He snapped back to the present when he felt his huge hardon slapping up and down his firm gut and leaving a string of precum from the red, swollen head to his navel. He moaned as one of his hands reached down to fondle his steely shaft. The memory of Marc and the day at the locker room was getting to him. He used his other hand to start playing with his balls, his fingers prodding them to churn out the heavy load he knew was there. His grip tightened around the thick cock and moved slowly up and down its length, his groans growing louder with every bit of precum that bubbled out of his pisshead and oozed slowly down to coat his hand. His butt ground back against the bed and he began to almost involuntarily fuck his clenched fist.

Josh imagined himself back in that locker room. He pictured himself wiping his wet, muscular body with that towel to tease Marc, flaunting his growing cock and working himself up to gigantic hard on. He imagined Marc crossing the room and quickly dropping down on his knees to devour his cock, devour him. He could feel those lips close around his cock head and slurp voraciously at the bittersweet juice that was slowly pouring out of it. He imagined pumping his turgid organ down that hot throat over and over until all control was gone, until Marc finally got what he so obviously wanted, until volley after volley of cum blasted from his cock and finally Josh would lose himself in those sweet, gulping lips. And with that Josh exploded over himself. Ropes of white cum splattered all over his heaving chest, his arms, some reaching all the way to his forehead.

He drew himself up from the bed, regaining his breath, and walked over to the package on his desk. With one finger he flicked away the twine while his other hand tore at the wrapping. He wished he had had the guts back then to just yank Marc from behind that locker, rip his clothes off just like he was doing with this brown paper and make love to him on the cold floor tiles. He still could, he thought. He could leave all this behind. Lock up the house, sell the business, go to Marc and run away with him. He could do it, walk off into the sunset. Josh shook his head. No, there were too many people who depended on him, hundreds and hundreds of employees. The invisible tether of responsibility hung heavy. He couldn't run away from who he was.

The package was open. He held it up for a close look - a beautiful square mirror with an antique gilt frame.

"Mah sources will suh-weah on a stack of bibles that it was removed from the house of our last voodoo queen Malvina Latour just be-foh she expired," the dealer had told him in a conspiratorial drawl at the store in the Quarter. "All under puh-fectly legitimate circumstances, of course."

"Of course," Josh agreed with a grin betraying just a hint of sarcasm.

The dealer gave him a quick look of disapproval but continued with even more dramatic flair, "Not only is it a remarkable piece on its own, but it's ah-lleged to have ah-mazing powers. Legend has it that this here mirror will reflect back to whoevah owns it - one's deepest desires."

Josh watched his own reflection and started to laugh. He was