Girl In The Mirror

Chapter One-1

Chapter One

Aimee Wynn Bloom exited the family home for the last time, leaving in the dead of night, lest her scheme be found out by those who had no business knowing her business. There was no one in the house to say goodbye to. Her family was gone: father killed in a railroad accident, her mother dying of diphtheria months later, her sister following shortly afterwards and her little brother gone to live with the aunt who had decided that Aimee could never raise a child properly. She was too silly a girl. The old woman made this assessment quickly, when she found Aimee fervently kissing a boy in the woodshed, wrapped in a clench so tight and so intertwined that one could only assume they would soon be grappling on the dusty floor, seeking bare flesh.

“Do what you like, girl,” she told Aimee, as she pulled the eight-year-old Jarrod from his sister’s side. “But don’t come back to visit until you’re properly situated. Your brother belongs to me now.”

Aimee was tempted to argue, but it took few brains to realize that no one would come to her defense in her small village. Aimee was the senseless, frivolous one—the dreamer, the romantic, the slightly ‘off’ young woman with her head stuck in the clouds or in books. She’d never amount to anything. She might make a decent wife, some supposed—if you had a firm man standing over her. And she might bear children others speculated—but what good is a mother if she’s too preoccupied with her daydreams to take care of her young? Perhaps a poet, a writer or an artist, but what use are they in a place where being practical is a daily necessity?

This was the general evaluation of Aimee Wynn Bloom by those who knew her. When she was left an orphan with one young sibling, she was hardly able to take care of herself—in her aunt’s opinion—let alone a rambunctious child. When Aimee abruptly moved to the city, everyone was shocked she had the spunk, the determination and the cleverness to make such a drastic change in her life. But Aimee didn’t see herself the way other people saw her. She understood that she was a dreamer, given to fantasy and romantic ideals, but she understood as well, that inside her beat the heart of a much stronger woman than anyone would guess. She knew how to be practical—her mother, her aunt, the village, and the circumstances of living in a farming community had taught her that much—she just preferred her own way when it was feasible. When her ‘own way’ wasn’t prudent, she knew how to live efficiently. She knew she’d needed to get a decent position in the city and find decent quarters to live in. That was exactly what she planned to do the moment she stepped off the train.

As she walked from the train station toward town, looking for a proper single ladies hotel, she passed a general merchandize store with a sign in the window, “Clerk for hire.” Marching inside the shop with her head held high and a sincere smile on her face, she declared to the proprietor, “I believe I’m the woman you need.” Although her palms were sweating and her voice threatening to crack, she managed to contain her nervousness.

“Ya do, huh?” the wrinkled elderly woman shuffled toward her, peering up at her sideways through a pair of thick glasses. She held her cane in front of her with both bony hands to steady her balance and scrutinized the lovely face before her. “Used to hard work?” she asked.

“I was raised on a farm. I’ve known my share.”

“And what do you know about a business like this?”

Aimee stared around. “Not very much, but these are the things of general living, food, clothing, sewing items. I’m familiar with them all, and I’m very smart.”

“I’ll bet you are,” the old lady teetered a bit as she continued to stare at the girl. It was as though she couldn’t take her eyes off this pluckish innocent. “Ya pay attention to you work and your deportment. Won’t put up with sullenness, or bad behavior, if you understand what I mean. I run a decent place here and I expect the help to be the same way.”

“Of course, you do,” Aimee smiled.

“When can you start?”

“Right now, if you like.”

“Then start right now,” the old lady said, “I’m Emma Whittier, and you?”

“Aimee Wynn Bloom.”

“Then, Aimee Wynn Bloom, you can get your apron in the back.” Emma Whittier pointed to the doors at the far end of the canned goods. “They’ll be one hanging on the rack there. You can replace it with your coat and leave your bag below it.”

***

A lazy beam of sunshine gave the room a surreal glow, while at the same time casting its sensuous warmth on the entangled lovers. Her thighs were full, her ass plump and round, and from behind, the pooch of her female splendor glistened with the pre-c*m seeping from her v****a. She straddled her lover at his hips, peering down at the thick stalk rising from a wet nest of pubic hair like a pistil from the inside of a flower. Taking the fat member in both her hands, she jacked it hard, while gazing at the man’s euphoric face.

“I think I should tie you down and torture you,” she spat out.

He moaned a bit, and then suddenly jerked from his s****l reverie, saying groggily, “Whaddaya say?’

“That I should like to tie you down the way you tie me.”

“Like hell, you will!”

“Ooo, you are so magnificent when you’re angry,” she c****d her head, letting her red hair tumble to the side, as the curls once piled atop her head fell into a sensuous disarray about her white freckled shoulders.

“You gonna f**k me or not?” the miffed man raised his head and stared her down.

“Oh, you know exactly what I’m going to do,” she seethed. Her hands still held his wondrous prick. They began working again, double time, double fast, making certain that her lover could do nothing more than fall back against the mattress and moan with pleasure.

Satisfied with his response, the redhead rose to her knees and moved forward, positioning her p***y at the top of his p***s head. She swayed teasingly, while the wetness dripping from her p***y mingled with his wet pre-c*m and her internal muscles tightened in expectation. While her hair flailed back and forth about her shoulders, her p***y danced on his tip of his prick until he was practically begging to impale her. Then she finally let her throbbing hole slip over the slick rod, so that the fine stalk was buried deep within her.

“Come ‘ere,” he said, pulling her down to him as their groins rocked together in a steady rhythm. He held her tightly, crushing her big breasts against his chest, feeling her hot n*****s press into him like bullets. He could have easily climaxed in a matter of minutes, but he wanted more from her than something this sexually simple. Reaching down, he felt her ass, gave the bounty a few good squeezes, enough to make her answer with a ringing, “Ouch! You brute!”

“Take it, b***h,” he warned her.

She wriggled down on him more and squeezed her inner muscles about his prick.

He responded, squeezing her ass even harder, then he moved his fingers deep into her anal cleft to find the puckering hole of her anus. As his scheme took shape in his mind, he moistened his fingers in the messy bath where her cunt met his c**k. Then with a merry determination, he inserted two, then three fingers into her asshole with little regard as to how the rude invasion felt to her.

“Yeeah!” she came up breathless as the crude entry sent a nasty jolt throughout her body.

“Humm, don’t you protest, slut,” he purred in her ear. “You love it!”

It had been some weeks since he’d been in her ass with anything—fingers, fist or c**k—and she’d almost forgotten the raunchy pleasure of a good ass screw. But the more he worked the opening, jabbing his fingers deep within, the more her memory of that unique satisfaction returned. Though it was an awkward reach, in short order he managed to have made sufficient space inside her ass for his four fingers with the thumb tucked between them. He f****d her rudely then with a double penetration that made the redhead delirious and a bit mad. “Oh, oh, oh,” she panted rapidly as the two holes spasmed. Her entire body jerked crazily. She was about to come, but not quite there.

Suddenly, just before the pleasure peaked, her lover pulled his hand from her ass. While keeping her cunt firmly impaled with his c**k, he grabbed her about the waist, rocked to his side, and rolled her over on her back, his hips now astride her hips.

“Gotcha now!” he rose up from her chest and pinned her hands above her head. Holding them with one hand, he then fumbled at the bedside stand for a scarf. Finding what he was hunting for, he tied her wrists together and fastened the loose end of the scarf to a slat in the metal bed frame. “There! You think you can tie me!”

“Ooo, you horrible man,” she whined, although there was little displeasure in the act. She stared up at him with eyes blazing, “Please, darling, just f**k me!”

“Oh, indeed I will.” Keeping himself propped up on his arms, he pounded her with powerful thrusts, driving his c**k into her with relentless zeal.

She was oblivious to his cruelly lit eyes or the scowl on his face. She was oblivious even when he sat back on her groin and slapped her t**s until both were red. Her hips thrashed back and forth; it was a rocky ride. “Yes, darling yes!” She was coming. “Harder! More! Yes, yes yes!”

“Oh, yes, you’ll get it hard, little bitch.” He pulled his c**k from her p***y, leaving her groaning as her latest orgasm slipped away. Moving off, he tossed her to her stomach, and raised her hips high. While her head and chest and bound hands remained shoved to the mattress, she swayed her naughty bottom before his lust filled eyes.

“Been too long since I’ve been in your ass,” he declared, while working the hole again with his fingers. He slapped her ass cheeks, bringing a bright pink glow to the pearly surface.

If he’d started on her cold, she might have hated every smack, but not now. Now, the hurt just fueled the furnace and the furnace roared with fire.

He fingered her asshole again, this time shoving as much of his hand into her rectum as would easily go. He could have forced it all inside, but that he’d do another day.

“Yes, yes, f**k my ass!” he finally heard her cry.

“My pleasure, dear w***e,” he said with a good deal of mirth. Exchanging his hand for his c**k, he shoved his prick between her cheeks, far beyond the opening, and began a steady rhythm, with his thighs slapping noisily against her rear end.

The redhead exploded in orgasm almost instantly, and for all his desire to wait and let the orgasm build slowly, he couldn’t hold back the powerful force. With a few swift thrusts into the tight-muscled channel, he came, spewing himself deep into her entrails, as he cried out something unintelligible in the guttural language of s****l climax.

“You ever going to untie me?” Angelica looked imploringly at Jonas. She batted her lashes at him flirtatiously, a bit penitently, knowing that he was better wooed with sweetness than demands. Her green eyes danced with glee.

“Maybe,” he said lifting himself from the bed. He poured some water into the porcelain basin on the washstand and began to wash himself.

“I really should get to work, darling,” Angelica piped up again. “You know Mrs. Whittier when she’s cross.”

“No, I don’t think I do,” Jonas said flatly. “I try to stay away from the old bag if at all possible.”

“She’s not an old bag. It’s just her arthritis that makes her complain.” The redhead twisted in her scarf bondage, hoping to draw Jonas’ attention to her.

“Well, then, she should retire and let you take over.”

“Would be nice. But I wouldn’t count on it.”

“Save me having to make my deliveries. I could concentrate on what’s important.”

“And I support you?”

“I’m self-supporting,” he snapped indignantly. “It’s just that art sometimes takes time.”

“You think that newspaper is art?” she said gently.

“Art of the common people, and it’s gaining readers every day.”

“Every day until the authorities shut you down for peddling smut.”

“Smut sells, dear girl. As long as I have enough readers in fancy suits, I know I’ll be safe. I give them what they can’t get anywhere else, a little tease. Most of their wives have gone so dry their cunts would crack if they got fucked.”