Alison Tyler - Alison's Wonderland

“Yes,” I whisper.

David grins and I note he has excellent teeth. “Well, listen up,” he says. “It’s not about what you want. You’re a whore, see? Just a cheap little whore, so no one gives a fuck whether you like it or not.” His eyes are fixed on mine and he fluffs up the skirts of my gown, pinning the folds back with a thigh until he can reach between my legs. “Okay?”

I nod. David rubs briskly at my underwear, fingers sawing before he pushes the fabric deeper into my wet split, separating me there. His forearm leans harder against my neck and he moves his face closer to mine as if to better gauge my response. I feel weak in every limb, so aroused I might melt to the floor. After all those hours on my pedestal, a remote and frozen beauty, untouchable and on display, it’s wonderful to know the hot press of desire in a dingy backstreet. It feels like the closest thing to life—life in all its murky, messy, furtive glory—that I’ve known for such a long time.

Sweat prickles under my arms and I hope I don’t turn too pink too soon. When I groan my pleasure, David slips two thick fingers past my underwear. “You’re not meant to be enjoying this,” he says, and he hooks his fingers inside me, rubbing so perfectly I can’t help but groan again. “Hot little slut,” he says approvingly.

He steps back, releasing me with his hands but not his eyes. He whips off his tie, his gaze never once leaving mine. Sneering, he cracks the strip of cloth in the air, clearly relishing his own brutal purpose. I can see strength flex in his torso beneath his shirt and his sweat smells good and manly.

“Turn around,” he says. His voice is scarily tender. For decades I’ve wanted someone to talk to me like that.

“No,” I whisper.

In the small silence that follows, I wonder if I’ve gone too far. If I had a living heart, it would be thumping in fear and excitement right now. Anger darkens his brow and I know I said the right thing because he doesn’t tell me again. Instead, he spins me around, hissing that it wasn’t a fucking question, it was an order. He twists my arm, pushing me face forward over the stack of pallets. His thighs press against mine, holding me still as he clasps my wrists behind my back. I wriggle and kick, knowing it’s futile.

“Get off me!” I say as I feel his looped tie tightening on my wrists. He tugs, binds and knots, deftly trapping my hands. Grabbing a bunch of my hair, he arches my neck backward.

“It wasn’t a fucking question,” he says again, and I hear the rasp of him unzipping. With one hand, he pushes my toga up, then yanks my underwear down, exposing my cunt and cheeks. The tip of his cock is stout at my entrance, then he surges in, packing my wetness with his solidity. His thrusts are ruthless. “Not. A fucking. Question,” he snarls, pumping away at me.

I protest and he immediately makes a gag of my hair, ramming pink snaky lengths across my mouth. He pulls as if my hair’s a bridle and I splutter and cry, hating the texture and the taste.

“Shut up,” he hisses. “No one’s gonna take any notice of your screams.”

And I come so hard, my clit nudging at a hump of fabric as decades of wanting shiver and clutch. I’m left feeling as limp as a rag doll, and all I want to do is take it as he rams on and on into my soft swollen hole. I let him come—I think it’s only fair—then I do what I always do: kill.

Or at least, that’s my intention. As my strength swells, I break free of my bondage and whirl around, attacking so fast he barely sees it. I slam him against the wall, my toga unraveling, and latch on to his neck. It’s bristly with stubble and when I puncture his skin, that familiar coppery warmth floods my mouth. I’m almost lost to joy until sanity pricks my greed: the sex was incredible, I want more from him.

So as his pulse fades in my veins, I snick my wrist and press the wound to his lips, giving him a new kind of life. I don’t know if his sweat will be pink, but if it is, so what? We will unite, defective or not, and in our monstrous limbo, we’ll face the world together. When I take away my wrist, David smiles, the pallor of death already lightening his skin. And I know at once how we’ll survive. He will join me as a living statue, David in a fig leaf, the beautiful brute I turned to stone.

“Do you want to go for a ride?”

Her liquid warble makes it sound like an invitation, but the glint in her green eyes tells me it’s really an order.

There will be consequences if I don’t obey.

And so I straddle her tail at the widest part—where a human girl’s hips would be—and squeeze my thighs around her. It’s not so different from riding bareback, except her scales aren’t warm like horseflesh. They’re cool and slippery and they tickle my tender parts through the crotch of my swimsuit. I wriggle a bit, trying to get comfortable, but it only makes the tingling sensation more intense.

“Hold on tight,” she warns, and immediately shoots off through the water. My upper body rocks like a broncobuster’s as we speed through the swaying seaweed. I have to grip her with all my might to stay on. My legs are aching and I can feel the powerful muscles of her tail rippling between my thighs. Soon her once-cool skin is plumped and warm, pulsing faintly. Or is it just me?

She swoops into a grotto and rears up to a stop. I fall forward and clutch her shoulders, panting. My veins sing with adrenaline.

In one swift movement, she twists around to face me. The slick twirl of her tail between my legs sends electric jolts through my body.

“Keep those pretty legs squeezed tight,” she says, her eyes boring into me. “You don’t want our ride to end yet, do you?”

I shake my head. What else can I do? She has me trapped in her lair, under her spell. I watch, enchanted, as she hooks her fingers under the kelp straps of her seashell bra and rips them away to expose her full breasts. Her skin is creamy, like a human girl’s, but the nipples are strange—a luminous jadegreen.

“Kiss them,” she commands, lifting her breasts in offering. Again, I have no choice. This is her realm, her laws.

I bend forward and take one shimmering nipple between my lips. The salty tang of nori fills my mouth. Suddenly I’m ravenously hungry. I tug on her, harder, as if I can satisfy the growing ache in my belly that way.

“That’s lovely, keep up the good work,” she sighs, but then her voice takes on a sterner tone. “Except it’s not really work for you, is it? I can feel what’s going on down there. Your secret muscles are all fluttery and you’re wet inside, too. You like playing with another girl’s breasts, don’t you?”

Still suckling, I nod. I must always agree, always do her bidding. But she’s telling the truth, too. I do like this.

“You are a naughty girl, but you’re making me all fluttery, too.”

Indeed, her tail is gyrating gently, pressing up against my clit, then circling away. I can tell from the way her eyes glow that she’s enjoying every second.

What comes next takes me completely by surprise.

I hear it before I feel it, her leathery tail fin landing a perfect blow on my ass cheeks. I stiffen and cry out.

She smiles.

The second time is more of a caress, as she slides the tip of her fin under my swimsuit and tears it smoothly away from my flesh.

My jaw still gaping in shock, I meet her gaze. Her eyes seem to reach down inside me. I feel a tugging deep in my belly, rising up my spine as if she’s sucking down all my soft, secret parts like an oyster. As my body grows lighter, she seems to take on more substance. Her cheeks grow rounder and ruddy, her lips plump and full. I realize it is not my flesh that nourishes her. She is feasting on my mind, every dirty fantasy that has ever floated through my brain. She knows me. No other being has ever known me so well.