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 ...

Then Stacey, all emotional-voiced, and her lips all quivery, said entreatingly, "Really, Miss Carson, you can't sack James. Really, you can't. It would be such an awful waste. Such a tragedy."

"Stacey's right, Miss Carson," agreed Gail wholeheartedly. "We've all got James wrapped around our little finger ... it's as good as having a slave."

"Yes," agreed Jane vehemently. "We've never had it so good, Miss Carson, since James started work here."

Dripping sarcasm, Miss Julia Carson replied, "Oh, James has actually started work, here, has he? Well, you could have fooled me, Jane."

Jane responded, with spirit, "But, that's only because you don't see, what we all see, Miss Carson! Every day."

Gail said, supportive of Jane's argument, "It's true, actually, Miss Carson. Because of the ... way, he is, James is like an always available, ever-ready, eager-to-please genie who we can all summon from his bottle whenever we want ...
To do, whatever we want. Nothing, is ever too much trouble – is ever any, trouble."

"Actually, Miss Carson," Maxine piped up, "I can't help but feel we are all missing a trick. We could all be making even more use, of James. I mean, why shouldn't we all take maximum advantage, of his little ... weakness? In between the
jobs we give him to do, and the errands we send him to run, we could have him going from desk to desk, massaging our feet, for us. That would be nice, wouldn't it? I love having my feet massaged!"

James could hardly believe his ears. Could hardly believe, just what Maxine – Maxine the "minx" – was actually proposing.

Miss Julia Carson replied, uncertainly, "Um, Maxine ... I'm not so sure, that that would be—"

"That would be great, Miss Carson – and you know it!" asserted the rather forthright Maxine.

Under her five Associates' relentlessly increasing pressure – especially, from the rather imperious Maxine – the usually dauntingly authoritative Miss Julia Carson said, diffidently, "Maxine, as an employer, there are certain ... um,
standards, that I must adhere to. Certain ... um—"

"Don't tell me, Miss Carson, that you wouldn't enjoy summoning James into your office, every day, and have him massage your feet, for you," argued Maxine forcibly. "I mean, we all know he'd like to do it – for you, Miss Carson, and for
all the rest of us, too. So ... why not let him?"

Backing Maxine up, Lisa contributed persuasively, "And, when you really think about it, Miss Carson, it does actually make a lot of sense, from the productivity output aspect. I mean, James will knuckle down to his work even more, then,
won't he? So as to earn himself more time, for massaging our feet. And ... and it would be ever so nice. Don't you think, Miss Carson?"

Miss Julia Carson blustered, "Well ... yes, I do. Of course, I do. I enjoy having my feet massaged, just as much as any of you. But ... I – I don't know, Lisa ... I really don't know. I mean, it's really not the sort of thing, is it, to
... to subject a member of staff, to such—"

"But, that's just it! No one would be subjecting James, to anything! Would they, Miss Carson? Not when we all know that he actually wants, to do it," countered Maxine, reasonably.

"Maxine ... Um ... as an employer, I have to be—"

"Oh, come on, Miss Carson!" Maxine interrupted, in exasperation. "What's the matter with you? Give it the go-ahead! Give it the green light! We all know that you want to! And there's no real reason not to! Come on, Miss Carson – it's not
like you, to look a gift-horse in the mouth!"

Gail said, in support of the exuberant Maxine's proposal, "I agree with Max, and the other girls. James would make an excellent ... well, we may as well call a spade, a spade ... foot servant. And I think I understand what your issue is,
Miss Carson. But, as I'm sure we will all agree: whatever went on, in this office, would stay, in this office ... and I'm sure James would agree to that."

James could hardly believe it.

Could hardly believe it, as he saw all of the office girls' emphatic nods, and heard their sentiments of wholehearted agreement, that, yes: James most certainly would, agree to that.

Yes, they were her five Associates ... And so they were perfectly entitled, to voice their thoughts, and perfectly entitled, to offer their input – perfectly entitled, to a certain say, in matters.

But, sometimes, Miss Julia Carson wondered who was really, the boss in this office ... "Oh! All right! All right! I'll – I'll give it some thought, then ... okay?" she capitulated, at last.

Now, James's five female office colleagues, having successfully secured their boss's submission to their proposal – because they all knew that she had, submitted – went back to studying their computer monitors, and studiously poring over
the items on their work desks ... and absentmindedly shoe-playing.

James had been going nuts.

Going nuts, watching Miss Julia Carson and her five office girls, showing off, and comparing their shoe-playing skills – competing, with their pump-dangling daring-dos!

Going crazy, at listening to what they were all saying – saying, about him!

Going bananas, at discovering that they all called him 'the foot boy'!

Going off his rocker, that Miss Julia Carson had as good as given the "go-ahead"!

That she had as good as given her five office girls the "green light"!

That they were all – Miss Julia Carson included – actually going to use him, as their going-from-desk-to-desk "foot servant".

That they were all – Miss Julia Carson, Lisa, Maxine, Stacey, Gail and Jane – actually going to let him massage their—

The front door to the office opened ...

"Er ... I thought I'd just pop round ... You know, like you told me to. Is ... is this a good time?" said Mr Steve Conroy, owner of the newly opened Krystal's nightclub. "I mean, I just looked through the window, and you all seemed very
... animated. Were you having one of those ... clear-the-air, meetings?"

Miss Carson got up from the edge of Lisa's desk and, with a big welcoming smile, she said, "Oh, it was nothing. Just ... girl talk. Um, come this way, Steve. We can discuss your nightclub's insurance requirements, in the privacy of my
office."

With a soft click, Miss Julia Carson's office door closed behind herself and Steve Conroy, and the horizontal blinds dropped down over the door's clear-glass panel ... And the five office girls exchanged knowing looks.

Looks, that said: 'So ... It's "Steve" now, is it?'

* * *

Monday. 11:45 a.m.


What now? James was wondering excitedly as, once again, the mirror's eerie white light was pulsing.

Pulsing.

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

Expectantly, James watched the eerie white light ... And, once again, the 'picture' resolved: The 'picture', as depicted on the mirror's two-foot high, four-foot wide ultra high-definition 'screen'.

And, at what he was seeing, James was instantly on high alert.

Pictured on the mirror's amazingly realistic, true-to-life, ultra high-resolution 'screen', was the interior of Tootsies Pedicure Salon.

The salon's proprietresses, Jennifer and Sharon, were seated opposite an attractive, dark-haired and rather full-figured girl. She was nineteen or twenty, James guessed.

It must be the staff interviews! thought James.

From the mirror's 'broadcasts', he knew that, as part of their business expansion plan Jennifer and Sharon were hoping to take on two new employees today: One of them, to work alongside Jennifer and Sharon in the salon. While their other
new employee would be mobile – going from assignment to assignment, in the salon's logo'd and fully kitted-out van.

"So, Melanie. Tell us why we should take you on," invited Sharon pleasantly, addressing the pleasant-featured and full-figured young woman. "Why should we employ you, instead of one of your rival job candidates?"

Upon Sharon's receiving only a careless shrug, and a blank, unresponsive look from Melanie, in friendly tones Jennifer prompted, "What would you, bring to the job, Melanie? What are the qualities, would you say, that separate you from
all of the other job-hunters?"

Melanie kept up her unresponsive, blank-look facade of sullen indifference for a few moments longer ...

And then, with the frankly appraising, earnest regard of Jennifer and Sharon filling the ensuing silence ... she finally folded. And as the mask fell away, the effect was startling as the real, and actually very personable Melanie was
revealed.

"Oh, I may as well tell you – just to get this ridiculous farce over with," said Melanie. "I mean, you both seem very nice, to me, and I wouldn't like to waste your time – you don't deserve that ... I'm only here because the Job Centre
sent me. They told me I'd be sanctioned if I didn't attend the interview – that I'd forfeit two weeks' dole money. And no way can I afford that. Don't get me wrong; it's not that I don't want to work. I do, want a job. But, with all due
respect – and you two do seem like very nice ladies; in fact, the sort of people I'd like to work for – I don't think that massaging girls' and women's feet and painting their finger and toenails all day, is for me. It would just be ...
well, too boring. I mean, I'd rather do something that had a bit more ... well, job satisfaction, to it. You know?"

James saw Sharon and Jennifer exchange meaningful looks.

Sharon said, "Thank you for your honesty and candour, Melanie. But let's not be too hasty. Based upon what you have just said, I don't think you have a full appreciation of what our work here at Tootsies is really all about. I think you
would think rather differently, if you did."

Jennifer chimed in, "Sharon is right, Melanie. Sure, our clients come to Tootsies to top up their tans on our sunbeds, have their finger and toenails painted, and enjoy a nice foot-massage. Reflexology is an art, though, that requires
training, knowledge and skill. And it's not just a foot-massage, either – it's much more than that. You'd be amazed, Melanie, at just how many nerves there are in the soles of your feet. And proficiently manipulating them – performing
reflexology – does the whole body a power of good. In fact, it is actually an alternative form of medicine; you know, like acupuncture, for example. And nail craft – although of course that has more to do with appearance – has become a
quite sophisticated and technical skill these days, too."

Melanie said doubtfully, "Well ... maybe. But—"

Jennifer continued, "I think me and Sharon are agreed that, despite your best attempts to disqualify yourself from consideration, you are a genuine person, with a pleasant and engaging personality – just the sort of young trainee girl we
are looking for. Our clients will love you, Melanie – I just know they will."

Sharon said, "Yes, that's right. We think we are fairly good judges of character, Melanie. And we think that, in you we've found the young trainee girl we're looking for to work alongside us in our salon."

"It's very nice of you to say that, but—"

Sharon quickly went on, "So ... we'd like to offer you a month's trial, Melanie. If you wished to, though, you'd be free to leave at any time – with no hard feelings on our side. And you wouldn't have a problem with the Job Centre about
it, either. We'd tell them that you just weren't cut out for this particular type of work. Not your fault at all."

"That's – that's really very good of you both. Really, it is. But ... I honestly don't think, that I—"

Sharon interrupted again, "Tell me, Melanie ... have you ever had reflexology performed on you?"

"No, I haven't. But, I really don't imagine, that I—"

"Right then, Melanie, we're not letting you escape from our grasp, this easily!" said Jennifer, pleasantly but firmly. "Just come and lie on one of our comfortably padded treatment tables, for five minutes, and give Sharon and me a
chance to convince you of the magic of reflexology."

"Oh, no! Really! Really, I couldn't possibly. You see, I've ... I've got such stinky feet. You don't want to get your hands, all—"

Sharon said, "Handling girls' and women's stinky feet is all part of the job, Melanie. But it's not nearly as bad as you might imagine. You'll soon get used to it ... you'll see. Actually, it was only very soon after we started our
business, that Jennifer and me realised that we didn't mind the smells of girls' and women's feet, at all. In fact, to us, far from unpleasant, our clients' foot aromas have become rather like exotic perfumes, that we actually find quite
... intoxicating. Each and every one of our clients, we'd soon realised, have their own, individual and unique foot scent. And, believe it or not, Melanie, I'm sure I could recognise most – if not all – of our clients blindfold, just
from the aroma of their foot scent."

Jennifer agreed. "Me too, Shaz. To us, the individual foot scents of our clients are their distinctive signatures: once sniffed, never forgotten."

"To listen to you two," replied Melanie in incredulous amazement, "anyone would think you actually like the smells of girls' and women's stinky feet!"

Sharon replied, "Well, Melanie, I'm sure you'll find this very hard to believe, now, but I suppose you could say that the heady aromas of girls' and women's feet have gradually, well ... grown, on Jen and me."

"So come on, Melanie," said Jennifer persuasively. "Now that you know me and Shaz find the smell of girls' stinky feet far from objectionable – on the contrary; that we are actually something akin to ... connoisseurs – just lie on this
nice and comfy bench, on your front. Just relax – we'll take your flats off for you."

"And in just five minutes, if me and Jen haven't convinced you that reflexology is one of the most wonderful and enjoyable things ever, and to come and work for us at Tootsies, well ... I'll be a monkey's uncle," predicted Sharon with
certainty.

"And after all, sweetie," said Jennifer brightly, "you've got nothing to lose, have you? – but a free foot-massage to gain!"

"Well, if you put it like that ... All right, then ... I suppose." said Melanie diffidently. "If you insist. But – but don't forget: I did warn you ... about my stinky feet."

James was going crazy.

Such talk, he'd been listening to! He could listen to Sharon and Jennifer and Melanie's foot-talk, all day long. Talk, that was just so incredibly exciting – amazingly arousing – to listen to ... And inevitably, James was at it again ...
Rub, rub, rub ...

Raptly, James watched the unfolding scene, as depicted on the mirror's amazing two-foot high, four-foot wide high-resolution 'screen'; the true-to-life 'picture', awesomely realistic ... and his fevered anticipation built and burgeoned.

Built and burgeoned, as the attractive, dark-haired and full-figured sanction-fearing job applicant finally managed to overcome her reluctance, and did as invited.

Lying on her front, upon the firm but comfortable black-leather faced treatment table, Melanie finally gave herself up to the proposed five-minute massage ministrations of her prospective employers, Jennifer and Sharon.

James was going nuts ... Rub, rub, rub ... Pull, pull, pull ...

Jennifer and Sharon – who James still sometimes thought of as the Barstool Blondes – were going to massage the self-confessed stinky feet of their reluctant prospective employee, Melanie ... And James had a 'ringside' seat!

Jennifer and Sharon positioned themselves at the prone Melanie's feet; Jennifer taking Melanie's left foot, and Sharon taking Melanie's right foot. Together, the two reflexologists removed Melanie's well-worn black leather flats – being
very flexible, they came off easily – and placed them on the floor.

The mirror now zoomed in, for a close-up view ...

And James now saw that Melanie's soles were nicely shaped and lightly suntanned. And that her slightly rough-skinned toe pads, heels, and the balls of her feet were a pinkish-red colour. Her low-to-medium arched, slightly fleshy feet,
thought James, were maybe a little smaller than he might have imagined for a girl of her height and build. Melanie, thought James, had typical girl-next-door feet ... and he was totally wowed by them.

Sharon announced, giggle-voiced, "Tickle test, Melanie ..."

From the bottom of her heel, straight down to her middle toe, simultaneously Jennifer and Sharon slowly ran the pad of a forefinger down Melanie's bare soles ... And James watched Melanie tightly scrunch the toes of both feet, in an
acute response. The undersides of her toes disappeared from sight, as her toe pads urgently curled towards the balls of her feet, and James now saw that Melanie's toenails were painted a glossy black.

Rub, rub, rub ... Pull, pull, pull ... Tug, tug, tug ...

"Ticklish, sweetie?" asked Jennifer with a smile in her voice.

"Um ... no. I mean, at least I didn't think I was. I ... I just liked the feel of your fingers. It's a nice sensation, very ... I don't know. A bit ticklish, yes. But, sort of ... nice, too."

"I know, sweetie," said Sharon. "It does feel nice, doesn't it? You've got sensitive feet – which is good. The nerves in your soles are very responsive. That's a good sign. You are likely to respond well to treatment – and enjoy it,
too!"

"That's right," agreed Jennifer. "In fact, let's do our other little sensitivity test, Shaz."

Jennifer and Sharon moved to their side of the treatment bench (Jennifer to the left, Sharon to the right), level with Melanie's knees. Taking hold of Melanie's lower legs, Jennifer and Sharon raised them so that Melanie's lower legs
were pointing up vertically, and her feet were about level with their chests.

James watched, enthralled, as Jennifer and Sharon then rapidly worked their well-practiced and expert fingers; their dancing fingertips a blur of lightning-speed movement upon Melanie's bare soles as they gently but firmly pressed and
probed knowingly.

"Aaah! Aaaaahh! Stop!" squealed Melanie almost immediately. "Aaaah! Ha ha ha! Stop! Aaaaaahh!! Ha ha ha! Stop! Stop!!" she pleaded, almost in hysterics, though the sensitivity test had barely lasted ten seconds.

"Yep, Jen," said Sharon. "I think I can safely say that, in my considered opinion, having gently manipulated a few of Melanie's primary receptors, her feet are maybe just a mite sensitive."

"Yes, Shaz. That is my professional opinion, as well. After conducting my own experiment, I wholly concur with the findings of your test results. Ha ha ha!"

Melanie moaned softly, "My god, that was just ... horrible."

But she wasn't fooling anyone: Not Jennifer, not Sharon – and not James.

Rub, rub, rub ... Pull, pull, pull ... Tug, tug, tug ... Yank, yank, yank ...

"And, now that you've both had hold of my stinky feet," said Melanie, "you know what you'll have to do now, don't you? Wash your hands in disinfectant. I did warn you, how stinky they are."

Upon which, Sharon said, "We'll soon see."

In disbelief, James watched as Jennifer and Sharon both grabbed a tight hold of 'their' foot, buried their nose deep into the undersides of Melanie's now helplessly wiggling and splaying and scrunching toes, and took several long, deep
inhalations.

"Aaahh! Aaaaahhhh!!" squealed Melanie, upon feeling her prospective employers' nostrils sniffing deeply between each of her pried-apart toes.

Sharon then said, "Hmm ... What are you getting, Jen?"

"Shaz, it's quite incredible ... So complex, so characterful – so sophisticated ... I'm getting the most delicious, and wonderfully aromatic blue-veined cheese ... with just a vague hint of wine vinegar. What about you, Shaz?"

"Mmmm ... Yes, Jen. I'm getting that, too. Such ripeness! It's just like the rich, flavoursome, thick ripe rind, that you only get on a good and well-matured Stilton ... and with just that subtle suggestion of a vinegary tang ... The
fumes of the bouquet are so strong, and rich and creamy, that I can actually taste them, and they are lining my throat with a silky, lovely full-flavoured coating."

"Yes – so fabulously pungent!" agreed Jennifer. "You are absolutely right, Shaz. I'm getting that, too. I'm getting all of that! It's a really wonderful blend: Tantalising notes, that are blissfully pleasing on the nose, and with an
extremely satisfying, long and lingering, palate-coating finish."

Sharon took some more deep, appreciative sniffs from right in between the now 'voluntarily' splayed toes of Melanie's right foot, and said, "Mmmm ... In fact, Jen, it's got me craving for the complementing flavours of a lovely glass of
Chablis."

"Oh my god!" exclaimed Melanie in a mixture of instant, amused disbelief, and awakening, titillated delight. "You two are so gross! Ha ha ha ha! You both actually like the smell of my stinky feet! Don't you?"

Jennifer said, "Yes, we do, Melanie. Your feet smell wonderful – take it from us."

Sharon said to Melanie, "Okay then, sweetie. Now you just relax, while Jen and me go to work on these lovely feet of yours ... After all, there is, a serious side to this – it's not all, fun and games!"

Rub, rub, rub ... Pull, pull, pull ... Tug, tug, tug ... Yank, yank, yank ... Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze ...

And the result was inevitable ...

"Actually, Melanie," said Jennifer as she gently but firmly pulled individually on the toes of her prospective employee's left foot, and firmly manipulated each pinkish-red toe pad between her thumb and forefinger, "reflexology can also
be performed on the hands, and on the head, too. But Shaz and me enjoy just specialising in feet – it's a lot more fun."

The result was inevitable ... as James avidly watched Jennifer and Sharon performing their five-minute massage upon their reluctant job applicant's stinky, girl-next-door feet.

Firmly pressing and rotating her thumbs into the pinkish-red ball of Melanie's right, damp-looking foot, Sharon agreed, "Yes, Jen – and to think that we actually earn our living, for doing what we do!"

Inevitable ... as he listened to Jennifer and Sharon's prospective employee's growing moans of pleasure as their knowing fingers expertly pressed, probed and manipulated her sensitive soles.

"My god ... I'd never have believed it," said Melanie softly. "Please, please, don't stop. This is just, so ... awesome."

Inevitable ... as ...

As Debbie let herself into his flat with the spare key he'd given her, accompanied by her mum, Doris.

*

At the sight they beheld, Debbie and Doris were utterly dumbfounded.

They could only stand, and stare, aghast.

Stand and stare, aghast, at the sight of all the ghastly litter.

The ghastly litter, that was carelessly strewn about James's living room – the dreadful debris, from James's don't-waste-a-moment, ready-eating and fast-food 'provisions', resultant of his long weekend of 'entertainment', in front of the
mirror ... Countless wadded-up wodges of 'soiled' Kleenex Man-Size tissue-paper; the scrunched up empty packets of chocolate-chip cookies, and of various other biscuits and snacks; empty soft drinks cans and bottles; empty Pot Noodle
tubs; microwave meal cartons, with their cold and congealed remnants ...

But, most of all, Debbie and Doris were aghast, at the sight of James.

The sight of James, sitting in front of the mirror ... and jacking himself off, as if his very life depended on it.

"So ... What do you say then, Melanie ..." James heard Sharon ask, as her highly proficient fingers continued to cause Melanie to moan in blissful pleasure "... to our job offer?"

Inevitable ... as James achieved his latest mind-shattering, cataclysmic climax.

In an effort to maximise his 'devotional offering' to the mistress of the mirror, frenetically rubbing and pulling and tugging and yanking away at 'himself' with his left hand, and assiduously squeezing his balls with his right, James's
pent-up seed was finally released.

"Oh my god!" wailed Doris as, from sheer force of ecstasy, James's eyes rolled up, showing only the whites.

"James! Come out of it! James!!" yelled Debbie hysterically, as James's explosive eruption spurted and sprayed all over himself.

But, so totally ... enchanted, was James, he was completely oblivious to the sudden presence of his girlfriend and her mum.

Debbie and Doris could only stand, aghast, and look on.

Stand, aghast, and look on, as James continued to frenziedly milk himself – rubbing and pulling and tugging and yanking away at 'himself' with his left hand, and squeezing his balls with his right.

Milking himself, until the after-pulse, pulse, pulsing of his precious seed slowed, to a drab little dribble ... and then finally stopped, drying up to nothing.

The precious seed, of his 'willing' sacrifice.

His 'willing' sacrifice, to the mistress of the mirror.

The mistress of the mirror, who, frenziedly feeding upon the essential ingredient, nutrient-rich nourishment of James's 'willing'-sacrifice production, was flourishing, and thriving ... And developing.

"Come out of what, Debbie?" said the bewildered Doris. "Is James having some kind of ... episode?"

"It's – it's the mirror, Mum!" yelled the acutely distressed Debbie. "It must be!"

"What? What are you talking about, Debbie? What do you mean?"

James heard Melanie say, coyly, in reply to Sharon's question, "I think maybe ... another five minutes of this, might help me decide."

James opened his eyes ... To see Jennifer and Sharon smiling happily – they'd as good as got their girl! They'd managed to win their reluctant job applicant over! Happy faced, they were more than willingly starting in on a second five-
minute foot massage, on their new employee's self-confessed "stinky" feet.

"It's the mirror, Mum! The mirror!! I know it is! I – I knew there was something weird about it! Something ... not right."

"Oh Debbie, love. Don't be so melodramatic! Do you know how ridiculous you sound?"

"Yes, Mum! I do know how ridiculous it sounds. Which is why I haven't said anything – until now. But just look at James, Mum! Just look at the state of him! And – and look what he's ... doing. You can see that the mirror is obviously
affecting him, somehow," railed Debbie in great frustration ... and not a little fear.

"I knew there was something wrong, Mum! I knew there was a reason why James hadn't been round to the house all weekend, and hadn't returned any of my phone calls. And this is it, Mum – the mirror!"

"Oh, please, Debbie," said Doris incredulously. "Really! You can't be serious ...? It's a mirror. Just a mirror! What can he possibly see in it – besides himself, of course?"

"But, that's the thing, Mum! It's something that only the owner of the mirror can see!"

"Oh, Debbie! Really!!" said Doris in exasperation.

James listened to Melanie say, happy voiced, "I accept! I accept! Can I ... can I start tomorrow? Jen? Shaz? I'll go down to the Job Centre this afternoon, and tell them I want to sign off. It's funny, and – and I know I've changed my
tune, and all, but ... I can hardly wait, now, to ... learn about reflexology."

Jennifer said, "Of course you can start tomorrow, sweetie – we start work at nine. You are going to love working at Tootsies, Melanie. I just know you are. It's all very laid back and relaxed – really, it is. In fact, it's not really
like actual work, at all."

Sharon said, "Well, Jen, we've taken on one new employee, then. But we still need one more – to go mobile, for us ... Have you given any more thought, Jen, about trying to find out if that young guy would be interested? You know, the guy
who was in the Cock and Bull on Friday, with his beautiful blonde girlfriend, and our friend Joan the barmaid caught him staring at our feet? What about him, Jen? I know Joan suggested him, half-jokingly ... But, after giving it some
thought over the weekend, I actually think he could be worth giving a try ... Of course, he would be junior to Melanie."

Melanie piped up, "If he's my underling, I'll get him to practice his reflexology on my stinky feet, every day! It would be my little perk of the job – ha ha ha!"

Jennifer responded, "Yes, Melanie, absolutely – and you can practice your relfexology, on me and Shaz!"

Melanie replied, all shy-voiced now, "Well ... I'm already looking forward, to ... doing that."

Sharon said, "Ahem ... as I was saying ... See, Jen, there's some tablets I've found out about, that will keep him ... quiet. He'd be able to get them on a monthly repeat-prescription, and we'll reimburse him the cost. The tablets are
actually very good, in that not only are they very effective, but they are also very quick-acting, wear off quickly after the prescribed duration, and have no side-effects.

"The tablets are called 'Inhibitol Ten'. Which means they would bottle-up his urges, and keep him 'quiet' for up to ten hours. That way, he would actually be able to concentrate on his foot massage and pedicure work all day, and save all
of his, you know ... for when he gets home from work ... What do you think, Jen?"

Jennifer said, "Hmm ... It's funny you should bring him up, Shaz. I've been thinking the same thing myself, only I couldn't solve the problem of his ... well, problem. But yeah. Let's try and look him up, Shaz. I think Joan will probably
be able to find out who he is for us. Surely, one of her customers at the Cock and Bull is bound to know him. We'll ask her this evening, Shaz, when we call in for a drink, and ..."

James was exultant.

The mobile foot care consultant's job is as good as mine! he thought elatedly. And there will be no need for Jennifer and Sharon to try and find me, either – I'll come straight to them, at Tootsies!

What a surprise, they'll get, when I suddenly turn up at Tootsies!

Melanie was going to be brilliant, thought James, as a reflexologist and pedicurist for Jennifer and Sharon, at Tootsies Pedicure Salon ... And he couldn't wait for her to get him, as her "underling", to practice his reflexology on her
self-confessed "stinky" feet, every day!

But he, could be Jennifer and Sharon's prized asset ... Driving Tootsies' logo'd and fully kitted-up van, and going from assignment to assignment: offices, factories, homes, leisure venues ... And earning them an absolute mint of money,
from serving at the feet of their off-premises clients.

Debbie, taking a heavy and bulky object out of her Harrod's shopping bag, said, "Well, Mum, this is kind of ironic ... I'm going to have to use this Waterford crystal vase that I'd bought for your birthday, in two weeks' time, to smash
that ugly, dreadful mirror – your birthday present from James, that he'd hoped you'd give pride of place in our living room.

"And, do you know what, Mum? I'm really going to enjoy smashing that awful, hideous thing to a thousand pieces. It's got some kind of ... power. You only had to take one look at the awful state of the man James bought it from, to know
that. Believe me, Mum, that mirror is a malicious, malevolent monstrosity, and I'm going to take the greatest of pleasure in totally destroying it.

"And look, Mum, at what it's been doing to James: When did he last wash? Shave? Eat properly? Tidy up in here? Mum, he's actually put the mirror on the stand, where his big pride-and-joy TV had been. And on top of all that, he didn't go
to work this morning. And, on top of all that, he is actually sitting there, naked, and ... masturbating – if that's what I can call it – right in front of us both!

"Isn't that, enough to convince you, Mum? What more proof, do you need? In fact, I can still remember the ... ugh! ... the horrible, tingly sensation I got, from touching the weird symbols on the mirror's frame, and—"

At Debbie's ominous words, the mirror's eerie white light suddenly began to pulse; the eerie white light, that emanated from all around the edges, where the glass fitted into its ornately carved hardwood frame.

Pulsing.

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

But now, the eerie white light was pulsing like crazy.

James had never seen it pulse so fast, so erratically ... As if the mistress of the mirror, was actually ... panic-stricken.

The scene from inside Tootsies Pedicure Salon suddenly dissolved from the mirror's 'screen', and ... and the hairs on the back of James's neck stood on end.

The hairs on the back of James's neck stood on end, as reflexologists Jennifer and Sharon and their new employee Melanie were immediately replaced, by ... the mistress of the mirror.

Because of the dire threat she suddenly faced, from this other, competing female – the dire threat, from Debbie – the mistress of the mirror had actually revealed herself ... And James was instantly flaccid.

James was freed.

Freed, from the mistress of the mirror's influence.

Freed, from her absolute control, over him.

Freed, from his ... enchantment.

Freed, from his 'sex'-slavery.

No longer in thrall, to the mistress of the mirror's ultra hard-on causing, cataclysmic-ejaculation inducing, relentless succession of hit-parade, finding-the-spot, button-pushing 'broadcasts'.

No longer entranced, by her on-location 'movies'.

James was aware, again.

Right back, in the here and now.

And fully aware, of the disgusting state of his living room.

Aware, of his body's unwashed, stinking, filthy condition.

Aware, of his nakedness.

Aware ... of Debbie and Doris.

The mistress of the mirror might have been beautiful once, thought James ... about 350 years ago. When the notorious practitioner of the occult, Edward Landry, had first conjured her up. But now ...

But now, thought James, as he beheld with unspeakable horror the unnatural manifestation before him, as depicted on the mirror's two-foot wide, four-foot high ultra high-definition 'screen', it would be extraordinarily complimentary and
flattering indeed, to call the hideous hag – the witch – that he now beheld with much revulsion, and not a little trepidation, a wizened old crone.

And for almost three days, now, James had been paying his 'devotions', to the horrible apparition before him ... to the mistress of the mirror.

Relentlessly jacking off – devoting himself totally, abusing himself dreadfully, and donating the resultant, and increasingly hard-won precious seed of his 'willing' sacrifices – to her!

Freed, from the mistress of the mirror's near absolute control, of both body and mind, James now fully realised the nature and the extent of the unspeakable manipulations she'd been perpetrating against him ... to satiate herself.

And James now fully remembered – and remembered well, with an ultra high-definition clarity of inner vision, and super high-fidelity audio – all of his 'willing' sacrifices, to the mistress of the mirror.

Remembered well ... Every single, rubbing-and-pulling-and-tugging-and-yanking-away-at-'himself', ball-squeezing one of them.

And he hoped to hell, that those amazingly realistic, true-to-life memories would not be long-lasting ... or he'd never, get any rest.

With a knurled and bony, long and curling thick-nailed forefinger, the mistress of the mirror pointed at Debbie, and imperiously addressed James.

In her croaking, dry and raspy, centuries'-old voice, she commanded, "James Noble ... sex slave! You are mine! You belong to me! Get rid of her ... Now!"

"Oh my god!" wailed Doris, finally convinced, now, that there was something "not right" about the mirror.

To the mistress of the mirror, Debbie yelled, at the very top of her lungs, "No – bitch! I'm getting rid of you, instead!"

With the heavy Waterford crystal vase, Debbie took careful aim and, with all of her might and fury she hurled her mum's birthday present right at the centre of the mirror.

Seeing it coming – seeing her imminent and unstoppable, no-more-'sex' doom coming – the mistress of the mirror wailed despairingly, "Nnnnnooooooooooo—"

And then she was silenced.

Silenced, by Debbie.

Silenced, as the devastating impact of the heavy cut-glass vase sundered the mirror's glass; large pieces, tumbling to the carpeted floor.

James looked from Debbie, to Doris ... and from Doris, to Debbie ... and he didn't know what to say.

"Deb's, I ... I can't ... I don't ..."

Taking a firm grip of James's right ear, still querulous-voiced, Doris said, "Well, I know what you can, and what you will do, James! Up! Up! Up!" she commanded, as she hauled him to his feet. "Bathroom!" she ordered sternly, leading
James by his right ear.

Debbie took hold of James's left ear between her forefinger and thumb. She then gave it a painful twist, as she admonished facetiously, "James, I can't believe you were two-timing me, with her!"

"Good lord, Deborah!" exclaimed Doris incredulously. "How can you possibly joke about it? I'm going to be having nightmares for years."

"Because I'll go mad otherwise, Mum!"

"You'll, go mad, Debbie? What about my ... future son-in-law?"

James said, "Future son—"

"Stand in the bath, James," instructed Doris.

James meekly obeyed, and submitted to having his whole body soaped and vigorously sponged down by the two women – his future wife, and his future mother-in-law ... It sounded like a wonderful future, James thought ecstatically.

He would hero worship his Debbie for ever, for the courageous role she played in rescuing him from the dreadful, scrawny clutches of the mistress of the mirror.

Rubbing the hell out of his face with a soapy sponge, Doris said, "James, love, your boss phoned me, just before me and Deborah came here. Julia told me that she wants to keep you on, after all. She seems to have had a remarkable change
of heart, I must say! I don't understand it at all. In fact, she said she wants you back in work straight away. All of her office girls are missing you, she said."

And he would dote on Doris, for the vital role she played, in ensuring that he got yet another 'second' chance, working at Julia Carson & Associates.

"Doris, thank you – I mean it! I'll never be able to repay you, for ..." James was lost for words.

He could hardly reveal that he'd 'witnessed', via the medium of the mirror, Doris and Julia Carson's awkward and rather strained conversation ... reveal, that he had listened to Doris's cap-in-hand pleading and beseeching, on his behalf.

"All right then, James," said Debbie brusquely. "Come on – get into the shower now! Miss Carson said she wants to see you back in work by two o'clock – so you'd better get a move on! I've got to run back to work now. So I'll see you
tonight!"

"Yes, Debs, see you tonight. I can't wait!"

And with that, Debbie and Doris left James to finish his ablutions, and made to let themselves out of his flat.

On her way out of the bathroom, Debbie shouted over her shoulder, "Oh, and James ...? I'll be wanting to know where that yellow high-heeled mule came from!"

* * *

Monday – 1:00 p.m.


Washed, shaved and dressed, James was now ready to go back to work.

James was going to have a major job on his hands when he got home from work, he thought, in restoring his living room to a reasonable level of cleanliness and tidiness.

James looked at the pieces of broken mirror on his living room carpet ... Now, he was going to have to find another nice present for Doris's birthday, in two weeks' time.

Did he have time to clear up the pieces of broken mirror before he went to work? he wondered. Or should he just leave it until he got back home?

With the heavy Waterford crystal vase – which, James now saw, was still wholly intact and undamaged, and Debbie was going to be very pleased about that! – Debbie had said that she was going to smash the mirror to a thousand pieces. But
...

But the mirror's glass had only broken up into five big, smooth-edged pieces ... Funny, but there were no small, sharp and jagged chips and shards of glass, that he would have expected to see as a result of such a violent destruction.

With his right foot, James nudged together the smooth edges of the two large pieces of broken mirror nearest him ... and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as, by means of some unnatural flash-weld – the light, a brilliant, ultra-bright glow – James saw the two large pieces of broken mirror seamlessly fused back together.

James should leave now, he thought.

Leave now. Right now. Get in his car, and go to work.

Instead, James slotted the mirror's frame back into its plinth-like stand.

Carefully, he then reinserted the faultlessly 'repaired' piece of mirror into the bottom groove of the ornately carved hardwood frame.

He then nudged two more pieces of the broken mirror together ... with the same, ultra bright 'flash-weld' result.

Carefully, James reinserted this piece of seamlessly fused mirror glass into the top groove of the mirror's frame.

Now, there was just one more piece left. Just one more piece, of his unnatural five-piece jigsaw puzzle.

James should leave well alone.

He really should ... after all that had happened. After all, meddling with the unknown, could lead to ...

But his curiosity was getting the better of him.

Right into the centre, James carefully reinserted the final piece of broken mirror ... completing the 'circuit'.

And the brilliant-white, ultra bright flash-weld light sizzled and crackled all over the mirror's surface; its intense, laser-beam like light seamlessly fusing this last piece into place ... and restoring the mirror glass, to its former
perfect condition.

And now, the mirror was pulsing.

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

Pulsing.

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

James sat down in his most comfortable chair; his black leather, well-padded armchair ... and waited for the amazingly realistic, true-to-life 'picture' on the mirror's two-foot high, four-foot wide ultra high-resolution 'screen' to
resolve ...

"Hi, Jen! Hi, Shaz," said Lisa brightly as she came into Tootsies Pedicure Salon. "I've just popped in during my lunch break, to make an appointment for my complimentary reflexology session and pedicure."

"Hi, Lisa! How nice to see you!" replied Jennifer delightedly.

"Hey, Lisa!" exclaimed Sharon. "That was a great night we all had, at Krystal's, wasn't it?"

"Yes," replied Lisa. "And Disco Dave was every bit as good as I'd heard he was!"

Opening the Appointments Book, Jennifer said, "Right then, Lisa. Let's see where we can book you in ... Would any of these dates and times suit you, Lisa?" Jennifer suggested, pointing to the vacant appointment slots that were left,
during this week and next.

Ah yes, James remembered ... On Saturday night, at Krystal's nightclub's opening night, the two proprietresses of Tootsies, Jennifer and Sharon, had gifted Lisa – one of Miss Julia Carson's five office girls, and his colleague – a
complimentary voucher, as a present for her twenty-first birthday.

"Hi, Jen! Hi, Shaz!" said Joan the barmaid brightly, as she also now came into Tootsies, right on Lisa's heels. "I've come in for the free reflexology session and pedicure, that you promised me on Friday night ... remember?"

James remembered Joan very well – he had very good reason to ...

Joan was the very attractive dark-haired busty barmaid with the million-dollar legs, at the Cock & Bull pub. She had caught him staring at Jennifer and Sharon's flip flop discarded feet as they'd sat on the high barstools chatting to
her. Which had promptly resulted in his painful and humiliating punishment by the three of them – and, right in front of Debbie, too!

Their summary chastisement: Jennifer and Sharon – the Barstool Blondes – each delivering a resounding, stinging slap to his face; and Joan the barmaid, slowly pouring his almost untouched ice-cold pint of lager over his head ... And,
even now, he could still hear the highly delighted, uproarious cheers of approval of the Cock & Bull's half-sloshed Friday-night drinkers ... And Joan the barmaid's highly censorious: "Just give me one good reason, why I shouldn't ban
you?"

On the 'plus' side, though, it was Joan the barmaid who'd suggested to Jennifer and Sharon that they consider taking James on as their employee. And quite apparently, the seed of an idea that Joan the barmaid had planted had taken root,
and flourished, in the minds of the two reflexologists.

"Hi, Joan!" said Sharon brightly, greeting her friend. "Of course we remember! In fact, you are our next appointment, and we are all ready for you ... Oh, and by the way: me and Jen have taken on a new employee. In fact, you've just
missed her – she's gone to the Job Centre to sign off the dole. Her name is Melanie. She's a real sweetie! And she starts work at Tootsies tomorrow morning."

"Yes, Joan," said Jennifer. "And, believe it or not, but me and Shaz have actually been thinking over your suggestion of taking on a male employee ... and taking it seriously. We want that foot-fetish guy, if we can find him. You know,
Joan, the guy who you caught staring at our feet, in the Cock and Bull? We've found out about some tablets, called 'Inhibitol Ten'. See, the tablets would keep him 'quiet', all during his working day, so that he would actually be able to
concentrate on massaging girls' and women's feet, without getting all—"

Lisa, who'd been listening in to the conversation, piped up, "Ha ha ha! There's someone just like that, in our office! James, his name is. Oh, poor James! He was on the very verge of getting fired from his job, today, because he didn't
come in to work. Ha! But the real reason why the boss, Miss Carson, wants to get rid of him is because he's always staring at our feet – mine, and the other office girls' feet – and not getting any work done. But we all pulled together,
me and the other office girls, and saved James's job – saved him for ourselves, more like! Ha ha ha!

"Oh, I've lost count, of how many 'final' warnings Miss Carson has given him. The girls tease him on purpose! Slipping their feet out of their black leather office pumps, and playing with them, in such a way as he can see the soles of
their feet – we all know he really loves that! I even do it myself. It's ... it's like a lovely sense of power. The idea, that I've actually got him sitting there, getting all hot and bothered, and absolutely pining for my stinky,
pantyhose'd feet!"

James saw Jennifer and Sharon exchange meaningful looks.

"Ha ha ha! laughed Lisa. "Me and the other office girls get a real kick out of it. A real kick, out of having him so helplessly in our power – because he is, you know. He really is. It took us a while to actually cotton on to him ... but
then we did. At least, Maxine did: she was the one who actually sussed him out. I must say, me and the other girls took some convincing, when Maxine first told us of her suspicions – well, I mean! Who wouldn't? But Maxine was right: ever
since we started ... teasing him, James has always been ready and on hand to do the slightest, littlest thing, for us all."

James watched Jennifer and Sharon exchange some more meaningful looks.

Lisa went on, "I suppose we shouldn't do it, really – tease him, I mean. It's because of all of us, after all, that James is always in trouble with Miss Carson ... Having said that, though, we all dragged the 'the foot boy' situation –
that's what we all call him: 'the foot boy' – out into the open, today.

"It actually looks, now, as though Miss Carson has come around to the idea of letting us all have James massage our feet, for us. In between the jobs, that we give him to do, and the errands, that we send him to run, we'll have him serve
us, massaging our feet at our desks.

"We'd been meaning to put the idea to Miss Carson for a while, now. But then today, it all just came to a head ... Of course, Miss Carson will be making good use of James, as well – after all, she is, the boss. Ha ha ha!"

James watched Jennifer and Sharon exchange yet more, meaningful looks.

Jennifer said, "Um ... Lisa, how old is this James? Twenty ... twenty-one?"

"And, what does this James look like, Lisa?" inquired Sharon, her voice betraying her excitement, in her growing conviction that she and Jennifer had so fortunately found their man.

Via the unnatural medium of the mirror, James watched, and listened ...

But the mistress of the mirror's spell over him, had been broken.

Broken, by Debbie.

And so, James was no longer tempted.

No longer tempted ...

Not even by a new job, at Tootsies Pedicure Salon, as Jennifer and Sharon's mobile foot care consultant – their on-the-road, reflexologist and pedicurist.

Where, every workday morning, to ensure that he would be 'quiet', for the next ten hours, he would have been obliged to take an Inhibitol 10 tablet, in their presence.

After which, driving Tootsies' logo'd and fully kitted-out van, he would then have gone from assignment to assignment.

And, at the feet of every female client that Jennifer and Sharon sent him to, he would have fully ... exposed himself, to whatever use, misuse, and downright abuse, as the Tootsies off-premises clients might choose to indulge themselves.

* * *

Monday – 1:30 p.m.


James went down to the Hopwell House residents' car park, and got into his Astra.

It seemed a long time ago now, to James, since he'd last been in his car. But it had only been on Saturday night, when he'd nipped out to his local Tesco before they closed at 10 p.m., for ... provisions.

James put the key in the ignition, and turned it. As usual, his car started up first time, and ticked over as sweetly as ever.

Upon hearing the Astra's engine start up, Joe Jessop, the janitor of the Hopwell House block of flats, put down his stiff-bristled sweeping brush. And James, upon seeing his caretaker friend approaching, rolled down the driver's window
for the imminent confab.

"James! All right, cock-sparrow? I haven't seen you for a few days. And when I saw your girlfriend and her mum leaving, earlier ... well, they weren't neither of them looking too clever. I didn't like to ask, but ... is everything all
right, mate?"

"Yeah, Joe. Thanks, mate. I've just been a bit ... out of sorts, lately. I've had to take half a day off work. But now, everything's okay ... In fact, everything's rosy."

James looked at the Astra's dashboard clock, which read 1:40 p.m. Yes ... he would easily get there in time.

"I'll see you later, Joe," said James, with a wave farewell. And Joe returned the gesture with a smile.

James put the Astra in first gear, and he listened to the sound of the gravel crunching under the tyres as he gently guided his car out of the residents' car park, and onto the road.

The road, to Julia Carson & Associates.

* * *

On the way to work, James was wondering how he'd word his advertisement in the local newspaper ...

And then he hit on it.

'Large, attractive antique mirror, with an ornately carved hardwood frame. Just £20 – a bargain, in anyone's book'.

And then James found himself chuckling ... and then giggling ... and then laughing out loud.

Chuckling, and giggling, and laughing out loud, as he wondered who the next owner of the mirror would be.

The next owner, to find himself ... enchanted, by the mistress of the mirror.



The End.