressed and moreover the first with a full erection, standing there without even socks and his fleshy pole sticking up from him at sixty degrees, trying to be casual even when the other men looked at his penis and nodded

"Ready for a bit of fun, Simon?"

He was indeed. Night after night he was enjoying 'a bit of fun,' really enjoying what he could do with the girls, sometimes just the one, sometimes several. Different girls every night, differently shaped bodies with pleasing variation of breasts, face, hair, bottom, pubis... everything.

So strange to see his boss, the man he took orders from during the day, standing stark naked and wanking his penis up.

"Coming up to join you," said Dave, doing pretty much the same as Alec, though his technique was different Alec wanked like Simon did, pulling his foreskin up and down over his glans: Dave seemed to prefer holding his cock by the base and swinging it round and round so the knob made sort of circles in the air. Both techniques achieved their object.

"It's the boss man," added Dave, rather unnecessarily thought Simon. He could see Alec now standing with hand away from his erection.

"No Simon, behind you."

It was Mandrake Mortimer appearing in the large mirror as if over by the wall in that pub room, as if he was standing well behind the reflection of the three naked men. But Simon did not even bother to turn, knowing there would be nobody there. They, three naked tumescent men were mere reflections in the glass: Mandrake Mortimer was not a reflection – he was there in the mirror. Four erect men visible in the mirror but as the rearmost man walked closer, the images of the three close to the mirror faded leaving just the one man approaching from the mirror image of their room towards them standing waiting.

Simon noticed movement at his side, his colleagues were moving closer to the glass so that their erections touched, not just the glass but each other's. A surprising thing for his colleagues to do – or would have been had he not known just what would happen next. He had, after all, stood with Mandrake Mortimer at his own mirror, and, just as with him, Mandrake Mortimer's so strong erection touched Alec and Dave's, three glans penises touching in the plane of the mirror.

The three men looked at him. Even without his own experience of Mandrake Mortimer's penis he would have known what was expected of him. Simon stepped forward and his knob nosed in to touch the others, soft and warm male skin. In a way he could not believe he was doing that, so unreal, really – but, was not all of it, the mirror and everything unreal – to look down and see four bulbs touching, a four-leaf clover image, a quatrefoil of glans penises. A closer pushing together, the engorged ridges of their penises pressed close.

And as before, Simon felt a surge of sexual feeling, felt his heartrate quickening as he stood pressed against the other men, felt his body trying to engorge his penis the more and pump still more blood; felt that lovely feeling of growing sexual enjoyment as he might feel from sliding his penis in a vagina, a girl stroking his penis or mouthing it; yet there was no movement from the men, nothing really to account for the sexual pleasure, just knowing it flowed from Mandrake Mortimer. They stood pressed against each other in such an intimate way, sometimes looking at the others, sometimes down to their touching penises.

It was coming, building towards a climax, happening without movement, and it was not just him panting and shaking a little; Simon felt his scrotum lifting as the orgasm built, intense and electric; the men beside him too were breathing in quick short breaths and then it happened. Looking down Simon expected, really, to see the eye of his penis shoot, if not also the other three eyes pressed close beside it, four eyes shooting semen up into the air, a real fountain of cum before falling back, splattering and running down the still ejaculating cocks. But there was nothing, absolutely nothing as the men beside him came in a wonderfully intense, long but utterly dry orgasm.

Long indeed, unending until Simon broke away from the softness of the pressing penises. Hard to pull away, but he could take no more. He had to pull himself away from the others and break the 'handshake.' The terrible unity of men and Mandrake Mortimer.

Mandrake Mortimer stepped back and the three colleagues stood blinking at each other, their legs feeling a little like jelly from the intensity of their orgasm. How wonderful to come but not lose hardness, their penises standing up still ready for work and their balls still brim-full. A grin from Alec,

"What do you think of that, eh, young Simon?"

"Phew!"

But little opportunity to discuss, because already coming into view were naked girls. Three of them with hands clasped behind their backs, their eyes bright and, as always, their nipples hard. The walked towards the mirror and knelt, still with their hands behind their backs and upturned welcoming smiles on their faces – and then they opened their mouths.

So very, very obvious what the three men needed to do next. What a perfect and matey thing for three male colleagues or friends to do. To have compliant, naked – yes, submissive – young, pretty girls kneel before them and offer their mouths to the men's genitalia. No need at all for the men to touch their penises. Far nicer to just step forward and aim with their erections, guide them by sight and a little help from feminine tongues into the girls' warm, liquid mouths. To stand in a row with their colleagues whilst their penises were suckled and stroked by the girls' tongues – marvellous.

Easy enough to pull away if the sensations became dangerously close to another, but this time 'wet,' orgasm. Again, and again the men pulled away to stand panting and erect before re-entering warm mouths. Then they watched, rather jealous, as the three girls turned from them and serviced their master. An erotic sight to see the three girls licking Mandrake Mortimer's erection, little pink tongues touching each other as they roamed across the penile skin. And then sucking in turn until one of them was lucky.

In the bedroom the three men were standing close together, shoulders touching and penises standing up, as they stared at the erotic sight of the 'lucky' girl sharing with her friends. Watching the 'boss man,' as Dave had said, coming in the girls' mouths. And then the girls reversed towards the men, soft bottoms pressed against the mirror and coming through. The men made their choices, hands clasped hips and three penises pressed home into hot, wet – juicy, indeed - vaginas. They did not come out again until the men had unloaded their semen whilst, beyond them in the mirror, Mandrake Mortimer's seemingly ever standing penis was being suckled again.

Despite shrinking cocks, the men watched the man in the mirror then take each of the freshly fucked girls himself, lifting them up in the air one after the other and letting them down on his upstanding organ. They watched the girls being bounced up and down on his long erection, saw buttocks jiggling and his large balls bounding as the penis went in and out.

"Do you think," asked Simon, "if we touched our cocks to his they would get hard again?" The idea so appealing, the idea of fucking again.

"He's never..."

And it seemed he was not going to then. Carrying one girl, bouncing her on his penis, Mandrake Mortimer was retreating into the depths of the mirror. It did not look as if the men were going to press their wet, soft, semen streaked penises together and touch his ever-strong penis. They watched, a little disappointed, as the image of pretty, young girls and the tall, hirsute man faded leaving just an ordinary mirror image, if three naked men with soft, wet penises looking a little worse for wear could be described as 'ordinary.'

"It doesn't come much better," said Dave. And he was right.

Her time in Selsdon Battersely was nearing an end. Emma would have to go back to her home. It could not be said she had failed to find Alice Compton or failed to find what had happened to her friend, but it was not a proper closure – no return of the lost girl or the finding of her body. Indeed, it was so unsatisfactory – she could tell no one outside the village because nobody would believe her. Worse, in a way, it could happen again and so easily. What had Mandrake Mortimer done that had deserved locking him – for who knew how long – in his looking glass world? And, who had done it?

The idea of witchcraft had come to her earlier. Perhaps it was the association with Old Mother Watson whom Emma had rather thought of as looking rather like a witch, or, at least, how one might conceive a witch to look. Like a witch? A fanciful idea but no more absurd than finding people in the depths of mirrors. Was the old woman older than she seemed? Really, really old or had it perhaps been her mother or grandmother or great-grandmother who had cast the spell? Emma looked up from her teacup, across the tea room at the sign giving the tea room's Wi-Fi code and was struck by the incongruity of what she was thinking juxtaposed against the modern world.

More research, time spent poring over papers at the County Records Office in the town. Careful and painstaking research yielding very little. The old guide book had been next to useless with its vague references to hauntings but now Emma found a reference to 'Squire Mandrake' and to misdeeds and disappearance. It was perhaps a not unusual story of lechery with servant girls but clearly the man had aimed higher and had seduced, or worse, daughters (plural) of a peer, a duke no less, of obvious wealth and influence. The charges against the young squire were grievous and not merely related to his sexual misconduct. Reading between the lines Emma was not too sure these other misdeeds were not trumped up, but it was clear that execution was in the offing: yet Emma could find no reference to such a happening but certainly references to his disappearance.

A little closer, perhaps, to solving the mystery – but only a little. Could Mandrake Mortimer really date from the late eighteenth century? Unsurprisingly, Emma also explored references to witches, a possible lead... well, she thought, it was not an everyday event for people to disappear into mirrors: it was supernatural. There were some references, but then she struck, if not gold at least a contemporaneous reference to what she knew, as she read a preserved letter mentioning a strange fear of reflections and, mirrors, the letter writer had found in – yes - Selsdon Battersely.

A fear of mirrors, a phobia, and, indeed, Emma had found there was indeed such a named phobia - Catoptrophobia or Spectrophobia. Was there any phobia that had not been given a name!

Fragments of clues but no real conclusion. It seemed unlikely to Emma the long dead duke could really have employed a witch to imprison the ravisher Mortimer. The more she pondered, the more she thought the more likely scenario was a witch saving Mandrake Mortimer from capture, hiding him inside a mirror – however improbable that seemed. A safe place indeed – visible but untouchable. Perhaps the witch had been overcome herself by his wiles and undoubted beauty – the references had certainly talked of him being 'handsome of face' and praised the shape of his legs in fine silk stockings. It was easy to imagine the scene, pursuit close at hand, the handsome and dashing Mandrake Mortimer stepping through the mirror as the witch raised her hands in some sort of incantation. But had the witch told him it was a one-way ticket? Had she slyly thought to keep him for herself hidden inside the mirror, but then why had she left it open for women to pass through and join him, why...

It was all conjecture, plenty of material for a novel, but nothing substantial. Kidnapping of her friend – but by, of all things, a mirror, a witch (perhaps) and an eighteenth-century squire?

Emma had watched Joe Costin, had watched Graeme Trafford, heard from Old Mother Watson and she knew about that upper room in the public house. She should not have done it, did not need the to see that room, yet she had found the back way in and had crept up the stairs and to the door of the room. In the keyhole of Room No. 3 was a key. Emma turned the key, it slid around easily in a clearly well-oiled lock; the door opened silently without even a creak - perhaps not in character but the hinges had, perhaps, been well-oiled too. The size of the mirror on the wall was more than enough confirmation for Emma. What terrible things went on in the room? The big old bed might have suggested assignations of a commonplace kind, but Emma rather thought the bed would be little used. The wardrobe too seemed superfluous. It was certainly empty but more than large enough for a girl minded to watch what went on in the room. She had her 'phone with her, perhaps she might take pictures as 'proof.'

A long wait but Emma was patient. Perhaps it might not be used that night, perhaps not the next but she was patient and could be there night after night until she had to leave Selsdon Battersely. A wry, contemptuous smile came to her face when, finally, the door opened. Not one man, not two men but three and one was Simon Trenchard. It was obvious by the way they just casually undressed that they had done this before. Clear too that they had been drinking but not quite enough to take away capability. How pathetic to see three naked men all with their hands to their penises, stimulating them into rising. 'Wankers,' she thought.

Emma had just meant to watch, just gather evidence and perhaps photograph, but she reckoned without her reaction to seeing what transpired, particularly what they were doing to poor, sweet little Alice. Three men to one girl, and were they using her? It was disgusting. And then another two girls appearing, touching Alice: not the men.

All at once Emma in the upstairs pub room, her voice high and shrill, admonishing the men, saying, or rather shouting, awful things.

"Make her quiet."

Simon's hand clamped over Emma's mouth bringing a sudden silence and stillness to the room: but only for a moment and then Emma was struggling to be free

"The interfering little..."

It was not much of a struggle. Foolish to have burst from the wardrobe in the first place. A young and pleasing woman revealing herself in a bedroom with three virile and aroused men. Just so unwise. They made short shrift of Emma.

Her wrists bound together by her own bandana, Emma was wide eyed and struggling but she was one young woman against three men. Three naked and erect men with unprotected balls just swinging around under those penises, vulnerable if she could land a kick. But she could not. Already hands had gone to the brass button of her jeans and were tugging them and her panties down, making it difficult to use her feet. Behind her, that 'creep' Simon had his hand over her mouth, she tried ramming her buttocks back at him but only felt the hardness of his penis.

Inarticulate noises from her as the other men began undoing her shirt. In the mirror the girls were watching, clearly amused by the spectacle. Hands were soon groping inside her brassiere, undoing it, letting her large breasts swing free.

"There'll be no evidence – no semen."

"It'll teach her."

What did they mean?

Her jeans and panties were pulled off but that did not mean she could kick. Not with strong male hands lifting her into the air, leaving her without purchase and then widening and separating them, lifting her feet high and wide in the air.

And then it became clear what was to happen. Alice and the girls not alone in the mirror. Walking towards her was a tall figure, naked and so very male, an arm around a naked girl either side of him, walking with a jolly smile and his erect penis pointing right at her. The girls were giggling, pointing at her. They stood there with the man, their thighs rubbing together as if with a strong need to be touched there.

Mandrake Mortimer stepped towards the mirror, the giggling girls moved closer and through the glass it came. The man's strong, erect penis, wavering a little at the end, seeking, indeed seeking to enter a woman and inseminate. Alec and Dave lifted Emma further, brought her towards the mirror. There was nothing Emma could do; no amount of wriggling could prevent her vaginal opening being brought towards that penis with a view to a connection being made. She was held, her legs wide spread and her sexual orifice open towards the mirror. Wide eyed she saw it was her friend, Alice who had reached for the penis and was directing it with her hand. How could she do such a thing?

Perhaps Alice's eyes showed sadness, perhaps they showed regret, but she was doing it, nonetheless. Was she overcome in some way by lust, was that all there was for her now? A terrible lubricity? Emma was not immune. Even in the wardrobe, despite her anger, she had felt it, an arousal, a slight moistening as if the men's excitement, the lasciviousness of the girls within the mirror had created a miasma of concupiscence that had slowly seeped into the wardrobe, slipping silently through the cracks around the doors. Now, out in the open, held by men, even bound by men; hand gagged, wrists tied, and her thighs held so strongly, and so apart, her mind would not let her ignore the eroticism of the scene. Involuntary arousal! Her mind, her higher faculties screaming 'no' but her physiological response quite the opposite. Her labia engorged, her secretions running, as her body was preparing her for coitus – for the injection of semen.

So awful – the touch of the probing penis, sticking out so real and so warm from the mirror, clasped in her friend's hand, fingers holding the foreskin back. And then it was in. Her flesh splayed outwards as the domed head was pushed into her body, really stretching her. Beside her the men's breathing deep and raggedly, bound up in the excitement of coupling her with the man in the mirror, their penises hard beside her, quite obviously not needing any help to remain fully tumescent. Behind her another touch to her bottom from Simon. The terrible sudden thought of him trying to penetrate her there whilst being taken from the front. But he turned, and she felt his hip pushing at her, pushing her further onto Mortimer's spike. And it was what they were all doing, all intent on the connection being deep and complete. She did not want to watch but could not look away as the firm flesh slowly disappeared into her body, inches and inches of it.

Emma, wriggled, Emma fought but with three men holding her – or was it four – there was little she could do even when her feet touched the wall either side of the mirror and she pushed back. Fighting spirit yet, but all that did was to move her body back up the penis allowing them to push her back again – the motion of copulation indeed, the movement which would cause the male to ejaculate within the female.