Fifty Shades of Alice Through the Looking Glass (3 page)

A thrill swept over Alice, the physical pleasure of three people making love to her, and the delight of imagining that she was a queen.

She would have a crown, of course, or maybe a tiara of diamonds. And she would wear beautiful dresses and attend parties and everyone in her kingdom would adore her.

“Please, can you take it in your hand?” the White King asked, stroking her fingers with his stiff rod.

Alice was very anxious to be of use, so she gripped his member in her palm and started working up and down over his rigid length, soft skin and prominent ridge.

“Oh, yes.”

She felt a pressure behind at her opening, and tilted her bottom upward in response.

The Red King’s fat member slid into the hungry wetness of her enchanted tunnel. He gripped her hips and delved deep, just like she’d done with the rabbit, just like she’d imagined a man doing when she was watching herself in the mirror.

The White King took one of her nipples between his teeth, giving her a gentle nibble. He cupped both breasts in his hands, massaging and kneading and making Alice feel wonderfully thrilling sensations while he pumped his shank into her tight fist.

“Your tits are so hot, Alice,” he said. “I want to spill my essence all over your nipples.”

Alice had never heard of such a thing, but it sounded interesting all the same. Perhaps it was something reserved for royalty; something she could try once she’d opened her mind enough to become a royal herself. Maybe some of those pretty, queenly dresses she’d wear would be designed to leave her breasts bare, for just such an occasion.

“The rest of you is hot too, Alice,” muttered the White Queen between licks, and her enthusiasm rippled through Alice in trembling waves.

“I’ll say!” The Red King bellowed, taking another deep plunge. “Alice has the hottest box in Looking Glass Land!”

Alice wasn’t sure if it was polite to say thank you to such compliments or not. But truly, the more the kings and queen licked her and teased her and explored her and thrust into her, the hotter she felt, and the more queenly.

The White King had just started making loud grunting sounds and the Red King had just settled into a driving rhythm and the White Queen had just slathered Alice’s sex trigger with a good, fat lick of ecstasy when a voice cut the room.

“This is NOT an approved position!”

The White Queen fell back on her haunches. The Red King pulled out of Alice’s special place. The White King reluctantly gave her nipples one last tweak, and then they left Alice to face the Red Queen’s wrath.

“Leave this party at once!” she shouted.

Alice cowered away. “I’m so ever sorry, Your Highness.”

“Don’t
sorry
me. I was going to invite you to our very proper party, only to discover that you—with those perky nipples and shaved special place—are a troublemaker. To the courtyard with you! There you will learn the simple joys of
Missionary While Cross Stitching
and
Missionary With Eyes Closed Hoping It Ends Soon.
”

“But the mirror is my only way back home,” Alice said, backing up. Although if she was honest, she didn’t want to go home, not just that minute. She wanted The Red King to be thrusting inside her, and the White Queen to be licking her, and the White King to anoint her nipples with his essence. But of course, she couldn’t say any of that to the Red Queen.

“To the courtyard, or I will have you arrested and taken to the HDO!”

The two kings and the White Queen gasped in unison.

Alice didn’t like the sound of that, whatever it was. So naked and aroused and totally unsatisfied, she dashed from the room.

Alice raced through the house, not wanting to be arrested. Not that she was all that excited about going to the courtyard where only the missionary position was allowed, but Alice feared what would happen if she disobeyed the fearsome Red Queen, whom Alice feared quite fearily. Fear fear fear!

So for the courtyard she ran, seeing the patio door in the distance, and tripping over a book that had been placed conveniently in the middle of the floor for the purposes of this plot. Rubbing a stubbed toe, Alice picked up the doorstopper of a tome, cursing that the royals in this house still hadn’t adopted ebooks, which wouldn’t have stubbed her toe nearly as bad, or even at all. On the cover of the book was a strange word in a language Alice didn’t know.

YKCOCREBBAJ

She puzzled over this until she realized, “Duh! It’s a looking glass book! If I hold it up to a mirror, I can read it the right way!”

But Alice didn’t even attempt it, because upon opening the book she saw lines of prose that looks suspiciously like quatrains and stanzas, which meant it was a book of poetry.

Alice despised poetry. She found it to be the most self-indulgent, most useless, most boring type of art. She’d rather watch a meth-addled performance artist scream incoherently about Martians while throwing rotten eggs at the audience than read poetry. Especially old poetry, and the copyright on this book said 1871. That sealed the deal that she would never, never, never, no way, no how, read this poetry book, because everyone knows nothing worthwhile was written before 1970, which was when Judy Blume released
Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret
. Everything prior to that was boring and stuffy and full of itself.

“I’m not going to read this,” Alice said. “Never, never, never, no way, no how.”

Then she opened it up and held it up to a mirror and began to read. After all, how was Alice supposed to open her mind, as the White Queen said, when she refused to even open a book?

JABBERCOCKY

’Twas horcky in the HDO,
Beased so long they mersycried,
Empty was the bordello,
Tolerance had up and died.

Beware the Jabbercock, my girl!
The pole that jabs the secret patch!
Torment shall make her toesies curl,
She was so shunned, they bandersnatch.

A soul condemned to face the beast,
By missionench, so crimson mean,
But pleasure fiftyfold increased,
Made her then the Golden Queen.

The Jabbercock shall masturbate,
Poor Golden Queen with fiendish chode,
But she shall rise and liberate,
And jabbing pole shall overload!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
Until the machilit the smoke,
The souls condemned, they came and flew,
While Golden Queen BJ’ed her bloke.

Freedom rang in Kingdom high!
Snowballing and hot bukkake!
Gokkun, felching, and creampie!
Queen shall wed the panty jockey!

’Twas horcky in the HDO,
Beased so long they mersycried,
Empty was the bordello,
Tolerance had up and died.

“Well,” Alice said. “That was awful.”

She tossed the book aside. Not only did it make zero sense, with all of its made-up words, but there was a smarminess to it that reminded Alice of grammar school, being condescended to by an underpaid teacher’s aide who would have rather been travelling through Europe than dealing with children.

“Knight!” The Red Queen screamed from the other room.

Alice didn’t wait to hear the rest but ran out the patio door and onto a stone courtyard littered with small beds. On each of the beds, reclined a naked woman, and on top of each naked woman was a timidly thrusting man.

Alice even recognized some of the positions from the Red Queen’s book. One couple doing missionary was doing it with their faces together:
Missionary Touching Foreheads
. The next were holding hands:
Missionary With Hands Held
. Another watched a TV show about a woman dying of cancer who was being stalked by her boyfriend after her daughter who needed a kidney transplant was kidnapped:
Missionary While Watching Lifetime For Women
.

Alice stood and stared at the copulations for a few minutes, unsure what to do. It was a titillating scene, to be sure, and Alice felt like she should be aroused by it. After the Red King’s quick exit from her love cave, The White King’s final tweak of her nipples, and the White Queen’s forced abandonment of Alice’s pleasure folds, Alice was feeling rather lustful. Maybe as long as she watched the missionary position with its endless variety of arm raising and other nonsense, it would be within the rules for her to touch herself.

She tried cupping her breasts in her hands and teasing her nipples. She tried spreading her legs and massaging her most sensitive spot. She tried walking closer to the couples. She tried standing on one foot. She even tried out some arm raising of her own. But nothing seemed to work. Watching these obviously bored couples going through the motions without even making a peep was depressing, not arousing. Alice wished she had her rabbit vibrator, but that damn thing seemed to disappear on a regular basis.

“Psst!” someone said from beyond a hedge. “The garden is more beautiful from up here on the hill.”

Alice turned in that direction, but she couldn’t see anyone.

“Psst!” Came the voice again. “If you don’t get out of there quickly, you’ll be planted in one of those beds for sure.”

“Who said that?” Alice asked. “The tree?”

“Trees don’t talk, dumb ass. Hurry up!”

Alice took one last glance at the fornicating people, none of whom was looking to be having an enjoyable time at all, and then she scampered through a gap in the hedge and down a twisty-turny path until a green lawn opened in front of her. Lounging on the lawn were three nude women, one with dark skin, orange hair and tiger stripes tattooed all over her body, reaching down to the sculpted hair around her special place; one with pale pink hair, voluptuous curves and glittering rings piercing lush rosy nipples; and one with her brunette hair tied in pigtails and her shockingly fair body looking fresh as dew in the morning.

Alice glanced around, but there were no beds here, no missionary position, not even any men.

“What is this place?” she asked the women.

“We’re the wild flowers.”

Now this made no sense to Alice. “I’m afraid I don’t understand. Although the three of you are beautiful, you’re not flowers. Not literally.”

“Sure we are,” said the orange one with tiger stripes. “I’m Lily.”

“And I’m Rose,” said the pink woman with the lavish breasts.

The last, who looked delicate and sweet and the same precise age as Alice (because, of course, the youngest she could possibly be in this book is eighteen), giggled. “I’m Daisy,” she said with a southern twang.

“I’m Alice. So you are flowers because you have flower names.”

“Now you’re just stating the obvious,” said Lily.

Alice frowned. She hated being scolded, even by exotic-looking naked women. But scolding, as much as Alice detested it, always made her want to try harder. So try harder, she did. “And you’re wild, because you have colored hair and tattoos?”

“I don’t have colored hair or tattoos,” said Daisy.

“Then why are you wild flowers?”

“We’re the ones lucky enough to escape the beds,” said Lily with a naughty wink.

“Oh, I get it. Flower beds.”

“Yes,” said Rose, “Violet, Dahlia, Iris, Pansy, and Marigold are all stuck in the beds, following the Red Queen’s rules.”

“So you don’t follow the rules?” asked Alice, a wicked thrill making her nipples tighten.

“Of course not,” said Lily, who seemed to be the leader. “We’re wild, after all.”

Alice already liked this place much better than the courtyard of beds. “So you can do anything in any position and follow your sexual fantasies?”

“We certainly can,” said Rose, and as if to prove it, she began to play with her abundant breasts, pulling and twisting the sparkly rings until her nipples jutted out from her pillowy areolas, more erect than any nipples Alice had ever seen, even the White Queen’s.

Now Alice had always found women’s curves to be beautiful—they were the subjects of paintings and sculpture, after all. But never in a million years did she dream she would find another woman’s breasts this arousing. The sheer lavishness of Rose’s made her want to touch them, to suckle them, to caress them with her own.

And it wasn’t just Rose’s, she realized. Lily’s breasts were much smaller, but perfectly rounded and firm. Her nipples were tight as well, jutting hard like bullets, dark against Lily’s rich, chocolate skin.

And then there was Daisy, hers white and pure, her areolas pink and delicate, nipples perky.

And as Alice drank in the variety of mammary beauty, she found herself fondling her own. Her mounds were larger than Daisy’s or Lily’s, yet half the size of Rose’s plush curves. But they had a firmness that felt good in her palms, and she’d liked the weight of them bouncing when the Red King had thrust into her. Alice’s nipples tingled, and she played with them while recalling the lovemaking. The yearning within her reached a fever pitch.

“You like looking at tits, Alice?”

Alice flushed a little. “I suppose I was staring. I apologize.”

“No need,” said Rose. She rose to her feet and stepped close to Alice. “But there are some things more fun than staring. Like touching. Would you like to massage mine, Alice?”

Alice looked at those sumptuous breasts, the soft, puffy, cloud-like areolas and prominent nipples just inches from her own. Rose was wearing some sort of lotion that glistened like vegetable oil, and Alice couldn’t help wondering if Rose’s breasts would feel slippery if Alice stuck out her chest, leaned forward and pressed hers to them.