Mirror Mirror

Part 1. Him.

The Image.

He stood before the bathroom mirror drawing the razor across his chin. As he looked at his reflected image, he remembered when he had started shaving about four years ago. The whiskers had been fluff then, soft and downy, now the hair had grown stiff and thick. As he recalled this, he also remembered that it was about the time of his first shave that he noticed hair growing in his groin and that his sexual organ seemed to be getting bigger. At night, his dreams centred more and more round girls - naked girls with firm breasts and willing bodies. He started to wake with a sticky mess in his bed.

Soon after, he had listened to other boys in at high school talking of their penile adventures and he learned the release of masturbation. After this, there had been the odd awkward fumbling of girls and attempts to get into their cunts, but so far, he had not scored.

Now, as he looked at himself, he tried to assess his appearance. Five feet ten and still growing. Not a bad looking body, and still more to come, he hoped. His sexual organ was well grown by now. Not the fantastic size some of the guys at university boasted about but never showed, or the enormous cocks the Internet pornography displayed, but quite a nice size for his age.

As he thought of his cock, a vision of "her" came into his mind. He began to get an erection. He didn't want this. He didn't want the agony of his need for her, his desperate longing for her body. The pain of frustration was too much. Every day since he was first conscious of himself, he had wanted her in one way or another, but only recently had this need taken the clear shape of sexual desire.

He tried to ignore his now pulsating penis, but he knew from experience that it was a losing battle. His excitement grew and raged inside him. Visions of her naked and open to him rose up in his head. He prayed, "Please, dear God, don't let me feel like this. Don't let me want her. Make her dirty and ugly& anything&but don't let me have the pain of wanting her so badly." God did not answer.

His erection raged and the first little droplets oozed from his penis. Now the inevitable, he masturbated. As he tugged at himself visions of her, naked and throbbing under him burned through his brain. He was whispering, "I want you, I want you," and suddenly he came, shooting his sperm into the washbasin. His storm of sexual desire began to subside, but her image did not go away.

The Kitchen Table.

He carefully washed the mess from the basin, and then cleaned his penis. Walking into the kitchen he found her sitting at the table drinking coffee and reading the newspaper, still in her nightdress, a flimsy affair with shoulder straps about as thick as a piece of string, the top cut low to reveal a large area of breast. "Oh God," he thought, "why does she have such beautiful breasts?" He knew that the hem of the nightdress barely reach mid thigh, but her legs were beneath the table just now. He longed to see them and not see them, filled with lust yet wanting not to have the ache of that lust.

She looked up as he came in. "Please God, don't let her smile that lovely smile at me?" She smiled. He sat and ate his breakfast and about halfway through one of her shoulder straps slipped down, revealing one nipple before she casually drew the strap up again.

He finished and went for his university bag, trying to get out of the house without a goodbye from her, but too late, she stood waiting for him by the door. He offered his cheek to her, but she turned his head and kissed him softly on the lips. He fled, his already half erect penis now surging up to full size. He fled to masturbate in the Language Department toilets.

Home Again.

It was a warm day, so he knew what he would find when he got home. She would be in her bikini the one with little more than a thread passing under her crotch revealing her shaven groin, and the bikini top serving little more purpose than under lift, and so revealing her breasts almost to her nipples. He would be able to see the slight swelling mound above her slit, and when she sat on the couch with her legs up, the cloth would sink in to reveal the shape of her opening.

He dragged out the journey home, fearing the torment that would lash him in her near naked presence. "Why does she torture me like this?" he thought, "Doesn't she know what she does to me? How much I want her?" He longed and dreaded to see her body, alive as she was with female sensuality. He knew he would have to masturbate again to attain some temporary relief from his desperate desires. "O God," he prayed, "why is she so near, and yet so far from me?"

On his arrival, the house was quiet. "Gone out somewhere!" he muttered, and went to the kitchen to get a drink. The kitchen window looked onto the patio, and glancing out, he saw her. She lay on the sun lounger, apparently asleep, with her bikini top off. He saw the full swelling of her breasts, surmounted by firm pink nipples with light brown aureoles. He had never seen her breasts completely exposed before, and they were lovelier than even his fantasies had imagined.

His mind reeled and he almost said out loud, "No, please, don't let me see, don't let me see, I want her so badly, don't let me see." He had a hot raging erection, and there, in the kitchen, he had barely touched his penis before it erupted. His sperm covered the floor at his feet, and fearful she might wake, come in, and see, he quickly mopped it up,

Again he had that short respite from his passionate desires, but he knew it would be only temporary. In the evening she would shower early and put on her seductive nightdress, and would expect him to sit with her on the couch to watch television. She would sit close, and he would smell the perfume of her soap mingled with what he thought of as "Her woman smell." He would have to try to hide his erection from her, fighting the urge to reach out and touch her breasts and put his hand, and even his tongue, into her womanhood. Every such evening added to his anguish.

Through the window, he saw her rise and put her top on. She came into the kitchen, smiled and kissed him on the lips. Still bikini clad she began to prepare the evening meal. He fled to his room and tried to study.

The Evening's Entertainment.

After the meal he took a shower and completed an essay. He hung around in his room for some time, dreading the evening of sexual arousal that he knew would follow his arrival in the lounge. When eventually he did leave his room and enter the lounge, he saw that he had been wrong about the sexy nightgown. She was lying back in the corner of the couch clad only in panties and bra, and these of the very skimpiest and see through.

She was watching the news on television, but looked up, smiled, and patted the couch beside her. He obediently sat down where she indicated. As the news finished, she used the remote control to turn the set off, and lay back further on the couch. He noticed that her hand was lightly resting between her legs, as if to draw attention to what lurked there.

Again his penis came erect and he tried to sit so as to hide it. He could hardly excuse himself so soon and sneak off to relieve himself once more. As she had turned the television set off, he thought she wanted to talk, but nothing was said. He found he could not open a conversation because of the lump in his throat. She took her hand away from her genitals, sighed softly, and drew her legs up, parting them slightly. Through the diaphanous material of her panties, he could see the pink lips of her vagina, and his stomach lurched. He smelt her female odour more powerfully than ever before. He felt sick with craving and was starting to shake.

He made an effort to look away and then, in a desperate move to escape the source of his suffering he started to rise. As he did so, he felt her hand touch his. He looked down at her. She smiled and drew him down. His mind reeled and he tried to rise again, but she still held his hand. She slid close to him and leaned over to kiss him. As her mouth came to his, she flicked her tongue over his lips. His lips opened and her tongue thrust through, seeking every cranny of his mouth.

Now he was lost in utter confusion that mingled with insane craving for her. He was almost ejaculating in his shorts, which were already soaked with his precum. She pulled his hand to her breast and squeezed his fingers round it. He groaned, and her arms reached behind her to release the bra. It fell between them, and she pulled his head to her breast and placed a nipple against his mouth. He took it into his mouth and began to lick and suck. His other hand she drew down between her thighs.

He had learnt enough from his fumbling with the girls at school to know what to do. He removed her panties and his fingers found her opening and began to slice in and out of it. She was soaked with female discharge, and started to make little whimpering noises. She moved away from him a little, and turned in the seat, so that he, kneeling before her on the floor could enter her with his tongue. As he pushed into her with his tongue, his hands continued to press her breasts and nipples. Her cries increased.

Suddenly she moved him away, rose, and pushed him face up on the floor. She tore off his shorts and almost pounced on his penis, licking and sucking it like a woman possessed. He was now on the very verge of coming, but she moved away again, only to kneel over him and draw his penis against the lips of her vagina.

She wailed as she lowered herself onto him. She beat up and down on his sexual organ in a frenzy of sexual madness, her female fluids pouring out of her and onto his groin. He could hold out no longer. With a scream of anguish, he poured into her, thrusting and heaving as she began an orgasm of immense power.

They climaxed with yells and screams to raise the dead, then grew quiet as they subsided. After a while she looked at him and smiled a tender, loving smile.

He looked at her, and murmured, "Oh, my beautiful mother!"

She responded, "Oh, my lovely son!"

* * * * *

Part 2. Her.

Day Begins.

She rose early after a night disturbed by frustrated sexual desire. She masturbated twice during the night, but this gave her little relief from her passionate needs. "Oh God," the thought, "How can I get through another day?"

She preferred to shower in the evenings so as to be fresh and clean when she sat with him watching television. Now, as she washed her genitals and anus, "just in case," she looked at herself in the mirror. "Nearly forty years old," she thought, "Three years now since Jeff was killed in that car accident, and no man has touched me."

She hadn't wanted any man to touch her for at least two years. The agony of Jeff's death had flung her into the depths of bereavement and despair. Jeff had been her friend, her helpmate and her lover. His death had torn the very meaning of existence from her and she had been inconsolable. She had neglected the house, the garden and most all, him.

Now things had changed. Over the past twelve months she had come to herself once more and set about getting things in order, but this had both positive and negative effects. She rejoiced in getting the house and garden straight, and helping him to achieve his goal of going to university, but it had also released once more her innate sensuality the sensuality Jeff had so prized and fulfilled for her. Now, as she stood naked before the mirror, she could see her firm round breasts and erect nipples, the slim body sweeping down to the swelling of hips and thighs, and below the slightly rounded belly, the shaved cleft of her womanhood.

She knew she looked good; knew that many men desired her, but her hunger had only one object, and that a sinful one. She spoke to God; "God, if my desire is sinful, why did you make me so as to be able to feel and crave like this?" God remained silent.

Breakfast Torment.

She put on her night dress again, knowing that it exposed more than it covered, despairing it would achieve anything, but hoping he would notice, would& "Would what?" She knew the answer, but did not dare give it form. She went down stairs to prepare breakfast.

While preparing breakfast she heard him showering and could picture him naked under the spray, perhaps washing his penis now, fondling it as she longed to do. The shower went silent. He would be shaving, shaving the face that was almost the mirror image of Jeff s. "Not long before he will come in for his breakfast& Must look casual. Mustn't give any hint of lust for him& Must pretend that my vagina is not wet with longing. Sit down&read the paper&anything to distract from the craving."

He entered the room, and her thoughts ran on: "He looks a little depressed and barely notices me. He sits down and begins breakfast. I smile at him and he doesn't smile back. Instead, he looks distracted. What's wrong with him? Does he have study problems? I should ask, but fear that my voice will be unsteady and he will know what I'm feeling. Try to get his attention&let the thin strap of my nightdress slip from my shoulder&expose a nipple&he must notice. He glances across at me and must have seen my breast before I cover it again, but he doesn't react."

He left the breakfast table in haste and she headed for the door. He seemed to avoid her lately as he departed for lectures. She wondered if she has upset him, or if he found her offensive in some way. He approached the door and turned his cheek to her for the farewell kiss. "By God, no," she screamed inside, "I shall have something." She placed her hand on his chin and turned his head to kiss his mouth. He went quickly.

Alone, she starts to weep as she feels her female fluid start to rundown her thighs. There is the day's work before her, but first she must try to relieve herself of the awful sexual stress that seemed to engulf her entire being. She goes into the living room, stretches out on the couch and places her fingers inside her vagina.

The Day Goes On.

She gave herself some sexual relief and then went to the bathroom to wash her hands. After dressing, she began the day's tasks, but like everyday for months now, and despite her masturbation, her unfulfilled longing for him oppressed her constantly. She had to relieve herself twice more, weeping as she had her orgasms weeping, because this was not the reality she so longed for.

She knew what time he would be home and by mid afternoon she began preparations for the evening meal. Have completed the preliminaries she executed a little plan that had been buzzing around in her head for the past two hours.

"Let him see my breasts," she meditated. "Let him see the source of his first nourishment, the place that men long to touch and suck." She would be cunning in how she went about it. When he came home, he was sure to enter the kitchen at some time. The kitchen window looked out onto the patio. She would put on her flimsiest bikini, but leave the top off. She would lay on the sun lounger and pretend she had dropped off to sleep while sun bathing.

"Surely he must respond to that?" she thought. "Surely he cannot be totally immune to what so many men long for?" She checked the best position for the sun lounger so anyone looking from the kitchen window must see her, and lay down.

A Bit of a Let Down.

Alert to every sound from the house, she heard him arrive home. He moved around the house, probably looking for her. Then she heard the refrigerator door open and close as he helped himself to a drink. Through narrowed eyes, she saw his upper half appear at the window and look out. She knew he saw her, but he pulled back quickly from the window. There was silence from the kitchen.

She lay on the lounger a little longer, desperately hoping he would come out to her, and finally giving up she rose and slowly, and in case he was still watching, she seductively put on her top and went into the kitchen. He was standing there gazing into space, so she went up to him, and pressing close, kissed him on the lips.

He hastily left the room, and she turned with a sigh to the final preparations for their meal.

The Evening.

They ate in silence and when they had finished and he had helped with the washing up, he went to his room to complete an essay and she to the bathroom for her evening shower.

After her shower, she went to her bedroom to dress for the evening. It was her habit in recent months, if no visitors were expected, to simply slip into her nightdress. It was a very flimsy garment, and it served the double purpose of allowing her to feel comfortable, and hopefully, to draw his attention. Having put it on and making to leave the room, she stopped at the door and turned back. She would use another ploy.

Opening a draw, she searched through the underclothes lying there, and finally found what she wanted. It was a set of panties and bras made of very transparent material that she had recently bought and not yet worn. She put on the panties and noticed that the top of them came only just above her vagina thus exposing her mound. The cloth that ran under her crotch was of the scantiest, and melted nicely into the slit of her sexual organ. The top did no more than give her breasts some under lift, which in any case they did not need. She was exposed almost to the nipples - if the top slipped down by four or five millimetres, they would be revealed.

She prayed again, "O God, in that you have made me a sexual being, and given me overwhelming desire for him, let me have him tonight." God made no comment.

She went to the living room and turned on the television. She had no idea when he would leave his room to join her perhaps not at all but she must be ready. She sat low in the corner of the couch, bringing one knee onto the seat so her legs were spread. This way he must see her vagina so barely covered by her panties.

She waited through a dull sit com, then the news came on. Half way through the news she heard him coming, and checked her position again. When he entered the room she patted the seat beside her in what she hoped was a casual manner. She saw him hesitate for a moment as he took in her clothing or the lack of it and hesitantly sat where she indicated. She let the news run on, unseen or heard by her. Her sexual stress grew, her mind raging with erotic imagery. She felt herself getting wet in the groin, "My God," she thought, "he must notice." When the news finished, she turned the television set off and they sat in silence. Then she saw the swelling in his shorts and a spreading patch of wetness, and his eyes fixed upon her sexual organ.

He started to rise and this was crucial moment. If she failed to act now the chance might never come again. She reached out and touched his hand. He hesitated, half-standing. She took his hand more firmly and drew him back beside her. She felt him quivering, and to try to indicate her need, she placed her hand over her soaking vagina. After a few moments she removed her hand and put it behind his head, drawing it down to hers. She kissed him on the lips, opening her mouth and opening his lips with her tongue. He responded, digging his tongue deep and hungrily into her with muffled groans.

For a minute, they kissed, then she pulled his hand down to her breast, and reached behind to release her bra. It fell between them and she brought his head down for him to suck her nipple. He sucked, and his hand sought and found her opening and entered.

This was no orderly or casual lovemaking. It was a wild and ecstatic release of long pent up passion, each of them now realising how long their desire had been mutual, and madly trying to make up for all the lost moments when they had been so desperate in their need, and failed to act.

She pushed him to the floor, he ripped off her panties, she spread her legs to expose fully the place he lusted for, and his tongue was lashing in and out of her. She waited, enthralled by every thrust of his tongue, until she could no longer restrain herself. She pushed him away and onto his back, tearing at his shorts, and then fell upon his erection with her mouth, sucking and licking, drawing him deep inside.