Melinda Duchamp: Fifty Shades of Alice in Wonderland

“The only clothes you have? If those are your only clothes, then you must be a slut!”

“But I’m not!”

“Seize the slut!”

The next thing Alice knew, guards were holding both of her arms, stretching her out so she could no longer cover her body. The Queen approached, then spent a moment looking Alice up and down. Her gaze felt like a laser, burning Alice’s skin wherever it focused.

“Everyone, look at Alice’s bare breasts,” the Queen said.

The crowd came in for a closer look. Alice struggled, but was held firm, exposed to all.

The Queen reached out, pinching both nipples. “See how her nipples are erect?” the Queen said. “Who but a slut would have erect nipples at a croquet game?”

More murmurs, many people agreeing. “Yes, she does.” “Those nipples are certainly hard.” “Only sluts get horny playing croquet.”

“But you just pinched them!” Alice said.

“And look at these boots!” the Queen said. “Thigh-high leather with spiked heels! Who but a slut would wear spike heeled boots to a croquet game?”

Again the crowd mumbled in agreement.

“But you’re wearing spike heeled boots!” Alice cried.

“Mine are red,” said the Queen.

“What is the difference?” Alice said.

“More proof!” triumphed the Queen. “Who but an oversexed slut couldn’t tell the difference between black and red?”

“I swear, I’m not a slut!” Alice declared.

“Oh, really?” the Queen asked, smiling. She glanced down, below Alice’s belly. “You have no hair down there. Who else but a slut shaves off all of her hair?”

“That wasn’t me!”

“Of course it is you. I’m looking right at it.”

The Queen ran her hand down Alice’s belly, between her legs.

“So smooth,” the Queen said, gently working a finger inside of Alice.

Alice’s lower lip quivered. “Please don’t.”

But the Queen didn’t stop. And even after all of the days’ erotic encounters, Alice felt herself responding.

“Everyone!” the Queen said, “look how wet this little slut is.”

The crowd got even closer. Alice wanted to die. Her face burned bright red, her ears felt aflame, but the Queen’s fingers were expert in how they coaxed pleasure out of her. Her Majesty seemed to know exactly where to stroke, and how long and hard. Alice was helpless to control her body, which began to gyrate to match the Queen’s fondling.

“Feel her nipples,” the Queen ordered the crowd. “She how hard they are.”

A procession line formed, one stranger after another lining up to tweak and stroke Alice’s tortured breasts.

“And how wet this slut is!” the Queen declared. “Touch her and see!”

The guards lifted her up, spreading her legs apart. Alice watched, horrified, as hand after hand began to caress her most sensitive parts. Some began to take pictures. Some tasted her with their tongues. Men and women. It was the most embarrassing, humiliating moment in Alice’s whole life, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop her hips from moving.

“Such a greedy little slut.”

“She’s so wet.”

“Look how badly she wants it.”

“Feel how tight she is.”

“Shaved and spread open for all to see.”

“She should be ashamed.”

“Do you hear how she moans when I touch her like this.”

As the never-ending line continued, Alice felt herself getting closer and closer to the point of release. She tried to stop it. Nothing in the world could be worse than having an orgasm while all of these people watched. But even though she shut her eyes and tried to think other thoughts, Alice’s body kept responding to the groping, the teasing, the licking. And though she didn’t want to admit it, the comments and the eyes on her were making it more intense. Somehow embarrassment magnified the pleasure, making it impossible for Alice to calm herself down. It was unbearable, and Alice knew if she did come, it would destroy her.

Then someone began to kiss her mouth. Someone with soft, full lips and a clever tongue. Alice opened her eyes and saw it was the Queen.

“There is nothing wrong with being a slut,” the Queen said, smiling. “But you should own it. Let it empower you. Sexuality should be enjoyed, not repressed. And no good can come from pretending you’re something that you’re not.”

“But I swear, Your Majesty!” Alice said, her voice getting higher and louder because she was so close to the edge. Someone worked fingers inside her while another licked her most sensitive spot, right where her lips met. Both nipples had wet, hungry mouths on them, kissing and nibbling. There was even a finger in her bottom or maybe it was something more, she couldn’t quite tell. The sensations, coupled with the taunts and stares and pictures being snapped, were overwhelming Alice until she was afraid she’d start screaming and never stop.

“You really believe you aren’t a slut?” the Queen asked.

“Yes!”

“Everybody halt!” the Queen ordered.

At once, the crowd stopped their groping of Alice, immediately backing away. The guards released her. Alice’s whole body quivered, and she was panting like she’d just run a mile. But even though she’d been very close to climaxing, Alice was grateful to be left alone. She knelt on the lawn, covering up her breasts, trying to stop shaking.

“For lying about being a slut,” the Queen declared, “Alice is sentenced to a public paddling!”

Alice’s relief turned to raw terror. “What? No! Please, no!”

Instantly, Alice was grabbed and dragged across the croquet ground and taken to a large open area where a strange sort of table awaited. Alice recognized it from Pilar’s Pink Room of Bunnies. The sight of it caused Alice’s throat to seize with fear.

A spanking table.

The table was made of wood, the top and the kneeling rest covered in padded, black leather. Alice was forced to her knees and bent over, her wrists fastened to the table’s legs with leather cuffs. Her legs were also spread and cuffed to the terrible device, and Alice felt both afraid and demeaned, especially as the onlookers began to ooh and aah at her. A moment later the Queen appeared before her.

She was holding a wooden paddle, similar to the kind used to play ping pong. It was heavily varnished, making it shine in the afternoon sun.

“So, slut, how many times shall I paddle your bare bottom?”

Alice couldn’t take her eyes of the paddle. To be spanked with that… in front of all these people… it was too much.

“Well?” the Queen demanded. “How many times?”

“None! Have mercy, Your Majesty!”

“Perhaps I shall. But you must show your queen obedience, Alice. Can you do that?”

“Yes.” Alice was so frightened her whole body shook.

“Tell me how many times I should paddle you. If the number is too tiny, I shall multiply it by ten.”

Alice had no idea how to answer. She hadn’t been spanked since she was a child, and the experience terrified her. What did the Queen think was too tiny a number? Five? Ten?

“Twenty,” Alice said.

“Twenty,” the Queen cooed, rubbing her hand across Alice’s back. She cupped one of her buttocks and held the paddle up to Alice’s lips.

“Kiss the paddle, Alice.”

Alice couldn’t imagine anything more outrageous. Kissing the very implement that was about to cause her pain was intolerable. But then the Queen was flicking her fingers across Alice’s most sensitive parts, coaxing a moan from her, and Alice pursed her lips and kissed the wretched paddle.

“Now lick it, Alice.”

“Please, don’t make me.”

“Lick it and make me believe you like it, or your ordeal will get worse.”

Alice didn’t believe her ordeal could get any worse, but the Queen was using a flicking motion with her thumb, a movement so intense it felt like Pilar’s back massager. No longer trying to resist, Alice gave the paddle a long, slow, sexy lick, as she felt dozens of eyes burning into her. If that wasn’t bad enough, the action made Alice somehow lose control of her hips, and they began to buck involuntarily, pressing up against the Queen’s hand.