In Wonderland

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I know I sound like a completely self-absorbed bitch, admiring myself in a photo, but it's not always this way. Posing for glamour shots isn't an everyday thing for me, and rarely do shots of me turn out to be so flattering. So I look good in this shoot and I'm loving it. Think I'm narcissistic? Bite me.

The image slides over to reveal the second photo.

This time I'm wearing sky-high stilettos, legs parted, my hands mussing up my hair. I'm biting my lips nervously, trying to resist the urge to smile. The blindfold hides my eyes, but I'm in the mood to play.

I still remember how that photo was taken.

Even through the blindfold the lights were harsh, and I was feeling terribly self-conscious about posing in front of the camera while he snapped away. Modeling...modeling was never my thing and even if he was the photographer, I felt shy.

"Spread your feet apart," he told me, a trace of amusement in his voice.

I only giggled and widened my stand a little, still feeling a little uptight about the whole charade. Why did he have to suggest this shoot in the first place?

"Come on," he cajoled, his voice inviting and silky. "You have no idea how fucking sexy you look right now."

And that was it. Just as I was about to smile, I heard the popping of the flash and the click of the camera's shutter. Supernovae exploded behind my eyelids and I grimaced, only to hear him laugh. "A few more takes and we'll move this somewhere else, promise. Now be a good girl and give me all you've got."

And give him I did. I'd been blessed with a preternatural flexibility, which has both gotten me into and out of an impressive compendium of sticky situations (the latter happens more often, though). I inwardly crowed at my chance to show off.

One foot planted firmly on the ground, I arched backwards until my hands touched the floor, the messy tendrils of my hair pooling between my fingers. The other leg I kept pointed straight at the ceiling, which was no easy feat - the heels threatened my balance and I wobbled a little but kept my hold.

"Beautiful," I heard him breathe, and the snapping continued. Snap. Pop. Snap.

The picture came out fantastic. He'd picked out the perfect outfit for me - the black and white photo delineated my slender silhouette very nicely. My arched torso pushed out my small breasts, and if I lean in and squint hard I can just about see my nipples - the subtlety is both fun and seductive.

If I had been dressed in some ridiculous fishnet get-up, I would've just looked like some hooker. But in this outfit, I look just like any other dancer in a studio, warming up in front of a huge mirror. I really ought to fish out those shorts and wear them again soon.

A perfect backflip and a few shots later, then I was on a bed - I could feel the sheets, cottony soft beneath my palms, the mattress sinking under the weight of my knees. Arranging myself into various positions was easier when I was cushioned like that. Gravity defying? Perhaps. The thing about slender girls is that they usually possess muscles in places you never knew existed.

The photos came out perfect. I'm looking at the first one, one of me prowling on the bed like a panther, my blindfolded face starkly illuminated by the strong flash. I particularly like the curve of my back in this one - animalistic and hungry and subservient all at once. You can just peek down my top, and I really hope he's into small boobs because God wasn't very generous with me.

Pity. I've always wondered if he'd like me with bigger boobs.

Anyway, the photos keep flashing by and...I don't know, it's kind of thrilling. It's so nice to see yourself looking so good, you know? And it's like...it's like I finally understand. I finally understand what it's like to be a man, how it must be like to look at a good-looking woman and want her. This must be what it's like to be in his shoes, when I'm innocently prancing around the house in my pajamas, or when my hair's been blow dried and I've got my false eyelashes on, and that sexy little bandage dress...

Maybe he did notice me that night, the night we first met. Maybe he was just playing it cool, deliberately making it look like he didn't even see me, but damn. If he had really been attracted to me then, he did an excellent job at disguising it.

The slideshow blinks off into a blank end abruptly. I'm left sitting there in the chair, staring at a black screen, waiting for the next part of the puzzle to load up. A few seconds pass but nothing happens. I'm left frowning at the computer.

The thing about a laser keyboard is they don't give you the satisfying pushy, tangible clackety-clack that you get when you start pushing buttons at random in frustration. I try hitting the Return key furiously (which means that I'm tapping against hard mahogany about a hundred times, ouch) and to no avail.

Are you kidding me? This thing allegedly has processors that were pilfered from a scrapped deep space project, and it's choosing now of all times to hang? And it's running on some self-written OS that he's so bloody proud of, which is just great, because I'm a programming whiz, now aren't I? Okay, genius boy, this isn't getting so sexy anymore, now is it? I swear to God, when you get back, I'm going to -

Oh, okay okay right right, it's back on. Good. Ha! What a relief. Never have I been so happy to see a progress bar.

IN MY DREAMS

pause.

IN MY DREAMS

IM, A 2001

I wait for more text to appear but none does. So this is the puzzle then.

Well, at a glance it appears that the 2001 is a date. The alphabets could be an acronym for something - place, organization, geographic area. It could also be initials of a name, but the comma and the A make for an unusual anomaly indeed.

IM, A 2001

2001 IM, A

Isle of Man

Imelda Marcos

Iodine...no

Internal Medicine

Two thousand and one...two thousand and one. IN MY DREAMS

It's like putting on a contact lens. Suddenly everything is crystal clear, moist and refreshing and just so -

Ian McEwan, Atonement. In my dreams...

I try to type out the rest of the quote, but the text refuses to come out on the screen. A few words into the typing and the following message is prompted -

RECITE.

Huh. So he wants me to say it out loud instead of pecking it out on a keyboard tamely.

Fair enough. It does feel a little weird to be talking to no one in particular...and to say what I'm saying in the echoing silence of the room.

"In my dreams," I begin, drawing in a deep breath, "In my dreams, I kiss your cunt, your sweet wet cunt."

Each word sounds obscene. Each syllable drips from my lips, guttural and soft all at once, resonating off the four walls of the room, so naughty and so forbidden and I feel like I'm swearing in a chapel and I force myself to stay calm and breathe.

"In my thoughts I make love to you all day long."

That's all it takes. The words fade away into darkness, replaced by a congratulatory message from him.

DELECTABLE. CHECK THE DRAWER.

My eyes cast to the recessed drawer and the fingerprint scanner that secures it. His frank instruction for me to check it can only mean one thing. Bending forward, I touch my right thumb to the cool black glass until I hear a faint hiss and click.

The drawer slides open smoothly on its own, and it's not until it's fully open that I get to see what is in it.

I stare at it for a few seconds, blinking in mild surprise. I've always known that he has a warped sense of humor, all quirks and non sequiturs and surrealism, but this is just bland. I almost want to say, wow, really?

With raised eyebrows I pick up the black vibrator and turn it over in my hands. This is new - we've never used this before, not in our endless hours of play. It feels cool to the touch, lightly ridged all over its decent size. I give the ring at the hilt a little twist and it jumps to life, buzzing quietly on my palms. A further twist amps up the decibel, and the last option makes it vibrate in pulses - a selection that makes a stupid grin spread across my lips.

I let out a little laugh to myself, thinking of how funny it all is that he went through all the trouble with the pretty puzzles just to culminate with me sitting in the study, fully clothed, wielding a vibrator and smiling like some benevolent sex-Buddha. If he were here right now, I'd be laughing at the sound of his deep, hearty chuckle that I find so infectious.

I miss him. The pang burns ice hot in my heart, crackling like sharp lightning and spreading through my belly - I miss him so much. It's been a week, and God knows when he'll be home. I think of him typing away at this very spot, eyes fixed on the screen, fever bright and unblinking. The dance of his long fingers on the table, barely making a sound as they flutter on wood, like petals landing on grass.

The long-limbed animal stretch he gives as he walks to bed, yawning like a jungle cat, his shoulders bending like fluid to ease himself into his skin after a long day. Oh, especially when he pulls off his shirt in one smooth move...shedding and stripping and inviting all in one simple gesture...fuck, it's all it takes to get me going.

And when he's in a mood to play, he'll do it on purpose. He'll slink off to the bedroom, pad past me without saying a word, yawning and pulling off his shirt like it's the most casual thing in the world. He knows that my eyes are following his body, lapping up the sight of his muscled back and the curve of his triceps, because he'll look back over his shoulder and wink at me. Before I can even react to that dastardly little wink, he'll have pushed past the door into the bedroom, leaving me to stare at his denim-clad bottom retreating into darkness.

It won't take me very long to leap after him and prowl, like a hunter, for my meal of the night.

The silence of the room reminds me of my loneliness. All the warmth of my memories are beginning to fade, and with every breath I take I can feel the room grow colder and colder, his presence leaking away from my imagination, reality's cold fingers digging into my brain...

Almost resolutely I heave myself off the chair and shake out my hair. It had been a fun puzzle, and I wasn't going to let it go to waste. He'd been sweet enough to leave me with a little something while he was on his work trip, and I'm going to make the best out of it.

I'm striding towards the bedroom, reaching behind me to pull down the zipper of my dress with my free hand. It comes undone just as I reach the huge bed, and I fling the vibrator on the duvet, wiggling my hips as I worm my way out of my dress. My underwear are the next things to go, and they both come off in less than a second (never understood why men took so long with the stupid clasp, anyway. it's not a Yale lock, now is it?).

And then I'm on all fours on the bed, not a stitch of clothing on my smooth skin, breathing hard as I run the buzzing toy through the cleft of my slit. I can picture him here right now, the scratchy texture of denim tickling my thighs, the rough burn of his stubble dragging across my shoulder as he arches above me, planting soft kisses into the nape of my neck.

I can almost feel his weight pressing on to me, his erection nudging the insides of my thighs as he runs his hands all over my back, smoothing his palms on the curving planes of my bare skin. I'll give a little shiver when I hear the tell tale rasp of the zipper, preceded by the soft tinkling of his belt being unbuckled. I don't even have to look back to know that I'm going to get fucked.

My breath catches in my throat as I push the tip of the vibrator in, inch by excruciating inch. I love it when he enters me slowly - nothing is more delicious than the languid burn of the initial stretch, where all my thoughts are reduced to one - that he's impaling me, oh, fuck, he's so huge and it feels so good, so so so very good -

The mental image of him behind me wavers a little, like the delicate skin of a bubble wobbling through the air. I will myself to focus, but a part of me can't forget that he's not really here, and the sad truth is that I'm trying to replace him with a piece of plastic. I let out a frustrated grunt and clench my teeth, one hand frozen in between my legs, my forehead pressed to the sheets.

I give the vibrator a few experimental thrusts in and out of me, noting, with slight surprise, the sound of how wet I am. It feels nice, too - a couple of seconds later and I'm feeling the bliss radiate through my body like a strong drink. I work it in and out of me in a good tempo, loving the noises I'm hearing right now - a rhythm of regular muffled wet slurps accompanied by a permanent buzz.

I sigh in pleasure and allow myself to unwind. If this were his cock, oh, I'd come so much faster. He'd start slow, with gentle, almost teasing strokes, gradually letting it grow into slow and deep thrusts that make me cry out with every hit. A few minutes of those and I'd be pleading for him to finish me, timing my whining pleas to his every thrust, moaning and clenching the sheets as I felt him move in and out of me.

And he would. The length of torture was his choosing, but he would never play with me for too long. He'd start fucking me faster and harder, clamping his hands on my hips so he could drill himself into me deeper. I'd hear the sounds change from dull slurps to sharp, obscene slaps as he pistoned himself in and out of me furiously, his balls slapping against my clit and my small tits bouncing and jerking with every thrust.

And I'd moan, I'd moan to egg him on and to let him know how good it feels, I'd moan because it feels so good and my toes are curling and he feels so good inside me, and I can almost hear his deep chuckle-

My eyes flash open in terror, the dream shattered by a paralyzing realization -

There was someone in the room with me.

I look over my shoulder in a panic to see him standing there, and while I'm partly relieved that it's not a foreign intruder, I'm more than mortified at the thought that he's caught me wanking. Blushing furiously, I'm trying to shuffle away with the vibrator's end sticking out of my pussy, hoping to regain some semblance of privacy and decorum, but before I can crawl away into safety, he moves like a jaguar in the night.

His hand smacks sharply on my ass, lashing like a whip, and I cry out in response.

"Hands on the bed," he instructs, his tone strangely jovial, considering the situation.

I choose to ignore it - he didn't sound too serious - and I try to scramble for the duvet, wanting to hide under it when his hand comes down on my ass again. I wince in pain and cry out at the sensation, and it's sufficient to make me stop moving.

"Hands on the bed," he repeats, this time in a tone that leaves little room for refusal. Obediently I stay there on all fours, feeling the mattress sag as he climbs on. My breath leaves me in a ragged gasp, a shiver breaks out on my skin as I feel his hand on my overexcited sex, brushing lightly as if he were caressing a baby's cheek. It's a light touch - oh so light, but it makes me crave for more.

I can feel his fingers curl around the vibrator and he gives it a little tug. A moan almost escapes me as he draws it out by a fraction, making my thighs stiffen and sending a sharp dart of pleasure shooting up into my head. The sound of a slow, wet sucking drifts into my ear as the vibrator is retracted out of me - the reverse fuck is a wicked torment.

Just as I think that he's about to pull it out of me completely, he forces it back in roughly, burying it to the hilt inside of me. I cry out - half in pain, half from pleasure, and he commences with a furious fuck that borders on abuse.

He does it rough and hard, his strong hands manhandle the plastic phallus in and out of me with deft, quick movements, angled precisely right just so that my clit enjoys the delicious tingle of the vibrator's tremors, and the tip of the toy constantly nudges at my favorite spot.

My head is spinning and my thighs feel like jelly. I haven't been fucked like this since...oh, fuck, I - oh, my pussy feels so good, and if he keeps this up I'm going to - I'm going to -

"No!" I plead, my voice muddy with panic. He knows how I feel, we've been through this before. If he keeps on like this, in this position, I'm going to piss myself.

"No, please!" I beg, my eyes wide and frantic. "Please, B, no, I'm going to-"

"Let it go," he assures behind me, confident and knowing. "Come on, baby, let it go."

I don't want to. I fight desperately against the sensation, unable to believe that I might end up pissing all over him, but the vibrator continues its work and it's forcing itself in and out, in and out, and I -

I erupt screaming, tears brimming at my eyes as I feel the fluid jet out between my legs in a thin spurt. My hips are thrusting of their own will and I am biting into the fabric of the bedsheets, a spot that is wet with my saliva, cool to the cheek. I am giddy with pleasure and shame and I can't even form a cohesive thought, but my body knows enough to pull itself in and shrink into a cocoon.

I've done it. I've just fucking peed on my boyfriend as I came. Of all the embarrassing things I've done in the bedroom, this one definitely takes the cake. I don't know how he's going to respond, but surely he will leave me. I know he will.

He snuggles up beside me, chest pressed against my back as he wraps me in his arms. My face is wet with tears and saliva, and I can feel a moist spot growing underneath my ass. "Oh, baby," he murmurs into my ears, "what's the matter? Don't hide from me..."

I refuse him and hug myself tighter, shaking my head. I can't believe that he still wants to hold me, even after what I've just done.

"You didn't pee, my darling. You squirted."

I unbury my face from my hands, feeling wary, but not confident enough to look him in the eye yet. He nuzzles his nose into my hair, gently caressing my arm with his hand, pulling me even closer to him.

"That was so fucking sexy, it's insane. God, if only you could see yourself." The awe in his voice was pure and just barely restrained, so warm and genuine that there was no way he was faking it. I twist around in his arms to face him, finally getting a good look at him. I hadn't really been able to do that earlier.

His face is clear and shining, glowing with a self-satisfied pleasure that reminded me of a cocky high schooler. I can feel his clothes against my bare skin - he's still fully dressed, silk tie included - but somehow, I don't feel so naked around him.

He reaches in for a deep, long kiss, and I allow myself to be captured by him. His lips are soft and firm, sweet as they always have been, and as his lips begin to part mine, I can feel my whole body undulate against his. This has to be one of the reasons I got together with him. I mean, the sex is great and all, but as for kisses...no one does it quite like he does. From the way he cradles my face with his hands to the way he pulls me in, reeling a strong arm around my waist. The way he sucks on my lower lip and bites it gently.

As we break apart, I sigh in contentment and smile up at him. Now that the crisis has been averted I am feeling a whole lot better. My heartbeat is slowing down in my chest, the worries of my paranoia fading into oblivion with each press of his lips on mine - soft and fluttering, then deep and erotic. I sling my arms across his shoulders, crossing them at the back of his neck, drawing him closer.

"Missed me?" he rumbles, deep and delicious in my ear.

"Tremendously," I gush, sighing again. The massive orgasm made me feel a little knackered, to be honest, but I'm loving his presence far too much to fall asleep. He trails a string of kisses from the base of my ear towards my collarbone. I loll my head back and stretch out on the bed, enjoying the sensations and the sound of soft smacking on my skin.