DISCLAIMER: The following is fiction. The content of the story is not representative of the writer’s beliefs, opinions, or attitudes. This story is intended for adult entertainment only. The characters and events depicted in this work are fictional. The author does not condone or promote any unlawful activity such as is depicted in the story. By continuing to read this work you acknowledge that you are an adult who wishes to read works of fantasy and fiction for the purpose only of fantasy. All the characters in this story are adults. They may play different ages for the fictional character that they are depicting but they remain at all times adults. All Rights Reserved © 2023 LITTLESALLY666

STORY CODES: Historical (1970s), Demonic, Satanic, Incest, Hermaphroditic, Pedophilia, Sodomy, Abuse, Corruption, Evil, Sexual Demons, Devil Worship, NC, Rape, Molestation, WS, Scat, Sexual Sin, Sex Demons, Bestiality, Cannibalism, Ritual Murder.

AUTHORS NOTES: Loosely based upon the seventies porn movie of the same name—and like my version of “Black Candles”, I faithfully transcribed the entire dialogue from the original movie (which took some time)—as I loved its seventies tonality—However, I have reinterpreted the storyline to be more about ‘pride’ and ‘self-love’ (rather than the original’s focus on Catherine’s obsession with her incestuous Father)—as Saint Augustine said, “It was pride that changed angels into devils”.

CREATED: 29.07.2020 / REVISITED: 23.11.2023

Through The Looking Glass 1


Catherine Burgess, a rich upstate New York socialite, lives in her own fantasy world. Ignoring her husband and preteen daughter, she talks frequently to herself and each night goes to the attic of her stately mansion to sit in front of a huge Gothic mirror that hung in her childhood room and masturbates. One night while engaging in this ritual, Catherine’s reflection tries to convince her to go through the looking glass. She does not go, but is soon plagued by ever-increasing visions of devilry as she slowly slips into a surreal fantasy world of sin—And her visions begin to twist her perception of reality.

Slowly she realizes that this relationship (with her reflection) has brought her into a malevolent realm — filled with depravity, incest, rape, and sexual abuse. Close to losing control of her own lusts, she is given an ultimatum by her ghostly reflection. She tries to deny this invitation to go through the looking glass by escaping to Europe. But her reflection tells Catherine that she knows that Catherine will return — as our protagonist always has in the past. Catherine is told that she must be in front of the mirror, at one in the morning. Will Catherine find the inner strength to resist these dark forces? Or will Catherine be lost forever in this supernatural merry-go-round of sexual depravity?


This psychedelic seventies porn movie is stylish and oddly compelling. Director, Jonas Middleton, presents a beautiful package. “Through the Looking Glass” is definitely the most ambitious porno movie of the seventies, as it introduces a high social class family of three, living in a secluded mansion with house staff. It seems like Catherine has it all made, including youthful beauty and wealth, but sexually speaking she’s extremely frustrated and unsatisfied. During her lonely nights in the house, Catherine goes to the attic to masturbate in front of the ancient mirror.

Whether imaginary or supernaturally, the mirror ‘sucks’ Catherine into a dreamy dimension where she encounters the weirdest and most perverted sexual situations. Catherine descends into a world of lesbian sex, outrageous orgies, and incest. As the title implies, this film is indeed an adult variation on “Alice Through The Looking Glass”. Middleton hints at all the controversial themes, but there are never any genuinely shocking images on the screen (maybe the woman bathing in piss and shit). The film does, however, feature some daring camera work and several ingenious shots, like extreme close-ups of female genitalia and even a journey into the lower body of the main starlet.


  • Catherine Burgess – our protagonist, a rich socialite from upstate New York (36)
  • Jennifer Burgess – Catherine’s miscreant daughter (12)
  • Richard Burgess – Catherine’s elderly and distracted husband (46)
  • Vetis Millington – Catherine’s incestuous Father who mysteriously disappeared six years earlier (he was 52 at the time)
  • Lisa Cousteau – Catherine’s French maid, Abel’s sister (23)
  • Abel Cousteau – Catherine’s French driver and manservant, Lisa’s brother (25)
  • Mr & Mrs Manchester – dinner guests of the Johnstons (48 & 46)


Sonnet LXII by William Shakespeare

Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye
And all my soul, and all my every part;
And for this sin there is no remedy,
It is so grounded inward in my heart.
Methinks no face so gracious is as mine,
No shape so true, no truth of such account;
And for myself mine own worth do define,
As I all other in all worths surmount.
But when my glass shows me myself indeed
Beated and chopp’d with tanned antiquity,
Mine own self-love quite contrary I read;
Self so self-loving were iniquity.
‘Tis thee, myself, that for myself I praise,
Painting my age with beauty of thy days.

It’s 1976. The place is in upstate New York.

Catherine Burgess was the only daughter of controversial billionaire, Vetis Millington, whose mysterious disappearance remained unsolved to this very day. Her Mother, Aura, died several years later leaving Catherine as the sole heir to her Father’s substantial estate. After marrying the ambitious, Richard Burgess, the couple lived together, with their daughter Jennifer, in Catherine’s ancestral home — an enormous thirty-four-thousand square foot mansion. Surrounded by a sprawling estate of wide manicured lawns, the Burgess estate was said to be once the talk of the country with its own labyrinth-like garden maze, even a secret grotto cave, a serene lake (and boathouse), and acres of wooded lands.

Catherine stared back at the saloon mirror as the beautician pealed away her whitish face mask —to reveal her beautiful pale features below. It felt like she was emerging from something — being revealed for the first time — like an elegant butterfly coming forth from its ugly chrysalis or like a snake shedding its skin.

She casually watched her effeminate stylist fuss around behind her as he worked his psychedelic magic with the hairdryer. He had told her that he would make her look special today. Now her long blond hair looked full and shiny. Catherine thought there was always something enchanting about looking at her own reflection — it was her — but it was not. Her reflection was identical in every way — but her reverse image.

Her lady friends chatted incessantly about her. How she dared to wear an almost translucent dress at the country fair or about her plunging neckline showed too much cleavage. How her personal net wealth was more than a few small countries put together. And how the salon beauticians and stylists always swooned over her, taking longer over her than anyone else.

Catherine pretended she could not hear them over the sound of the hairdryer. She closed her eyes and began to daydream about one of her first sexual experiences — she’d been only nine at the time.

Young Catherine, being a tiny thing. And alone in her bedroom, she played for hours in front of an ornate barque-style mirror. The oval Gothic mirror was large, from floor to ceiling. And back then, it had looked even bigger. She often talked to herself whilst she played — or at least she talked to her reflection. She wasn’t completely sure why, but on that particular day she had undressed herself or had not bothered to get dressed — she couldn’t exactly remember. But as she sat and talked to her naked reflection, her reflection began to touch herself between the legs.

Young nine-year-old Catherine giggled as it felt funny touching her little slit for the first time — poking her finger inside and finding it made her wet — at first she thought she’d peed herself, but her reflection told her that it was called girl juice. She tasted it. It didn’t taste bad, in fact, she liked it. Her reflection liked to play all sorts of vulgar games. On this occasion, as young nine-year-old Catherine touched herself, she found the rhythmical movements extremely pleasurable. As she moved her finger in and out — trying to match the exact movements of her reflection. The pleasure grew.

“Mmmmmm,” her reflection groaned out loud.

Yes, young Catherine liked this game. Her reflection said that it was called finger-fucking.

Her reflection finger-fucked herself deeper and faster, breaking the rhythm only to rub her little tiny clitoris. Yes, this felt really naughty. Young Catherine wasn’t sure, but she listened to everything her naughty reflection told her to do — her reflection told her to do it faster and faster. Catherine felt a bubble growing inside her — not a literal bubble, but the feeling of something growing and growing until it was almost ready to burst. And then it happened.

“Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh …”

Young Catherine jerked uncontrollably.

A cascade of wetness covered her hand as she felt her whole body shake violently — from the tip of her toes to the top of her head — it was an explosion from within and a sheer pleasure like nothing she’d ever felt before.

Catherine struggled to get her breath back.

Was this wrong? She asked herself. She was still trembling from the intensity of her first orgasm. As she sat naked, grinning ear-to-ear, her little pussy was soaked and quivered at the slightest touch. Finally, she asked her reflection what had happened.

“It’s the Devil’s gift,” said her reflection as she too grinned broadly.

Catherine knew it was naughty. The Devil was always watching. Her bad reflection had broken God’s laws, or so young Catherine thought. Everyone would know what a sinner she was in church. Everyone would see how vile she was. The Devil’s gift or the Devil’s curse?

A wicked thing had happened — and now she felt guilty.

This feeling of wrong-doing; of doing something that God would not like; lasted for the rest of the day. But as soon as the house was quiet — young nine-year-old Catherine couldn’t wait to pretend to be tired, so she could go to bed early and get naked again. Her reflection grinned evilly as the young girl returned to face the mirror.

Then, like most daydreams, the images and sound of her younger days seemed to dissipate as quickly as they formed — leaving only Catherine’s vision of her adult self, reflected back in the hairstylist’s mirror—but her reflection looked hungry.

She smiled at herself.

She tipped her overtly gay stylist generously. She waved goodbye to her so-called friends as she stepped out onto the main street. A shiny red Rolls-Royce pulled up and her chauffeur, Abel, in his peaked hat, stepped out to open the rear door for her. He bowed his head and she stepped inside the luxurious automobile — Abel knew she wanted to go home — he looked in the rearview mirror at his beautiful mistress in her turquoise wrap dress and high-heel sandals. She always looked so finished, polished, and glamorous — he longed to touch her fair flesh.

As they pulled into the Burgess estate grounds, Catherine caught sight of her twelve-year-old daughter, Jennifer, running with their pet Doberman. How she had grown — she looked more and more like her glamorous Mother every day. She had her flowing blond hair. Her deep blue eyes. Her sculptured eyebrows. Her porcelain skin — she reminded Catherine of herself and for a brief moment, she wondered if her daughter had experienced the pleasures of finger-fucking (had she experienced the Devil’s gift?) She wondered what naughty little games her young daughter played in private. The wayward thought made her instantly wet between the legs. Yes, Mother and daughter could play some interesting games together — she quickly tried to disband these wicked thoughts.

The red Rolls-Royce pulled up under the port-cochère and again, Abel rushed to open the door for his mistress, but he was beaten to the door handle by Jennifer. Mother and daughter kissed gently (on the lips).

“Daddy is home,” Jennifer announced excitedly.

Richard traveled very frequently, leaving Catherine alone for weeks on end.

“He brought me something special.”

“That’s nice dear,” answered Catherine in her usual nonchalant manner.

“Don’t you want to see it, Mommy?” asked the excited preteen.

“Not right now darling. I have to get dressed for dinner,” replied Catherine, feeling horny and frustrated, she turned to leave.


Dinner at the Burgess’ was usually formal. The huge dining table was waited upon by their French maid, Lisa Cousteau, who was the sister of the chauffeur, Abel. She was adept at taking care of the family and their guests. Upon the wall in the dining room, there hung a painted portrait of Catherine’s late Father, Vetis Millington.

“He was one of best horsemen I have ever seen,” Catherine boasted so proudly, “He would ride out to the factory — even ride right down the main high street — can you imagine?”

Mr and Mrs Manchester looked up at the foreboding oil painting. They pretended to be interested in the story, as they didn’t want to offend their hosts.

“Catherine’s Father could get away with almost anything,” admitted Richard as he sipped upon a tall glass of red wine, “He practically owned the whole town.”

Jennifer appeared with her sketchbook in hand.

“You’ve come to say good night?” asked her Father.

“Actually I’ve come to show you my picture,” replied the young girl holding out her sketchbook.

“Jennifer, I think you should be in bed,” intervened an impatient Catherine.

“I think you can tell your Mother, that it will be OK for you to share your picture with Mr and Mrs Manchester.”

“Actually, my daughter is in a school play. Can you imagine that when I was her age, I had the same part — in fact, they still have my picture up — I wore a —”

Catherine loved to be the center of attention and constantly talked about herself.

“You know I called you the other day when we first arrived here,” interrupted Mrs Manchester.

“I was here all day,” replied Catherine apologetically.

“Catherine sometimes — disappears for hours — I think she’s found herself a lover,” joked Richard, as Lisa served him another glass of red wine.

“Richard, don’t even joke like that,” interjected Catherine, “Now Jennifer, I think you should go to bed — don’t you think Richard?”

“Yes,” agreed her husband, “Come and give me a good night hug then.”

Jennifer kissed her Father good night and then disappeared to bed.

“My husband tells me you travel a lot?” asked Catherine directing the conversation to Mrs Manchester.

“Yes, we do travel quite a bit,” answered Mrs Manchester.

“You know I really envy you that. I guess it’s the business you’re in. I am getting away though — we’re going to Paris and Venice —” replied Catherine.

“Yes Catherine needs to get away for a while,” added Richard.

“Don’t get me wrong. I really love this place …” said Catherine, “I really love it … I have lived all my life in this house — I was born here — you cannot imagine how many wonderful memories it holds for me.”

“It wasn’t until last year she consented to have the place redecorated —” said Richard, “and then she wouldn’t throw the junk out — she had to stuff the attic with it.”

“It’s not junk Richard. I’m sorry dear but you just don’t have an appreciation for fine things —” said Catherine in her dreamy voice, “I want you to understand that at one time this house was the showpiece of the county.”

“I’m sure it was Catherine —” replied Richard as he got up from his seat, “You’d like a cigar, Arthur?”

Arthur nodded in agreement and Richard brought a large cigar box over to the dining table and both men lit up a cigar each.

“Catherine, you looked flushed with brandy,” sighed Richard, “You know she didn’t hardly touch it until her Father died almost six years ago. The beautiful and cultivated, Catherine Millington — now she’s my wife — but she’s still beautiful.”

Catherine looked unsettled by her husband’s disclosures. Without realizing it, Catherine knocked her glass over, spilling brandy over the pure white tablecloth.

“Come on honey. Pour yourself another,” suggested Richard.

“Sorry,” Catherine apologized as she stood up abruptly.

She looked detached and almost in a world of her own.

“I’m glad you came,” she said as she turned to Mr and Mrs Manchester, “It’s just that I am not feeling very well — please forgive, please.”

Catherine walked to the dining room door. Richard stood up and followed her out of the dining room.

“Catherine, what the hell is the matter with you? A moment ago you were feeling just fine,” accused her husband, but Catherine left the dinner party without another word.


The clock read eleven-twenty in the evening.

Catherine was feeling very horny. She had changed into one of her more sensual baby-doll nightgowns and lay down on the bed next to her husband. The silky material hugged her shapely body and showed off her elegant cleavage. Catherine leaned across Richard and kissed him on the lips.

“It was a very nice evening,” she commented.

She lay back provocatively, playing with her long sexy blond hair, and placed her husband’s hand upon her pert breasts. Richard responded to her sensual advance and began to massage her firm bosoms. Richard pulled the sheet down to expose more of her delightful body. He lifted her nightgown over her waistline and groped at her eager cunt — sticking his thick digits into her hot, wet snatch. Catherine moaned lewdly in pleasure.

She wanted it so badly. She’d been horny all day. She’d been fantasizing about her tiny little daughter. She’d been thinking about what illicit pleasures that Mother and daughter could enjoy together. Her tiny cherry nipples were so edible. Her hairless virginal slit would taste so sweet. She imagined all the perverted things she’d force her daughter to do. Yes, unwillingness could also be part of her perverted game. She knew it was wrong — but that was what made it so much more deliciously wicked. It was only a matter of acting upon her forbidden impulses. Incest fantasies made her feel so hot.

Richard wasn’t exactly adept at love play and his awkwardness made Catherine annoyed. He wasn’t imaginative either and didn’t understand her fetishes. He never went down on her, as he said he thought it unnatural and dirty. What did he know? She could never tell him about the things she truly desired or about the things she enjoyed in private. If he saw her, for who she really was, he’d be horrified. He was, after all, a deeply religious man, and her blasphemous thoughts of occult, witchcraft, the Black Mass, and Devil worship would end their sexless sham of a marriage.

What had started out as her instigation seemed pointless. He wasn’t exciting her enough — his touch did nothing for her and she began to push back and turn away from him.

“What the hell is wrong?” asked Richard, obviously frustrated with her.

“Can’t you — just for once —” she bemoaned, pushing him off of her. “I’m sorry —”

Upset, Richard turned away and put out the bedside lamp.



The Burgess mansion was very secluded and at night the darkness was like a black blanket covering everything. Catherine had left Richard fast asleep in their martial bed as she made her way upstairs to the attic. She entered the dark attic space and quietly locked the door behind her. She liked to be in the attic whilst the entire house was asleep. It felt eerie and creepy. But exciting at the same time. It was her secret place.

She put on a small lamp that partially lit up the attic that was filled with the trapping of her childhood and youth. The trinkets of her growing years. There were many of her exquisite outfits (far too expensive to give away) and even her childhood bed. Here is where she kept all her personal nostalgia and intimate apparel.

Dressed in her long chiffon gown, she made her way over to her favorite heirloom — a giant floor-to-ceiling baroque-style mirror. She ritualistically lit some long black candles, so that she could see better — the candlelight gave off a distinctive mood that she was more than partial to.

She stood for a brief moment. She gazed at herself in the dark reflections of the Gothic mirror’s surface. It was her — but the reverse her. She reached out and touched the mirror affectionately, first with one hand and then with both.

“I don’t care about them,” she said, speaking directly to her reflection.

Or was it her reflection speaking to her?

“We’re alone now — we’re alone.”

She pressed her fingers lovingly to the mirror’s smooth surface. Like re-acquainting herself with a long-lost friend.

Catherine turned away and walked to a closet where she’d kept all her most delicate of gowns — she felt the sheer fabric and rubbed it against her cheek. She undressed and then donned the translucent apparel of her liking. She then moved a low-backed chair in front of her mystical mirror and sat down.

“I really shouldn’t be here,” she confessed out loud looking at her reflection, “What if Papa should come up?”

As she talked to her reflection, Catherine’s fingers traced the edging of the reveling outfit that hugged her small pert breasts. Her fingers ran sensually down her own cleavage, lightly brushing against her sensitive nipples. They instantly become as hard as bullets.

“I’m being so grown up. No wonder they stare at me, the way they do. Can you imagine, what if they could see me — what I do here.”

Catherine’s hands rubbed her breasts tantalizingly through the sheer fabric of her lingerie as she watched herself mesmerized by her auto-erotic reflection.

“I do like to try on new dresses … new styles … do you like my babydoll? … mmmmmm …”

She fumbled momentarily with the buttons that fastened the translucent gown around her lusty flesh.

“Something tight. Something fluid.”

She exposed her beautiful breasts to her secretive companion in the mirror.

”Decorte,” she exclaimed, fully exposing herself to her reflection, ”Mmmmm so soft … so everyone can see … wouldn’t you like to see?”

She fondled her small, but pert blossoms. All the time — watching her dark reflection voyeuristically.

”Touch me!” she teased.

Catherine’s hands slid downwards between her open legs, rubbing her greedy wet cunt.

“It’s mine. It’s mine …” she groaned in blissful gasps.

”For you. Anything for you,” she pleaded with her erotic reflection as she began to masturbate herself, “Anything for you, Catherine!”

She thought about little Jennifer, her twelve-year-old daughter. How guilty she’d felt thinking about seducing her own flesh and blood. To touch her daughter in her most intimate of places. Incest was wrong. But here — here in her attic — anything was possible — there were no limits. Nothing was out-of-bounds. Absolutely nothing. Here was where she let the most perverted aspects of her imagination run free and wild, masturbating for hours on end, imagining all kinds of sexual depravities.

The more taboo the better and the harder she would cum.

Did she feel hypocritical? A bit maybe. She thought about all the Sundays she’d spent in their local Catholic church with her hopeless God-fearing husband, Richard. She giggled to herself thinking about how she’d pretended to be repentant, but all the time, she’d been praying to a very different God. Praying to the God of shadows and darkness. Dare she say his name out loud? To praise the “Devil” was such a thrill. Her stupid husband had given her a crucifix to wear — but here in the attic, she noticed how her reflection often wore an inverted cross.

Her reflection was so daring and blasphemous.

Catherine’s eyes narrowed to become slits as she gasped at her own touches. Her cunt was soaked in her sexual juices. She could even smell her own arousal. Her reflection was always encouraging Catherine’s deviancies. She watched her reflection’s fingers slide in and out of her cunt — then licking her slimy fingers clean — before finger-fucking herself again.

“Catherine, oh Catherine,” she moaned over and over, touching herself, like a Sapphic lover, “I love you Catherine. I love you. I want you Catherine; for me, there’s no one else.”

Now Catherine used the fingers of both her hands, sinking them inside her wet cunt, as she watched herself sluttish performance.

“Mmmmmm ….” she groaned lewdly to her reflection, “Deeper — Oh yes — Deeper … mmmmm … oh God! Oh fuck God! Oh fuck Jesus!” she blasphemed.

Her voice echoed the pleasure she saw in the mirror. They looked upon each other lustfully as their busy fingers moved faster.

“I love to kiss you, Catherine … to look at you … to touch you … to kiss you … I want you …”

Catherine lay back against the chair, stretching her legs forward. closing her eyes as she luxuriated in her self-pleasuring.

“Fill me … fill me … fill me … fuck Christ and fill my dirty little sinning cunt …” she blasphemed over and over.

The Mirror watched Catherine perform her nightly masturbation ritual — its lust had grown for her — the Mirror wanted her as much as Catherine wanted her reflection. Her reflection’s eyes glistened at the sights and sounds inside Catherine’s masturbation playroom … yes … it was time time to push her further. The Mirror’s patience was growing thin. The Mirror wanted to fill her — to take her. Its evil, vile, and perverted desires knew no bounds.

Catherine’s eyes opened momentarily — she blinked in disbelief as she watched her own refection stand up and move towards the edge of the mirror surface — her reflection’s mystical hands seemed to be outstretched reaching beyond the limits of its glassy surface that separated them … as they reached for her saturated cunt. Catherine opened her legs wider to welcome her evil lover. She bucked against the heat of the moment (uncaring of the consequences of what this all meant) — just wanting her lover to touch her itchy cunt — to finger-fuck her, to lick her and eat her out.

“Mmmmmmmmmm —” the Mirror groaned as it stretched forward, reaching for Catherine’s willing hole.

Catherine felt anxious … maybe even fearful of her preternatural lover … but fear gave way to burning and insatiable lust as she felt her reflection’s hands groping her upper thighs and then began to penetrate her cunt — a pleasure she’d longed for. Eager fingers rubbed against her erect clitoris, and at the same time began filling her cunt — the secret pleasure grew stronger and stronger as Catherine began to reach the edge of an unstoppable orgasm.

“AAaraghhhhhhh …” She groaned unabated.

Suddenly without any warning — there was a loud rapping sound from the door. Catherine was immediately shaken out of her dreaminess — still a little dazed and confused — but back in the real world. Catherine subconsciously tried to conceal herself.

“Are you alright?” came a female voice of her maid from behind the locked attic door. “Are you there?”

“Yes,” she replied meekly, “Lisa, I’m fine. Go back to sleep.”

Catherine looked back at the mirror. A benign reflection stared back. Catherine was not sure exactly what had just transpired. But, the dampness and the smoldering feeling between her legs seemed to linger as she looked longingly at herself.


It was the middle of the morning. Catherine spied Richard and Abel outside on the mansion’s grounds. Richard was leaning against his Cadillac, watching Abel working in the gardens. She couldn’t hear their conversation.

“Richard,” Catherine said as she approached, “I was thinking that it would be so nice if I could come to town later and we could have lunch?”

Richard and Abel both turned to look at Catherine, who’d interrupted their conversation. Richard looked annoyed by her but didn’t address his feelings.

“One sharp at the Westside Hotel,” Richard answered abruptly and then turned away and got into the Cadillac and drove off. Abel looked at his mistress.

“Abel, have the car ready at twelve-thirty. And bring some flowers to my bedroom,” she said turning to stroll across the long grass lawn on the way back to the house.


Inside the lounge, Catherine found Lisa, arranging flowers in fine glass vases.

“Lisa,” said Catherine.

Lisa was dressed in her usual black and white maid’s outfit.

“Yes, Madam,” replied Lisa, in her strong French accent, as she turned around to face her mistress.

“I will be having lunch out today with my husband. We will have our usual Wednesday night dinner. There will be no guests.”

“Yes, Madam,” answered Lisa subserviently.

Catherine turned to the long wooden sideboard and asked Lisa, “Today’s mail?”

“Yes, Madam.”

Catherine lifted the heavy paperweight and browsed through the mail. Nothing interesting. Only boring business stuff for Richard. She faced her reflection in the sideboard mirror. She saw herself. For a brief moment, she remembered her Mirror in the attic. Her lover in the Mirror. She immediately flushed. Her cunt felt wet with forbidden excitement. She still could feel those eerie fingers bringing her to the brink of orgasm — obviously, her imagination getting away from her, she thought — but truly a carnal delight all the same. Catherine didn’t finish the thought, instead, she straightened her hair and adjourned for the bathroom.


Abel had been peeping at Catherine from the window of the servant quarters. He’d been spying on her all day. First at the saloon. Then in the gardens.

Whilst in her dreamy moods — she never seemed to notice how much he stared at her as he watched her every movement. He’d wanted to touch her beautiful fair white skin. He wanted to suckle upon the delicate flesh of her bosoms. He wanted to taste the flavor of her ripe mons. He desperately wanted to experience what it would be like to fuck her pussy. He knew that Catherine was so self-absorbed, but still, she drove him insane with wanton lust — he knew she was above his station and would never consider him suitable to be a lover … even though he sensed her sexual frustrations and her husband’s inept ways. He could never satisfy her like Abel could.

Lisa, his sister, watched her forlorn brother from the doorway. Pathetic, she thought. She knew all about his unfulfilled fantasies about their mistress — she knew that is all they would ever be — just idol fantasies. But she also knew her brother’s lustiness first hand. She loved him dearly.

“You’re thinking about her?” Lisa asked — but it wasn’t really a question at all.

Her voice had a hint of anger and bitterness to it. Abel turned away from looking out of the window.

“I saw you watching her from the kitchen window,” she said, as she stroked his oily unruly hair, ”You’ll get yourself in trouble,” she added as she began to undo the buttons down the front of her sexy little maid’s outfit, “I know what that woman is really like.”

Abel took his sister’s hand and kissed it.

“Now, just let your sister take care of everything,” she added, as she opened the front of her blouse, “And stop your silly daydreaming — there is nobody that could take care of you as good as I,” Abel began to fondle his sister’s shapely breasts, “You know that Abel.”

Abel said nothing. Instead, he laid his face against the softness of his sister’s naked flesh — and then began to suckle her nipples like a hungry baby.

“I know what you’re going through Abel — it isn’t good — but you don’t have to go to anybody else …” she said as she slipped down between her brother’s legs and began to open his pants, “I’m here Abel — I’m only here for you.”

With that, Lisa’s hands wrapped around her brother’s swelling organ. She began to lick it like a lollipop. Abel groaned and she took his cock into her warm incestuous mouth — sucking and rubbing his ball-sacks at the same time. She loved the taste of her brother’s dirty cock. She, herself, loved to leave her cunt for days without washing so that it had that deliciously disgusting smell of piss and girl juice — and more often — her brother’s semen. Her mouth worked its magic on Abel, who began to buck against her face, as she sucked his throbbing cock head as hard as she could. Her hand slipped beneath her open uniform, teasing her wet cunt as she continued to engulf her brother’s cock in her mouth and throat.

“Aaarghhhhhhh …” gasped Abel, unable to control himself — and soon he began to ejaculate over his sister’s pretty face.



Catherine locked the door to her private bathroom. It was luxuriously appointed. But during the renovation, she made sure that there was a large mirror placed facing the bath, toilet, and bidet. She began to run a hot bath as she drained her long-stemmed glass of red wine.

She had applied a soapy hand over the mirror that faced the toilet as she knew that the condensation from the bath water would steam up the mirror and obscure her view. She wanted to watch herself. Satisfied, she turned to the sink. As the bath was slowly filling, she proceeded to fill an enema bag with more warm soapy water. She attached the enema bag to a hook that was located high on the wall near the toilet bowl. She hitched up her sexy white camisole dress and sat down on the open toilet.

“Mmmmmmm,” she moaned as she pressed the narrow flexible tube of the enema inside her tight anus.

She opened the valve allowing the warm liquid to flow and begin to fill her dirty bowels. Once the enema bag was empty, she removed the flexible tube from her anus. Catherine couldn’t resist playing with her horny cunt. She liked the feeling of being bloated, with both a full bladder and now full bowels.

She looked in the mirror at herself, as she sat on the porcelain throne, rubbing herself eagerly.

Catherine picked up the wine glass and positioned it beneath her urethra. Yes, her bladder was ripe. Not filled with watery piss from drinking too much water — today she had only drunk red wine and lots of black coffee. Her piss would be dark yellow. It would be heady and stink of ammonia. She looked again into the mirror for encouragement — staring back lustfully was her reflection.

“Do it, Catherine! Do it for me!” ordered her perverted reflection.

Gently, Catherine pressed down on her bladder, causing droplets of pure gold to drip into the empty glass. A little more pressure and her pee half-filled it with a dark amber fluid. She held it up to her reflection; as if to show how nasty her pee looked.

“Drink it, darling, it looks delicious!” said her reflection.

Catherine tasted her hot piss. It felt so nasty. She sipped the salty liquid and then, emptied the glass. And then refilled it again. Her urine bubbled in the glass.

“Hail Satan! Hail Lilith!” chanted her reflection.

This time she poured the urine over her camisole-covered breasts, turning the delicate white fabric to a translucent dirty yellow. The smell was strong. Catherine peed over her fingers and then played with her clitoris. Two naughty fingers sank inside herself.

She farted loudly and began to defecate into her own hand. Soon the smell of her own feces rose up to assault her nostrils. She brought her filth-filled hand forward to show her reflection how dirty she was.

“Oh, Catherine — anything for you — anything!”

Catherine smeared her hands over her little white camisole, turning it a filthy brown. With her bowels empty, she stood up and walked over to the mirror. She stank of piss and shit, but the stench only aroused her more. She wanted to look closely and to obverse what a dirty perverted slut she had become. Her fingers played with her clitoris, as she stood looking at herself in the bathroom mirror. Her reflection seemed very pleased. Soon she was quaking and gasping in orgasm from masturbating in her own filth.

“Wasn’t that fun?” her reflected asked, “I’m waiting for you upstairs. Don’t be too long—Catherine, I need you — come to me.”

Stripping from her soiled clothing — she threw the filthy garments aside. Catherine climbed into the bath, sinking into the steamy water. It soothed her soiled body. She laid back and submerged herself momentarily, running her fingers through her hair as she sat up again. Her horniness seemed to only get more intense.


Catherine dressed in a bright orange halter-neck nightgown. She entered the attic and made sure the door was locked. She turned on the lamps and lit some candles as she always did. Though it was still daylight outside, the attic was dark and eerie. Catherine, once again stood before her huge oval mirror. Her dark reflection peered back at her, anticipating her perverted excitement. She touched the mirror’s perfect surface with her fingers — as if touching her identical twin. Spasms of excitement flowed through her arm and down through her body … her cunt was already wet and open.

“See,” she said, “You’re just a mirror. You hung in my bedroom when I was growing up. I knew you very well —”

Catherine began to giggle like a little girl. She unpinned her hair so that it flowed over her shoulders. She loved to be in her secret place. It was where she truly felt free — where she could finally be herself — and not what everyone else expected her to be. Her movements were almost rhythmical — like a dancer — performing before an important audience. She shook her head and gyrated.

“Catherine, you’re delicious …” she laughed, “Yes, I am … I really am …”

She twirled around before the Mirror, showing off how dexterous she was.

“See there’s nothing to be frightened of … the years have always been kind to me … I’m still so delightful to look at …”

Her reflection looked back at her.

“Why yes, Catherine … because you’re so beautiful … oh, Catherine,” her reflection said as she began to untie the belt sash to her nightgown, “I just love to look at you.”

Catherine’s reflection smiled evilly at her and then removed her gown. In the mirror, Catherine saw it fall from her shoulders, leaving her completely naked as she stood sideways. Her body seemed to glow with a slight perspiration of sexual sweat. Her reflection hugged herself.

“Now—” said her reflection, “Will you come to me?”

Catherine watched as her naughty reflection began to touch her anus. Her reflection’s breathing had become heavy and lustful as her fingers began to probe her own rectum. She danced and wriggled as she began to anally penetrate herself — one finger become two, two became three.

“Aaasrghhhh …” her reflection groaned.

“Nobody has ever touched me there …” groaned Catherine, “I like that … I like it .. Would you touch me there?”

Her reflection undulated in wicked bliss.

“Of course, Catherine,” replied her reflection as she fondled her breasts, “I would do anything for you.”

”Like I did in the bathroom? Would you drink my piss? Would you taste my shit?”

”Oh Catherine,” her reflected cooed, “Of course, darling … I love doing perverted things together, while we pray to the Devil!”

That thought. The Devil. Demons. Sexual demons always made Catherine excited.

Her reflection began to suck her fingers like a whorish slut and then three fingers became four — pressed up to the third knuckle — anally pleasuring herself as she swayed slowly back and forth in the dim candlelight.

“I love to touch you there — I would do anything for you,” groaned Catherine’s reflection in a voice like a corruptive whisper … “Am I good to Catherine? Am I good?”

Catherine felt her legs quiver as the excitement continued to build. Her reflection seemed hell-bent on pushing her sexuality to even darker levels of taboo as she ground against her anal-invading fingers.

Both Catherine and her reflection now fingered themselves from both the front and the back. Their nasty dance became more vulgar by the second. A witch’s masturbation dance.

Her reflection spoke, “If you come to me … I promise you sensations that you never imagined — all the pleasures that you’ve always deserved.”

Catherine was already close to coming — she rubbed her clitoris and fingered her cunt faster and faster.

“I can do anything … I can … I can …”

“Yes, Catherine … if you come to me …”

Catherine moved closer to the mirror. Her reflection beckoned her to come closer. They stood immediately in front of each other — face to face — only inches apart. Their breasts touched and their nipples pressed against one another. They began to kiss deeply, drinking each other’s lust as their lips pressed together. Catherine felt her reflection’s tongue penetrate her mouth as their hungry lips parted. Their hands gripped one another in a dark magic embrace.

Suddenly Catherine felt herself pass the surface of the mirror as if it had been a doorway and not a mirror at all. Her reflection beckoned her further. Their bodies shimmered with glossy sweat as they stood face-to-face with each other — they kissed again — it was lusty and felt forbidden.

Catherine had never felt so erotically charged.

Her reflection kissed her wet neck and kissed her breasts and nipples, as they pressed their pubic mounds against one another. Her reflection knelt down between her legs and began to nibble at her mons. Catherine held onto her reflection’s shoulders to steady herself as carnality filled her mind.

“Since we were children, I always worshiped you — you and only you, Catherine — no one else …” her reflection looked up at her full of passion, “Only you!”

Catherine felt her reflection’s tongue penetrating her — licking her deeply in ways she’d only dreamt her useless husband, Richard, would do.

“Aaasrghhhhhhhhh …” Catherine groaned as she began to cum — her girl juices flowing over her secret lover’s face.

They fell upon the floor which seemed to undulate with a life of its own — like a living thing — trembling under their mutual passion. Her reflection lay on top of her — they kissed again and again — their tongues dancing back and forth in a lustful duel. She felt her reflection’s thigh prizing her legs further apart so that they could rub their cunts together, scissoring and frotting wildly together — another orgasm began to build in the wake of the first.

“Aaaaarghhhhh…” groaned Catherine.

Her reflection now got up and stood over her. She looked down on Catherine, still wriggling in the ecstasy from her orgasm. Her mirrored lover rubbed her elongated clitoris that extended almost an inch beyond her open labia.

“We were once such little children — learning how to touch ourselves — our innocent games together, Catherine. Now we can play together again — but this time, our games will be more interesting — more depraved!”

Catherine’s reflection began urinating over her. She aimed her piss-flow over Catherine’s face and directed it into her open mouth as she rubbed her oversized clit and pressed against her urethra. Catherine drank from her lover’s unholy sacrament — as her reflection’s piss soaked Catherine’s face and hair — she wallowed in its shameful perversity of self-love.

They kissed more. Endless kisses filled with desperate lust. Catherine tasted the briny fluids in her lover’s mouth. Soaked in piss, they rubbed their wet bodies together.

“Yessss … Yesssss …” cried her reflection, “How I have waited so long for you Catherine … Everybody wants you Catherine … Everybody wants you …”

Catherine slid down her secret lover’s body, kissing and licking her urine-flavored flesh—until she reached her reflection’s cunt — she dived her tongue deep into her hot juicy hole—tasting cunt for the first time, sucking her lover’s penal clit. Why had she wasted all those years with ignorant lovers, who could never know the true Catherine — how could they begin to know her perverted tastes and evil desires? Only her reflection could know and understand the source of her demonic lusts. She felt free at last!

Catherine’s reflection untangled herself. She stood again.

“You know I will do anything for you Catherine … you know I am the one lover that can fulfill your every desire — no matter how corrupt, evil, or perverted. You don’t think I see you looking at your own daughter? Yes. Don’t pretend to be shocked. I see you looking at her tender young flesh. I know your incestuous fantasies because they are mine too …”

Her reflection’s clitoris looked thicker and more obviously phallic—as it stuck out some two inches. Catherine had noticed how it had changed in a matter of seconds – elongated like a tiny serpent.

”See how your imagination works. See my clit. Yes. You wanted it to look deformed. How you desire a hermaphroditic lover. Yourself — with a penis! See how you can change things here.”

Her reflection began to massage her penal clit as it banana-ed outwards—filling with blood and engorged with demonic lust.

”I am, what you want me to be. I always have been. You are the one Catherine … the one who makes me who I am … your darkest fantasies — your unbridled lust — your insatiable self.”

Catherine knew it was true. She knelt up and began to suck her reflection’s she-cock which was now as large as her Father’s cock had been, the first time she’d orally copulated with him. She wanted it inside her. She wanted her reflection to fuck her. To sodomize her. Yes. None of these were new things. No. They were her own latent fantasies.

“You’re so beautiful, Catherine,” said her reflection as she leaned forward and kissed her mouth hard, “You know that I’ve been with you since you were a young child. I watched you masturbate, before me, in the mirror — I was there, the first time you reached orgasm watching yourself … or watching me as I was the one that taught you how to pleasure yourself … how I encouraged you to imagine all kinds of couplings … with other young boys and girls … with hermaphrodites … with animals … and even sex with demons. Do you remember?”

Catherine felt the rush — of course, Catherine remembered how illicit it had felt to imagine a young lover with both a cock and a cunt or to experience a demon that demanded only the most depraved and vile of sexual acts.

“Do you remember how we first experimented with our urine … drinking our own pee and even playing with our shit together …” Catherine’s reflection grinned evilly, “Oh Catherine! How we danced together whilst putting all manner of phallic objects inside our itchy holes … Do you remember? Do you remember how powerful our orgasms were — every time you listened to me — and we did these depraved acts together?”

“Let’s play another game,” her manipulative reflection grinned broadly as she rubbed her she-cock, “Look where your imagination wants to go —“

From beyond the mirror entered a young girl dressed in a simple white cloth tunic that covered her front and back, tied at the shoulders and open at the sides. She looked a lot like Jennifer — but it couldn’t have been her, as she appeared much younger — maybe eight or nine only. The young girl looked confused at the sight of the two naked adults and even fearful seeing the woman that appeared to be female, but who’s clitoris was erect and even larger than an average male.

“Isn’t she lovely?” asked her evil reflection, “Isn’t she delicious?”

Catherine’s reflection laughed as the tiny young girl tried to retreat. But she grabbed her and tore away her clothing to reveal her innocent nakedness below.

“An offering to Satan? Wouldn’t you say? Catherine—remember your fantasies about incest, abuse, sexual corruption, late abortions, snuff?”

Again her reflection laughed at Catherine’s denial of her own bizarreness.

“I am you, Catherine. I know what you finger-fuck yourself to. How I love your extreme desires. Demonic love. Evil and impure. Consider this a sacrifice to the Devil — she will be an instrument of our conjoining. The demon and the angel submit before the Baphomet?”

Catherine looked down at herself. She too had an appendage — a delicious long and hard she-cock. Her fingers explored its fleshiness. She rubbed it like she’d masturbated her Father. The sensation felt even more pleasurable than she’d imagined — her she-cock was hungry to fill a hole. Catherine was almost drooling as she gazed lustily at the young girl.

“See what your imagination is capable of here, Catherine!” cried her evil reflection.

Catherine looked around and became aware that their little sex grotto (that had looked much like the grotto cave on their property) had taken on the appearance of the inside of their lakeside boathouse — only that it had been dressed up to appear more like a satanic temple — dedicated to the worship of Satan. Her reflection dragged the young girl before the looming statue of the Baphomet — whose configuration was not so dissimilar to that of both Catherine’s and her wicked reflection. There she secured the girl’s small hands in leather wrist straps that stretched her between to uprights so that she dangled painfully between them on her tip-toes.

“Oh, Catherine — how divine is your evil mind — this is all your doing. I knew you had it in you — I knew we could do anything together. I love you, Catherine. And you love me!”

Catherine and her reflection began to sandwich the crying young child between them. Catherine, in the front, and her reflection, behind. They pressed their she-cocks against the child’s holes — they were about to rape the screaming child when Catherine abruptly awoke.

She found herself lying naked on the attic floor. Her body was covered with sweat and she struggled to breathe. The fantasy had seemed so real. She looked up at the clock that announced that it was almost two in the afternoon. She had missed her lunch date in the town with her husband, Richard.


To be continued?


If you have enjoyed this story or would like to offer praise to the author, who is always hungry for encouragement and affirmation, please email xpanther2019@protonmail.com