deviant dreams

Wet Dream: a fragment

2011-10-09T05:00:00.024-05:00

Jennelle overslept and awoke suddenly from a wet dream which left no images, only a palpable need she had no time to satisfy and pajama bottoms soaked with girl cream. Based upon fragmentary thoughts which intruded upon her foggy mind it had involved both pain and pleasure. The result was a kind of horny which left her mouth slick with thicker than normal saliva and a pussy sloppy white with unused lubrication. Without time for finding panties, she wiggled her pungent, puffy, pink into some jeans lying on her bed, the seam of which nestled deep between her labia as a rude reminder of her dream and how long the day would be.

In spite of being a good student, calculus was kicking her ass. Her mind was already resigned to the fact that she’d have to retake it in the summer, probably with a tutor. It wasn’t that she didn’t try. She just wasn’t getting it. She’d done poorly on an exam Monday and anticipated the result today. Any grade below a C, she knew, would earn her some strokes when she got home. Her mother was very strict about school and used corporal punishment to enforce her philosophy.

At the beginning of 4^th period she got her exam back, and as she’d guessed, it was a D. As though the poor grade weren’t enough, she now had a beating to look forward to. Nevertheless, the thought of being spanked reminded her of something in her dream, something just out of reach, something she couldn’t quite articulate, something which made the seam of her jeans tighter against her clit, causing her to stop by the ladies room between classes to wipe and see if there was a visibly wet spot soaking through her jeans. There was.

When she got home, dutifully, she laid the exam on her mom’s desk, went to the cupboard and chose the whip, a nasty cat of 9 tails with vicious knots tied irregularly along each thong. She wasn’t sure why she’d chosen it over the other pain producing instruments there. There were no easy rides, each instrument hurt under her parent’s skillful touch, and each brought its own flavor of pain. Yet, a whipping today seemed exactly right, evoking a virgin, feral urge Jennelle felt in her pubic bone - and jeans.

This choice of implement was the one luxury she enjoyed when being disciplined. While the final choice of objects lay with her mom, it was a veto she’d exercised only once in Jennelle’s life, and given the occasion, rightly so. Given her state of undiminished arousal, she hoped that the whip would not only be less severe somehow, but also, soothing, sensual, and satisfying. The last property made her shudder in anticipation. Confident in her decision, she laid the scourge on top of her test to alert her mom what lay beneath.

Resigned to her fate, she began to undress. In doing so the ache in her overly tender loins roared unmercifully. However, instead of jumping back into bed and relieving her need, she opted for the shower she’d missed earlier. Once naked, shadows from her dream resurfaced in an avalanche of arousal causing her to wonder how painful discipline would play out in all of this. Pain and pleasure: that had been the sequence. She contemplated what this meant, questioning if pain could satisfy her lust in some previously unexperienced way, answering to what she sensed metaphysically in her dream but now felt gnawingly between her tender thighs.

In the shower she shaved her mound silky smooth for the first time in months. After removing the tangle of teenage undergrowth, her crotch felt cool, alive, bare, and sensitive. Then, dressed only in her robe she went back to her room to await her fate. Soon she heard her mother enter the kitchen. There was a general rustling of objects and paper, followed by an eerie silence. Almost immediately, she heard determined footsteps approaching her door. Without a knock, the door opened. Clearly her mother meant business tonight.

Exasperated, her mother waved the whip and test paper in her hand while giving the usual speech about grades, disappointment, and her own good. Jennelle nodded humbly without making eye contact. After laying both items on the dresser, she reminded Jennelle that she was due 15 firm strokes on her bare bottom. While rolling up her sleeve she flatly ordered her to remove the robe and assume the position.

Obeying, Jennelle stood and let the robe drop to her feet, revealing her naked and now nervous body. She just as quickly sat back down on the corner of her bed facing her mother, one leg on each side of the point. Taking a breath, her mother looked at her daughter, picked up the whip, and demanded again that her daughter assume the position.

Jennelle slowly shook her head before falling back in resignation, staring at the ceiling, praying she hadn’t left a wet spot for her mother to see. Her hands lay limp above her head, her legs dangled off the edge of the bed, tip toes barely touching the floor. Impatiently her mother “ahem-ed” again, while Jennelle closed her eyes and shook her head defiantly as impulses, desires, and fantasies awoke inside her. She abandoned herself to these primal urges, not knowing what else to do. Yes, something was alive and swelling just below the surface, desperate to be found – desperate to satisfy this hedonistic hunger. Irritated, her mother emphasized that she wasn’t in the mood for power games tonight, and that any more delay would earn her double strokes.

With a smirk, she ignored the warning until her exasperated mother made good her threat and reached out to roll her over. But Jennelle was having none of it and raised her legs as if to hug them, then deliberately pushed her knees apart and held them wide.

Then begged softly, “whip me here . . . before I change my mind.”

Allison's Adventures in Wonderland: Chapter IV

2010-12-21T12:01:00.003-06:00

No Walk in the Park

Hungry to get at his auburn beauty, he jerked the covers of the far bed to the floor in one motion before helping her gracelessly onto it. As she lay back, he made his way to the foot of the bed, knelt between her feet and pushed her bent legs so far apart that her thighs nearly made one continuous straight line, knees hovering just inches above the bed, heeled feet digging into the mattress either side of his shoulders. Between them he plied his craft, tongue dancing on her rubbery, erect clit, still hiding under panties he’d been too rushed to remove. His oral repertoire also included sucking and biting her erect little nubbin through the fabric, mixing his saliva with the dampness she contributed from the inside. Lovingly he worked, motivated by her excitement, wanting to bring her to climax.

She lay flat on her back, still wearing her dress, eyes closed, oblivious to everything else around her. Her universe had shrunk to a single spot which, even when engorged to its maximum, was no larger than a pencil eraser. The time had long passed when she remembered gripping the bed sheet in tight fists. She writhed in pleasant agony upon the bed; there was no other word to describe it. Her head lay facing left, her chest heaved, her breath caught irregularly, and her hands tugged at the sheets as her back bowed under his oral assault.

He’d had orgasmic women before, but this one looked primed to go far beyond his normal experience. Something different was building, something which made him excited and a bit nervous at the same time. However, before he could process more, her breathing took on a new dimension, she bit her bottom lip, lifted her hips off the bed, grunted twice, pulled the sheet free as her hand moved to her mouth, and then squirted hot clear liquid forcefully enough to produce a short stream even through her underwear. As this pooled on the bed, her body wracked hard to the left, her hands went to her crotch, her legs came together, and she lay on her side, back still locked in a rigid arch. There she shuttered, twitched, and dribbled Jill juice in tempo with her contracting gash.

He rubbed her legs as she continued to jerk and spasm, lost in the moment. Eventually she rolled onto her back and he moved beside her where he placed a hand under her head and held her wet hands in his until she was calmly back in the present. Lovingly he kissed her and waited for her to speak, determined not to interrupt her sexual Shangri-la. Soon she looked at him with a sweaty smile and let out a soft “wheewww” as she blushed and covered her face with the backs of her hands. With her skirt still above her waist and her knees bent unconsciously to keep them out of the puddle, she propping herself up on her elbows, spread her legs slightly, and surveyed the wet spot; some parts of which still contained standing liquid. Dropping back in a thud, embarrassed, she said laughingly, “Please, don’t let me do that again.”

* * * * * * * * * *

The next morning dawned bright and fair; light streamed in through the cracks in the curtains, and Allison awoke in fine spirits. It was one of those mornings when she found herself instantly, fully awake. She had slept like the dead. Her hand instinctively made to reach for her peach as it had done nearly every morning of her post-pubescent life, but rope soon bit into skin, holding her in check, reminding her that she was in fact bound, not just to her bed, but to the will of another. It was the tug which brought her back to reality, to a soreness she noticed under her sheets. Her bare trim felt like it was covered with a dull burning rash which extending from thigh to thigh and half way to her navel. Conscious of this fact, she contritely recalled what had caused it. Embarrassed by her behavior the evening before, she decided then and there that she’d go without her own pleasure if it truly pleased him for as long as he enjoyed it. She had to confess that she found the idea arousing. She could only surmise that it came from her new found desire to please him no matter what he asked. One thing she knew for sure; as long as he would have her, she wanted to serve and please him. She secretly hoped it would be for a very long time.

At that realization, she relaxed, reveling in the comfort of her resignation to the will of another.

Not a superior will, but a strong one, a comfortable, secure, and most importantly, a caring one.

Now at peace, a full morning bladder pressed itself upon her awareness. Hearing no one in the house, she called out for her Sir. Hearing no stir, she smiled and waited; content to wet the bed if necessary knowing she pleased him. However, long before that became necessary, she heard the back door shut and his now familiar foot fall advancing down the hall towards her room.

~~~

We enjoyed a leisurely stroll through the woods and fields on our way to town that morning. Just on the outskirts of which she asked, “Sir, will you please remove the leash and collar? I’m a bit self-conscious about others seeing me this way.”

I refused. “You are my pet” I explained, “It’s time everyone else knew it too.”

Embarrassed, but without any resistance she walked on. Her hands, nervous, almost conscious, clasped themselves behind her back, wanting to prevent revealing any of her firm, rounded derrière as her skirt bounced joyfully in cadence with her youthful strides.

We made our way first to the tailor’s shop to pick up her dress. He had it already wrapped in brown paper for us. He presenting me with his bill and I paid him. However, before we could leave, he noticed the leash and nonchalantly asked if I wanted to see my girl in the alterations before taking it home. Shaking my head, I replied, “I’m sure it’s fine as long as you shortened it to match the ones I bought last week.”

Absent mindedly putting my payment in his pocket, he ventured, “Let’s just say that I took the liberty to umm . . . enhance the design . . . more in keeping with the young lady’s . . . aah, station, shall we call it.” At this he lightly fingered his shirt collar with two fingers as though scratching his neck to indicate hers.

Not understanding the tailor’s intentions and comfortable now to be in town, out of my confined cottage and shop, Allison insisted she try it on too. One can only imagine that such a vivacious young lady would want to prolong such an outing as much as she could. So, without any further thought, she took the dress out of its wrapping and looked at the tailor, asking by the very act where she could change.

The tailor, recognizing her eagerness, smiled like one who knew an inside secret then gestured to a tri-paneled folding screen in a back corner of the shop. “There’s a mirror back there too so you can see how it fits” he added smiling at her back as she turned away from us.

Released from the leash, she disappeared behind the flimsy privacy partition. After a few muffled shuffles, she flung her green dress over the top of the screen. More shuffling ensued. Before the tailor or I could begin a conversation, we heard her gasp in horror. The tailor chuckled. Being the only one in the room now still left out of the prank, I asked, “What?”

From behind the screen we heard Allison yell, “What the Hell have you done to my dress, you moron!”

“What’s wrong my dear?” I asked perplexed while the tailor grinned satisfied.

“He’s ALTERED my dress! That’s what’s wrong” she complained, nearly shouting.

“Come on out and let me see. If you don’t like it, I’m sure he’ll be glad to . . .”

“NO!” she interrupted. “It can’t be fixed. The bumbling idiot has totally fucked it.”

Going back to the screen I looked in and found her leaning against the wall with her hands folded over her chest, cupping her breasts, face red, nostrils flared with rage.

“Let me see” I said, motioning for her to approach.

“There’s nothing to see, that incompetent bastard has trashed my dress” is all she would say.

Still puzzled, I advanced and quietly whispered, “Give me your hands, Allison.” She closed her eyes and dropped her shaking hands enough for me to see the cause of her anger.

The tailor, in a veritable stroke of practical genius, and acting purely on a whim, had removed the bodice of her dress, at least the bust part of it. Beyond that, it was just the way I’d ordered it. To wear it though meant my young lady would be essentially topless.

I smiled and took her by the only hand I could grab before she withdrew it and said, “Come, let’s let the tailor see his handiwork.”

Blushing and begging me not to do it, she managed to partially cover her bare breasts with her free hand before being very reluctantly drug from behind the screen. Once out in the open, I moved behind her quietly. Pushing her forward gently, I found her other hand also and secured it loosely behind her back so the craftsman could enjoy the results of his risky work. At the sight, the tailor let out a whistle. “Very nice, if I say so myself” is all he uttered, beaming from ear to ear.

Knowing she was looking for any opportunity to break away and change out of her sartorial nightmare, I released her sweaty hands but took her firmly by the shoulders, and refused to let her move. I held her thus for a few moments to let her get her bearings, then added, “I’d like you to wear it today for me, if you don’t mind, Allison.”

~~~

Finding her hands free once again, they instinctively covered her pert breasts. However, she realized that the Hatter had not meant it as a request. Thus, remembering last night’s discipline and this morning’s surrender to his complete control, she lowered her hands, placed her trust in his judgment, and then, red with shame, nodded assent. Seizing the opportunity to demonstrate her subservience in a public, tangible way, without a word she reached back for his coat pocket, found the clasp end of her leash, and secured it to her collar. Probing again, she found the handle, and without looking up, offered it to him, saying softly, “I’m ready, Sir.”

~~~

Before we left, the tailor wrapped up the dress she’d removed and handed it to her. She took it without making eye contact. I thanked him for his work and creativity. He nodded in recognition and smiled his approval. “If this works out well” I added, “I might have you alter the other two the next time I’m in town.”

“Drop ‘em by any time” he said with a wave as we opened the door to leave.

Moving out onto the open street, the cooler air once again made her nipples point as if straining for some unseen goal, pulled by an invisible chord. They stood out proud and perky, making me proud to be leading her along for the town’s people to enjoy. Widgie, isn’t she beautiful? So pretty, neck so small, breasts so alert – alive! Humility suits her well.

As we made our way down the crowded thoroughfare, she would wince as she caught people, men especially, looking at her nubile nips, particularly since her little buds stood out so prominently on display for the first time in her life. Once while making our way through a small pack of people, she covered her breasts with her hands protecting them from the prospect of being handled. Seeing this, I reprimanded her. “No, Allison, I want your titties on proud display for everyone to enjoy. Don’t cover them again or I’ll have to take action to prevent it.”

Blushing once again, she dropped her hands to her side as we continued walking and replied, “Yes, Sir.”

Before reaching the end of the main street, we entered the leather smith’s shop. The proprietor had made the excellent collar and leash she wore. As we entered, the smell of all things leather soothed us with its comforting, hushed smell. We made our way to the bench where the smith, a middle aged man, plied his trade in silence. Hearing us enter, he did not look up until he reached a good stopping place, at which time he asked what we needed. Detailing to him that I wanted some nice cuffs for her wrist and ankles with metal loops for binding, he paused to take some measurements and mentioned he could have some ready in an hour if I’d be in town that long. I confessed that we could tarry that long, but that I had one more request which I wanted to discuss privately.

Wordlessly nodding discrete assent, he looked from her to me, directing me with his eyes to a rafter Allison could not reach; he then stood and shuffled to a corner of his shop out of ear shot. There he waited as I tied off her leash, leaving her bound by the neck, chest calm, hands clasped behind her back. Kissing her lightly on her forehead, I asked her to wait patiently, then joined him in the corner and described to him what I wanted.

~~~

He has left me here tied by the leash like a dog. Now he stands with a man I’ve never met, who now knows that I’ll be bound by my wrists and ankles at times. It won’t take much stretching of his imagination to realize that this bare-breasted girl, parading around town in a collar and leash will someday, and likely very soon – and often – be stretched to her limits, shackled naked to the four corners of a big bed and used very roughly. God, this is making me so wet. I can feel warm cream seeping down my thighs. I hope we go home after this and he decides to try out the cuffs while fucking me senseless. Oh, how much I need to cum. I don’t think he realizes that where I’m from girls do it all the time. I certainly did. I’m so soaked I can smell myself! . . . I wonder what the smith’s gesticulations mean. First around his waist, then between the legs . . . now holding both hands there against his lower abdomen . . . he’s clearly not referencing his own genitalia . . . . My Master is smiling and nodding. Apparently, the smith has done this before.

~~~

Leaning in close, he asked in a hushed tone, “What else can I do for you, Sir?”

“I’m hoping you can also make my pet a firm chastity device. Have you ever done such a thing before?”

“Oh, Yes, many times” he beamed. “I’ve made almost all of them for the young ladies in town. I even made one for my mistress. She’s never escaped it yet” he said adding a wink. “Typically the older generation insists on metal ones, ‘Iron Maidens’ they call ‘em, but they rust and need much more care. Besides, with the leather they won’t chafe or blister once broken in. And while they can grow quite soft and comfortable over time, mine are tight and thick enough to prevent any intrusion or stimulation from the lusty lass wearing it. She won’t be able to tamper with whatever you have in mind for her I quite assure you.”

Satisfied with his pitch and hand descriptions of the apparatus, I ordered one for her. “Can I pick them both up today?” I asked hopefully.

Doing quick mental calculations while rubbing his chin he said, “I don’t see why not. I have many of the parts premade, all I’ll need to do is get some close measurements and cut them to fit. Why don’t you and your . . . what did you call her . . . pet?” he asked reluctantly, “get a picnic lunch up and enjoy a few hours in the park once I get some measurements?” he suggested turning to go get his measuring tape.

“Thanks, we will.”

Over his shoulder he called back a bit louder, “Oh, and don’t for get to purchase a lock before you leave if you want it to stay in place.”

I simply nodded making mental notes. I returned to Allison who was standing silently, shifting from foot to foot in wonder at what was about to transpire. The smith went to his bench, acquired what he needed and turned to join us.

As soon as he had crossed approximately half of the distance, he stopped and said, “Bring her into this small room. I do all my measuring here. Sometimes the ladies like their privacy you know” he added with a smirky wink.

Untying her leash, I followed the smith and lead her into a small room where cuffs hung by a chain from a rafter; two others were bolted to the floor. “Have her reach up and I’ll fasten her writs if you’ll bind her feet” he said already grunting at the reach over his head.

Allison asked, “Is all this really necessary?”

“Not all submit to the belt willingly, young lady” he said as he dispatched his task with the speed and detachment of one who’d done this many times before.

In short order we had Allison completely immobilized. Once done, the smith drew up a short three-legged stool to get a proper view, asking me to lift her dress so he could measure properly. “I’ve done this over loose fitting dresses before” he explained to me, “but the results are always a little disappointing. However, if her panties fit tightly, the numbers will be close enough for me to adequately compensate for them.”

I winked at him as I moved behind her and whispered in her ear, “If her panties fit tightly . . . .”

Her exposed posture raised her skirt enough to place at eye level her pink comb hanging delicately between her legs. Helping to complete the task, I slowly lifted her skirt above her waist and clasping my hands on her stomach to hold it there, revealing her bare bottom half to a total stranger. She trembled and closed her eyes tightly.

Letting out a sharp whistle the smith looked at me in shocked amazement, adding, “So the stories are true about the girls you hire for your shop.”

“I didn’t hire her, and she didn’t get that working in my shop.”

The smith just looked dismissively at me as he turned to his task. Beginning, he half cleared his throat in near disgust. Looking down, I could see why. She had soaked her entire crotch and thighs nearly to her knees. Something was clearly arousing her.

“My dear, why are you so wet?” I asked whispering in her ear.

She just blushed without a word.

Finding a towel, the smith wiped her glistening saddle seat and began measuring her. “Can you lift her dress any higher?” he queried, “I need to measure her waist above the hip joint.”

Trying, I finally said with a tone of resignation, “I’m sorry but because of the cut of the dress, that’s as high as it will go.”

“Then it’ll have to come off if you want this done right” he added aggravated at the time this would take.

Kissing her lightly on top of her head, I said, “Just relax, Allison, this won’t take but a minute.”

She looked back at me in pleading, nearly desperate tones as I began unbuttoning her dress from behind. A tear trickled down her left cheek as I unfastened each wrist cuff, one at a time, so she could remove her arms from the sleeves. Once completely freed the dress fell to about her knees in a hush of cloth. By now she was noticeably shaking so I held her just under her breasts, nuzzling her neck to comfort her.

Making small talk as he measured her around the waist, the smith asked, “How did she get this nasty rash if she doesn’t work in your shop?”

“I didn’t say she doesn’t work in my shop, I merely said I didn’t hire her. And how she got that is none of your concern” I added as he quickly ran one arm between her thighs to measure her front to back.

Often he had to touch her between her young legs. This made her shudder at first just from the shock of a stranger touching her most intimate parts. However, he deduced from her wetness how horny she was and took fiendish delight in accidentally stroking her nub as he measured. He’d measured enough young aroused ladies to know what the device was for. Once he had measured everything twice he ended with a not so accidental handling of her bean. At this prolonged touch, Allison laid her head back against me, her mouth opened, and her breathing loud enough for us both to hear. Then, before I could object, he stopped.

“Well” he said wiping his fingers on his towel, “she’s drenched again, shall I wipe her?”

“No, leave her that way. I like it” I added.

“You know she’ll attract every dog in the county” he said.

“I’ll take my chances” I assured him.

Putting his stool against the wall he said, “Ok, I have what I need to get started. Come back in a couple of hours and we’ll do the fitting.” Turning to go back to his bench, he stopped, looked back at her blistered pubes, and then with a raise of one eyebrow, shook his head in resignation before reiterating, “See you in a few of hours.”

After he left the room I circled in front of her. She was the model of feminine perfection bound there before me naked, dress hanging in folds at her knees, her skin pale except for the blood rash which stood out in stark relief. Her inner thighs were visibly moist again from the experience and I could even smell the wet pussy wafting through the air. I resisted the urge to fondle her myself. There would be ample time for that back home. Instead, I reached over her head and released her hands. Squatting, I released each ankle in turn. As she moved her feet to a more comfortable position, her dress finally fell in a cascading heap onto the floor. I made my way behind her so that once in place I could button it back for her. Reaching down to retrieve it left me once again, face to ‘face’ with her edible posterior. The temptation was just too great. I had to enjoy it on the spot. I placed both hands on the sides of her hips and buried my face into her fleshy mounds, licking between them until I heard her draw a deep breath. Keeping one hand in place, I urged her forward with the other until she was bent over, holding her knees with her hands. I grabbed the smith’s stool which placed her tight pucker right at eye level. Aroused by such an impromptu opportunity, I dug my tongue deep inside her sphinctered hole.

She began gasping as my lingual muscle probed her privacy. I licked and bit and tongued her until we heard the smith approaching, interrupting our play. He never entered the room but we both knew we needed to take our play elsewhere lest we be discovered in such a compromising act.

Pulling up her dress, I helped her arms through the sleeves, adjusted the fit under her nubile breasts, and buttoned it. I took the dangling end of her leash as I moved in front of her to tell her I was ready to go. However, before I could get one word out of my mouth she grabbed me, placing one warm hand on each side of my face and kissed me deeply, sucking my tongue into her mouth. She let out a muted Mmmm as she breathed through her nose sharply against my face, tasted herself on oral intruder.

When she stopped, I regained my composure and told her that it was time we left. “I know, Sir” she said letting her hands fall to her side.

As I lead her to the front door, I looked back at her and noticed that she once again had unknowingly covered her titties with her hands. With a gentle, “Ahem” in her direction she castigated herself with an audible “AAARRH!” Then replied, “I’m sorry, Sir. It’s just a natural reaction. I’ll get over it in time.”

Opening the door, I said, “I know, but to prevent you from hiding your tits until I can bind you, get on all fours for me and I’ll lead you around like my pet until we come back.”

With a look of staggering unbelief, she slowly and very self-consciously knelt, feeling hard earth under her bare knees. Then in a moment of surreality, she placed both hands on the ground, noticing how differently gravity played upon her body in such a humiliating position. She felt the air circulate around her bare bottom and realized that anyone behind her could see her derrière and bald muff since her dress was far too short to hide them. Exposed this way, she crawled like a pet through the streets of town, unable to cover her nakedness. However, having been handled naked by a stranger and ass licked by her Master had left her slippery with lubricant, glistening in the day light for the curious to witness.

I walked her down the street until I found a shop where I procured locks and sundry hard wares. Having taken care of all the business we needed, we bought a small lunch of fresh fruits, bread and some cold meat. Satisfied that we had nothing left but to eat and wait on the leather smith, we made for the park to enjoy the warm afternoon sunshine and have our picnic.

Once there, I took her for a ‘walk’. She thanked me for the chance to crawl along in soft grass. The street hurt her knees she complained. I enjoyed leading her through all the grottoes and coves of the park, nodding as we encountered passersby. Soon we found a bench under a shady tree where few were apt to amble and I took a seat. She remained on all fours near my feet. Looking up at me for instructions, I simply told her to ‘sit’. She did, just like a cat or dog would have. Her pet training is going along splendidly, Widgie!

I spread my handkerchief over my lap and placed the food for our lunch on it. Seeing this, she repositioned herself to face my lap. However, instead of letting her eat from the cloth, I broke her food into bites and tossed it onto the ground. At first she reached for it, but before she could touch it, I smacked her hand and told her firmly, “No! A pet eats with all her feet firmly on the ground.”

“You want me to . . . ?”

“Yes, eat on all fours, ass in the air. Surely you’ve watched your cat eat. Mimic him” I told her.

Resigned to her fate, she first sat back on her haunches, thighs resting on her calves, and then leaned forward to rest on her forearms. In spite the bite sized morsels it took her a few tries to get the hang of eating like an animal. Since we did not have a bowl, I gave her drinks from my bottle. Although sometimes I was overly ambitious from a general lack of practice and it would dribble down her chin. Again, her instinct was to wipe it off with her arm. Nevertheless, I quickly denied her this right too. “Your cat doesn’t do that does he?” I asked. She just nodded and continued, water dribbling off her chin.

We soon finished and I tidied up our things into one small bundle. This left us nothing to do except wait for the time to return for her fitting. In the mean time I had her lie back and spread her legs obscenely. I wanted to see not only my handiwork of the previous night, but also to enjoy the moisture today’s activities had created. As I suspected, she was sticky with creamy, white, girl grease.

Every time she heard someone nearby, she attempted to close her legs. However, I prevented it by holding her knees apart with my feet. “If someone ventures by” I told her, “they’ll just see my pet sprawled on the ground enjoying an afternoon in the shade. Surely you’re cat enjoys this position while napping.”

She admitted, “He can be quite undignified in his choice of sleeping positions, Sir.”

“I expect the same from you, my pet.”

We relaxed this way for most of the afternoon, until I feared falling asleep myself. So, rousing us both, I told her we needed to get back to the shop. Glad to be able to close her legs, she quickly got back up on all fours and said with some relief, if not exactly enthusiasm, “I’m ready when you are, Sir.”

“Then before we get back to the shop, why don’t you take care of business like a good pet. I don’t want you soiling the smith’s floor while he’s trying to make delicate adjustments to your new belt.”

Blushing she asked, “You want me to pee out here for you?”

“Yes, right over against that tree would be fine” I said pointing to one adjacent to the walking path.

“But Sir, girl pets squat. Can’t I find a secluded spot?” she pleaded.

“No, I want you to hike your leg for me . . . facing the path.”

“Oh, my” is all she said before crawling red-faced to the nearby oak and hiking her leg to relieve herself.

~~~

As we entered, the smith rose from his bench and ushered us immediately into the small room again. “Strip her completely this time and shackle her for me while I get her belt” he said opening the door to the ‘fitting room’ without making eye contact.

She and I entered, she looked at me pleading, but I just told her to turn around. Once she was naked and bound hand and foot, he came in carrying a variety of things. Pulling up his stool, he poured a small amount of an oily substance onto his index finger then carefully pulled her clitoral hood back and applied it directly to her still puffy nubbin, holding his finger there until she began to move.

The gel’s effect was almost instantaneous. She began whimpering and thrusting her hips shamelessly, gyrating in nearly every direction simultaneously. The smith just looked at me and smiled. “So far, so good” he said.

Then, he quickly attached the belt portion around her waist. It was so tight that it seemed to dig into her flesh. Snapping it into place he aligned the buckle with her navel. Once secured, he took a long, irregularly shaped piece, which terminated in a small chain, and reaching between her newly slickened thighs, attached it to the rear of the belt, ignoring her breathy pleas for mercy. Satisfied that it was well seated, the smith let it dangle as he dabbed yet another cruelly generous dose of the gel onto her now throbbing bump. She nearly screamed this time, her hips taking on an involuntary life of their own. In one final act, he lathed it all over her puffy girl lips then slapped her hard there.

Wasting no time, he took the loose end hanging between her quivering thighs, deftly attached it in front to the buckle and held it in place until I could secure it with one of my locks. The design was ingenious; one lock rendered both parts impenetrable. Bending down to check the alignment of the weep hole, with a nod of satisfaction, he said, “Perfect! I don’t think I’ll need to adjust a thing.”

“Now” the smith said between heavy breaths as he righted himself onto the stool, “let’s free her and see if she can get to it.”

Nodding, I reached up and undid her hands while he released her feet. Instantly her hands went to her screaming crotch. She rubbed and pulled at the housing of her new prison, but to no avail. After just a few minutes she was on her knees, legs wide apart, head down in earnest concentration, sobbing as she tried every imaginable angle of entry – only to be denied in the end.

The smith took me into the other room to settle my account. We left her struggling, naked and alone to make peace with her new companion. As I paid him, we heard her sobbing in frustration. He just smiled, handed me a small bottle with a wink, and said, “Something for the girl.”

Once the sounds of her fussing stopped coming from the other room, I figured she’d made peace with the rage between her legs, and so I returned to claim her. She sat heaving, sweating against the wall with a look of resignation on her face. “Come on, Allison” I said. “It’s time to go home.” With a gentle but noticeable blow from her nostrils, she stood. I helped her dress then attached the cuffs to her ankles and wrists. Like the chastity belt, they fit perfectly. I then bound her hands behind her back, forcing her young titties alertly to the fore. Then taking a short chain, I hobbled her between her ankles. With her face awash with dried tears, bare-chested, locked in a snug, new chastity belt, capable of only the tiniest steps, and led on a leash; blushing, she made her way through town as we went home.

Allison's Adventures in Wonderland: Chapter III

2010-11-19T00:01:00.003-06:00

A Warm Bath

Journal entry of: M. Jameson

Th – July – 14, 20 . . .

All my friends told me not to, but I saw him again today anyway. They warned me of the risks: “He’ll only break your heart.” Why do they always begin there? Maybe I don’t mind risking that. We mesh so well; it just feels sooooo right. Unable to leave it alone, they next play the age card: “He’s 20 years older than you are.” Why is age always an issue with them? Have none of them ever had an older man? Of course the, “But he’s a married man” always rounds out their debate. Regardless, I’m happy and comfortable with him. Besides, we’ve done a lot together. I feel like it’s up to me to get through to him. Maybe I’m the only one who can. Certainly a paramour has certain advantages – a certain amount of pull. Just maybe. Please – just maybe!!! Regardless, I had to try.

So today I saw him again at our regular time. However, this time I did exactly what my counselor told me. I told him plainly what I wanted, ~~that I lo~~ how I really felt. I tried to shake him up, to rattle him out of his lethargy. I whispered directly into his ear to insure that he heard me clearly . . . but when I was done, he just lay there expressionless, eyes closed, and unmoved by my passion and tears. He might as well have been a corpse for all the good it did. My heart did brake – hard! but I’m still not ready to give up. Not yet! We’ve shared too much. Strangely, it still feels right. So, I kissed him on the lips, told him I’d see him Monday night like usual, gathered my things, and left.

* * * * * * * * * *

To say I read with little interest that morning would be to exaggerate an obvious truth. Her taut, bare bottom still protruding into the air was quickly deepening into a dark shade of bruise and made my concentration wander repeatedly. For the first few minutes, she continued whimpering and sniffling unconsciously. Her breath caught at irregular intervals making her tremble and shudder, attracting my attention, which in turn caused me to cast my eye once again to her plugged, ripe posterior. From her arousal alone, the brush embedded deep in her anal orifice twitched and wiggled involuntarily. Before I’d pushed thru a dozen pages, her arms grew tired and she supported her upper body on her elbows and forearms, finally resting her tear stained face on her hands, in full submissive posture.

Taking my time, as I turned pages or reached logical breaks in the text, I would take my foot and move the blade of the brush around, changing the angle of penetration. With each such nudge, she’d take up heavier breathing again, and often plead, “Please . . . .” I never asked for an explanation. This play set her hips to gently humping for a few seconds before she regained her composure. Once I even slipped my shoe off and massaged her soaked trim with my foot.

After finishing a few chapters and losing interest in my book, I leaned forward and gently slid the brush out of her tight sphincter without warning. She spasmed and gasped at the unexpected sensation, as the ribbed handle slit from its socket, causing her hips to grind suddenly anew. Humping the air uncontrollably for a few seconds, she bit her lip and between clinched teeth declared, “Oh, Sir that was close!” Gathering herself again, she asked, “Sir, why don’t you want me to enjoy the release my body craves?”

“I suppose I just like my pets in heat, Allison” was all I could offer. Widgie, Why am I doing this? I’ve never done it with the other girls.

“Well, I’m certainly in heat for you. Although, I do have to admit, that except for the extremes, this nagging ache does feel quite nice. It’s almost comforting to have such a constant companion, a silent reminder of your control over me.”

With the brush gone, and my obvious pleasure plastered across my face, I simply said, “Come lay your head on my lap for a little while, my good girl.”

For the first time since our play began, she looked totally relaxed. Turning, she positioned herself beside my right leg, laid her left arm on my thighs, and then settled her head down as though to sleep. For a short time she looked up at me, resting her chin on her hands just to watch me before resuming a more comfortable posture. I gently stroked her hair without a word. In short order she was fast asleep. Given the little sleep she’d gotten the night before, I wasn’t surprised.

I decided to let her enjoy a nap she so richly deserved. Convinced that she was fast asleep, I gently scooped her up, carried her to her bed, and covered her bare body, resisting the temptation to tie her hand and foot to her large bed and have my way with her while she slept. I know Widgie, she’s perfect for it. Yes, I did it to the other girls, but I had to drug them first. She fell asleep trusting me, I can’t violate that. Besides, I want more elegant gear for her. Rope can be so crude – and leaves burns.

For about an hour she didn’t move. I availed myself of the chance to clean up and change my pants. As the afternoon progressed, I returned just to enjoy watching her sleep. She was a vision of loveliness in her peaceful repose. Within minutes of me taking the chair near her window, she stirred, saw me, smiled, and asked hoarsely how long she’d slept. “A little over an hour” I replied softly, moving to sit on the edge of her bed.

Rubbing her eyes, she asked, “Sir, I’m famished, can we eat something. It seems like ages since our last meal?”

“Of course my dear” I said, attaching the leash to her collar. Once secured, I lead her to her chamber pot where I waited as she did her business, then to the kitchen table, naked, where I fed her. Throughout the meal she seemed more and more comfortable living without clothing. I smiled to myself in pleasure. Maybe the dresses will only be for outside the house, Widgie.

After our meal, she asked about searching for her cat. Having honestly forgotten about the beast, and who could blame me Widgie, I dressed her and we went out for what remained of the afternoon. We followed all the paths on my property, she called out, “el gato grande” every so many seconds. When asked if that was the cat’s name, she simply said, “No, that’s just what I call him. When you see him, you’ll understand why.” I smiled and lead her on. I guess we all have our pets don’t’ we, Widgie.

After tracing all the paths, we ventured into the woods while there was still light. Still no cat. As darkness began to fall, I convinced her to return to the cottage after promising that we’d resume searching in the open pastures and adjoining fields next morning. Without a sign of disagreement, she simply followed my lead back home. Along the path home I suggested that as soon we got back to the bungalow I would put out some milk in a bowl in hopes of appealing to his feline sensibilities, should he be near enough to notice it.

Once home, we set out a saucer of milk for her cat, then set about to fetch a snack to tide us over until morning. Having dispatched with it, I again disrobed my gorgeous little pet and had her sit at my feet for a while as I read to her. By now her bottom was so sore that she had to find positions in which she could comfortably sit. After my reading, she asked for a turn. Handing her the book, she read with the utmost skill and dramatic energy. Such a vibrant girl, Widgie, how appealing she is to me!

Finishing one chapter, the warmth of the room, a full belly, and a long exciting day finally claimed its victim once again. Allison lay the book down and nodded back off to sleep, head lying in my lap. Again, I carried her naked form to her bed. This time I bound her hands to the waist rope once, then attached her collar to the head board before tucking her in for the evening. With a kiss to her forehead, I bade her “Goodnight my Allison,” then went to my own bed.

As the night progressed, a boisterous thunderstorm came through, waking me several times with its fury. After the worst of it had passed and it had settled into a gentle rain, I heard more banging. Surely this was not more thunder in the distance, I thought to myself, it was far too regular, and more of a thump than a thunder. Yet, it persisted. Once better oriented and awake, I realized what I was hearing; it was coming from Allison’s room.

Nearly in a panic, I rushed into her room. I found her face down, still covered by her sheets, but soaked with sweat. She was grunting as she dry-humped her mattress like a wench in heat. However, she was still sound asleep, wrists firmly bound beyond the reach of glory land. Taking immediate action to prevent her getting her load off in her sleep, I sat on the edge of her bed and gently shook her awake.

“Wh . . . wha . . . what!” punctuated in rhythm with her pelvic thrusts. Then seeing me on her bed, with a start she nearly barked at me, “WHAT’S WRONG?”

“Calm down, Allison. You were having a bad dream.” I lied.

“Is everything ok? Why are you here?” she asked through sweat and panic.

“Yes, my dear, everything is fine now. A storm came through, but all that remains is the rain for now. I’m here to help you get back to sleep. Excuse me while I get something to help you.” Rising quickly I went to the pantry for some rope. Returning, with it and a candle, she asked why I needed rope. “It’s to help you sleep better” I lied again. She looked at me with incredulity for the first time since we met. Nevertheless, in just a few moments I had her on her back, stretched tightly and tied to the four corners of her bed, crotch glistening in the candle light from her near wet dream.

With another gentle kiss to her forehead, I looked into her eyes and said, “Goodnight my pet.”

To which she replied softly, “Thank you for taking such good care of me, Sir” with a sharp sarcastic tone on the last syllable. I smiled, extinguished the candle, and returned to my bed where I slept soundly.

Next morning I awoke to a gentle rain. The storms had indeed past and there was no obvious damage. However, it felt like we might be in for a drippy, rainy season in my neck of the woods. For the first two days it merely drizzled so Allison and I managed to traipse through the open meadows looking for her cat. Nevertheless, before it had finished, it rained for five full days. By day three it was just too muddy to look any longer so I took her to my hat shop where I began teaching her my trade. For the next few days, we resigned ourselves to an indoor routine until dryer days dawned.

As her third full day in the hat shop drew to a close, the sun came out briefly before dusk. She felt refreshed just by the sight of it and asked, “If it’s nice tomorrow, can we go to town? I really need to just get out and be around other people for a little while. And can we have tea with the White Rabbit soon? I miss his silly humor.”

“Certainly, by now the launderer has to be wondering if I’m ever going to pick up your dress. Besides, I need some other things from town myself” I said satisfied at the idea. “Plus” I added, “The White Rabbit will be thrilled to get out of his dank hole for some fresh air and conversation.”

Thrilled to hear this, she asked, “However, before we show ourselves in public, can I get a bath? A real one? After all that tramping through the mud and working in the shop, I feel grungy” she added wrinkling her nose. “Besides, I’m getting itchy . . . you know . . .” pointing below.

“Well, let’s straighten up here, go back to the house for a bite of dinner, and then I’ll take you down to the bath house.”

“Bath house” she questioned?

On the way home, I told her of a small building on my property just a few hundred yards from the cottage and off the beaten path, where my Grandfather, long ago, enclosed a hot spring which belongs to our family. Discovering it, he dug a pool for the water to collect, fitted it with stone seats and terraces for varying water depths, and then built a cozy building over it for use all year round. There simply wasn’t a place like it outside of the palace itself. There I regularly took my baths without having to draw and heat the volume of water necessary for the task. Besides, it was a tranquil place to be alone. I’d spend many a winter evening soaking and reading until I feared falling asleep and dropping some treasured book into the water.

After a light dinner and clean up, I grabbed two towels and cloths, my toiletry bag, and stropped my razor. We then put on our robes and slippers and I attached her leash before we went out the back door. The night was fully come when we made for the path. I’d been down it so many times I needed no light. Allison, on the other hand, held firmly to my left elbow fearing a fall. The leaves still dripped and the owls hooted. A chill had developed which, from the few glimpses the moonlight afforded me between moist leaves, hardened Allison’s nipples, causing them to point obscenely through her robe.

Reaching the place, I unlocked the door, lead her inside, lit some oil lamps, and released her leash, placing it in the pocket of my robe. The spring emitted a soft smell of minerals as a wisp of steam curled into the dimly lit, chilly air. Allison stood staring, enamored at the spring with its warm water bubbling up from some invisible, subterranean source. I moved behind her and whispered into her ear, “It’s deliciously warm and will soothe away all the aches from your body.” Then after a sufficiently effective pause, I added softly with a raised eyebrow and a sneer which she couldn’t see, “Well, most of them.”

With only an audible “Mmmm,” she hugged herself, forcing her breasts upward. Standing still, she gently leaning back into me, her head resting on my chest, enraptured by the thought of all that warmth sinking into every pore of her tired and lusting body. Reaching around her, my hands made for her robe tie, but wandered briefly to her pert, bulging breasts. I gently massaged them for a moment before returning to my original destination; she inhaled deeply before dropping her hands to her side in abject resignation to whatever whim would come my way. Control yourself Widgie, she’s ripe for the picking, but let’s not bruise the fruit . . . more than we already have.

I untied her robe and gently eased it from her shoulders, letting it dropped to the floor in a rumple of velvet without a sound. She reached back and grabbed my thighs for support, breathing deeply, audibly, titties heaving in the lamp glow, a prelude to whimpers echoing off the open rafters. In the flickering light, her tight flesh glowed with a pale sheen. Her nipples were rock hard little buds still, pulled by an invisible string, straining for something just out of reach. I gently massaged her shoulders and upper back while she basked in the new sensations at the lip of the pool. Soon I wrapped my arms around her waist and kissing her neck gently just above her collar.

She cooed. The lock jingled at the touch of my cheek.

Chill bumps signaled that she was growing uncomfortable in the cool dampness and was ready to luxuriate in the warmth of the bath. Removing my own robe, we moved carefully to the water’s edge. Remembering my manners, I stepped into the water first and offered her my hand to ease her transition. She accepted with a smile and courteous “thank you.”

We stopped in about 2 feet of steamy water. Before either of us sat, she made her way in front of me, faced me, and placed her hands on the sides of my hips. With a wry smile she said softly, “I want to thank you for such a wonderful time this week and your generous hospitality.” Now tracing a finger sensually down my chest she continued, “I feel like I’ve known you for years. Me too Widgie, why is that do you think? I really feel like I need to repay you somehow.” Then, without a second’s hesitation, she began to kneel in front of me, taking my semi-erect cock in her tender hands.

“Not yet” I said, raising her back up by her upper arms, “There will be time for that kind of fun later. You need to soak and wash first.”

Taking a seat on one of the taller benches, I laid back allowing the water to submerge me to my chest. Then I motioned for her to join me. Opening my legs, I made room for her to sit between them on the step, the water engulfing her to her neck. Placing my feet between her knees, I spread her legs under the water obscenely. She nestled in, closed her eyes, laid her arms on my thighs, and allowed the steaming water to ease away her tension. She moaned softly as the heat worked its way into her tired body. I wrapped my arms around her just under her tender breasts and nibbled on her ear lobe.

Again, she cooed, smiling.

We soaked in each other’s embrace until I feared she’d nod off again. So gently rousing her, I said, “Before you fall asleep again, let me wash you. Then I’ll take you back home and put you to bed.”

She smiled back at me and said, “Thank you, Sir.”

I stood and led her into deeper water, submerging her to her chest. Face to face she beamed at me, radiant, beautiful. I slid my hands behind her back under the water and pulled her close to me. Her body was so firm, so tight, that my cock stiffened, hard against her stomach. With a grin she closed her eyes as she lifted her arms from the water and placed them on my shoulders, locking her fingers behind my neck. Her lips were so soft, so tender, that I just had to taste them.

Seized by a fit of passion, I wrapped my arms under her bottom and lifted her to my face. I kissed her deeply and firmly; she responded in kind. Hungry for more, I lifted her higher so that her breasts were at mouth level. Her legs settled around my waist, squeezing tightly above my hips to secure her position, feet locked behind me, her head thrown back in reckless abandon. I licked them, suckled them, and finally took to biting those sensitive buds, so young, and yet so very hard. Eventually I bit so hard she squealed, looking down at me from her perch. Of course, at this, I bore down all the more. I attacked her nubile titties until she was grinding her pubic bone furiously into my abdomen, holding the back of my head tightly to her chest, her lips pressed to the top of my head, grunting and aaaah-ing in savage lust.

Fearing she’d lose control, I slid her slowly back into the water, being careful to avoid impaling her on my erect shaft on the descent. I planted one last kiss on her lips, then said, “We’d better wash or we’ll never get done.”

She just smiled at me and added, “And that would be a bad thing?”

Smiling at her playful innuendo, I found a wash cloth and submerged it the warm water. Never taking my eyes off hers, I washed all of her body thoroughly, some parts far more thoroughly than necessary, spending an exceptionally long time in the folds between her thighs, my hand firmly behind her head. Eventually I tossed the cloth to the edge and went back to fondling her bean with my finger. This persisted until, with a heavy catch, she gasped, “Please . . . oh, pleeeaase . . . don’t st . . . st . . . stooop!” Widgie, she’s suffering so deeply right now! Can you see her trembling?

Of course, I did stop – many times.

With her eyes tightly shut and a look of frustrated pain on her face, she sobbed through tightly shut lips, tears trickled down her cheeks. As she did, one of her hands darted instinctively under the water. I grabbed it quickly, firmly placing it and its companion behind her back where I held them both. “We’ll have none of that even in my bath house, young lady” I said sternly, still looking her in those deep green eyes.

For a few minutes, she stood still, bit her bottom lip, and sobbed gently, trembling. I held her hands in one of mine while holding her head to my chest with the other. She pressed against me this way until, looking into my eyes, she cleared her throat and said, “I’m ok now, Sir.”

Then without another word, she slipped her hands free of my grip, wiped her eyes with the back of her hands, grabbed her cloth, and returned the favor, washing me thoroughly. She added a very nice touch by kissing every part after she had washed it, even those parts which were below the water’s surface.

Once done, with water shedding from her smooth skin, hair hanging heavy and wet, she glowed at me with eyes still puffy from crying. I took her head in my hands, kissed her softy, and then told her I wanted to shave her.

She said, “Thank you, Sir. It’s becoming quite itchy.”

So I directed her to a rocky shelf protruding about four feet like a geologic tongue from the pavers lining the pool. As she examined it, she noticed that it looked well cupped, probably from decades of similar use; girls spread, dangling their legs off the sides for the Hatter to shave – or torture – wallowing out the end by their anguished, uncontrollable, hip grinding. The thought made her wetter between her thighs. Discovering no immediate access from the water, she asked how one got onto it. “I’ll have to lift you” I explained.

Securing her with my hands just above her hips, I hoisted her out of the water. Uncomfortable with being placed back first on such a narrow landing area, without the aid of eyes or hands, she managed to contort herself enough to finally find herself on the ledge, on her stomach, legs dangling off the end, her rounded bottom nearly in my face.

Enjoying such a fortuitous view, I ordered her not to move. Fearful, she looked back and asked, “Why?”

Without a word, I lay my left hand on her lower back and wet my right hand in the warm water. Instantly she discovered what I had in mind as she felt my left hand thumb and fingers gently prying open her cheeks. With the first bit of pressure from my middle finger she let out an, “Oh, my God, not again.”

Ignoring her, I massaged my long digit deep past her squeaky clean, tight sphincter. From the experience the other day, I knew she found arousal in anal stimulation, so I played there for a few minutes until she was gripping the stone, raising her head, and grunting back at me. Soon she began to hump the platform in her animal lust. Each time brought her nearer the edge of a thundering climax. As she enjoyed the rectal play I’d slap her bare back side, adding to her enjoyment. She squealed and shouted, “MORE, PLEASE!”

Needing to shave her, I retracted the finger, slowly enough to make her try to back up onto it again, hoping I’d fuck her with it a little longer. Nevertheless, I let it drop back into the water. However, before righting her on the ledge, I dropped my head and sunk my tongue deep into her tight back door. She nearly cried at the pleasure this surprise brought her. After a few minutes more, she began to beg, “Please Sir, don’t stop, I need to cum so badly.” More licking and tonguing followed. Again, “Sir, it would feel so nice to get relief this way, Pleeeease don’t stop.” More licking, more tonguing, more slaps to the bottom, but no orgasm for Allison. When I thought the poor girl could endure no more and remain chaste, I stopped and rolled her over.

“Now, grab your legs behind your knees and hold them up for me, otherwise your back will hurt by the time I’m done” I warned. She complied and I went for my shaving kit.

As she trembled in need, I lathered her mound, abusing her nubbin with the brush far beyond what was needed, and then shaved her smooth once again. Having no other distractions, I took my time to do an exceptional job. This had a triple effect. When I was done she was baby smooth, her mound was alive and tingling with sensation, and my rubbing away the remaining lather stoked her so deeply that thick white cream was sliding out of her opening, dripping slowly into the water, causing a small puff of steam to drift upward with each drop of Jill juice she dribbled.

Finished, I lay my razor on the lip of the pool, rinsed her thoroughly by laving water onto her silken skin, working in cleansing water with my fingers into the less accessible folds of her girl flesh. Still holding her legs behind her knees, she began to wiggle from side to side on her stone bed, discovering for herself the likely cause of the wallowed area. Throaty groans issued from her mouth, she closed her eyes, her chest heaved as she took in deep breaths, and her back arched at the thought of more. Feeling her taut trim for any imperfections in my work and finding none, I admired the leafy corolla of her crease. Peeling back the hood from her naughty nob, I delighted in watching her engorged babe boner keeping time with her pulse, twitching involuntarily with each beat of her heart. Hating to miss even one opportunity, I attacked, sucking her rubbery pea hard until I thought she’d pass out in pleasure. Of course, I carefully prevented that. In seconds, she writhed in distress, not only because of my lingual assault, but also because it had been about a week since I’d met her and she’d found no relief in that time. Only she knew how long it had been since she’d found that ultimate pleasure, la petite mort, the little death. Needless to say, the rock was once again well polished by fem-flesh before I finally eased her back into the water.

For the second time since we began our bath, she wiped tears from closed eyes with graceful fingers. This time she asked, “Why are you doing this to me, Sir? Don’t you want me to feel good?”

“Did I not make you feel good just now?” I queried? “Your pussy dripped while I shaved you, it never lies you know.”

With fists clenched just below the surface of the water, she turned her head to the left, blew though her nose in frustration and said, “Sir, you know I want an orgasm.” She topped this off by stamping her foot under the water for emphasis.

“Then an orgasm you shall have, my dear” I said simply.

Her face lit up, she beamed at me and nearly screamed. “REALLY? Thank you, Sir” is all she could get out.

Stepping back, I moved to one of the raised seats and leaned back, water to my lower chest. Motioning, I said, “Come here, Allison, I want you to enjoy my cock tonight.”

Radiant, she approached asking for directions. “Kneel on the step just below where I’m sitting, that should be high enough.” When she complied, I simply placed my hand on the back of her head and pushed her face below the water’s surface onto my waiting cock. Taking the hint, she began sucking my dick like she’d done it a thousand times. Three, four strokes, and she had to surface for a breath. After taking a large gulp of air, I’d force her head back under the water, back onto my throbbing pole. Up and down she bobbed in a rhythm to which both of us grew accustomed. In time she didn’t need my coaxing, and took up the pace on her own. Soon her oral skill worked its magic and on one of her dives I held her head on my cock, balls against her chin, until I erupted. I reveled in the ecstasy, filling her throat with hot sticky man muck until she began to fret for air. When allowed, she surfaced, gasping and trying to swallow simultaneously, hair and water, likely mixed with indistinguishable tears, streamed down her face.

Once she’d managed to swallow what I’d deposited in her, I wiped the hair and water from her face and told her, “Very nicely done, Allison. I enjoyed that a lot. Now climb out and let’s dry off and go home. I’m tired and ready for a good night’s sleep.”

“But you promised me an orgasm, Sir.”

“Yes I did” and with a cruel smirk added, “and I just gave you one. You swallowed every drop of it I believe.”

She stood in disbelief, stock still, waist deep in water. When the reality of my statement sank in, she, with a face of determination which screamed ‘I’ll show you’ just reached into the water and begin rubbing her bump furiously. With only seconds to spare, I reached her in time to once again avert disaster. I once again held her hands tightly behind her back as I escorted her out of the pool. Looking for assistance, I took the tie from her robe, and bound her hands behind her back tightly. She resisted. She fumed. She was pissed.

After drying us both, I donned my robe and slippers, helped her into hers, and laid her robe around her shoulders. Gripping her upper arm tightly, we walked back to the house without a word. Feeling her fiery anger, I told her that she needed to improve her attitude, but got no response at all, just an icy stare.

When we got into the house, she managed to break free from my grip and stormed to her room, kicking the door shut behind her. Realizing that with her hands bound she could not lock me out, I retrieved my razor strop and went in after her, determined to change her mood. She sat defiant, staring out the window, ignoring me as I entered. I sat beside her. When I placed my hand on her shoulder, she tried to shrug me off, loosening her robe’s tenuous grip in doing so. Knowing that only severe discipline would alter her state, I took her by the shoulders and laid her across my lap, facing up. Once there, to prevent her kicking, I quickly bound her feet with the tie from my robe as she lay still, fuming.

I explained that her attitude was beyond unacceptable and that I intended to spank her back into the submissive girl who had pleased me so much just a few minutes earlier. She continued staring out the window, ignoring me. So, after due warning, I began laying strokes on her freshly shaven mound. This surprised her. The pain was acute and fiery. She stared at me in horror for the first few, before trying to wiggle out from under the rapid barrage of pain. Stroke after blazing stroke, I stung her sensitively smooth pubic area, raising angry blisters all over it. She screamed at first in anger, thrashing about as best she could, calling me names. I paddled harder. By the time 40 strokes had met her mound, she was still screaming but no longer in anger. Another 20 had reduced her to sobbing and grunting between clenched teeth as each stroke bit her sore skin.

At this transformation, I stopped. She, with pleading eyes peeking out behind the tears, looked up at me for the first time since I’d begun. I asked, “Has your attitude improved, Little Girl?” She nodded. Turning back to her mound, which was blood red by now, I told her, “I’m very disappointed in your behavior tonight. I’ll not tolerate it again.”

She just whispered, “Yes, Sir.”

Now, just to reinforce the lesson that I will not abide a bad attitude or you taking matters into your own hands, I’m going to give you 15 more of my hardest and all will be forgiven.”

With tears already welling in anticipation, she silently mouthed, “Yes, Sir” through closed eyes.

I slid further back so I could lay her legs onto the bed also. Giving her time to calm, I untied her feet, and spread her legs slightly, allowing me a broader target for the strokes meant to deliver the final lesson. After a pause, I began. I lay on 15 brutally hard but slow lashes. These brought her back to crying again, only this time, they were tears of contrite pain, without the anger.

Done and knowing my discipline had done its work; I pulled her up onto my lap and gently rocked her as she wept. As she began to calm, I reassured her how much I desired her, how much she pleased me. Seeing the serenity on her face once again, I rubbed away the tears, and loosened her hands. She instantly hugged me, dropping gentle tears on my neck.

When her trembling subsided, I laid her back on her bed, stretched her limbs tight to the four corners, and tied her down securely. Satisfied with her attitude, I bent over and kissed her goodnight. She looked up at me with swollen eyes and puffy lips and gently said, “Thank you, for taking such good care of me, Sir” this time with only tender affection in her voice.

Allison's Adventures in Wonderland: Chapter II

2010-09-19T19:25:00.002-05:00

The After-Tea-Party

Very little light leaked through the heavily draped windows of the cheap, business grade motel room. The only illumination came from a radio-LED alarm clock flashing 4:37 on the night stand between two queen-sized beds. The smell of coitus lingered in the air like a stale cigar. Light snoring came from a man, about 50, sprawled without covers on the right side, boxers in disarray, actually on backwards in feined modesty, but way too late for it. His paramour, 30ish, was enveloped completely by the covers, holding them tightly drawn to her chin against the air conditioner’s fury, her auburn hair a tangled mess with a matted spot on the exposed side. She was not nearly so modest as her present position implied; her clothes littered the room. Her skirt and blouse, granted, were draped across the back of the cigarette- pocked upholstered chair near the window, but her bra lay at the foot of the bed, her lacey panties, while not visible from an entry vantage point, were half in and half out of the garbage can which was tucked in that small space between the dresser and the cabinet housing the TV, and she still wore her black pumps.

The neighbor bed had also been occupied. Now empty, it was totally wrecked. Its spread and sheets lay in a pile on the floor. A tale-tell, irregularly shaped wet spot of about 12” darkened the fitted sheet which, having borne the full brunt of savagery, was hanging on by only three corners. Needless to say, there was no doubt about the business conducted there last night.

On the first ring of the phone, the man stirred, and reaching over his sleeping companion, answered it hoarsely saying only “Thank you” before hanging up. Then, without a word shook his cocooned lover awake by her sheet covered shoulder.

* * * * * * * * * *

In spite of the interruptions to my sleep, I awoke refreshed and eager for a new day. Many times during the night I could hear her whimpering and moaning gently to herself. No doubt the ordeal I’d put her through had awakened a desire deep within her for which I would not now grant relief. There was even once in the night when I clearly heard her call out, “Please Sir, let me cum.” When I went to check on her, she was still hand-tied and sleeping soundly in her bed.

Waking before the sun rose as was my custom, and taking care of my morning routine, I hit upon an idea. I’d promised to wash her dress, and while I could easily enough do that, she’d need something to wear while it dried. So, realizing that she’d likely sleep in very late, I set out for town, her dress in a bag for sizing. Arriving in town, I found the tailor up in his shop. After describing to him my needs he directed me to two dresses he had readymade which he thought would fit her nicely with minimal alteration. Comparing the dress I brought with me, he agreed to make the needed alterations while I shopped in town for my other needs. Having purchased the two dresses with instructions to take the hem up a few additional inches, I set off in search of a launderer, knee socks, and shoes. By the time the tailor had the dresses ready, I had secured three pair of hose, a nice pair of black shoes, some slippers, and a house robe. I’d also found some toiletry items I knew a young lady would need and enjoy: a nice new wooden hair brush and some hair clips. Additionally, I bought a nice collar for her; my design being to keep her frilly, revealing, and submissive for my hedonistic pleasure. Oh the plans I have for her, Widgie, oh the plans!

Making my way back home, I laid the dresses, stockings, and shoes out in my parlor like a Christmas morning surprise, but out of immediate view. My intent was to present them to her as a token of my gratitude for her play the evening before and as a pledge of support and encouragement for her continuing as my playmate. This done, I laid the other things on my table and tip-toed into her room where I silently laid the robe and slippers on the chair by the window. Lying there was her soiled underwear from the previous day’s fun. Before pocketing them, I deeply inhaled the full bouquet from its crotch, enraptured by her rich fragrance.

Once back in the kitchen, I slid the collar into my pocket and decided to go to my shop in search of a small lock while waiting for her to rise. This excursion not taking but a few minutes to accomplish, I returned and began opening up the house for the day. While cleaning up after my hastily eaten breakfast, the brighter illumination of a bright morning sun flooding in from outside showed well the carpets upon which she’d urinated the night before. I’d managed to sop up the obvious puddles, but due to working only by candle light I’d missed much which now was evident by a light, but unmistakable stain. I smiled thinking back to the fun we’d had. I’ll leave those there Widgie; they may prove useful sometime. Besides, replacing a soiled rug was the least of my worries. So, I decided to wait for her to rise before setting out for my day’s work.

Dirty dishes done, I set a place for her breakfast and sat to read my book. In glancing up between chapters I looked at the table, the same table where hours before she’d soaked one end with her cream mingled with warm, salty urine. I moved her setting to that spot. About then I heard her stirring in her room. Excellent Widgie, here she comes. Expecting her to arrive clad in her new robe and slippers, I was pleasantly shocked to see her appear in my kitchen totally naked, wrists still bound to her waist. Widgie, this is a very good sign! A very good sign indeed!

Before I could posit the usual, “did you sleep will?” She sheepishly asked,

“Sir, may I use my chamber pot this morning please?”

“Why of course you may, why would you ask?” I questioned, resisting the temptation to bite my knuckles openly.

“Because if I’m to be your playmate I assumed I’d need your permission for everything. Wasn’t that the whole point of our game last night?” she asked.

Widgie, we’re there! The work is done. Bring me the net . . . Without saying a word, I simply motioned for her to come to me as I turned my chair to face her. When standing passively in front of me, I gently slid a finger between her warm folds. Her slit was still a bit puffy from the night before and her tummy no doubt needed to be emptied again. Once untied, I pointed her in the direction of her room, and with a gentle swat on her naked bottom, bade her with a smirk “hurry now, you don’t want to soil the carpets again.”

With a playful squeal and winking glance over her shoulder, she trotted off to her room. In a few minutes she came back out, still naked, hair tussled from our play and sleeping. Presenting herself before me again, eyes looking at my knees she asked, “I see you left me a new robe and slippers, would you like me to wear them for you Sir?”

“No, not yet” I replied. “I have other gifts for you too, but first let me clean you up better.”

“Gifts?” she asked excitedly. “I love gifts, what are they?”

“I’ll show you soon” I said rising and going to a cabinet where I retrieved a glass bottle of baby oil. After finding a fresh towel, I returned and sat before her again.

“Your hair is a mess. Let me massage some oil into your skin then I’ll brush it out for you. Afterwards, I’ll show you your gifts and help you get dressed.”

Grinning mildly, she stared at my knees in humble submission, hands clasped in front. I reached up and took her chin, raised it and looked into her green eyes. “Allison” I said, “I want you as my play thing. It’s obvious that you want it too. Just so we’ll understand each other, let me establish some basic rules. There will be others.” She nodded meekly and I continued. “I don’t want you going around hanging your head. You may look me in the eyes without hesitation. You are too vibrant to wear a gloomy submission. While I’ll treat you as property, I want you to be yourself. I’ll use you hard, make no mistake, but I want you, not some artificial you. You’ll earn your keep by helping me in my shop. Beyond that, I’ll expect you to please me in whatever way I desire. Last night was simply amazing; I’ll expect more of the same.”

Standing as still as she could during my short lecture, realizing I was finished, she looked at me with a broad smile, and then asked, “What now, Sir?”

Without a word, I took the bottle, uncorked it, and began pouring small amounts of the oil onto her shoulders, chest and back. Taking my time, I began massaging it into her skin beginning around her neck, and making my way down her trim, tight body. I lingered longer than needed at her pert, pointy nipples, still very much alive from the teasing the night before. Arousal showed on her face as I flicked and twisted them. When I gently tugged on them, she moaned softly. Her back received the same treatment. Slowly and methodically I worked my way to her alluring bottom, skipping her crotch intentionally, before moving to her thighs. Working delicately both inside and out, I made my way to her bare feet. By now she was breathing harder, but not noticeably animated. Of course, we both knew where the oil would go next.

Using my oily hands, I gently nudged her inner thighs open sufficiently to expose her damp and cleanly shaven mound. The morning dew glistened there already. There were little eddies of her honey which had already slid onto her oily thighs. Her fragrance wafted into the room, my cock stiffened. Gently I massaged oil into the folds of flesh there, purposefully not touching her babe bump. I applied a generous portion of oil to her plump, engorged lips. Audible gasps slid from her lips. Her breathing was noticeably heavier.

Satisfied that she’d been thoroughly oiled, I turned to cap the bottle. In turning back, I had to stay her hand which was wandering down her abdomen towards her crease, looking to satisfy a growing need between her tender legs. “No, no, Allison. Not yet” I scolded in a gentle tone. She playfully stamped her foot, scrunched up her nose, and looked at me in false disapproval.

“It looks like I need to keep you occupied” I said patting my lap, “so turn around, sit on my lap, and let me brush your hair while the oil settles.” To which she turned and sat on my thighs as though I were the chair, her legs properly together, back straight, hands folded in her lap.

As she sat placidly looking forward, she too noticed the stains on the carpet and remarked in some surprise, “Did I do all that?”

“Yes” I said without any emotion, beginning to brush her shoulder length, dark hair.

“I’m really sorry. I assumed you’d let me use a chamber pot, but given the urgency and arousal of the moment, when you laid your hand on me that way, I just let go. I guess I really should have asked permission too. But . . . it just felt so good. It never crossed my mind that I’d ruin your rug” she said with her hands covering her mouth in embarrassment.

I continued stroking her hair telling her that it wasn’t an issue. To change the subject I asked innocently how she’d rested, about whether the bed was comfortable enough, and if she had any problems during the night. She responded, “I found it very hard to sleep, Sir. The game you put me through made me very horny. With my hands bound I couldn’t touch myself the way I would have back home. So it was more than a little frustrating to be blunt. I hope my moaning and wiggling didn’t keep you up.”

“I slept like a baby and never noticed a thing” I lied.

“Good” she said. Then added, “I was afraid my tossing and turning would disturb you.”

Disturbed me? Widgie, how could her aching flesh disturb me? No, this is going better than I’d ever hoped. Beautiful girl, beautiful!

“Allison” I said, “I can see you are still deeply aroused.”

“Yes Sir, I am. I hate to admit it, but I am. And honestly, sitting here on your lap naked isn’t helping any. Am I wiggling too much?”

“Oh, no, it’s hardly noticeable at all.” I lied again to her. I wonder if she’s left a damp spot on my trousers Widgie.

Satisfied with the job I’d done on her hair, I laid the brush down. Her skin had taken on a rich, shimmering glow, while the sunlight played alluringly off her curves. Reaching into my coat pocket, I removed the collar and said to her, “Here is the first of several presents I have for you today, Allison. Don’t look, just sit still while I fasten this on you.” With that, I collared her pristine throat and locked it onto place with a small brass lock. At the click, she asked,

“What is that?”

“It’s a collar, Allison, to show that I own you.”

Her hand went to her neck and caressed the leather she found there. It was black leather and was about an inch and a half wide. Except for the lock, from a distance it would look like an unornamented choker. Handling the small lock between her fingers and thumb she asked, “Why the lock, Sir?”

“So you can’t take it off.”

“Thank you, Sir” is all she said.

With that, I attached a leash to her collar and asked her to stand facing me. There she glowed in radiant beauty. The mid-day sun was glinting off her shinny body like a goddess in her glory. “Allison, you’re beautiful” I couldn’t help saying. Widgie, she is stunning! I don’t know how long I can resist having her. She blushed, twisting from the knees, hands clasped in front. Then turning my attention to where she’d sat, I noticed, as I expected, a rather noticeable wet spot on my trousers. “Do you see that?” I asked.

Blushing yet more deeply, all she could get out was a soft “Sorry” as she turned her eyes downward in embarrassment.

“We’ll have to deal with that in a minute. For now, let me show you the rest of your presents” I said as I stood.

With a strange mixture of feelings of unworthiness and excitement, I lead her into the parlor where her new clothes were laid out. She inhaled audibly, holding one hand to her open mouth. Side by side were two nearly identical dresses, one a light yellow, and one a deep green. “They’re beautiful, which should I wear for you today, Sir?” she asked nearly hopping in excitement.

“Today, you may choose.”

Moving quickly to the couch, she snatched up the green one, held it up to her chest, swayed from side to side, and made to go to her room. Feeling the tug of the leash she remembered her place once again, stopped and sat down. Taking up the leggings she rolled them up just over each knee, and then slipped quickly into the dress. The cut and lacey under slip were perfect for highlighting her protruding backside which made the dress stand almost straight out in the back, covering only the most essential parts of her delectable anatomy. Any significant deviation from the vertical would reveal far more than she intended.

After twirling around like a five-year-old trying on a party dress for the first time, she turned again to have me button it in back for her. Satisfied with the fit, she again sat to put on her new shoes. Properly shod, she stood, turned back to the sofa quickly with knitted brow and an inquisitive look on her face. While she rummaged through the items still on the couch, I asked, “Is something wrong?”

“Yes, Sir, am I overlooking them? I don’t seem to find any panties. This dress is unusually short, even for my tastes. I’d hate to embarrass you or myself at a party wearing one of these without at least something covering my . . . um . . . bum” she explained.

With an air of authority, but not sternly, I replied, “No, my girl, there is not mistake. While my plaything, you’ll wear no undergarments and you may count on plenty of opportunities to expose yourself to me and others. I’d get used to it if I were you.”

Regaining her composure, and standing still once again, hands folded properly, she said softly, “Yes, Sir, if it will please you. Thank you too for the beautiful clothes.”

Smiling at her, I gently tugged on her leash and said, “Since I’m already going to have to change my pants, I might as well get full enjoyment out of messing them up. Come over here.” Finding an available spot on the sofa, I sat. Watching her advance towards me by the leash made my cock harden inside my trousers. Knowing what I had in mind, made it twitch.

Once comfortably seated, I invited her to sit in a chair next to me. She sat primly and properly. Just as I’d suspected, the tailor had met my requirements exactly. When she sat, her bottom was covered from the sides of the skirt, but the length was such that she could not sit on even an inch of material. She sat totally bare on the chair. “Perfect, my girl. The length is perfect!”

“If you like it Sir” she replied.

“Oh, I do” I said, patting my lap. “Please join me again here.” She rose and once again sat properly on my thighs facing away from me. “Since you’ve already left your mark on my pants, I want to fully enjoy you before changing them.” With that I took both of her arms and wrapped them behind her, placing them on my thighs. “Now don’t move your hands, no matter what.”

“Yes, Sir” she said.

I then spread her thighs open obscenely, moving each foot to the sofa beside me. This locked her knees below the level of my thighs, arched her back seductively, and caused her chest to heave as she breathed deeply in anticipation of what was coming. Once open in this way, I opened my thighs slightly to hold her in position. I lifted the front of her skirt with my left hand. Her tummy was firm but trembling in anticipation. How eagerly she responded to my touch. How beautiful she looked, head back, eyes closed, breathe deepening. With my right had I began feeling her smooth pubic mound. I also gently kissed her neck and shoulders, whispering to her how pleasing she was to me. Sliding my hand further south, I began fingering her soft, wet folds. With the stirring of her flesh, her scent rose to fill my parlor. Her fragrance was ambrosial. Finding a brutal rhythm there, I met the dampness I’d found last night, only this time there was nothing but lust lube slipping from her lips. With that first brush of her clitoris she let out a feral “UUUH” gripping my leg fiercely with her hands. Immediately she begged, “Please be kind, Sir.” Nevertheless, heedless to her pleas, I ruthlessly teased her trim, taking her to the brink of orgasm repeatedly and without pause until the clock had advanced through a full cycle of its chimes. Finally, just before I stopped, she hissed through sweaty heaves and catching sobs, “Ha . . . have . . . mmme . . . mer . . .cy, Siiiir.”

For the first time in over an hour I stopped, allowing her to catch her breath. I reached up with my left hand, grabbed her hair and slowly turned her towards me. I kissed her deeply for the first time. Her tongue fought to play with mine. I felt not only perspiration from her lips but tears falling from her closed eyes. She softly cooed for me, eager to please, eager to devour, and clearly wanting more. My cock was still hard and eager inside my pants. Turning back away from me, she resumed her travail. Then slowly this time, but deliberately I began assaulting her nubbin again, more tactically this time, bringing her ever closer to a thundering climax. Yet each time I’d back off, keeping her teetering on the brink but never allowing her to slide over. After another half an hour of this, she was gyrating, sweating, and blowing hard. Occasionally she’d let out a soft “Please don’t stop” under her breath. Nevertheless, I always did.

When I thought she was about as far gone as she could be, I really laid into her babe button. I rubbed it furiously, reducing her to a slobbering, pleading minx, bouncing on my lap. As she did, her bare, shapely ass would rub my cock still encased in my pants. The more she squirmed, the more excited I got. Just as I thought we’d both cum I had a wicked idea.

I suddenly stopped and she turned with a look of abject terror on her face, “Whhhhaat? Please don’t stop, I’m so close.” She pleaded.

“No Allison, I’m going to give you the mercy you craved earlier. Stand up and go to the table and bring me your new hair brush” I commanded releasing the leash from her collar. Silently climbing from my lap, she scampered after the item.

Returning she presented it to me and repositioned herself on my lap. After asking if she was ready and receiving a soft “yes” I gently shoved her forward. Catching herself on her hands, she allowed her legs to reposition so that she could lay on my lap, ass upturned, stocking covered legs extended akimbo to both sides of me. She was a vision of undignified, carnal passion. The sight was glorious too. My pants were soaked by her Jill juice and her pussy was a mess of swollen meat and white cream. “Raise your skirt for me Allison” I commanded.

Looking up at me pleadingly, she complied, slowly sliding her dress up until it cleared her waist. Then with resignation of what she knew was coming, she placed her hand back on the floor for support and said, “I’m ready, Sir.”

With that, I took the brush and began laying on hard, cruel strokes to her bare, upturned bottom. I began slowly with single or double strokes; placing them strategically to bite previously untouched flesh. She hissed in pain, and then began to slowly dry-hump me. Picking up the pace, the globes of girl flesh giggled and reddened quickly as I laid pain all over her exposed, tender back side. With the increase in fire, she began cursing, crying, and telling me how much it hurt. I continued. She shifted her position further back onto my lap, finding friction for her nubbin against my wood. Stroke after painful stroke I wounded her upturned ass. She wailed, she begged, but not for me to stop now, but to keep going. Soon she was screaming through her tears, “Harder, Sir, Please harder!”

With each new stroke she began to dry hump my lap more furiously. Given the time I had been aroused, each of her pelvic thrusts threatened to fill my trousers with spume. Nevertheless, I beat her nether cheeks until I feared injuring her. However, as she took on that red rash, I finally could hold my flood no longer and erupted, filling my pants with salty man spunk.

When my cock finally stopped spurting, I stopped beating. The silence was nearly deafening. She sobbed while I caught my breath. Then with fained gruffness I said, “Now look what you’ve done. You’ve filled my pants with cum. I’ll expect you to clean that up.”

“Yes, Sir” she eventually sniffed. I then eased her off my lap and positioned her on her hands and knees in front of me. I next slid the brush handle to the hilt into her hot and bruising back side, penetrating her tight resistant sphincter without warning and without lubricant - although there was plenty at hand. She let out an “ouch!” but didn’t resist. As she adjusted to this unwelcome intruder her breathing came in jagged catches, and her hips thrusted with a will all their own.

I soon reminded her that she was not finished; she still needed to clean me up. She slowly composure herself and re-positioned herself between my legs where she methodically unfastened my pants. With a skill I doubted she possessed, she sought out and devoured, accompanied by soft, inner moans, every drop of my eruption, sucking and cleaning my cock in the process too.

Shortly she looked up at me, eyes swollen from crying, lips puffy, and her face as wrecked as her bruised bottom and asked, “Would you like anything else now, Sir?”

“No, dear girl, that’s quite enough for now” I said stroking her hair over her ear gently.

Standing to button my trousers, I took her by the hair and lifted her to her feet. The hair brush protruding from her anal cavity kept the skirt lifted sufficiently to reveal the darkening bruises on her rounded posterior. I gently removed her dress and laid it with the other. Then in answer to her questioning expression I offered, “I don’t want to get anything on your new dress Allison.”

With hushed sobs and trembling in deep arousal, she looked at me and whispered, “If it please you, Sir.”

“You do, Allison, very much.” I insisted. After directing her back onto all fours, I placed her directly in front of me where I could watch my handiwork turn dark blue. Resuming my seat, I took up Through the Looking Glass, placed my feet on her back as a human ottoman, and began to read – ignoring her whimpering appeals.

Allison's Adventures in Wonderland: Chapter I

2010-09-05T15:53:00.003-05:00

The Mad Hatter’s Pee Party

It was an ordinary day for me. I’d begun a large order for a client sure to keep me busy for weeks. The White Rabbit had just taken his place and had begun pouring tea for the two of us. After sitting back down, his nose began to twitch more than usual.

“What’s that” he asked looking around?

“What’s what” I asked without the slightest curiosity to his reference?

However, before he could reply, a girl, neither old, nor too young appeared through the hedge. She was panting, a bit sweaty, with nicks in her white hose. Her light blue party dress Widgie, what’s a girl doing coming thru my hedge wearing a party dress? was disheveled and lightly damp with perspiration. The skirt portion was short enough that it was standing out more than hanging down in the back because of her nice, rounded derrière. Her stockings rose just a few inches above her knees, displaying exactly the right amount of bare leg to arrest my attention. Needless to say, the entire frilly ensemble combined perfectly to accentuate her feminine form. Her hair was tangled and her chest heaved silently as she caught her breath taking in the sight. Then, surprised at seeing others in the clearing asked,

“Have you seen him?”

“Seen whom” I replied.

“My cat” she said with astonishment. “Seems I’ve been chasing him all day.” Given her looks, I had to agree. I continued,

“There has been no cat visit us here today. We get so few strangers here that even a stray cat would have been persuaded to take tea with us before moving on.” Then without further ado, I asked, “Would you be so kind as to join two lonely bachelors? From the looks of it, you could use some time to rest and recoup.”

Confused, she moved to go, then stopped and asked, “just exactly where is ‘here’ anyway?”

Given her current state of confusion, I simply motioned for her to come and sit beside me. Of course by this time my subconscious mind had already begun entertaining ideas to stall such a beautiful creature for the afternoon. Hesitant at first, she cautiously approached the spare seat to my left, brushed down her ruffled dress, and sat with a polite smile. I’ll never forget that smile, so innocent, so sweet, so . . . sensual. Where oh, where are you from little girl? She looked familiar somehow, but I couldn’t place how or why. Clearly neither I nor the White Rabbit had ever seen her before. So before trying to answer ‘where’ she was, I said, “Perhaps a bit of tea will help calm your nerves.”

“Thank you” she said primly and properly. “Perhaps some refreshment would help. I’ve been chasing that naughty cat for hours.” Then, feeling an inner pang of hesitation, she asked, “Are you quite sure I’m not intruding?” When I smiled, she had her answer and consciously made to sit up straight.

What a mixture of curiosity and caution, playfulness and fight; Spunk! Widgie, she’s got spunk, I can sense it. She seemed so naive but intelligent; transparent but reserved; vulnerable yet open to endless possibilities . . . independent. Would she be eager to please also? Widgie, she’s not like the other girls, whose pussies I used as pin cushions for my long, sharp hat pins as they writhed in agony on my work bench, swollen lips full of pain and steel. They had to be bound spread eagled in order to serve me properly. She seems wonderfully different somehow. Willing even? Regardless, I’m sure her labia will also provide a useful place to hang my clamps while working. Maybe I’ll make a ring for her, Widgie . . .maybe.

Looking up, I caught that neurotic White Rabbit high-strung little sh . . . having produced a cup and saucer for her, reaching for the tea pot, so I smacked his paw to remind him who the real host was. He sheepishly Ha! a rabbit mimicking a sheep backed off and sat down with a downward glance and nod. Remember your Master you lapine lout, or she and I’ll be having you for dinner!

True to form, the tea did its job. After a couple of cups, she informed me that her name was Allison James, and proper introductions proceeded around the table. In the conversation which followed we learned that in reality she was in her late 20’s and from some strange, far away land College she called it but far more important for the events I have yet to relate, she’d come ‘here’ alone.

With the preliminaries aside, soon we were laughing and telling jokes. The White Rabbit even induced me to pose a riddle or two, all of which Allison quickly solved. Such a bright, curious girl. She was full of a thousand questions. Whenever her curiosity became taxing however, defensively and quite innocently, either the White Rabbit or myself offered her yet another cup of tea which she always devoured as though she hadn’t drunk anything in ages. Finally, I become intoxicated by her charm and wanted nothing more than to bask in it as long as I could. Her spell affected me deeply and drew out a visceral, carnal, and yes, even a savage response; a yearning which had lain dormant and unsatisfied longer than I cared to remember, a yearning which only the most sophisticated and beautiful high society ladies could draw out in the past; and then only incompletely. However, she was more rough and ready than they, eager to play and always moving. No pretence here, no artificial polish or finish; she was raw girl, candor in motion. Yet, in her embodiment of vis femina lay something I wanted, no, had to have it! something I’d had once, or at least fancied I had: some hedonistic déjà vu. Little could I know at the time how far that embryonic impulse would take Allison and me. Recognizing the awakened fire within, I proceeded to concentrate my attention on possessing her, looking for, hoping for, anything which might offer me a hook, some innocent intervening device, offering entree to her. For in spite of the very brief nature of this first encounter, I knew three things: one, she was unlike any girl I’d ever known; two, that I wanted her deeply; and lastly, that even though we’d met only a short time ago, somehow we fit – I could read it in her expressions and interactions – we were comfortable together – a match.

The banter and fun went on for quite some time, and as the day began to wane, I noticed during her more absent minded moments she would ‘wiggle’ in her seat. Nothing terribly overt, but a motion, an antsy nervousness if you will, which can be observed in the very youngest at play when they become so enraptured in what they are doing that they hate giving up a moment of play time for nature breaks. Over a short time, I watched her through the fun and frivolity. It became obvious that Allison had to attend to a certain bodily function. In the short hiatus between understanding that fact myself versus when she became aware of it, I had sufficient time to light upon a simple and elegant idea, sure to appeal to her curious naiveté and keep her around until at least morning. Who knew, given enough time, an unattached girl, lost in the woods, might be persuaded to stay indefinitely. I can always use another helper around the shop, Widgie.

After the White Rabbit had completely lost interest in the proceedings, such a dull fellow, I continued to play the gentleman and offered her cup after cup of tea. After even more stories and riddles she began noticeably moving in her chair, until finally I asked her with ingenuine civility, “Are you alright?”

Looking around with a twinge of embarrassment, she shyly conceded that yes, in fact she needed to relieve herself and was wondering where she could do so. Without any hesitation, I offered her the use of my home for that purpose along with a bed for the evening, explaining that I had a lovely spare room, would enjoy more of her company, and that it was nearly dusk and no time for a disoriented young lady to be alone in the woods.

“Thank you” she replied, “that’s very kind of you. But only if you’re certain I won’t be intruding upon your generosity.”

“Don’t think twice about it” I immediately replied. “I live here alone, well, at least without other human companionship. The rabbit sleeps in his warren at night. I don’t’ get much company out here and I rather miss it. So if you allow me this small hospitality, take my arm and we’ll get going. Time, I imagine, is of the essence” I said with a wink and a smirk.

“Oh, yes!” she said.

With a smile and my arm extended to her, Allison rose quickly, slid her arm through mine and we walked . . . um, enthusiastically, shall we say, towards the house. Such an exuberant girl! Before we crested the shallow hill, she stopped and asked,

“Shouldn’t we clean up after tea first?”

Wait, Widgie, such a servile attitude. Is she really more concerned about my dirty dishes than her own needs? Oooh, she might be perfect. Let’s find out!

“No, that’s what the White Rabbit does for me. He arranges tea and cleans up afterwards when the weather is warm and sunny enough for us to partake outdoors.”

“Then he’s your servant.” She concluded.

“No, he just enjoys . . . oh, what would you call it? Pleasing me? He’s an odd fellow to tell the truth.” I replied with a tilt of my head and a gentle shrug, uncertain that I was making sense.

You’re baiting her Widgie and you know it . . . .

She took one last glance back at the White Rabbit who by now was slumped in his chair, snoring softly under the influence of too much tea, too many cakes, and the warmth of the sun on his fur. His nose twitching randomly and hind leg kicking occasionally, no doubt fleeing some dreamed of predator. “He’s the vision of contentment” she said smiling at him. Meeting her smile, I reminded her that if we didn’t hurry, she’d be twitching for an entirely different and wholly un-lady- like reason. Then, with a nod we resumed our course towards the cottage.

Upon arriving, we entered. Being a guest in my home for the first time she politely waited just inside the door for instructions from me. I pointed her to a chair nearby asking for a moment to get what she’d need for the night. She nodded and sat, crossed her legs deliberately, and began kicking the free one unconsciously. No tea party posture for her now. The urge was growing stronger by the minute, but my practiced mind told me she was in no danger of embarrassing herself quite yet. Soon she would be in real distress, but not before I’d taken full and well planned advantage of her need. Wiggle little girl, you’ve only begun to suffer.

I secretly began looking for some reasonable excuse, anything which would enable me to perpetuate such a fortuitous condition. Pursuing the only course available to me at the time, I excused myself and ducked into the linen closet to find the proper dressings for her bed. Taking my leisure finding what I wanted, I intentionally dawdled, humming and hawing audibly to myself giving her the impression that the decision was far more complicated than it really was. I took as much time as I could justify, shuffling through the paltry selection there, knowing that in the mean time her already uncomfortably full bladder was becoming harder to ignore. Finally, thinking I could delay no longer, I popped out of the closet, sheets, pillows, and blankets in hand.

“Sorry to take so long, I just wanted to make sure I had everything you’d need for tonight” I lied. With a hand gesture from me, she rose and followed me down the hall. When we arrived at the bedroom adjacent to my own, I said, “This room should do nicely. It has a sunset view and is right next door to mine should you need anything.”

“Thank you” she said nervously, “I’m sure it will be fine” waiting no doubt to be shown a chamber pot.

By now I was so engrossed in her predicament that I began fantasizing until she brought me back to reality with an “ahem.”

“Oh, pardon my rudeness, let me set things in order for you, then I’ll leave you to your privacy.”

Slowly, I made the bed, glancing at her now noticeable dance by the door. I doubt I’ve ever made a bed more slowly. Being a bachelor, I’d made hundreds of them, but this afternoon, I just couldn’t force myself to move any quicker. She squirmed. I procrastinated, looking for some way to engage her curiosity or sense of play in order to prolong her discomfort.

Finally, with the pillows fluffed for the umpteenth time, I said, “Well, there you go, a nice bed with clean sheets and a pleasant view.” Before she could respond, I moved to the window saying, “Just let me open these for you and I’ll leave you be.” Pulling back the heavy drapes, glimmers of setting sunlight filtered into the room, revealing the dancing dust, and a now very animated girl. “There now, all set. Is there anything else you require” I asked as innocently as I could muster?

With eye brows lifted, head cocked, and looking at me out of the corner of her eye, she asked, “Well Sir, could I have a chamber pot now please?”

“Oh, a chamber pot, how clumsy of me, I beg your pardon” faining sincerity as she blatantly clinched her legs tighter, held her mound, and did the grind of the urgent. “Give me another second.” With that, I left her to wait in abject misery, holding way too much tea for a girl her size. Naturally, I took more time than I would have had I been the one in need. After locating what I needed, and satisfied that I could keep her waiting no longer, I returned with it.

Upon re-entering her room, she was standing at the foot of the bed, her ruffled and slightly soiled panties laid out on a chair so the crotch could dry, legs tightly crossed, knees bending rhythmically, with not one, but both hands pressed tight into her crotch over that alluring blue dress. “There you go” I said, setting the pot before her waiting body. To my amazement she lifted her skirt, straddled the pot, and began to squat, completely oblivious to my presence. Oh, she’s very desperate, Widgie, very! Just one more trick, think, do you have one last riddle to capture her curiosity? As she did, it brought her quivering pudenda into view, afternoon light from the window revealed a tuft of wispy pubic foliage. Resigning all hopes of prolonging her agony, I blurted out softly, “very nice!” However, as fate would have it, this innocent comment was enough to turn the trick.

“What” she asked? Freezing in mid act, she continued holding her skirt, and turned to face me so that the fading light of day illuminated her tender mound perfectly.

“Those wisps of hair are delightful” I exclaimed unable to resist starring at her tender exposed loins. The clock in the foyer could be heard ticking. I sniffed the air.

Distracted, she rebutted, “No, it’s disgusting! Every time I come down the rabbit hole it returns. Back home I have it removed for months at a time electronically. Electronically? I love the smooth clean feeling it provides. Besides, there are benefits to a clean shaven . . . um . . . uh, I can’t explain and really shouldn’t be discussing it with you.” Growing self-conscious, she dropped her skirt and added, “Now if you don’t mind . . .”

Seeing my opportunity to torment bothered flesh was disappearing before my eyes, I tried one last device. “Would you be so kind as to do something for me?” It was a gamble, but it was all I had left. Incredulously, she looked at me through eyes glazed with need, yet with a spark of curiosity, eager to learn what possible request could be so important as to interrupt such a critical moment. Nevertheless, she paused. I think we have her Widgie. She’s curious enough. Maybe she’ll play. And you know, if she’ll play out of mere curiosity, maybe she’s . . . Pursing my lips, I stroked my chin buying a few more seconds. In the mean time she’d straightened herself, once again holding her skirt to her navel, straddling the pot. Her labia protruding below her crotch caught my eye. How beautiful it would be to see more of that. In my last ditch effort, I asked, “Since you dislike it so much, would you allow me to remove that patch of unsightly hair for you now?”

“Are you a barber too” she asked, genuine curiosity audible in her voice?

“Well, we hatters have to shave too. I think between your expertise in how you want it to feel and my shaving hand, we could clean you up nicely in a matter of minutes. I would be honored if you’d allow me the privilege. It would be a rare treat for me to pamper you in this way” I said hoping.

Smiling she said, “Why not, as soon as I’m done with this.”

“Ahem, well, now, there is the reason I’m interrupting you now. There’s a condition I’d like to append to my offer” I said.

“And that would be” she asked?

There’s that twinkle in her eye . . . Oh, Widgie, the game is on!

Quickly I explained to her how we would make it a game; in exchange for a shave, she would agree not to empty her bladder until I’d finished. “Besides, it might be fun to see if you can hold it that long” I added in playful conclusion.

“Ok” she said, dropping her skirt and looking at me with a nod of consent.

There’s the first sign: willingness.

As her skirt settled, I noticed some dark lines in the tops of her white leggings. No doubt there were unseen, clear lines above them, extending from her quivering groove, indicating that she was already losing the battle to contain her excess of tea.

I lead her to my kitchen where I kept my toiletry items. Handing her a pan, I asked her to go to the pump outside the back door and fill it with water. “God” is all she said. Nevertheless, knowing that the sooner she returned, the sooner she would finish the game, Allison trudged off as quickly as her shaky legs would allow. Soon she returned. I could tell that the slow, dripping pump had done its job masterfully because she displayed even larger stains in her hosiery now.

“Before you get into position, set the water to warm while I get everything else ready”

Grimacing at every thought of water now, she placed the pan on a burner and turned up the heat under it. That done, she hiked the back of her skirt, lay back onto the table with her hips at the very edge, allowing her legs to dangle off the end, and crossed them for support against the growing flood of discomfort. In this position, she waited with her eyes shut, back arched, chest heaving in labored efforts at control, and hands clinched, waiting as patiently as she could.

When the water was the desired temperature, I poured a little into my soap cup to begin softening it. Next, I immersed a cloth in what remained in the pan. After soaking it, I removed it, wrung it lightly, and took it to the business end of the table where I slowly raised the front of her dress to apply it. Meeting only mild resistance, I gently opened her legs wide enough to position the steaming cloth on her fur tangled crotch. She whimpered softly as I arranged things and began whipping up frothy lather in my cup. When all was finally ready, I opened her legs wide, placed her feet on the backs of chairs stationed on either side of the table, and removed the towel, revealing a beautifully moist and pungent flesh-folded tear.

With steam lifting lightly from her girl flesh, I quickly applied the warm shaving lather to her patch. A louder moan, whether of pleasure or agony, I could not tell, escaped her throat as the warmth soaked into her saddle area. While letting it ooze into the nooks of her crease, I stropped my razor, whetting it for its delicate task. With each stroke, her breathing increased. Finally she begged, “Please hurry, I really don’t think I can wait much longer!”

“Be patient, my dear. I’m about to begin.” Laying a firm hand on her lower abdomen, I began applying my straight razor to her pubes after swishing it in the water. The sound of moving water elicited another deep groan; this time there could be no mistaking it, she was in serious anguish. “Hold still and I’ll be done in a jiffy.” With that, I bore down to my work. Little did I know or maybe I did that in doing so I was pressing harder on her already distended bladder.

“Please don’t press so hard, Sir. If you do I can’t hold it the way you want” she said in one breath.

Without a pause, I continued. Each stroke cleared away more hair, leaving her bare between her dribble dampened thighs. Wiping the razor on the towel, I said, “There now, all done except for the hard part. Please grab your legs behind your knees and spread wide for me. I need to get between them really well.”

“Yes Sir” she said, breath hissing between clinched teeth as she fought to hold back the looming flood.

As I shaved carefully between her thigh and labia, she began trembling so hard that her tremors threatened to stop my work. “Now try to hold still” I encouraged, “I know this is hard, but I’m almost done, and you wouldn’t want me to slip at such a . . . ahem . . . ‘strategic spot’ would you?”

“No Sir, I want to satisfy you if I’m able, but I do so need to pee.”

There it is, Widgie! There it is! She wants to please.

A few more strokes and she was clean. I wiped the remaining soap from her now clean mound, placed her legs back onto the waiting chairs, and stood back to admire my handiwork. Sweat had beaded up on her young forehead, she was visibly trembling now, and there were droplets of urine seeping out uncontrollably in unison with her breathing. “A couple more things and we’re done.”

“More!?” the veins bulging in her neck as she craned to stare at me?

Ignoring her question I disappeared into the pantry and secured a cucumber of nice size. Hiding it behind my back, I returned to the kitchen. With strain on her face, perspiration soaking thru the parts of her dress still covering her body, breath coming in ragged sobs now, and her hands gripping the sides of the table like a woman in labor, she steeled herself for some unknown torture.

Without delay, I lowered myself to her now glistening gash. I wondered if the process of being unable to void herself had also aroused her. It had with many of the town girls who had endured this ploy before. To find out I dived in and began sucking her clit for all it was worth. No playing around now, just full-on mouth covering her smooth slit, drawing her turgid bean into my mouth, hood and all. She gasped in surprise then squealed, “Oh my God!” loudly enough to startle even me.

Breaking away temporarily I instructed her, “Please keep it down, you don’t want us interrupted by that nosey White Rabbit do you?!”

“Sorry Sir, that just feels soooooo good” Her voice quivering but more controlled by the sudden change of sensations. “But please hurry” she added peeping over her raised skirt.

“Yes, my dear, but you are so succulent I can hardly contain myself. Please try to hold on, I promise I won’t make you wait much longer.” With that, I cruelly plunged my mouth back onto her engorged clitoris, repeatedly bringing her to the verge of climax before relenting each time. She writhed and cooed, bucked and begged, thrashing like a common whore in heat. Her pussy tasted of briny, piddled urine. I accepted it as the nectar of the Gods.

When her chant changed to, “Please don’t stop” between ragged breaths, I knew she was ready to both go and cum. So I backed off the cunnilingus to prevent the latter. It was then that I retrieved the cucumber and asked her if she was ready for the final challenge.

“If it pleases you, Sir . . . but if it takes too long . . . I will never last” she said in phrasing punctuated by heavy breathing. She was a glorious sight now, fully soaked from a variety of bodily fluids. Her skin glistened with a light coating of sweat, and the table bore a large puddle of girl cream mingled with urine. The only thing she had not done yet was shed tears. With the lurid ideas I now entertained for her, I was certain they would not be long in coming. Satisfied that she was as primed as she could be, I slid the fat cucumber into her lubed fuck hole to wrest every possible drop of agony from her hyper charged, but unsatisfied state.

With the added internal pressure, she gripped the table harder, bent her elbows and growled softly. Grunting with each exhale, her sweat soaked face glared at me in feral savagery, unable to utter a single word. But of course, I wasn’t ready to relieve her quite yet.

“Just a little longer my beautiful Allison. I know it’s hard . . . It’s supposed to be” the last phrase delivered with savage cruelty and venom.

No response this time, just pleading eyes, irregular spasms in her belly, and a constant, uncontrollable dribbling between her legs, expelling little jets of liquid in rhythm with her heaving, sobbing exhalations. As she fought desperately to hold back, to please me; I told her how lovely she was, wiping the hair from her knitted brow. The whole time I fucked her with the huge intruder, reminding her how much she pleased me by playing my little game, suffering for me, hurting this way. She bucked and struggled against the multiple sensations assaulting her wracked little body. I told her how I could use an assistant like her in my shop and how useful she could be to me if she wanted to stay. However, the one thing which elicited the greatest positive response from her, and it was heroic given the conditions under which she offered it, was when I told her that I wanted her as my playmate. She nodded assent, then shed her first tears. With that, I laid my free hand on her lower belly and firmly pressed.

Without a second’s pause, Allison blew hard and grunted as her belly convulsed, setting free a powerful stream of warm, salty piss which sailed a good 12 feet inside the next room. She followed that with the most guttural, savage sound I’d ever heard issue from a young lady and I’d heard plenty you must know as she raised her legs into the air as if to facilitate easier evacuation while spewing the contents of her bladder everywhere. At least a full minute passed before the intensity began to wane. As she became aware that she was almost done a smile of relief inched its way across her sweat stained face. In that euphoria of release, the flow slowed to a dribble, and finally stopped altogether. Her breathing was still labored, her abdomen gently quivered, and her legs shook. Fearing that she had had an orgasm on the fat intruder which was still filling her, as her body spasmed involuntarily in the wake of such an eruption, it quickly became apparent, due to what followed, that she had not.

With the first conscious notion that she had returned to the present, she shot her right hand to her rip and furiously began rubbing her pee soaked pea. Instinctively releasing the cucumber, now slick with white chic cream, I let it slide out of its own accord and drop. Before it reached the floor, I had arrested her hand and said, “Oh, no, there’ll be none of that in my house!”

“Oh God, Sir, please let me cum” she begged.

“No-no, if you’re going to please me, there’ll be no orgasm tonight. Our game was for a shave and a pee, not a cum.”

Clinching her fists in frustration and growling playfully, she rested until she’d regained some composure. After a few minutes, still lying on my table, her hands placidly on her bare stomach, legs limply hanging off the end of the table, she looked at me with glowing eyes and quietly asked, “Did this please you, Sir?”

“You pleased me, Allison” I corrected.

While she lay there contented, darkness fully descended upon us. After lighting some candles, I cleaned up the mess she’d made. Finally, helping her to her feet, I removed her soiled dress, promising to wash it for her while she slept. I reheated what was left of the water in the pan, retrieved the cloth, and gave her abused naked body a well deserved bath. When done, I wrapped her in a plush towel, kissed her on the forehead and showed her to her room. There I bound her hands to a rope I had tied high up around her waist to prevent her reaching her aroused pussy and ruining what I’d worked so hard that day to create. With that, I tucked her into bed.

I’d like to tell you that she slept soundly after such an eventful day, but I cannot. Deep into the night, I was awakened by her pleading whimpers and the gentle thumps of her headboard bumping against our common wall as she tossed and turned in discomfort, discomfort of another kind.

Allison's Adventures in Wonderland: Prologue

2010-09-01T10:40:00.003-05:00

Prologue

Some call me mad. Maybe I am, but not for the reasons they imagine. Yes, there was mercury in the endless making of hats. How do I even know that? Science doesn’t know that yet. Yes, there was a mindless parade of condescending gentry, enough to drive anyone insane. Yes, there were the long, sharp hat pins for the tender young ladies. Cushions. Call me cruel, sadistic, or diabolical and I’m likely to tip my hat to you and smirk; or thank you under my breath, it’s an art form you know, but don’t call me mad. For I assure you I’m perfectly sane. I did nothing without the forethought and precision of a surgeon; nothing without the contemplative reason of a philosopher. Nothing was left to chance. Unless one assigns these rational characteristics to the realm of madness, I have the right to bear the title of sobriety as does the magistrate, lawyer, or common seller of meat in the market place. Regardless, if it weren’t for her, none of this would be debatable. I would have finish out my days producing head coverings for gentlemen and gentlewomen, happily whistling to myself, oblivious to the goings on in the wider world, and go to my rest without a ripple. No, but she came into my life and changed it forever. How could it be otherwise? But I’m getting ahead of myself. To explain why people call me mad I must start from the beginning.

Locals tell me that she had been here many times before chancing upon my tea party. Chasing that damned Cheshire cat! The rabbit hole leading to my world has a strange effect on people it seems, and while I have never been to her world, I believe it exists, for she exists. It changes them in ways incompatible with what one would expect. She was quite the independent and mature young lady where she came from, but not here. How do I know this? yet mischievous, playful, and oh so curious. Such a tender girl too; don’t forget to mention, such a tender girl . . . be patient Widgie, be patient I’m getting to that. I used to call her Curious Allison until it began to annoy her. So now, she’s just Allison. Regardless of what I called her, the things we did will grace my memory, tantalize me, and bring me pleasure to the end of my days. That won’t be long now will it, Widgie, not long now.

Ah, such a tender girl, soft, moist, succulent, but I’m getting ahead of myself again. Let me tell you how we met and what we did beginning that first day, for that’s what you’ve come to hear. It was years ago, or at least it was for me; long before I was brought here to this rat infested tower to rot until my execution. My crime? Botching the Queen’s crown. That’s right, a simple “clerical” error of sorts. How was I supposed to know that she meant “no lead” when her speech impediment made it sound like “no red”? Or maybe being distracted by Allison's head in my lap caused my ill-fated mental lapse. Regardless, it was a spectacular achievement of the hatter’s trade, and certainly the most astonishing head dress I’d ever made. Nevertheless, the Red Queen was not amused “Off with his head” . . . quiet Widgie . . . . Let me tell you, I can’t remember how many times I heard the Red Queen issue the imperative “Off with his head” before, but when it applies to one’s own person, it has a chilling effect on the blood. Now I await my execution hastily penning my memoirs for the curious. But I’ve digressed again . . . where was I . . . soft, moist, succulent . . . yes, Widgie, soft, moist and oooh so succulent . . . .

I first met Allison at the tea party. That’s the best place to begin my narrative, not only because the beginning is always the best place to start, but because it’s as far back as I need to go in my tale. It’s as though I have no memory or significance before that day, none which makes any difference at least. Such was the effect she’s had on me. Don’t even think about it Widgie, no riddles . . . not now! Ok, she told me about carriages without horses to draw them Walter lookout! and metal transports which actually allowed people to fly. Fly! People can’t fly. Inconceivable! And they have the gall to call me mad! However, as my tale is about Allison’s adventures here with me, I’ll begin with that day, that wonder of days, when Allison happened upon my tea time.

Now Widgie, tell us all about Allison’s adventures here . . . .