Jaimie In Wonderland. Category: Long and satisfying.
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Content Warning: contains themes of oral sex, digital penetration and drug taking.
Welcome to Wonderland! This is the first part in a long-form erotica which I’ve been wanting to write for quite a while, but haven’t had the time to really settle down to get on with it. I’ve been obsessed with Alice and Wonderland since my earliest years, and having grown up to have a filthy imagination, it’s only natural that I should go down this particular rabbit hole.
It’s widely speculated that the Lewis Carroll books were influenced by drug taking (which the Victorians freely indulged in). This story also involves some drug themes. I neither condone nor condemn: this is a fantasy tale and we’re all grown-ups here.
I wrote a little primer for this story, which you can read here if you wish, or, if you prefer, just jump straight into the rabbit-hole and read on.
As if this weren’t already a big enough challenge, I’ve tried to preserve a little of the whimsical air of the original stories. I appreciate that whimsy and erotica are not easy bedfellows, but I’ll let you judge whether I’ve managed to walk that particular tightrope successfully, or not.
Approximately a 20-minute read.
1.
It was around one-thirty in the morning – a Sunday – and I was at a large private party being held in a converted warehouse complex in Southwest London. I was wearing a costume: of course – it was a costume party. Yes, I was in a fancy-dress costume – I remember that bit quite clearly, I think.
I was dressed as Alice in Wonderland, but it certainly wasn’t the sort of costume a child would wear if she were dressing up as Alice. This costume consisted of a baby-blue latex skater dress, a white satin over-bust corset, white opaque hold-ups and black patent heels. I peered out, a little unsteadily, through the stray locks of my blonde hair, which had flopped down over my damp forehead.
It was warm in the makeshift club; there was air conditioning, but it was struggling with the humid summer night and the large number of half-naked bodies doing… well, I’ll get on to what they were doing in just a minute. Loud music thudded through the innards of the building; the sub-bass vibrating in my chest and only serving to increase my sense of disorientation.
I’ll come clean with you: I was fucked up. Not drunk fucked up, although a bit of that as well, possibly. There had been several drinks throughout the evening from 9 am when I arrived with my friend, Chloe. Where had Chloe gone? I tried to think when I had last seen her, but my memory was not behaving itself.
2.
I took a moment just to stand – well, slump, really –against a wall and get my bearings.
A chill-out area was near where I was standing, arranged with a higgledy-piggledy collection of sofas of varying sizes, shapes and colours. The lighting was suggestively dim and punctuated with the blue and pink of neon. Evanescent sparkles from glitter balls suspended around the space flashed to life like clouds of willow-the-wisps and disappeared again behind silhouetted figures passing back and forth across my field of view.
Arranged on the sofas, in various-sized groups, were people ranging from those still wearing costumes to those who were stark naked, and those at various points in between. Some were reclining, drinking, chatting or – just over there – hoovering up lines of white powder cut out along the black gloss low table situated between two white leather sofas. A couple on one of those sofas was fucking. She had straddled her partner, who was almost prone, lying back against the sofa-back, while she ground herself down onto his cock. All the while, he continued to smoke a plump hand-rolled cigarette as the little white gossamer wings of her Tinkerbell costume bobbed with the rhythm of her thrusts.
Watching them, I remembered that I was, in fact, aroused. Someone had made me like this and then left. I had been ready and, maybe, willing to fuck with them on one of those sofas. Who were they and, more importantly, where were they now? I really needed to sit and just pick through what had happened, but the only seat available was the sofa where Tinkerbell was lazily screwing her partner.
3.
She was appropriately petite, for a fairy, with a French-girl crop to her brunette head. I eased myself alongside them, slowly so as not to disturb. It was hard not to look; I hadn’t been this close to another couple fucking before, and, since they weren’t paying any attention to me, I allowed myself to look a little more closely. Both of them seemed out of it. He continued to smoke what was clearly a joint; the aroma was unmistakable. She had her hands on his knees, her back arched backwards, her small breasts exposed where her green mini dress had been pulled down. Beads of perspiration shone on her forehead as she rocked backwards and forwards. They were moving quite slowly, with no apparent sense of urgency to achieve orgasm.
I watched somewhat mindlessly, glad for the chance to take the weight off my impractical heels and also to give my brain a chance to regroup; the spot next to the fornicating fairy felt like a temporary safe haven.
After a while, she opened her eyes and, looking to the side, noticed me watching her. I had unconsciously, and in my voyeuristic lust, snaked my hand up my thigh and was, I now realised, stroking my index finger up and down the fabric of my white thong. My dress had rucked up so that anyone who wanted would have been able to see me wanking myself while I watched the couple next to me. In fact, the guy sitting on the sofa opposite was trying hard to look like he wasn’t leering at my crotch, but I was pretty sure he was.
4.
Tinkerbell smiled a sloppy, out-of-it smile and put her hand on my thigh.
‘It’s so fucking hot you’re watching,’ she slurred. ‘I’m close – will you touch me?’
I was happy to oblige – the whole thing had the feeling of an out-of-body experience, as if my body had been taken over by someone who had absolutely no inhibitions. I was reminded of someone sitting in my lap, grinding themselves against me. Who was that? Did that happen earlier this evening?
I reached my left hand across and slid it between her legs. She was saturated, and my hand was quickly slick with her fluids. My fingertips brushed against the shaft of his cock as it slipped – only an inch or two at a time – in and out: the remainder was buried deep inside her. I retracted slightly and easily found her clit, hard and pronounced, and began to strum my fingers across it slowly and rhythmically.
‘Oh fuck, yeah! Fuck that’s it…’ She gasped, ‘Don’t stop – keep doin’ that. Oh fuck.’
I did my best to oblige. She planted one hand on her partner’s chest as he continued, eyes closed, to puff away. Her other hand, she reached across to me and slipped between my legs, moving straight to the spot which my fingers had only recently vacated.
‘Fuck, you’re wet too. That’s so fuckin’ hot. Did you get all wet watchin’ me fucking?’
5.
For someone so off her head, Tinkerbell was an accomplished multitasker. She was able to focus on smoothly and steadily increasing the tempo of her hips while simultaneously rubbing my pussy, first through the wet fabric of my thong then, hooking it to one side, thrumming her fingers through the sodden folds of my labia. I had to concentrate on my side of the bargain as the attentions of her fingers, as well as the continuous, slurred drawl of filth from her mouth, was making me squirm with delight.
Her focus began to drift, and I realised that she was approaching her orgasm. I magnanimously decided to focus on her climax – I could attend to myself afterwards, or maybe she would. I increased the tempo of my fingertips as she began to really rock, grinding herself down and trapping my fingers between herself and her chemically relaxed partner with every forward stroke.
She came with a moan, pressing herself down with all the force she could muster, twitching and swearing. He seemed to barely notice.
As she came back down, she seemed to recall that I was still there and that her fingers were not keeping their side of the implied deal. She lurched sideways towards me and planted her lips on mine. Her kiss was wet and a little sour, tasting of smoke and stale booze.
6.
‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘you brought me off so hard I forgot all about you.’ I’ll sort that, don’t worry.’ Two fingers were suddenly and crudely thrust into me. Unprepared, I flinched but found that, off her head or not, she knew exactly what she was doing. Two fingers curled around inside me, stroking the front wall of my vagina in circles, while the pad of her thumb flicked across the hard little button of my clit. I must have been close before because it seemed to take only a matter of seconds before I was shaking in ecstasy while Tinkerbells tongue fucked my mouth and her industrious fingers brought me to a shuddering, jerking orgasm.
I recall that we parted quickly after that. Her side of the bargain fulfilled, she seemed anxious to move. Rising to free the man – whose cock had been embedded in her the whole time – she kissed me a fond goodbye then left, saying something about needing to go to the ladies to ‘straighten herself up’. I watched her go, weaving unsteadily through the other guests, her little white fairy wings bobbing on her back. Tinkerbells’ companion grunted at me shortly after this, struggled to his feet and lurched off in the same direction in which the fairy had just gone. I closed my eyes, deciding to stay here for now, take a breather and think some more about how I had ended up on this sofa, in a warm, orgasmic after-glow and sticky with fairy-juice.
7.
Chloe had got the tickets for this event. ‘We both need to get out and let our hair down,’ she had said emphatically, and being quite clear that she was not going to brook any dissent from me. Hard details were scant, but it was clear that the organisers were pitching this as a night of unrestrained hedonism. Chloe had heard from a guy she knew, who had heard from his girlfriend’s sister (the event was strictly word of mouth), that it was to be anything goes. Even the bar and other staff had been required to sign non-disclosure agreements. There had been a quite substantial flat fee for the tickets, but drinks and light snacks were included.
The other, absolutely inviolable, rule was that phones had to be checked with coats at the door. ‘In the interests of assuring discretion for everyone’. was the rationale. Tickets were held digitally on the phone, so if you left without retrieving it, you would be in difficulties getting back in, we were sternly advised.
Fancy dress was mandated; the sexier the better. The event had been called ‘Urban Wonderland’, so, naturally, there was a sizeable number of guests dressed in Alice in Wonderland costumes, including a handful of Alices. I felt distinctly self-conscious in my outfit on the journey there. Chloe and I had taken a cab from outside of her flat and had it deliver us to the door of the event but still, the two of us; me as ‘slut-on-heat Alice’ and she as ‘hooker Harley Quinn’, stood out conspicuously right up until we got inside. We found that, in fact, we were among the more conservatively dressed girls there. One of the other Alices wore a baby-blue satin thong, white nipple tassels, black and white striped hold-ups and black platform stripper heels. It was only the colours in her ensemble which hinted at which character she had come ‘dressed’ as. Well, that, and the black Alice band holding her cheap, yellow-blonde wig in place.
8.
Bits and pieces were beginning to drop into place, but it was difficult to keep hold of some memories or thoughts as, just as they materialised for me and I grasped at them, they wiggled away, evaporating like a haze of shifting colours, pulsing then fading. The air seemed supercharged with energy; such colours there were to be seen in the dark environs of the club seemed to glow and be edged with gold.
What had that girl said? The girl in the white ‘Playboy’ style bunny costume? I remembered her from about an hour or so ago. I had seen Chloe – ah! That’s it! Chloe had gone off to get a drink with… someone. He had a top hat on. I think. But, anyway, the girl… I remembered watching Chloe leaving through the crowd and feeling somewhat pissed off about it. A hand was then on my shoulder; a small hand in a white satin elbow-glove, snaking sensuously down my arm.
‘Hello.’ She had said. ‘Are you all on your lonesome?’ Her enunciation was precise and upper-class, but it had a musical, sing-song quality to it. I was clearly being flirted with, at least, if not hit on. ‘Come and talk to me for a while – look,’ she held up two shot glasses, filled with a clear liquid, ‘this will be your reward.’
9.
I had seen her around, through the crowd of revellers during the evening. The first thing I noticed was the way she moved: sensuous and with a roll in her hips as she walked. She arched her back as she pressed between others, flicking her hair back from her shoulder with the white glove. I couldn’t help but follow her with my gaze, and when she took a sip from her drink and looked up, she met my eyes and smiled slowly, knowingly. The extraordinary darkness of her irises gave the appearance of bottomless wells, which I might fall into and be lost in forever. A drunk bumped against me, slopping my drink over my wrist, but oblivious, he continued his way. I brushed at my wet skin, and looking back up, I was perplexed and disappointed to see that the girl had vanished.
Now here she was again, standing provocatively close and causing me to think that I might, indeed, be lost in the inky depths of her eyes.
‘The drinks are included.’ I pointed out, reasonably.
She was beautiful. Apart from those eyes, the skin-tight, white corset-teddy of her costume hugged her lovely figure and was completed with a fluffy bunny tail and a pair of soft, floppy rabbit ears attached to her head by some means concealed within the cascade of long black hair. Her full mouth was painted crimson and glossy, glistening wetly in the transient sparkles from the glitter balls. Her small nose had been dabbed with pink makeup, and some whiskers radiating from it were drawn onto her pale cheeks with an eyeliner pencil.
10.
‘Yes, they are, clever girl!’ She said, now standing in front of me, her neck inclining towards me. ‘It’s still nice to be given something, though, isn’t it?
‘Why should I trust you? I don’t know what’s in those drinks.’
‘Another excellent question! You really are as sharp as a tack, aren’t you? We’ll have a quiet drink together, get to know each other a little – maybe a lot – and whatever you drink, I’ll drink. Are you game or not?’
In two shakes of a lamb’s tail – or it might have been three – we were perched together on a leather-upholstered loveseat, to the rear of the ‘chill-out’ area. Her warm thigh pressed against mine as she leaned into me. I felt breath on my cheek as she spoke into my ear, and felt a twinge. A pleasant twinge. ‘Do you mind if I make myself comfortable?’ she asked. I shook my head.
She set the glasses down on the low metal table in front, stood, then shockingly, straddled my lap, pushing me backwards; her arms on either side of my head, hands gripping the back of the seat. She leaned in until she was so close I could feel her soft breath on my face.
‘Gotcha now, don’t I, Alice?’ I didn’t feel like arguing.
Her head dipped further, and her lips touched mine – so lightly. Then the tip of her tongue, questing: slowly tracking the inner contours of my lips. Her breath was warm and sweet and sticky with alcohol. My hands were on her back, then slowly slipping down, across the sheer nylon of the seamless tights covering her perfectly round and firm bottom; the tight thong-back teddy separating the two slowly rocking globes which my fingertips were now gripping, encouraging the soft undulations of her hips.
11.
This was all somewhat surreal, but I couldn’t deny that she was turning me on very effectively. The fact that we were in a – well, not a public place, but somewhere where we had an audience – had become an irrelevance. As it was, every shred of my attention and focus was on what was taking place on my lap: the warm space between her thighs grinding slowly against my thigh; the lips and tongue exploring my mouth like she wanted to memorise every warm, wet, corner of it and those hands, removed now from the back of the seat and caressing me; my face, neck, shoulders.
There was no question that we would have to fuck. That was beyond doubt now. The only question was where. We could get a taxi and go back to mine or, maybe hers. I was so turned on; I wouldn’t have flinched if she’d suggested just getting naked right here and screwing on the loveseat.
My lusty new friend suddenly ceased what she was doing and pulled back. She sat back on my lap, jiggled from side to side a little and looked at my bewildered expression with sly amusement.
‘I’ve got you a prize!’ she said, tilting her head coquettishly and arching her back so that her peachy breasts were pointing forward into my face. I could see the outline of her hard nipples pressing against the fabric.
This required another sudden mental change of gear. ‘What prize? Did I win something?’
‘Well, obviously, apart from me, of course! What do you think, Alice? Do ya wanna get freaky?’
‘I thought we were.’
‘Oh no! This is just the hors d’oeuvres. Or, maybe, the amuse-bouche!’
12.
Holding my gaze all the while, she theatrically reached into her cleavage and slowly withdrew a small, ornately fashioned pill-box; fine gold filigree inlaid with turquoise enamel. Never breaking my gaze for a moment, she slowly opened the lid. It was no more than a couple of inches long, thin and delicate, but even in the subdued lighting, I could see the slogan ‘Eat Me’ written across the lid in swirling gold script.
She reached inside with white satin-gloved fingers and pulled out something which she held to my gaze in the palm of her hand. Two little red capsules.
‘Deals a deal.’ She said and tossed one of the pills into the back of her throat. Re-inserting the little pillbox between her breasts, she reached behind her and took up the two shot glasses, held one up in toast, then tossed it back, wincing slightly as it hit the back of her throat.
‘Your turn.’ She took the other pill and balanced it on her tongue, then closed her lips around it. My eyes widened in surprise, but it was short-lived as she leaned in suddenly, and our lips opened to each other again. That sensuous, snaking tongue was in my mouth, and this time I felt it deposit the capsule on mine. A shot glass was being held up to my lips. What the fuck am I doing? I thought.
13.
‘Here’s to hell – may our stay there be as much fun as our way there!’
She held the glass to my lips. ‘Drink me.’ She breathed and then, in a quick motion, tipped the contents of the glass into my mouth. I tilted my head and swallowed. Shit! It burned as it went down – but immediately caused me to feel energised and, if it were possible, even more aroused. Tingling sensations travelled in a wave from the top of my head to my toes and back. My clitoris, already in a fizzy, oversensitive state, twinged, and an ache deeper inside caused me to give an involuntary grunt followed by a breathy moan from the back of my throat.
‘Oh… getting to you is it?’ She looked at me intently. ‘You’re completely edible, you know?’ She leaned in abruptly, and our lips met again, this time more forcefully. There was no mistaking what the direction of travel was now.
This heavenly arrangement continued for a little while, but, suddenly, the pressure on my lips, that agile, questing tongue, was abruptly withdrawn. My new friend was leaning back on her haunches, angling her wrist towards the dim light emanating from the blue neon strip nearest us.
‘Fuck.’ She announced in her incongruously elegant and proper accent. She was staring accusingly at the face of her white plastic Disney watch. I caught a glimpse of the dial, which bore an image of the white rabbit, pocket watch in hand.
14.
‘What? What is it?’ I was, if I’m completely honest, growing slightly tired of the frequent changes of pace and direction. I wanted nothing more than to carry on making out for an agreeable length of time, followed by a shedding of clothes and a consummation of my lust which had been growing steadily since she straddled my lap – how and where were mere details but that was the loose map in my head for the rest of the night. Maybe we could go and get breakfast together later, having slept in one or other of our beds and lent the non-resident party a change of clothes. It didn’t look like that would be happening now.
‘I’m late! Shit, I’m so sorry. Shit, I’m late, I’m late.’ She quickly extricated herself from my lap. ‘I’m really sorry. I’ll call… shit, I don’t have my phone…’
‘Pen and a piece of paper?’ I said, drily.
She caught the cynical edge to my voice and looked at me reproachfully.
‘Hey, I really am sorry, you know.’ She leaned in and kissed me again, seemingly savouring every last second of our too-brief encounter. ‘I’m coming back… if they let me re-enter. I just have to meet someone, sort of a business thing, and if you let him down, he holds it against you forever and refuses to deal with you. It’s very tedious.’
‘My name’s Jaimie. What should I remember you as?’
‘Call me Blanche.’ She said then, with that same sly smile, ‘I have a feeling that I’ll see you again, hopefully later – when I do, I’ll finish what we started – promise.’
15.
So, that was how I got here. Tinkerbell had upped and left, and before her, the exquisite bunny-girl had run off too. I still had no idea where Chloe was. I politely ignored the two beautiful young men, dressed like an elegantly wasted Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum who had taken up residence at the other end of the sofa and were now heavily snogging.
Having reasonably successfully reconstructed the events of the evening and reached some conclusions about my present altered frame of mind, I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. I’ll just rest for a little while, I thought, then I would go and find Chloe after that, and if she was ready, we could head for home.
Despite the noise, I must have dropped off to sleep briefly, but when I opened my eyes again, events took an unexpected turn.
And that is the end of Part 1!
Thank you so much for reading, and be sure to come back for Part 2 next week.
Love, Jaimie xx
Links and Stuff.
It’s a bit bloody hot in the UK at the time of writing for wearing latex. Fortunately, the picture which illustrates this post was taken a couple of months ago when temperatures were a little more comfortable for pouring yourself into skin-tight rubber. It’s from the amazing Westward Bound.
This is the dress. I find a skater mini is just a tad more flattering with my tree-trunk thighs than a pencil skirt/dress – not that it stops me from wearing them though!
Jaimie
I’m sharing my stories online for free, because it’s nice, isn’t it, to share things with people and start conversations? If you read one of my stories (hopefully more than one!) I would love it if you would take the time to comment. It takes a lot of time, effort and sometimes emotions, to write my best for you. It’s encouraging to receive a response, so if you could spare a moment to please drop a comment, that would be wonderful! Your email address will not appear in the comment.
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