Jill the Mirror
Chapter 1: Sweet awakening

Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Mult, Teenagers, Consensual, Lesbian, BiSexual, Heterosexual, True Story, Humor, Vignettes, Workplace, Mother, Daughter, DomSub, Group Sex, Polygamy/Polyamory,

Desc: Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 1: Sweet awakening - Ever met a lovely person who understood everyone but themselves? In the sequel to Jill's Journeys, Jill continues to search for her sexuality and identity, in a polyamorous household to which she gives much. Heterosexuality, lesbianism, and bisexuality surround her, but she still searches for her path while helping guide others. Dove and Sandra bring their own insights beyond the norm, as do the leaders of the family. There is much growth, much love, and much fun.

My eyes blinked open. Soft sunlight drifted through the curtains and blinds. We often set them to complete darkening, so I suppose that someone wanted to be sure we awakened, if gently. I sniffed coffee brewing.

Morning has broken like the first morning
Blackbird has spoken like the first bird
Praise for the singing
Praise for the morning
Praise for them springing fresh from the world
Sweet the rain’s new fall, sunlit from heaven
Like the first dewfall on the first grass
Praise for the sweetness of the wet garden
Sprung in completeness where his feet pass

Cat Stevens

Next, I became aware of a soft, warm, presence to my side. I was sleepy enough to wonder why my arm, on that side, was not asleep, but then realized it was Jill, who, among all women I have known, had the apparent superpower of being weightless to those with whom she slept. Jill isn’t tiny. I don’t ask, but she probably carried 130 healthy pounds on her 5’8” frame. Again, magic. She wore a silky nightgown, which had ridden up in interesting places. Between skin and nightgown, she felt delightful.

She is of Swedish heritage. Her shoulder-length hair starts off as a light brown or dark blonde, but when she stays in the sun and gets a deep tan, her hair turns to gold. Her eyes are a light ice blue.

Jill may have a second superpower. She struggles with mental illness, the worst parts of which are well controlled with medication -- and we watch carefully to be sure that she takes it. Nevertheless, she sometimes seems to “march to a different drummer”, or even from another reality. From that place, however, she sometimes is an incredibly insightful mirror for the rest of us. Perhaps she is connecting to the nonordinary reality of The Way of the Shaman, channeling a reality different from the current one but coexisting with it.

On her far side, I saw my lover, first among equals, Dove, her bright red hair catching my eye. I’m no breast fetishist, but her large bosom was the next thing that impressed itself on my gaze. As did I, Dove slept in the nude. I took a moment to reflect that my short, busty, lover certainly was attractive, yet it didn’t matter to me that she was less my physical ideal than the taller women of our polyamory.

I also became aware of a soft, warm, presence above my head. Sensing activity, General Grant purred, licked my head, and inquired about breakfast: “brrRRT?”

Jill shook herself awake. She was probably more of a morning person than any of us. “Ooh. I smell the coffee. Good morning, dears.”

Dove sat up, smiling. She turned to me, her green eyes twinkling, with a common first question of the morning: “want a blowjob?”

“I’m still waking up and wouldn’t fully appreciate it.”

“Jill, want me to eat you, or would you like to play with my boobs?”

“Oh, that’s a nice thought, for a little while.” Jill moved to Dove, and enjoyed her breasts with hands and mouth. “But you know my favorite, if not for long.”

“Mm.” A happy sound of agreement came from Dove. Jill slid her thigh between Dove’s, and began rubbing her mound against Dove’s leg, while rubbing Dove’s against her strong thigh. Jill dropped her mouth to Dove’s. I enjoyed watching Jill’s hungry kissing, soon reciprocated.

“Nice wakeup, Jill, dear. But we need to get moving.” She turned to me.

“One moment, Sir, while I prepare myself for your pleasure and my discipline.” Dove swung her legs over the side of the bed, and slipped on the bedroom shoes that she knew I liked, with six-inch heels in which she walked assuredly and, it seemed, comfortably.

As part of our morning ritual, I moved to Dove’s side of the bed, and sat on the edge. Jill pressed herself against my back.

Dove paused, not in role. She raised her right arm and rotated it, then used her left hand to press on the large, shallow scar in her right shoulder. Before she got away from he who she refers to as the “sperm donor” for her daughter, Dawn, he had literally shot her. After surgery and with careful exercising, the pain reduced, but was still there.

When she first visited me in Washington, DC, I took her to the Dream Dresser, a kinky clothing store. She was fascinated by some of the corsets. The first one or two just didn’t look right. When she put on the third, however, in a moment, her eyes widened, and she trembled.

I thought that the corset, which did have some leather in it, triggered some fetish of hers, and I was seeing a near orgasm. It turned out to be something completely different: the corset gave her shoulder just the support that she needed, and the discomfort disappeared. Happily, the store had them in black, red, and white, which we immediately bought. She and I would do some special orders.

As long as she would often wear a corset, she started wearing gartered stockings frequently. Before then, she tended to go naked under dresses.

“Dear,” (not Master) “it’s a sore shoulder day. Am I red today, or perhaps royal blue?”

“Blue, I think.” It was really random, but a nice game. Jill nodded. Of course, the corset was hardly modest, revealing and supporting her bosom, and extending a little above her shaven mound.

Dove is the person closest to me in the world. I both love her, and am in love with her. We try constantly to make the other happy. Happily, there’s no jealousy between Jill and Dove.

Much shorter than Jill, at about 5’3”, Dove has big, shapely breasts. Her legs are strong, solid, and well-formed. One shoulder, however, has a wide shallow scar, where she had been shot by her daughter Dawn’s biological father.

I’d hesitate to say she had a superpower, but things do get blurry among her street smarts, training as a therapist, and exposure to Cree shamanism as she grew up.

Dove is also a mild sexual masochist, although that certainly does not extend to bullet wounds. While she is one of the strongest people whom I’ve ever known, she wants a certain amount of dominance and submission. Acts of submission seem to remove many of her stresses and make her even more powerful.

She accepts that I don’t like either giving pain or orders, but we have reached a balance. Dove put herself across my lap, to receive several hard spanks. “Thank you, Sir.”

“You are the finest of slaves, my Little One.” She wanted those words, and I accepted her need, rather than thinking them out of a bad novel.

As we had sniffed, the coffee machine’s timer started it. We put on robes and moved to the dining room. Jill pushed the button on our apartment’s dumbwaiter, and a brunch tray soon appeared. Dawn took it out and served, starting with the fresh-squeezed orange juice that I considered my equivalent of communion wine. My communion hosts were the bagels.

Jill grinned. “Ah, orange juice. Such a nice touch for my games coming up.” Jill liked golden showers. She looked through the tray. “Yes, cinnamon rolls as well.”

A hot bagel with both butter and cream cheese was a decadence that I enjoyed. The platter of bacon and sausages, however, in no way met the requirements of Kashrut, the kosher dietary rules. Since I had long ago rejected religious Judaism, I reached for several strips of crispy bacon. Jill passed the cheese tray, from which I took a wedge of ripe Camembert, a chunk of Stilton, several slices of Wensleydale with cranberries, and some bread with Gourmandise with walnuts. I noted the calories and the assorted exercises that would be required.

General Grant accepted herring in cream sauce, bacon, and a couple of balls of cantaloupe. He is a cat of eclectic tastes.

“What’s everyone’s schedule this morning?”

Dove had much to do. “Obviously, after this breakfast, I need to work out. Coming with me?” We’re both Type II diabetics.

“Good idea.”

“After that, I’m going to spend a bit of time with Sandra. Lovers, I’m a trained counselor and psychologist, with huge street smarts to go with them. Sandra, however, has intuitive senses that I’ve never seen. She also can spread her serenity. Jill, you also have unique intuition, but you have sudden insights where she finds our courage and serenity. I think we complement one another.

“She’s one of the sweetest people in the world, but I’m learning from her -- maybe some in the other direction. While she’s ethnically and to some extent culturally Chinese, she’s been studying the Japanese tea ceremony, cha-no-yu, as a means of clearing the mind and soul. We’re going to work with serenity a bit. She’s slightly less serene when she points out that while the ceremony is called Japanese, tea was introduced by Chinese, of the sophisticated Tang dynasty, into the imitative and Sinophilic Nara Period of Japan, or, more likely, the Heian Period. At that point, she harrumphed. “Don’t they call that cultural appropriation these days?”

“Later, I’m meeting with Gigi and Marilyn, to trade ideas about our children -- well, Mike is Marilyn’s cousin, but might as well be her son. We want to think about how maturing teenagers will adjust best in a polyamorous household. By and large, we want them to try whatever they want, if it’s SSC -- safe, sane, and consensual.”

“I expect to have a late lunch, in the common dining room, mingling with the household.”

Jill said “I’m starting with some French language tutoring for the kids. Not surprisingly, Dawn, as a Canadian, is farthest along, but I was pleasantly surprised to find the guys know some, have studied some French military history, and joined in singing the Marseillaise.

“Dove, as you observe, they’re as horny as you’d expect for their ages. None is a virgin, although Mike, I heard, made the nuanced observation, “I have not had sex with a woman. I have had sex with a teenage girl, and enjoyed it very much, but look forward to more.” With that, he reminded me of a story:

Three French boys, of 10, 12, and 14 years, strolled down the street. The curtains on a window were open.

The youngest called to his friends, “That man and woman! They are fighting!”

His immediate senior scoffed. “No, fool. They are making love.”

The eldest observed, “Oui. And badly.”

Dove and I went down to the gym and dance studio, starting on the treadmills. I’m just beginning to learn aerobic dance, so Dove took me through a beginner’s routine. We finished off with light, fast, weights, and then to a shared shower.

I put on my casual kilt with a soft wool top. She slipped into a violet tube dress and what, for her, were moderate four-inch heels. Dove rarely wears anything under dresses, except stockings when in the mood. If her shoulder hurts, however, the corsets help. Sometimes, of course, she wants a corset as part of an outfit.

Dove: I’m finding myself happier and more secure than ever before in my life. Should I feel guilty as a loyal Canadian living in Washington, DC?

“Come by for coffee?” I invited the guardians of teenage members of the household. “Gigi, Marilyn, it occurs to me that we all share the special challenge of having an adolescent among a group of generally horny adults. It’s the furthest thing from my mind to deny that where you have adolescents, you won’t have sex, but I wonder if we should exchange some guidelines?” That got general agreement.

“Most likely, if it’s consensual, I’m open to whatever they want to do with each other. We’ll provide birth control, medical help as needed, and privacy. Any problems?”

“No, Dawn,” Marilyn observed “Anything else would be hypocrisy.”

“Good, then, I’ve got a naughty plan to present Dawn with her partially autonomous apartment. Your kids may want to come.

“Let me continue. I don’t think it’s a good idea for them to have sex with their parent or guardian. Maybe when they’re in their mid-twenties, the parties might reexamine that by mutual consent. At the same time, both parents and kids shouldn’t be embarrassed by the other having sex.” Again, nods of agreement.

“This next one is more complex: no direct competition. As you know, I have a special relationship with Howard, and he has one with Jill. I wouldn’t want Dawn to put moves on Howard, or vice versa. That got more complex, though, with Jill initiating Dawn into sex with women. We decided that it was OK since I have no special relationship with Jill.”

“Yes, that is more complex,” Gigi observed. “Mike treats me as both mentor and bedmate, but we’re careful not to make that exclusive, but he’s not competing with anyone. By mentor, incidentally, he really is blossoming in the kitchen.”

Marilyn asked, “What about groups?”

I said “I think they’re OK, subject to the earlier rules. You do remind me that I haven’t yet made it with all our men, and I should try them out before recommending to my daughter.” She grinned. “Now, let me tell you what I have in mind for Dawn’s apartment.”

“Now that you mention mentors,” Gigi added, “George tells me that he’s interested both in software and medicine. Howard, you at least should work with him.”


Dawn lived with me, originally in a second bedroom. The building, and Lucy’s support staff, allowed for much more flexibility, including building in unoccupied space on the far side of Dawn’s room.

Lucy and Dawn collaborated to give more adult quarters to Dawn first, which would be the prototype for George and Mike. The new accommodations were a mini-suite within the apartment: bedroom, bath, and study. The study had a microwave, refrigerator, electric tea kettle, and coffeemaker. It also had its own door to the hallway.

Before introducing her daughter to the rooms, I had a naughty thought, and asked Diane to go to her art department and produce a quite elegant sign: “Age of Aquarius”. Innocently, it seemed, she had a small party to watch a video of the musical, Hair.

I joined Jill, Marilyn, George, Mike, and Gigi to welcome her. Tony, with his powerful bass voice, welcomed her:

When the moon is in the Seventh House
And Jupiter aligns with Mars
Then peace will guide the planets
And love will steer the stars

This is the dawning of the Age of Aquarius
The Age of Aquarius
Aquarius! Aquarius!

Harmony and understanding
Sympathy and trust abounding
No more falsehoods or derisions
Golden living dreams of visions
Mystic crystal revelation
And the mind’s true liberation
Aquarius! Aquarius!

When the moon is in the Seventh House
And Jupiter aligns with Mars
Then peace will guide the planets
And love will steer the stars

This is the dawning of the Age of Aquarius
The Age of Aquarius
Aquarius! Aquarius!

Harmony and understanding
Sympathy and trust abounding
No more falsehoods or decisions
Golden living dreams of visions
Mystic crystal revelation
And the mind’s true liberation
Aquarius! Aquarius!

Robert Westerholt, Sharon J. Den Adel, Daniel Gibson

Dawn, while too young for the hippie days, loved it. She did a bit of research, and added flower child garments to her wardrobe of professional outfits and provocative attire.

“Thanks, Mom. Yes, you’re my adult exemplar, but you’re also fun. How can I be a teenager and feel like my mother actually understands?

“I’ve got more experimenting to do, but, even if I don’t do a lot more with women, the way you encouraged me to learn with Jill was really reassuring -- wise and trusting. I love you, Mom.”

Jill softly smiled. “I’m glad, Dawn, that I could help you grow. George and Mike, I’m confident that you and Dawn will grow and explore, but you, too, can call on mentors. I’d certainly be happy to do more.

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