Alice and the Cheshire Cat sat at a table, hidden in the half-shadows of the club. They both had a glass of wine – Malbec, thank you – and he gently stroked her naked thigh, as they watched the show on stage.
Of course his name wasn’t really the Cheshire Cat, but her name really was Alice, and she’d taken to calling him that because of his smile that made her absolutely deliriously happy – and that he considered tea to be more like an adrenaline shot straight to the heart. Well, that, and she thought maybe he’d be angry if she had chosen the Mad Hatter.
Maybe.
He growled when he was happy, and that made her wet in some very shadowy places. Not, of course, that he allowed them to stay shadowy for long. He was always delving into her secrets. In the process, she had learned that she really did quite like the process of the delving.
I’m not crazy, my reality is just different from yours.
As they watched the flogging that was happening on stage, the flips and twirls of the tails like a perfectly natural and unnatural extension of the dominatrix’s arm, and the squeals and moans of her lucky sub, he wrapped his hand around the leash that led to the collar around her throat. As she was helplessly drawn closer to him, she watched his lips curl into that smile that she loved so.
“Come sit on my lap, Alice.” His voice was deep and left no room for argument, not that she wanted any.
He pulled at her leash, making her stand up.
She wore nothing save for the black leather harness that he liked, the one that allowed him to tie her tie from any number of attachment points, but left her – his, because she liked his possessiveness – pussy and breasts bare. She loved being bare for him, and he always kept her leashed and safe, so that no one else dared touch her. Slowly, sensually, she curled into his lap.
Secretly, she thought he must enjoy how much smaller she was than him. There were very few benefits for a grown woman to be short, except that she fit so perfectly into his lap. His chest was warm against her mostly bare back, and he let out a contented sigh. They watched the faint pink lines appear on the performer’s ass and thighs, together.
The Cheshire Cat laid a tiny kiss on her neck, right below her ear, as he gently spread her legs wide. She blushed as he exposed her to the rest of the club. In his topsy-turvy world, she knew he liked to expose her, to show her off. But never was there any question of anyone else touching her. She was his to display, to flaunt, to uncover. He had told her when they were first together that he wanted all her secrets, all to himself.
She moaned as his fingers slid in between her wet folds.
Yes, all of her secrets were his, and he used them to his advantage.
Every secret is only a secret if unspoken to another.
He kept her confidence, and kept digging. Sometimes she felt almost hollowed out by him, a gaping hole where her thoughts used to be. And actually, that wasn’t such a bad analogy for their physical interactions. I want to be a hole for cock, she had once told him. He made her into a hole for cock. His cock, specifically.
She warmed, thinking about it. It was good to be his plaything. To be his. But he never did play fair if he could get away with it.
But let’s be honest, here. She always let him get away with it because she liked it.
We’re all mad here.
So he rubbed through her slickness, as she sat in his lap. He played her expertly, keeping her right on the edge, but never allowing her to go over. I like you when you’re desperate, he told her. He made her needy, made her mind hazy with desire. He made her want things that made her blush.
…Things she wanted, but could never gather up the courage to ask for.
His breath on the delicate hairs on her neck made her shiver. “How do you run from what is inside your head, Alice?” he asked her, dipping a finger into her – his – cunt. “Tell me a secret, little dove.”
She felt her vision soften, and the world go fuzzy around her, as he tickled that special spot inside of her. “A secret?” She shivered. “Don’t you get tired of hearing my secrets?”
“No.” He added another finger.
The beating on stage was rhythmic, in time with his thrusts, with her breathing, with the beating of her heart. And soon, with the pace of her breath.
He stopped, and she groaned.
“Tell me, Alice.” He circled around her – his – swollen little bud.
“I want to be on stage,” she whispered, panting.
“Do you, now.” He rubbed faster. “And what would you be doing on stage?”
She tried to laugh, but it sounded a little choked. “Well, you’d be with me.”
He made that happy little growling noise. “Would I? And what would we be doing, sweet Alice?”
She blushed, smiled, and blushed harder. “I’m embarrassed.”
“Even better.” He replaced his fingers in his cunt, making her moan. “You like being embarrassed. Now tell me, girl. I insist on your freedom.”
“If you smack the bottom of my feet, I can orgasm.” The words poured out of her in a great heap, lest she may stumble and falter. Better to get them all out at once. She knew from experience that if she dallied, he’d be very creative in squeezing every last word from her mouth.
His fingers stopped their motion. “You… what?”
She pressed her lips together, feeling suddenly much too hot. She was glad that even after all this time, she hadn’t lost her ability to feel much too hot telling him things, she would have been gravely disappointed to have lost this muchness. Her mouth suddenly felt dry, and she swallowed. “Like… not hard. Not bone breaking. Just light, or maybe just this side of hard, you know?”
He chuckled, and the sound reverberated through his chest. “I didn’t know you were a foot fetishist.”
“I’m not.” She felt her blush crawl down to her neck. “At least… I don’t think so.”
“Well, I’d tell you that if you don’t think, then you shouldn’t talk – but that’s a different character, isn’t it?”
“Maybe you should be the Mad Hatter,” she said, smiling.
“I’d rather not.”
Now this really did make her laugh. “You’re funny, you know that? I like you.”
The Cheshire Cat turned her head and kissed her. “I like you too, Alice. But I really am quite curious about this secret foot fetish of yours.”
“You get me so furiously close to cumming…” she started, as he began his teasing motion again. “If you… oh gods, I can’t even say it.”
“Mmm, tell me. What is the line, again?” He paused, as if trying to remember. Which was silly, because she knew that he knew the lines by heart. “‘Let your need guide your behavior.’”
She whined, fighting the need to cum. He was making it incredibly difficult. Then again, he always made it incredibly difficult. And, truth be told, that was one of the things she liked about him. “I want you to make me crawl up to the stage…”
“Uh huh. And?”
“…S-s-set me upside down so that my head is resting on the ground and your cunt is ready to spill out over my face…”
“Beautiful. I love that position.”
She blushed. “I know. Then take – oh, I don’t know – maybe a ruler…”
“A ruler? Are you sure you have your fantasies straight, here, Alice? Don’t make me start using words like slithy and galumphing and jabberwock.”
“No, no, please!” she laughed. “Please, I’m already too close.”
“Mmm, I’ll enjoy punishing you if you cum without permission, dove.”
“I know, I know. I will, too.”
He smiled that Cheshire smile that she loved so much.
“What a good little victim-in-waiting, you are. Now stop your stalling and tell me what you’d like me to do with the ruler up on that stage, Alice.”
She giggled. “Just little taps, I think. On the bottom of my feet. Until I –” she stopped, feeling the grin on her own face get wider and wider. “– Until I cum so uncontrollably, squirt everywhere, all over my tits and face and hair.”
“Dirty little bird,” he said, a spot of laughter in his own voice. “I think the owner of this club owes me a favor, did you know that?” He leaned in very close to her ear and whispered. “Beg me to take you up there. Can you stand on your head, Alice?”
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