“Okay.” Lydia paused. Tapped her black, painted, stubby nails on the table. From the poor condition of them, I suspected her to be a nervous-habit biter. “Then on to the next step,” she said.
“Step?”
Lydia brushed back her long blonde bangs from her eyes. “If you want to be considered for Wonderland, you must do something for Master Hatter.”
“Like?”
“Keep a diary of your fantasies.”
“What?”
Lydia gave me a strange half smile. “For two weeks, you are to write down every sexual fantasy that crosses your thoughts or that has been a long standing fantasy. If you have something cross your mind, and you can’t write it down right away, you can journal it later, but they must be your fantasies. Leave out no detail, no matter how intimate. He will know if you are lying.”
“All right. I keep a journal for two weeks. My sexual fantasies. Then what?” I asked. Actually curious. Perhaps too curious.
Lydia slid a pink piece of paper across the table toward me. “Then you mail it to this P.O. Box.”
I took the paper. “Okay. Then what?”
Lydia let out a girlish giggle. “Then you wait.”
“That’s it?”
Lydia got up from the table, dressed in a red and black zigzag patterned half shirt that accented her silver bellybutton ring. Her black flouncy short skirt swirled around her thin hips, and her long legs were covered by bright red stockings. She crossed one Sketcher covered foot over the other. “Yes,” she said before she headed for the exit.
I stared down at my hand. “Okay,” I said, speaking to no one but myself. I took a sip of my coffee. Mr. Mysterious entered my thoughts. I turned, nonchalantly, to look in his direction.
Zaden was gone. Vanished, as if he never existed.
*****
Monday evening. May 19th. Fantasy Journal. Alice Smith.
I saw him today. Mr. Mysterious. He usually doesn’t notice me, but today he made eye contact. I wanted to dissolve when his beautiful amber-colored eyes met mine. Even thinking about it, writing it into this journal, makes me wet. There’s something about him. I imagine what it would feel like to have him touch me. To be naked, without any barriers between us. The heat of his skin against mine. The sensation of his large hands as they trail over my body. I can even hear his voice, low, deep, and rich, as he whispers into my ear. He tells me to lean back upon the bed, and to spread my legs for him. I have no other choice but to do what he asks.
His hands discover my face and neck. His lips follow. I slide across the satin sheets. He steps back from me. I prop my bare back upon the pillows that rest against the headboard. Subdued light peeks in through the mini-blinds from the outside yard light. He disappears from my side. Locates the candles on the dressing room table. Lights them. Flickering shadows from his body movement play out across the wall. He turns to face me. Retreats into the secret of a well placed shadow. I start to spread my legs, my eyes narrowing on the large silhouette of him, but I can’t see him. Not fully. His voice, deep and seductive, flows across the room. He tells me to go slow. I tease him a little by swiping my hands up my legs. I spread enough to give him a peek at my expert wax job. Trail my hands down over my lower folds, and cover myself with my fingers.
Mr. Mysterious tells me to lick my lips. I do. When he tells me to lick my fingers and touch my breast, my nipples harden. I keep one hand over my sex. One hand slithers up my thigh, my navel, my breast, inching upward until I outline of my mouth before sucking on two fingers. I mimic the movement of sucking his dick. Sliding two fingers in and out of my mouth. He groans from within the confines of the darkness. I circle my wanting nipple with my wet fingers, squeeze it, tug at it a bit. Moan.
He steps forward, out of the darkness. His naked body chiseled like a marble statue of a Greek god. Black-blue hair swishes around his face, caresses his shoulders. His cock stands at attention. Mr. Mysterious tells me to remove my hand. I give him a coy smile. Slip my hand away, and slowly widen my legs further. He tells me he wants more. I open my most sacred trust to him. His amber eyes sparkle as he fixes his penetrating gaze upon the naked state of my breasts before looking down to my exposed sex. When he tells me to stretch my pussy with my fingers, I shiver, but comply. I unfold my inner flesh, open. He leans toward me, resting one knee upon the bed. His erection, brutal, and reaches out for me. When his finger brushes my uncovered clit, I fidget.
Mr. Mysterious taps the plump orb, causing me to moan. My pussy flares, moisture gathers, and he uses my own arousal to gloss over my sex. He tells me to keep my pussy spread wide for him as he rubs me. His other hand strokes his cock. I watch him. Look at the way his muscles flex as he works his shaft. He calls my name. My gaze meets his. Mr. Mysterious flicks my clit. I jerk. He pulls, elongating the fleshy nub. I throw my head back to rest against the headboard. My own hair falls across my mouth and face.
He fondles my clitoris. Tells me to look at him. I do. He strokes himself. My pussy clinches. I want him to fill me. He grins as if he can read my thoughts. My attention falls to the whiteness of his teeth. He plunges two fingers deep into me, angling and hitting my g-spot. I quake, let go of my pussy, and scrape my nails up the length of my inner thigh. I’ve made marks upon my flesh. I don’t care.
He released his dick. Swipes the hair back from my face, and plunders my mouth with his tongue. While kissing me, he finger fucks me. His kisses slow before he picks up the pace. When he inserts three fingers, his thumb orbits my clit. I come. Hard. My pussy squeezes around his wet digits. He stops kissing me, and talks dirty to me in a low, alluring, voice during my climax, sending hot spikes of wanting over me. I need him to fuck me with his engorged cock. I want him to take my breath with one hard thrust. To be impaled upon his dick becomes essential.
Mr. Mysterious pulls back from my body. Tells me to spread my pussy for him, again. He instructs me to keep myself this way no matter what. I reach down, open myself, and feel the slick state of my exposed cunt. I observe him reach for something from the bedside table. There’s a glint of sliver when he pulls the toy out of the drawer. The dildo is long, and angled at the end.
He reminds me to keep myself spread. He blows his warm breath over the broad angled head of the toy, places it to my open pink parts, and presses it into my wanting sex. Immediately I shiver. He’s found my spot yet again. His hawk-like gaze becomes intense as he watches the toy penetrate deep into my body. In and out he fucks me with it. Each entrance hitting my sweet place. Each removal stretching me wide. I need to close my eyes, but he tells me to look at him. Our eyes meet while he invades me with the silver object….
I dropped my pen into the bend of the journal, flung the book to the floor, tucked my hand inside my sheer purple panties, and made myself come, and come, and come. I’d never come three times before, but I desperately needed release. The crazy thing: after I came, I picked up the journal, and told Master Hatter what I had done. No holding back. No lying. The experience was invigorating. I guess freeing, in some odd way.
Chapter Two
One week later.
“How’s the big story coming along?” Derik asked. He hovered over my back in what I guessed to be a rather poor attempt to read the notes on my desk.
I placed a book over the pages. “Fine,” I said.
“I was thinking—”
“Um, yeah. That’s never a good thing.”
“Ha, ha, hee, hee,” he said, sarcastically. “Perhaps you should give up reporting for the comedy club?”
I rolled my eyes before I turned around in my lovely ergonomic desk chair. “Do you need something, Derik?”
“I was trying to tell you before you so rudely interrupted me with your little comedy routine.”
“Okay. Sorry.”
Derik smiled. He had dimples, and pretty white teeth. I never noticed either before. He flipped his head to the side to move his hair from his eyes. “Like I said, I was thinking it might be a good idea to have a partner when you go
into Wonderland. It could be dangerous. A BDSM club, that no one really knows about, and you got an invitation through a friend of a friend,” he said. “Sounds like you might need some back-up.”
“Back-up?” I smirked. “It’s not a stake-out, Derik. We didn’t join the FBI. We’re reporters, and I’m doing a little snooping for a possible story.”
“And using a fake name,” he added.
“Yeah, and using a fake name,” I agreed.
“And a fake address.”
“Yes,” I said. “I appreciate your offer, but it’s not necessary. Besides, I don’t have the actual invitation yet.”
“I thought things went well with your lead?”
“They did. But…”
“But what?”
“I have to do a couple of things for Master Hatter before I get my invitation.”
“Did you say ‘Master Hatter?’”
“Yes.”
Derik busted out laughing. “The club is Wonderland, and the guy in charge is called Master Hatter?”
I nodded. “Yep.”
“So Alice is going to Wonderland to meet the Hatter!” He could barely contain himself.
“It would seem so,” I said.
“Oh, this is priceless,” he said, chuckling under his breath.
“Are you done? I do have things to do today, Derik.”
“Wait. Rewind a minute. What do you mean you have to do a couple of things for Master Hatter?”
“Nothing you need to be concerned with.”
I would rather eat a bug than tell Derik about the fantasy journal.
“Okay, well, the offer for back-up still stands,” he said. “I’ll go as Thumper.”
“Thumper was in Bambi, you ninny.”
“Well, there’s a rabbit in Wonderland.” He grinned as if he were victorious. “He wears a waist-coat with a pocket watch.”
“Yeah, but that’s not Thumper.”
“So what’s his name, Miss I-Know-It-All?”
“White Rabbit.”
“Huh? That’s sort of bogus. White Rabbit,” he scoffed.
“Seriously, Derik. Are we even having this conversation?”
Derik nodded. I turned around, giving him my back. “So it’s like that?”
“Yep,” I said. “I told you I have things to do.”
“Okay,” he said, sounding exasperated. “I’ll catch you later, Alice.”
“Allison,” I corrected.
Derik mumbled something unintelligible, and waved his hand as he walked away. I scooted the book off my notes, and straightened up my papers. I snatched my list of clothing items to buy from the bottom of the pile. When I finally received my invitation, I needed to be ready. I had nothing to wear to Wonderland. Well, nothing that would say college sex slave at your service, anyway.
My cell phone pinged.
Alice. Things have changed. Master Hatter sends his apologies for the short notice, but you need to overnight your journal today. Postmarked no later than 4:00 p.m. You will hear from him once he receives what he has requested. No journal. No entry. Lydia
I glanced at the time. Crap and a nap. It was 2:55 p.m. and I had to go halfway across town to get the journal before I could mail it. I hit the intercom button on my desk phone.
“Yeah?” Dwayne answered.
“I have to go. Huge progress on the Wonderland story,” I said.
“Do what you need to do. And stay focused on the goal,” he said.
“Thanks, Chief.”
“Just keep me informed, Allison.”
“I will,” I said and ended our chat.
In times like this, when I have a deadline and need to rush my ass off, I wish someone had actually invented that transporter thing. You know, like the one on Star Trek. I’d love to say, “Beam me up, Scotty,” and instantaneously be where I needed to be. It would be close, but I had to make the 4:00 p.m. overnight pick-up.
I grabbed my purse, hit the front doors of the office running, and headed out to the parking garage. When I got to my car, I dropped my keys. They splattered on the concrete in a jangle. I scooped them up, unlocked my door, started my car, checked the rearview mirror, side mirrors, and backed out. Traffic on the side streets was horrible, and I was stopped by every red light in Seattle, until I made it to the highway.
I experienced a since of relief as my apartment building came into sight. Maybe the universe would take pity on me. Or maybe not. The relief was short lived, quickly replaced by panic. I was pulled over by a cop. The reason. Not signaling at the stop sign. Right turn. No signal. I tried to sweet talk my way out of the traffic violation, but he wasn’t having it. Mr. Sour Face, or “Officer Dankins,” as he was sure to inform me as he signed his name at the bottom of the ticket said, “You need to learn a lesson on proper signaling, young lady. Perhaps the hundred and fifty dollar fine will jog your memory the next time you are at a stop sign.”
Granted, he was older than me by quite a few years, but I hadn’t been called young lady since I was ten.
I took my lawful reprimand, along with my ticket, and signaled before I pulled into the assigned parking space at my building.
I said a quick, “hi” and “bye” to the doorman, breezed through the foyer, jumped in the elevator, and punched the number six on the panel.
“Hello.”
I turned to my left, and I must have had that “oh shit” expression on my face. Shocked to see Zaden during the day. And in the elevator. With me. The two of us. Confined. Alone.
“Hi,” I said.
Help me, Sister Christian, but I wanted to sin. Or at the very least, drool. He’d obviously been working out, all glistening with sweat. His chest and abdominal muscles crackled through a tight white wife-beaters shirt. His bare biceps called to me as they budged, and he was wearing basketball shorts that made his ass look like a million bucks. Visions of his large, muscled, sweaty body backing me into the corner, hoisting me up, and taking me against the elevator wall as we took a ride up to his penthouse apartment did more than skip though my thoughts. They stomped through.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Um, yes. Why do you ask?”
“You look a little flushed.”
“Oh, yeah, well, I’m in a hurry, and it’s hot.”
He had no idea how hot.
“Mmm,” he agreed. A sweat bead trickled down his neck. “It is hot.” The word hot rolled off his tongue with that accent of his. It made me think of ices cubes, his hot body, my hot body, places that cube could melt into and cool down. Great stuff for the fantasy journal. Too bad I didn’t have time to add it. The elevator came to a stop. “I believe this is your floor.”
I glanced at the digital numbers displayed on the wall panel. “Yes,” I said. “How did you know this is my floor?”
He shrugged. Gazed at me. “I saw you press the number, and we are the only two people on this elevator.”
If I didn’t blush, I should have. “Oh, sure, that makes perfect sense,” I said.
“Before you go.” He briefly grabbed my arm to stop my departure.
His hand felt good. And big. And warm. I swallowed. “Yes?”
“You dropped this,” he said. He bent down and picked something up. Handed it to me.
“Thanks.” I took the paper. Momentarily looked at it. Stepped out of the elevator. It was the traffic ticket.
“Not a problem, Allison.”
My head shot up. He knows my name. I caught his spectacular smile. Only one glimpse, right as the elevator doors closed.
Get a hold of yourself. I juggled the ticket, my keys, my purse, and my cell phone. I balanced my phone on three fingers to see the time. I had to get a major rush on. No journal. No entry into Wonderland.
I unlocked my apartment door, threw everything I was trying to manage with two hands onto the entry table, and jogged into my bedroom. Heaven help me, it was a mess. The expression fart in a whirlwind came to mind. My bed hadn’t been made, and half of the sheets were hanging of
f onto the floor. Clothing was scattered around on the chair, the bed, the floor. I never realized what a bedroom slob I was until I tried to locate the journal, which I found under a runaway pillow.
With my prize in hand, I went to my desk that was also unorganized. Perhaps my bedroom spread its contagion? I really needed to do some spring cleaning, and soon. I located a priority mail envelope, slipped the journal into it then sealed it shut. It took me another five minutes to pinpoint the pink paper Lydia gave me with the P.O. Box listed on it. But once I had the address, I quickly wrote it on the outside of the envelope in my sloppy scrawl. I was sure to put my dorm address on the return portion. I’d made a deal with a real SU student, and was paying her for the use of her address.
I left my apartment faster than when I arrived. Broke a few speeding limits, cussed at the lack of parking spaces available at the post office, and sprinted to the mail counter after taking the last parking spot located out in the north forty. I was breathless when I reached the hateful lady wearing the red and blue postal uniform. But she was the last window open that didn’t have a line, so I suppose beggars can’t be choosers. She glanced at me askew from overtop her retro cat eye shaped glasses. I stood. And stood.
“I’m really in a hurry. Deadline,” I explained. “I need to mail this overnight.” I held up the red white and blue envelope for her inspection.
“One moment,” she said in a nasally voice. She sorted then stamped. Sorted then stamped. I gawked at the pile of mail she had in front of her. This was a nightmare.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m not trying to be rude, but is there any way I can get this envelope on its way?”
She held up a bony finger. The tip covered with one of those nubby rubber finger guards. “This isn’t the express line,” she said. She stamped three more items. “The express line is down there.” She pointed to my left at the window that had the longest line.
“But that window has a huge line, and I’m the only one at this station,” I said.
She looked down her beak of a nose at me. Sneered. “We all have our burdens to bear.”
Tied Up in Wonderland Page 2