Alison's Wonderland

by Alison Tyler

  I opened his wardrobe and pulled out the dress he was going to wear tonight, still in its plastic dry-cleaning cover. The frilly pink-and-white creation looked like a cream cake, with layers of lace and full wide skirts. Kazimir took the gown from me and started pulling it over his head. I stopped him quickly.

  “You can’t just put that on without any underwear!” I explained. “That dress needs some foundation garments.”

  Kazimir looked at me as if I were mad.

  “What the hell are those?”

  “Bras and knickers,” I replied patiently.

  He rummaged around in a pile on the floor, and I was dismayed to see him hold up a pair of my black knickers and a red push-up bra. Funny, but I didn’t remember leaving them after my last visit.

  “Don’t worry, babe, they were just mementos.” He answered my unspoken question with a guilty smile. He pulled on the bra, and then tried to do up the fastening at the back. Luckily we were a similar build, although Kazimir’s much taller than I.

  “Don’t you move,” I commanded, and he arched an eyebrow. I twisted him around, pulled the bra in place and secured the hook-and-eye fastening. The padded bra gave him a pair of nice little tits. I reached inside, and pinched one of his nipples until he gasped.

  “Now everyone can see this peeping out the top of the dress.” He ran his hands over the lacy cups, squeezing the imaginary breasts inside. “I’ll look like a slutty Cinderella.” As Kazimir spoke, I trailed my hand down his back and lower to his ass. My fingers tickled his crack, massaged the globes of his cheeks, and then I pinched him hard enough to make him yelp.

  “Shoes!” he suddenly exclaimed, jumping out of my reach. “A girl’s got to have some heels.” He scampered into a corner of the messy room, and then produced a pair of black patent-leather shoes. He tried and failed to step into them, stumbling. I sighed, knelt at his feet, and gently lifted first one and then the other foot into the shoes. He wobbled for a moment, but then he straightened his back, jutted his hip and stood up tall. The sight of a half-naked man wearing only heels and a bra was something else. My mouth went slack.

  “Do you like?” he purred. He walked carefully over to his bedside table, and produced his camera. “Why don’t you take a photo of me.” He handed me the camera, a high-tech model with lots of features. I’d used it once before, and I knew it had a timer, so we could both be in the shot. I set the device, and ran to Kazimir’s side. I only came to his shoulders, now he was wearing his shoes, but I didn’t care. I could still reach over to pinch one of his nipples. He made a gentle “Oh!” as the flash came to life. I knew the picture would be hot.

  “Now kneel down, Cinderella, and let me stand behind you.” Kazimir did as I said, and as the camera flashed, he gripped my thighs and buried his head in my crotch. The camera continued to flash every few seconds whilst Kazimir unzipped me slowly. A flicker of light made me look up as he nuzzled my open fly. His long fingers slipped past the barrier of the boxer shorts I wore, and he finally spread my labia wide. The flash went off at the exact moment that Kazimir’s lips touched my clit. He craned his neck to reach me, and with every flick of his tongue, the flash sparkled, illuminating us. He unbuttoned me, and then tugged down my trousers. The flash went off once my legs were bare. I couldn’t open my legs as wide as I would have liked, with the trousers bunched around my ankles, but Kazimir didn’t need much room. He mouthed my pussy, licking hungrily around my clitoris. His goatee beard grew wetter from my juices—the pulsing light reflected on his shiny face. I gripped his head with both my hands, steadying myself as I thrust against him. I felt the heat build inside my pussy, and every nerve ending tingle as my whole being centered on Kazimir’s lips. My heart pounded in my chest as I came, and I leaned on his shoulders to stop myself from falling over. He stood to kiss me. I could taste myself on his hot face, could feel his bruised lips and his sticky beard from where I had used him for my pleasure.

  “Kazimir, we’ve got to stop, or we’ll never get to the ball.” I sighed, staggering back. He sauntered over to the camera and switched the machine off. Our photo album was certainly going to be interesting.

  I helped him into his dress, and carefully pulled the zipper up the back, dotting a kiss to Kazimir’s skin as I did so. The dress really did suit him. Once he had shaved, his look would be perfect, but he had no such plans.

  “You can’t go out wearing a bright pink dress and a goatee,” I explained as rationally as I could. Kazimir only pouted, pulled out a hairbrush and started combing his hair. There was no way I would turn up to the ball with him looking this way. I had a hard enough time hailing a cab dressed as I was, and I didn’t want to walk. I felt my face burn with frustration at being ignored, so in a fit of outright defiance, I grabbed the hairbrush out of his hand, midstroke. I tapped the wooden back against my thigh, making loud slapping noises.

  “What are you going to do with that?” he asked quietly.

  “I’m going to teach you to listen.” I had no idea where this had come from—maybe the clothes I was wearing, or maybe Kazimir’s outfit, but I felt a rush of power at my words, a rush that went straight to my still-sensitive crotch.

  Kazimir swiveled in his chair, looked me right in the eye, before saying, “You wouldn’t dare.” I clutched a handful of his hair, and pulled his head back roughly. The sound he made was a surprise to me—there was pleasure in his groans, and not a drop of pain.

  “Oh, God, that feels so good,” he gasped. I released him, and stepped away to sit on the edge of the bed, trying to figure out how I was going to harness the power that lay inside me.

  “Get over here,” I said, though I could hear the tremor in my voice. Kazimir shuffled over on his knees until he knelt at my side. “Bend over my lap,” I whispered, and he swiftly moved to drape himself over my thighs. I pushed all the frills and layers of his dress upward, bunching them into the waistband. My ex-husband loved to threaten me with something like this, but he never followed through. I, on the other hand, had more balls than he ever did. My palm slapped Kazimir’s ass with a loud clap. He shivered beneath me, and then arched up for more. This wasn’t punishment—this was instruction, and Kazimir was a willing student.

  “Next time I come round, I expect the place to be tidy.” I followed my words with three tentative slaps from the hairbrush. His skin went pink instantly—I could see the clear outline of the brush on his flesh.

  “Of course,” Kazimir said breathlessly.

  “When I give you some advice, you damn well do what I say.” The hand holding the hairbrush was sweaty, but I wasn’t about to stop. The brush landed on his ass with a solid thump.

  “Yes!” And then, “More, please!”

  I could feel his cock hard against me. The slippery fabric of the dress rubbed against my thighs, but his length poked through the folds. I took off my pocket watch, and dangled the cold metal case against his heated skin. He jerked against me, but stayed on my lap once I pushed him firmly down. When I slipped the fob chain between his ass cheeks, he flinched, but I held him firmly in place. I ran the length of chain up and down his crack. He stifled a moan, and pressed his cock harder against me. Up and down, over and over, I ran the silver chain between his cheeks, slowly teasing him. I was starting to become aroused at my actions. The boxers I wore rubbed against my pussy. I knew I was getting deliciously wet again. I could smell my own scent rise to my nostrils, and I knew that Kazimir could smell me, too.

  “Next time we go to a party, we will be on time, am I understood?” I asked, using my gruffest voice. “We’re already fifteen minutes late.”

  I wiped my palms on my trousers, and then delivered fifteen harder whacks to Kazimir’s backside. He counted every one of them, his voice going rough near the end.

  After that, I felt a little at a loss. I had never done anything like that before. In fact, I would never even have dreamed of this, if not for the threats my ex used to make. Hell, I suppose he was good for something after all. Kazimir remained panting b
eneath me. His hair obscured part of his face, but I could still make out a wide smile. I soothed his stressed skin, gently rubbed my hands over the hot flesh.

  Then I spotted a small bottle of moisturizer on his bedside table. I just about managed to lean over to grab the tube without dislodging Kazimir. I smeared some of the cream over his skin, massaging in the lotion. He sighed contentedly as I worked, but then his sighs became more urgent as I dribbled some of the cold liquid between his cheeks. I circled a finger over his asshole, gently pressing as I went.

  My index finger slipped in, quickly joined by my middle finger. He was hot there, so hot and tight that he practically sucked me inside. Kazimir humped my lap. I pushed the full fabric of the dress higher until the ruffles covered his face. I didn’t want him to see how nervous I was. I slowly worked my fingers deep inside him. I twisted them, and he panted loudly. More cream, and I could slide in and out quickly. My fingers rubbed up against a magic spot inside him, and he almost leaped off my lap.

  “Do that again!” he yelled.

  “Excuse me?” I purred. “What would you like?”

  “Please,” he wailed. “Please do it again.” I complied with his request, and soon he was grunting and thrusting against me with force.

  “Are you going to come all over your pretty dress?” I crooned, tapping his special spot, the place I began to suspect was his prostate.

  “Yes, I’m gonna come!” he yelled from beneath the pile of pink fabric.

  “Then get off me.”

  Kazimir rolled off my lap, and stood, lifting the skirts of his dress to place his hard cock flat in his palm. I wiped my hands on a discarded bath towel, picked up his camera and centered him in the view screen.

  “Stroke yourself for me,” I whispered. I could see his pupils dilate from where I stood, could hear the painful gasp as his hands touched his cock. I snapped a photograph, capturing the moment forever. Kazimir looked away from me as he ran his fingers over his cock. I had never known him to be even remotely shy before. He bit his lip, hesitantly peeking back at me.

  “Look at me,” I said, but he turned away even more. I followed him with the camera. “Look at me, Kazimir.”

  “I don’t know about this, Lisa,” he said quietly. His hand hovered above his dress, not touching, but longing to.

  “You look so good, Kaz. Do it, do it for me.” He nodded slightly, and then gasped when he held himself once more. I took a string of shots as he stroked himself. I zoomed in on his crotch—I could just about see the tip of his cock squeezing through his fingers, all surrounded by pink-and-white fabric. His face was open to me. His usually wicked eyes were soft, and his skin was flushed. I set the timer on the camera, before placing the expensive plaything on the bed. When I moved behind him, I could feel the tremors his body made. I angled us so we were facing the camera, and then stretched my arms around to cradle his cock. I heard the flash flutter to life, felt the lacy dress tickle my wrist, and I inhaled the smell of sex. Kazimir’s cock was like a rod of steel in my hands as he moved faster.

  “Come on, princess,” I growled, “Do it, do it now!”

  Kazimir’s hand sped up around his cock. He cried out and jerked as he came in a gush. Then he sagged against me, breathless and sweaty, before hugging me hard. He stumbled into the chair by the dresser, and fumbled for a discarded T-shirt on the floor to wipe his face. I looked around at the room, now even messier than usual—he’d managed to splatter the pillows with the force of his orgasm, and the room looked depraved, debauched and absolutely fantastic.

  “Oh, babe, you’re a natural. I just have a favor to ask.”

  “Yeah? What?” I hoped it wasn’t a request to have me dress up in black PVC or something strange—at least something stranger than a man’s three-piece suit.

  “Could you use the hairbrush handle inside me the next time? At least, until we buy a dildo.”

  I hadn’t planned on repeating this performance, but something in Kazimir’s bright hazel eyes made me melt. I wanted to make him happy, plus I wanted him to tidy up his pigsty of an apartment, too.

  “Come here, slut,” I said, crooking a finger in his direction. He quickly scooted over to me, and then he crouched down so I could kiss him. This time, I held his hands, rubbing them over my breasts. “I think I can do that, Cinderella,” I whispered into his ear. “Now, have a shave, so we can go to the ball.”

  Kiss It

  Saskia Walker

  “They say if you kiss it, you’ll get the gift of the gab.”

  It was the man’s seductive brogue that caught my attention, rather than what he said. I knew all about the Blarney stone already. I’d flown from England and then covered the breadth of Ireland on a bus full of tourists to get to the castle where it was located.

  I paused on the woodland path I’d been strolling along and glanced in his direction, wondering where he’d appeared from. He was a couple of inches taller than me, and built solid. His features were rugged, his eyes filled with whimsical charm. Thick, dark hair and bold blue eyes reflected his nationality. He was a local, and he had a wild gypsy look about him that captured my attention. Was that what he was, a gypsy in the woods?

  “The Blarney stone.” He nodded in the direction of the castle that housed the legendary Irish stone, and lifted his eyebrows. “Did you want to kiss it?”

  For some reason, the way he said “kiss it” didn’t make me think of kissing the rock that was currently surrounded by tourists. Instead, it made me want to kiss something else. Him? Embarrassed, I clasped my hands around my arms and glanced back along the path. The crowd of people gathered outside the castle was growing all the time. That’s why I’d wandered away into the forest instead, my attention strangely lured by the pretty woods. And now I was being strangely lured by a man who looked like a gypsy. When I looked back at him, he was smiling at me as if he knew what I was thinking. The sun was bright behind his head and I shielded my eyes as I replied.

  “Yes, I thought I would—” I paused “—kiss it…” Oh, for some odd reason, saying that aloud made me feel as if I’d been embraced and fondled by the words. “But there were so many people up there.” My explanation dwindled off as self-awareness gathered inside me. Where had he appeared from? Faded blue jeans encased strong thighs. The jeans were worn with heavy boots, and the dark, open-necked shirt he had on exaggerated both his coloring and his stature. Broad shouldered, shirtsleeves rolled up over muscular forearms. He had large, masculine hands, and I could scarcely look away for wanting him to touch me.

  “You came here for some Irish magic, didn’t you?”

  I shrugged and smiled, trying to be nonchalant about his question. It sounded more like a come-on than a serious suggestion. But, yes, I had made the journey in the hope of some of Ireland’s magic rubbing off on me. As I was crammed in the queue of tourists, the magic seemed too far away.

  Stepping across my path, he grinned. “An adventure, maybe?”

  There was speed and lightness about the way he moved. It was almost dancelike. He began to wend his way along the stepping-stones that made a path through the trees and bluebells. The trees had grown dense, and the smell of summer was heavy in the air under their canopy. I realized he was now leading me as we continued along the way. But we were within shouting distance of other people, and I felt safe with him.

  “Yes, I suppose you’re right.” The self-awareness I’d felt when he first spoke to me was shaping into something else, something that was making me bolder.

  “Tell me, now. If you had three wishes, what would they be?”

  I laughed softly. “Three wishes?”

  “You’re on the Irish Myth and Magic tour, are you not?”

  “Well, yes.” He must have seen me getting off the bus. Perhaps he worked here. Yes, he had the look of a caretaker, earthy and rugged.

  He chuckled, and there was a ribald quality to the sound. “Did you want to kiss the Blarney?”

  I was mesmerized by the way his mouth moved, slow and
seductive, as he said that. He’d stepped closer, and my body responded. He locked eyes with me, demanding my response.

  “Yes, I did want that.” A warm breeze moved in and wrapped itself around us as I spoke. I swayed, my senses suddenly filled with the scent and the atmosphere of the woodland.

  “I’ve kissed the stone,” he said, his voice low, his breath warm on my face. “Kissing me would be just as good as kissing it yourself.”

  He made me want him. Badly. Squeezing my thighs together, I nodded. “Maybe it would.”

  My breath condensed in my chest as the space between us vanished, and his mouth brushed over mine. It was the subtlest of kisses, but it set free a wild thread of excitement—a thread that electrified my body and made my center clench and melt.

  “Tell me your wishes,” he breathed as he moved to kiss my earlobe. His body was hard and demanding against mine, his breath hot on my skin.

  “Confidence,” I found myself responding, strangely intoxicated by his blatant approach.

  He lifted his eyebrows suggestively, eyes twinkling as he assessed me. “Confidence to do what, exactly?”

  There was something so immensely appealing about his naughty approach that I was affected by it. Well, I was affected by some damn thing, because I laughed and wrapped one hand round the back of his head, my fingers moving into his thick dark hair. “Confident enough to do this?”