The Mirror - Part 5 (New Version)

This story is written by David, please send comments and appreciation to

Chapter 5:  James steps into another fine mess.


Sunday morning. 10:45.

It wasn't the first time that James had woke up in such an advanced ... state of excitement. But on that Sunday morning he woke up with a hard-on that he couldn't believe. 
Such dreams, he'd had! They'd all seemed so vivid, so real, so ... happening.
All woolly-headed, he was struggling to come to his senses ... as if he was struggling to exit one realm of existence, and re-enter this one. 
At first, with his living room curtains closed up tight against the light, he struggled to remember where he was. And why wasn't he tucked up in bed? he wondered. Instead of in his ... And then it all came flooding back.
He was sitting in his favourite chair: his black leather, well-padded armchair ... In front of the mirror. 
Where he'd sat all last evening, and well into the small hours. Being 'entertained'. 
Watching the mirror's 'transmissions'. 
For all of last evening, and well into the small hours of Sunday, James had watched the mirror's 'broadcasts'.
As though relayed live to him via some telecommunications satellite, James had watched a succession of 'broadcasts' on the mirror's incredibly true-to-life, two-foot high, four-foot wide ultra high-resolution 'screen'.
Incredulous, amazed, and uncontrollably 'excited', James had watched raptly as the mirror had tracked, for James's own, personal ... delectation, the Saturday night / Sunday morning movements of his boss, Miss Julia Carson, and her five accompanying office girls, and also the movements and activities of Jennifer and Sharon, the proprietresses of Tootsies Pedicure Salon.
After which, in a state of totally 'spent', dog-tired exhaustion he'd fallen fast asleep in his armchair. 
Where he had then spent the night.
Spent the night, sitting in front of the mirror that, yesterday, he'd bought as a present for Debbie's mum, Doris, for her birthday in two weeks' time.
Spent the night, sitting in front of the mirror, that, after having removed his pride-and-joy 46-inch Internet capable flat-screen TV from its two-foot high plinth-like stand, he'd given the mirror pride of place, in its stead. 
And, as a result of his 'enchantment' – the result of the all tuned-in and all-knowing, button-pushing and turning-on mistress of the mirror's unnatural influence, over him ... what a mess, he'd made. 
What an awful, disgusting mess he had made, he thought as he surveyed the ghastly litter. 
The ghastly, insanitary litter of the Man-Size squares of Kleenex super-absorbent tissue-paper that he'd ... soiled, and then carelessly strewn about his living room. 
And there was still some of the sticky, gooey mess on his body, too, from the mind-blowing climaxes of his incredible succession of 'influenced' jack-offs.
Yes. The man he had bought the mirror from, Mr Howard – "My friends call me Howie" – Leadbetter, had tried to warn him, James realised. 

This was the mess he had made, due to the mistress of the mirror's being "tuned-in" to him now. And therefore: "It 'knows' you, now", the mirror's previous owner had told him ominously. 

And, in being so tuned-in to James, and so knowing him, the mistress of the mirror was therefore in possession of all of the necessary ... wherewithal, to enable her to push all of his 'buttons'. 

Each and every one of them ... for he could have no secrets, from the mistress of the mirror. 

Thus ... informed, she was enabled to turn him on. And turn him on, as he'd never been turned-on before. 

And, turning her new 'sex' slave on, as he had never been turned-on before, the mistress of the mirror had coaxed twenty-one-year-old James Noble – her latest, in a long line of 'sex' slaves – to climax, after climax, after climax ... In honour of herself. 

And now, after more than three decades of having gone 'without', due to the ... inadequacy of her previous three owners, upon frenziedly feeding upon the essential ingredient, nutrient-rich production of James's 'willing' sacrifices as he duly paid his 'devotions', the mistress of the mirror was flourishing ... And developing.
An uncommonly ... suitable subject, twenty-one-year-old James Noble was turning out to be easy prey, for the mistress of the mirror.
In fact, she'd never had it so good.
                                                                        *            *            *

James was usually a full-of-beans sort of person in the mornings. But today, he was lethargic. It seemed so hard to galvanise himself, this morning; to motivate himself to movement. He just had no energy. No get-up-and-go.

I'll be okay though, once I'm up and about, thought James gamely. I'll get up, take a shower – that'll wake me up ... And I need a shave, too, he thought, rubbing his bristly chin with his fingertips. 

Then, I'll have a good tidy-up in here ... Just look at the state—

Interrupting his thoughts, James's phone rang.

But for some reason, James just stood there, and made no move to answer it. Just listened to it ring. It was like he'd suddenly been put under some kind of trance.

His phone rang four times. And when James didn't pick up, the call was automatically transferred to his answer-phone. 

It was his girlfriend, Debbie. And she was sounding decidedly miffed.

"James ...? Are you there? If you are there, pick up ... Oh, this is getting ridiculous, James!" complained Debbie in vexed frustration.

"You still haven't returned any of my calls from yesterday and ... it's now nearly eleven o'clock, and we were supposed to be going out for the day. Weren't we? Come on, James. What the hell are you doing? I'm starting to worry now, James. At least call me, yeah?" pleaded Debbie, sounding concerned.

Now that Debbie's call had gone safely unanswered, James came out of his 'trance'.

Hmm ... Debs had a bit of a cob on this morning, thought James. But then, she was more than entitled, he admitted to himself. 

He'd better postpone his shower and shave, he thought, until after he'd called Debbie back. That was his first priority. He'd never failed to promptly return her calls before, and he needed to put her mind at rest. She was probably thinking he'd crashed the Astra, or something.

James was still naked. But as he was about to take a shower common sense dictated there was no point in getting dressed. So he just went over to his laundry basket and grabbed the pair of muddied up white shorts that he'd played football in for his local pub team, and pulled them on. 

Now that he was 'decent', James went over to the phone to call Debbie. 

It would be humble pie, for breakfast. And lots of it. He would apologise unreservedly for not returning Debbie's calls and causing her to worry about him. And today's day out – wherever they ended up going; and Debbie could choose – would be on him. His treat.

James's hand was on the receiver, and he was about to pick it up when, looking over towards the mirror, he noticed that the eerie white light was pulsing again.

Signifying, James knew, that ... something, was about to happen.

The strange pulsing went on for some moments; the eerie white light, emanating from all around the edges where the mirror glass fitted into its ornately carved hardwood frame ... And then suddenly the 'picture' resolved. 

The 'picture': the amazingly realistic, true-to-life quality image, as depicted on the mirror's two-foot high, four-foot wide ultra high-resolution 'screen'.

James took his hand off the telephone receiver. And, all thoughts of calling Debbie having suddenly gone from his head, he walked over to the mirror. 

Standing in front of the mirror, James instantly became totally absorbed in what he was seeing ... absorbed, that is, in what the mistress of the mirror was purposefully 'broadcasting' to him. 
Lying upon the white, pleated quilt of a double-size bed was a stunning blonde woman. Her beauty was breathtaking. She had a face that could launch a thousand ships. And it was immediately obvious, to James, that she had 'it'. 

It was all in her eyes. She was the sort of woman who, exuding sex appeal, turned men's heads wherever she went ... and raised their temperatures.

She was in her mid-twenties, James guessed. And she had the most gorgeous tan; the sort that took a lot of 'work'. 

All she was wearing was a yellow string-bikini, and a pair of high-heeled mules that were of the same bright-yellow colour as her decidedly skimpy clothing.

And, just as had happened last night at Jennifer's apartment, with Jennifer and Sharon, the stunning blonde woman looked right at James ... without seeing him. 

Her captivating blue eyes looked right into his, yet she was obviously unaware of his 'presence'. Totally oblivious, to James's ... interest.

The highly alluring lady was lying on her front, and facing the foot of the bed. The white-cased pillows behind her were rumpled and deeply dimpled, from where she'd been repeatedly thudding her high-heeled mule shod feet into them. She was reading US Today magazine, and James saw that a photo of Hilary Clinton was on the front cover: 'Hilary for the Hill?' read the caption. 

The spellbinding blonde woman desultorily turned the pages of her magazine. And as she did so she repeatedly raised and lowered her beautifully toned and tanned lower legs behind her and, with her bright yellow high-heeled mules balanced precariously on her feet, she absentmindedly performed the most extraordinary feats of shoe-playing 'tricks' that James had ever witnessed. 

Such antics!

Bug-eyed, James was entranced.

Inevitably, as he was admiring the awesomely attractive blonde woman's highly exciting shoe-playing performance, James became more and more aroused. 

To simultaneously watch the changing expressions on her beautiful face, as she read her magazine, and her playful and 'expert' feet as, with her lower legs raised behind her, she absentmindedly toyed with her high-heeled mules, was a recipe for ...

The gorgeous blonde woman's super-exciting shoe-play show continued for a few more minutes ... And James was at it again – he just couldn't help himself ... Rub, rub, rub ... 

But upon looking at her wristwatch, the fabulous blonde suddenly let her sexy shoes fall from her feet. And James clearly heard the soft thuds, as she allowed her not insubstantial mules to drop to the all-rumpled-up and deeply dimpled white-cased pillows behind her. 

James then heard the snap-and-crackle crinkling of glossy pages and, having folded it over to the page she'd been reading, the blonde bombshell put down her copy of US Today magazine for later, and then sat on the side of her bed.

Then, as if ... something, had made her look up, she looked right at James ... without seeing him.  And James felt all tingly, as he stared right back into her captivating blue eyes.

And then the soles of her golden feet were flashing at James, as she headed for the bathroom ... Yes, the bathroom: The door was left open, and the shower stall was clearly visible inside.

Where is she? James wondered. Is she in a hotel room, or something? 

James watched the breathtaking blonde as, with her back to him she divested herself of her scanty little bright yellow garments; her bare buttocks, all round, and lovely, and ... all-over tanned. 

The blonde goddess tucked her golden hair into a shower cap. And then the soles of her beautifully bronzed feet briefly flashed at James; first her right foot, and then her left, as she stepped into the Perspex-walled shower stall, and the gorgeous blonde's curvy contours became obscured within. 

James then heard the roar of the power shower. He could hardly believe it. 

Via the medium of the mirror's 'audio system', the fantastically realistic, true-to-life sound quality was amazing. It was as though the power shower was right here; right here in his own living room. 

In moments, the opaque Perspex walls of the shower stall were steaming up and, as she began soaping herself, James could barely make out the blonde goddess's divine form.

James had a right boner. 

Not meaning to, James continued to think of the blonde beauty's lovely, launch-a-thousand-ships face. 

Moreover, he continued to think of her so, so sexily shoe-playing feet as, without even thinking about it, she'd expertly manipulated her mules.

James was in awe, of her 'skill'. 

James was in awe, of her almost miraculous, incredibly precarious dangling 'abilities'. 
He was in thrall, to the thrilling way that she crossed and recrossed her shapely ankles and, as she read her magazine, absentmindedly caused the bottoms of her bare heels to slap-slap-slap-slap against her mules.
Such exquisite teasing!
And the sights and the sounds of the gorgeous blonde's 'teasing' were now indelibly imprinted on James's mind. And, playing over and over, those highly arousing sights and sounds were already starting to drive him crazy with desire – with lust.

There was only one thing for it ...

But no. No! He would not, reduce himself to such ... self-satisfaction again, to obtain the necessary blessed relief. 

He would not, reduce himself to such frenzied pulling and tugging and yanking away at 'himself', to bring about a relief that had by now become only very temporary – and increasingly short-lived. 
After all, he had Debbie, to take care of his needs.
How best to take his mind off it ...?  
For some strange reason, the thought then popped into James's mind that he hadn't cleaned the mirror since he'd bought it ... yesterday. 
That wouldn't do. Oh, no.
All of the mirror's previous owners had cared for the mirror lovingly and adoringly ... and dutifully. 
And twenty-one-year-old James Noble would be no different. 
'She', would see to that. 
The mirror's ornately carved hardwood frame – in particular, its occult symbols – must be adoringly and lovingly polished. Regularly. Every single day. Without fail – and no excuses ... Devotedly.
But, what about the mirror's glass?
First, he'd clean the glass, James decided. 
And then he'd polish up the mirror's ornately carved hardwood frame. James was sure he had a tin of furniture polish lying around the place somewhere. 
He would pay particular attention, he thought, to all of those arcane, weird-looking shapes and patterns on the hardwood frame. "Scary symbols", Debbie had called them, when she'd first seen the mirror, up in Howard Leadbetter's attic. 
Okay, kiddo. Let's get to it! James said to himself, with an unaccountable sense of purpose. 
James returned to the mirror with his plastic bottle of Sparkle window cleaner. He positioned the spray-bottle's nozzle about five inches from the surface of the mirror, and then sprayed. He pulled the trigger five or six times, aiming the generously spurting ammonia-based liquid at different areas of the glass.
James was about to wipe the glass surface with a clean dry cloth, when he realised that, although he'd seen the glass cleaner spray out mistily from the nozzle, he could not see any of it on the mirror’s surface.
Yes: it was a quick-evaporation spray. But this was ridiculous! 
James sprayed a second time. 
James watched more closely as, from just three inches away, this time, he again pulled the trigger five or six times. And again, although he saw the misty spray come out of the bottle's nozzle, not a single droplet of it landed on the surface of the mirror.
James was perplexed.
Tentatively, with his hand still holding the cloth, James made to touch the three-centuries-old mirror's already spotlessly clean and totally unblemished glass surface ... Upon which, he saw his hand and the cloth disappear into the mirror.
With a shocked cry, James quickly pulled back his hand. What, the ...?
To his great relief, James found that he still had his hand, complete with all five digits. So he put down his clean dry cloth ... and put his hand inside the mirror again. 
And then his right foot ... which he then also retrieved, a moment later. 
And all was still in good, apple-pie order.
Hmm ... mused James. When he'd put his right foot through the mirror, to the ... other side, he'd thought he'd felt a carpeted floor, under his bare foot.
And then – without pausing to consider what might be the possible consequences; without taking so much as a second, to dwell upon the unknown and unknowable ramifications of his doing so – without thinking – James went through the mirror.
By first inserting his right foot, then ducking his head and body through, and finally bringing his left foot through after him, James went through the two-foot high, four-foot wide mirror ... 
And found himself in the stunning blonde woman's bedroom.
James couldn't believe it. 
This was amazing. Just awesome! 
The mirror, then, James marvelled, wasn't just a brilliant TV. But it was also some kind of gateway. Some kind of ... portal.
Looking around the bedroom, James's eyes were drawn to the beautiful blonde woman's shoes; her pair of bright yellow high-heeled mules. 
They were on the deeply dimpled pillows of her bed. Just where she'd let them fall from her expertly shoe-playing feet – the finest absentminded shoe-play 'exhibition' that James had ever witnessed – upon her deciding it was time to take a shower. 
James went over to the sexy blonde woman's bright yellow high-heeled mules, and picked them both up. 
James was in awe. 
Holding the blonde goddess's shoes in his hands, he felt all tingly. It was like he could actually feel her vibe now; feel some ... residual something, of herself.
He turned the incredibly attractive blonde woman's left shoe around; this way, that way, admiring it from all angles. 
Then he concentrated his worshipful gaze upon the indentations, and upon the dark imprints, she'd left. The dark, black-on-yellow imprints, that the undersides of her toes had made, and the bottom of her heel ... the residual something, of herself.
And James could not believe, just how incredibly exciting it felt, to actually hold that gorgeous woman's recently worn sexy shoe in his hands; still warm, from the sole of her foot. 
James could not believe, just how unbelievably uplifting – heart-soaring – it was, to adore it. 
Could not believe, just how awesomely arousing it was, to actually smell the sex goddess's shoe – to sniff up and inhale, deep into himself, that ... residual something, of herself. 
And to kiss, the blonde siren's shoe. 
Kissing, all over. Kissing her shoe, in respect, in reverence, in adoration – in worship.
And to lick, the blonde bombshell's shoe. 
Licking, where the undersides of her tanned toes had been, and the bottom of her golden heel. 
Licking – working his craving, ravening tongue into all of those irresistibly alluring indentations. 
Licking, at all of those dark, black-on-yellow imprints, and savouring the unbelievable flavour – loving the mind-blowing taste – and devouring that ... residual something, of herself. 
What it was! thought James. 
What it was, to worship the breathtakingly beautiful blonde woman's shoe: Her left, bright yellow high-heeled mule.
What it was, to adore it! 

To hold it in his hands, and appreciate its great, iconic beauty. To have his worshipful eyes, solemnly behold its awe-inspiring, majestic splendour. To lose himself, in all of its loveliness ... Its sexiness.

What it was, to kiss it! 

To hold it in his hands, and actually feel his own, humble and unworthy lips, paying due homage.

What it was, to sniff it! 

To hold it in his hands, and to sniff up and inhale – to breathe, deep into his body and mind, that ... residual something, of herself.

What it was, to lick it! 

To hold it in his hands, and work his craving, ravening tongue into all of those irresistibly alluring indentations. Licking at those dark, black-on-yellow imprints – licking, at the ... residual something, of herself.

What it was, to hold it in his hands, and ... 

And then the power shower was turned off. 

And the stunning blonde woman – the drop-dead-gorgeous foot goddess, who's face could launch a thousand ships, and who had 'it', in spades, and who had so expertly performed the finest and most exciting absentminded shoe-playing 'exhibition' that James had ever witnessed – stepped out of the opaque-Perspex walled shower stall ... Large as life. 

And facing James.

Facing him, in all of her considerable glory. 

James was panic stricken. 

How could he have been so impetuous? he thought. Coming through the mirror, like that. Coming through the mirror, without so much as a thought about the upshot!

Urgently, James turned around ... to find there was no sign of the mirror!

The stunning blonde woman screamed; a high-pitched shriek, that went on for about five seconds but, to James, seeming like five minutes.

The adjoining door to another room burst open, and the gorgeous blonde woman's husband, a tall, dark haired, muscular-looking man in his late twenties stood in the doorway. Uncertainly, he surveyed the decidedly singular scene. He also had a great tan; the kind you have to 'work' on.

Regarding James – stubble-faced, hair all over the place, dressed only in his pair of white, all-muddied-up football shorts, and holding his wife's pair of bright yellow high-heeled mules – with a look more of puzzlement than of hostility, the man said in an American accent, "Who's he, Sandra? And, where'd he come from?"

Now glaring at James, and hastily donning a white towelling robe as she did so, Sandra replied, "The hell do I know, Chuck? He's just ... some guy. And I don't know where he came from. And besides, he'd have had to get past you to get in here, wouldn't he? So how come you didn't see him, Chuck?"

Chuck couldn't answer that one.

"Well, I heard you scream. So, what was he doing here, Sandra ... in our bedroom?"

"I just stepped outta the shower, and, well ..." 

"And what, Sandra? I've never known 'just some guy' make you scream before."

"He was ... making out with my shoe, Chuck. You should have seen him! He was actually licking it! Ugh! Can you imagine? And the look on his face! All sorta depraved. That's why I yelled. I – I guess he kinda freaked me out, okay? I mean, he's gotta be some kinda pervert, hasn't he? Licking my shoe, where my sweaty foot's been?" 

"Um ... I guess," said Chuck.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Get him, Chuck! We've gotta make a Citizen's Arrest. But first, I wanna piece of his ass! No guy makes out with my shoes!"

James was wondering how the hell he was going to get out of this one – and keep his ass in one piece – when Chuck made James's mind up for him.

As Chuck charged at him like an angry Rottweiler, sicced on him by an even angrier mistress, James drew his right arm back and with all the strength he could muster he hurled Sandra's left, bright yellow high-heeled mule right at Chuck's fast-approaching head ... And got lucky.

It was like Chuck hadn't seen the projectile coming, because he could have easily batted it away. But somehow, James's missile sailed through the air in a seemingly undetectable parabola, and the heel tip of Sandra's left, not insubstantial mule hit Chuck right in the mouth, chipping one of his front teeth.

Upon his being so assailed, Chuck stood stock-still and, holding a hand to his mouth he emitted a high, barely audible keening sound. 

James knew he was in trouble now. Big trouble. If Chuck got his hands on him now ...

He needed to seize this fortunate chance to escape ... but where to?

In blind panic James rushed past the temporarily immobilised Chuck, and into the adjoining room from which Chuck had emerged ... And yes: there was the door to the outside!

"Bathdard!" said Chuck, ineffectually pawing at his evasive assailant one-handed as James took his chance to dink and dodge past him.

"He's getting away, Chuck!" wailed Sandra. "Stop him! He's still got one of my shoes! Don't let him get away, Chuck. I wanna piece of his ass!"

"Don't worry, Thandra. I won't let that athole get away. Becoth I wanna pieth of hith ath, too!" lisped the enraged Chuck.

James threw himself out of the adjoining room's door, and found himself in a narrow corridor. Numbered doors were spaced at irregular intervals on either side ... I must be in a hotel, James marvelled.

To his right, just up ahead at the end of the corridor, was another door. Time being of the essence – Chuck wouldn't be immobilised for long – James ran to it headlong. 

He frantically opened the door, stepped through ... and James just could not believe, what he saw.  

Now it was James, who was suddenly stopped in his tracks, and standing stock-still, temporarily immobilised. 

And, despite his desperation to escape from the outraged and enraged Chuck, and his lovely sex-kitten wife, the vengeance-hungry Sandra, James could only stop, and stare, at the scene that greeted his eyes.

James had been right: He was, in a hotel ... sort of.

A floating hotel.

In stunned amazement, James stared at the most beautiful blue sky he had ever seen. And at the endless expanse of blue-green ocean; misty spray, breaking free from the whitecaps of the larger swells.

In utter incredulity, James stared at the rows and rows of sun-loungers, occupied mostly by young women. 

Some of the young women were topless. While others wore skimpy, nothing-to-them bikinis ... so they might as well have been.

And there, on a flag, fluttering and flapping in the breeze atop its flagpole, was a travel company logo he recognised: On a cheery bright yellow happy-faced-sun background, printed in bright blue letters was the legend: Sunshine Holidays.

James couldn't believe it. 

He was actually aboard an ocean-going liner – a Sunshine Holidays cruise ship. 

Sunshine Holidays, James knew, was a British-based travel company, with affiliated offices and agents worldwide. 

And, upon his seeing another fluttering flag, James saw that she was actually the Lady Caroline – the pride of the fleet. 

She was named after Caroline Flynt: the British Prime Minister, and leader of the Authoritarian Female Party (AFP).

Her sister ship, James knew, was the Lady Theresa. She was named after Theresa Maynard: Home Secretary.

And, just as the majestic-looking ships were coming in to commission last May, upon the Authoritarian Female Party's landslide General Election victory, Sunshine Holidays had also named all of the other ships of this splendid new generation of cruise liners after AFP Cabinet Ministers. 

Making his way down towards the crowded sundeck, James observed the rows and rows of young women on sun-loungers, who were 'working' on their tans. 

All of the sunbathers appeared to be in their twenties, and James wondered if this was one of Sunshine Holidays' 18 to 30 holidays. 

Upon arriving at the rows of sunbathing young women, James saw that most of them were lying on their fronts, so as to feel the sun on their backs ... And so that they were facing away from him, with their bare soles excitingly displayed to his view, toes pointing downwards. Though some of them, with their lower legs languidly raised behind them, absentmindedly waved their feet in the air as they read their book, or magazine, or newspaper.

Some of the sunbathers, though, were lying on their backs, so as to feel the sun on their fronts ... And so that they were not facing away from James. 

But facing towards him. 

And, as he slowly walked past them, the female sunbathers – and a few men, too – who were facing towards him, raised their sunglasses, and lowered their book, or magazine, or newspaper, and regarded with open curiosity the unkempt, unshaven, all-muddied-up white football shorts attired James.

As James promenaded past all of those bronzed babes' bare soles, under the mistress of the mirror's ever strengthening influence over him James was making virtually no attempt now, to disguise his keen ... interest. 

Those young ladies who were lying on their fronts, and who were as yet unaware of James's watchful presence – and oblivious, as to his ... interest – continued to languidly raise their lower legs behind them, and absentmindedly wave their feet in the air. 

Some of them, with their legs up straight, angled their feet this way, that way – every which way. While others idly crossed and recrossed their ankles; their soles, too, catching the sun from ever changing angles. 

Though the sun-kissed soles of most of the other, non-foot-waving young women were relatively motionless, James's finely tuned antenna unfailingly picked up on any such sudden absentminded movements of toe scrunching, wiggling, and splaying as was 'on offer', as they idly whiled away yet another shipboard day in the hot sunshine.

Now though, the lovely Sandra was emerging through the door behind James. And, his ... unconventional dress-code attired figure being so hard to miss, she spotted James's ambling, insouciant form immediately.

And now it was the stunning blonde's turn, to be stopped in her tracks, and stand stock-still, temporarily immobilised. She couldn't believe it.

The sheer gall, of the guy. Just nonchalantly strolling along the sundeck, and blatantly staring at the sunbathing women's feet, marvelled Sandra. 

Sandra was barefoot and, holding aloft her left, bright yellow high-heeled mule, the gorgeous blonde angrily and loudly demanded of James, "Hey, you! Gimme that shoe!" 

And her chipped-toothed husband was right behind her. "Bathdard! I'm gonna have a pieth of your ath! And thath a promith!" vowed Chuck.

In the sudden commotion caused by Sandra and Chuck's threats of impending violence, almost everyone on the sundeck was aware of James's presence now. 
“Stop him! Stop that guy! He's some sorta foot pervert!” yelled Sandra. "And he's got one of my shoes!"

Most of the sunbathers merely looked on with mild interest, and remained where they were ... 'working' on their tans. 

But a good number of them, perhaps seeing it as their moral duty as good citizens to aid in the fugitive's capture – or maybe they were just bored of soaking up the sun all day, and so were glad of the opportunity to participate in this small, monotony-relieving diversion – sprang up from their sun-loungers, and eagerly joined in the chase.

"Where are all the guys?" asked Sandra, of the nearest of her summarily recruited female posse members.

"They're all watching the World Series," was the reply James heard.

"Who the hell is he? And what's he done?" James heard one of his other female pursuers ask Sandra, in tones of breathless excitement.

"I dunno. He's ... just some guy. But he suddenly appeared in my cabin – appeared out of nowhere! I'd just stepped outta the shower, and I caught him making out with my shoe! You should have seen him – the look on his face! All sorta depraved. He was licking my shoe – actually licking it! Can you imagine? Ugh! Licking my shoe, right where my sweaty foot's been! Ain't that right, Chuck?"

"Yeth. He'th thum thort of thyoo-kithing, thyoo-licking thicko. And, tho help me, I'm gonna have a pieth of hith ath!"

"What?" asked yet another of the pursuing female posse members. "You mean, he's one of those ... foot fetish guys?"

"You got it!" confirmed the stunning Sandra.

Thoroughly panicked, James darted into the first corridor that he came to – and found himself trapped. 

James had blundered into the cruise ship's keep-fit gymnasium, and the chasing mob were right behind him ... Now, he was for it.

At first, James thought there were more than twenty young ladies in the gymnasium. Not least, because the sentiments of angry indignation that assailed his ears were vociferous and vitriolic, at his having burst into their aerobics class so rudely. 

Then James realised his mistake: it was an optical illusion. 

Because the lower walls of the gym were faced with mirrors, the multitudinous reflections had fooled James into thinking there were many more leotard-wearing young women in the gym than were actually present – about a dozen, rather than the twenty-plus that he'd initially imagined.

But whether there were a dozen, or twenty-plus leotard-wearing, all-sweated-up and angry young women, James was still in the same quandary.

But now, at their seeing the entrance of the angry-looking Sandra and Chuck, closely followed by their large and mostly female posse of superbly tanned young women, the ladies of the aerobics class fell silent, looking on bemusedly.

"Now, we've got him!" exclaimed the exultant Sandra. 

Wielding her left, bright yellow high-heeled mule like some preferred weapon of combat, and eyeing James maliciously, like some evil-minded female conqueror, the stunning Sandra gloated, "Oh yes ... Now, we've got him."

The lady in charge of the aerobics class – a very attractive, lean and fit-as-a-fiddle blonde in her early twenties – complained exasperatedly, "Er, excuse me. But would you mind telling me just what the hell is going on? I'm trying to conduct an aerobics class here!"

"Yeth. We're gonna have a pieth of hith ath," explained Chuck.

By now, James was almost backed up against the far wall ... there was nowhere left to go.

To James's horror, Chuck started to advance threateningly on him. Pointing to his newly chipped front tooth, Chuck snarled, “Thee thith? Bathdard! I’m gonna have a pieth of your ath!” he promised. "Tho help me."

"I'm very sorry, sir," offered James. "I didn't mean it."

“Not so fast, Chuck!” commanded Sandra. “I want my turn with this little jerk-off, first. Ya hear me? I'm gonna make him pay – and pay real good! Now, back off!" she told her husband authoritatively.

”Nobody metheth with my wife! Not even me! Ha ha ha!” Chuck blustered, and laughed awkwardly, in trying to save face in front of the watching posse of mostly female pursuers, and the annoyed ladies of the interrupted aerobics class. "You'll thoon thee," he assured them.

To James's dread, the stunning Sandra started to advance menacingly on him. He knew the game was up ... it was all in her eyes.

“This is the end-game, shoe guy. And now ... I’m gonna finish your ass,” promised Sandra as, with her left, bright yellow high-heeled mule tightly gripped in her right hand, she exultantly moved in on James.
At seeing James cringing defenceless before her, and awaiting his fate in mute trepidation – his fate, at her hands – the stunning Sandra paused to stand triumphantly over him, and savour her highly satisfying moment all the more ... Oh, she was really going to enjoy this!

As her rapt, admiring husband, and her excitedly anticipating audience of female fugitive-pursuers and leotard-wearing aerobics ladies eagerly looked on, Sandra gleefully told James, ”Now, asshole. You little foot freak ... you're gonna get what's coming to you."

Even more encouraged, by her husband's and her larger audience's vociferous and enthusiastic sentiments of approval, the fabulous Sandra went on, "So, you like my shoes, do you? Well, let me tell you something, you shoe-kissing pervert, you – you shoe-licking little jerk-off. I like them, too. And I don't appreciate them being all slobbered and slavered over! See where I'm coming from?"

"I'm very sorry, Miss," offered James. "I didn't mean to. I ... I couldn't help it."

The gorgeous Sandra waited for the riotous noise of the latest wave of encouragement to abate some, before going on. "Before I hand your sorry ass over to the ship's Captain, I’m gonna give you a good taste of my shoe, sonny, that you ain't, gonna like so much. And that you ain't never gonna forget," promised the crowd-pleasing, incomparable Sandra. 

"See what you've done to my Chuck’s teeth, shoe guy? Well, that’s what I'm gonna do, to your shoe-kissing, shoe-licking little head with the heel of my shoe: Chip it. All over ... Chip. Chip. Chip. Chip ... All over.” 

Chuck shouted excitedly, ”Yeah, baby! Go girl! I can't wait to thee thith! Let him have it, Thandra!” 

The time for talking, was over. 

And, thus encouraged, the lovely Sandra menacingly raised her left, bright yellow high-heeled mule high above her head, and like a wildcat she launched herself at James, intent on delivering on her head-chipping promise. 

James braced himself. 

Braced himself, against the chosen chastisement that he knew the sensational Sandra was about to administer. 

About to administer, with the heel of her left shoe. 

About to administer, with the heel of her left shoe, a frenzied flurry of retributive blows to his vulnerable head ... Chip. Chip. Chip. Chip ... All over.

And, James knew, as they avidly witnessed the sweet-faced Sandra's merciless downpour of blows showering down upon his gravely under-protected head, Sandra's all-fired-up audience would enthusiastically shout and yell their approval and encouragement, and energetically urge Sandra on to even greater efforts ... to even greater, head-chipping.
Now, at seeing the start of the supreme Sandra's left, high-heeled mule's doom-laden descent, in sheer panic James tried to back away further ... Only to find that he now had nowhere left to go. That he was now almost backed up to the gymnasium's reflective lower wall.

And, in that moment, when time seemed to stand still, James could see it in Sandra’s eyes. Could see it in her eyes, that she knew she had him, now. 

That she had him, exactly where she wanted him. That she had him, at her mercy. That he had nowhere left to run to. That he had no avenue of escape – that he was trapped!

This was it, then ... 

James was trapped, by his angel-faced assailant.

Hopeless, James resigned himself to his fate.

James would never forget the look on the superlative Sandra's lovely, launch-a-thousand-ships face; an expression of such malicious glee as, with great velocity, Sandra brought down the heel of her shoe – her left, bright yellow high-heeled mule. 

The shoe, that James had so reverently held in his very own two hands, and so excitedly sniffed, and so adoringly kissed, and so lustfully licked – so ardently worshiped.

James would never forget the look on the sublime Sandra's angelic, come-to-bed face; an expression of such malevolent delight as, powerfully and accurately, and viciously and cruelly, Sandra brought the heel of her left shoe down towards his gravely under-protected head at frightening speed. 

At a speed, James feared, that was going to crack his skull ... the first of many, such cracks. Crack his skull, just as easily, and just as surely, and just as remorselessly as Sandra would crack the shell of a soft-boiled egg with her breakfast spoon ... Chip. Chip. Chip. Chip ... All over.

James would never forget the look on the spectacular Sandra’s captivating, head-turning face; an expression of such triumphant, vengeful glee as, eyes shining in victory, she eagerly anticipated the now fast-approaching moment when the heel of her left, bright yellow high-heeled mule would impact the top of her helpless and hopelessly trapped victim's vulnerable head with a resounding, and highly satisfying crack! 

The resounding, and highly satisfying crack, that would be only the first of many.

The first of many, that the sensational Sandra would sadistically administer ... Chip. Chip. Chip. Chip ... All over.

But, in the split-second moment before the first of those terrible vengeful impacts could become a painful reality, James instinctively cringed back from the incoming blow. 

Cringed back, from the sweet-faced Sandra's shoe-wielding assault ... And passed through the mirrored surface of the gymnasium's reflective wall ... and back into his living room.

James could not believe it.

Upon hearing the sounds of familiar voices; voices that were raised, in confusion and frustration and anguish, James hurriedly got up from the carpet where he'd just been ... deposited.

And, looking at the scene, as depicted by the mirror's two-foot high, four-foot wide ultra high-resolution 'screen', he didn't know who was the more stunned, and the more disbelieving: himself, or the flabbergasted folk he'd just left behind. 

Left behind, in the reflective-walled gymnasium aboard the Sunshine Holidays cruise ship, the Lady Caroline.

James had safely returned, he now realised, by means of having passed through the mirrored lower wall of the ship’s gym. The reflective surface of which, apparently having served as some kind of gateway. Some kind of ... portal. 

Stunned, and shaken to the core, by his incredibly narrow escape – and by his fantastical experience  – James gratefully plonked himself down in his favourite chair; his black leather, well-padded armchair.

There were a lot of puzzled people in the ship's gym, and that was for sure. 

There was Sandra and Chuck, and their mostly female volunteer-force posse of sunbathers, and the leotard-wearing ladies of the aerobics class ... And now, the ship's Captain, who'd apparently been called to the scene by the aerobics instructor.

"What appears to be the problem, here," inquired the calm-voiced Captain. And, at the resultant clamour of overexcited voices, he held up both arms in placation and said, "One at a time, please."

"The athole dithappeared!" blurted Chuck. 

"Who disappeared?" said the Captain.

"He was ... just some guy," explained the splendid Sandra. "But he just vanished ... right through there," she said, pointing to the exact spot where James had inexplicably gone through the gym's mirrored lower wall. "Oh, and he sounded English," added Sandra, as though as an afterthought.

At seeing the expression on the Captain's face, Sandra gestured to those around her and shouted at him aggressively, "We all saw it! And we all heard him!"

Upon everyone voicing their emphatic agreement with Sandra, the Captain sighed deeply and replied, "All right, all right ..." 

But the Captain's patronising tone only angered Sandra all the more. She stood confronting him, hands on hips.

To Sandra, the Captain said, "Hmm. You say he was ... just some guy. And he just vanished ... right through there," he said, gesturing to the exact spot in the mirrored lower wall that Sandra had pointed out. "Oh, and he sounded English."

Sandra asserted, "Yes, he was. And he did ... You got a problem with that?" she challenged the ship's Master belligerently.

"Well ... there are no English people listed on the passenger manifest, for this voyage," the Captain informed Sandra.

Sandra was stuck for a reply to that.

Thinking that humour might be the best way to calm his obviously agitated and unsettled passengers, the Captain said, "Well, we shouldn't be too surprised, should we, if someone disappears? After all, we are in the ... Bermuda Triangle."

But the Captain's attempt at humour didn't work – fell totally flat. In fact, he'd only succeeded in agitating and unsettling his passengers further. It was obvious, in the expressions on his freaked-out passengers' faces. Expressions, that clearly said: Will I be next, to ... disappear?

The scintillating Sandra, frustrated at so mysteriously being denied her vengeance against James, blurted angrily, “What the hell, Chuck! Where is the little jerk-off? I mean, I just don't get it. How can he be here, and then just not, be here?” 

“Thyuckth! I dunno, Thandra!" replied the equally bewildered Chuck. "I thyure don't know. There’th no thign of the thyoo-kithing, thyoo-licking lother! He'th jutht dithappeared – ith ath thimple ath that."

                                                                    *            *            *
The mirror then panned out of the reflective-walled gymnasium, along the corridor, and out through the door to the sundeck.

James observed the rows and rows of sun-loungers, most of them occupied by young ladies. 

Some of them were topless. While others wore skimpy, nothing-to-them bikinis ... so they might as well have been.

Those of them who were lying on their fronts, causing the brilliant Bermudan sun to glint off their bare soles at ever changing angles as, with their lower legs languidly raised behind them, they absentmindedly waved their feet in the air. 

And, James saw, as they read their novel, or newspaper, or magazine, some of the young ladies absentmindedly scrunched, or splayed, or wiggled their toes, as they did so.

And all of the sunbathing ladies, James noticed, were superbly tanned. The sort of tan, that they'd had to 'work' on ... And were still, 'working' on.

Now the mirror started to pan out.

There, James saw, was the cruise ship's flag. Fluttering and flapping in the breeze atop its flagpole, it displayed the well-known travel company's logo: a cheery bright yellow happy-faced-sun background and, printed upon it in bright blue letters was the legend: Sunshine Holidays.

The mirror panned out further ... 

And, as if he was listening to it through some ultra high-fidelity sound system, James heard the tremendous, realistic roar of the cruise ship's boiling wake, as the Lady Caroline's enormous propellers churned the blue-green waters astern to a seething white maelstrom.

And the mirror panned out further still ... 

Until all James could see, was the most beautiful blue sky that he'd ever seen. And the endless expanse of blue-green ocean; misty spray, breaking free from the whitecaps of the larger swells ... 

And the receding spectacle of the majestic cruise ship.

She was the pride of the fleet. 

Her name, James could still make out on the graceful lines of her stern: Lady Caroline.

And then she was gone.
                                                                    *            *            *

But James remained seated in his favourite chair; his black leather, well-padded armchair. 

Because the mirror was pulsing, now. 

Pulsing its eerie white light. The eerie white light, that emanated from all around the mirror where it fitted into its ornately carved hardwood frame.


Which signified, as James now knew well, that ... something, was about to happen.

James stood up, and quickly pulled off his pair of white, all-muddied-up football shorts.

So that he would be unrestricted and unrestrained, unencumbered and unhampered – liberated.

With nothing to get in the way of his ... movements.

No impediment, to ... pleasure.

The mistress of the mirror was once again summoning James. 

Summoning her latest, in a long line of 'sex' slaves, to ... service. 

Summoning him, to offer his 'devotions' ... In her honour.

So that, through the essential ingredient, nutrient-rich nourishment of James's 'willing' sacrifices, she would continue to flourish ... And develop.
James waited ... 
The mistress of the mirror wouldn't keep him waiting for long, he knew.
No. It wouldn't be long. 

It wouldn't be long, before the mistress of the mirror once again brought him to such peaks of almost unbearable pleasure, that, frantically pulling and tugging and yanking away at 'himself' in yet another frenzy of climactic ecstasy, he would duly deliver up his 'devotions' – the precious seed, of his 'willing' sacrifice.

And deliver up, to the mistress of the mirror, a little bit more of himself.

As James waited, his fingertips sensuously caressed what he lovingly cradled in his hands ... The sensational Sandra's right, bright yellow high-heeled mule.

And, especially in the dark, black-on-yellow imprints, made by the undersides of the stunning Sandra's tanned toes, and by the bottom of her golden heel, the little residual ... something, of herself.

The Mirror continues, in chapter 6.       

This story is written by David, please send comments and appreciation to