This is the first two parts of a four part series. I thought that the first part, while fun, was a little slow to post by itself. I think we hit a nice stand alone stopping point at the end of part two, but I still intend to post the second half once its written. enjoy!
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Part One - The Mirror
Abel Williams was a Bull Moose, despite now-president Wilson's crushing victory. Abel believed in a nation ruled by the people, not Vanderbilt or JP Morgan, though his investment portfolio perhaps suggested hypocrisy in the matter. He supported racial equality, and especially the suffragettes; after all, the wisest person he knew was a woman, and she was responsible for his reputation as something of a financial prodigy.
Behind his back, though whispers reached him nonetheless, it was speculated that Abel enjoyed the company of men. His continued bachelor status at twenty eight, for all he was handsome and wealthy, did him no favors. This reputation was about as true as his reputation for financial genius; that is to say, it was certainly possible, but largely untested. He had no doubts that he enjoyed women, regardless. It was just that the mirror made things, well, complicated. The mirror herself was complicated.
Abel turned his thoughts from his complicated personal life, from the large study in his home into which no one, not even Abel's servants, were ever allowed. He palmed the several keys in his hidden sack coat pocket for reassurance, before fishing a generous dime out of his striped silk vest to tip his driver, Thomas. This was accepted with gratified, but unsurprised thanks, as Abel climbed the steps to his public office at a brisk clip. He hung his spotless homberg neatly on the hat rack by the door, and greeted his secretary, Alice.
Alice was a bold young woman, even by Abel's progressive standards, who wore a brunette bob framing an attractive jaw, and even wore pants so that she could bike to work! This of course, would have her fired by any of Abel's older or more conservative peers, but he rather enjoyed the flush of pique on men who had to come to him for financial consultancy anyway. He also enjoyed the view of Alice's bicycle toned ass through the soft fabric as she pushed the French press to strain his coffee. Had he considered himself less scrupulous, he might have done more than look, but Alice always displayed her stunning and sharp hat pin prominently; respect was mutually beneficial. Still, Abel sometimes wondered how she would look wearing only her heeled leather boots and black feathered hat, and he flattered himself that the twenty two year old found him attractive.
Why wouldn't she, after all? Abel exercised regularly, and cut a tall, slender figure with broad enough shoulders. His exquisitely tailored pinstriped three-piece accentuated all of these strengths subtly, and his short cropped blonde hair was just long enough for a slight curl at the front. His strong mustache was perhaps not the most fashion forward, but he imagined that it spoke to his political loyalty, and added some gravitas to his youthful face. Lips full enough to be considered almost feminine resided beneath a Roman nose, and clear amber eyes which seemed to catch all the light in a room.
Still, bold as this young suffragette was, she seemed close to a Southern Baptist compared to the far older woman Abel was familiar with. If he were to picture Alice doing some of the things that he had seen recently...Well, best retire to his office with coffee before his secretary could read his prurient thoughts. Alice's low soprano voice followed him as he sat in his olive leather and mahogany chair. "Your 8:30 is on her way in!"
Before Abel had time to object that he didn't have an eight thirty, or question the gender pronoun, a storm rolled into his office. His mustache tingled and the natural light pouring into the office seemed to dim as if bowing to unmistakable power.
Power was dressed in the neoclassical manner currently popular in France. Her dress spoke to ancient togas and modern stitching, a shower of white folds capped with a dark nimbostratus bust. Her wide hat and black neatly-tied hair spoke to the midnight sky, with a lightning burst of white feathers, and the delicate, effeminate hat pin of a woman who had never needed to stab someone with it. A curved jawline, button nose, and Mediterranean complexion warmed the image slightly without undermining it. The impression was completed by regal lips, and green eyes like whips, which snapped across the room, asserting sharp dominion across everything within.
Her smile also evoked lightning, dazzling, white, dangerous, and brief, as she introduced herself to Abel. "Thank you for taking this meeting. My name is Circe"
"Kirkay?" Abel replied, impolite in his pre-caffinated startlement. Some instinct told him not open the small shaving mirror that he usually surreptitiously brought to meetings. "what a unique name. I don't believe I've encountered it before."
"I'd wager that you have," the woman replied enigmatically, "but that is immaterial. More important is what I can offer you." Without invitation, she sat in the chair opposite Abel's desk and removed black gloves. Her green-eyed gaze filled his consciousness as she continued. "I break curses."
Abel burned his tongue slightly on his coffee as he paused in shock, and then coughed as he hastily swallowed to avoid rudely spitting the bitter liquid. His reply sounded unconvincing even to himself, shaky and stiff, "you must think me superstitious."
"No," the woman leaned forward, excitement surging in her eyes, seeming to dim the room still farther. "Some men have an old locket, or a cursed comb set aside in an attic, that they have handled once or twice, and thought about even less. The scent of magic is soft on them, like cologne on a jacket worn last week. They require pretense. They require convincing. You? You swim in it. Anyone with second sight on the city block can feel it. You know that magic better than most men know their wives."
Abel's veins ran cold and his jaw tightened as he forced out a reply, "I think it is time for you to leave."
"You know nothing of magic. Trifling with it will get you killed!"
"Good Day, madam." Abel finished, gesturing out the office door.
"I'll be back. You will know you need that curse broken."
With that, Circe swept from the room, leaving Abel blinking in the light.
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Abel leaned back on his chair before a large square mirror, which stood taller than his own six feet, and wider than his own broad shoulders. Glimmers of silver flickered in the steady incandescent light, in the few spots where the old gilding of the inlaid silver frame had worn through. Were this a normal mirror, Abel would see a well-toned nude, tall and slim, staring at himself, legs apart, one strong hand clutching the leg of the chair behind him, the other oiled and steadily stroking his cock. This was not a normal mirror.
The room was reflected in the mirror; a sybaritic oriental rug, a wall shelf full of books on all manner of serious subjects, and even the ornate chair upon which Abel should see his lewd exertions, were all present. He, however, was absent, and instead a short rose gold blonde with long wavy hair lay on her back on the carpet, feet apparently braced on either side of the inside of the mirror above her, mirroring only his expression of sexual intensity. One hand was moving fast enough almost to blur on her clit, the other penetrating herself at that awkward angle a woman is confined to when left without prop or partner. A 14 karat Morrison's fountain pen, thankfully still on Abel's desk in his world, glimmered like treasure clutched within an asshole barely visible at this angle. She moaned an alto stream-of-consciousness between ragged breaths, as she thirstily drank in Abel's attention. "Yeah watch me, fucking see me, look at this dripping pussy while you stroke yourself with that big fucking cock. Goddamn I want to feel a cock again, if you could get in here, I'd fuck you for the next ten weeks straight and leave you bruised and out of cum for the next ten years you dirty fucking slut boy. I'd lick your ass while I jerked you with both hands into a goblet and then shower myself in it while I sit on your face, fuck, Fuck, FUCK!"
The woman's legs flexed ineffectively against the mirror wall as she unleashed an inarticulate cry of animal lust. Her head twitched to the left in sympathy with each rolling squeeze of her latest orgasm. Her alto monologue gave way to quiet soprano gasps, which then slowly faded to silence as her tremors halted. Having already finished once, Abel found himself still pumping fruitlessly when Lydia recovered.
Lydia repositioned to kneel facing Abel, the golden pen disappearing behind her, and teased him. "Your dirty talk has been quieter than usual today. Have you been thinking about that slut Alice at your office? I don't think she has a silver backed mirror, but I think she borrowed her mother's handheld to look at her snatch last week. Come over here and spray me. I bet you don't get Alice kneeling with your pen in her ass begging for your cum like this, do you?"
At that, Abel stood and stepped next to the mirror, one hand resting against its frame, and began groaning as he thrust into the air, his hands causing some slight chafing with the pressure, despite the scented oil he was using, and felt his orgasm preparing to explode from his battered cock. He looked straight down into Lydia's blue eyes and outstretched tongue, as a slightly painful, but eminently powerful orgasm tore through him, splattering his side of the mirror. Lydia made a show of licking at it through the glass, to no effect.
As Abel sat again with buckling legs, she reported casually, "The 16th amendment is almost certain to ratify next month, so move your holdings out of raw cash flow, and into growth stock until they sort out what this income tax is going to look like. You can make cash as needed with government shipping contracts; if the commissioner tries to cut a deal with somebody else, just ask him how Roger is doing, and he should play ball. Any figures with known mirrors you want spied on specifically?"
He hadn't quite caught his breath yet, but decided it was time to bring her up. "Possibly. Have you heard of a woman named Keerkay?"
"I have, and so have you. She is a real A-lister. Far more powerful sorceress than I ever was, even before the mirror fiasco. Ever heard of a guy named Odysseus? "
Abel's jaw dropped a little, but he recovered quickly enough. "Well, she came to my office today. Said that I reeked of curse magic, and that she can break them."
Lydia's eyebrows raised, and she grabbed a breast thoughtfully. "I've always told you to keep my secret, because there are American sorcerers and witches who would rather break the mirror than break the curse. But Circe, I don't think Circe gives a fuck about young American feuds."
