Adventures in Wonderland

Chapter 1: Beginnings

Sunday Morning

"Mark is going to 'top' Jen and we've been invited."

Ten little words, that's all he says. So out of the blue, she needs a few moments to be sure that she has parsed the sentence correctly, but by that time he has walked away, grinning.

Did he say 'top'?

The shiver that runs down her spine and ends between her thighs suggests that her body heard that meaning, intended or not. She has a feeling that something new is in the air.

They have been coming to this party for more years than she cares to count, and the event has always held a special place in her heart. How could it not? Twenty-plus families, all of whom have been friends for decades, coming together for a week between Christmas and the New Year in one big house to enjoy games, food, laughter and stories. Most of the games are clean, family fun – board games, card games, role-playing and strategy games. The stories can relate events from last week or from the last week of high school, and the laughter conveys the sheer joy of being in each other's company. The kids have a whole room just to play Minecraft together, and there are always fun activities being organized: rock-climbing, beach fires, karate and improvisational theater. Even her 10-year-old son thinks it the best week of the year.

Back when they were all teenagers, when this party was new and only lasted for one night, she had declared that the motto of the party was, "Between the old year and the new, nothing counts!" It meant no guilt and no recriminations for a night of fun. For years, that motto had been the excuse for tequila body shots, whipped cream being licked off various body parts, drunken flirtation, and occasional spanking. She even remembers a "happy pile" of about six people in a queen-sized bed about 25 years ago, back before any of them dreamt of marriage or kids. Even now that they're all in their 40s and 50s and married with kids, after the kids go to bed the alcohol flows more freely and the music gets louder, and there are rumors of people having sex in the hot tub every year. But as far as she knows, nobody has ever really used this party as an excuse for serious sex games.

This year looks to be rather different.

Sunday Afternoon

"Mark is going to 'top' Jen and we've been invited."

She and Benton are sitting together on the bed in their room on the second floor, discussing the invitation. The situation is clear, if not simple: Mark has agreed to dominate AJen sexually, and Jen has invited them to come watch. Benton has no doubts about his desire to attend, and now his question is to his own wife: Does she want to go?

Does he even have to ask?

Well, actually, he does. For all the quiet games they have played in their own bedroom over the more than 20 years of their relationship, it's always been just the two of them. They've been pretty strictly monogamous since they found each other, even at this party, and they have rarely even discussed other sexual partners. She knows that she has her own private dreams about having two men at once, and she's always assumed he has some fantasies of his own, but she's never really anticipated putting these notions into practice. Now they're talking openly about being present while at least two other people engage in naughty sex games. Even if they choose to participate only as witnesses, this is a pretty big departure from their ordinary sex life. So the question is really about whether she is ready, at this time in her life, to consider engaging sexually with multiple other people.

Who, really, is she being asked to engage with?

"Mark" means Mark, husband to Susan and father to Sara. He's moderately tall, lean and angular, with a pointed chin and a clean-shaven head that says he has embraced his male pattern baldness. What else does she know about him? Let's see...he was the one who helped all the kids, including her own son, get set up playing Minecraft about 5 years ago, so he's kind and helpful. He's a professor of some sort down near Philadelphia – biology or chemistry or something like that – so he's smart. He propositioned Jen, which means he shares her interests, and his wife agreed, which suggests some naughty domestic proclivities, the thought of which triggers a little tingling sensation deep in her groin. Also, Jen accepted his proposition, which means that she trusts him. Hmmm....

AJen she's known for over 20 years, and the sexual tension between them goes back almost that far. Jen was the one who got her to read Anne Rice's

The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty

back in graduate school, so she's always known that her friend has a taste for bondage that she doesn't fully share. She also knows that Jen is bisexual and has been strongly attracted to her for as long as they've been friends, an attraction that is also mostly one-sided. So she is well aware that although she is being formally invited simply to witness the games, at least one person there will be hoping that she will participate more actively.

So this isn't just about witnessing an act of sex. This isn't going to be dry, mechanical rutting between paid professionals like they saw in that so-called "sex show" in the red light district of Amsterdam some 15 years ago. This is going to be real, and the possibility of crossing the boundary from audience to participant is also going to be real. Suddenly she realizes that she is being offered a chance to take a very significant step outside her normal comfort zone. She looks over at Benton, sitting on the bed next to her. It is clear from the look in his eyes and the tremor in his hands that the idea excites him immensely. His excitement sends another one of those shivers down her spine, the ones that end not at the tailbone but at the tip of the clitoris, in a little gush of wetness.

She says yes.

Sunday - Monday

"Mark is going to 'top' Jen and we've been invited."

She's never paid much attention to Mark before now, but those ten little words have now made her intensely aware of his presence, and along a whole new dimension. She finds herself watching him move, observing his long lean body as it stretches and lifts, marveling at his wiry strength and wondering how he will use it to dominate Jen. She watches his hands as he plays a board game or prepares lunch for his daughter, imagining that same delicate sureness of touch being applied to the wielding of a paddle. As Sunday night shifts imperceptibly into Monday, she is growingly conscious of his aura of quiet command and her imagination starts to play games with her. That night she dreams about Jen, naked and bound, and Mark standing over her with a belt in his hand. As the belt descends, it is suddenly she rather than Jen who feels the sting of the strap, feels herself helpless in his hands, those strong, capable hands. She wakes panting and dripping wet, but also with a tiny tinge of guilt. She's a faithful wife! How can she be dreaming about another woman's husband?

Throughout Monday she tries to keep her mind on the ordinary games and conversations around her, but it doesn't help that Benton is as preoccupied with the coming events as she is. He keeps disappearing – to the basement (which has been designated as the "playroom" and is rumored to be undergoing some kind of unspecified "improvements"), to the store, or into dark corners to plot with Mark. Sometime after lunch he reports that Mark has taken Jen downstairs for "testing," and the thought of what that might involve has her gasping slightly whenever she lets her mind wander. Every time she passes Mark in the hallway or on the stairs he flashes her a crooked little smile that sends another one of those shivers down her spine. Damn it, she's running out of dry panties!

Monday night is the first of two scheduled "adult" parties for the week, meaning that people agree to stay up late, play loud music, and get a little bit raunchy. She's always enjoyed this part of the week, finding the flirtation fun and enjoying the sexually-tinged compliments and the casual groping or kissing that come with them. She's known most of these men since long before any of them were married, and she dated and/or slept with several of them, back in the day. Flirting with them makes her feel young again. But she's never been in any danger of falling prey to real desire for anyone but her husband, and he rarely feels the need to accompany her downstairs. Traditionally, she parties and flirts with old friends, getting hornier and hornier, until 2:00 or 3:00 in the morning, when she staggers upstairs and pounces on Benton as quietly as possible.

But this year things are different. This year she's thinking about flirting – and possibly a whole lot more – with a man who until now has been to her only that sexless being, a fellow parent in the communal village. Seeing him for the first time as a sexual creature has been like meeting him for the first time, and her own fascination with him frightens her. She feels like she is playing with fire, and even though it was Benton who first suggested that they watch Mark in sexual action, the delicious frisson of guilt that comes from thinking dirty thoughts about a man who is not her husband only heightens her arousal even more. She knows that Mark, Jen and Susan will all be dressed to the nines and partying hard tonight, and she finds herself hoping that Benton will choose to accompany her downstairs for once. She's not sure she entirely trusts herself, though she's also not sure what she is afraid of.

To complicate matters, she finds herself preparing for the evening's festivities with no suitable lingerie to wear under her new dress, a skin-hugging number whose fabric drapes over the skin like water and which would highlight any wrinkle or seam underneath. She'd been planning to find some kind of seamless Spandex device, to make her body approximate the shape it had 20 years ago, but now she decides the hell with it. She's going commando. She raises her arms and the smooth fabric slithers down over her naked body. Benton watches and smiles approvingly, but he makes no move to accompany her as she leaves the bedroom. She'll have to go down alone, as usual.

As she skips down the stairs, she feels the cool smooth silk of the dress sliding across the naked skin of her breasts, her belly, her buttocks. The party has barely started, and already she's slightly aroused. She passes through the living room on her way to the bar, but pauses to join in the dancing for a while. As Prince promises to party like it's 1999, she shimmies and shakes with friends, feeling more than one hand slide down her back to her ass and bestow an extra pat or squeeze. It's one reason she loves these people: they make her feel desirable, even after all these years. After a few more dances, hot and thirsty, she continues her interrupted trip to the bar in the butler's pantry.

In the dark passage near the door to the basement stairs she unexpectedly comes face to face with Mark, who has been nowhere to be seen so far this evening. She stops, suddenly realizing that this tall, lean man with the large hands, who looks to have the same sinewy strength as her husband, will soon be exerting his will over Jen in a fuck dungeon that he has been building in the basement. A fuck dungeon he has just walked out of. She freezes, aware of the size and strength of him, the way he towers over her in the semi-darkness. She can hear her own slightly shaky breath, and wonders if her excitement is apparent to him, if he knows the effect he has on her. Suddenly the crooked smile flashes again. He reaches out and wraps his hands around both her buttocks, squeezing appreciatively and whispering in her ear, "Your ass is gorgeous!" Then he's gone, and she realizes that this is a whole different level of feeling desirable. She also realizes that she daren't sit down anywhere tonight, for fear of leaving wet stains on her dress.

Things are a little easier as the night wears on. The alcohol flows – somebody is mixing Manhattans – and the dancing gets steamier, but she doesn't see Mark anywhere, so she manages to remain calm and in control. People seem to be noticing her lack of undergarments and she gets more appreciative fondling than she has in years. The cool silk of her dress makes every touch a caress, and she wishes Benton were there, but without Mark in sight she's not in any real danger. Just the usual low-level horniness that makes a party fun. Jen seems to be having a good time – she's dressed all in silver and black and she looks amazing, dancing in fuck-me pumps half a mile high.

Suddenly she realizes that the woman dancing behind Jen, arms wrapped around her and hips swaying in unison, is Susan, who has changed out of the rather prosaic jeans and sweater she'd been wearing earlier in the evening and is now sporting a black leather bustier and a very short black skirt. Phoebe, who has had her share of Manhattans tonight, joins them in a group hug. Within seconds, it seems, Jen is bare-assed and bent over the back of the large leather couch. Susan and Phoebe are trying to spank her in unison, one on each cheek, but they're too drunk to get the timing right, and laughing too hard to care. Jen stands up and declares that she'll show them how it's done, making Susan bend over, yanking down her panties.

I can handle this, she thinks. It's just playful, not too different from any other year.

Then Mark steps forward from the shadows, holding a ping pong paddle. Jen stiffens and steps aside, but he turns and his smile freezes her in place. With a hand on her wrist and the one holding the paddle pressing against the small of her back, he pivots Jen around and bends her over next to Susan, the bare flesh of their paired buttocks raised high over the edge of the enormous leather couch. He reaches down and presses Jen's legs apart, so that her left leg crosses Susan's right one at the ankle. The rest of the crowd has gone quiet and the air of the room is hot and still. In the background, Madonna croons about being on her knees. Mark lays his hand gently on Susan's cheek and squeezes slightly. Then he lifts the paddle and starts delivering short, sharp smacks, dividing his attention evenly between the two women before him, working with just the delicate precision of her imagination. There are a few gasps from the crowd, a low moan from Jen. Then he lifts the paddle again and brings it down with a resounding CRACK, eliciting a "Fuck yeah!" from Susan that can be heard two rooms away. Several people release their tension in a burst of slightly hysterical laughter.

She is standing six feet away and she can't move. She's not even sure she's breathing, but she knows her heart is pounding, because she can feel its pulse in her pussy. She feels warmth running down the inside of her thighs and she is weak-kneed with desire. Every fiber of her being cries out to run over there and lift her skirt and beg him to spank her. To spank her, and stroke her, and lick her, and fuck her until she can't stand up. But she can't. Not in front of all these people. Her need would be too naked; she would be too vulnerable. Too many people would know how helpless she is in the face of desire. God, but she needs....

Where's Benton? Upstairs, somewhere. Time to go find him, maybe a little earlier than usual.

He's not upstairs. He's sitting halfway up the stairs, watching everything through the railing, a silent observer with a quiet smile on his face. Without a word, he gestures her to sit beside him and watch. She shimmies silently, trying to convey her need, but he simply shakes his head and smiles at her again.

"You must wait," he whispers with quiet command. "I want to watch a while longer."

Down in the living room, Jen and Susan have pulled their panties up, at least temporarily, and are swaying together on the dance floor. Susan has her fingers wrapped tightly in Jen's long dark hair and Jen's hands are gripping Susan's buttocks as they kiss deeply and passionately. Mark steps forward and puts his arms around both of them. Suddenly Susan turns to Mark and demands, "Let's take her downstairs right now."

"We can't. It's not ready yet," says Mark, frantically.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" wails Susan, desperate desire in every syllable.

At this, Benton grabs her wrist and stands up, hauling her to her feet and spinning her around so she is pressed against him. She can feel his tension through the whole length of her body, concentrated in the rigid throbbing cock whose heat is palpable through the thin fabric of her dress. His breath hisses in her ear, "Upstairs, now!"

The tone of command in his voice triggers another one of those shivers. In everyday life, he is so quiet, so undemanding, so self-effacing when compared to her own loud, bold, un-ignorable presence. Most people would never guess that with a single word or gesture he can turn her to jelly, shatter her defenses, leave her quivering and desperate to please. Nobody knows that his strength allows her to surrender completely to her desire, to let the winds of passion blow her around at will, knowing she is held safe in his arms.

He pushes her up the stairs before him, still holding her wrist tightly behind her back in a wordless sign that he has claimed ownership. The waves of lust pulsing through her make her dizzy and she stumbles. He hauls her upright again and whispers harshly in her ear, "If you can't make it to the room, I'll just have to leave you right here and go find someone else to fuck."

She makes it to the room.

In the darkness, with the door closed and the quiet breathing of the sleeping child in the corner the only noise, a soundless whisper comes in her ear: "You may desire him, but I am your master, and your body belongs to me. Now, stay silent while I fuck you the way you need to be fucked."

With that, his hands begin to roam all over her body, pushing her back on the bed and raising her legs; rubbing the silken fabric of her dress against the bare skin of her belly, her breasts, her thighs. He slides a hand over her dress and between her legs, stroking her dripping wet pussy through the fabric, rubbing the cloth against her vulva, her clitoris. Her back arches into his touch, her arms reach out and grip the sheets.

Kneeling by the side of the bed, he pulls the dress tight between her legs so her vulva stands out clearly through the fabric, purses his lips and breathes out slowly. She can feel the faint cool breath of air brush across the wet silk and shivers slightly. Then his mouth descends and he bestows one long, loving lick, ending with a little flick of his tongue near the top. She can't help it. A tiny moan escapes her lips.

At the sound, he lifts his head and gives her a warning look. Panic-stricken with fear that he might stop and leave her like this, she mouths, "I'll be good," but he shakes his head. Standing up, he gathers the sodden cloth of her dress from between her legs and shoves it into her mouth, silencing her with the scent and taste of her own juices. Then he reaches up and grasps both her wrists with one hand, covering her nearly naked body with his own fully-clothed one. Like an expert wrestler he pins her to the bed, leaving himself one hand free to roam all over her body, pinching, stroking, squeezing. She is helpless in his hands, naked, vulnerable, exposed to the night air and to his gaze. If she makes a sound the moment could shatter like glass, and this fear of discovery, the need to remain still and silent under this exquisite torture, only serves to heighten her excitement. She writhes and twists under hands, panting softly, as he plunges three fingers deep into her cunt and strokes the spot he knows so well. Suddenly he withdraws and she is left trembling.