Chapter One

The shop was dusty and crammed full of knickknacks and antiques; old solid wood dining chairs, delicate side tables waxed glossy, intricately carved armoires, some with mirrors on the doors - mirrors that had lost the silver backing in spots. The antique shop was chock-a-block with remnants from a gentler era when time moved slowly to the rhythm of man, to hand-written letters, gas lights, horses and carriages, servants and valets, honour, values.

You could wander around in the shop and let your imagination take flight with each antique; that dining table could have been set in a country mansion with fine bone china plates and silver platters of food on it, a sterling silver candelabra casting yellow candlelight over the family eating dinner as silent servants hovered in the dark background; that four-post bed frame might have been draped with lacy curtains in the Master's bedroom, the lady of the house supine under cotton covers, hair pinned up, watching her husband undress for bed, a fireplace flickering as it beat back the cold English winter. The antique shop was, for me, a brief vacation from life, from the dullness of repetition, the struggle of modern living. In a shop such as this I could imagine living in a kinder, gentler and slower time. It was most appealing, if only a dream.

"Can I help you?"

The voice was old, soft and deep, upper-crust, of higher education; Eton or Cambridge. It came from behind me. But turning revealed no one just stacks of chairs. "Excuse me?" I asked as a way of locating the man, sort of like a sonar, sending out a noise and waiting for a returning echo.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

I realised my mistake. Glancing down to the right I spotted a grizzled but clean-shaven face, bright blue eyes twinkling at me from behind a stack of chairs. Hunched, he stood less than five feet tall. White hair was cut long to below his collar, sweeping back off a high forehead. Silver wire-framed glasses perched on a regal nose and below, a welcoming smile revealed clean ivory-coloured teeth. Had I tried to picture an antique shop owner it would have been him, right down to the brown herringbone jacket with brown leather elbow patches. The shirt underneath had been white at some period in its life but was now cream, collar slightly askew. It hadn't felt the heat of an iron in a long time.

I smiled. "Just browsing," I said.

"Well then, feel free to roam. There are more rooms back there," he said, pointing through an archway. "Let me know if I can be of service."

The back rooms, a series of three, smelled musty and mouldy. Old leather armchairs with faded brass rivets filled one room, some in cracked brown leather, some with worn dark green leather, others with black leather, some high-backed, some low. More solid wood dining chairs and dark, glossy but dusty dining tables with intricately carved legs filled the second room, Georgian, French, and Victorian eras well represented. Rolled-top and leather inlayed desks could be seen here and there. The third room was packed with knickknacks and side tables for living rooms and dining rooms, étagères, bookcases, and chest of drawers. I wandered and lived with the old furniture. It calmed me.

Returning to the front of the shop I found the owner fussing at an ancient desk that functioned as his checkout. Intelligent light-blue eyes studied me.

"You didn't look in the right spot," he said out of the blue.

"Pardon?"

"What you're looking for is over there," he said with a smile, a gnarled finger pointing. His fingernail was clean and trimmed.

I was intrigued, given I wasn't looking for anything, just browsing to enjoy. He must have seen my expression because his smile broadened. "Here," he said, "let me show you."

Rising from the antique chair he'd been resting in, he led me away, a winding path through and around antiques. In the far corner, hidden behind a tall mahogany armoire, he pointed. It was an exquisitely designed and crafted rectangular mirror from what I thought might be the Victorian era, the gilt frame intricately carved to depict vines, grapes and leaves. The mirror itself was in perfect condition despite its age, not one flaw or blemish on the glass.

"It came from the estate of Lord Karlish of Gloucestershire."

"It's very handsome," I admitted.

"Had been in his family for going on one hundred and fifty years, I believe. He passed away without heirs. Estate taxes forced many of his things to be sold, unfortunately. He had exquisite taste. The art collection was particularly impressive."

"Well thanks," I said, turning away.

"You should buy it," he said.

"I don't need a mirror. I was just browsing," I replied, moving away.

"Alright," he nodded. "But you'll be back, I think. That mirror is for you."

No more was said. But his strange comment stuck with me though the week. What did he mean 'that mirror is for you'? It was as fine an example of Victorian era mirrors as I'd ever seen. But, because of that, it was way beyond my means. Yet the mirror stayed with me, too. I couldn't shake it. The following Saturday I found myself back in the small village standing in front of his shop, wondering why I felt compelled to be there.

He spotted me through the mullioned shop windows and smiled. With a wave he invited me in.

A bell tinkled over the door when I opened it.

"It's still there," he said as if I'd visited only yesterday.

I found it. Once again I studied it. It was really quite exquisite. It was large. But what had my attention was the mirror itself. There was a quality to the reflection I found difficult to explain. Reflections seemed to be richer with more depth than I'd expect from ordinary mirrors. There was a texture to the reflection, as if it was three-dimensional. There was something special about it.

"How much?" I asked without turning my gaze away. I could sense him behind me.

"Sixty-three pounds," he replied, shocking me.

"Only sixty-three?" I asked. Mirrors like this sold for hundreds of pounds, some even into the thousands.

"Sixty-three," he repeated. "It's fair. I paid thirty pounds for it. I will make a fair profit. Besides, the mirror is for you. I can't sell it to anyone else."

"I'm sorry. I don't understand," I told him.

"That's okay. You will. Sixty-three pounds, please."

Chapter Two

Standing back, I admired it on the bedroom wall. With a slight adjustment to straighten it perfectly I was satisfied. It had lost none of the fascinating aspect of its reflection I'd seen in the shop. It was a rich reflection, as if everything in the mirror was more real, had more depth, shape, and shadowed texture. In some ways it was hard to draw myself away from it; a most unusual feeling.

That night I went to bed, laying on my front, head on the pillow, my face turned to the wall. I saw myself in the mirror, my dark brown eyes looking back at me. I slept.

Wakefulness arrived suddenly. Eyes opened. I saw myself in the mirror. It felt like I'd been awakened specifically, something tugging me out of my slumber. Dark night reflected back at me, my bedroom faintly visible from distant outdoor lights filtering through the curtained window. I felt compelled to stare. Why?

Sleep slinked back at me; dreamless and deep. The next morning I felt relaxed, calm, satisfied. It was odd. Yet the feeling stayed with me through the day as I monitored London traffic, my job. Multiple screens arranged in a wall let us keep track of the flow of traffic and manage traffic lights to smooth rush hour. At my fingertips I had access to more surveillance cameras than any other city in the world. Had I been so inclined, I could have picked one individual and tracked him or her throughout the day, monitoring where-ever they went. With unparalleled facial recognition software at my fingertips the individual couldn't even disguise him or herself. It was the worst form of "Big Brother" intrusion I could imagine. The only thing missing was being able to see into people's homes.

That night, back home, I stared into the mirror and let sleep drift in, wondering if I'd feel as good tomorrow.

Wakefulness hit. Eyes popped open. I saw myself in bed, my reflection staring back at me. In the mirror, behind me, a child watched, dark hair, big eyes. Rolling quickly, I looked behind me. There was no one there. Glancing at the mirror all I saw was me, in bed, no girl. Had my brain played tricks on me? Had I really seen a child?

Morning came and with it the feeling of calm and satisfaction. The child's face haunted me through the day. Perhaps eight or nine years old, her unrestrained long dark brown hair had fallen over slender shoulders. An expressionless pretty face, small mouth, full lips, and narrow button nose could not detract from her most captivating feature; dark, mysterious eyes too big for her face.

Who was she? Where had I seen her? I must have seen her somewhere. Her details were too clear for her to be a figment of my imagination.

Nothing happened the next night, nor the night after. Yet each day I felt calm and at peace. That, in-and-of-itself, was odd. I couldn't remember feeling so good and so relaxed for so long. Usually it was fleeting moments of satisfaction that were dispelled far too quickly by insecurity ebbing back into me.

The weekend arrived, greeted with pleasure. Forty-eight hours of me-time. Friday night at the Fox and Horn, my local watering hole, was nice. A few pints, some interesting conversation with casual friends - those you only met on weekends and evenings in the pub and never invited closer - and I was feeling good. Full of craft ale, feeling good from boasting about achievements only partially true and claims of a life richer and more significant than reality, I headed home.

The mirror stared back at me. I slept.

Still dark when I woke, I rolled onto my side and stared into the mirror, looking for the girl. I stared back at me. No girl, just my reflection. Why had I woken up? As sleep wafted back at me, as my eyelids drooped, I saw me smile at me. Eyelids closed.

Eyes popped open. I definitely had not smiled, of that I was absolutely sure. But my reflection had. Was I dreaming I was awake? A hard pinch confirmed my condition and caused no small measure of pain. Was I going mad? Is that why I'd been feeling so good recently? Madness?

I stared at me in the mirror, looking for that smile. I wasn't aware of falling asleep.

Saturday arrived with spring sun, a refreshing breeze, mild weather, and a decision to talk to that antique shop owner. I wanted to know more about the mirror's provenance. I wanted to know if he saw the unusual quality of its reflection too, or was it just me?

The bell jangled as I opened the shop's front door. I smelled furniture polish and lemons. He'd been busy bringing order to the chaos. Fewer antiques filled the shop. Everything had been nicely dusted.

"Hello," a female voice said. A middle aged lady stood and smiled at me.

"Good morning," I responded. She looked to be in her early forties. "I wonder if I might have a word with your father," I inquired.

"My father?" Her smile broadened. "That might be problematic. He passed away."

"I'm so sorry. I only just met him and . . ."

She laughed, warm, deep and friendly. "That must have been interesting. Dad passed away seven years ago."

That stopped me for a moment. "I apologize again. It must have been someone else. Last weekend. He was here. He sold me a mirror?"

The lady smiled. "You must be mistaken. Perhaps it was another shop? We've been closed for the last month. Our annual buying trip, you know."

Making some weak excuse, I left, confusion preoccupying me. The return drive to London hardly registered. It was that shop, I was certain. Was she lying? Why would she? What would she gain by lying? Nothing as far as I could tell.

But I'd met the man. I'd talked to him. I'd bought that mirror from him.

That night I stared at me in the mirror. My reflection stared back at me. What are you? I asked. Was I going mad? I wasn't aware of falling asleep.

Chapter Three

I was going mad.

When my eyes popped open, darkness still prevailing, I knew I was going to see something in the mirror. Even though it hadn't made a sound, I was convinced it had called to me; a quiet, "Hey, Richard," in my mind.

Rolling over I looked. She was back, standing behind me in the mirror. I, the "I" in the mirror, was smiling at me. The girl smiled. It lit up the room, that room in the mirror. I felt the radiant warmth of her smile.

Watching, I saw me turn and lay back. I watched her climb onto the bed wearing a shin-length plain white cotton nightgown, no sleeves, lace around the collar. I watched her climb over the reflection of me and lay down on her side facing me. I watched me roll onto my side behind her. My reflection stared at me from the mirror. An arm gently cradled her. She smiled at me, eyes full of pleasure, bright and hypnotic.

Watching them watching me with gentle smiles, sleep returned. I wasn't aware of it. I dreamed of a small girl in my arms.

Sunday was warm and crisp and fresh. Despite the disturbing experience last night I felt good, calm, relaxed. I was beginning to like the condition.

With a cup of strong coffee, I sat at the kitchen table of my cottage, laptop open and started researching on the Internet. Lord . . . What was his name? Kal . . . Kar . . . No. Lord Karlish of Gloucestershire. That was it.

There was very little information on him. That alone surprised me. A Peer of the Realm should have volumes written about him, especially one whose family line traced back so far.

I stumbled upon an obscure reference which led me to another site. That site talked about the Sotheby's art auction that included pieces from the Karlish estate. Sotheby's web site yielded a PDF brochure of all the art pieces. I opened it.

My heart physically stopped for a moment. Staring back at me from a portrait was the antique shop owner. There was no doubt whatsoever. Lord Karlish; portrait painted by Lewis Montrall, circa 1992. How?

I spent the day in the kitchen, searching ever farther, ever deeper, trying to uncover more details of Lord Karlish. I discovered nothing, except one small detail. He'd had a valet, James Pickering. James was still alive.

My reflection in the mirror stared at me as I lay in bed. I stared at it, waiting, wanting to see something. I saw nothing. I wasn't aware of falling asleep.

I knew to open my eyes. I was on my front, head on the pillow, arms crossed underneath, my face turned to the wall with the mirror on it.

She was there, in my arms where she'd been last night, on her side. I was there, spooning her from behind. My reflection smiled. His head rose, he leaned over and kissed her cheek. A radiant, loving smile formed on her pretty face. It was a spectacular smile, bright, sweetly innocent, heart-stopping. She was an unusually beautiful little girl.

I watched as, in the mirror, I caressed her bare arm softly then kissed it. I watched her smile intensify. I saw dark expressive eyes shine.

She turned to face him in a wiggling move, her back turned to me. His hand caressed her small back. He looked at me with a half-smile, bent and, as she turned her face up to him, he kissed the child on her mouth, his hand slipping down to cup her small bottom.

Blood flowed. An erection formed, my penis lengthening, thickening. I pressed it to the bed. The reflection should have shocked me. It should have horrified me. It did neither. The sweet tenderness of the kiss was very arousing. I felt jealous. I could imagine that kiss, my lips touching her small mouth. I could imagine her small bottom in my hand.

My erection strengthened.

I . . . No, my reflection kissed her again, his hand slowly drawing up the hem of her white cotton nightgown. The girl's legs were slender. Her skin appeared silky and unblemished, very pale.

My erection ached and strained when his hand slipped under the edge of her nightgown. Was she wearing panties? If so, what style? What would her sweet little bottom feel like? I wanted to feel it, too.

So absorbed by the hand, I'd missed his eyes closing. Glancing at his face, his nose buried in her silken hair, he looked asleep, the little girl cuddled close.

I watched, loving the sight of me, of him, holding the little girl so gently. I watched them sleep, the adorable girl in his arms. My erection pulsed. I was jealous. Sleep meandered in, eyelids growing heavy despite wanting to stay awake. I dreamed of a sweet little girl, of kissing her gently, tasting her red lips, and holding a succulent little bum in my hand, her scent tickling my nose.

Chapter Four

I knocked on the front door of the semi-detached home. My boss had been accommodating when I'd requested a week off on short notice. I knocked again, harder. A shadow moved behind the frosted glass window. The door opened.

James Pickering was in his late sixties, tall and patrician-looking. He looked more like a Lord than Lord Karlish.

"Yes?" he inquired in an acquired upper crust voice, deep and resonating.

His attire made me smile. The blue and white striped slippers clashed with his dark, neatly pressed slacks and starched white cotton shirt.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Mr. Pickering, but I was hoping you might give me a few minutes of your time."

He looked at me, a slow up and down scan I imagined he used on all the tradesmen who'd called. Perhaps I should not have worn jeans and running shoes. At least my blue sweater was cashmere. I tried to look non-threatening, giving him my trustworthy smile.

"About what?" he asked.

"Lord Karlish," I replied.

His reaction was immediate. "I'm sorry. I don't discuss . . ." he started.

"Please," I pleaded. "You may not believe me, but I met him in an antique shop recently."

James paused, eyes assessing me.

"I bought an old mirror from him," I added.

Some expression flashed through his eyes; interest or knowledge? He backed into the hall, opening the front door. "Well you had better come in then," he said. "Can I pour you a cup of tea?"

I followed him. He led me into a cosy sitting room, everything spotless and neat. Tea was served.

"Tell me about the mirror," James asked, passing me a plate of Digestive biscuits.

"Thank you." Taking one I began. "I bought it in a small antiques shop in Sommerfield. The shop owner was the splitting image of Lord Karlish."

"What does it look like?" James asked, his clear brown eyes watching me very carefully.

"It's about this big," I said spreading my arms. "Gold gilt frame about six inches wide with intricate carvings of vines, grapes and leaves. The mirror itself is in perfect condition, without a flaw. It has an unusual reflective quality . . ."

"Yes, a very unusual quality," he interrupted, nodding and leaning back into the armchair.

"So you know it."

"Yes."

I waited. When he didn't elaborate I asked, "What can you tell me about it?"

"That's what you came to see me about? The mirror?"

"Yes."

"Hmm. I'm surprised you aren't asking me about seeing Lord Karlish."

I smiled. "That comes next."

James smiled slightly. "Let me see," he said looking up to the ceiling and thinking. "Lord Karlish treasured that mirror above all else. We'd been sorting through the accumulated odds and ends stored in the attic over the past decades when I came across a locked trunk. Lord Karlish, when I informed him of it, ordered it to be opened. That was the first time I saw the mirror. It was a handsome piece, too.

"Lord Karlish took one look at it and was quite taken. He ordered it hung in the Master bedroom, positioned so he could look into it as he lay in bed. We assumed it had been in the family for generations. He told me it was an extraordinarily old mirror, but how he knew that I didn't know. That's about all I know.

"No. That wasn't all," he corrected himself after a brief silence. "He mentioned, rather oddly I thought, that he didn't own it. It owned him. I thought it was a strange statement at the time."

That reminded me. "When I met him in the shop," I said, "he said something odd to me. He said, "That mirror is for you," as if it was predetermined, or I had no choice in the matter. And another thing, he charged me sixty-three pounds, which happened to be the exact amount I had in my wallet."

"I can't help you with that," James said, leaning forward to pour more tea. "I can tell you the mirror had a most unusually deep reflective quality. Lord Karlish commented that it looked more real than the real world it was reflecting."

It was late by the time I got home. James Pickering had told me about Lord Karlish. He was apparently a gentle man, well read, and a graduate of Oxford University. He was calm and relaxed, never becoming fussy or disturbed; a placid man, kind but a recluse. He'd never married. After I described the man in the antique shop he agreed it sounded like Lord Karlish, but had no explanation for how he could have been there. James told me he'd overheard the Lord mutter the name Catrin every so often, but had no idea whom he was talking of. His illness came on suddenly; a fugue-like or catatonic state. From that he apparently slipped into a coma and four months later he passed away. Thus the end of the family line.

I couldn't help but wonder if Lord Karlish was affected by the mirror like I was.

That night I lay quietly, watching my reflection, waiting, naked under the sheet. Sleep took me away.

My eyes opened. She was there, snuggled to me, to my reflection, her back to me. It was the same position she'd slept in last night.

My reflection opened his eyes and, after inhaling the scent of her hair, he smiled at me. There was no malice in his expression, no teasing, just simple pleasure. He glanced down at the little girl and bent to kiss her cheek. She moved gently, almost a wiggle against him, a puppy stirring awake.

I noticed his hand was still under her nightgown, holding her bum. I grew erect and rolled onto my front, pressing my erection to the bed, head on the pillow watching them, those two in the mirror.

His hand moved as if caressing her bottom, the edge of white cotton panties appearing as the nightgown was pulled up. Was I reaching into her panties? What was my reflection doing?

My erection strained when more of her little panty-covered buttock was revealed. I saw the outline of his hand inside her cotton panties, holding and fondling the little girl's bum. Precum leaked as I pulsed, the tip of my erection slippery against the sheet. I pressed the shaft down firmly, arousal building. I was jealous of me. Again. What would such a young girl's bottom feel like?

Disappointment flowed into me when the reflected me removed his hand from her childish cotton panties. He drew her nightgown up slowly, the girl wiggling and lifting for him, moving to give him room to remove the cotton nightgown.

She was slender, her vertebrae visible, small shoulder blades clearly seen. Yet there was a sensual curve to her small back and a swell to her little bottom. Full cotton panties cosseted her small, sensual bum. It looked almost boyish it was so petite.

His hand moved. He caressed her cotton-clad rear. She turned her face up from his chest, her eyes studying his face. He smiled down at her gently, full of love. Lips touched slowly, a chaste kiss that lingered. I knew when the kiss intensified; a slight tilt of his head, her jaw moving just enough. I knew she'd pressed her small tongue into my . . . his mouth and my erection strained and pulsed against the mattress. Precum dampened the tip.

The kiss ended. His hand caressed a small bottom, soft cotton moving at his touch, tightening and loosening, folds forming, small bum crack appearing and disappearing sensuously. Then his hand slipped slightly higher over the inward arch of her lower back. She snuggled, a sexy little body movement, trying to get closer to him. From the size of his hand against her slender back I knew she could only be eight or nine years old. All thought evaporated as my reflection's fingertips slipped under the thin elastic waist of childish white cotton panties, fingers burrowing.

My erection pulsed as a hand disappeared under chaste white. I watched the outline of his hand holding her little bum and jealousy returned. I watched, unable to tear my eyes away as the girl slowly raised her knee, her leg hooking up over his thigh, opening herself for his touch. And I began to hump my mattress, the tip of my erection sliding through slippery precum, when my reflection's hand burrowed down further. He was feeling between her legs. He was touching her most private place. He was touching the child's pussy. It was obvious from the movement of his hand and how her little bum started moving.

My erection ached. What did a little girl's pussy feel like? Did young girls get moist? Was their arousal slippery? Were little girls pussies warm? What did my reflection smell when he buried his nose in her hair? His eyes stared at me as he fondled the child.

I was caught, locked by the movement of his hand in her panties and her bum undulating gently as if she was sexually enjoying his attention, encouraging his fondling of her most personal place.

Then she shivered and shook against him, her little body jerking. She was climaxing! The little girl was cumming from his touch! I humped the sheet under me wishing I could hear her sweet gasps and moans. My erection swelled and, as he smiled with pleasure and kissed the little child's cheek gently, as she climaxed from his fondling, my semen exploded, cum pulsing out onto my sheet. I humped the bed under me and came, erection swelling, semen jetting out, cumming with the little girl in a burst of pure pleasure, humping, spurting, cumming, cumming, eyes closing as pleasure flowed though my body.

When it passed, the sheet soaked in semen, I opened my eyes. I saw me, just me staring back at me. Without cleaning up I let sleep wash over me, a feeling of satisfaction permeating me, my climax intensely pleasing. Who was the little girl? What would it really feel like to touch a child like that, to sexually fondle a little girl?

Chapter Five

Tuesday was spent in limbo. My mind dwelled on the reflection of me fondling an underage little girl. I was mildly disturbed that the memory was so strong it could induce erections throughout the day and that, for whatever reason, I simply could not find shame or disgust in me. I was jealous. I was jealous of me. In my eyes and in the girl's movements I could see love and gentleness and kindness, and that was what I was jealous of. I wanted it, too.

Chores occupied me physically. Wishes and desires occupied me mentally. The sense of peace and relaxation, of satisfaction, still flowed through me. I could still feel the pleasure of my orgasm last night. It had been more intense than usual, more fulfilling, deeply satisfying. Why?

Late afternoon, a cup of Darjeeling tea in my hand, I sat on the edge of my bed and studied the mirror. The reflection of me and my bedroom was rich and deep. Studying reality and reflection, it was clear reality was paler. The blanket on my bed looked rougher, coarser than the one in the reflection. My bed, the dresser and window seemed sharper and one-dimensional in real life, softer and more appealing in the reflection. Colours had more intensity in the mirror. The reflection had more texture, depth, detail.

The reflection was better. Why? How? Was I nuts?

The pint of ale that night in the Fox and Horn tasted the same, but my pub acquaintances felt shrill, discordant, and edgy. The pub was, for the first time, disappointing.

That night I stared at me. Would they come back? I let sleep take over, unresisting, almost eager.

My eyes opened. Moonlight bathed the room in blue-white light. My reflection's eyes opened. He inhaled her scent, his nostrils flaring. He smiled at me as her leg slowly fell from over his thigh.

He pulled his hand from her panties and gently caressed her bare back, his hand only emphasising how petite the child was. He combed his fingers through her thick dark hair and pulled it away from her revealing a slender neck and dainty ear. His lips touched her neck and I became erect.

His hand caressed her side, moving down slowly until it rose up a sensual little hip. My erection strengthened. I pressed it to the bed. My reflection drew the side of the little girl's panties over her little hip. My erection pulsed and leaked slippery precum when the top of her bum crack appeared. White cotton stretched and stretched.

The sigh was mine. It was heartfelt and automatic when the little girl raised her bum and soft white cotton slipped down revealing two perfect little buttocks, two beautiful, sensuous, rounded little cheeks.

My reflection stared at me, his hand slowly drawing her childish panties off slender legs. He brought them briefly to his nose, inhaling before dropping them behind him. I inhaled deeply through my nose. What did they smell like? What did a little girl's sex smell like? My erection ached. I humped the bed slowly, wishing.

Smiling, my reflection eased the girl onto her back. I forgot to breathe. She was magnificent, so petite, so pretty. Her face turned towards me. A spectacular smile curled lush little lips, dark alluring eyes twinkled, and her hand slowly guided my hand . . . no, his hand to her flat chest.

My eyes trailed down across her body. From side-on I saw the dip at her diaphragm and the sharp rise of bony little hips. Breath gushed from me at the sight of her pubis, a stunningly full mound rising magnificently from her flat stomach. I humped the bed, precum making the sheet slippery.

My reflection smiled and bent to kiss her flat chest. I noticed his erection tenting white boxers, a damp spot forming. His fingertips trailed down her body. They trailed up her magnificent hairless mons. She parted her legs for him, an invitation to touch and fondle as she stared at me with a soft smile. And, when his hand cupped her little pussy, when I saw myself cupping a child's hairless pussy, I came, hot semen spurting up and out onto the bed. I humped and came, spurting hard, wetness covering my aching erection. Pleasure crashed in so hard it stupefied me. I came deeply and fully, achingly hard, my eyes closing with ecstasy, imagining holding her sexy pubis, fondling it, sexually touching a little girl.

The climax washed over me, my heart racing. Peace descended. A feeling of euphoria followed. Exhausted and drained I opened my eyes. Regret struck. I saw me, just me.

Chapter Six

I did nothing all morning. The television couldn't take my interest. Two partially read books lay untouched. Food was forgotten.

Sitting in the small garden surrounded by spring blooms, my face turned up to capture the warmth of the sun, I dwelled on the mirror. Was it revealing the truth about me or was it tempting and perverting me? Was it showing me I was sexually drawn to underage girls or just her, that girl, that beautiful creature? The former chilled me, the latter confused me.

There was only one way to find out. I spent the afternoon wandering through a local mall observing the children, studying the girls, waiting for a reaction. I tried to picture that redhead laying naked on a bed, and that little blonde girl, too.

Nothing.

That relieved and confused me. Who was she that she could affect me so?

I eagerly awaited sleep, going to bed early. I was impatient and already partially erect. Sleep refused me. Both me and my reflection tossed and turned. Around two in the morning I tried some warm milk. At three I slipped into dreams about a dark-haired child, slender and young, naked.

She was there. I smiled with relief. Opening my eyes to the sight of me leaning over her and kissing her was perfect. I was . . . my reflection was caressing her cheek as he kissed her. His hand moved and reached for his white boxers. My erection pulsed in anticipation of being naked with the child.

Boxers were wormed off. I admired my erection. It seemed firmer and slightly thicker in the mirror. I saw her small hand reach for it, feeling down my reflection's stomach, finding it. I felt it. In my mind I felt her small hand slowly grasp it with familiarity, squeeze it gently.

His hand settled on her remarkable mons. I desperately wished I could feel her, actually feel an immature, hairless little pubis. The pretty girl turned her face to me, looking out at me. Dark alluring eyes stared. My heart beat slightly faster, erection straining. She smiled and I felt it to the tip of my erection.

Something flashed through her amazing eyes, a spark or sparkle of brightness, intense. It hit me like the flash of a camera, temporarily blinding me.

But, my God, when her hand gently squeezed my erection it overwhelmed my senses. In my left hand I cupped her hairless little pussy; pure warm silken sex, mounded sensuously high, so surprisingly small yet full between her little legs. Her small cleft aligned perfectly with my middle finger. It was a stunningly erotic little pussy.

She was so sexy, so desirable. She felt so deliciously petite next to me. When she turned her head and looked up into my eyes, smiling at me, it struck me. Like a sledge hammer, it hit home. I was looking down at her! Glancing up, I saw me in my bedroom, in my bed, head on the pillow watching me. My body shook.

"Who are you?" I asked, suddenly aware of a delicate scent in the air, a floral aroma mixed with something that teased and pleased the senses. Her mesmerizing eyes sparkled and flashed, blinding me again.

Groaning deeply, regret flowing through me, and my erection straining, pressed to the bed, I saw my reflection holding the child. I had been expelled from heaven. She stared at me, a Mona Lisa-like smile curling her sweet lips. She was holding my reflection's thick erection as he nuzzled his face to her hair, his hand caressing her crotch.

Now I knew how it felt. I knew how unbelievable it felt to have the child's small hand holding my erection. Humping the precum slickened sheet, I replayed holding her sexy little pussy, how spectacular it was, mounded, plump and full yet so small and young, virginal, so full of the promise of never-before experienced ecstasy. Humping the slippery sheet, my crown rubbing sensuously under me, I watched my reflection's hand caressing her little pussy and I knew what he was feeling; the incredible shape of her labia, how her cleft was so tightly closed, how short it was, how arousing. Humping the bed, staring at them, I wondered what it would feel like to slip my fingertip between her sexy little labia, probe into a child's cleft, feel her. Would I be able to touch her entrance? Would she be slippery and aroused? Would she respond to me caressing her clitoris?

As I imagined probing the tiny opening to her vagina with my fingertip, I came, semen exploding between the bed and my stomach, pleasure thundering in. A wave of ecstasy hit. My eyes closed. I groaned and another huge pulse shook me, cum jetting out as I fucked the bed wishing it was the little girl. Everything was hot and slippery and wet, my erection sliding smoothly. I came hard, semen exploding in achingly pleasurable pulses, spurting wonderfully until, panting, my climax passed. Calm returned. My heart slowed. Satisfaction flowed through my body.

I knew what I'd see. Opening my eyes I saw me staring back at me. Sighing, I let sleep take me away without cleaning up the mess. I dreamed of a little girl in my arms with a mysterious scent in the air and a sensual little bare pussy in my hand.

Chapter Seven

She preoccupied me. I couldn't get her out of my mind. I couldn't let the feel of her childish, immature pussy go. I suffered from a state of arousal, an almost continuous erection through the day. My penis would throb at the memory of her small hand holding me. I ached for her.

I was obsessed. Who was she? How far would they go? Would they actually have intercourse? Was such a small, young child even capable of being penetrated?

Meals were missed. I tried to understand how I'd switched. Had it been my imagination? Yet it had felt so real. And the view of my bedroom from inside the mirror was so real, so detailed. But even if it had been imagined it was incredible. How could I make the switch again? What could I do?

Sleep refused to visit me, my desire and excitement too strong. I tossed and turned, counted passing cars, tried warm milk. I lay with a partial erection, staring at the mirror, willing sleep to arrive. Finally, finally, I felt the soft tug, eyelids drooping. Too late. Morning light had just begun.

Frustration set in. It lay over me, dissatisfaction and anger at myself. I'd lost a night with her. What would have happened? What would my reflection have done? What would they have done together? I imagined and it only deepened my disappointment. It felt like a lead weight inside me.

Determined to avoid a repeat I went for a long run. I aggressively weeded and turned the flowerbeds, sweated hard in the early spring warmth. I ate properly, avoided alcohol and, when I was physically tired, I sat and tried to read.

The sheets were cool against my naked body when I slipped into bed. I had an erection. Ten-thirty. I should be able to sleep. I did, eyelids drooping, sweet peace rolling towards me like a morning mist.

My eyes popped open. I saw the ceiling. Rolling, I looked at the mirror and sighed with relief. She was back. Her dark mysterious eyes smiled at me, lush little lips curled into a soft smile of welcome. I smiled and felt a ten ton weight lift from me, peace arriving. My erection arrived at the sight of her laying on her back, legs spread, knees pressed to the bed as only small girls can. I saw the glorious rise of her pubis and me. My reflection was there laying on his front, his head between her little legs, his face watching her, his hands cupping two little buttocks.

My erection ached. I wanted it to be me, not my reflection. I wanted to see the little girl's pussy in all its youthful glory. Could she tell? Did she know how intensely arousing the sight was? Did she understand the depth of my desire?

Her eyes sparked and smile grew as if she was listening to me. Her pretty face enchanted me. She was gorgeous and sexy and desirable; a nymphet, a sylph, a slender beauty. She looked deeply into my eyes. My world narrowed to her eyes, dark, dark, big. They flashed at me temporarily blinding me.

When my vision cleared I gasped. She was perfect. Her little pubis, hairless and smooth, was stunningly arousing and sexy. The beautiful pad of her mons rose high, mounded and alluring. At its peak was a dimple, the beginning of her cleft. Plump labia hugged her clitoral hood, a long hood filling half her short cleft. Plump, hairless labia were slightly parted, revealing her sensual, erotic charms; the tip of a flushed clitoral hood, two undeveloped, immature inner labia, and her reddened glistening cleft below. My erection ached. I pressed it to the bed. Nestled deep in her short cleft, right at the base where plump labia merged and met little buttocks, was a tiny dark opening, impossibly small; her vagina, her tiny immature vagina.

My heart raced. My hand trembled as I caressed a silky soft thigh. Her aroma was at once intense yet delicate, lightly musky and mouth-watering. Glancing up I saw her watching me, dark, dark eyes studying me, a Mona Lisa smile on her sweet lips. From between her legs I admired the steep rise of her mons and at each side, her bony little hip bones. Staring into her eyes I moved closer, caressing slender young thighs. Her scent grew stronger. A shudder pulsed through my body when my lips touched a moist pussy, silky and soft, warm and erotic; so small, so smooth, so damned sexy.

The soft moan was mine. Her labia tasted wonderful. Her little clitoral hood felt large on my lips, soft yet firm. A sense of disorientation washed over me when my tongue slipped between plump labia to feel the smooth inside of her cleft, silky and hot. Her reaction to my tongue touching her clitoris was a narrowing of her eyes, her smile melting, concentration appearing as a slight frown.

I tasted her ambrosia, sweet and clean, yet earthy and arousing. My erection oozed precum, strained and swelled, yearning for stimulation. Another deep tremor hit me as the tip of my tongue found her tiny entrance. Hands moved under to cup two sexy little buttocks. My eyes closed to savour the flavour of childish arousal; the nectar of the Gods. My imagination ran rampant wondering what it might feel like to penetrate that impossibly tiny opening with an adult erection.

Precum leaked with each straining pulse. I hunched involuntarily.

Opening my eyes I saw her staring at me. Her eyes were intense, burning. Was it arousal? Desire? They glittered like liquid onyx. They flashed. NO!

I saw him lying between her slender thighs. I watched his head move. I saw his hands cupping her bottom. She turned her face towards me, staring as her hands reached down to hold his head. I knew what he was experiencing. I knew what she tasted like, her sweet, sexy moist arousal. I knew the texture of her clitoris and plump, hairless labia. I knew how warm and moist her cleft was. And I knew just how tiny the entrance to her little vagina was and I wanted her. I wanted her.

Humping the bed, slippery with precum, I watched her move her hips slightly. I saw her press her little pussy to him. I saw a flit of arousal pass through those enchanting eyes. She stared at me as I humped my bed in time with her little hips, my erection sliding effortlessly through precum. She stared at me as she curled her little hips, as she fucked my reflection's mouth. She stared at me as I humped in time with her, her hands holding his head. I imagined fucking her. Her beautiful eyes widened and lost focus. She smiled. I came.

Semen exploded onto the sheet and my stomach. I hunched and exploded again, cum blasting out. My eyes closed with the wave of intense pleasure that slammed into me, erection swelling, semen bursting, bliss erupting. I humped and came hard, breath short, humping the wet sheet, cumming hard, heart racing.

When I opened my eyes I saw me, alone, laying face down. She'd gone. Who was she? Who was that gorgeous little girl?

Chapter Eight

I was restless. The day dragged by. Nothing interested me. Frustration grew as every time I looked at my watch no time had passed. I went to the gym for the first time that month and worked myself into a sweat-covered lather. The toned and curvaceous bodies of young ladies working out in tight Lycra, a sight that usually elicited lustful thoughts, did nothing for me. They held no temptation, no desire within me.

No matter what I did time moved too slowly. Frustration filled me. I was restless, as if ants were crawling inside my clothes. How had I come to this? My desire for that child was all consuming. I wanted to take her. I wanted to stay in the mirror. I wanted to feel myself penetrating a child, have sex with a little girl. Nothing else mattered.

How had it happened? Why was my desire so strong, my need so desperate? But it was all I wanted. I'd give up everything just to have sex with her, feel myself penetrating her, loving her, fucking her.

The day dragged and by eight o'clock I was naked in bed, tired and excited, worried I'd not fall asleep, that it was too early, that she wouldn't come, that I'd miss her, or sleep too deeply. Sleep washed over me without my being aware.

Noise woke me. Opening my eyes I saw me hugging the little angel. Jealousy flushed through me when she smiled at him, my reflection. Her smile was so loving, so beautiful. She reached for him, finding his neck and pulling. I puckered my lips as I watched them kiss each other so gently, with such passion.

I saw her mouth open for him. I saw his jaw move and knew his tongue was tasting her and I was jealous. My erection stormed in. I wanted her. She should be mine! When her beautiful eyes closed while they kissed I felt agony. PLEASE! ME!

As if she heard me, the kiss ended, she looked out to me and smiled, turned back to my reflection and pushed his shoulder, pressing him onto his back. In all her naked glory, she rose to her knees, her back to me, her incredibly sexy little bottom resting on her heels. I didn't know what she was doing but my reflection's eyes closed as if he was feeling pleasure. She bent, her magnificent little bottom rising off her heels, head bending down. Two sensual little buttocks parted slightly giving me a view of her hairless pussy filling the gap at her groin. Her little cleft was tightly closed, plump and seductive. Oh how I wanted to touch, caress, and cup that thing of beauty.

Suddenly she shifted down further, turned and straddled my reflection. I saw her holding my . . . no, his erection. I watched her sit astride his legs and bend forward, her pretty, pretty face lowering. Shudders shook me when sweet little lips kissed the tip of his erection.

MEEEE! MEEEE! God PLEASE!!!

My erection strained and pulsed. She glanced at me with a seductive little smile. Dark, dark alluring eyes captured me. A twinkle emerged. A flash of light erupted blinding me.

She felt so light and delicate over my legs, so delicately small. Her hands were warm as they held my erection gently, both hands unable to cover the shaft. She smiled at me, love, desire, a secret little smile. Bending she kissed the tip of my erection again. Another shudder coursed through me, lust storming in.

I dare not talk. I didn't want to be banished back to my bedroom. I wanted her. I wanted to stay with her, make love with her. She let my erection go and shuffled up slowly, her mystical dark eyes locked on me, my erection pulsing and bobbing. She moved up, astride me, on her knees her body not quite touching me.

Slowly her face came nearer and nearer, her eyes never breaking contact with me. Her face hovered over mine. I could feel and smell her sweet breath on me. She smiled; so sweet, so beautiful, a nymphet.

"Do you want me?" she asked softly in a child's voice.

I nodded, still afraid to talk.

"How much? What would you give to have me, Richard?"

"Anything," I croaked. I would. I'd give her anything, everything.

"Anything?"

I nodded.

The smile that grew on her pretty face burned me. It was radiant, small white teeth appearing.

"I want you, too," she whispered as if it was a secret. A small mouth descended and touched my lips. My erection ached. Kissing her was amazing. Her mouth felt so small. When her tongue flitted across my lips I groaned loudly.

Reaching up I wrapped my arms around the child, so little, so delicate. I pulled her down and opened my mouth to her teasing tongue. While we kissed my hands caressed her slender little back, gliding over a knobbly spine to find the seductive rise of a glorious immature little bum I could almost span with one hand. God she was so petite, so intensely desirable.

Her tongue pressed into my mouth. I sucked it gently, trembling, my hand sliding over her rounded bum cheeks to fish my erection up between her legs and press it to her bum crack. She moaned into my mouth and moved. Her legs stretched out from the kneeling position. Then she closed them, trapping my erection between her silky thighs and pressed to her crotch. I ached, swelled, and, unable to help myself, pressed my erection up and back as if fucking her. Pleasure and arousal radiated through me.

Tilting my head, one hand on the back of her small head to hold her lips to me, I probed into her mouth with some urgency, feeling her teeth and her moist tongue. I French kissed the little eight-year-old girl and drowned in the sensuousness. Nothing could have prepared me for the feeling of a delicate, naked little girl on top of me, my rigid and leaking adult erection pulsing between slender, soft childish thighs, my tongue probing her small mouth, and holding a magnificent little bum, my hand spanning both exquisitely shaped buttocks. Nothing in this world could match it.

Precum oozed, air making it feel cool on my tip. I sucked her lower lip gently and broke the kiss, my heart thumping hard. Her head lifted, dark, dark alluring eyes studying me. Please! Don't flash them! A smile emerged as if she'd heard my plea. Rising, pulling herself out of my arms, she straddled me, sliding down, her pussy pressing my erection downwards before she lifted and it popped up and slapped onto my stomach.

She glanced down at it, shuffled slightly lower and grasped it, her fingers too small to encompass the girth. Her eyes twinkled at me before she bent and, Lord Almighty, opened her little mouth and took my crown in. Warm moisture surrounded me. Her little hand squeezed. Her small tongue teased the rim of my crown. She sucked gently and a powerful pulse of pleasure shook me. I wanted to hold her head and thrust, see how much she could take. But as soon as the thought passed through my heated mind, she lowered her mouth, slowly taking more of my erection in, two, then three inches. She paused and lifted.

Suction made a loud noise as her mouth popped off. The top of my erection glistened with her saliva and my precum. She stroked the shaft absentmindedly while looking at me and smiling.

"Nice," she whispered.

I ached. Lust was now a burning fever in me. God I wanted her.

When I reached for her she brushed my hands away. "Nuh-uh," she chastised gently, shuffling up. Her small hands rested on my stomach for balance. With her head bent studying my bobbing and throbbing erection I watched her little pussy move up and settle on my shaft, plump labia bulging out. Softness and warmth and moisture settled on me pressing my erection to my stomach. Her mons slowly bulged out. My cock looked humongous and damn if it wasn't the sexiest sight I could ever recall seeing.

This child, this prepubescent little girl was driving my lust higher than I'd ever experienced. Loss of control was dangerously near.

With a quiet sigh that I barely heard through the roaring in my ears, she began undulating on me, moving her little hips slightly, stroking my shaft with her sexy, sexy pussy. It was so erotic, so arousing. As she moved her pussy up, her clitoral hood dipped to kiss my shaft. When she reversed, her plump labia oozed apart to hug my erection. It was agonizingly sexy.

Each stroke of her little pussy ended higher on my shaft until, with me holding my breath, her sexy little pussy slipped over my crown. A shudder shook her. I could hear her breathing now, slightly harder. She reversed and treated me to the erotic sight of my crown emerging from between us, everything now slippery with precum. My erection ached. Pressure inside me was immense. My need to grab and fuck was almost overwhelming. I reached for her.

"No," she muttered, brushing my hands away. Then she moved, sliding her luscious little pussy higher with a curl of her pelvis.

She paused and, unbelievably, started wiggling. The sensations bombarding me were incredible. It felt like my crown was burrowing into her, slowly being surrounded in slippery liquid silk. Small hands on my stomach trembled. She tilted her hips and curled her bum. The tip of my erection slipped suddenly to be caught, halted. Jesus, I was at the entrance to her tiny vagina!

Lodged tightly, she slowly rose onto her knees and treated me to the sight of my thick cock pressed to her little pussy. She rose bringing my erection up until it was vertical, poised to penetrate her. The sight of an adult erection pressed to a tiny hairless young pussy had me shaking. It was obscenely erotic.

Reaching out I held her non-existent hips gently. God she was small, slender, a reed. Her hands gripped my forearms. I sensed her press slightly, pressure on the tip of my rigid erection. Nothing happened. My cock swelled, pulsed. She pressed slightly harder. I felt it in her tiny hips. I saw my erection swell, thicken. And then I felt it, the slightest yielding, her plump labia edging over my flared crown.

She trembled and pushed again and heaven opened to receive me. Her tiny opening stretched over my crown like a rubber band, slippery from precum. Warm moisture gripped me tightly squeezing my crown. And, as I felt her little body trembling harder, my erection slid into her. She whimpered slightly. Her tight vagina gradually edged down with small up and down motions, hot velvet surrounding my shaft and wrapping me in pure moist pleasure. The sight of my thick adult erection disappearing into the underage, immature pussy of such a delicate, pretty little girl was mind-blowing, intensely erotic. Every little advance was felt, my crown burrowing deeper and deeper until, with a gasp, her sexy little pubic mound settled to my groin just as the tip of my cock pressed against something deep inside her.

Everything halted. I held my breath. My heart thudded. Holding a slender waist, feeling how small she was in my hands, almost no hips, I tried to imagine just how deep I'd penetrated her. Where exactly was the tip of my erection? I knew how big I was and mentally measuring it I shuddered at the image. How? How had this child taken me completely?

A subtle exploratory tightening of an already vice-like vagina made me swell, my cock aching. Her head was still bent studying where we were joined. Her little pussy appeared monstrously stretched by my penetrating erection, her short cleft full. Excitement and arousal alone could have been enough for me to cum but I wanted more, so much more. With her still holding my forearms and her knees at my sides, I lifted her slight body easily. The sensation was phenomenal. It was as if I was trying to pull a vacuum off my erection, her pussy hugging my shaft tightly, labia stretching, her tiny opening sliding snugly up my shaft.

I could feel my progress inside her, her velvet vagina massaging my crown. More and more of my shaft emerged, slick and glistening with our combined moisture. Trembling, I reversed before the crown appeared and watched my thick cock penetrate her hairless pussy, labia inverting and pressing in. Shudders shook me. I pressed deeper, literally pulling her little pussy down on my aching erection, and groaned when the tip nudged her deepest part. I was sheathed fully again with my tip pressed against her little cervix, pressed to the opening of her immature little womb.

Repeating the movement we began to fuck slowly, exquisitely, long slow strokes. My vision was filled with the vacuum-like grip her tiny vagina had as I withdrew, and how it collapsed in on itself as I penetrated her. She was tight yet slippery, a velvety moist heaven.

I fucked her slowly, her head bent. She enthralled me with little sighs and tremors, her small body shivering with each glorious penetration. This was perfect. Fucking this little girl was amazing. But I wanted more. The heat and frenzy of arousal was attacking me. I'd never felt so turned-on, so excited.

Holding slender little hips I pulled her off me. It seemed like I needed to lift her forever before my swollen crown emerged with a plop, my erection slapping to my stomach. Her little cleft remained stretched for a moment and slowly closed. She glanced up at me. I smiled and lay her to my side. Rising, I hovered over her on my knees. Taking her slender waist I turned her onto her front effortlessly and admired her perfect little bum, two gorgeous buttocks rising high and proud from her childish body.

My erection was rampant, bobbing in the air. With hands under her waist I lifted the child onto her knees, her spectacular bum rounding and gaining more shape, sexy, desirable. Twin little buttocks parted slightly. Her anus winked at me and then I became distracted by a succulent, moist pussy oozing out between little thighs. Flushed, hairless labia formed a tight cleft. Her immature pussy seemed far too large for her small body.

My heart palpitated at the reddened, glistening indent that led to her vagina. Gripping my aching erection, straddling her little legs, I moved close, one hand holding her up under her small waist. I shuddered at the sight of my bulbous crown kissing her bald cleft. I looked monstrous; so arousing. How had she taken me inside her?

Yet, as I nestled the tip to her, as I watched her labia bulge and felt the tip press, my heart raced. I'd never seen anything so outrageously sexy. Holding my shaft and her waist firmly I pressed harder. My cock was glistening with slippery moisture. Her little pussy was reddened and moist. Then I stopped breathing. I watched my thick crown press hard. Her plump little labia seemed to ooze apart reluctantly, separate and slowly squeeze over my crown. I watched, heart thumping, as her tiny pussy yielded to me, stretching, stretching, labia losing colour. I felt her tiny opening, moist and hot. And God! My crown oozed into her, huge, thick, penetrating her little vagina, tight, so incredibly tight.

Gripping her small waist with both hands I thrust, sinking deep, deeper, all the way in one exquisite stroke. I felt her body jerk in my hands when the tip thumped into her cervix. Staring down at this small child on her elbows and knees, my thick erection buried in her little body, I felt my cock swell. Holding her firmly I began to fuck her, shaking at the sight of an adult erection withdrawing from such a little pussy. I withdrew and thrust, burying myself in her hot velvet vagina. God she was tight. Slowly I began to stroke into her, fuck her, thrust, my erection straining. Holding her narrow waist only emphasized how incredibly young she was, how incredibly small she was, and that added to my arousal. I could feel the ache of a climax stir. My cock felt like it was harder than it had ever been. Stroking into her sent pulses of utter pleasure through me, the sight amazingly erotic. So small. So young. Just a child.

Suddenly I needed more. Suddenly I needed to feel how small she was against me, feel how young. Suddenly I wanted to feel myself having sex with a little girl, holding her and fucking her. Pulling out, I flipped her onto her back easily. Her knees naturally fell to the side, open for me. Dark, dark alluring eyes in her pretty face stared into me. She knew. She could see the frenzied lust she'd woken in me. I was looming over her gasping, erection pulsing and hardly thinking.

Then she reached up for me. She smiled, soft and accepting. She gave herself to me. Groaning deeply I hovered over her little body, guiding my erection to her pussy. The tip nestled to her slippery vagina. I moaned and lay down on her eight-year-old body, my cock slipping into heaven, held tight, gripped perfectly. Lord but she was small and delicate underneath me, her head no higher than my chest. She felt wonderful, perfect.

Reaching down with one hand I cupped a small bum. I held two compact little buttocks in my hand and thrust, my erection sinking into her to press to her end. Jesus she was perfect, tiny, sexy, and exciting. I withdrew, one long slow stroke, her tight vagina gripping me. Reversing I fucked into her little body loving how she moved under me when I thumped into her end. Withdrawing, I repeated the move, holding her little bum, fucking into her, loving her little gasp and how she moved. A rhythm emerged, my senses concentrated on the young girl under me. I fucked her. She was so tight, so good. I fucked her with faster strokes now chased by a growing need for release. Thrusting into her little body, burying my aching erection in her tight vagina, hunching and holding her immature little body to me, I let my orgasm loose.

Pressure seemed to burst inside me. My cock swelled and ached. Her vagina seemed to tighten even more and heaven arrived. With a moan and a hard thrust, holding her to me tightly, I buried my straining erection in her, sealed the tip to her cervix and semen erupted, an achingly hard pulse, cum spurting deep into her. Moaning, I managed to pull out slightly but another wave hit, forcing me to fuck hard, shove my cock deep, freeze, and glorious pleasure slammed into me, cock swelling, semen blasting out into her little vagina. Hot wetness surrounded my crown.

I held the child hard and let my climax take charge, too strong for me to control. Like a raging storm I pulled out and fucked into her little body with short desperate strokes, each time exploding, hot thick cum blasting into her, ecstasy erupting in me. I fucked her desperately, spurting, cumming beautifully, cumming in her. I fucked and came, spurting with ever increasing agony as I chased the perfect orgasm, holding the little darling, fucking her, spurting gloriously, holding the little girl tight and cumming, cumming until nothing remained except dry heaves, a racing heart and dizziness.

Time passed. I lay on her petite body, exhausted and sexually drained. It had been the most intense climax I'd ever experienced. When I could breathe again I had to ask. "What's your name?"

"Catrin," she replied so softly I almost didn't hear.

Realising I might be suffocating her I rolled off her to the side, my limp penis plopping out of her. Curling on my side I gathered her into my arms, inhaling the scent of a sexy little girl, of my little lover, so young, so small.

She snuggled into me, cuddled and sighed. I was completely at peace, totally drained, unbelievably satisfied and happy. With the scent of little girl and sex in the air sleep washed over me. I welcomed it with open arms. This was heaven.

Eventually I opened my eyes expecting to see the mirror, see my reflection staring back at me, and see a smile of satisfaction on my face. But I didn't. I was alone, my arms empty, the girl gone. I saw the bedroom and I saw me laying in bed, on my front, head on the pillow, my eyes open and staring at me. It was broad daylight in my room. How much time had passed? Why was I still in the mirror?

For a moment I was confused. I looked strange. A chill hit me. My eyes appeared empty, vacant, void of thought or emotion, scary. Hours passed like minutes, light fading to darkness, morning light arriving, afternoon passing, light fading to darkness again. I watched as two men appeared dressed as emergency medical attendants. They fussed and checked me, measuring my pulse, flicking a penlight into my eyes. A policeman hovered in the doorway.

"Unresponsive," one medical attendant said.

"Catatonic?"

"It appears so. Apparently he's been missed at work for four days."

"Pupils dilating?"

The flicker of a penlight checked again.

"No. Nothing. He's gone somewhere."

"We'd better take him."

I watched them transfer me to a stretcher. Suddenly the butler's comments came back to me. "His illness came on suddenly; a fugue-like or catatonic state. From that he apparently slipped into a coma and four months later he passed away."

"Noooo!" I screamed at the bedroom. "I'm here! Look! In the mirror!"

They didn't hear my scream. They didn't see me as they carried my body away. Lonely silence descended.