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Such Stuff Ch. 01

By: Drmaxc



Part I
Mind the Dodo

'If we shadows have offended,
Think but this, and all is mended,
That you have but slumber'd here
While these visions did appear.
And this weak and idle theme,
No more yielding but a dream,
Gentles, do not reprehend:
if you pardon, we will mend:
And, as I am an honest Puck,
If we have unearned luck
Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue,
We will make amends ere long;
Else the Puck a liar call;
So, good night unto you all.
Give me your hands, if we be friends,
And Robin shall restore amends.'

Lizzie had clapped and clapped at the conclusion of the play. It had been mar­vellous. Bottom and Puck had been so funny, the fairy folk so beautifully dressed in their leaves and petals. She wished it could have gone on forever.

Elizabeth Sherrell was eighteen years old. Her parents had taken Lizzie as a birthday treat to see a performance of "A Midsummer Night's Dream" by William Shakespeare. She was studying Shakespeare at school and was plan­ning to go on to university to take an English degree. She had always liked books. Plays had been a revelation.

Back home from the performance she prepared to go to bed. Lizzie stood, still excited from the evening's performance with her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright, looking at herself in the mirror. She was completely naked and rather pleased with what she saw. Her long fair, almost yellow, hair hung loose now over her creamy shoulders. It was freshly brushed and shining. Her blue eyes looked steadily out of the mirror at her and her full lips broke into a smile as she considered herself. She raised a hand and touched her right breast. Yes, it really was slightly larger than the left. The nipple, slightly dis­tended, rose from a rather pointed aureole. Her breasts did always look a bit like puppy dogs' noses pointing, as she had heard her father say to her mother be­fore he was roundly scolded. They were very pale pink. Lizzie lifted both breasts in her hands. She was pleased they were a respectable size, filling her hands, not like her friend Charlotte's. Lotte was flat chested, poor thing; she had nice brown nipples, Lizzie supposed, but no substance. They did not fill her blouse or give her a cleavage. Many a time the two friends had padded Lotte out for a party, giggling about it but it was a shame nonetheless. Lizzie caressed her breasts. She was pleased she had proper boobs.

Glancing down, she looked at her flat tummy with a tucked away tummy button. A sort of vertical oval dip. She had thought about having it pierced. Her mummy was of course against it but... Absently her hand dropped and she stroked the fair hair below her tummy. Already her sex was well covered with fine fair curls. She had tidied it up around the edges last summer, when she was wearing a bikini, but had not bothered since. She looked again at the mirror and moved one thigh coyly ahead of the other. Yes she did look pretty down there with her golden curls and quite wide hips: not too wide mind you. She half turned and regarded her bottom. Nice and round, she knew she had a bit of a wiggle when she walked and the boys turned to look at it. Lotte had told her. 

Turning back she wondered what it was like to fully shave down there. A bit of a bother as it would just grow back again, rather like men's beards. Would it look better like that?

Lizzie picked up her nightdress. It was a birthday present. An old-fash­ioned looking white cotton nightdress like her great-grandmother might have worn. It went right down to her ankles and had long sleeves with lots of tucks and bows. Across the front flowers were embroidered. Lizzie thought it very pretty and was really pleased with it. She raised her arms, her breasts tight­ened, and she dropped the nightdress down over her head, covering her naked body. She switched off her light.

"Sweet dreams Lizzie," called her mother.

Lizzie slipped under her duvet and thought back over the day. It had been lovely; she smiled as she went through the many happy memories of the day. There was only one jarring note. When she had been in the bookshop down the road she had noticed the young man at the till watching her. It was, of course, natural for shopkeepers to watch customers but she had been unusually conscious of his attention. She had had a closer look at him when she went to pay for her books. His eyes behind black-rimmed glasses peered at her from under lank greasy hair. He had on a rather garish yellow tie, which stood out in contrast to his black shirt.

"Read this," he said tapping a book on the counter before him.

Lizzie glanced at the cover, "I've read it," she said shortly not liking his peremptory manner. "I read it years ago... and the sequel."

He added up the prices of her books, took her money and put them in a paper bag.

"Good," he said, "I'm pleased you have, and thank you for your purchas­es."

Lizzie left the shop thinking she would try and not go there again, though it was convenient and so a bit difficult to avoid.

Pushing the unpleasant young man from her mind, she settled herself for sleep, drawing her knees up inside her nightdress and hugging herself as she had done since she was little. Her excitement at the day kept her awake for a time but eventually she drifted off.

Lizzie dreamt, she found herself falling down a very deep well.

Either the well was very deep, or she fell very slowly, for she had plenty of time as she went down to look about her and to wonder what was going to hap­pen next. First, she tried to look down and make out what she was coming to, but it was too dark to see anything; then she looked at the sides of the well, and noticed that they were filled with cupboards and book-shelves; here and there she saw maps and pictures hung upon pegs. She took down a jar from one of the shelves as she passed; it was labelled 'ORANGE MARMALADE', but to her great disappointment it was empty: she did not like to drop the jar for fear of killing somebody, so managed to put it into one of the cupboards as she fell past it.

"Well!" thought Lizzie to herself, "after such a fall as this, I shall think nothing of tumbling down stairs! Funny, yes funny peculiar, this all seems strangely fa­miliar. I'm sure I should know where I am."

Down, down, down. Would the fall NEVER come to an end! "I wonder how many miles I've fallen by this time?" she thought and then paused, "That is fa­miliar, rather a familiar thought, I...yes I know what this is, I know where I am. I'm Alice just after she has fallen down the rabbit hole. Well, that's all right, no need to worry, I shall fall on a heap of sticks and dry leaves in a moment." and she did.

Lizzie got up and began looking for the White Rabbit and there he was turning a corner almost out of sight, "Oh my ears and whiskers, how late it's getting!" he muttered. Lizzie found she was in a long, low hall, which was lit up by a row of lamps hanging from the roof. There were doors all round the hall, but they were all, as she knew they would be, locked.

"No problem," she thought to herself and looked for the little three-legged table, all made of solid glass. It was there and, as she expected, there was noth­ing on it except a tiny golden key. "Now that opens a little door, but where is it?" She found it behind a low curtain. It was about fifteen inches high. Natu­rally she tried the little golden key in the lock, and of course it fitted!

Lizzie opened the door and found that it led into a small passage, not much larger than a rat-hole: she knelt down and looked along the passage into the loveliest garden you ever saw. "It would be good to get out among those beds of bright flowers and those cool fountains," thought Lizzie, "but first I need to be smaller and shut up like a telescope! Now I mustn't make the mis­take Alice did of leaving the key in the lock, or it will end up on the table just after I have drunk the bottle with the words 'DRINK ME' beautifully printed on it in large letters." She carefully and sensibly put the key in her pocket and turned back to the table. She smiled and picked up the bottle which had ap­peared, as if on cue, and drank it. The liquid had a pleasant flavour, a sort of mixed flavour of cherry-tart, custard, pine-apple, roast turkey, toffee, and hot buttered toast.

"What a curious feeling!" said Lizzie; 'I must be shutting up like a tele­scope." She found herself much smaller than she had been. All seemed to be working to plan or rather by reference to 'Alice in Wonderland' but when she turned back to the door fishing in her pocket at the same time she found there was no key in it and the door was closed. "Bother," thought Lizzie, "just as in the book." She looked up and there she saw the little golden key back on the table now high above her head.

Lizzie was now only about ten inches high. "Damn, I can't outwit the dream. What happens next? Oh yes the cake! This is fun, I do like being a little girl again." She smoothed down the wide skirts of her dress and skipped off to find the very small cake, on which the words 'EAT ME' would be beautifully marked in currants.

"Curiouser and curiouser!" cried Lizzie with glee as she ate the cake, "I've said it, I've said it! Now I'm opening out like the largest telescope that ever was! Good-bye, feet! Oh... hello boobs, where did you come from? Well that is certainly curious, Alice doesn't age when she gets bigger, all she does is get taller, grow a long neck and hit the ceiling." Looking at herself without a mir­ror, and with a quick feel here and there, she established that she now had the body of a young woman rather than a little girl.

While she was checking herself, her head struck against the roof of the hall: in fact she was now more than nine feet high, and just as Alice had done she at once took up the little golden key and hurried off to the garden door. Of course she could not even see through the door much less get through it and like Alice she sat down and began to cry. Dreams are not reality and before long Lizzie saw she had shed gallons of tears that had formed a large pool all round her, about four inches deep and reaching half down the hall.

"What now? Oh yes the White Rabbit comes by and drops his fan and that makes me small again," thought Lizzie drying her eyes, and after a time she heard a little pattering of feet in the distance.

The Rabbit came trotting along in a great hurry, muttering to himself as he came, "Oh! the Duchess, the Duchess! Oh! won't she be savage if I've kept her waiting!"

Lizzie said, "Boo". The Rabbit started violently, dropped his white kid gloves and the fan, and scurried away into the darkness as hard as he could go. Lizzie knew what to do. Picking up the fan between two fingers she fanned herself down to about two feet high, Lizzie started off at a run to get to the lit­tle glass table and the key but her foot slipped, and in another moment, splash! She was up to her chin in salt water. Her first idea was that she had somehow fallen into the sea, but she soon made out that she was in the pool of tears, which she had wept when she was nine feet high. She swam about but soon heard splashing a little way off and swam over to meet the Mouse.

The Mouse looked at her rather inquisitively, and seemed to her to wink with one of its little eyes, which was a little bit off putting. Lizzie, remembering the book, tried very hard not to mention cats and soon she and the Mouse were talking away at a great rate. They swam around together and whilst Lizzie was very happy with the conversations, she thought the Mouse did seem to touch her 'where it shouldn't' more often than strictly could be put down to accident. Lizzie noticed the pool was strangely getting quite crowded with the birds and animals that had fallen into it: there were a Duck and a Dodo, a Lory and an Ea­glet, and several other curious creatures. Lizzie led the way, and the whole party swam to the shore.

They were indeed a queer-looking party that assembled on the bank—the birds with draggled feathers, the animals with their fur clinging close to them, and all dripping wet, cross, and uncomfortable.

The first question of course was, how to get dry again: they had a consultation about this, talking did not seem to dry anyone and Lizzie was as wet as she could be. The Dodo, rising to its feet, proposed, "that the meeting adjourn, for the immediate adoption of more energetic remedies." The Mouse looked sur­prisingly interested at this point and made an improper suggestion.

"What I was going to say,' said the Dodo in an offended tone, was, that the best thing to get us dry would be a Caucus-race."

"What IS a Caucus-race?" asked Lizzie.

"Why,' said the Dodo, "the best way to explain it is to do it."

First it marked out a race-course, in a sort of circle, ("the exact shape doesn't matter," it said,) and then all the party were placed along the course, here and there. There was no 'One, two, three, and away,' but they began run­ning when they liked, and left off when they liked, so that it was not easy to know when the race was over. Suddenly the Dodo stopped them.

"I do not think you will get dry at all like that!" he said looking at Lizzie.

"I beg your pardon, like what please?"

"With all those wet clothes on, they are too numerous and too wet. You'll catch your death of cold with those on. Please disrobe at once."

"Which clothes, my dress and...."

"No, everything, everything," the animals said in chorus.

Lizzie did not like to offend them, but she was conscious she now had the body of a young woman not the girl who had fallen down the well. So rather re­luctantly and rather slowly, item-by-item, she slipped off her wet dress and petticoats and stood there naked. The animals watched her with expressions of great interest. She felt exposed like that but of course, she reasoned, none of the animals wore clothes so it was all right, really.

The animals set off at a run again without any apparent command, round and round and in and out they ran in no particular order or direction. Lizzie ran as well, conscious of her naked breasts, with their pointy nipples, bounc­ing as she ran. She did not think her bottom bounced whilst she ran as, even though it was nicely rounded, her friend Lotte had once commented there was no unnecessary weight. All the running soon dried Lizzie but still the animals kept running, they must have been running half an hour or so, Lizzie was build­ing up a sweat and getting hotter and hotter. She was sure that whilst running it was not just the mouse that bumped into her every so often or touched her bottom or breasts, when she ran past. She was sure it was deliberate and they were taking advantage of her nakedness. She really was very hot; and then the Dodo ran straight into her, its beak going straight between her legs and wedg­ing there with its top right along her sex. Lizzie stopped dead still, surprised and shocked.

The muffled voice of the Dodo suddenly called out "The race is over!" Lizzie hardly heard it, all she could take in was the hard beak pushed between her legs, touching her. She began to wriggle to dislodge it, but it stayed fast pushed up against her sex; as she moved it rubbed against her; she panted and tossed and turned but still could not dislodge it. Lizzie's sweaty body twisted, sticking to the sheets, the animals fading away into the darkness, and Lizzie woke in her own bed close to orgasm with her right hand pushed hard between her legs panting with excitement, her body hot and sticky, the room dark around her.

Despite enthusiastic use of her fingers she could not, in the end, bring her­self over the top. She lay back, a little frustrated, and thought back over the strange dream. It had been quite a good dream though she had been rather sur­prised by the sexual imagery and its effect on her. That had not happened be­fore, so far as she remembered. It was rather a surprise. She did love 'Alice', loved both the books, and the dream had all been so vivid to her though, in the manner of dreams, quite a bit different from the book. Smiling to herself she drifted back to sleep.

Such Stuff Ch. 02



Part 2

Really Wizard

It was some days later that Lizzie again entered the bookshop. She did love books, and seeing another assistant and not the strange one from her last visit, she spent a happy half an hour browsing. It was only when she went to pay for her books that she noticed that he was actually there. He smiled at her, peer­ing through his glasses, "Ah, Alice wasn't it?"

"No, Lizzie," she said before she could stop herself.

"Ah yes, Lizzie, you were looking at Alice. Excellent book, you should read L. Frank Baum next."

"I didn't read Alice, I told you I'd read it before."

"Pays re-reading, I find, and Baum?"

"The Wizard of Oz?"

"That's it and many others. I am sure it will excite you."

"I've read it!" said Lizzie. "It's a children's book. Pleasant but hardly excit­ing."

The young man smiled. "We'll see, we'll see." He picked up Lizzie's books and rang up the till.

Lizzie was somewhat taken aback by his strange remark.

Closing the door as she left, Lizzie saw him staring after her, a slightly un­nerving young man, in his black shirt and yellow tie. Lizzie did not like him one little bit.

Dreaming again, Lizzie looked about her. Where was she? She looked down at herself, no it was not Alice's dress; Alice did not wear a faded ging­ham frock with checks of white and blue and silver shoes. She reached up and took off a pink sunbonnet and looked at it. The sun sure was hot.

She was standing just outside a wooden cottage, or shack, and she could see there were several roads near by. She looked idly at them and turned to in­spect the cottage when something about the roads suddenly struck her. Not so much about the roads as one particular road, it was not metalled but paved and it was paved with yellow bricks. Yellow bricks!

"I'm in Oz! What fun!"

So Lizzie skipped off down the Yellow Brick Road, the shack forgotten, singing happily to herself "Follow, follow, follow the Yellow Brick Road..."

She saw how pretty the country was about her, and realized she was in the land of the Munchkins. There were neat fences at the sides of the road, painted a dainty blue color, and beyond them were fields of grain and vegeta­bles in abundance. The houses of the Munchkins were odd-looking dwellings, for each was round, with a big dome for a roof. All were painted blue, for in this country of the East blue was the favorite color.

When she had gone several miles she thought she would stop to rest, and so climbed to the top of the fence beside the road and sat down. There was a great cornfield beyond the fence, and not far away she saw a Scarecrow, placed high on a pole to keep the birds from the ripe corn.

Lizzie leaned her chin upon her hand and gazed thoughtfully at the Scare­crow. Its head was a small sack stuffed with straw, with eyes, nose, and mouth painted on it to represent a face. An old, pointed blue hat, that had belonged to some Munchkin, was perched on his head, and the rest of the figure was a blue suit of clothes, worn and faded, which had also been stuffed with straw. While Lizzie was looking earnestly into the queer, painted face of the Scarecrow, she was surprised to see one of the eyes slowly wink at her. She thought she must have been mistaken at first, for scarecrows never wink; but presently the fig­ure nodded its head to her in a friendly way. Then she climbed down from the fence and walked up to it.

"Good day," said the Scarecrow, in a rather husky voice.

"How do you do?"

"I'm not feeling well," said the Scarecrow, with a smile, "for it is very te­dious being perched up here night and day to scare away crows."

"Can't you get down?" asked Lizzie.

"No, for this pole is stuck up my back. If you will please take away the pole I shall be greatly obliged to you."

Lizzie reached up both arms and lifted the figure off the pole, for, being stuffed with straw, it was quite light.

"Thank you very much," said the Scarecrow, when he had been set down on the ground. "I feel like a new man."

"Who are you and what are you?" asked the Scarecrow as stretched him­self and yawned. "And where are you going?"

"My name is Lizzie, I am a girl and I am going to the Emerald City to see the great wizard."

"I thought perhaps you were a girl," he said.

"Why, don't you know?" she returned, in surprise.

"No, indeed. I don't know anything. You see, I am stuffed, so I have no brains at all," he answered sadly.

"Oh," said Lizzie, "I'm awfully sorry for you.

"Do you think," he asked, "if I go to the Emerald City with you, that Oz would give me some brains?"

"I cannot tell," she returned, "but you may come with me, if you like. If Oz will not give you any brains you will be no worse off than you are now."

They walked back to the road. Lizzie helped him over the fence, and they started along the path.

The Scarecrow was interested in why Lizzie, in her role as Dorothy, want­ed to go to see the Wizard and find a way back to Kansas.

He listened carefully, and said, "I cannot understand why you should wish to leave this beautiful country and go back to the dry, gray place you call Kansas."

"That is because you have no brains," answered the girl. There is no place like home, you see." Lizzie asked the Scarecrow how he came to be made.

"My life has been so short that I really know nothing whatever. Luckily, when the farmer made my head, one of the first things he did was to paint my ears, so that I heard what was going on. There was another Munchkin with him, a funny looking one, no blue on him at all. He was dressed in yellow and black. Looked quite out of place.

The first thing I heard was the farmer saying, "How do you like those ears?"

"They aren't straight," answered the other.

"Never mind,'" said the farmer. "They are ears just the same," which was true enough.

"Now I'll make the eyes," said the farmer. So he painted my right eye, and as soon as it was finished I found myself looking at him and at everything around me with a great deal of curiosity, for this was my first glimpse of the world.

"That's a rather pretty eye," remarked the Munchkin who was watching the farmer. "Blue paint is just the color for eyes, though I'd have preferred yel­low."

"Then he made my nose and my mouth. But I did not speak, because at that time I didn't know what a mouth was for. I had the fun of watching them make my body and my arms and legs; and when they fastened on my head, at last, I felt very proud, for I thought I was just as good a man as anyone.

"This fellow will scare the crows fast enough," said the farmer. `He looks just like a man."

"Why, he is a man, and haven't you forgotten something?" said the other.

"Don't think so," said the farmer looking a bit puzzled.

"I was puzzled too," said the Scarecrow to Lizzie, " what else did I need?"

The farmer carried me under his arm to the cornfield, and set me up on a tall stick, where you found me. He and his friend soon after walked away and left me alone.

"Many crows and other birds flew into the cornfield, but as soon as they saw me they flew away again, thinking I was a Munchkin; but by and by an old crow flew near me, and after looking at me carefully he perched upon my shoulder and said:

"I wonder if that farmer thought to fool me in this clumsy manner. Any crow of sense could see that you are only stuffed with straw.'

"I felt sad at this, for it showed I was not such a good Scarecrow after all; but the old crow comforted me, saying,

"If you only had brains in your head you would be as good a man as any of them, and a better man than some of them. Brains are the only things worth having in this world, no matter whether one is a crow or a man."

"After the crows had gone I thought this over, and decided I would try hard to get some brains. That, I thought, was all I needed to make me a real man."

"I understand how you feel," said Lizzie knowing the story, "If you will come with me I'll ask the Great Oz to give you some brains as soon as we get to the Emerald City."

"But then," said the Scarecrow, " a young Munchkin couple came into my field amongst the corn and lay down together just by me and made love. I real­ized then that not only did the farmer not give me any brains but also he didn't give me a cock either. The boy had a great big one, which he stuck in the girl, and they had such fun. I was very sad when they left. If I only had a cock!"

Lizzie felt very sorry for the Scarecrow and was about to say that proba­bly the Great Wizard could give him a penis after they had seen him in the Emerald City when, looking at the cornfield, she had an idea. "You don't need to go to the Wizard for that, I can get you one now!"

"You can? You are a clever girl!"

Lizzie ran to the corn and pulled off a cob, she carefully peeled back the husk and stuffed it into the Scarecrow's fly. It stood out of his trousers' fly pointing up at the sky just like a real cock. The Scarecrow was overjoyed. They set off together down the road, the Scarecrow's new penis pointing proudly up­ward and waving from side to side as he walked down the Yellow Brick Road.

They had walked on a bit when the Scarecrow asked Lizzie, "Do you think it will work?"

"What will work?"

"My new cock."

"I'm sure it will work very nicely on a lady scarecrow," said Lizzie kindly but thinking that such a thing, and such a meeting, was not likely to happen.

The Scarecrow stopped and sat on a log. He began to stroke the cob. Lizzie really did not know which way to look. It was so embarrassing! She walked up and down waiting for the Scarecrow to finish what he was doing. After a time she stopped pacing and looked at the Scarecrow with his ears that were not straight and his blue eyes, one bigger than the other. He was concentrating on his newfound addition.

"Err, how are you doing?"

"Well, I don't know I've never done this before but it is what the girl Munchkin did to the boy Munchkin when they first came to my field. Does it look right to you? It feels good."

Lizzie reluctantly came over and bent to look at the cob. At the very mo­ment she bent to look at it, the Scarecrow said, "Oh" and milky fluid shot from the end of the cob up in the air and right onto Lizzie's face and mouth.

Lizzie echoed the Scarecrow with an "Oh." She wiped the milky fluid away. It tasted sweet and starchy rather like the juice from fresh ripe kernels of sweet corn. Not surprising really.

The Scarecrow was even more pleased with himself and, grabbing Lizzie's hand, skipped away down the road with her, his new cock still sticking out of his fly, looking as much like an erect cock as it did before.

Toward evening they came to a great forest, where the trees grew so big and close together that their branches met over the road of yellow brick. It was almost dark under the trees, for the branches shut out the daylight; but the travelers did not stop, and went on into the forest.

"I see a little cottage at the right of us," said the Scarecrow, "built of logs and branches. Shall we go there?" The Scarecrow led her through the trees until they reached the cottage, and Lizzie entered and found a bed of dried leaves in one corner. She lay down at once. The Scarecrow looked at her,

"Lizzie," he said.

"Yes?"

"We know my cock works?"

"Yes?"

"And I'm very grateful to you for finding it and all that?"

"Yes?"

"Well, can I try it properly in you rather than wait for a lady scarecrow?"

Lizzie thought a bit but could not see the harm in that. The Scarecrow was not really much different from a stuffed teddy bear, although rather large and with a cob sticking out of his trousers.

"I suppose so."

"Oh, thank you Lizzie, you are a good, kind girl!"

The Scarecrow lay down beside her. Lizzie reached out and took the cob in her hand. It really was rather large and its texture very different from a penis. The individual kernels of corn gave the cob a series of ribs and corrugations. It was smooth but rugged. Lizzie began to get quite excited at the thought of its rough texture rubbing along her vagina, perhaps bouncing across her clit as it moved around. It was not only large but also rather thick, it would stretch her. She should have thought of that when she picked it. She could easily have picked a smaller cob! Getting up on her knees she lifted her Gingham frock and took hold of the cob carefully, she was a little worried it might come away in her hand but it now seemed quite well attached to her newfound friend. Lizzie sank down on the Scarecrow pushing the vegetable penis into her and began to ride the cob sliding up and down and feeling its texture running over her delicate sex.

"This is better than doing it myself," said the Scarecrow, "this is what the Munchkin boy and girl did next!"

Lizzie moved faster and faster, the corncob really was very hard and big, the bumpy texture giving really good feelings, pushing in and out of her as she bounced up and down on her knees on her bed with the fingers of one hand pushed up into her sex. The bedsprings were creaking quite hard as her or­gasm came, her hand drenched with her excitement.

She rolled over onto her back. "Phew! That was really good," she thought, "well that's a different slant on Oz. I won't see the Scarecrow in the same light again! I'm surprised he didn't ask me to suck him off. I bet that Munchkin boy did to his girl. Poor Scarecrow in his field watching the two of them at it and he stuck up on his pole unable to move. Well I hope I dream about Oz again an­other night. I can't see me having sex with the Tin Man though, or indeed the Cowardly Lion. He'd be worried my pussy was going to bite him!" Lizzie laughed to herself and drifted off to sleep.



Such Stuff Ch. 03



Part 3

Stuck tight

Lizzie sat in a teashop with her mother, a cup of tea and a rather sticky slice of chocolate cake before her. Her mother was reading a newspaper so Lizzie was left to her own thoughts. She was thinking back over her dream of Oz the night before. It really had been a most odd and, in the cold light of day, a rather em­barrassing dream. Not really something she would think of talking to her friend, Lotte, about let alone her mother! It had been really sexy though and she had certainly enjoyed it. But her dreams were not normally like that and why had she dreamt of Oz? That horrible man in the bookshop had mentioned Oz so she supposed that must have set her subconscious to work. But why his suggestion? And, when she had dreamt of Alice that time before, it was he who had shown her that copy of 'Wonderland.' Curious.

Just then the bell on the teashop door rang, Lizzie looked up and a new cus­tomer came in, it was the young man from the bookshop. He did not see Lizzie but sat down at another table and ordered a cup of coffee and a teacake. Around his neck he had a satchel and from it he took a spiral bound notebook and a paperback book. From inside his coat he took out a yellow and black fountain pen and began to write, smiling to himself in a rather self satisfied way. Lizzie wondered what he was writing; he was certainly engrossed in what­ever it was.

As Lizzie and her mother walked past his table, leaving the teashop, the young man happened to look up; he winked at Lizzie, and went back to his writ­ing. "Odious," thought Lizzie. She had not been able to even glance at what he had been writing because he had seen her. Very annoying. She had hoped to take a quick glance but whilst she had not seen his writing she had certainly seen the title of the paperback book on the table, it was "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland."

Undressing that night Lizzie wondered whether she would indeed dream of being Alice again. "I wonder if I'll meet the Cheshire Cat," she thought, "though if I meet the mouse again I'd better not mention anything at all about cats." It was not long before she fell asleep.

She heard a little pattering of footsteps in the distance, and looked up ea­gerly, it was the White Rabbit, trotting slowly, and looking anxiously about as it went, as if it had lost something; and she heard it muttering to itself `The Duchess! The Duchess! Oh my dear paws! Oh my fur and whiskers! She'll get me executed, as sure as ferrets are ferrets! Where CAN I have dropped them, I wonder?'

"Oh I'm back in Wonderland," thought Lizzie with some excitement and guessed in a moment that the White Rabbit was looking for its fan and pair of white kid gloves, and she very good-naturedly began hunting about for them, but they were nowhere to be seen—everything seemed to have changed since her swim in the pool the last time she had been there, and the great hall, with the glass table and the little door, had vanished completely.

Very soon the Rabbit noticed Lizzie, as she went hunting about, and called out to her in an angry tone, `Why, Mary Ann, what ARE you doing out here? Run home this moment, and fetch me a pair of gloves and a fan! Quick, now!' And Lizzie was so much frightened that she ran off at once in the direc­tion it pointed to, without trying to explain the mistake it had made.

"He took me for his housemaid," she said to herself as she ran. As she said this, she came upon a neat little house, on the door of which was a bright brass plate with the name `W. RABBIT' engraved upon it. She went in without knocking in great fear lest she should meet the real Mary Ann, and be turned out of the house before she had found the fan and gloves. She found them rather quickly and was just going to leave when her eye fell upon a little bottle that stood near a looking glass. There was no label this time with words like `DRINK ME' on it. Lizzie could not remember from the book whether she was meant to drink this bottle but it seemed likely and the more fun thing to do. After all being in a dream it did not really matter what she chose to do or not do!

"I know SOMETHING interesting is sure to happen,' she said to herself, "so I'll just see what this bottle does. I do hope it'll make me grow large again, for really I'm quite tired of being such a tiny little thing!"

Lizzie uncorked it and put it to her lips. Something certainly happened. Be­fore she had drunk half the bottle, she found her head pressing against the ceil­ing, and had to stoop to save her neck from being broken. She felt her breasts burst the buttons of her dress as they grew to womanly size. She hastily put down the bottle, saying to herself, "That's quite enough, I hope I shan't grow any more, it's happened again, how odd, I've grown out of being a little girl. I can't get out at the door, I do wish I hadn't drunk quite so much!"

Alas! It was too late to wish that! She went on growing, and growing, and very soon had to kneel down on the floor: in another minute there was not even room for this, and she tried the effect of lying down with one elbow against the door, and the other arm curled round her head. Still she went on growing, and, as a last resource, she put one leg out of one window, one leg out the other side, and found herself with an arm up the staircase and out a window and another up the chim­ney. She could not move at all and said to herself, "Now I can do no more, whatever happens. What WILL become of me?"

Luckily for Lizzie, the little magic bottle had now had its full effect, and she grew no larger. After a few minutes she heard a voice outside, and stopped to listen.

"Mary Ann! Mary Ann!" said the voice. `Fetch me my gloves this mo­ment!' Then came a little pattering of feet on the stairs. Lizzie knew it was the Rabbit coming to look for her. Presently the Rabbit came up to the door, and tried to open it; but, as the door opened inwards, and Lizzie's elbow was pressed hard against it, that attempt proved a failure.

She heard it say to itself, "Then I'll go round and get in at the window." The Rabbit was equally unsuccessful there as, when she heard the Rabbit just under the window, she suddenly spread out her hand, and made a snatch in the air. Lizzie did not get hold of anything, but she heard a little shriek and a fall, and a crash of broken glass, from which she concluded that it was just pos­sible it had fallen into a cucumber-frame.

Lizzie listened to the White Rabbit talking to someone. Yes it was Bill the lizard, she remembered him from the book, and then she heard another voice, this time one she thought she recognised. She caught a glimpse of yellow and black, perhaps a shirt or a jumper, go past a window.

She heard the Rabbit again, "Very well you go in and see what it is. I'm not going in."

Lizzie heard a door open and close at the other end of the house that is at the end her feet were, or would have been if they had not been sticking out of the windows. She could not see whom it was with her head stuck against the end wall. It suddenly occurred to her that, given her legs were spread apart, one out of each window, and given she was wearing a dress, she would not be as modestly positioned as might be the case to someone coming in from that end of the house. She tried to draw her legs together but could not. She was wedged with her legs well spread. There was something or somebody now in the house apart from her, approaching from the other end away from her head.

She felt something small, small in comparison with her, she being so large, pulling at her dress and climbing up the side of her leg and onto her thigh. She shivered as she felt small footsteps making their way up along the top of her leg and across her hip. Try as she might she could not see who it was walking across her. From her hip she felt the person walk across her tummy. He, she was fairly sure it was a he, seemed to be making for her breasts. She remembered these had burst out of her dress earlier and they would not be hidden away but rather exposed to this perambulating person's view. She felt the successive slight pressure of the feet getting nearer and nearer to her breasts. She held her breath and then felt the first footstep on her bare skin in the valley between her breasts. There were a few more footsteps and then they stopped. She felt tiny hands on the smooth sides of one breast stroking it. She shivered. The hands stroked gradually higher. She could feel them touching at the very edge of her nipple where the creamy skin changed to a pale pink. Nor­mally she did not think about the detail of her breasts but Lizzie was now acutely conscious of the tiniest area being touched. A ring of tiny bumps encir­cled her nipple each with a tiny fair hair growing from it. The hands, or rather tiny fingers were stroking two of these and pulling on the hairs. The touch stopped. Lizzie held her breath again and felt two tiny hands take hold of her nipple between them and squeeze. The hands began to push and pummel the nipple. Lizzie realised the small person was trying to make the nipple stand up, make it en­large, make it erect. The feeling was not unpleasant and Lizzie relaxed. It was after all only a dream and, if she liked what was happening, then let it happen!

Now with a hard nipple standing up the little man had something to reach up and hold onto. Lizzie felt him pull himself up the side of her breast, his feet scrabbling on the smooth sides as he climbed, his hands clasped round her nipple. The hands came away; there was a pause and then a slight pressure on her nipple. Surely he wasn't sitting on her nipple like a stool!

There was a pause in activity. Lizzie tried to imagine him sitting on her nipple. It must be a really odd sight. Was it comfortable? Presumably it 'gave' rather well. Perhaps he was gazing across at the other breast gauging whether he could jump the gap. "Perhaps," she thought to herself, "I can just move my chest a little bit and shake him off. That would surprise him." She managed to move a little bit and felt him slide from her nipple and down the smooth skin of her breast into the valley. He seemed undaunted by this and climbed up the second breast.

"Rock climbing can never have been so fun," thought Lizzie,"for a man that is." She thought of what it would be like to be a little woman climbing up a man and then blushed at the thought of being confronted by a towering penis reaching high above her. But, as a keen climber and not being daunted by the challenge she would have to work out how to reach the very top using ropes. She imagined herself climbing up the shaft in her harness, with ropes and equipment dangling from her, coming close to the top and then, to reach the summit, swinging her leg up to find a foothold on the retracted foreskin. "Come on Lizzie," she would say to herself, (Lizzie really was becoming rather like Alice in talking to herself and telling herself what to do), just this last smooth bit to climb and then you can stand on the top, on the very peak, and survey the world. She found the idea just a little bit exciting, certainly rather naughty, but she was dreaming so that did not matter.

Meanwhile the little man had slid down her other breast and was making his way back down her tummy, across her hip and along her leg. "Going back to report to the White Rabbit I don't doubt," she thought. But it seemed this was not his immediate intention for, sliding down the inside of her bare leg, she felt his tiny hands feeling his way back towards her along her leg. "Oh dear," she thought, "if he keeps going that way he'll reach my...oh dear me, that would never do." It seemed however that was indeed his intention. She felt his tiny hand on the side of her knee and then coming up her thigh. Lizzie could not move to dislodge him and felt his hand reach the inside of her upper thigh. "Oh dear what will he do, what can he see of me, what will he touch in a mo­ment?" Her mood changed from being a little frightened and shocked and she found herself pleasurably anticipating the first touch on her sex. Where would it be?

The touchings of the hand on her thigh stopped, there was a pause. Lizzie held her breath in anticipation. Then she felt it, the touch of a pair of hands on her right labia major (though she did not call it that) pulling gently at the little golden curls there: or not so little curls from the point of view of her uninvited inspector. The hands stroked down the edge of her outer lips where it dipped into the soft pink folds. The touch was exciting; she could feel her wetness begin to run. Her little visitor could probably see little rivulets appearing. "How queer that must be for him," she thought as she felt the hands slide into the folds and touch the edge of her vaginal passage. Lizzie wished she could move a little but she was held fast. A greater pressure on her vaginal entrance puzzled Lizzie until she felt hands moving in her main patch of hair and run­ning up and down her slit. "Why I do believe he has used my vagina as a step and is standing on its edge to reach up. What a peculiar thing to do!" The ac­tion of the little man's hands in exploring her was making Lizzie wetter and wetter. She was not surprised when the little man lost his foothold and slipped. Leastways that was what she thought was the cause of the sudden scrabbling of hands right at the top of her slit followed by the quick sliding of hands down the length of her sex. Despite her concern she loved the feeling and was not at all disappointed to feel activity at her vaginal opening resume. "What is he doing now?" she thought, "he is pushing something into me, what can it be, it seems to be something terribly big for him to carry. Oh, oh dear, oh dear, whatever next, it's actually him! He is getting inside of me! Oh, I can feel his feet; he is getting in feet first. I hope he has his clothes on. Oh, but if he's naked then...oh his penis will rub against me and I'll feel it. My first penis in me! What will I tell Lotte. She'll ask what it was like? Did he have a big cock and I'll have to an­swer, well... not really!" Lizzie giggled.

The little man pushed more of himself into Lizzie. She could not be sure but she felt as if something small, but hard, was pushing against her as the lit­tle man got further in. The movement stopped and then Lizzie felt the most wonderful thing. The little man could only be halfway in for she felt a hand ei­ther side of the little protruding nub that was her clitoris. Her own special clit was held in his hands! He began to rub his hands to and fro along its tiny sides. It was an incredible feeling, her sex flowed, and she felt herself mounting to a ter­rific climax. The little hands moved faster, stroking higher and higher up the sides of her clitoris and then coming right up and onto the top of her clit, his lit­tle fingers tickling it. She was held tight, her clitoris on fire, her legs splayed, the duvet wrapped tightly around her holding her fast, one set of fingers thrust into her sopping vagina with her thumb flicking away at her clitoris. Lizzie's thumb moved faster and she came with a cry, the very best orgasm she had ever had. It was minutes before she withdrew her fingers and untangled her­self from the duvet. She lay back quite exhausted. 

It had been an even stranger dream.



Such Stuff Ch. 04



Part 4
Nick Chopper

Lizzie was out in town but not going to the bookshop. She had met up with her friend Lotte and they were clothes shopping. It had not been very successful. Lotte had done well but Lizzie had not seen anything she liked apart from a new bra and that was hardly an exciting purchase. Lotte had tried very hard to persuade her to get an Indian print dress that she said had really suited Lizzie but she had not liked the colour. The print was fine but the yellow colour had just not looked right on her.

They were walking to the teashop when they heard an odd squeaking be­hind them. Moments later the odious young man from the bookshop had gone past on an old bicycle. To Lizzie's annoyance he had turned and waved.

"He wants to oil that thing," said Lotte, "he needs to find an oil can. Do you know him?"

"Er, he works in the bookshop, odious little creep."

"That's a bit strong for you Lizzie. You never say a hard word about any­one."

"Well, it's the way he looks at me."

"Boys do that Lizzie, specially to you."

"Whatever. Yes but it's the way he does it and that hair and dress sense."

"What a yellow anorak and black cords?"

"You are observant Lotte! No, what he wears normally, it's just odd. He's odd and I don't like him, gives me the creeps. Keeps recommending books to me"

"Lizzie, you like books."

"Whatever. Tea?" They went into the teashop and Lizzie changed the sub­ject.

Lizzie knew she was dreaming the sun was shining through her eyelids and the birds were singing but it was not real. It was too perfect. She opened her eyes and saw two blue painted eyes looking at her, one bigger than the other. She was back in Oz.

"Hallo Scarecrow."

"Good morning Lizzie."

She was back in the little cottage built of logs and branches where she had left Oz last time she had dreamt she was there.

Now, she thought, what is the first thing Dorothy would do in the morn­ing. Yes she is a good girl so she would wash.

"We must go and search for water," she said to the Scarecrow.

"Why do you want water?" he asked.

"To wash my face clean after the dust of the road, and to drink, so the dry bread will not stick in my throat."

"It must be inconvenient to be made of flesh," said the Scarecrow thought­fully, "for you must sleep, and eat and drink. However, you have brains, and it is worth a lot of bother to be able to think properly."

They left the cottage and walked through the trees until they found a little spring of clear water, Lizzie drank and then took off her blue and white checked gingham frock. Standing naked she began to wash, splashing water over her smooth skin. The crystal clear water was very cold, though the sun was hot and quick to dry her. The cold water brought her out in goose pimples and made her nipples stand firm, all pointy on her pointy breasts. The Scare­crow looked on appreciatively, his yellow corncob sticking, rather rudely, out of the front of his trousers. Lizzie squatted and splashed the cold clear water on her sex; the sunlight shining on her golden curls and on the drops of water momentarily caught by the curls.

"Lizzie?"

"Yes?"

"When the Munchkin boy and girl were in my field they did something else."

"I knew it," thought Lizzie, "I thought this would come. Still I am a bit hun­gry and that corn milk certainly tasted fine that first time."

"Yes?"

"The boy put his cock in the Munchkin girl's mouth and she sucked on it for a mighty long time. The Munchkin boy seemed to like it a lot because he sighed a lot and said pretty things to the girl and stroked her hair. When his cock came out of her mouth it was all floppy like when she stroked him that first time and when he pulled it out of her the other times."

"How often did they come into your field then?"

Quite a lot, sometimes more than once a day."

"Hmmm." Lizzie got down on her knees in front of the Scarecrow. As she had found before the cob was rather big and she could only just get it in her mouth. It felt like a corncob not a penis; she stroked her tongue over the bumps of the individual kernels. It was a pleasing texture. Pulling off, she wet her lips and slid them over the cob, and drew them back and forth. The happy sighs and groans from the Scarecrow suggested she was doing the right things by him. She kept the motion up as the sun warmed her back and hair drying off the water droplets from her washing. She reached behind her for her hat and put it on her head.

Neither of them had noticed but a few steps away in the forest was the Tin Man. He was watching a remarkable tableau. A pretty pale skinned naked girl with fair hair in various and interesting places, wearing a sweet pink sun­bonnet, was sucking off a scarecrow's corncob penis. He looked and looked, completely fascinated, though he could not move, could not speak. If only he could call out for help, once the act was complete of course. He did not want to spoil the entertainment.

The cob really was very big. Lizzie's stretched lips were becoming rather sore. She flicked her tongue over the end of the cob trying to hurry the Scare­crow up. She was successful. He groaned and jet after jet of sweet, starchy corn milk shot from the cob and into Lizzie's mouth. She swallowed. It really was quite delicious, quite invigorating.

"Thank you Lizzie, thank you. That's was just like the Munchkins."

They were startled to hear a deep groan near by.

"What was that?" she asked timidly.

"I cannot imagine," replied the Scarecrow; "but we can go and see."

Just then another groan reached their ears, and the sound seemed to come from behind them. They turned and walked through the forest a few steps, when Lizzie discovered something shining in a ray of sunshine that fell be­tween the trees. She ran to the place and then stopped short, with a little cry of surprise.

One of the big trees had been partly chopped through, and standing be­side it, with an uplifted axe in his hands, was a man made entirely of tin. His head and arms and legs were jointed upon his body, but he stood perfectly mo­tionless, as if he could not stir at all.

It's the Tin Man," said Lizzie to the Scarecrow, "Did you groan Tin Man?"

"Yes," answered the tin man, "I did. I've been groaning for more than a year, and no one has ever heard me before or come to help me."

"What can I do for you?" she inquired softly, for she was moved by the sad voice in which the man spoke.

"My joints," he answered, "are rusted so badly that I cannot move them at all; if I am well oiled I shall soon be all right again. Normally I am self-oiling, an improved model you see, but I got caught by the rain."

"Oh dear, what can I do? Is there an oil-can on a shelf in the cottage or here on the ground?" Lizzie had read the book and seen the film so she knew what to expect.

"No, that would have been very helpful but I am self-oiling, you see, so there isn't. All you need to do is find a little oil from somewhere and grease up my self-oiling mechanism and I can do the rest myself."

Lizzie and the Scarecrow searched and searched. They could find water but no oil until at last Lizzie realized some of the trees were olives. She collect­ed some olives and mashed them to extract some oil. She came back with her pocket-handkerchief soaked in olive oil.

"Now where is your self-oiler?" she asked looking at him closely.

The Tin Man, groaned, "just below my stomach plate."

Lizzie looked and sure enough there was a little nozzle just below the Tin Man's stomach. She squeezed some oil onto it.

"You'll have to ease it with the oil, work it with your hand to free it."

Lizzie took hold of the nozzle between her fingers and tried to move it, it was rusted fast. She rubbed it with the oil and gradually she felt a bit of move­ment, the nozzle came out a little further. She squeezed more olive oil on and pushed the nozzle back in and out again. It got a little longer. Lizzie kept work­ing it carefully and gradually the nozzle extended further out of the Tin Man's body until it was quite six inches long curving out from the Tin Man's body.

Suddenly it occurred to Lizzie, who was kneeling naked in front of the seized up Tin Man, "I'm doing it again. This is the Tin Man's cock and I'm wanking it! These dreams really are not quite right. They are always so rude!"

Lizzie worked away at the Tin Man's cock; it was sliding freely now all cov­ered with olive oil. Lizzie's hand kept working it, though it was hard to keep a grip from all the oil on the self-oiler and on her hand. The Tin Man if anything was groaning more than he had been previously. Suddenly he gave a really big groan and oil started shooting powerfully across his tin body from his tin penis. Lizzie started back in surprise, though really she should not have been so surprised, it was after all what she had been expected. The tin penis shot oil onto the Tin Man's right arm joints, his neck, left arm joints then, quite remark­ably, rotating and shooting jets onto his leg joints before dribbling a last final spurt onto his pelvic joints. As his self-oiler retracted the Tin Woodman gave a sigh of satisfaction and lowered his axe, which he leaned against the tree.

"This is a great comfort," he said. "I have been holding that axe in the air ever since I rusted, and I'm glad to be able to put it down at last. He thanked them again and again for his release, for he seemed a very polite creature, and very grateful.

They started walking and a now dressed Lizzie was surprised to see they were walking through a great meadow of poppies. Her companions were now three, the Scarecrow, the Tin Man and the Cowardly Lion. Still it was a dream and she did not pay much attention to the sudden change.

Now it is well known that when there are many of these flowers together their odor is so powerful that anyone who breathes it falls asleep, and if the sleeper is not carried away from the scent of the flowers, he sleeps on and on forever. So presently Lizzie's eyes grew heavy and she felt she must sit down to rest and to sleep. She was not much worried by this, after all she was asleep, and this was a dream.

But the Tin Woodman would not let her do this.

"We must hurry and get back to the road of yellow brick before dark," he said; and the Scarecrow agreed with him. So they kept walking until Lizzie was nearly asleep and she could stand no longer. Her eyes half closed in spite of herself she fell among the poppies.

"What shall we do?" asked the Tin Woodman.

"If we leave her here she will die," said the Lion. "The smell of the flowers is killing us all. I myself can scarcely keep my eyes open."

But the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman, not being made of flesh, were not troubled by the scent of the flowers.

"Run fast," said the Scarecrow to the Lion, "and get out of this deadly flower bed as soon as you can. We will bring the girl with us, but if you should fall asleep you are too big to be carried." So the Lion aroused himself and bounded forward as fast as he could go. In a moment he was out of sight.

"Let us make a chair with our hands and carry her," said the Scarecrow. So they made a chair with their hands for the seat and their arms for the arms and carried the sleeping girl between them through the flowers.

Lizzie was comfortable in the seat but was aware of the two hands sup­porting her beneath her bottom. It seemed rather odd that rather than sitting her on her dress they had slipped their hands under her dress so her bare bot­tom was sitting on their hands. Through her half open eyes to one side she could see the Scarecrow's legs walking along with his corncob penis sticking in front of him, she knew there was nothing he could do about his rigid cock but to the other side she could the Tin Mans metal legs walking but there was no obvious reason for his self oiler to be fully extended. The rubbing of the hands on her sex was pleasant and whilst she was drowsy she was not fast asleep like Dorothy had been. She began to get wet, dampening the Scarecrow and Tin Man's hands.

"Oh dear," thought Lizzie, "the Tin Man's hand will rust and I suppose that is why he needs his self oiler at the ready." The real reason was rather dif­ferent. They were enjoying the surreptitious feel of Lizzie's sex whilst they thought she was asleep.

"Do you think we might rest a bit?" said the Scarecrow. Carefully they set Lizzie down on the ground,

"Do you think Lizzie would mind if I fucked her just for a bit?" said the Scarecrow, "she looks so pretty."

The Tin Man was looking at his hand, which seemed to have rusted solid. "I wouldn't think so, she's asleep at present so she won't know. Go on, I'll watch." Carefully he picked Lizzie up and the Scarecrow pulled Lizzie's dress up under her arms and then off before setting her down again.

Lizzie was actually awake but too drowsy to resist as she saw the Scare­crow standing over her, his corncob cock standing proud. With his two cloth hands he pulled her thighs apart, his mismatched blue painted eyes peered closely at Lizzie's fair curls and sex.

"Look, Tin Man, look at this, just like a little open flower."

Lizzie saw through her half open eyes the Tin Man now looming over her. He seemed to be working at his self-oiler. The Scarecrow knelt and tried to push his corncob into Lizzie.

"It won't go in Tin Man, why is that, it did before? If I only had a brain I'd know why."

"Perhaps her self oiler is not working."

"Don't be stupid like me, Tin Man, girls don't have self-oilers."

They picked Lizzie up again and carried the still naked girl whilst enjoy­ing the feel of her bare bottom and sex on their hands.

On and on they walked, and it seemed that the great carpet of deadly flow­ers that surrounded them would never end. They followed the bend of the river, and at last came upon their friend the Lion just beyond the poppies. The flowers had been almost too strong for the huge beast but he had managed it and was now safe where the sweet grass spread in beautiful green fields be­fore them. He was still aroused. The sight of the naked Lizzie was too much for him, he needed release.

The Scarecrow and Tin Man were surprised to see the Cowardly Lion's penis as erect as the Scarecrow's corncob and the Tin Man's self oiler. But not as much as Lizzie. The Scarecrow and Tin Man had placed her on the ground again and from her low vantage point she could see not only the Tin Man's self oiler and the Scarecrow's ever ready corncob but the large furry cock of the Cowardly Lion, to her surprise she began to get excited, her sex moistening at the though of it being inside her, her dreams seemed to be taking a further odd turn.

The Scarecrow divined what the Cowardly Lion was thinking, it's no use, it won't go in, I've tried.

The Lion put his great mane close to Lizzie's sex and sniffed, "Seems ready to me." His great pink tongue came out and licked Lizzie. The feel of his very large, warm and wet tongue lapping at her sex roused Lizzie. Instinctively she got up on all fours and the Lion stood over her. She braced herself, ready for her sex to be invaded by the King of Beasts. The Cowardly Lion was not subtle, with a single lunge his cock pushed right into Lizzie. It went in easily aided by the Lion's licking as well as her own moisture. She gasped, pushing back against him,

"See, you do have courage," said the Scarecrow kneeling if front of Lizzie and presenting his corncob.

Lizzie was rocking backwards and forward on her hands and knees pro­pelled by the powerful thrusts of the Cowardly Lion. The Scarecrow held her shoulders to support her and with a degree of inevitability Lizzie's lips closed on the end of the cob. The Scarecrow was again happy.

The Tin Man watched his three friends on the ground, the rippling mus­cles of the mighty Lion's thighs as he thrust into Lizzie, Lizzie's conical shaped breasts with their pointy nipples swaying backwards and forwards beneath her as she moved and the Scarecrows bright yellow corncob appearing to get longer, then shorter as it moved in and out of Lizzie's mouth. His own hand, the one that was not rusty, worked at his self-oiler. He needed the oil urgently to grease his rusted hand. He was sure he could get it to work very soon.

The pounding on Lizzie's sex was starting to make it a little sore but she was very excited by it, she was in heat, anxious to come before the Cowardly Lion filled her and his marvellous hard cock softened, she was getting closer. The hot sun beat down on the four friends. Lizzie could smell the sweet green grass being crushed beneath her knees, hear the creak of the Tin Man's self oiler, the squelch of her sex being worked by the mighty cock of the Cowardly Lion and feel the rugged texture of the Scarecrow's corncob. She was nearly there, just a few more thrusts. Suddenly her mouth was filled with the sweet, starchy taste of corn, the Scarecrow was coming, another thrust, a roar from the Lion and her sex suddenly felt very hot and even wetter than before. Lizzie felt the spatter of hot liquid on her back, the Tin Man had managed to make his self oiler work and rocking on her knees, duvet piled on top of her, fingers in her sex the dreaming Lizzie came herself, reaching another fantastic, deeply erotic, nocturnal climax.

She lay, duvet thrown off spread-eagled face down on the bed, sweat shin­ing on her exhausted body, her bottom cheeks still faintly moving in the moon­light coming through her curtains. "I must need a boyfriend if I am this frus­trated and keep having these sexy dreams every night. Oh I do like the Scare­crow, he's so funny with his corncob. I wonder what it would be like if I bought one from the supermarket and... Lizzie, my girl, I am ashamed at you for think­ing such a thing! Now go to sleep."



Such Stuff Ch. 05



Part 5

One side makes you larger

"Why is it that I dream from the books he suggests?" thought Lizzie. "I am sure it's not just co-incidence, it's happened too often for that. But why does my mind pick up on his ideas and not the hundreds of other stimuli for dreams I must have during a day? What hold has he got over me? Well I'm not going to that bookshop today."

She was in the supermarket with her mother pushing the trolley along when she saw him. He did not have his usual ghastly yellow tie but he did have on a rather saggy yellow and black striped jumper. He was picking up mushrooms and putting them in a paper bag. She stopped and started to turn away but he saw her, smiled in his smug way and, still holding mushrooms in his hand, said, "Hi Lizzie, do you like mushrooms?"

"Er, hallo. Yes I do." She smiled politely, there was not much else to say as they were on her mother's shopping list. So she had to stand next to him and pick some out. How had he known her name? Oh yes, she had told him when he'd called her Alice, damn! 

"Thought you would."

She moved quickly on. "Odious," she thought, "why does he even have to speak to me."

"Friend of yours?" asked her mother. Why do mothers have to ask things like that? How do they get things so wrong some times? Lizzie explained he worked in the bookshop and her mother said she thought she had seen him there.

That night Lizzie found herself in Wonderland again. She knew she was in Wonderland for sitting on a bough of a tree a few yards off was the Cheshire Cat. The Cat grinned when it saw Lizzie. It looked good-natured, she thought: still it had VERY long claws and a great many teeth, so she felt that it ought to be treated with respect.

"Cheshire Puss," she began, rather timidly, as she did not at all know whether it would like the name: however, it only grinned a little wider. "Come, it's pleased so far," thought Lizzie, and she went on. "Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?"

"That depends a good deal on where you want to get to," said the Cat.

"I don't much care where—" said Lizzie.

"Then it doesn't matter which way you go," said the Cat.

"—so long as I get SOMEWHERE," Lizzie added as an explanation.

"Oh, you're sure to do that," said the Cat, "if you only walk long enough."

Lizzie felt that this could not be denied, so she tried another question. "What sort of people lives about here?"

"In THAT direction," the Cat said, waving its right paw round, "lives a Hatter: "and in THAT direction," waving the other paw, "lives a March Hare. Visit either you like: they're both mad."

"But I don't want to go among mad people," Lizzie remarked.

"Oh, you can't help that," said the Cat: "we're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad but, more to the point, you are very small and as a consequence you really would not want to meet them."

"What do you mean 'small'?" said Lizzie, "ignoring the Cat's aspersion about her sanity."

"You must be about three or five inches high," said the Cat, "and you are mad or you wouldn't have come here."

Lizzie didn't think that proved anything at all.

"You'll soon see," said the Cat, and vanished.

Lizzie was not much surprised at this; she had, after all, read the book. Whilst she was looking at the place where it had been, it suddenly appeared again.

"By-the-bye, why do you think you come here?" said the Cat. "I'd nearly forgotten to ask."

"I don't know. I'm just drawn here and there in my dreams. I don't know why."

"I think you should do by now," said the Cat, and vanished again.

Lizzie waited a little, half expecting to see it again, but it did not appear, and after a minute or two she walked off

"You really do want to think about that. He's up to no good, he'll get you into trouble." She looked up, and there was the Cat again, sitting on a branch of a tree.

"Who do you mean?" replied Lizzie; "and I wish you wouldn't keep ap­pearing and vanishing so suddenly: you make one quite giddy."

"You know surely!" said the Cat; and this time it vanished quite slowly, be­ginning with the end of the tail, and ending with the grin, which remained some time after the rest of it had gone.

"Now what did that Cat mean? A bit gloomy sounding for my dreams, I suppose it meant odious him, well I like Wonderland and I'm not going to let a semi-detached grin, or that creep, upset this dream. SO, what size am I today?" She asked herself. Really she was very like Alice in asking herself ques­tions. She looked down at herself, "Well not a little girl that's for sure, not with that cleavage!" She looked around her at the flowers and blades of grass above her. "But otherwise quite small just as the Cat said. Now this is really too small so I need to find something to make me grow again. I must think careful­ly, now where am I in the book, what do I eat or drink next?"

She noticed a large mushroom growing near her. "Ah, the caterpillar with the hookah! But surely Alice's mushroom was not a bit like this?" The mush­room Lizzie was looking at was not the usual flat cap mushroom she had bought in the supermarket that day. It was quite a different shape. "I am begin­ning to worry about my mind," thought Lizzie, "this is certainly the most phal­lic shaped mushroom I have ever seen. There seems to be an awful lot of sex going on in my sub-conscious. That really is a most stupendous prick!" It was about the same height as her; and she thought, in deference to the book, she had better see if the caterpillar was on the top of it.

She stretched herself up on tiptoe, and peeped over the top of the mush­room. There was not a lot of room on the top of its dome shaped head

"Looking for something or someone?" said a voice. She looked around the mushroom and her eyes immediately met those of a large yellow and black striped caterpillar, that was sitting on a low mushroom nearby with its arms folded, quietly smoking a long hookah.

The Caterpillar and Lizzie looked at each other for some time in silence: at last the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth, and addressed her in a languid, sleepy voice.

"Who are YOU?" said the Caterpillar.

This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation. Lizzie replied, rather shyly, "Lizzie I—I hardly know, sir, just at present—at least I know who I WAS when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed sever­al times since then."

"Explain yourself!" said the Caterpillar sternly.

"I can't explain MYSELF, I'm afraid, sir' said Lizzie, `because I'm not my­self, you see."

"I don't see," said the Caterpillar.

"I'm afraid I can't put it more clearly," Lizzie replied very politely, `for I can't understand it myself to begin with; and being in so many different places, in so many different dreams is very confusing."

"It isn't," said the Caterpillar.

"Well, perhaps you haven't gone to bed each night and found yourself in a dream that seems almost as real as waking. You'd find that strange wouldn't you?"

"Not a bit," said the Caterpillar.

"Well if you found your dreams had taken on a new characteristic they did not have before?"

"Such as?" said the Caterpillar.

"Well, surprisingly erotic."

"Perhaps they have a focus," said the Caterpillar.

"What sort of focus?"

"A person you fancy," said the Caterpillar.

"NO, no there is no-one."

"Must be." said the Caterpillar.

"There is someone I know who seems to influence, but I most certainly do not fancy him."

"You do, that's your reality," said the Caterpillar.

"Don't" said Lizzie crossly.

"Ha. Why not give in to your desires?" Said the Caterpillar.

Here was another puzzling question; and as Lizzie could not think of any good answer, and as the Caterpillar seemed to be in a VERY unpleasant state of mind, she turned away.

"Come back!" the Caterpillar called after her. "I've something important to say!"

This sounded promising, certainly: Lizzie turned and came back again.

"Keep your temper," said the Caterpillar.

"Is that all?" said Alice, swallowing down her anger as well as she could.

"No," said the Caterpillar; and it put the hookah into its mouth and began smoking again.

This time Lizzie waited patiently until it chose to speak again. In a minute or two the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth and yawned once or twice, and shook itself. Then it crawled away in the grass, merely remarking as it went, "One side will make you grow taller, and the other side will make you grow shorter."

Lizzie remained looking thoughtfully for a minute. As she recalled Alice had the difficulty of trying to make out which were the two sides of a mush­room; and as hers was perfectly round, it was indeed a very difficult question. Lizzie had the additional complication of finding out which mushroom she was meant to be eating in the first place. The shaft of the phallic mushroom was very hard and she could not make a mark on it.

"Presumably the other mushroom," she thought and put her arms round it as far as they would go, and broke off a bit of the edge with each hand. She tried one piece and nothing happened.

The voice of the Caterpillar came faintly to her, "NO, of the square biscuit with "Eat Me" written on it. I wouldn't eat the mushroom if I was you."

"Why?"

"It's a rather strong aphrodisiac you see, it'll make you feel funny," and in another moment it was out of sight.

Lizzie remained looking thoughtfully around trying to make out where the biscuit might be. She looked under the flat mushroom; she looked on the flat mushroom. It was not there. She looked at the phallic mushroom. "What a love­ly shape," she thought.

Lizzie walked round and round the tall mushroom looking at the ground, trying to find the square biscuit. She found herself rubbing her legs together as she walked. Her dress seemed suddenly uncomfortable; it brushed against her breasts when she moved so that her nipples grew hard. She looked around puzzled. Where was this biscuit? Once again she stretched herself up on tip­toe, and peeped over the top of the tall mushroom. There was not a lot of room on the top of its dome shaped head, but room enough now for a square biscuit, carefully wrapped around like a parcel with yellow ribbon and a label at­tached. On the label was beautifully written in black ink, 'Eat Me'. She was standing so close to the mushroom that her breasts were pressed against it. Lizzie found she wanted to rub her breasts against it and to hug it, feeling the smooth shaft hard against her pubic bone.

"It really is remarkably shaped," thought Lizzie, "so like the real thing. My mind again, I suppose, I can hardly blame the other mushroom as it's all in my head anyway. I do seem to be more and more obsessed by sex day by day. I wonder why? Yes, this tall mushroom really is like a great big prick. It's got the indentation below the head, below the glans I think I remember from biology lessons at school, and it is bulbous and dome shaped just like the real thing. I wonder if it's got an indentation in the top just like where a boy pees from or, well, where his stuff shoots from?"

Lizzie felt a strong urge to find out. She got up on tiptoe and looked and felt with her hand, yes there was an indentation. She had a strong urge to climb up on the 'stupendous prick' as she thought of it and, no sooner had the idea come into her head than she was using the indentation as a handhold, scrabbling up the sides, gaining a foothold in the indentation below the head, until she was sitting on the top of the mushroom looking around her.

"Quite the queen of the castle!" thought Lizzie, "or queen of the stupen­dous prick!" She wriggled a bit so the top of the mushroom rubbed against her bottom. She could feel herself getting quite wet, her nether lips open and ready. The mushroom she had eaten was having the effect the caterpillar had warned her about. It was a very hot day. Lizzie looked carefully about her but could see no one. "It wouldn't hurt to take my dress off, it would be so much cooler." In a moment Lizzie was sitting with her legs apart and hanging down from the mushroom head, completely naked. She looked about again and touched her pointy breasts with their pointy nipples. That felt good. She swung her knees from side to side, opening and closing her labia. That felt good as well. Lizzie looked at the biscuit. It had four sides; which should she choose? Feeling really in need of some sexual relief and therefore not thinking quite straight she took a large bite from one side of the biscuit.

"I shouldn't have done that without thinking carefully but as nothing seems to be happening it doesn't really ma... OOOH!" Lizzie's thoughts turned to alarm in another moment as her head seemed to rush upwards into the air and all she could see, when she looked down, was an immense length of neck, which seemed to rise like a stalk out of a sea of green leaves that lay far below her. "What CAN all that green stuff be?' said Lizzie. `And where HAVE my shoulders got to? And oh, my poor hands, how is it I can't see you?" She was moving them about as she spoke, but no result seemed to follow, except a little shaking among the distant green leaves. "Oh I do need to eat the other side of the biscuit quickly, but where is it?"

As there seemed to be no chance of getting her hands up to her head, she tried to get her head down to them, and was delighted to find that her neck would bend about easily in any direction, like a serpent. She succeeded in curv­ing it down into a graceful zigzag, and dove down among the leaves, which she found to be nothing but the tops of the trees under which she had been sitting. Down and down her serpent like head and neck curved until she could see the rest of her body below her. Further down her neck curved and with it came Lizzie's head. What a strange upside down view she had of herself. There she was sitting with her knees apart just where, presumably, she had fallen when she had effectively rocketed off the tall mushroom as she had enormously ex­panded in size. She could even see the mushroom looking absurdly tiny be­tween her knees.

Lizzie's increase in size had not reduced the effect of eating the flat mush­room. She really did need some stimulation. Her eyes were level with her chest and she thought how good it would be to give those pointy nipples a little suck before she ate a piece of the other side of the biscuit and restored herself to a more sensible size. The idea was exciting and before she even moved her head, her tongue slipped between her lips in anticipation, ready to touch the nipple. Lizzie's eyes opened wide in surprise. Even though her head was still a good way from her breasts her tongue reached it easily. Lizzie did not just have a serpent's neck but a tongue to match! Her extended tongue flicked from one nipple to the other, caressing the nipples' tips and circling around them. Lizzie wriggled and got up on her knees as she sucked the whole of one nipple and quite a bit of one breast into her mouth, her tongue teasing the nipple the whole while. Releasing the breast she bit lightly on the nipple sending little electric shocks racing from it. She could normally, when naked in bed and play­ing with herself, just about lick her nipples if she pulled them up towards her mouth: but not like this. This was fantastic!

It was then she had a really naughty idea. The sort of idea she would not have had a few weeks ago. How her dreams were changing her! If she could lick her nipples then she could also 'go down' on herself. Of course she had never licked a girl 'down there', or anywhere else for that matter, but there again she had not really been with a boy either except in these increasingly naughty dreams she was having. But licking herself was different from pleasur­ing another girl, surely, just like using her fingers on herself: only a bit differ­ent. Tentatively she lowered her head and looked straight at her golden curls, all upside down. She dipped her head lower, her blond curls passing her vision on the way, and looked at her sex directly and closely for the first time, she had of course used a mirror but this was a first hand view. How swollen and wet she was. There was her vagina, her little pee hole and her very own little clit rather prominent and interesting. "Well," she thought, "here I am, no turning back." Her tongue snaked out and took a tentative lick along one edge of her outer labia. It felt good and well worth sliding her tongue up the other side and back again. She slipped her tongue further in and stroked around the entrance to her vagina. She was lapping her own moisture and, as she really was very wet indeed, there was a lot to lap! Should she stick her tongue right in? Yes! In snaked her tongue and, being so long, it could go right in, right up to where a boy's cockhead would go, right inside her body. She rotated her tongue round and round. Ooh, what a feeling!

Slipping her tongue out she touched the end of her clit with the tip of her tongue making her whole body jump. "This," thought Lizzie, "is something else." As her tongue was long she could keep her sex in focus as she played with it, could watch what her tongue was doing and direct it not just by feel, but also by sight. Round and round her clit it snaked, then up right to its end. She shuddered, almost coming. Unfortunately, despite the building of her ex­citement, she was becoming increasingly conscious of an aching neck. She was going to have to put her neck straight and upright amongst the treetops again. She withdrew her tongue and quickly, before straightening her head, tried her lips on her clit (unbelievable) before coming out between her legs and straight­ening her neck. As she rose she saw the biscuit on the ground. "Perhaps I'd bet­ter come back to size," she thought and took a smaller bite of the other side of the biscuit. Immediately she found herself getting shorter and shorter and her neck shrinking.

"Oooh," exclaimed Lizzie. Something had just penetrated her sex filling her completely. There she found herself, kneeling on the ground, a little below normal size and she could feel something very large poking right up into her. She shot off her knees and stood up all in one moment and looked down below her. Lizzie laughed; she had shrunk down in size right onto the phallic mush­room she had been sitting on top of not so very long ago. She looked around. There was still nobody around. Well, perhaps it would be rather fun to put the mushroom back in again. It was the right shape after all. She knelt down again and lowered herself onto the mushroom and carefully pushed it up into her. It was not excessively big but it was certainly not by any means too small! Cau­tiously Lizzie lifted herself up before pushing down. She began to ride, going up and down on her knees, the mushroom sliding freely in and out of her. With the fingers of one hand she played around the clit that, moments before, she had been licking. The pleasure built in her. She was going to come riding on a mushroom!

Lizzie had been worried someone would come along and see her but the pleasure of the mushroom sliding in and out of her was getting too much to worry about something like that. She pulled and tugged at her nipples as she speeded up her riding of the mushroom. The mushroom was surprisingly firm. Lizzie had at first been worried it might break or become detached from the ground due to her exertions but it remained fixed and rigid, a cock for her to ride upon. There was no real friction as the mushroom was very smooth and Lizzie was so well lubricated. Its fulsome size was very noticeable to Lizzie as alternatively she pushed it up her canal and then pulled it out again. Lizzie squeezed her nipples and stretched back her head. She was very close to or­gasm when she realised, after all, she was being observed for the Cheshire Cat's face had vaguely appeared in front of her and its smile was particularly wide. Lizzie was too far-gone to care. Her delayed and much desired orgasm neared, she increased the speed of her actions, one hand pulling at a nipple, the fingers of the other stiffly upright within her as she bounced up and down on her bed, sweat dripping from her body as, once more, she experienced a powerful nocturnal orgasm. Lizzie opened her eyes as the waves of pleasure subsided. On the far wall, in the dark, it seemed she could still see the grin of the Cheshire Cat fading away.



Such Stuff Ch. 06



Part 6

The Green Maiden

Lizzie was out in the rain walking the dog. It had started as a pleasant walk and she had walked a lot further than she had planned to do, right out into the country. Striding out, playing with the dog, she had not noticed the clouds building up behind her; she had only seen the sunshine ahead until the first drops of rain started to fall. She had been soaked in an instant. Of course it had not worried the Labrador at all, it had kept running to and fro, sniffing here and there, always ready and indeed expecting to fetch sticks for Lizzie. A rather wet Lizzie had shrugged her shoulders and with a degree of resignation had begun to trudge homewards, her now heavy and wet jeans sticking to her thighs and flapping around her ankles. Her blouse and bra were soaked and through the wet material you could make out, if you looked closely, her pointy nipples (hard and extra pointing due to her being a bit cold).

Lizzie really was not much worried until she saw a walker coming in the opposite direction. This walker had on a bright yellow waterproof over black trousers. It was probably the colours that unnerved her, after all many people had yellow waterproofs, her father did for one, and it was surely very unlikely to be that man from the bookshop: it may have been very unlikely but it was in­deed he.

"He, almost seems to know where I am, be able to read my mind," she thought, "odious. Oh no, I'm going to have to speak to him."

He came up to her and smiled, "Hello Lizzie. Well, fancy meeting you out. It's a bit wet isn't it? His eyes behind his steamed up glasses seemed to be look­ing at her chest rather than her face. She hurriedly folded her arms across her wet blouse and breasts. The Labrador sniffed at him.

"How was the mushroom?"

Lizzie coloured, there was surely no way he could know about her dreams. No, of course not, he was referring to the supermarket, "They were good, a mushroom risotto."

"Back in Oz tonight?"

"What? I mean, sorry..."

"You were reading the Wizard of Oz, weren't you/"

"No, no I said I had read it. I'm actually reading 'Anna of the Five Towns'.

"Ah, Arnold Bennett. Not such a happy story. I'd stick to Oz!"

Lizzie was keen to make her excuses and head on home. "Well, maybe. Anyway, see you in the bookshop. I must be getting home as I'm rather wet (did she detect a flicker of a smirk, she shouldn't have used that word, blast!), the rain caught me and I'm getting cold and am soaked, 'bye."

She felt he was watching her as she walked off, but she didn't dare turn round as she would then have had to wave and that would only encourage him. Odious. Why did she keep tripping over him?

Asleep again, Lizzie did not dream of poor sad Anna, who should have found so much more happiness, but was once again in the Land of Oz. Her dreams did seem to sway between Wonderland and Oz. Would the Five Towns, Stoke-on-Trent have been more interesting? Certainly it would have been different—probably grim.

Lizzie found her dream had moved on a long way in the book, her journey along the Yellow Brick Road was over and she was now in the Emerald City, a guest of the great and terrible wizard. She was in the palace with her friends, the Scarecrow, the Tin Man and the Cowardly Lion. She gazed around her tak­ing it all in, not least being amazed at how very green everything was. It really was very green indeed; she thought to herself, everything seemed to be in one shade of green or another. Even her friends had taken on a green tinge. She stood there wondering what was to happen next when a soldier, dressed in a smart black uniform with a lot of green on it, blew upon a yellow whistle, and at once a young girl, dressed in a pretty green silk gown, entered the room. She had lovely green hair and green eyes, and she bowed low before Lizzie as she said, "Follow me and I will show you your room." Lizzie did not like to disobey, but she was puzzled by the soldier's yellow whistle, which did seem a bit out of keeping with the fundamental basis of the Emerald City.

Lizzie walked after the green maiden, turning back to look at her friends and the soldier, who did seem strangely familiar, and followed the green girl through seven passages and up three flights of stairs until they came to a room at the front of the Palace. It was the sweetest little room in the world, with a soft comfortable bed that had sheets of green silk and a green velvet counterpane. There was a fountain in the middle of the room that shot a spray of green water into the air, to fall back into a beautifully carved green marble bath. Beautiful green flowers stood in the windows, and there was a shelf with a row of little green books. In a wardrobe were many green dresses, made of silk and satin and velvet; and all of them fitted Lizzie exactly.

"Make yourself perfectly at home," said the green girl, "and if you wish for anything ring the bell. Oz will send for you tomorrow morning. Perhaps a bath after your long journey?" The green girl showed Lizzie that the bath water was hot and helped her off with her gingham frock. Lizzie stretched as she stood there, and looked down at her naked body. Strangely, like everyone else in the Emerald City, her skin had a green tinge and the curls around her sex, usually golden, were now a bright emerald green. The green girl looked ap­preciatively at Lizzie. "You have a beautiful body, would you like me to bathe you?"

She held Lizzie's hand and helped her step into the water. Lizzie lay down feeling warm and very content. The girl talked about this and that and the Emerald City as Lizzie lay in the warm green water. The green maiden very gently began to sponge Lizzie's shoulders, it was very soothing.

"Sit up a bit and I'll soap your back." Lizzie was feeling very relaxed and did as she was told. She felt the green maiden's fingers spreading the soap and massaging her back. It felt lovely, she closed her eyes.

"Lift your arms." The girl's soothing hands washed under Lizzie's arms and then Lizzie felt the girl's green hands spreading soap across her breasts. The touch of her palms sliding across Lizzie's nipples gave Lizzie a little elec­tric jolt of surprise and pleasure. Her nipples began to rise.

"What lovely breasts you have, mine are really round but yours are much more sort of conical. A lovely shape." Her soapy fingers slipped up the sides of Lizzie's breasts, coming together on her rising nipples. Lizzie sighed, she felt very relaxed and happy.

The green maiden let her legs into the water so she could reach Lizzie easi­er.

"You can lie down again if you like."

Lizzie stretched out once more. "It'll be easier if I just slip my dress off so it doesn't get wet," said the green maiden pulling her dress over her head. She had indeed got round breasts. Perfectly round breasts with very large dark green aureole. Lizzie thought they looked lovely and wished she had a reason to touch them.

The girl began washing Lizzie's feet and legs. Lizzie lay back in the marble bath with her eyes closed enjoying being pampered and bathed. The girl's mas­saging fingers moved up from her knees to her thighs. Lizzie found herself being quite turned on by this; she became quite tense wondering and waiting for the massaging fingers to touch her, to wash her, 'there'. She drew up her legs a bit and allowed her thighs to open. The girl's fingers were nearly there, Lizzie held her breath, and expelled it as the green maiden's fingers touched her outer lips with their, now green, curls.

"Come on stand up." Lizzie did as she was told and stood in the middle of the green bath, the fountain playing, and with her legs apart. The green maid­en applied more soap and began to wash her bottom. Lizzie almost jumped when the green girl's fingers found her little wrinkled hole. The soaping fin­gers moved on, the kneeling girl gently massaging Lizzie's sex. Lizzie was very excited and, actually, rather perturbed.

"I know it's only a dream," she thought," a lovely dream, but I shouldn't be turned on by a girl, even in a dream and even by this pretty green girl."

"Would you like this?" asked the green maiden pointing at a green object by the bath. Lizzie had not noticed it before but placed by the bath was an emerald green glass penis, a dildo. It had a slight curve to its underside and, as the green maiden brushed it with her finger, it began to rock, the acorn shaped glans at one end rising one moment, the twin balls at the other end at the next. The light caught it and the green light flashed onto the shiny tiles as it moved. Her fingers touched it again, playing with it, stroking it as if it was real. She spun it slowly round before forming a ring with her fingers and drawing them along it simulating the action on a real penis. The green maiden picked it up and looked at it, the light from the window shining through it and onto her face highlighting her eyes.

"Would you like this?" she asked again, closing her eyes and bringing it to her mouth. Her little pale green tongue flicked out between her lips and touched the end of the dildo, "it's very smooth, it slips in easily." Her eyes opened and she looked sidelong up at Lizzie.

Lizzie did not know what to think. Feeling a little unsteady on her feet she sat down on the edge of the bath, her thighs a little apart with the tiles warm against her naked bottom. The green maiden continued looking at her quizzi­cally, Lizzie's thighs opened a bit further. An invitation? The girl took it as such; her hand stroked the inside of Lizzie's thighs encouraging them to widen and to open her sex. Lizzie's little green inner lips separated opening the path for the emerald dildo. The girl brought it closer, until it touched Lizzie's sex. It was colder than Lizzie expected, she jumped a bit.

"It will warm." The green girl pushed the pretend penis slowly into Lizzie; she watched it as it steadily slid in until all that were exposed were the emer­ald green glass balls. It fitted her exactly. Lizzie was breathing fast. The girl took her hand away and smiled up at Lizzie. Then once more she took hold and ever so slowly pulled the dildo out emptying Lizzie, gradually the dildo reap­peared from her between her legs, still shiny but now wet from Lizzie. The green maiden did not stop and push it back in but pulled it out all of the way and then, holding Lizzie's gaze, smiled at her, winked and turning the dildo head towards her licked it up and down as if she was trying to excite a real green boy. She put her lips around the head, closed her eyes and slowly sucked half of it into her mouth holding it there for a moment before replacing it in Lizzie. This time, when she pulled it out, she offered it to Lizzie, holding it by the balls and pointed it straight at Lizzie's mouth. Lizzie bent her lips towards the dildo and took it in tasting herself on the cool glass shaft.

"You hold the penis," said the green girl. Lizzie took the dildo from her. "Would you like to put it in me?"

Lizzie nodded, it seemed wrong to decline. The girl rose and stood in the water in front of Lizzie; her legs apart; her own green curls shaved to form a di­amond shape, or was it meant to be an emerald? It was certainly emerald green in color. Lizzie held the wet dildo vertical and pointing up between the girl's legs, the girl smiled and nodded, and Lizzie pushed it upwards and into the girl. It slid in easily and was soon hidden but for the green glass balls. The girl closed her thighs and shivered, her nipples now standing proud from her large green aureoles. She bent forward and kissed Lizzie on the mouth, her tongue snaking through Lizzie's lips and touching Lizzie's. The Green Maiden stood upright again and put her hands on Lizzie's shoulders. Lizzie reached out and touched her round breasts.

"Now we are sisters in Oz." Moving her legs apart she reached between her legs and pulled the dildo from her and again pushed it into Lizzie. She began rhythmically to push the smooth glass penis in and out. Lizzie closed her eyes keeping hold of the girl, stroking her lovely round breasts and hard nipples, the feeling building in her, her sex getting wetter and wetter, the smooth penis moving faster and faster, her breathing becoming quicker and quicker. She squeezed her own breast hard pulling on the nipple, her fingers pushing into her sex as she sat on the edge of her bed, panting as she felt her own orgasm very, very near. It was so close, "Beware the Writer," said the green maiden, oh the feeling was so good, yesss, Lizzie's orgasm came, green sparks flying through her head, her now warm fingers lost in her wetness.

Lizzie collapsed back on her bed, pulled the duvet up and curled her body, feeling damp and exhausted. Another fantastic dream orgasm... but from a girl??!! She licked her hand. "Phew! Fucking hell that was something else!" She examined her feelings, no she liked boys best but the green maiden was, well she was very sexy. Lizzie would like to know her better, to see her again... no dream about her again. She smiled, her 'sister in Oz' indeed! Dreams could be so strange, so inventive, so, frankly, odd. It was not, however, a dream to tell her mother about in the morning! Lizzie felt herself becoming sleepy and she began to drift off, warm and satiated, if a little damp, when her eyes were sud­denly wide open. "Beware the Writer," now what did that mean? She shrugged her shoulders and slipped into a deep sleep.



Such Stuff Ch. 07



Part 7

Be Brave

With a sigh or resignation Lizzie pushed open the shop door. The bookshop was quiet in the mid afternoon sunshine. Lizzie had rather hoped it would be busy so that he would not have time to talk to her. She was disappointed.

"Do you believe in fairies?" was his greeting.

"What?!"

"It's funny the obsession writers seem to have with the little people. Of course the Folk were very real to Shakespeare's countrymen but, a lot later on, we have Conan Doyle believing in them, Kipling writing about them, J M Barrie having them in Kensington Gardens and most recently the gentleman with thistle-down hair in 'Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell'. Have you read that?"

"Rather long by the looks of it."

"So is Dickens, and you were reading 'Our Mutual Friend' the other day. Perhaps something shorter then, how about 'Peter Pan'. You'll love Tinker Bell I know, and then there is that awful pirate Hook. You wouldn't want to tangle with him." Conrad smiled in his knowing way.

"I've..."

"... read it of course. You do seem to have read most things."

Lizzie continued her browsing. Odious, simply odious. Perhaps he was just being friendly, but the way he says things. She looked over at him. He was writing with his yellow and black fountain pen in his spiral bound notebook, a smirk upon his face. He sensed her watching him and looked up with a smile, Lizzie hurriedly turned away. "Blast! Odious, now how do I get out of here?"

That night, after she had gone to bed—after she had gone to sleep, Lizzie stood looking about her in the light of a full moon. If things were true to form, as he had mentioned 'Peter Pan' to her, then presumably this was Neverland. It was certainly nothing at all to do with Victorian London and 'Our Mutual Friend'. On the other hand dreams did not need to be true to form and could follow their own logic or illogic. Why then did she expect her subconscious to follow him and his suggestions? Perhaps it was because that did indeed seem to be what happened. She shivered. Lizzie did not really like the way he could simply suggest and her mind follow, what sort of hold did he have on her—or was it just co-incidence? Perhaps it was simply co-incidence but the evidence was not merely balanced: on the contrary, it was rather against it being mere co-incidence.

So was she Wendy? She smoothed her hands down her close fitting dress; it did not seem to be the sort of thing Wendy would wear. It was light brown doeskin with tassels around the hem and tiny beads stitched in intricate pat­terns all over the garment. She was also a young woman whereas Wendy was a little girl though, Lizzie recalled, her dreams did not seem to trouble much about age. She seemed to be a young woman wherever or whoever she was.

Lizzie did not have pigtails when awake and her hair was fair not dark. But hanging down either side of her head were undoubted pigtails and, what was this, around her head a band of woven beads with a coloured feather stuck in it.

"Why I'm Tiger Lily, the redskin princess," said Lizzie out loud.

"Sssh." said a voice. Lizzie looked all around but she was completely alone. Conscious she was in a land where small boys can fly she looked up­wards but all she could see were stars, though one did seem to be moving sur­prisingly fast. It seemed to turn and come back the way it had come, before moving back again. Lizzie realised she had mistaken the pinpoint of light's dis­tance from her. It was not millions of miles away but a just a few feet. She un­derstood she was actually seeing a fairy, a real fairy or a real dream fairy any­way.

"Tinker Bell," she said.

"Sssh," said the fairy.

Tinker Bell, for it was indeed Peter's fairy, came close and hovered just in front of Lizzie's nose. Lizzie stepped back to see her properly and trod on a twig.

"Sssh," said the fairy growing in size until she was more than a point of light but still no longer than your hand.

Lizzie thought Tinker Bell's conversation a bit limited and, now she could see her, so also seemed her clothes. She knew diaphanous gauze was part of the Victorian conception of fairies, a rather different kettle of fish from Puck the knave in the performance of a 'Midsummer Night's Dream' she had seen not so very long ago, but this apology for clothing would have seriously upset the average Victorian observer. The fairy was exquisitely gowned in a skeleton leaf, cut low and square, through which her figure could be seen to the best ad­vantage. One breast had been allowed to slip out, fully exposed, and what a perfect breast it was, perfect in every detail right down to the incredibly tiny nipple. And so it should be because, whilst Tinker Bell was small, this was no reason for her being rudely formed: quite the contrary she was most perfectly formed and knew it. As she moved Lizzie could see though her garments and even discern tiny golden curls growing in some profusion around her sex. As the little creature shot up into the air Lizzie could see right between her legs! The creature seemed to revel in adopting erotic poses. One moment modestly hiding her bosom with her arm, the next provocatively pushing her tiny breasts forward.

She motioned for Lizzie to follow her into the trees. It was lucky that Lizzie followed her for no sooner had they vanished into the gloom of the trees and out of the moonlight, than into view came a band of pirates. Not just any band of pirates but Jas. Hook's crew. A more villainous-looking lot never hung in a row on Execution Dock. Here, a little in advance, ever and again with his head to the ground listening, his great arms bare, pieces of eight in his ears as orna­ments, is the handsome Italian Cecco, who cut his name in letters of blood on the back of the governor of the prison at Gao. That gigantic black behind him has had many names since he dropped the one with which dusky mothers still terrify their children on the banks of the Guadjo-mo. Here is Bill Jukes, every inch of him tattooed, the same Bill Jukes who got six dozen on the WALRUS from Flint before he would drop the bag of moidores; and Cookson, said to be Black Murphy's brother (but this was never proved), and Gentleman Starkey, once an usher in a public school and still dainty in his ways of killing; and Sky­lights (Morgan's Skylights); and the Irish bo'sun Smee, an oddly genial man who stabbed, so to speak, without offence and many another ruffian long known and feared on the Spanish Main. 

In the midst of them, the blackest and largest in that dark setting, reclined James Hook, or as he wrote himself, Jas. Hook, of whom it is said he was the only man that the Sea-Cook feared.

He lay at his ease in a rough chariot drawn and propelled by his men, and in his right hand he held a cane with which ever and anon he encouraged them to increase their pace. Lizzie was puzzled at this sight. She thought the Crocodile had eaten his right hand and an iron hook had replaced it. Why then was he called 'Hook' or was that his name in any case? In person he was cadav­erous and blackavized, and his hair was dressed in long curls, which at a little distance looked like black candles, and gave a singularly threatening expres­sion to his handsome countenance. His eyes were of the blue of the forget-me-not, and of a profound melancholy, save when he was plunging his sword into you, at which time two red spots appeared in them and lit them up horribly. In manner, something of the grand seigneur still clung to him, so that he even ripped you up with an air, and it is said that he was a RACONTEUR of repute. 

He was never more sinister than when he was most polite, which is probably the truest test of breeding; and the elegance of his diction, even when he was swearing, no less than the distinction of his demeanour, showed him one of a different cast from his crew. A man of indomitable courage, it was said that the only thing he shied at was the sight of his own blood, which was thick and of an unusual colour. In dress he somewhat aped the attire associated with the name of Charles II, having heard it said in some earlier period of his career that he bore a strange resemblance to the ill-fated Stuarts; and in his mouth he had a holder of his own contrivance which enabled him to smoke two cigars at once. .

Lizzie shuddered. What a crew! It was not Hook but Smee to whom her eyes were drawn and in particular his remarkably striped jersey. Now a striped jersey is what is to be expected of a pirate, and Lizzie had seen enough films to know the drill, but, surely, a ruddy red stripe was more usual than the yellow and black of Smee's jersey and were black rimmed glasses really appro­priate under that piratical hat? Lizzie's eyes grew wide and amazed, it was him! "Why does he keep appearing in my dreams?" thought Lizzie once more, "I don't like him and don't fancy him. Why this obsession with him?" Smee's eyes turned her way and it was if he could see her in the moon's shadow as he smiled his usual smile in her direction. Lizzie shuddered again. She did not like this.

The pirates moved off and gradually the noise of their passing abated. Be­hind her she heard the loveliest tinkle as of golden bells. It was the fairy lan­guage. It was truly a wonderful sound and Lizzie was entranced. As she lis­tened she began to hear words and gradually she found she could understand what Tink was saying. It was a long monologue about how whilst Tink liked being Peter's fairy (she didn't like Wendy much though) he was only a boy and there were no other male fairies about and she was, well rather frustrated by this and what she really liked was girls anyway, and there weren't any girl fairies about either. She liked the look of Lizzie though.

Tink was not all bad; or, rather, she was all bad just now, but on the other hand, sometimes she was all good. Fairies have to be one thing or the other, be­cause being so small they unfortunately have room for one feeling only at a time. They are, however, allowed to change, only it must be a complete change. At present she was full of desire for Lizzie. 'Ware Tinker Bell.

On the trail of the pirates, stealing noiselessly down the war-path, which is not visible to inexperienced eyes, come the redskins, every one of them with his eyes peeled. They carry tomahawks and knives, and their naked bodies gleam with paint and oil. Bringing up the rear, the place of greatest danger, should come Tiger Lily, proudly erect, a princess in her own right. She is the most beautiful of dusky Dianas and the belle of the Piccaninnies, coquettish, cold and amorous by turns; there is not a brave who would not have the way­ward thing to wife, but she staves off the altar with a hatchet. Observe how they pass over fallen twigs without making the slightest noise.

Tink pushed Lizzie forward and she joined in behind the braves. It was rather fun for Lizzie following all these naked redskins, she seemed to have be­come sure of foot and walked as silently as the rest. Some of them were very handsome indeed and by moonlight she could see everything about them. It would be rather fun if her dream turned particularly naughty and she found herself commanding a whole war party of naked erect redmen, their bodies all oiled and painted. She imagined herself lining them up for inspection, as if on a parade ground. Walking along checking the sharpness of their tomahawks, rubbing her hands across their flat oiled stomachs and onto their taut but­tocks, checking the stiffness of their cocks. "Not very stiff this one, sergeant-major! Never mind I'll soon stiffen it up." Despite the continuing march through the night she began to become a little wet at the idea, something not lost on Tink who had come with her and had already, to Lizzie's surprise, dropped into her dress between her breasts for a time and had now hidden her light right under the hem of Lizzie's dress. "Oh dear," she thought, "I'm not going to be interfered with by another little person in this dream, the White Rabbit's house was odd enough."

The procession was passing through a grove with a rather large mush­room in the middle of it. Tink tugged at Lizzie's hem and motioned Lizzie to fol­low her and they slipped away from the band. Lizzie noticed that many of the trees had a hole in them as large as a boy. She realised this was the site of the Lost Boys' home and they were the seven, or was it more now, entrances to the home under the ground, for which Hook has been searching in vain these many moons.

Tink motioned for Lizzie to enter one of the holes but Lizzie could not get in for she was too big. Tink buzzed around clearly rather annoyed. If only Lizzie had some of the Caterpillar's biscuit from Wonderland she could make herself smaller. Wrong dress though, she had left the biscuit it in Alice's dress. Lizzie patted her doeskin dress just in case and found the biscuit had come with her—dreams are like that, the logic twists and turns and reality is sus­pended - how convenient! She took a bite and quickly shrank to about three foot in height. Tink was ever so excited and called for Lizzie to follow her down the hollow tree. What fun it was for Lizzie to be underground. The Lost Boys home consisted of one large room, as all houses should do, with a floor in which you could dig if you wanted to go fishing, and in this floor grew stout mushrooms of a charming colour, which were used as stools. There was an enormous fireplace which was in almost any part of the room where you cared to light it.

There was one recess in the wall, no larger than a bird-cage, which was the private apartment of Tinker Bell. It could be shut off from the rest of the house by a tiny curtain, which Tink, who was most fastidious, always kept drawn when dressing or undressing. No woman, however large, could have had a more exquisite boudoir and bed-chamber combined. Tink was very con­temptuous of the rest of the house, as indeed was perhaps inevitable, and her chamber, though beautiful, looked rather conceited, having the appearance of a nose permanently turned up.

Tink wanted to show Lizzie her house and now seeing she had the pieces of mushroom invited her to take some more and drop down to her size. Soon Lizzie was no longer than a hand. She could now see Tink very clearly as she was no longer a diminutive figure flitting about in front of her nose but the same size as her. But, before she could really take Tink in, she was picked up in Tink's arms and flown up and into the recess that was Tink's home and the curtain swished to behind her.

Now Lizzie could see Tinker Bell properly, a beautiful girl with long yellow hair, a perfect hourglass figure, really round breasts with the sweetest pale pink nipples, a riot of golden curls around her sex and, of course, delicate rain­bow wings. Lizzie could not help staring at Tink's wings as she was not, you will appreciate, used to people with wings. Tink knew her wings were being ad­mired and she fluttered them a little whilst pirouetting round to show them to best advantage. They sprouted from just below her shoulders, Lizzie could not work out the musculature at all or how they could work but of course they were magic. They were more redolent of a bees' wings than a butterfly's being transparent but even so their transparency subtly rippled with all the colours of the rainbow as the light caught them. Lizzie was fascinated by them.

"Do you like 'em," said Tink, "I do so like your dress." The fairy reached out and stroked the soft doeskin of Lizzie's dress. It was clear to Lizzie that it was no accident that in caressing the soft material her fingers had brushed over Lizzie's breasts.

"You're a much better size now, could hardly find me way about you be­fore."

The fairy leant towards Lizzie and kissed her on the mouth. Tinker Bell's lips were soft and warm. Lizzie was momentarily startled but not surprised. She gently pushed Tink away, not wishing to hurt her feelings. She was a guest after all. She was not interested in girls, though she did have a rather fond memory of the green maiden, her sister in Oz.

Tink did not like a rebuff but she was not worried. She smiled sweetly and said how sorry she was to have presumed... but Lizzie was not listening, Tink was vibrating her transparent rainbow wings in a way Lizzie found impossible not to watch, to stare at, and become absorbed in the moving colours.

Tinker Bell giggled to herself. She was not all bad really but she liked her own way and she knew what she wanted with Lizzie.

"I expect you'd like me to kiss you again wouldn't you? You wouldn't mind would you?"

Tink turned her head a little to the side and kissed Lizzie again and Lizzie's lips yielded as Tink's tongue pushed between her lips seeking her own. She responded, as Tink now knew she would, and they kissed deeply.

Tink's hand lifted Lizzie's doeskin hem and Lizzie felt a hand cupping one bottom cheek and pulling her hips towards Tink. Tink pushed herself against Lizzie and Lizzie could feel Tink's pubic bone hard against her own. The little fairly was clearly very turned on.

It was disconcerting for Lizzie. It was disconcerting to be kissing a girl in the first place, but doubly disconcerting to be kissing a girl who glowed with light. Tinker Bell's wings had, however, had quite an effect on Lizzie so she now did not now feel it was something she would rather not do. Quite the con­trary.

Tink skipped away from Lizzie, dropping her few garments as she went, and then flew naked back to Lizzie taking care to show her body to best advan­tage, "Do you like what you see? Aren't I beautiful? You are too, of course. Why don't we take that dress off so I can get a proper look at you?" Lizzie's dress was joined together by long leather laces and Tink's nimble fingers soon began to unlace them. As Lizzie's breasts were exposed Tink could not resist touching them. They certainly were lovely and being Tiger Lily's they were not pointy at all but full and round with large brown aureole and little brown nip­ples. Tink clapped her hands at seeing them and rubbed the little nipples with her thumbs. They responded by hardening and this naturally only caused the fairy to rub them the more. Bending, she delicately took Lizzie's right nipple be­tween her lips and teased the end with her tongue. Lizzie was unsure how to re­spond, she had not touched another girl's breasts before; well she had touched her friend Lotte's but not in a sexual way, and this certainly was going to be in a sexual way.

Of course they felt good, as her own breasts felt good, but the fairy's skin was so smooth and her nipples so hard against the palms of Lizzie' hands that they had a special quality that excited Lizzie. She squeezed, it did feel so odd to hold another girl's breasts, to mould her hands and fingers around them, and even odder to squeeze and play with them. So much to hold, so soft, round and smooth. Lizzie bent and sucked Tink's left breast into her mouth, her tongue flicking over the hard little nipple. Her eyes closed as she sucked.

Tink's hands returned to the task of undressing Lizzie. With the long leather laces undone the dress swung open revealing, to Tink's pleasure, not just her round full breasts but also the dark inviting vee of her sex. Tink's thighs moved together in anticipation. Once more Tink picked up Lizzie, but this time each could feel the other's skin rubbing against their own, increasing their excitement, as Tink carried Lizzie to her bed.

Lizzie lay on the soft down filled bed with her eyes closed and feeling very sexy and very content. She could feel a gentle breeze from Tink's wings on her bare skin. Tink was not lying on top of her but was flying just above her, touch­ing her just with her tongue and mouth. She was still toying with Lizzie's nip­ples, as if she could not get enough of them, sending little electric shivers across Lizzie's chest. Lizzie could have stayed like that for an hour or more but Tink's wet tongue started on a journey down the mound of her left breast to­wards her tummy. Slowly, tantalisingly slowly, it worked its way towards her tummy button before circling it and then slipping in. Lizzie shivered in plea­sure. Tink knew her business and did not hurry. 




Such Stuff Ch. 07



After a time the tongue slipped onwards into Lizzie's, or rather, Tiger Lily's dark curls and flicking left and right found the start of her slit. The tongue moved very slowly, Lizzie's thighs fell open exposing her very wet sex, Tinker Bell took in the warm wet scent of her arousal and her tongue began, ever so slowly, to ascend Lizzie's clit hood. The tongue paused, Lizzie held her breath, would Tink's tongue go straight on down to her clit so very near, or circle round her lips but avoiding that little, though oh so important, bump (but would it go to the left or to the right?) or would it jump over the clit and slip right into her? The wait was ago­nising.

Tink kept up the suspense but then chose to go straight for the prize.

The touch on her clit sent the over excited Lizzie into orgasm, wave after wave of pleasure swept over her and her arms reached out to hug and hold Tin­ker Bell. But Tink had flown upwards to look down and admire her handiwork, to see the sheen of sweat on Tiger Lily's body, the almost palpable glow of con­tentment and to look at her sweet face, both relaxed and tense at the same time, in the throws of orgasm.

Lizzie, still dazed, sat up and Tink flew into her arms. They kissed deeply, Lizzie trying with her mouth and tongue to tell Tink how much she appreciat­ed what she had just done for her.

It was now Tink's turn to be pleasured. Lizzie gently set Tink down on the bed and cupped her breasts in her hands drawing her fingers slowly up the sides of her breasts until her fingertips almost joined together on her nipples. She pulled on Tink's nipples pinching and stretching them. Tink squealed with pleasure. Lizzie moved down the bed keeping hold of Tink's nipples and began kissing her tummy with little light kisses getting closer and closer to her fulsome fair golden curls. Removing her hands from Tink's breasts she stroked the soft golden down, feeling the soft 'bounce' of the curls. Positioning herself above Tink's thighs she eased them apart revealing Tink's swollen sex. She bent down and with her tongue lightly encircled the outer lips. These were already wet as Tink's sex was, literally, overflowing. Lizzie circled thrice before drawing her tongue up Tink's slit and into her short fair curly hair. Slowly her tongue slipped back down and tantalisingly up her clit hood just as Tink had done. Lizzie paused; Tink widened her thighs even more, wanting to be totally open to Lizzie's invading tongue.

And invade she did. Avoiding the clit, her tongue edged round the outer lips (to the right!) and slipped inside Tink. Lizzie swirled her tongue round and round in the entrance to Tink's vagina. It was like stirring soup; Tink was so wet, so excited, so ready for sex. Lizzie's tongue slipped out of the liquid hole and stroked upwards. Tink held her breath and then trembled as Lizzie's tongue licked across her clit. "It's bigger than my nipple," thought Lizzie, and really it was quite large. As Lizzie's tongue toyed with it, it seemed to get larg­er still.

It was not long before Tink decided on a re-arrangement and Lizzie found herself lying on the bed, Tink once more went airborne, above her, but quickly settled down into the soixante-neuf position. The two girls, or one girl and one fairy-girl, settled into the other's warm wetness, licking and teasing, seeking out the hidden places. Lizzie, her face covered in Tink's wetness flicked her tongue here and there, lapping between Tink's thighs: Tink doing the same to Lizzie. It was lovely and both Lizzie and Tink orgasmed.

But it was not over. Surfacing from between Lizzie's thighs Tink flew round and kissed Lizzie long and hard on the mouth, Lizzie tasting her own wetness and Tink her own. Tink lay on Lizzie, their bodies still charged, their down covered pubic bones pushing and rubbing together.

"Open your thighs, I have a surprise for you," whispered Tink in a giggle. Lizzie let her thighs fall apart and Tink dropped her pelvis down between them. "Ready?" said Tink. Lizzie expected to feel Tink's soft curly haired cov­ered pubic bone rubbing on her sex, but there was something else. Something pushing at her, seeking entrance, achieving entrance.

"What?" exclaimed a surprised and confused Lizzie.

"Ever fairy has a magic wand, didn't you know?" whispered Tink still gig­gling, "Mine is just a bit different!"

Lizzie reached between her legs, it was not, as she had expected, an artifi­cial penis, a dildo wand, being pushed into her. Somehow, and after all fairies are nothing if not magic, Tink's clit had grown longer and thicker and was now penetrating her. Indeed the most apt description, though it could be less plain­ly put, given that Tink's wand was sliding up and down inside Lizzie and Tink's bottom was now pushing up and down, was that Tinker Bell was fuck­ing Lizzie with her clitoris.

Tink pushed harder at Lizzie and they pulled each other together in a tight embrace. Lizzie's breasts rubbing against Tink's and she felt her third orgasm rising as she pushed up against her fairy lover. Lizzie orgasmed with her pelvis bouncing up and down on her bed, her tongue stretched out beyond her lips seeking Tink's darting tongue, her arms clasped around her own chest as if she was holding someone tightly, ripples of pleasure coursing through her body.

Lizzie lay awake in her bed, the aftermath of orgasm ebbing away. She was utterly exhausted. "You naughty fairy, tricking me into sex like that. I wouldn't have thought girls could be so fun! Well, well certainly not the sort of dream I expect to have at all and, of course, I'd rather have a boy than a girl...or perhaps I'd rather have a fairy! Lizzie curled up for sleep and then laughed to herself, "Oh I do believe in fairies, I really do!" and she clapped her hands in delight. 



Such Stuff Ch. 08



Friday

"He was a comely, handsome fellow, perfectly well made, with straight, strong limbs, not too large; tall, and well-shaped; and, as I reckon, about twenty-six years of age. He had a very good countenance, not a fierce and surly aspect, but seemed to have something very manly in his face; and yet he had all the sweetness and softness of a European in his countenance, too, especially when he smiled. His hair was long and black, not curled like wool; his forehead very high and large; and a great vivacity and sparkling sharpness in his eyes. The colour of his skin was not quite black, but very tawny; and yet not an ugly, yel­low, nauseous tawny, as the Brazilians and Virginians, and other natives of America are, but of a bright kind of a dun olive-colour, that had in it some­thing very agreeable, though not very easy to describe. His face was round and plump; his nose small, not flat, like the Negroes; a very good mouth, thin lips, and his fine teeth well set, and as white as ivory."

Lizzie put the book down on the duvet with a smile. "That would be a typi­cal dream of mine these days, to be Robinson Crusoe, and to have Friday ar­rive. A big strong black man, taut buttocks, flat stomach, shiny olive tawny skin and a big cock hanging down. Yes that's what I'd dream. My dreams are so full of uninhibited sex nowadays. I really must find a boyfriend, I'm getting quite obsessed by sex, waking every morning all wet and bothered. Lizzie, you are getting quite a naughty girl!" Her hand idly stroked her little fair curls, a finger ran up and down her slit. She reached out and turned the light off and snuggled down in the bed. "Hate him, always suggesting books. Well I haven't read 'The Swiss Family Robinson' tonight. I've read Defoe's original, so there!" She thought back to the image of Friday and she slipped her hand between her legs, "Wouldn't it be nice not to be alone in bed?"

She had been in the bookshop again during the day. She had told her mother that she would go all the way up to town to get the books her mother had wanted but had been told not to be 'so silly' and, anyway, they needed to be posted as a present straightway. Lizzie had paused outside the shop and pretended to look at the books displayed in the window but in reality looked into the shop. Her heart leapt - he was not in there! At that very moment an ir­ritating voice right behind her said, "Didn't know you were interested in trains."

She had swung round and there he was, yellow shirt, black tie this time, right in front of her, "Huh what?" she had said.

"The window display, I did it yesterday, it's all about railways. Look there is a set on the GWR and Brunel..."

"GWR?" she had said stupidly, and then wished she had not.

"Oh God's Wonderful Railway, didn't you know? The Great Western Rail­way, best railway in the world, built by the great Victorian engineer Isambard Kingdom Brunel. Broad gauge, not standard gauge, much better idea. And see, there's a section on model railways, I used to make them before I took up writ­ing, and there's a section on American Railroads, aren't those engines enor­mous? This bit here is on BR diesels." Lizzie had stopped listening, how had she got herself subjected to this?

"Er, writing?"

"Yes, I'm writing a book. He tapped his satchel. In here. My name's Con­rad, Conrad Crowley." He opened the door. "Are you coming in, Lizzie?"

Conrad smiled his eyes looking straight at Lizzie from under his black-rimmed glasses. She had the feeling she had felt before that he was mentally undressing her, seeking out her pointy nipples on her pointy breasts.

She followed him in and began looking for her books. She spent a long time doing this, as she really did not want to go to the counter. She was intent­ly looking at a book, not one her mother had wanted but one that interested her, on the Elizabethan Stage.

"Not after railway books then?" He had come up silently behind her.

"No, not really a bit of a boy's thing I suppose."

"Yes," he had paused and then said slowly, "one of those boy's things."

"Have you read this?" He thrust a copy of 'The Swiss Family Robinson' at her. It's good, one of those desert island stories. Verne wrote several too."

"I, no, I've not read that."

"Go on, take it, read it." He walked back to the desk and Lizzie followed him and paid for her mother's books. By the till was a spiral bound A4 sized book and on it a yellow and black fountain pen. He saw her glance.

"My book, I'm writing it," he said with pride, "shall I read you some."

Lizzie declined saying she had to get back with the books to her mother. Outside the shop she let out her breath, escape, escape from the odious... Con­rad. It was only then that she realised she still had the 'Swiss Family Robin­son' with her. Well, he had told her to take it and she was not going to go back inside if she could possibly help it.

Lizzie was not surprised to hear surf coming up a beach before it ran back down into the sea, only to repeat its journey again and again. She knew she was dreaming once more. She lay spread eagled upon sand. Could feel the sand all soft under her back, her bottom, and her naked thighs. The sand was warm under her and the sun beating down upon her naked skin was very hot. The light was so bright that she could see red, from the sun's light, penetrating through her eyelids.

"Where am I?" She thought, "Probably not Blackpool or Margate! I won­der if..." She opened her eyes and sat up and looked out to sea. But what a sea! Beautifully blue under a cloudless azure sky, the gentle surf washing over per­fect golden sand undisturbed by footprints. Turning she saw palm trees close on the beach and green covered hills rising inland. She stretched her arms lux­uriating in the sunshine. " I bet this is Crusoe's island. Am I alone or am I going to bump into a big naked black man?" She stood and ran along the beach for sheer joy. It was the most perfect place. Stopping she turned cartwheels, something she had not done for years, feeling the hot sun momen­tarily on her bare sex as she cartwheeled along the beach. Lizzie ran into the sea. The water was warm but still a cool relief from the sun. She swam, her lithe limbs working through the water, her pink bottom uppermost to the sun.

Lizzie strode out of the surf, shook herself and went to explore. She really needed a sun hat and perhaps some clothes. Being naked was all very well and quite fun. Skinny-dipping gives a great sense of freedom but it was easier to run if your boobs are restrained and not allowed to bounce up and down. Per­haps a skirt, after all you never knew whom you might meet in dreams and if she did meet Friday, well, she wanted to be the one dressed. He could be her servant, all naked and visible. She could pat his bottom if he was good or smack it if he was naughty or pointed his 'thing' at her!

Lizzie explored inland. She found her stockade with its palisade and lad­der. It was fun investigating what Crusoe, or supposedly she, had done. Search­ing the stores she found a great chest containing some strips of white cloth. She wrapped one piece around her as a short skirt and another thinner piece she pulled across her breasts and tied with a bow. Hanging on a peg was a wide brimmed grass hat, just the thing for keeping the sun off her and shading her eyes.

Climbing a little higher above the stockade Lizzie had a good view of the beach and sea. She immediately noticed in the distance five canoes and a fire and perhaps thirty men dancing around. "Ah," said Lizzie to herself in her dream, "this is where I find Friday but, oh dear, it means I am going to have to shoot someone with a gun." She was not sure about this. One does strange things in a dream but shooting someone with a gun is not very nice at all. "Still," she reasoned "if Crusoe hadn't done it, Friday would have died and been, oh dear worse and worse, eaten." Lizzie returned to the stockade and se­lected two guns, impressed that she seemed to know how to fire such old pieces, and headed down to the beach.

From concealment she watched one man being knocked on the head with a club and then Friday making his dash for freedom towards her. He was spot­ted but was a much faster runner than those who followed him. Having to swim across the creek towards Lizzie did seem to slow him down and, as Lizzie watched, he came near to being caught by the two pursuers who had fol­lowed him into the water. Taking a deep breath Lizzie ran out and clubbed one of the pursuers with her rifle butt and then, as the other prepared to fire an arrow at her, shot him dead. Lizzie's hand went to her mouth, "Oh what a nightmare," she cried.

Friday however was caught between terror and jubilation. What was this strange apparition who had so quickly saved him from his pursuers? A pale pink skinned woman wearing white rags and carrying a strange smoking stick. Lizzie beckoned to him and he came slowly forward scared but relieved to be safe. He knelt in front of her, kissed the ground, and laid his head upon the ground, and taking Lizzie by the foot, set her foot upon his head; this, it seems, was in token of swearing to be her slave for ever. Lizzie was rather enamoured of this, and felt better when, in the way of dreams, she turned round and saw the two bodies gone and the smoke from the campfire had disappeared.

She took a close look at her new servant. Friday was just as she had read before bed, a tall handsome fellow, perfectly well made, with straight, strong limbs, tall and well-shaped. The colour of his skin was not quite black, but a dun olive-colour shining from his recent immersion. He had a very good mouth, thin lips, and fine white teeth. Further, and Defoe had not mentioned these details, he was completely naked displaying, to her appreciative gaze, a very tight small muscular bottom, flat stomach and between his thighs a rather, to her eyes, lovely soft penis and hanging balls framed by a nest of dark hair, just visible against his skin.

Friday again put his head on the ground and her foot on his head. This time she was not so sure, as he had seemingly recovered from his terror, that his purpose was not to look up her skirt. The white cotton was comparatively thin and the sunlight would penetrate it and not hide her sex in shadow. An up­ward glance would display all.

After the excitement she felt like swimming and taking Friday by the hand she pulled him towards the water where she made swimming gestures to indi­cate what they should do. Friday nodded vigorously. Lizzie took off her hat and plunged into the sea closely followed by her servant. They swam happily around splashing and playing. Lizzie could see below the water fishes darting this way and that. She could also see, as Friday swam, his strong brown limbs in motion and occasional glimpses of his cock bobbing and floating between his thighs. Friday revelled in the exercise and the play and, like Lizzie, was evi­dently a strong swimmer.

As she strode out of the water Lizzie looked down at her white cotton skirt and top and realised that the water had made the white cotton almost com­pletely transparent. Turning to Friday, who was following her, she saw that he had certainly noticed this as his, until then, flaccid cock was beginning to thick­en and rise. Friday was clearly embarrassed by this show to his new mistress. Lizzie was, however, delighted with what she saw but pretended not to have no­ticed.

She walked on, Friday following behind her, to where the sand finished and the rocks started. Turning to Friday she saw he was now relaxed, his penis hanging properly downwards. He smiled broadly and Lizzie beckoned. She pointed to the many fishes swimming. Friday nodded enthusiastically and ran off towards the trees, re-appearing soon afterwards with some makeshift bam­boo spears. Diving into the water he soon speared a number. Lizzie motioned that she wanted to learn too and dived in with him. They spent a happy time swimming about underwater and hunting the fish. Lizzie enjoyed learning Fri­day's technique, the thrill of the catch, the diving, not to mention, watching Fri­day's athletic body moving through the water, his slim buttocks and his soft penis and balls moving this way and that, pushed either by the movement of the water or his own movement. Lizzie found it difficult to keep her eyes off them.

They cooked the fish over a fire on the beach. Fish should be fresh and these fishes were certainly just caught and as fresh as could be. What better way to cook them than on a beach fire made of driftwood? The meal was deli­cious.

For a time they lazed on the sand, replete from their meal. Lizzie mused that this was simply a wonderful dream. How she wished she could come here and dream about this island whenever she desired. It was so perfect, so tran­quil and, not least of all, there was her servant, Friday, stretched out on the sand with his cock properly lying at rest on one thigh. As she watched he rolled over onto his stomach and Lizzie could now see his tight buttocks. She got up onto her feet and playfully slapped one buttock meaning for Friday to follow her. She heard him move but, after walking a few steps, she realised Fri­day was not following and turned to see why. It had happened again, her slap had had an effect on Friday, a stimulating effect, causing his cock to rise. 

As Friday's cock grew, and having Lizzie looking at it did not in any way stop its progress upwards, the foreskin gradually pulled back by itself expos­ing a light coffee coloured head. The head actually seemed to have a slightly greater diameter than the shaft, "a plum on the end of a stick" thought Lizzie, she came back to take a closer look. Friday was clearly embarrassed by the close examination of his cock; but there was nothing he could do; clearly his new mistress wanted to look at it. Not only had it a large plum like head but also it stood straight up, not straight out, not angling forwards but really straight up against his stomach. Lizzie thought that if he bent suddenly down­wards, and was not careful, he would fuck his tummy button. She giggled at the thought; her dream was getting very erotic.

Lizzie knelt and looked even closer at Friday's penis. Friday moved uncom­fortably, he did not like having his manhood scrutinised, it was his place to be in control, he liked to closely examine his women and touch them in their se­cret places. He could not do this with his mistress, she owned him. Nonethe­less she looked so desirable with her strange pale skin and so very different fair hair, even near her own secret places. The thoughts made his cock ache and stay rigid when he wanted it to subside. Why was she looking at him so carefully, what was she doing with her hand, she wasn't going to touch him was she? If she did then what should he do?

Slowly Lizzie reached out and cupped his balls. The weather was hot and Friday's scrotum was very relaxed and wrinkled. She lifted the balls and weighed them in her hand. She was amused to see the cock twitch.

"Well Friday, you seem to have a problem here, shall we run along the beach or would it help if I eased this swelling first?" Friday of course did not answer, he did not move, he did not know what to do; he did not know what Lizzie was saying. Lizzie liked seeing him erect. She thought about how she might keep him in that state. Raising her hand she encircled the head with her fingers and lifted the foreskin up and down a couple of times. She heard Fri­day take a sharp intake of breath. Lizzie let go of his cock; stood and motioned they should continue walking. Friday did not really like walking when he was so hard but he was under her control.

They walked on a while, Lizzie apparently unconcerned looking this way and that, whilst Friday was very concerned indeed. Lizzie paused and glanced down at Friday's cock. It had not subsided. Lizzie shook her head and once again lightly took hold of his penis by encircling the head with her fingers. She then began to walk forcing Friday to follow. Her fingers were only lightly hold­ing his penis and, as he walked, the bounce of his step caused Lizzie's encir­cling fingers to move up and down. This stimulation was distressing for Fri­day; if he was not careful he would explode all over his mistress' fingers and that would not do at all! 

They continued to walk on with Friday gritting his teeth. Suddenly he stopped, he was breathing hard and was only just able to re­gain control: he had nearly come, nearly spurted his seed over the sand in front of him, over his mistress' hand. Lizzie knew just what was happening. Re­ally she was being rather cruel exercising her control over him. He looked re­proachfully at her and she felt ashamed.

Once again she got down on her haunches in front of him and looked at his rigid cock. The foreskin was well back and the light coffee coloured head shiny and smooth. Lizzie looked up at Friday and very slowly put out her tongue and licked the end. Friday's eyes opened really wide. Lizzie smiled, wet her lips and slipped them over the end and took it into her mouth. The feel of Lizzie's wet mouth on his cock was wonderful to Friday. His mistress was real­ly doing this to him!

It was almost as good for Lizzie, the smoothness of the plum on her tongue, its soft hardness. She licked around it, teasing it, exploring its shape with the tip of her tongue, thinking how good it would be to have it poking be­tween her legs, pushing into her, opening her. Lizzie's thoughts were very erot­ic and her tongue matched her enthusiasm but it was all too much for Friday. 

What he had tried to avoid happened. With a groan he began to shoot into Lizzie's mouth. A pulse of warm semen propelled with some force hit the back of Lizzie's throat. Friday was coming, freely and copiously; emptying the balls that Lizzie had been weighing only minutes before into her mouth. The energet­ic pulsing could only last a short time and, all to soon, it stopped. Lizzie held the cockhead in her mouth a little longer, softly caressing it with her tongue be­fore releasing it from between her lips. She looked up at Friday. His eyes were almost comically wide, as he looked down thunderstruck at Lizzie's upturned face. She casually licked a stray drop of semen from her lips with her little pink tongue. An erotic sight that burnt itself as a memory into Friday's mind.

Lizzie laughed, slapped Friday playfully on the bottom again and ran off along the sand as free, and happy, as a bird. After a moments hesitation Fri­day ran after her, his subsiding penis swinging right and left as he ran.

They spent the afternoon exploring along the beach as it curved around the island. Swimming across creeks, sometimes venturing a little inland. Slak­ing their thirst on exotic fruits or drinking from the clear water flowing down from the inland hills. It was a long and magic afternoon.

As the day wore on Lizzie's thoughts returned to Friday's hanging cock. She had avoided thinking much about it earlier in the afternoon once he had come. Lizzie knew he would need to recharge, so there was no point thinking about it, and it was best to enjoy the beach and their companionship.

They had been playing by a creek and, by mistake Friday had knocked her into the water. Lizzie had come up spluttering to see Friday laughing at her and pointing. She had surged out of the water, also laughing, and smacked him on the bottom three times by way of punishment. He had laughed again and put on a contrite look but Lizzie also noticed a stirring in his loins—his cock had begun to rise. Lizzie had pointed in mock horror and smacked him again, only causing Friday's cock to rise the further, his foreskin once more sliding back preparing the cockhead for activity. Lizzie loved the look of the light coffee coloured plum shaped head. Fully erect now, Lizzie put out her hand, grasped it by the shaft and pulled it well away from the vertical, as far as it would go before the resistance got too great, and she then let go. The penis slapped back to the vertical against Friday's stomach. The 'slap' of flesh on flesh sounding quite loud across the beach.




Such Stuff Ch. 08



Lizzie giggled and raced off across the sand forcing Friday, magnificently erect, to run after her. Lizzie fell to the ground laughing as Friday ran up to her with his cock standing hard. Lizzie felt really excited, her sex ready and wet for intercourse. She reached up and took hold of Friday's cock and slid the fore­skin up and down a few times, hiding and then revealing the head. She sat up, kissed it and, once more, took it in her mouth and sucked and licked it. Giving it a few last licks she raised her arms and pulled Friday down to her and kissed him long and hard, her hand reaching out to hold his cock, she really did want it inside her. Friday slipped down her chest, sucked on Lizzie's nip­ples and...

"Lizzie, Lizzie, morning dear, time to wake up Lizzie dear. Did you sleep well? It's time to wake up, it's half past seven. Here is your cup of tea." Lizzie's mother bustled out of her room.

"Thanks Mummy," said Lizzie out loud but thought, "Oh no, oh no I was having the most wonderful dream and I so, so wanted Friday to fuck me. Both­er and bugger, I'm all worked up and he's gone."



Such Stuff Ch. 09



Part 9
The Bulliest Dreams

Lizzie could not avoid it. She needed the book for her essay, it was due in Mon­day and it was now late Saturday afternoon. She would have to go to the book­shop. With resignation she trudged up the street to the shop, outside she took a deep breath and pushed open the door, the yellow tie and black shirt hit her as she came through the door. He was looking straight at her, automatically she flashed a smile and hurriedly turned and went to look for the book. She found it quickly and went to the till to pay.

"Ah, you are studying the American Civil War? Very interesting period. Robert E. Lee probably ranks with Wellington as one of the great generals, un­like Grant. What happened in the South after that war, you know the re-con­struction period, is also fascinating. Have you read Mark Twain?"

Lizzie took a deep breath. Was he trying to be friendly, being a good book­seller knowledgeable and interesting or.... "Yes I've read some of his books."

From under the counter he produced an omnibus version of 'Tom Sawyer' and the 'Adventures of Huckleberry Finn'. "You should read these," he said leaning forward. Surely he was not really looking down her cleavage?

Lizzie nodded; she did not really want to say again that she had already read them.

"So you didn't like the 'Swiss Family Robinson' then? Thought I'd see you on their island," he looked straight at Lizzie and the smile dropped from his face, "but I didn't."

"I'm sorry, what do you mean?" Lizzie was really taken aback.

"What did you dream of last night?" Conrad demanded.

"I really can't remember and I don't think I want to discuss such ephemera with strangers. It's none of your business."

Conrad's smile re-appeared, "Sorry, I'm just interested in dreams."

Lizzie thought there was more to it than that but she was certainly not going to prolong the conversation. She paid for her book and escaped back to write her essay. She worked long into the night and it was one o'clock before she looked up from her desk and realised it was way past her bedtime. She fell into bed and a deep sleep.

Lizzie wondered where her nocturnal mind had taken her, what was she dreaming about now and where she might be? She sat up and rubbed her eyes and looked around. It was the cool gray dawn, and there was a delicious sense of repose and peace in the deep pervading calm and silence of the woods. Not a leaf stirred; not a sound obtruded upon great Nature's meditation. Beaded dewdrops stood upon the leaves and grasses. A white layer of ashes covered a fire, and a thin blue breath of smoke rose straight into the air. There beside her on the bare ground were two boys fast asleep.

She stood, far away in the woods a bird called; another answered; present­ly the hammering of a woodpecker was heard. Gradually the cool dim gray of the morning whitened, and as gradually sounds multiplied and life manifested itself. "Now where am I this time, Wild Cat Island?" She walked through the trees towards a glimmer of water as Nature shook off sleep.

Out of the trees she stood on the sand of the river's shore. She was amazed at the width of the river. That it was a river and not a lake was obvious from the water's movement and the swirls of current further out, but it was wider than she thought possible.

From behind her she heard a shout, "There's Huck, come on Joe." Lizzie's eyes widened. She was Huckleberry Finn, surely not, her hand dropped to her thighs, no she was a girl not a boy, she felt her breast, nothing there, so she was a young girl on Jackson's Island. 'The Adventures of Tom Sawyer' had ac­tually been one of her favorite books as a girl though that was not something she would have told Conrad in the bookshop. She loved the boys' adventures and had often played at being pirates hidden away on Jackson's Island with Tom Sawyer, Huck Finn and Joe Harper.

Three miles below St. Petersburg, at a point where the Mississippi River was a trifle over a mile wide, there was a long, narrow, wooded island, with a shallow bar at the head of it. It was not inhabited; it lay far over toward the fur­ther shore, abreast a dense and almost wholly unpeopled forest. So Jackson's Island was chosen by Tom Sawyer and his crew to run away from home and be pirates.

The other pirates came up and with a shout called her to join them. They all clattered away down the shore Lizzie running with them, Huck and Joe pulling off clothes as they ran. Lizzie was a bit reticent, but it was a dream after all, and in a minute or two all were stripped and chasing after and tum­bling over each other in the shallow limpid water of the white sandbar. In the way of children, in that the trivial things are not important and then suddenly are, it took the boys quite some time to notice Lizzie was different.

"Hey Huck, you're... ain't that right Tom, he's a she," called Joe. Tom stopped his running and splashing and looked at Lizzie.

"Never knew that Joe. How come Hucky?"

"Dunno," said Lizzie, " seems that's how it's always been. Anythin' wrong with girls?"

"Can women be pirates?" said Joe.

"I reckon they can. And don't they wear the bulliest clothes! Oh no! All gold and silver and di'monds," said Tom, with enthusiasm.

"She's not got a stitch on," said Joe.

"That's 'cos we're swimmin'."

And back to swimming they went, the fact of Tom, or rather Lizzie, being a girl quickly irrelevant.

They came back to camp wonderfully refreshed, glad-hearted, and ravenous; and they soon had the camp-fire blazing up again. Tom found a spring of clear cold water close by, and they made cups of broad oak or hicko­ry leaves, and felt that water, sweetened with such a wildwood charm as that, would be a good enough substitute for coffee. While Joe was slicing bacon for breakfast, Tom asked him to hold on a minute; Lizzie and he stepped to a promising nook in the river-bank and threw in their lines; almost immediately they had reward. Joe had not had time to get impatient before they were back again with some handsome bass, a couple of sun-perch and a small catfish—provisions enough for quite a family. They fried the fish with the bacon, and were astonished; for no fish had ever seemed so delicious before. They did not know that the quicker a fresh-water fish is on the fire after he is caught the bet­ter he is; and they reflected little upon what a sauce open-air sleeping, open-air exercise, bathing, and a large ingredient of hunger make, too.

They lay around in the shade, after breakfast and then went off through the woods on an exploring expedition. They took a swim about every hour, so it was early afternoon when they got back to camp. They were too hungry to stop to fish, but they fared sumptuously upon cold ham, and then threw them­selves down in the shade to talk.

For some time, now, they had been dully conscious of a peculiar sound in the distance, just as one sometimes is of the ticking of a clock which he takes no distinct note of. But now this mysterious sound became more pronounced, and forced a recognition. They started, glanced at each other, and then each as­sumed a listening attitude.

"What is it!" exclaimed Joe, under his breath.

"Let's go and see."

They sprang to their feet and hurried to the shore toward the town. They parted the bushes on the bank and peered out over the water. The little steam ferryboat was about a mile below the village, drifting with the current. Her broad deck seemed crowded with people. Lizzie watched them in their old fash­ioned clothes. One man particularly caught her eye. Surely it couldn't be? But it did look like him. A young man in black clothes with a bright yellow waist­coat seemed to be staring at them. As the boat drifted past he raised his hat and seemed to Lizzie to be looking straight at her, however much she shrunk back into the darkness of the bushes along the shore.

The boat went and the gang turned to hunting for turtle eggs on the bar. They went about poking sticks into the sand, and when they found a soft place they went down on their knees and dug with their hands. They had a famous fried-egg feast. Lizzie had so much fun. The three stretched out after the feast and dozed until mid afternoon.

Lizzie's eyes opened, to her pleasure, because she had had so much fun, just like she had always imagined Jackson's Island to be with Tom, she found despite dozing she was still on the island. She woke the others and they went whooping and prancing out on the bar, and chased each other round and round, shedding clothes as they went, until they were naked. It was at this mo­ment that Lizzie and, indeed the boys realized something was different. She was not looking at two little boys anymore but two grown boys: they were look­ing back at her and not seeing a little girl, little different from them, but a grown woman with womanly attributes.

The boys went very silent, only to be broken by Tom saying, in order to get the fun going again, "Let's have a pissing contest," in his usual enthusias­tic way.

Lizzie wondered if it was the sort of thing pirates really did, though she could imagine it was fairly typical of boys. She tried to be un-enthusiastic but Tom and Joe were up for it. Each started downing great quantities of water and Lizzie felt obliged to follow suite.

Tom marked out the contest arena by drawing a line across the sand. The boys stood either side of Lizzie, hands on their cocks. Lizzie really couldn't see she had any chance and it seemed a fairly pointless activity. She couldn't aim, for one thing, and even if she lay down she doubted she would achieve the boys' range because, to start with, she would be starting from a lower position. Tom went first. His stream arched up and forward. Lizzie was impressed by his range even if it seemed a stupid thing to do. She was surprised to find she quite liked watching Tom's cock hosing away. Joe came next. She observed, in passing, that his cock was bigger but Lizzie did not think this would make any difference. She may or may not have been right but Joe's stream went a good foot further than Tom's. 

It was Lizzie's turn next. Before she could start the boys took hold of a thigh and a buttock each and lifted her up to aim her. She strongly suspected the whole thing was a ruse to get her to splay her legs. Cer­tainly the boys watched her sex expectantly and with great interest. 

"Probably don't know where I pee from" thought Lizzie." They held her exactly at the starting line waiting for something to happen. "Here goes," thought Lizzie. She released the pressure that had built on her bladder and her own stream arched forward. It was a more impressive sight than the boys, a much stronger flow but, as Lizzie expected, it did not have the range. As Lizzie had also antici­pated the exposure of her sex and her performance had its natural effect on the boys. Their cocks were elevating, moving from the horizontal to the near verti­cal, thickening and causing Lizzie to more than glance.

"You lost Huck," said Tom, "I was first and Joe second. Girls don't seem to have the knack. Mighty interesting looking at you though. Look what it's done to our cocks. What can our prize be?" They let her down to the ground.

Lizzie thought she'd better ease their swelling. She reached out and took one penis in each hand. She smiled; she had not in her dreams held two cocks at the same time before. She liked the feeling of control. The boys had become very still. She began stroking their hard cocks looking first at one, then the other. They were certainly no longer like the cocks of little boys, dreams changed things so quickly and sometimes for the better! They rose a good six or seven inches, depending on which boy, from nests of curly dark hair. Tom's was undoubtedly the thicker of the two, really quite solid, but Joe's the longer. Both their knobs were increasingly shiny and she could still detect a little mois­ture in the little slits surmounting each dome. The nature of the moisture would soon, if she had her way, change.

"Let's sit on that log, Tom and Joe."

The quietened boys were content to be meekly led by their cocks. Lizzie sat in the middle of a blown over tree trunk with the two naked boys either side of her, a cock in each of her hands. She loved this dream, an island, hot sun and two boy's cocks to play with. She pulled the cocks down low towards the ground whilst continuing to manipulate them and then let them go. She gig­gled as they sprung up and smacked against the two boy's stomachs. Reach­ing between their thighs she massaged their balls. Tom's were already quite hairy and tight against him but Joe's were devoid of hair and slack. She swung his balls a little from side to side before gently pulling the soft skin of his scro­tum this way and that. The boys sighed and lent their heads against Lizzie.

"Do you like that, is that a good prize." The boys were not going to dis­agree with this, no, not at all.

"I reckon so!" said Joe.

"It's NUTS!" said Tom. "What would the boys say if they could see us?"

"Say? Well, they'd just die to be here—hey, Hucky!"

"Would you like to try a different sort of contest?" The boys indicated they were quite content with the present activity.

"Let's see who can shoot the furthest."

"What, when we cum?"

"That's about it."

They were, of course, up for it.

Lizzie returned to stroking their cocks.

"Now Tom, Joe you're to tell me when you're near cumming so I can stop. I want to see you spurt together if I can, so we can judge the winner."

"Hold off Hucky!" said Joe with a gasp. Lizzie let go of Joe but continued to work Tom, her slim fingers sliding over his thick penis.

She waited a little and then resumed stroking Joe. Both boys were breath­ing fast. Lizzie was a little turned on by the activity, she could feel her nipples lengthening but neither boy seemed to have thought to touch her. Her thighs opened and closed slightly. It would be nice to have a breast or her sex touched by at least one boy and..."

"Stop, I'm goin' to spunk!" It was Tom's cry this time. Lizzie had almost overdone it, a bubble of semen appeared out of the end of Tom's cock but that was all. He had been very close and had just held back. But he had lost some fluid; he might not now win the contest. He was not best pleased.

Lizzie went back to working the boys. By and by, stopping and starting, she got her two cocks primed. Both boys indicated they were "on the edge". Skillfully with just slight touches she brought and kept them at that point. It was great fun for Lizzie having the control of two boys, two boys straining to go, their cocks in her hands.

"You're ready now? If I pull fast, are you both ready to fire?" The boys as­sented; keen for release, possibly even keener to win. They lent forward watch­ing to see which penis shot furthest.

Lizzie moved her hands faster, "Hold back as long as you can." The boys nodded, gritting their teeth, and then in unison two strings of semen flew out of the ends of their two cocks and across the sand. Lizzie did not relax her ef­fort or pace and further spurts shot onto the sand but not reaching the dis­tance of the first. As the spurts finished and the cocks' output reduced to a trickle, Lizzie slowed her strokes and came to rest. She turned and kissed Joe,

"Well done Joe, what a distance!"

She turned to Tom, who was looking downcast, "Never mind, I expect you'll win the next game."

Tom was not downhearted for very long. Lizzie stood and turned back to Joe only to feel a hard smack on her bottom, "You..." she cried and dashed after him trying to catch Tom. Joe ran after them, his penis softening as he ran. They continued the frolic far away up the shoalwater of the bar, against the stiff current, which latter tripped their legs from under them from time to time and greatly increased the fun. And now and then they stooped in a group and splashed water in each other's faces with their palms, gradually approaching each other, with averted faces to avoid the strangling sprays, and finally grip­ping and struggling till the best man, or woman, ducked his neighbor, and then they all went under in a tangle of white legs and arms and came up blow­ing, sputtering, laughing, and gasping for breath at one and the same time.

When they were well exhausted, they would run out and sprawl on the dry, hot sand, and lie there and cover themselves up with it, and by and by break for the water again and go through the original performance once more. Lizzie thought how fun it was to become almost decent with their sand clothes, though the boy's cocks and her nipples were clearly defined despite being cov­ered by sand, and then run into the water and be suddenly completely naked with each other.

As the afternoon wore on towards evening the boys recovered and Lizzie noticed their penises were again beginning to swell a little when they touched her. The gripping and struggling become more personal. Hands on her breasts, bottom and on her sex, cocks similarly touching her when wrestling. It was time, thought Lizzie, not herself immune to the sexiness of being with two naked young men, for some new game.

The three of them grew quiet. They fell to thinking. A sort of undefined longing crept upon them. Tom looked at Lizzie, Joe looked at Lizzie, and Lizzie looked at them both. As she looked their cocks lifted, jerking steadily upwards as the blood pumped into them, becoming stiff and ready for Lizzie's pleasure. Her own sex began to wet in response, her nipples to harden.

"Hucky shall we have another contest?" asked Joe shyly.

"I dono," said Tom, "I reckon not. I reckon what we should do is fuck."

"Hey, like what cows and horses do?" said Joe, "How'd we going to do that?"

"Well we got Hucky and all. You game Huck?"

Lizzie was

"It's just a matter of who's first."

"Well I won the spunkin' contest, so I goes first."

"Dern'd if I will," said Tom.

Lizzie was not going to let them have an argument, she didn't want them fighting over her. Though secretly the idea of these two fine young men fight­ing, cockproud, over her was not an unattractive image. She took control of matters in her own way. As they argued standing a few feet apart, Lizzie dropped to her knees and regarded the two cocks in front of her. Before the boys realized what was happening she had slipped Joe's cockhead into her mouth. It was smooth and warm in the afternoon heat. Lizzie sucked and licked. The boys had gone suddenly quiet and were staring down at Lizzie, eyes wide open.

"Why, Huck, you've got Joe's... How'd you think of doin' that?"

Lizzie did not answer but sucked half of Joe's cock into her mouth. It was too long for her to go further.

"Hey, where's it gone Joe? What's it feel like?"

"'Tain't half bad. Huck's true-blue, ain't she Tom?"

Lizzie brought the cockhead back up from her throat and out of her mouth. She looked up at Joe, smiled as seductively as she could, and let her tongue slide slowly over the end of his cock causing a seepage of semen. It was getting a bit much for Joe, Lizzie licked the end of his cock again catching the sticky semen on her tongue and pulling it away to hang for a moment as a strand 'twixt penis and tongue. Joe almost came right there!

"Hold off Hucky, that's mighty good but let me rest!"

Tom pushed his thick cock in Lizzie's direction.

"And do you reckon I can suck that thing, Tom Sawyer?" said Lizzie, whilst very much meaning to do just that. She was getting really quite wet and enjoying this dream very much.

"Duno, but you're goin' to try, ain't you Hucky, please?"

Lizzie tentatively licked the presented cockhead. It certainly was thick. She took hold of it with her hand and pulled it from side to side across her tongue moving the cock rather than her head. Pursing her lips she pushed the head into her soft lips still licking the tip. Tom was impatient and pushed for­ward. Lizzie however had a firm hand on him and held him back.




Such Stuff Ch. 09



"Tom, you hold still and let me do the moving." Lizzie took an exaggerat­ed breath and, opening her mouth wide, took the whole of Tom's dome into her mouth. A sigh from Tom indicated strong appreciation. Behind her she felt Joe kneeling and his cock nosing her back as his hands came round to clasp her breasts. It felt good, her nipples hard in the palms of his hands, Joe's hands moving, squeezing and rubbing.

Lizzie was content just taking Tom's cockhead in her mouth but she thought he would want her to try for more. Carefully she moved her head for­ward towards him and much of Tom's penis was gone.

Joe, looking over Lizzie's shoulder, was impressed. "Hey, look Tom, yer cock's all gone!"

It was an exaggeration, and Lizzie pulled back pretty quickly, honor satis­fied. Getting up off her knees and onto all fours she forced Joe to get up off his knees as well. As she had expected, seeing the opportunity, Joe followed his ear­lier idea about cows and horses and tried to mount her as he had seen in the field. He aimed between Lizzie's buttocks and thighs and pushed around seek­ing admittance but, in the way of inexperienced young men, missing the right place even poking at the 'other place'. Lizzie reached back and guided Joe who, feeling his cock sink a little in, slammed home, the whole length of his long cock sliding into Lizzie in one go. Lizzie surprised was pushed sharply forward and Tom's cock went even further into her mouth. Choking, she pulled off Tom.

"Careful Joe, be gentle with a girl, won't you?"

Joe was apologetic. Unnecessarily gently pulled back from Lizzie too far and fell out of her. Lizzie put him back in. A bit more carefully Joe began to push in and out.

Tom grinned. He had stood away from the two of them when Lizzie had let him go and he was watching them. "Best service I've ever seen a bull givin' a young heifer!"

Certainly the young bull thought so, though Lizzie was only now settling back into enjoying the sex. It was going well for her, her pleasure building when Joe gave a groan, pumped really hard and Lizzie felt him come inside her. She shrugged her shoulders, what should she have expected? He slowed to a stop.

"Wow, that was NUTS," said Joe.

"My turn, Huck" said Tom.

Joe pulled out and stood, his cock drooping and dripping on the sand, whilst Tom came round behind Lizzie.

"Alright Hucky, may I?" He guided himself and hit the mark straightway. Lizzie smiled as she felt the end of his thick cock start to push into her. This was going to be good. Tom did not find much resistance, Lizzie was wet and Joe's lubrication was liberal. The thick shaft slid on in until Lizzie felt Tom's curly hair tickling her bottom cheeks. With one hand she felt under her and her hand closed round his balls. With Tom's cock so far in they almost seemed to be part of her. Tom knelt behind Lizzie absolutely still; eyes closed savoring the wet warmth of Lizzie's sex on his cock and the feel of her soft buttocks against his thighs. 

It was Lizzie who started the movement sliding her sex along Tom's shaft, feeling the soft friction of vagina and penis moving in oppo­site directions, drawing apart. The directions changed and Lizzie was pushing Tom in again. Tom took up the movement and they began to operate as a team building each other's excitement. Lizzie loved the feel of Tom's thick cock in her, her pleasure mounting, she turned her head this way and that as she pushed against Tom. There on one side of her was Joe watching with rapt atten­tion, she smiled at him, she turned her head the other way towards the water and then back again. This time, behind Joe she could see, well into the trees, someone else was watching. Her eyes widened. It was the man from the boat in his black clothes and yellow waistcoat and it did look awfully like Conrad. 

Tom was pushing harder. Lizzie's orgasm was coming closer, she pushed back hard against Tom, her fingers pushing in and out of her sex, on all fours on her bed, sweaty and hot, "I'm coming Hucky!" she faintly heard Tom cry, the man raised his hat and smiled—it was indeed Conrad! Lizzie slammed her fingers back into her sex and came, collapsing onto the bed, her fingers still working.

Lizzie lay still for a long time, the sensations coursing through her. "Con­rad?? Why the fuck did she keep finding him in her dreams? Why couldn't she just dream of Tom and Joe?" She smiled thinking of Tom's thick cock. "Reckon I just have the bulliest dreams!"



Such Stuff Ch. 10



Part 10

Jas. Hook

Poor Lizzie seemed fated to keep tripping over Conrad. She was walking in town lost in thought when, alongside her, she heard, "Did you get into Tom or, rather, did Tom get into you last night?" Conrad sniggered.

Lizzie was actually a bit frightened. Was there really some connection be­tween her dreams and this odious young man?

"What, what do you mean?" she said turning to him. He was back in his yellow and black striped jumper.

"I mean did you enjoy 'Tom Sawyer', a perfectly sensible question since we discussed you reading the book yesterday. Did you get into it, did the book get really into your head?"

"Oh, no I didn't read it."

"Not even about Jackson's Island where the Tom, Joe and of course Huck go off to be pirates? Surely you did? Perhaps I was mistaken. Perhaps I dreamt you said you were going to read it. Do you dream a lot Lizzie? Do your dreams seem to be getting more and more real to you?" Conrad leaned forward. "I won­der if dreams and reality can come together, do you?"

"I, what do you mean, well that's a bit deep for me, and..."

"My story is about dreams and reality colliding, shall I read some to you? The piece I am writing at present is about journeying and choices, I am sure you will find it interesting and relevant... oh before I read, perhaps you would like some tea and cake?" They were passing the teashop. How could Lizzie es­cape? To her relief she saw Lotte.

"I'm sorry but I promised to meet my friend and there she is, bye!" Lizzie hurried across the road to Lotte.

Conrad stood on the pavement outside the teashop and watched them walk off. "Nearly there Lizzie, I've nearly got you. I think you're ready." He opened the door of the shop and went in.

Lizzie got into bed that night with some disquiet. She had not liked what Conrad had said today. Whilst he had given a reasonable explanation it did aw­fully seem like he knew what went on inside her dreams, could see inside her head, had actually been there watching her being fucked by Tom Sawyer. That just couldn't be — could it? Lizzie's mind went round and round and she tossed and turned trying to settle herself for sleep.

One green light squinting over Kidd's Creek, which is near the mouth of the pirate river, marked where the brig, the JOLLY ROGER, lay, low in the water; a rakish-looking craft foul to the hull, every beam in her detestable, like ground strewn with mangled feathers. She was the cannibal of the seas, and scarce needed that watchful eye, for she floated immune in the horror of her name.

She was wrapped in the blanket of night, through which no sound from her could have reached the shore. A few of the pirates leant over the bulwarks, drinking in the miasma of the night; others sprawled by barrels over games of dice and cards. Hook trod the deck in thought. From far within him he heard a creaking as of rusty portals, and through them came a stern tap-tap-tap, like hammering in the night when one cannot sleep. "Have you been good form to-day?" was their eternal question.

Hook was obsessed by form, by good form. Tiger Lily had a good form and he was determined to see it, to possess it, to enjoy it.

Lizzie was below, her hands and ankles were tied, and she was confused. This had not happened to her in any earlier dream. She knew, or was pretty sure she knew where she was captive. Clearly she was on a wooden ship, the movement and sound of the sea gave it away and she thought it would be Hook's ship. She could see she was Tiger Lily again. Lizzie hardly had time to ponder her predicament when the wretched prisoner was dragged from the hold, her bonds cut and she was ranged in front of Hook. She stood blinking in the unaccustomed light seeing not just Hook but the rest of his awful crew standing and sitting around the deck. For a time he seemed unconscious of her presence. He lolled at his ease, humming, not unmelodiously, snatches of a rude song, and fingering a pack of cards. Ever and anon the light from his cigar gave a touch of colour to his face.

"Now then, Tiger Lily," he said briskly, "you walk the plank to-night, but I have a mind to spare you on certain terms."

There was a murmur of surprise and then dawning realisation at what their captain probably meant.

"Stow that gab," roared Hook. "You, boy," he said, addressing an able sea­man, "you look as if you had a little pluck in you. Didst never want to take a squaw, my hearty?"

The others laughed heartily and nudged each other. The Captain liked his women warmed up and young Tom Staines would be the one to do it. "I, I don't know what you mean Capt'n," he said.

"Terms?" Said Lizzie diffidently, not much enjoying this dream and won­dering if Peter Pan would soon rescue her.

."Yes terms, I spare you the plank. You keep me pleasured with that sweet body of yours."

"You jest, of course."

"So, my beauty," said Hook, as if he spoke in syrup, "that seals your doom, you are to walk the plank. Strip her."

Discipline instantly relaxed; and the crew broke into a bacchanalian dance.

"Quiet, you scugs," he cried, "or I'll cast anchor in you"; and at once the din was hushed. "Starkey you do the deed."

"Ay, ay."

Gentleman Starkey came forward drawing a sharp knife from his belt. Lizzie did not flinch and he made short work of Lizzie's pretty doeskin dress. It was the work of a moment for it to be lying in shreds on the bare planks of the Jolly Roger. A cheer went up from the crew as their enemy, Princess Tiger Lily stood before them naked. Her full round breasts with their large brown discs and little brown nipples visible to all the crew in the lantern light. Hook licked his lips as his eyes dropped from her nipples to the dark patch of hair between her thighs, his penis already straining at his breeches. He was not alone.

"Spread her," he cried, "good form, good form!"

Lizzie did not at all like these turn of events. This was not a naughty and rather sweet erotic dream like the dreams of the last few weeks: this was a nightmare stark and clear. She should have tried to wake but she chose flight. Her arms and legs were free and she ran, pushing between Smee and Bill Jukes, sprinting along the deck looking left and right for an escape. Laughter followed her; she looked back; no one had moved.

"Let me collect her Capt'n," said Bill Jukes his tattooed face breaking into a grin. Lizzie stared at his face and baldhead totally covered with tattoos. With a single motion he pulled the shirt over his head revealing that his chest and arms too were totally covered with tattoos. Even from the other end of the ship Lizzie could see they were not pictures of sailing ships and desert islands. A master of the tattooist's art had covered him in brilliantly coloured pictures of the most lascivious nature. Lizzie could not believe her subconscious could have thought up such scenes. He began, to shouts of encouragement from the crew, to remove his breeches. The legend that Bill Jukes was every inch tat­tooed was true. His massive thighs were tattooed, his buttocks were tattooed and his cock standing proud and ready was intricately tattooed, though Lizzie could not yet see what the designs showed. The crew cheered as Bill Jukes began to advance on Lizzie, his great arms reaching forward above his point­ing cock.

Lizzie did not know what to do; she remained irresolute, as Bill Jukes ad­vanced towards her. Lizzie had to do something; she feinted to the right and ran past Bill Jukes to the left. A stinging smack landed on her buttocks. He was not slow. She skidded to a halt on the greasy deck facing the wall of the pirate crew; she could not get past them. She was breathing fast her breasts rising and falling, sweat dripping. She was about to turn and run back, past where she thought Bill Jukes was, when she felt two great hands on her breasts and a cock pushed hard between her bottom cheeks. She struggled but this only caused her bottom to wriggle against Bill Jukes' cock. He was in no hurry to move and he let her wriggle fruitlessly for a good minute as his hands held tight to her breasts and she uselessly beat her fists back against his thighs.

With a single lunge of his hips Bill Juke's swung Lizzie's legs upwards, his hands moved and he caught her under her knees and pulled her to him. Lizzie was caught her knees pulled hard back against her chest by Bill Jukes' hands and her back pushing into his stomach. Her thighs were, as a consequence spread, and her sex fully exposed to the crew's, and most importantly, Jas. Hook's inspection.

"Like this Capt'n?" asked Bill Jukes, "spread like this?"

"Aye, well done Jukes. Now where's that lad, that able-seaman Tom Staines? Look lively now. Off with them rags."

Tom did not need to be told twice. Orders is orders. His pale young body was very different from Bill Jukes. No tattoo disfigured his lily-white skin. His hands were not enormous, his chest not massive but like Bill Jukes his cock was firmly erect. If he was embarrassed to be tumescent amongst his crew­mates he did not show it. His eyes were on Tiger Lily. Tom thought he had never seen anything so beautiful, so vulnerable, so desirable.

"Right young Tom, warm her up a bit, and give her a good tonguing, squaws like that."

Tom was not ignorant. He knew what his captain wanted and he dropped to his knees between Lizzie's spread thighs, stuck out his tongue and tentative­ly tasted her before setting to with enthusiasm." The crew cheered him on.

Lizzie was torn between being terrified and enjoying the feel of Tom's lap­ping tongue. "Perhaps the dream is getting better," she thought, "young Tom is a good looking lad and not one of those other awful pirates." She began to re­spond, her sex moistening and opening to Tom.

"I expect our Princess is ready now, young Tom," said Hook, "out of the way." Hook came right up to Lizzie and stroked a finger up her sex, "yes ready indeed. Away you go." He stepped back and Tom set forward ready to do his duty.

Lizzie was held firm and exposed by Bill Jukes, there was nothing she could do, nothing to stop Tom as he stepped forward, aimed his penis and being young and inexperienced, did not savour the moment and take it slowly but pushed right in up to the hilt. The cheer from the crew was the loudest yet. Because of the peculiar way she was held Lizzie could not see Tom's face but rather his chest. She could certainly feel his cock, feel Bill Jukes' rough hands on the underside of her knees and worse of all feel Bill Jukes' cock underneath her bottom rubbing against her bottom hole.

Tom had set to with gusto. He rammed his cock in and out of Lizzie as if it was a battering ram. No finesse, no experience, no prolonging of the moment, no control. He had hardly started before Lizzie felt the warm pulsing of his semen splashing into her sex. Tom stepped back gasping, his cock still drib­bling and erect.

"Ha, the boy has readied her," cried Hook, "who will catch her next. Let her down Bill, let her down."

Bill Jukes released his grip and Lizzie slipped to the deck. She was up in a trice and on the move. But the crew seemed everywhere, hands patting or smacking her round bottom, pawing her breasts or indeed anywhere they could touch. Nonetheless she did slip past them and rushed below deck to hide. Hook sent Bill Jukes to find her.

It was not nice for Lizzie, hiding amongst some barrels, to hear the steady progress of the great naked tattooed man towards her. And steady it was. Bill Jukes was no fool, and his rigid cock ached for release. He needed to find her and find her he did.

Close to him, the graphic nature of the tattoos amazed and shocked Lizzie. Bill Jukes forced her to her knees in front of him.

"Well my pretty, what do you see?"

"I, er, I see .."

"You see my cock."

"I see your cock."

"And what do you see on my cock?"

"Pictures."

"Pictures of what?"

"Pictures of girls, pictures of men."

"And what are the girls doing, Princess Tiger Lily?"

"They are, they are sucking the men's cocks."

"Yes, and what are you going to do?"

The answer had been obvious since the start of the conversation. Lizzie saw no point in answering with words. She bowed to the inevitable and took the rigid tattooed cock into her mouth. Bill Jukes let out a great sigh of plea­sure, "Yesss."

Lizzie worked in silence. What else could she do? Perhaps her dream would release her soon or get better." Bill Jukes watched the pretty Indian princess' mouth fastened around his cock. He liked to see pretty girls with their lips around his cock. Why Hook came to Neverland he could never fath­om. Precious few pretty girls around here.

Bill Jukes felt his release nearing, the steady tickling of Tiger Lilly's tongue on his cockhead. It was soon too much, he felt his scrotum tighten and the semen shooting up his cock. The sudden vice like grip on his testicles took him completely by surprise. There was a moment of clear thought and pleasure be­fore the pain hit him and he fell to the deck planking in agony, his cock still pulsing. Lizzie was up and on the move again, free only for a moment for she ran straight into a gang of pirates sent to find out what Bill Jukes had done with her.

She was dragged to the deck again, the pirates being careful to secure and hold her in interesting ways. Holding her fast had surely not required the inser­tion of fingers into her sex and even her little wrinkled bottom hole?

Hook smiled when he saw her again. "Has Bill been taking advantage without permission? He'll be punished for that... but so will you."

"Tie her up!" he shouted.

It was Smee who tied her to the mast. "See here, honey," he whispered, "I'll save you if you promise to be mine."

"Smee, is she tied?" roared Hood.

Lizzie hardly heard the Captain; she was looking at the Irish bo'sun Smee clad in breeches, buckled shoes and the traditional striped jersey of the pirate. It was not a ruddy red stripe but a familiar yellow and black. It was Conrad. She had thought she'd seen him before in Neverland and other dreams but there was no doubt this time. It was him.

"YOU, what are you doing here? Is this your doing?"

"Doing? My doing? I'm trying to save you here Lizzie. You're in just a bit of a pickle aren't you? You need my help. I can get you away. Come and sleep with me. Just one little fuck, that's all I need." He smiled in his ingratiating and, to Lizzie, odious way. He reached out and stroked her round breasts, touching her nipples. You know what will happen to you otherwise. You wouldn't want the Hook would you?"

"Smee, stop pawing her.

Lizzie was tied facing the mast, her back and bottom exposed to the crew.

"A flogging before the plank," cried Hook. It was not a cat-o-nine tails on poor Lizzie's back but Hook's school cane on her bare bottom cheeks. The sound was indeed 'thwack' as the Captain wielded the cane on Lizzie's poor bottom. The crew cheered once more as each new red stripe appeared on those pretty cheeks. Trousers and breeches bulged and the occasional cock was even exposed and stroked at the sight.

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather come with me. Surrender to me. Join me?" whispered Smee. I can take you to a different and happy place where you can bathe and then we can make love so much more pleasantly. You need to fuck me. Come on, let's leave here."

"Smee, stop whispering to her or I'll have you flogged. Tie her wrists and hoist her." Lizzie's wrists were tied and the rope thrown over a yard. The crew pulled on the rope and she was hoisted onto tiptoe. Hook began to undress. He removed his embroidered greatcoat covered in gold lace and jewels, his magnif­icent ruff and the rest of his courtly garments until he stood naked but for his tricorn hat. His white teeth shone as he smiled. She had not deigned to watch him undress but now her eyes were drawn to his face and then downward and she understood why he was called Hook. His cock did not follow the usual pat­tern. Instead of being straight or with a graceful curve, Hook's turned sharply upwards half way along the shaft and then the head seemed almost to come a little way back on itself. It truly was a hook. Capt'n Hook laughed and the crew laughed with him.

"Pull her legs apart. Let's see if young Tom has nicely moistened her."

Two crew grabbed Lizzie's ankles and pulled them apart. Hook thrust his left hand between her thighs and pushed a stubby finger up into her. "Ah, just right." Withdrawing his hand Hook simply walked forward until his stomach touched Lizzie's own, his peculiar upturned penis slipped between her thighs, its upturned head scraping across her clit, and finding no resistance its up­turned head entered her with no apparent effort on Hook's part. He let out a deep sigh of contentment.

"Let her down."

The loss of tension on her arms meant Lizzie came heavily off her toes and hard down onto her feet. It also meant she came down hard on Hook's cock forcing more of it into her, even the bend of the hook. She gasped.

"Pull."

Lizzie was lifted back up again.

"Down."

James Hook was using his crew to make Lizzie fuck him. His pearly teeth shone white as his hands moulded her breasts. Up and down the crew lifted Lizzie, one moment on the flat of her feet, the next on tiptoe. All the while pulled up and down Hook's cock. It was exhausting and uncomfortable for Lizzie. Her hands tightly tied, her arms being pulled up hard by the rope and her sex invaded by a strangely shaped cock . There was no orgasm for Lizzie, but she felt the warm spurt as Hook roared and ejaculated into her. She found herself standing beside her bed, her hands raised up to the ceiling alternately rising onto her toes and back down again. She could still hear Smee, or rather Conrad, whispering, "Youshould have taken my offer but never mind. You will be mine. It just takes one fuck, just one..." With a cry she flung herself on her bed, trying to feel if her bottom really had been whipped. She could not feel any wheals but her sex was sopping as if it had been well used.



Such Stuff Ch. 11



Part 11

Codpiece

Lizzie had had to be up early to go to London and she had felt so tired. She had not wanted to go at all but her parents would not hear of her ducking out. It had proved a long and very busy day. The only bright spot being she had not seen Conrad at all.

Utterly exhausted from her day, all Lizzie wanted to do was sleep but she sat on her bed, knees drawn up to her chin in her pretty nightdress too scared to close her eyes. Last night's had not been a happy dream: it had been a night­mare. She had been so enjoying the sexy dreams of the last few weeks: so oddly different from her dreams before. She was sure Conrad was something to do with her dreams but how could he get inside her head, how could he con­trol her mind? Why did he keep appearing in one guise or another, most awful­ly as Smee the night before? She shuddered at the memory of Jas. Hook. It had all been so real, even when she had woken the dreadful scene had still seemed almost more real than her bed and bedroom. She had nearly run in to see her father and mother in the middle of the night, which was something she had not done since she was nine years old when she used to drag her duvet in and sleep on the floor, night after night.

Perhaps she would dream of Friday, or the Scarecrow or her Sister in Oz but... what if it was Jas. Hook again or something worse? She thought back over what Conrad had said the day before but that gave no clue as to a book. But he always mentioned books. What did his remarks about journeying and choices mean?

She would read for a bit and settle her mind. Perhaps if Conrad hadn't mentioned a book she would not dream or maybe it would be a happy dream. She looked around and picked up 'Pride and Prejudice', now she would not mind at all meeting Mr Darcy! She began to read:

'IT is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.

However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first entering a neighbourhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families, that he is considered as the rightful property of some one or other of their daughters.

"My dear Mr. Bennet,'' said his lady to him one day, `"have you heard that Netherfield Park is let at last?''

Mr. Bennet replied that he had not.

"But it is,'' returned she; `"for Mrs. Long has just been here, and she told me all about it.''

Mr. Bennet made no answer.

"Do not you want to know who has taken it?'' cried his wife impatiently.

"You want to tell me, and I have no objection to hearing it.''

This was invitation enough.'

The book dropped from her fingers and Lizzie was fast asleep. It seemed to her only moments had gone by when she found she was walking in a mist, following a path, a path that was only just visible ahead of her. The path was wet and muddy and not very distinct. Lizzie could not see what was on either side of her because of the mist and its effect of dampening all sound. There was a silence, which seemed eerie. Lizzie paused and looked about her. She was so tired but there was no where to sit, it was all too wet, so she might as well keep walking, she was after all, she noticed, well shod in stout leather boots.

She decided, despite immediate appearances, that she was in Wonderland again when she saw, sitting on a bough of a gnarled and weather beaten tree a few yards off, the Cheshire Cat. It grinned when it saw Lizzie.

"Cheshire Puss," she began again and it only grinned a little wider. "Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?"

"That depends a good deal on where you want to get to,' said the Cat pre­dictably.

"I don't much care where—" said Lizzie.

"Then it doesn't matter which way you go," said the Cat.

"—so long as I get SOMEWHERE," Lizzie added as an explanation.

"Oh, you're most certainly sure to do that," said the Cat grinning even wider, "if you only walk long enough. You could go back the way you came or on the way you're going."

Lizzie felt that this could not be denied, but was singularly unhelpful; which was rather as she had expected from the Cat so she walked on leaving the Cat grinning behind her.

As she walked the mist cleared away and she found she was hiking across a rather featureless moor following a peaty track between the heather. She could see no trees here, just purple heather, not even a gnarled and bent by the wind hawthorn to relieve the monotony of the landscape. Overhead the clouds were moving fast, a storm either approaching or going away. She was not sure which. The light was bright but with a cold light rather than the warm light of the visible sun. Lizzie found it depressing but she trudged on, awfully tired and really wanting to be home in bed. "But I am home in bed," she thought, "it's just I'm in this rotten dream. I didn't want a rotten, horrible dream tonight. Why can't I dream of lying quietly in the shade of a coconut palm on Crusoe's Island with Friday or in the Tin Woodman's cottage rather than this desolation more reminiscent of the waste around the House of Usher than any­where else?"

A patch of blue sky allowed a shaft of sunlight through, though not on Lizzie, illuminating something on the horizon, right where her path lead. Slow­ly she trudged towards what seemed to be a post in an otherwise featureless landscape. As she got nearer she decided it was a signpost and she was right. It was one of those old English white painted wooden signposts you still some­times see at country crossroads, though too many have been replaced by stark metal signs. It would have had fingers pointing at the ends of the signs if they had not been so old, rotten and broken. It was a sad sight, rot had got into it due to lack of re-painting and the arms had wholly or in part broken off and, presumably, the pieces now lay amongst the heather. Mushrooms or fungi grew from the main post. Lizzie stood and looked at the sign. It pointed to left and right and, indeed, the path no longer went straight on but changed direc­tion forking to left and right.

"Looking for something or someone?" said a small voice. She looked around but could see no one.

A wisp of smoke rising from a bright yellow bracket fungus on the sign­post's side caught Lizzie's eye. She stepped into the bracken and looked close­ly. Sitting on the mushroom, only just visible due to its camouflage of yellow and black alternate segments, sat a large caterpillar with its arms folded, quiet­ly smoking a long hookah.

The Caterpillar and Lizzie looked at each other for some time in silence: at last the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth, and addressed her in a languid, sleepy voice.

"YOU again?" said the Caterpillar.

"What are you doing here?" asked Lizzie.

"Smoking."

"I can see that."

"Why did you ask?" replied the Caterpillar.

"That's not what I meant."

The Caterpillar did not reply.

"Well have you any advice for me this time?"

"This time?"

"Have you any advice for me on this bleak moor such as which way to go?"

"No."

"So, how do I know which way to go then?"

"Signpost."

"Hmmm!" Lizzie looked up at the signpost, one arm pointing to the right said 'Reality', the other pointing left said 'dreams'.

"Well I've had enough of dreams. I want to get back to my bed, to the reali­ty of my bed." said Lizzie, feeling very tired, and set off to the right.

"Are you SURE?" said the Caterpillar, "it is important to make consid­ered choices and even more important to make the right ones particularly when journeying." The Caterpillar smiled and put the Hookah back in his mouth.

It was unfortunate Lizzie did not go round the other side of the signpost where she would have seen the two pointers said respectively "but not as you know it" and "Sweet"

It was equally unfortunate she did not look for the broken off pieces of the signs which would have said the same thing, and very much more unfortunate she did not look for the completely broken off arm that, once upon a time, had pointed back the way she had come and said 'Home sweet home'.

Lizzie followed the path; it began to descend a hill and steadily became steeper and steeper and muddier and muddier. The mist rolled in. Lizzie tripped and fell forward...

Lizzie floated in clouds, it was really rather soothing if a little uninterest­ing. There again, being asleep was not, she thought, meant to be interesting but it had often been so these last few weeks. Through a gap in the clouds she espied a mansion set in gardens. A river wound its way nearby and there was a lake with an island. The house was built of stone and Lizzie, from her van­tage point, could see the roofs were slated. The sun shone down on it through the gap in the clouds and its windows reflected the light back so they seemed to flash at Lizzie in welcome: or warning. She began to drift lower through the gap and then, picking up speed, she found herself moving faster and tumbling and tumbling towards the ground.

This was not a nice experience. Lizzie remembered being told if you are falling in a dream and you reach the ground you have died. She was frightened and willed herself to wake up. The ground was getting closer and closer, com­ing up to meet her. She screamed.

Lizzie was sitting on the floor in a room of mirrors with the long skirts of her dress spread out around her. Unsteadily she got to her feet and looked around her, dozens of reflections of herself looked back at her. She walked across the polished wooden floor to one of the glasses and looked at herself. Lizzie looked back at her from the mirror.

"So, I look like me in this dream, that's a change. But what an unusual dress. Very, very pretty but..." Lizzie twirled around admiring herself in the mirrors and the way the dress material spun out and round with her. It was clearly silk. "Why are my boobs so exposed?" The dress was low cut, ridicu­lously low cut so Lizzie's breasts were not covered at all. It was not that it was simply undone. There were no catches, no buttons, no laces to do it up at all and whilst the skirts were generous to an extravagance with material there was not enough at the bust to pull across and hide her bosom.

"Curiouser and curiouser, I suppose Alice might have said. Well, let's be up and doing." Lizzie walked around the room looking for the door. It was all mirrors, mirrors in gold frames, very opulent, arguably also very vulgar.

"One is going to be a door, if I can find the handle." On her third circuit she espied not a handle but a black hole about one and a quarter inches in di­ameter set in the frame of one of the mirrors at about the height you would ex­pect to find a handle. She put her finger in the hole. She could not feel a catch or anything. It was just a smooth sided hole longer than her finger. She put her hands on her hips rather cross and looked again about the room. It was not ac­tually empty there were chairs (gold with cabriolet legs and red velvet seat cov­ers, still rather vulgar) and various tables, some with drawers.

"Perhaps there is something I can poke into the hole in those drawers?"

Lizzie opened the first one. It was empty. The next one was more promis­ing. Opening it she found paper, a pencil and a key. But the key did not touch anything in the hole and seemed to be nothing to do with it. She put the key back. The next drawer was again empty. When she opened the last drawer she started back in surprise and embarrassment. Lying in the drawer on a velvet bag was a penis substitute, a gold dildo. There was no mistaking what it was; it comprised a long straight shaft rising to an acorn shaped head. Two joined balls formed its other end. Lizzie shut the drawer and walked back to the hole. Her dreams did get very odd. Why did she seem to be obsessed by sexual im­agery? Was it just because she was young?

There seemed to be nowhere else in the room where anything could be found to fit in the hole. She stared at it. An idea came to her.

"Surely not!"

Returning to the fourth drawer she again opened it and this time took out the gold penis. She held it in her hand. She had never actually used one her­self, well apart from in Oz but that was only a dream. A naughty thought came into her head. Shaking that idea from her head, she walked to the mirror with the hole and pushed the acorn head, the glans, into the hole. It slid in easily and fitted perfectly. Lizzie pushed it home. There was a click and the dildo held firm. She stepped away and looked at what she had done. Sticking out from the mirror frame was what could almost be mistaken as a handle to a door if it did not look so much like a pair of gold testicles. Lizzie grasped the gold scrotum in her hand and turned. It was indeed a door handle. The mirror door opened.

"Ah Lizzie you have arrived! I am, as you know, the Chevalier Heuron."

The door had opened into an anteroom, well furnished and containing a single occupant. The man appeared not to have finished dressing. He wore an embroided doublet and hose but they were 'open crotch' and he did not have a codpiece to hide his manhood. Lizzie was a trifle embarrassed to see his penis and balls exposed though, recollecting her own dress, perhaps this was normal in this dream.

"Chevalier? A French knight."

"Mais oui, my sword is always at the ready."

A second man entered in a similar state of undress and clearly agitated.

"Chevalier, I cannot attach this codpiece at all, I really do not know what to do. We should not be late and I am not yet dressed. Who is this?" He seemed to notice Lizzie and bowed.

"Perhaps Lizzie, this is of course she, can help you. No doubt she has nim­ble fingers."

The second man thrust the codpiece into Lizzie's hand.

"I, I don't know how it fits, I've never worn or had to..." she said.

"Of course you've never worn one. You're a girl!" They both laughed heartily at the idea.

"It laces you know," remarked the man helpfully.

Kneeling Lizzie attempted to lace on the codpiece. The leather codpiece, finely decorated with hunting scenes, had a series of eyelets intended to allow a lace to pass through similar holes in the hose and thereby hold the codpiece in place. Lizzie threaded the lace but it was not easy as the eyelets were small. Her small fingers kept brushing against the man's penis. Initially flaccid Lizzie could not help noticing that it was getting larger. It really was the most attractive penis she had seen. She tried ignoring it as she laced another hole. The penis kept rising. It was pointing straight at her now as she completed an­other eyelet on the left side. Before she had threaded the next one the foreskin had begun to slide downwards exposing the sensitive skin of the head, a de­lightfully pale pink. Lizzie without thinking ran her tongue across her lower lip. The cock reached full height, standing stiff and erect well above where the top of the codpiece would go.

"And how do you think you're going to get that inside my friend's cod­piece?" demanded the Chevalier. "He's a fool to wear one, he should go with­out as I do, leaving his cods exposed."

"But I like my codpiece! It is of the finest leather. What should I do? It is so elegant, it so becomes me, oh, what can we do?"

Lizzie sat on her heels, the pale pink head of the erect cock inches from her face. It looked lovely. There was surely no harm in a dream in doing what you want to do? Lizzie put out her tongue and licked it. It jerked, Lizzie was quick and caught it between her lips and sucked it into her mouth.

"Of course!" cried the Chevalier.

The cock felt wonderful in her mouth, the head was smooth like glass. Lizzie rolled her tongue across it and began bobbing her head backwards and forwards driving the penis across her lips.

The Chevalier was not unmoved by the sight, his own cods stirred and rose. He thought of lifting her dress and seeing if, but no, there was not really the time. Later perhaps.

Lizzie kept up a regular motion, sliding the cock in and out between her lips; she had learnt that men liked a rhythm. She found she could easily lick the smooth head on the outstroke, a quick flutter across its end as it moved away. A caress across its eye. She reached up with one hand and weighed the balls. This was a good dream, they felt weighty and warm. She squeezed gen­tly feeling the testes within. Lizzie wondered if she would remember this deli­cious dream when she woke.

The man had temporarily forgotten about his codpiece. Lizzie was work­ing his cods, she was doing it very well and it would not be long before her ef­forts produced a tangible result. Having been taken pleasantly by surprise he had left the activity to Lizzie, but now he suddenly came to life and began to thrust with his hips. Lizzie, a bit taken by surprise, caught him on the back of her throat but knew what it signified. Grabbing hold of the shaft to control it she readied herself to receive the pulses of semen that were about to be ex­pelled. The man was either unusually gifted or had not ejaculated for a long time, as Lizzie's mouth was almost filled on the first pulse with the warm vis­cous fluid, she swallowed quickly and wisely as immediately her mouth was filled again with semen. Eight times she swallowed before the torrent slowed to a trickle.

Lizzie had become a little excited and wet but had been nowhere near or­gasm. She had after all not been touched at all. So she was not surprised that the dream continued its strange course, though she was disappointed there was no immediate touching of her.

The softening penis, still releasing a little semen ("not on the leather, not on the leather") now fitted snuggly in the codpiece. Lizzie finished her lacing and stood up.

"Bravo, Lizzie, bravo," cried the man.

"Come," said the Chevalier. They walked in line abreast, the two gentle­men either side of her, each holding an arm. Lizzie's breasts swaying as she walked in her strange beautiful open fronted dress, the Chevalier's penis swayed in a similar way as he walked but his friend's codpiece remained firm and solid. They walked down oak panelled corridors with moulded plaster ceil­ings in the Jacobean style and large busted stone Caryatids relieving the pan­elling at intervals. Wide stone windows looked over the fine lawn Lizzie had seen earlier from above. Lizzie wanted to stop and look but her companions hurried her on. They came to a splendid marble hall lit from above by flaming lamps.

"Ah, just in time, excellent," said the Chevalier, "it would not have done to be late!"

Across the marble hall Lizzie discerned a strange tableau. A man and a woman were attempting copulation. Each was encased from neck to hip in a sort of carapace, similar in shape to an egg. These were gaily painted in bands of black and bright yellow. The prospective copulators' legs were clad in yel­low hose clasped to their thighs by black garters but their loins were un­clothed. They wore long gloves, yellow to their right, black to their left. Their faces were painted in the same stripes as their carapaces. The two of them were bumping into each other with loud crashes as they sought to mate. The women's full hips were adorned by a strong growth of hair dyed bright yellow to match her clothing. The man sported a large erection rising from a similarly dyed nest of curls.

Intercourse was impossible whilst they wore their strange garments. The man's penis, though stiff and pointing, did not even touch the woman when they bumped together. Their frustration was evident as they tried harder and harder to connect. One particularly strong impact sent both of them flying and they lost balance. Once over they were like insects on their backs unable to get up. Lizzie watched as the two rotated on the marble floor arms and legs flail­ing as they attempted to right themselves. The woman's legs kicked in the air exposing her sex to the onlookers view. Lizzie could see that all of her hair, even that along the side of her labia had been carefully dyed bright yellow. Her sex shone in the lamplight showing she was excited and wet. Poor thing thought Lizzie, she must be very frustrated. The man was similarly trapped; he too rotated on the floor, arms and legs flailing. His rigid cock waving in the air as he moved.




Such Stuff Ch. 11



"We must help them, Lizzie", said the Chevalier as if speaking a part, "they need our help, do you agree?" On the arm of the Chevalier Heuron she crossed the hall.

Lizzie nodded her ascent. She had thought the Chevalier meant to help them to their feet. The Chevalier however took hold of the woman's flailing legs and pulled them to him. Dropping to his knees he applied his already hard cock to her bright yellow-framed sex. He sank in and began to ease her need. She ceased to struggle and appeared to be greatly enjoying his ministra­tions. Lizzie had not been unmoved by the man's large cock. She had glanced more than a few times at it finding the bright yellow of its nest of hair particu­larly alluring. Nor had she missed the beauty of the women's sex and its strong growth of brightly dyed yellow hair. Her own sex was moist, her ex­posed nipples hardening. She too dropped to her knees and with an effort stopped the rotating man; her hand found his penis and grasped it firmly. At once his struggles stopped. She pulled the foreskin up and down a few times half expecting this would cause it, in its excitement, to spurt. Closer to it now she thought how the man's curly hair really was the most amazingly bright yel­low colour. What an odd thing to do, to dye one's pubic hair. The penis felt good in her hand, she was really quite wet now.

"Come on Lizzie," shouted the Chevalier looking across from his position between the woman's thighs, "you need to fuck him." Lizzie lifted her skirts and sank down on his upturned shaft. The penis' end touched her sex, she pushed downwards, it was very large. Inch by inch it slipped into her. The man was motionless, she began to ride, faster and faster, her breath coming in shorter and shorter gasps. The pleasure was almost unbearable, she knew she would wake up soon, she always did on orgasm. Still she rode the hard penis onwards, her orgasm approaching, "I'll wake up now she thought," she was nearly there. She felt the man begin to come, hot spurts inside her and, with a last push, she began to orgasm. A long drawn out spasm building in intensity until her whole body was on fire before the feeling slowly began to fade away. She slowed to a stop and rested, sitting on the man's thighs embedded on his cock. Around her was silence; the Chevalier had quietened the woman with his exertions. He too had come.

Her senses returning Lizzie was puzzled by the silence and, more, that her dream had not ended. She rose, feeling the man's softening cock fall from her vagina, his semen beginning to trickle down her leg. He lay on the marble floor, penis at rest upon its patch of brightly coloured yellow hair. Damp from Lizzie's own excitement, wet from her sex, semen still oozing from its eye. Something felt wrong, very wrong, she tried, as on other nights to wake up, she knew she was dreaming, she wanted to wake but could not. She could not get back to her bed.

A loud crack startled her, the man's absurd carapace was splitting apart right down the middle releasing the man and allowing him to rise. He stood, still ridiculous in his bright yellow hose held by the black garters and the long yellow gloves. Otherwise he was naked but for a pouch slung from his neck. Lizzie recognised the pouch, recognised the man. "You! she hissed, "why do you haunt my dreams?"

"Dream?" he laughed, "So this is your dream you think?" his hand swept around encompassing the hall. "This is your dream?"

The Chevalier had got to his feet and was regarding Lizzie with a quizzical smile. His companion still lay on the floor rocking almost imperceptively from side to side, her legs still spread displaying her recently exercised sex, beauti­fully framed in yellow and still swollen, a little semen dripping from it and forming a puddle on the marble floor.

"I don't recognise the story Conrad, I haven't read the book."

"Do all your dreams come from books?"

"You know, leastways I think you do, they come from the books you men­tion or they do seem to have done recently anyway." Lizzie turned, "This is be­coming a nightmare not a dream, I want to wake up now."

There was laughter, not just from him but from the Chevalier, the woman on the floor and others unseen. Lizzie turned sharply round.

"I want to wake up, now!" She shouted. It had always happened before.

Conrad opened his satchel and took out a book. An ordinary spiral bound book she recognised. "Here is your story, this is the book."

"That's not a book, it's your notebook! I mean a published book like 'Won­derland' or 'Oz' not a notebook."

Smiling he opened the book and began to read,

'The two wasps, Worrity and Wiggle circled each other round and round the chequerboard floor. Nearer and nearer they came but they could not meet and join. Lost and sad, so near yet so far. The Chevalier, a gentleman, took out his handkerchief to mop away his tears.

"We must help them, Lizzie", said the Chevalier, "they need our help, do you agree?"

Lizzie tossed her yellow hair, she did not want to help, she wanted her own way, but she was a good girl and agreed to help the best she could.'

Wide eyed, Lizzie grabbed at the book; Conrad was certainly not letting her have it and held on. Nonetheless she was able to read the words written on the page in black ink.

'Her help was good enough.'

"Would you like to know what happens next?"

"The page is blank. It's not a finished story, it's not a real book"

"You see this is my book. I am writing it. I have written you, Lizzie, into my story. Not just written you in but, better than that, made you a central char­acter."

"Kind of you Conrad but..."

"Kind! No, not really. I've watched you since I first saw you. Wanted you in my story. But I didn't just want to write you in, no, I really wanted you. Not just my version of you. I wanted you and I have you now."

"I'll wake up soon."

More laughter from the room. It was becoming a nightmare.

"Lizzie you misunderstand this is waking for you now. I can be here, I can be there: but you can't. You're in my book now and when it is published, print­ed, on sale in the bookshops you will be everywhere but, just for now, you are here, just here in my book."

"I'm not, I'm not." Lizzie picked up her skirts and ran through the far door, down long corridors until she found herself outside in the garden. She kept running across a lawn, down a gravel path between beautifully tended herbaceous borders, into an avenue of Yew trees, gloomy and sad and out into the sunshine by a low brick wall. She stood looking wildly around, her chest rising and falling with emotion, her pretty breasts with their pointy nipples beautifully agitated, before throwing herself to the ground sobbing.

"Lost are you?" said a voice from above her. Lizzie sat up. Sitting on the wall was a small boy, no a little man with a mischievous face. He sat, legs to­gether, knees up to his chin. All Lizzie could see was his large hairy feet, an­kles, shins and knees and his round brown face under a blue cap.

"I, who are you," she said standing.

"Robin."

"Hood?" said Lizzie hopefully. Was she now in a different and better dream?

"Do I look like an archer, tall and handsome dressed in Lincoln Green?"

"Not really."

"I can draw a bow but my cap is blue."

"Do you live here?"

"Not like you!"

"I'm not from here. This is a dream."

"Ho, ho, ho. Not from anywhere else. Think but this, and all is mended, that you have but slumber'd here while these visions did appear. I think not, Lizzie!"

"Shakespeare, you quote 'The Midsummer Night's Dream' to me here? Perhaps I'm dreaming the Dream? If so then you must be, either I mistake your shape and making quite, or else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite called Robin Goodfellow. Are you not he?"

"Thou speakest aright; I am that merry wanderer of the night. By Oak, Ash and Thorn," cried Puck, taking off his blue cap to her, "you are certainly quick but not right about the dream. You see, Lizzie, we are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep."

"I'm not a dream and that's 'The Tempest' not the 'Dream'.

Robin Goodfellow or Puck, they are but one and the same, waved his hand negligently to the west, the clouds there were dark and moving fast even though it was still warm and sunny in the garden, "and what is that then, ho, ho, ho, a monstrous crow?"

The wind began to rise.

"I'm not made of dreams, I'm real and I want to wake up."

Puck laughed again, "Not so, not at all. You are here and belong here. I like it; it's a merry place with japes, frolics and tumbles. I like tricks, jests but espe­cially tumbles."

"I don't like this at all, it frightens me." The wind got stronger.

See the house? A merrier hour was never wasted there. What do you say about the tempest now, Lizzie? The wind or I play tricks you know!"

Lizzie stood, "What tricks do you play Robin Goodfellow? Is it you who stops me waking up?"

"You are awake Lizzie, this is waking, and this is your story. You know who is writing it! Not me, no, not me. I wouldn't do that to you. No, I play games not steal people, I play fun games and I have a little, or not so little, trick, a jape, some fun to show you. I am sent with broom before. To sweep the dust behind the door."

"Before, what do you mean by that?" As Lizzie watched, Puck, his brown face still grinning with mischief, casually stretched out his legs along the cop­ing and stood revealing between his thighs what had been present since he had first spoken, an outsize erection reaching nearly to his chin. It sported a ruddy red head and its veins climbed sinuously up its shaft. Below it hung two large hairy balls. It was quite out of keeping with the size of the little hob. Puck smiled widely and, as he moved his legs, his hard penis swayed slightly from side to side.

A sudden gust of wind caught Lizzie pushing her off her feet, billowing her skirts up and over her head, as she fell backwards onto the long grass. She could not see. With her hands she beat against the material that was swirling around her head in the mounting wind. It had exposed all of her lower half and covered her upper half with her dress. She could feel the long grass pressing against her naked bottom, tickling her between her legs. She fought against the material trying to restore her composure and modesty, her legs kicking.

Too late, she felt two small hairy hands on her inner thighs stilling them, forcing them apart, opening her, exposing her, revealing her pretty curls: and she felt the knob of a large erection touch the entrance to her sex.

"I don't know where Lizzie is," said her mother, "I've been in her room and she's not there. Her nightdress is in her bed, not on top or folded or anything, just where it would be if she was in it in bed. Do you think she's gone for a walk? Her shoes are by her bed so I don't know. It's not like her at all. I'm wor­ried."

In a small bedsit not far away sat a young man with a yellow and black stripey jumper and old jeans. His head was bent over a spiral bound black and red notebook. His greasy hair flopped over his black-rimmed glasses as he wrote with a bright yellow fountain pen,

'Lizzie's close encounter with Puck lead her to be wary of the merry prankster and to pay more attention to what Worrity told her. She did not let the jape worry her for long and looked forward to the promised river trip on the morrow.'

He closed the book with a smile. The shimmering with the yellow edge over by the wall stopped. He would go through it into his world tomorrow and see how Lizzie was faring. He had her now; she was his; locked in his book; only he had her; locked away until the book was published. Of course then ev­eryone would know her: though not perhaps in quite the same way. He chuck­led, as he pulled off his clothes ready for bed. His penis hung down between his thighs as he ambled over to his bed. Should he exercise it tonight? He pulled the sheets and blankets over him. There was no need, Lizzie had worked him well that day and she would again tomorrow. He reached out his hand to his bedside lamp to turn it off.

"Sweet dreams, Lizzie."



Such Stuff Ch. 12



Part 12

There is nothing...

Lizzie woke from the most awful dream. Even worse, and that had been bad enough, worse than being raped by Captain Jas. Hook, she had dreamt she had been captured by the odious Conrad and locked inside his strange fantasy of a novel. A children's story he seemed to consider it, yet, the reality had been dis­tinctly adult, obscenely adult in nature. She snuggled down in the warm bed­clothes drawing her knees up to her chest, "There's nothing like home, is there Dorothy?" she whispered.

"You are home, you know," said a voice a little above her. Lizzie's eyes opened wide in alarm. The panic got worse as she took in the strangeness of the room, the ornately carved bed, the strange furniture and the small figure wearing a blue cap and perched on one of the corner posts of her bed. To her horror Lizzie realised that her entrapment had not been a dream at all: she was very much inside Conrad's mad erotic fantasy and it was none other than Puck sitting on the corner post of her bed.

She ripped the bedclothes to one side and shot out of bed and stood pant­ing, her chest heaving, her eyes wide with fright, feet on the cold tiled floor. Not a good awakening. Her eyes shot to and fro across the room as she took in her surroundings. It was a terrifying experience. But she did not run, she did not scream, she did not burst into tears. No, none of those things.

"Good... good morning Robin Goodfellow," said Lizzie after a few mo­ments, having commendably pulled herself together. She was not some silly girl. She was made of sterner stuff. Puck smiled at her.

"I like you Elizabeth Sherrell," he said.

"How d'you know my name?" demanded Lizzie.

Puck wrinkled up his face as if thinking and then smiled at Lizzie, "How long, Lizzie, have I been around do you think? Am I mortal or am I faerie? I do more than curdle milk!"

"So I noticed. Such as sticking your cock, without so much as a by your leave, in girls you meet."

"Ah, but what a jape, you tumbling over in the Tempest you had raised up, or there again perhaps it was me you raised," Puck laughed at his pun, "A bit of jollity. It's in the nature of this place, this wonderful place; it is what hap­pens here all the time. I may, possibly, have mentioned I like being here. Would you like another jape?" The little man lifted his limp manhood, shall I set this to work, shall YOU set it to work or does perchance the Writer set it to work? Now what do you think?"

Before Lizzie could answer, there was a knock at the door, it opened and in came a maid. Lizzie was not surprised to see the maid was wearing the classic 'French Maid' outfit.

"She's not actually a maid," whispered Puck, laughing again at his own joke.

"No, I suppose not," said Lizzie looking at the girl.

"Mornin' Miss Lizzie, some tea?" Lizzie did like a cup of tea in the morn­ing and was not going to let the strangeness of her new home upset that. The maid poured tea from a silver teapot into a bone china cup. "Milk, sugar?"

"None for me then?" queried Puck. The maid gave him a look.

"No, I thought not."

"Shall I run your bath Miss Lizzie?" It was only then that Lizzie realised she was standing completely naked beside the bed.

The bath was run and Lizzie slipped beneath the warm water. A lovely scent of jasmine filled the air. She closed her eyes and just lay there in the warm water. Physically she felt almost relaxed and comfortable but her mind was churning. Was she trapped, what would her parents do, was time the same here as at home, what did Conrad plan, was the Chevalier, the man with the codpiece, and even Puck a friend or in league with the odious Conrad? Puck had said he liked her... but did that mean anything after what he had done? She opened her eyes and looked across at Puck. He was still sitting on the bedpost watching her but his penis was limp no longer. "Probably foe," she thought. She was wrong.

The maid pulled open the doors to an enormous wardrobe, a wardrobe in a French style built of walnut. It contained a great number of dresses, a choice many a girl would have envied had they been rather more traditionally cut without the absurdly plunging necklines.

"Breakfast will be in the Yellow Morning Room today," said the maid. Mr. Worrity especially asked for you to join the company at eight-thirty. It was nearly time but Lizzie resolved to be late and took her time selecting a dress. Puck grinned,

"It is not best to upset the Writer. He might make a note and write things differently—differently for you. Not a good idea I think."

Lizzie opened the door out of what seemed to be her bedroom and stepped into a long corridor lined with doors, she turned, practical as always, to check on the number on her door so she could find it again. But there was no num­ber, it was after all not a hotel, but instead a small piece of yellow card an­nounced 'Miss Lizzie's Chamber' in black ink. Had she been a guest visiting a wonderful mansion in the country as a houseguest at some Edwardian party she would have been delighted. But whilst she was no doubt a guest—or a pris­oner - she was anything but happy. She shook her hair and wondered if to turn right or left? Which way lead to the Yellow Morning Room?

She assumed this Morning Room would be on the ground floor and facing east to catch the sun. But that presumed the sun rose according to normal laws and that people here expected to dine on the ground floor. But that, Lizzie already realised, was a great presumption in the strange, frightening place she now found herself. Nonetheless she was quite correct in her assumptions and presently, after one or two false starts or, rather, wrong rooms, she walked into a room full of sunshine, yellow paint and breakfast. The large dining table al­ready seated at least two dozen persons and all eyes turned to Lizzie as she en­tered. Conrad in a yellow hunting jacket leapt to his feet and bowed deeply to Lizzie, "My dear, you come to grace our table and are not really very late." He smiled just as if he was in the bookshop back home, "I, of course, forgive you today! Come sit, what will you have?"

Lizzie sat. She had thought of starting a blazing row with Conrad but after yesterday, all the people around and her recent frightening awaking she thought discretion the better part of valour and just sat.

"Kippers, smoked haddock, bacon?" Conrad lifted chafing dish after chaf­ing dish revealing breakfast after breakfast. Lizzie found she was indeed hun­gry and ate greedily.

The Chevalier was present and he smiled kindly at Lizzie across the table, "Bonjour ma chérie, I trust you slept well and are refreshed?"

He seemed so friendly, so unthreatening and kind that Lizzie could but smile at him and admit, despite the manner of her arrival, she had indeed slept well.

After a time Lizzie, feeling replete, decided she would have to challenge Conrad.

"I do not understand, I want..."

But she got no further. Conrad jumped out of his chair and brought to Lizzie his black bound book and opened it with a flourish.

"See I have written!"

She read,

'Lizzie was not best pleased by Puck's deluge. The dark cloud of the tem­pest had blown over her making it seem black as night. Did the merry prankster cause the rain to fall in drops as big as marbles stinging poor Lizzie so and making her dress as wet as could be?'

Conrad smiled in his irritating way, "did that sum up your experience, did I get that right: or did I write that first of all? What do you think? Go on you de­cide."

Lizzie was unsure, unsure of everything. Where was she, was she truly awake here, somewhere completely weird, somewhere not home at all? Her anger against Conrad mounted. Had he really brought her to this place, this world of his imagination? Could it be that not only had he insinuated himself somehow, and she had no idea at all how, into her mind and seemingly taken some control of it but had now actually transported herself into his book. How then was he here too - in his book? Could perhaps he enter and leave his strange fantasy at will? Could she therefore find a way of escape?

"I want to go home," her insistent thought was spoken as a demand be­fore she realised she had made the thought audible. It sounded rather childish and immediately Lizzie wished she had not said it.

Conrad did not laugh at her but nodded as if in sympathy, "I am sure as the days pass in pleasure and comfort you will feel very at home here and be grateful I wrote you into my story. You will be so happy that I chose you hav­ing watched you and wanted you. Surely it is already an adventure and excit­ing? You will find it a delight and simply love the river and picnic I have organ­ised today and as for the morrow..."

"You have no right," shouted Lizzie standing all at once. The others looked at her, startled from the dignity of the breakfast.

The Chevalier coughed, "Time for the boating expedition I think."

"Well reminded, Chevalier, well reminded," said Conrad, "I have already written today, Lizzie. It will be a delightful day. I have planned it so."

Lizzie really did not know what to say or do. Should she run off again? That had not been her best plan the day before. Not at all. She settled into sullen thinking and followed as the party stepped out of the French windows, onto the lawn and down to a landing stage to which were moored any number of rowing boats, painted in bright colours and looking very much like a collec­tion of boats for hire. The sort of thing you might find at a boating pond or at a popular river. They were even numbered.

"Which boat would you like Lizzie? They are all so gaily painted!" Conrad was his jolly self, all smugness and bonhomie.

Lizzie pointedly avoided any of the boats painted yellow and black, of which there were quite a number, and stepped into a boat in quite the loveliest French Blue. It was No.6.

Lizzie was not expected to row. Instead Conrad followed her into the boat she had chosen—she would far rather it had been the Chevalier or indeed any­one else—and he sat amidships taking up the oars. Soon they were leading a flotilla of rowing boats up the river, Conrad with his legs braced and arms pulling firmly at the oars powered the boat on up the river. Occasionally he glanced behind him to steer.

"Perhaps, Lizzie, you would direct me to ensure I don't run us into the bank."

Lizzie looked at him. He had cast off his hunting jacket and was dressed in an Edwardian swimming costume—the type intended not just to cover the loins but the chest as well. The Edwardians were modest. Topless bathing for men was inappropriate: let alone topless bathing for women—quite impossi­ble. But of course Conrad's was not a simple Edwardian costume. The material was predictable—it was in bright yellow with black horizontal stripes but, much more strangely, an area of material was missing—a rather crucial piece was missing - allowing his penis and scrotum to hang free and visible. He caught her looking at his manhood and he smiled as it began to stir.

"Perhaps, Lizzie, you would rather suck than direct me? I do not mind at all." His cock lengthened and bobbed up and down as he pulled on the oars. Lizzie's reply was an emphatic negative and she folded her arms and looked anywhere but at Conrad. He, however, merely chuckled.

The day was perfect. Warm, tranquil and a sky of glorious blue. It was dif­ficult for Lizzie to stay cross whether this was real or she was dreaming. She soon unfolded her arms and turned to look and touch the water as it bubbled by. The softness and clarity of the water surprised Lizzie as she trailed her hand behind the boat and gazed down into the river's depth. Small fishes dart­ed here and there, their scales flashing gold and silver in the sunshine.

She wondered if there would be an opportunity for swimming. Certainly she was very warm in her dress. A trickle of sweat ran down between her breasts—a very visible trickle given the absurdity of the plunging neckline. Conrad was watching.

"Perhaps you would like to bathe? I am ready dressed for a swim."

"I haven't a costume," she snapped.

"I don't think anyone would object," he replied grinning.

A dilemma for Lizzie. Should she strip off and swim naked, which was evi­dently what Conrad wished—to judge by his once more lengthening cock, or should she sit there and swelter?

"I should like to swim."

Conrad shipped the oars and no sooner had he done this than the other boats stopped as well.

Having made her decision, Lizzie now had to carry it out. It was not so easy to take her clothes off not only with Conrad watching but the rest of the party as well. She looked at the water. It did look so clear, cool and refreshing. Reaching behind her to undo clasps she began to take off the rather full dress slipping it from her white shoulders and pulling it downwards. Raising her bot­tom a little Lizzie tugged the dress over her hips. Glancing up, she saw Con­rad's eyes drop to her sex and his penis rear up to its full height but she tried to ignore him as sitting down once more she pulled the rest of the dress off leaving her naked in the boat, the warm wood against her bottom. It was not easy, actually it was not possible to slip into the water without giving Conrad an even more intimate view of her body. As she got up the boat rocked and she planted her feet more firmly but inevitably rather more apart and then turning to ease herself over the side she presented her bottom to him. His grinning, irri­tating face told Lizzie he was enjoying the experience.

The water was as refreshing as Lizzie hoped and she swam happily around enjoying the feel of the sweet fresh water on her skin, still marvelling at its clarity. Some things Conrad undoubtedly had got right with this world he had created—if that was what he had done with that pen of his. Lizzie swam strongly over to the other boats and away from Conrad and found she was soon not the only person in the water. Some of the party were dressed in strange and apparently pointless swimming attire. Why had one of the ladies on a costume of a stunning turquoise colour which covered her legs up to the top of her thighs, her stomach, back and arms but left her breasts and shaved sex completely exposed? Why had one of the gentlemen a pair of very tight trunks with a hole cut in them to allow his scrotum to protrude where, being particularly generous, it floated in the water waving around as he moved like some pink wrinkled seaweed washed hither and thither by the current. Others of the party had no costumes and like Lizzie entered the water completely naked. Lizzie found herself swimming amongst a small shoal of bodies her hands and feet occasionally brushing against their sexual attributes.

"It is very difficult to have intercourse whilst swimming you know," said a voice close to her. Conrad had swum up by her. "Very difficult. If you put your feet down on the bottom it is, of course, much easier: but to perform whilst trying to float is difficult. Have you tried, Lizzie, would you like to try?"

"No."

"Would you like to see others try first? It would be such fun. We could have a competition and award points for style, for time joined whilst swim­ming, for not having to disengage to breathe due to going under, for..."

"No I wouldn't, I just want to swim. GO AWAY."

But there was immediate and evident enthusiasm for Conrad's idea from many of the other swimmers.

"Well done, Worrity, what a game, what sport!"

Lizzie swam away but turning back she saw the game was already in full swim. There was a slight regret in not joining in. It is never a pleasant feeling not being part of a group but it was her choice and, in any case, it was a very silly game. She swam to the bank and climbed out through the reeds and looked back. She was right; it was a very silly game and was not working. If one of the men tried to get on top of a woman she sank and quickly came up spluttering. If a woman tried to mount a man her weight pushed him under with a similar effect. Another couple would try to join swimming alongside each other but would fail with a great splashing and tangle of limbs. Lizzie tossed her head in contempt and set off along the path. She had thought of walking back to the house but she was curious to find out what lay down the river.



Such Stuff Ch. 13



Part 13

The Heartful Bodger

The soft squelching mud of the riverbank felt peculiar between Lizzie's naked toes but she was away from the odious Conrad, free to walk and think on her own. She walked carefully and after a time got used to the feel of the mud. It felt cool, given the warmth of the day, and she was not bothered by her feet get­ting dirty. It was a lovely walk. The river one side, the cool greenness of the wood the other and, whilst there was only a hint of a path, the going was not difficult. She had left the noise and laughter of the others far behind and all she could hear or see for a time was the natural sounds of the morning.

Ahead of her Lizzie gradually became aware of a strange sort of whirring noise. Not a constant noise but one that regularly died away and then came back again. She could not see what it was through the trees but she thought it must be quite close and, whilst she had been happily walking along the river bank quite naked, it now occurred to her that even though nudity seemed very normal in Conrad's world, assuming, that is, she wasn't simply dreaming and it was some sort of real world, perhaps it might not be so normal everywhere in it. She rather wished she was clothed but looking around her she could not at first see how she could clothe herself. After a while her eyes fell on some dock leaves and her nimble fingers were soon threading them onto a springy willow twig to form a sort of skirt. Tying it around herself it was, she thought, truly best described as a 'sort of skirt' as it was hardly long enough to be de­scribed as a skirt, even a miniskirt: a wide belt of leaves around her hips was all it was. The whirring noise stopped causing Lizzie to look up from her dress­making in concern but it soon started again. Whatever could it be?

Lizzie did not have to walk much further to find the answer to her ques­tion because, coming around a sharp bend in the river, she espied a man working in the wood and it was clearly him making the whirring noise. He was standing, facing Lizzie, at some sort of wooden contraption which seemed to be moving in a number of ways. Most obvious was a long pole slanting up from behind him with its end bouncing up and down above him on a rope at­tached to the machine. Another piece of wood right in front of him was rotat­ing and yet another piece of wood under his foot was going up and down. Com­ing closer Lizzie began to understand what this contraption was and the func­tion it performed. It was, as Lizzie later found out, a pole lathe upon which the man was turning a piece of wood. His foot moved a treadle, this pulled down on a cord wrapped around the work revolving it and at the same time pulling down on the long springy pole, perhaps twenty foot long and set at an angle across a frame. This pole bounced back upwards and pulled the cord up again, before the process was repeated. A clever machine to turn wood without the use of an engine or electric motor. Quiet, clean, simple and effective and used for hundreds of years in the forests.

The man looked up at Lizzie and laughed a particularly merry, carefree laugh. He was a tall muscular man with flowing locks of tightly curled yellow hair reaching to his shoulders and a short equally yellow beard. He was sim­ply dressed in a leather apron and was standing knee deep in wood shavings, not just standing in them but they were in and hanging from his hair as well as flying over his shoulder when he applied his gouge to the wood.

"Hello," said Lizzie, "who are you and what are you doing?"

The man took his foot from the treadle and the motion and noise stopped, "I'm Heartful and I'm doin' a bit o' bodging, missie."

Lizzie looked around. Not only were there Heartful and his machine but also there was a hut and all sorts of finished pieces of work. Stools, chairs, ta­bles, walking sticks and what appeared to be (Lizzie moved a little closer to them to check) and, yes, indeed were short rounded sticks. There was a com­mon theme to these rustic products - wherever possible and with all the legs for the chairs and tables there was ample opportunity, the ends were fash­ioned in the shape of a penis. Chairs with the uprights to the backs standing proud, the legs of the tables resting on bulbous acorn shaped feet, walking sticks curling round like a soft unerect penis might curl at rest or, in a differ­ent style, with upright tumescent handles to grasp. And then there were all the round sticks in all shapes and sizes and woods, Lizzie could easily see what those were: pale holly dildos, warm brown cherry dildos, darker brown oak dil­dos. Small ones, long ones, thick ones, surprisingly slim ones for what purpose Lizzie did not like to think. All the work, though, beautifully made.

"I'm a Bodger, see. I live in't woods and make things from what's around me in t' woods. I hew, I hedge, I coppice, I hurdle, I bodge." He smiled broadly. "Look, choose, try."

Lizzie sat on a chair and thought it very comfortable. It would have looked really cool in her room back home only, of course, her mother would hardly have approved at all of the penile shaping of the legs and arms. They were not subtle—there was no mistaking what they were. She thought how shocked her friend, Lotte, would be if Lizzie took her into her bedroom and she saw this chair. It was not good, though, to think of home. How was she to get home?

The tables were just as well made and perhaps she could have got away with a small one beside her bed as long as you didn't look at the ends of its legs. She got up and went to look at some little stools. They had rather odd bowed seats with holes in the middle of them. She sat down on one but it was not very comfortable.

Heartful began to laugh, "No missie, you sits t'other way, astride like!"

Lizzie got up and sat astride the stool—that was much more comfortable.

"Yes that's a right, what size are yer?"

Lizzie was puzzled by the question. What did the strange man with his leather apron mean? Her height, her dress size, her shoe size or what?

"What do you mean?"

"Don't you know? Surely you know? Haven't you had a fittin'? Where's me set of fittin' measures?"

Heartful went into his hut; a hut made of poles and canvas, and came out again with a box, a box which proved to contain a large number of dildos.

"Now you lie back, missie, and I'll fit yer." And before Lizzie really knew what was happening Heartful had pushed her backwards off the stool catch­ing her so she didn't hurt herself and laying her out on the soft ground with her thighs spread, her sex revealed beneath her belt of leaves, and he was pour­ing warm oil from a little bottle all over her sex. "That's t'make it all slippy like, just like when yer all 'roused." His big hand began to work the oil around Lizzie's sex and up into her. She didn't resist, it was rather pleasant lying back in the warm heat of the forest and have this big jolly man manipulate her sex, pull at her lips, tickle her clitoris and push his big thumb up into her—much better than have that odious Conrad playing with her. In a way she was happy to be doing this simply to spite him.

Heartful seemed to be enjoying his work, alternately smiling and whistling. Lizzie could not see if he was excited by what he was doing because the big leather apron did not reveal whether there was any sort of swelling be­hind.

"That'll do, now let's have a look." He bent his head close to Lizzie's sex and pulled her about a bit. "I'd say a number 8." Heartful picked up a dildo from his box and turned it upside down, "Nah, that's a number 7." He dropped it back in the box and picked up another. "Typical, thought I knew 'em by sight, this is a 8 1/2 but we may need that." He put it to one side and picked up another. "Ah, yep, that's t'one."

Lizzie felt the domed head of the item being pushed steadily into her, up and up, filling her, it was wiggled about a bit which felt good and Lizzie could feel her own moisture adding to the oil.

"Thar's a goodish fit but let's try that 8 1/2."

The first dildo was pulled out and the next pushed in, Lizzie felt even fuller and her thighs opened wider as the dildo was pulled backwards and for­wards. "Shall we try a 9, missie? There, what yer think then? An 8 1/2 or a 9?"

The 9 did feel a bit big so Lizzie said, "I'd like the 8 1/2 please."

"Very well, missie, and what depth do yer like, this deep, deeper like this or perhaps...?"

"Ooh, oh I, take it back please and I'll tell you when to stop. Oh, yes, slow­ly, mmm, stop!"

"So yer fittin's a 8 1/2—7, missie. I'll get one."

Heartful got up pulling the dildo out of Lizzie and went to his pile of dil­dos and began rummaging around. Lizzie lay there thinking this was all most peculiar. Were women normally fitted for such things? Were there shops that specialised in that—just like being fitted for a bra? She very much doubted it.

Heartful came back with a selection of three dildos. "They're all ash like yer stool but the bend's different. I 'ain't got sets o' measures with bends so yer'll have t' try these 8 1/2 -7s and see which ist' most comfy."

Lizzie at first wondered what Heartful meant by bends and then she saw the curvature of each dildo was different, the first almost straight, the next with a gentle bend and the third more like a banana. Heartful was once again bending over her sex and sticking his bits of shiny wood into her.

"That's t'first, that's t'second—slips nicely and this t'third with t' strong bend. What's yer think?"

"Second please."

Heartful took it and pushed it hard into the hole on the stool so it stuck up in the air obscenely. "Right, yer sit on that and ride."

Lizzie got herself up and sat back down carefully on the stool as she had done before. She now realised the hole had lined up perfectly with her vagina and given the oil and her own wetness the protruding ash dildo slipped easily in. It slid up into her until it was completely hidden and her thighs were rest­ing on the stool as before.

"Come on missie, ride!"

And Lizzie did, up and down the pole. It was a very odd thing to be doing in a forest with this strange man watching: but she felt very excited and, yes, she could imagine if she did have such a piece of furniture at home—but where on earth would she keep it?—she would definitely use it, a lot.

"That seems to fit right," said Heartful, "yer jus' make sure whilst I gets back t' work. Then yer can pay us."

The whirring sound began again as Lizzie rode her new stool, thighs mov­ing rhythmically and her hands playing with her breasts. It was a lovely thing to do in the woods in the sunshine, she forgot about Conrad, even forgot about Heartful watching her as she bounced contentedly towards orgasm.

After she had come, Lizzie sat on the stool with the dildo still inside her watching the Bodger at work, at the thin strips of wood flying into the air and over his shoulder. He seemed very happy and content in his task. The piece fin­ished, Heartful put down his gouge and turned back to Lizzie, "Ist alright then?"

She nodded and stood, the wooden dildo sliding wetly from her, she looked down at the stool as did Heartful, she had certainly made the dildo wet and the area of the seat around it was none too dry either.

"How shall I pay you, I've no money?" In fact Lizzie didn't have anything with her apart from her little belt or skirt of leaves and that was now looking a bit patchy where leaves had come adrift following her exertions

Heartful laughed "Jus' you undo this here bow holding me leather apron and you'll see."

The apron was held by long leather straps wound around his waist a cou­ple of times and tied in a simple knot, a bow, at the front. It was easy to undo and the apron fell to the ground revealing, as Lizzie expected to see, the bodger's cock rising hard from a bed of surprisingly yellow tight curls. Lizzie's fingers tickled it and stroked the tight curls. Like the rest of him shavings had somehow contrived to lodge in them to and Lizzie brushed a few away.

"Luckily I's got a 8 1/2—7 with a middlin' bend so that'll fit jus' right," laughed Heartful.

It was certainly a good-looking penis and Lizzie was not averse to playing with it or, if that was what Heartful wished to do, having it inside her. As she stroked the shaft Lizzie picked up one of the curly shavings that had so curled fully round so to make a circle, a ring of thin wood. She giggled as she dropped it over the upright penis head. It slid down the shaft to rest against the tight yellow curls. Lizzie found others and did it again and again. Heartful roared with laughter as his penis was gradually hidden by ring after ring of wood shavings until only the very tip of the penis showed its shiny ruddy purple colour above the tower of wood shavings.

"Very pretty missie but how's you goin' t' stimulate that?"

In answer Lizzie licked the very tip, the little eye at the peak of the cock and with her other hand lifted his substantial ball sack and massaged it in her hand. She kept tickling with the tip of her pink tongue until she was rewarded by the appearance of a little clear liquid that seeped out of the eye.

Heartful laughed and picked Lizzie up and carried her to his hut, his shav­ings enclosed penis wobbling in front of him as he walked. It was cool and dark inside and no sooner was she laid down than she felt the weight of Heart­ful on her, the brushing of his great yellow beard on her face as he kissed her and the touch of his now naked penis on her sex—the shavings no doubt scat­tered around the hut in one sweep of his hand.

Lizzie was still wet from her own exertions on the stool and Heartful slipped easily into her, her ankles locked over his back and her hands held his bottom cheeks as he began to move. His initial strokes were slow but purpose­ful. Lizzie was not sure she could reach orgasm again so soon but it was good lying there with this big attractive man on top of her. She wondered at herself. Only this morning she had awoken shocked and scared in Conrad's world, only yesterday she had been caught by Puck in the garden, yet here she was calmly allowing herself to be fucked by a stranger. What was coming of her? But of course it was not the odious Conrad—she certainly didn't want to fuck him again! Lizzie pushed up against Heartful as his action began to quicken, really this was rather good.

Lizzie had not expected to come again but she felt a rising desire accompa­nied by a further release of her own juice and clasped Heartful's buttocks hard­er—orgasm became an achievable object. Her tongue sought Heartful's as they worked together in the cool of the hut. At the first sensation of Heartful coming inside her Lizzie came, waves of pleasure through her body as she felt the spurting inside her, again and again. Payment made.

The penis softened within her as they lay there. "Well I's a better get back t'bodging, missie, can't lie here doin' nowt all day!"

By the time Lizzie got up the whirring sound had started up again. She blinked at the sunlight as she stepped out of the door of the hut. The sound stopped.

"I'll send the stool up t' house for yer."

With a wave, Heartful turned his attention to his lathe and so Lizzie con­tinued her walk back along the riverbank. She had not gone far when the boat­ing party caught up with her, it certainly was a happy, carefree group with lots of laughter and they all waved at Lizzie as they rowed past. She walked along a little further only to find around a turn in the river the path opened out onto a sward of green grass where the party had alighted and were spreading out a picnic. Lizzie, given her swim, walk and other exercise was quite hungry and she sat down with them in the sunshine enjoying sandwiches by the river.



Such Stuff Ch. 14



Part 14
The Strawberry Game


"Strawberries," said Conrad, "I love strawberries. And you know, ladies, what the best way is to eat strawberries?"

There was a lot of giggling from the girls.

"Do you Lizzie? How do you like your strawberries?"

Lizzie said nothing.

"Go on, Lizzie, answer us."

"With cream." replied Lizzie crossly.

There was raucous laughter all round.

"Go on, show her Mallow," said Conrad.

A girl with the most gorgeous coffee coloured skin was sitting with her knees drawn up under her chin. She was still completely naked following her swim, apart from a daisy chain she had made and tied around her waist. She looked up as her name was called and gave a great grin. She reached out, picked a large strawberry from the bowl and removed the green calyx before slowly opening her knees. Lizzie could not help but notice the very dark shad­ing to the very edges of her intimate lips, the coffee colouring becoming very much darker, black almost, at the edges. Lizzie was not, of course, interested in girls sexually except perhaps her sister in Oz, the Green Maiden, but that was only a dream and dreams are uncontrolled and one can find oneself doing things that in reality one would not dream of doing. But the movement of the girl's knees had drawn her eyes. The knees went wider apart and the flower of the Mallow's sex opened. Lizzie's eyes flicked away in embarrassment but caught Mallow's eye. Mallow grinned at Lizzie and then looked at the strawber­ry in her hand. Lizzie's eyes followed to the strawberry and then watched it as Mallow slowly moved it down between her legs and pushed it into herself. There it was a bright red strawberry, all dotted about with seeds, sticking out of Mallow, framed by the scalloped black lips edges and the beautiful coffee covered skin. It looked almost appealing—if you like that sort of thing, Lizzie thought.

"Your turn next Lizzie," said Conrad.

"This is the best bit," said Mallow as Conrad bent forward between her thighs and evidently nibbled at the fruit before extracting the rest with his tongue and consuming it with relish. Mallow squirmed a bit and reached for another strawberry.

"No, greedy girl, it is Miss Lizzie's turn."

But Lizzie clamped her thighs together and looked crossly at Conrad.

"No. I don't want to."

"There is a lot you seem not to want to do," said Conrad looking dis­pleased. "Any more of this wilful behaviour and I shall have to chastise. I shall punish you."

There was a lot of head nodding. Mallow said, "Go on, it's fun and began to pull Lizzie knees apart. No sooner open than the result of Lizzie's visit to Heartful became apparent. A trickle of white semen was escaping from her to run down and into her bottom cheeks. "Look," laughed Mallow, "she's already found the cream," and she pushed a strawberry easily into Lizzie before the surprised girl could protest. "She must have been visiting the Heartful Bodger!"

The other girls giggled at this. They had each paid more than one visit to the camp in the woods to try out various items and, of course, to buy and pay for them.

"Let me see!" said another and before Lizzie knew what to do she found her sex the object of attention of several of the girls with their hands on her thighs or knees. 

"Please," she said, "I..." But she got no further. Mallow had dropped down between her thighs and was eating the strawberry. She could feel lips and tongue on her recently used sex.

Lizzie looked a little wildly around and Conrad caught her eye, "I think Mallow likes her fruit with cream just like you do. For myself, I prefer the fruit without." He grinned at Lizzie. "Perhaps I shall replenish your store of cream later this afternoon."

"No."

Lizzie pushed Mallow and the others away and got up. She went over to her boat and pulled her dress on before getting in and with folded arms sat staring out into the river away from the picnic party. Conrad watched her go and frowned.

The onward procession on down the river was a jolly affair accompanied by much merriment and singing. Everyone was in good spirits apart, of course, from one person who sat with a palpable aurora of disapproval and gloom, arms folded in front of her and unfocused eyes staring into space.

The boats rowed on past more pretty countryside until they approached a village and even Lizzie had to admit to herself that it was a picturesque sight, grass ran down the hill to the river in front of the village of stone built cottages with windows peaking out from under thatched roofs and tall chimneys rising up well above the thatch. The boats docked alongside a wooden jetty and the party disembarked.

"Lizzie, time for some shopping, sightseeing and perhaps afternoon tea—I know just the place," said Conrad putting his arm around Lizzie's shoulder,

Lizzie shook him off and pushed him away.

Conrad looked really angry and all the party went silent. "You were warned! To the stocks with her."

Before Lizzie really knew what was happening she was grabbed and marched up to a set of stocks, her dress removed, the bar opened, her head and hands placed firmly in place, the bar lowered and she was stuck bent for­ward with her head protruding through the hole in the wood, her hands either side of her face, her feet supporting her at the back and her bottom sticking out.

"Let me out," screamed Lizzie.

"You were warned," said Conrad and he and the boating party walked up towards the village leaving Lizzie stuck. There was nothing she could do. She was completely helpless, head and shoulders out one side of the stocks: body the other.

Lizzie, angry, frustrated and cross, watched her boating companions walk up the grass to the village.

"You shouldn't have annoyed him, it's your own fault, Lizzie Sherrell, he does not like to be gainsaid. He is the writer, remember."

Lizzie's eyes flashed around but she could see no one, though she knew the voice. It seemed to be coming from above her, "I don't like him, which is not to say I don't like the others and where are you, Robin?"

A pair of small legs came into view as Puck sat next to her on the top of the stocks. "And what about me, do you like me?"

"I'm not sure about you, especially after what you did to me in the gar­den."

"Ho, ho, that was most certainly a jape, you tumbling down in the storm, then me tumbling you! And look at you now, what could you do to resist me in your present predicament?"

Out of the corner of Lizzie's eye she could see Puck's cock rising from be­tween his two little legs, a penis completely out of proportion to his body, "Your sweet bottom so exposed, so round and white, so vulnerable, ho, ho, so ripe for the plucking or should I say..."

"You leave me alone Robin Goodfellow," shouted Lizzie.

"As if a little fellow like me could reach so high!"

Lizzie heard the little man jump down and walk behind her.

"But, Lizzie I can touch," and Lizzie felt the touch of little hands on her thighs, "and I can tickle," and Lizzie felt her intimate areas being stroked, "but I am not even tall enough to lick, let alone... but you know what the Writer will do when he comes back don't you Lizzie? He will have his way with you, ho, ho, oh yes he will."

The little man came round the front and looked up at Lizzie, "Never mind, it's just a bit of fun, no harm in it at all. Why, it happens all the time here," he looked slyly up at Lizzie, "didn't it happen to you this morning in the wood, in a hut or am I mistaken?" His outsize cock still stood proud. "It's a pity I can't reach, though," his grin broadened, "perhaps I could fetch a box to stand on." He walked away towards the village still laughing.

Lizzie stood in the stocks for what seemed an age, it was hot and the sweat trickled down her. She'd tried pulling and pushing but could not release her hands let alone her head. There was nothing for her to do but uncomfort­ably wait.

Eventually back down the green came the boating expedition led, of course, by Conrad now wearing a yellow and black striped blazer and match­ing cricketing cap. It would have looked quite dashing with cream flannels but he was not wearing trousers. Lizzie watched the party getting closer and in par­ticular she watched Conrad's cock which poked, out as he walked, between the sides of his blazer. As he got closer it began to lengthen and Lizzie knew that Puck's warning had been accurately made.

"Well, well, what have we here. A naughty girl to be punished. She must be a naughty girl or she wouldn't be in the stocks would she?"

The others nodded their heads.

"Now what do we do to naughty girls? Do we smack their bottoms hard? Do we pelt them with tomatoes?" There was a nodding of heads. Conrad smirked at Lizzie and walked round behind her and she felt his hands on her hips. "Or do we do something else?" The touch of his hands on her bottom was unwelcome, though not unexpected, and still made her jump. "Well what have we here? A nice round bottom and in the middle, just down here we have..." His thumb slowly made its way down from the small of Lizzie's back into the divide and stroked her rubbery bottom hole, "Do naughty girls have this little rosebud penetrated? Do they Lizzie? Shall I help with a little butter—the best butter of course!" Conrad laughed and the thumb continued to rub. Lizzie wriggled and tried to kick but it was difficult. Conrad could see what she was doing, she was kicking blind, and he could avoid her attempts. "Naughty girl, this is a punishment meant to make you see the error of your wilful ways not to encourage you into further misdemeanours."

There was a sharp slap on her rump—it hurt. 

"Ow!" said Lizzie, "don't do that, I haven't done anything wrong."

Conrad came round to the front of Lizzie again, his penis now fully extend­ed. "But of course you have—and you know it. Begin!"

From paper bags many of the party took out tomatoes, rather over ripe ones and began pelting Lizzie, splat next to her on the wood, splat in her hair, splat on her face. Try as she could, turning her face this way and that, she could not avoid them and soon her face was running with tomato juice, her hair thick with seeds and tomato pulp. She felt another slap on her bottom and her legs being pulled apart by hands on the soft inside of each thigh. Before she could react, Conrad, or at least she assumed it was he as he had gone back behind the stocks, pushed his cock into her vagina and his hands came under­neath her to grasp her breasts. There was nothing she could do to stop this as­sault.

"Lovely, Lizzie, just lovely. Now why didn't you let me do this earlier rather than you having to suffer all this indignity? What a soft bottom you have—so pleasant to push against."

Her breasts were squeezed as Conrad pushed to and fro. To the front of her the tomatoes kept coming with impressive accuracy. Which would come first: the last of the tomatoes or Conrad? It was a close call.

"Would anybody else like to remind Lizzie that she should not be a wilful girl?" asked Conrad still embedded.

"Me, me, me," shouted brown Mallow jumping up and down, "may I try her with strawberries? I have bought some more in the village." 

"Alas I cannot," said the Chevalier, "c'est ne pas possible, too much exer­cise earlier and, it is likely my fellows, les autres, will feel the same, certaine­ment, I would not wish to presume where Miss Lizzie does not wish. I, for one, would not have put her in the stocks."

Lizzie had already noted the Chevalier had not been amongst the tomato hurlers and she warmed further to him. He did not seem to be Conrad's poo­dle.

The other men of the party shook their heads; there was not any stirring to indicate capability amongst them.

Mallow moved quickly round behind Lizzie and she felt Mallow's fingers between her thighs encircling Conrad's wilting cock and pulling it from her. There was a sucking sound.

"Most kind Mallow, most kind. You behave quite properly unlike this naughty girl. Let me hold these legs whilst you enjoy your strawberries." 

And so Lizzie was held whilst strawberry after strawberry was inserted into her and slowly extracted by Mallow's ready tongue. Unlike the pelting and the forceful actions of Conrad it was not unpleasant and Lizzie could imagine after a good bout with the right man it would actually be pleasant to lie on her back, not imprisoned at an uncomfortable angle in the stocks, and have pretty Mallow play her strawberry game.

The Chevalier released poor Lizzie from the stocks. "Come let me take you down to the river to bathe. I fear you really are a bit of a mess."

And so, indeed, she was with tomato pulp all over her face, hair and shoul­ders and hints of sticky strawberry juice running down her thighs.

She sat in silence in the boat as Conrad rowed back to the house. It was an uneventful journey in the late afternoon sunshine. The small flotilla of boats moored and the party alighted. Conrad looked at Lizzie expectantly,

"Did you enjoy your day on the river, Lizzie?"

"It had its moments," said Lizzie crossly looking around at the party.

From the pocket of his blazer Conrad took his beautiful yellow pen and made to write, but stopped, "no, you read." Lizzie was about to refuse but her curiosity got the better of her.

Lizzie read,

The time in the stocks had quite messed Lizzie, gone was the poise of the morning: it was a contrite and sorry Lizzie who addressed Worrity down by the river.

"Now did I write that first or second? Before you were disobedient or after? Which comes first the action or the pen and book? There is the puzzle for you Lizzie. Do I move you or do you move yourself? Don't be worried. Be a good girl and you will be happy. Be a bad girl and you will be punished." 

Conrad's pompous voice irritated Lizzie almost beyond measure, yet when she looked around the others were nodding in agreement.



Such Stuff Ch. 15



Part 15

Two heads are better than one

Lizzie stayed in bed all morning the next day. Sullen, angry and worried. She had hoped this was all a dream but it was too long, too coherent, too real for her to believe that. She was beginning to accept in her mind that the odious Conrad really had stolen her away from reality into the make believe, made up world of his book.

How dare he have had her pelted with tomatoes, how dare he smack her, how dare he touch her bottom, how dare he fuck her without permission. She was incensed — understandably furious.

But by afternoon she had reasoned there was no point simply hiding away. She was here, she must make the best of it and find a way to escape and get back home.

Was Conrad really causing her to do things, controlling her mind, or did he write them up in his book afterwards, after she had done them? She did not know the answer to the puzzle but she knew she needed to get hold of his book and read it.

She stood looking in her great walnut wardrobe trying to find something sensible to wear but all the dresses seemed to have an overly plunging neck­line and she really would rather her breasts were not free for all to see no mat­ter that everyone else seemed to have their genitalia or other private parts dis­played. Practical, as always, Lizzie wrapped a silk scarf tightly around her chest to hide her breasts, and stop them swinging free, before slipping a dress over her head. She looked at herself in the mirror. It certainly suited her. Even her grandmother would have approved—indeed been surprised to see Lizzie so well dressed.

She ventured out. Down in the long corridor she found it bustling with all manner of people. Mallow and one of her friends sauntered by almost naked but for a few bands of ribbon, done up in bows, and great bushy tails that seemed to grow right out from between their bottom cheeks. Lizzie turned to watch their bottoms. "Surely not," she thought but it did very much look like the tails were actually inserted in their bottoms and that was how they were held. Lizzie, always a little contemptuous of fashion, could not see that would catch on—even on the Paris catwalks.

To the side, seated in a small alcove, in a window seat with cushions, sat the Chevalier. His blue eyes looked up with pleasure to see Lizzie and he rose, smoothing down his impressive gold cloth suit. It would have been really im­pressive to Lizzie's eyes had his cock not been hanging out from where a nor­mal suit would have had flies with a zipper or even buttons. Even a casual glance showed he had not made a mistake—not forgotten something—the suit was designed to expose.

Lizzie launched into a complaint, "I don't understand where I am; I don't understand how I came to be here; I don't understand what this house, this place is; I really don't understand at all." Her tirade ended lamely and she stood looking at the Chevalier.

"What a lot of questions, ma cherie, these are not the sort of questions I can answer. This is, after all, how it is." He brightened, "perhaps together we can solve it, a puzzle we can work on."

"Two heads are better than one," said Lizzie.

"Ah formidable, mademoiselle you reach the solution all by yourself. He is the one to assist, yes the very one. You must go and see our friend from Galles, how you say Wales? He has two heads you see and knows a great deal as a result."

The Chevalier seemed so delighted with what Lizzie had said and so sure that this Welshman would help that she did not like to prolong the discussion and thought the phenomenon of a man with two heads was one she had to see. The directions were not complicated.

Lizzie crossed the lawn, over which she had run in such terror only the day before, to join a neat gravel path which wound around a rockery and there she came across a little stone built house with a matching wall to the front with a green painted wooden gate. Resting his arms on the gate was a middle-aged man dressed in tweed. As Lizzie drew closer she could see his suit was ex­ceptionally dapper, as if the man took great care of his personal appearance, and comprised plus fours, a waistcoat and a coat in a lovat green with large red squares. His hat was the same material, socks were green to match (with red tapes) and his shoes were beautifully polished brown brogues. Lizzie was puzzled by the modesty of the dress. It was not at all in keeping with what she had come to expect here. Indeed the house, the garden and the man all seemed very normal. He just had the usual single head like everybody else. It was puz­zling.

"Good morning, sir." The air of the man seemed to command a formal mode of address.

He had watched her approach and slowly raised he hat. He was very bald. "You have come to view, to marvel, to exclaim." His accent Welsh and musical.

It was not a question—but a statement. Lizzie's puzzlement grew.

"What have I come to see?" She asked

"What? Me of course." His chest seemed to puff out in his waistcoat. "You have come to see me and stand quite amazed. They all come—sooner rather than later—to marvel. It cannot be helped. I am unique, the most interesting person for miles around. Indeed I doubt you will find anyone nearly as interest­ing as me for ten, no twenty, maybe even thirty miles. Though I cannot think that even beyond that distance perhaps verging on forty or shall we say fifty..."

"Yes, I understand." The man was tedious. "I was told I should see you and..."

"Of course you should see me. Quite understandable. Everybody wants to. The Marchioness herself has called upon me several times and professed her­self quite fascinated and," he paused fractionally, "well satisfied. I..."

"...was told you could answer my question. You see..."

"A man such as me, being quite unique—you will not find a man such as me elsewhere not within or beyond fifty miles—can certainly answer your question and much else besides. But come in, come into my modest little gar­den through this gate and I will show you the marvel and answer your ques­tion."

"What marvel?" asked Lizzie and then wished she hadn't.

"What marvel? What! Don't you know? I cannot believe it. Why else would you come? Everyone comes to see David Ambrose Penstimen Fallick. Some days it is almost a queue out there. I really should charge admission on a graduated scale. You are so fortunate today for I do not have an appointment all morning. Very fortunate. Most surprising."

"No, I don't."

He looked puzzled, "You don't what? But before you answer me, perhaps you will take some refreshment. I make my own cordials, you know or perhaps, probably you have been told. Would you like Blackcurrant or Blackberry or Raspberry, or Gooseberry, or Winberry or something exotic like Lime or Lemon or..."

"Winberry please." Lizzie was worried the list would go on forever. For someone whose time was almost permanently taken up with visitors he seemed to have a remarkable amount of spare time for fruit gathering, cordial making and talking.

The man drew her round the side of the house into a pretty little garden with the most perfectly tended lawn—the stripes from the mower perfectly reg­ular. Clearly a lot of time was spent on gardening and the result impressive. Lizzie sat on a white metal garden chair, the skirts of her dress flowing around it. The sun was shining, the birds singing and the little garden beautiful. It was a lovely place to be and a superb day. Had Lizzie not felt herself a prisoner in Conrad's strange world she would have been very happy.

A clink of glasses caused her to look up from her reverie, the man was re­turning, now without his coat but carrying a tray with a jug and glasses. He poured Lizzie a drink and a glass for himself.

"What is a Winberry?"

"That is your question? You see up on the hills, see over there," he pointed and Lizzie looked up at the nearby hills, "there is a small shrub, quite small shrub which you will find if you walk there. You really should, you know, the view is panoramic. You can see for, oh I don't know, ten, no twenty, maybe thir­ty—it is difficult to say..."

"A long way?"

"Yes, a long way. And all around, yes the Winberry bush grows every­where, but very low, and in season why it has Winberries and I gather them—when I can find time—and bring them back to make cordial or jam or..."

"So not a garden fruit?"

"No, no wild like the Blackberry. Some people call it the Bilberry, some the Blaeberry others Whinberry or Whortleberry or..."

"Thank you, yes, you are most knowledgeable and most helpful," Lizzie re­ally did not want him to go on forever, "the Chevalier Heuron said I should see you if I wanted to know..."

"Of course you do, everyone does and now you shall see."

Once again it was not really a question, yet Lizzie did not know what he wanted to show her. It was evident he could not really believe she did not know what this 'marvel' was.

"You will be astounded." he assured Lizzie as he bent to undo his shoelaces—really an odd thing to do. Standing he busied himself with his plus fours.

"Surely," thought Lizzie, " he is not going to take them off - though I should not really be surprised as being dressed at all is hardly the norm here." And then it came to her "oh, surely not. Not even Conrad's odd mind could have..."

But he had. The tweed fell to the ground and the wonder was displayed. He truly was a man with two heads—two cock heads. He was a man with two penises.

"I can see it written all over your face. Your visage wears a look of being stunned, of amazement—of awe!"

Lizzie was indeed starring, for there at the junction of his thighs, hanging side by side, one hanging a little to the right, its fellow to the left, were two penises.

"How, how do you...?"

"How do I do many things you want to know? I understand - everybody does, I am a marvel."

He struck a pose; though Lizzie was not sure standing there in long woollen socks and a waistcoat but with no trousers and displaying a double penis was not more than faintly ridiculous.

"You may, of course, touch the exhibits—it is the done thing."

Lizzie was not at all sure she wanted to. She was unprepared for this oddi­ty. Oddity was a word she felt happier in her mind to use. It seemed not too pe­jorative, unlike the word 'freak' or 'freak show' which had instantly jumped to her mind before being replaced on proper reflection. Would it be rude to de­cline? What would Alice have thought was proper? But what, then, would Alice have thought of Conrad's ludicrous adult erotic obscene world did not bear thinking about.

Lizzie reached out and her small fingers closed around one soft shaft.

"You will need two hands, you know," said its proud possessor.

Lizzie took hold of the second penis in her other hand as she felt the first stir.

"It is odd," mused her host, "that the right is actually slightly larger than the left. It is like feet I suppose."

Lizzie looked at him to see if he was joking but he seemed deadly serious. Evidently to him his genitalia was not a subject to be taken at all lightly. Her fingers gently stroked the penises. They responded growing until they were both fully erect.

"Surely," said Lizzie, "one will get in the way of the other if you attempt to insert..."

"On one notable occasion I was able to insert both at once. Think of that. Imagine that. The pleasure of two. But the wonder is rather different. They op­erate independently. Completely so. It is as if they were attached to different bodies and not to one—to me! I can control them. Look! Stand back. Be sur­prised. See the left shrinks but the right stands firm. Now I could, if suitably engaged, insert just the one and hold the second in readiness. Think of that! First one working you, then the other. But there is more, much more. I am a marvel."

He seemed to be quite working himself up with his speech. Lizzie stood back and watched with amusement as he disclaimed standing in his woollen socks with one erect penis and one flaccid hanging next to it.

"See, I transfer my excitement and..."

Lizzie stared as the right hand penis began to droop whilst the left began to rise until it was the left standing and the right at rest.

"You may applaud."

Lizzie thought it churlish not to humour him and did.

"Moreover whilst the left is busy, perhaps exciting some girl to the heights of pleasure, should I feel a different need, a need to relieve myself, if you under­stand my meaning, then the right can discreetly undertake the task with no in­terference with the task of the left and..."

This was too much for Lizzie and she burst into a fit of the giggles. The man looked slightly annoyed.

Lizzie attempted to recover the situation, "How, how quite wonderful," she said, "I can scarcely believe such a thing. When not at intercourse can you," she attempted to put on a straight face, "urinate from, from perhaps both at the same time?"

He beamed, pleased by the question and his answer. "Of course. I can choose either or both. I can alternate the one to the other mid flow. I can even alternate between them in time to a piece of music."

Lizzie's nails pushed hard into the palms of her hands as she tried to sup­press her laughter. "How, how impressive and, and, may I ask about ejacula­tion? If one penis ejaculates does this mean..."

"You wish to see, you wish me to demonstrate? Of course I would be de­lighted, you will be amazed and the experience will be exceptionally memo­rable. I am delighted to accede to your request. You will need to divest yourself of those clothes of course."

Lizzie had not exactly been planning to copulate with this ridiculous man but now she found herself rather caught. She had asked too many questions. How could she explain he had misunderstood her enquiry, that she really had no desire to be fucked by him and his duplicate penises, that all she wanted was an answer to her question about Conrad and his world? The easiest course, though, did seem to go along with the idea. He was not Conrad after all. It took very little time to drop her scarf and dress to the floor.

"Ah yes, most charming. I am further aroused."

And so he was, his right rising to join the left. Lizzie was uncertain what to do. Should she lie down on the grass and be taken or should she take a clos­er look at the marvel. She thought the latter the better choice and so knelt and was rather surprised to find her head being patted.

"Of course—do feel free. What a pleasure for you to hold one in each hand and nibble first one then the other, to let your sweet lips enfold one for a time and then to just move your head a little and enjoy the other, to suck deeply on one before taking its fellow. Double the pleasure for you."

Lizzie thought he was rather over-emphasising the advantage to her. Nonetheless the remarkable picture of two penises rising from a common source just in front of her was certainly different. Her friend Lotte would never have seen the like. There again, it was doubtful Lotte had ever seen the more normal single arrangement so close and, to be fair, it was only recently that Lizzie herself had developed such experience and even then mostly in the most vivid of dreams.

Tentatively her tongue reached out and she licked the left penis head. It was smooth and warm. She began to fellate the penis. It was an odd feeling sucking deeply on one penis and feeling another sliding along her cheek. After a time she swapped and began to play with the right, letting the now moist­ened left slip along her other cheek. Holding the two heads together she ran her tongue across both but it was more than she could do to take them into her mouth at the same time. It had seemed, to her, the right thing to try.

Lizzie alternated the one to the other. Taking her hand from one she mas­saged his scrotum. She had not noticed before but now she held it in her hand she could feel the presence of four testes, "an unusually big bag of nuts," she thought to herself, "I suppose it goes with the penises."

"What joy you experience! But now I will demonstrate. Feel as you suck on the right, the left shrinks. Witness my amazing control. Unbelievable is it not?"

Lizzie did not think this her most pleasurable sexual experience to date, in­deed she was not sure she was actually aroused, but certainly she could feel the left penis sliding down her left cheek as it wilted. She let go of the right and begun to suck the wilting left and it began to grow in her mouth, expanding as her tongue tickled it. But as it grew the right wilted. She let the left drop from her mouth and looked at them both, one rising, one falling. Her eyes glanced up at Dai Ambrose Penstimen Fallick, "Can you make them both go soft?" she asked.

"Not when I am aroused, but, of course, yes if I am not... or I have come with both." He beamed. It was clear he relished questions about his generous genitalia.

Lizzie humoured him. "And can you come with both simultaneously?"

His chin rose a little and he turned his head to one side, "Yes, a wonder to behold, a picture indeed...but it requires great skill and practice. Not some­thing you possess... as yet. You must visit and practice. I should be happy to consult my diary and see when I can fit you in. It is such a pleasure for young girls to take an interest in art."

To avoid a further fit of the giggles Lizzie stuffed the ruby end of the en­gorged penis into her mouth and resumed her work. "What a peculiar man," she thought. Lizzie worked well, the penis slipping between her lips as she bobbed her head, her tongue tickling.

"Perhaps we might recline and you permit me to... oh, oh dear... I think you have over-excited me. Here I come!" And he did, pumping into Lizzie's mouth. She in her turn swallowed and tickled, as she knew she should. The stream ended and Lizzie let the penis go and she sat back on her haunches. As she watched, the spent penis began to soften as, dribbling slightly, it started to swing downwards but, as it did so, its fellow began to grow and as the one de­scended the other ascended, rising to pass its companion like the two cars of a Funicular Railway.

"I am as excited and aroused as I was before," he announced. "That is the great advantage to you. A small mishap, a premature conclusion does not in­convenience the ladies for I, unlike other men, am not spent, am not finished, can carry on and still bring you to a wonderful conclusion. See, I stand ready. You, though, must lie and make ready." He smiled, clearly delighted in him­self.

Lizzie lay on the grass, her knees a little open, the sun catching her be­tween her legs. Dai Fellick, in his long woollen socks, knelt over her with his re­maining one cock readied. His hands touched her breasts for the first time and it seemed as if he might actually be considering her needs rather than his own. But the interest was short, not of great benefit to her, and his evident greater in­terest in penetration was soon accomplished.

It was strange the feeling of a cock inside her and the simultaneous touch of another, soft and wet, on her thigh. Lizzie did think that had they been in tandem, rather than side by side, the spent penis might have been of more use in being ideally placed to touch her just on her little clit as its fellow moved within her.

Lizzie's heart was not really in the act and she found herself more interest­ed in the mechanics than the pleasure and was no way near a successful con­clusion when Dai Fellick came for the second time. Lizzie wondered to herself whether another advantage of his unusual arrangement might prove to be the ability to maintain continual intercourse if his other cock recovered but this did not prove the case as with a bit of puffing her host rose.

He announced. "Well, that was most pleasant, most pleasant indeed. Thank you young lady for visiting me. I have most definitely enjoyed your visit and I hope it has proved fascinating, enjoyable and educational for you. Do visit again and ask me any questions you like. But after all this exercise I must rest so I bid you good day."




Such Stuff Ch. 15



And with that he walked across to his house opened the door and shut it without so much as a glance behind him. Lizzie was quite lost for words at the sudden closure of the meeting and, of course, she had not had the opportunity of asking her questions. Drawing her dress on around her she left the garden and returned to the main house.

That evening, at dinner, she was seated next to Conrad who kept feeling her thigh. Lizzie tried to ignore him.

"So you met our Dai?" asked Conrad. "A remarkable man—as he will have told you. A rather conceited man unfortunately." As Conrad's habit seemed to be, almost as a matter of course, he pulled out his book and looked at it with a pleased smile. Lizzie thought to herself that Conrad's comment re­ally constituted the pot calling the kettle black. He had an air of smugness as he read,

Lizzie spent the afternoon with the most amazing of men, a man with two heads. She had a question about the Winberry that was answered. David Am­brose Penstimen Fallick was his name and a man more pleased with himself you could hardly meet. It came of having two heads, each could move and spout of its own accord. He could talk about all manner of trivial things as if his two heads had nothing better to do all day. "The Winberry," he said ad­dressing Lizzie, "Some people call it the Bilberry, some the Blaeberry others Whinberry or Whortleberry or..."

"Yes, thank you," said Lizzie crossly, "I think I've heard that already today—and once is enough."

Conrad smiled, "You see, I write — it happens. Would you like me to write you as a female Dai. I could give you a second..."

"NO THANK YOU." said Lizzie.



Such Stuff Ch. 16



Part 16
The Raising of the Guard



"The Marchioness visits tomorrow, Lizzie, it falls upon me to arrange every­thing down to the smallest detail. It is certainly a worry I can tell you. Really Worrity expects too much. Look how I droop with worry. You must help me Lizzie, there's a good girl. Can you sort out the Guard? They send messages that they cannot unlock their weapons and will not—you see the consequence is obvious - cannot parade. You will do this for me Lizzie? S'il te plaît?"

The Chevalier looked almost unwell. It was clear to Lizzie that he needed her help. But that would be to help Conrad, as it was he who wished to put on an impressive show for the Marchioness, to welcome her in style. Mar­chioness? The wife of a Marquess.  

She did not want to help Conrad at all but she liked the Chevalier and so, rather reluctantly, agreed to help. Why all this worry, surely it was Conrad who had invited, indeed invented the Marchioness in his book? Surely he could not be at all worried, it would just be everyone else who had to run around in a panic. Where was the Marquess? Was there a Marquess?

Lizzie left the Chevalier. Where was the Guard, what was the Guard? She had not seen any soldiers indeed there seemed no need for soldiers. People were rushing this way and that with bunting, mops and bottles. It was may­hem in the corridors and no one would stop to speak to Lizzie, to answer her question about where she might find the Guard. She came out into the garden and stood looking back at the house trying to think where to look next.

"Looking for someone or something to do?" asked a familiar voice.

"Why Robin, yes I am and you can be of some use... for once."

Puck looked pained, his nut-brown face wrinkled under his blue cap, but then he brightened, "you fancy a frolic, a tumble in the long grass, to get away from all this tiresome bustle. Yes, I agree, let us go..."

"No, Robin, you were right on your first idea, I am looking for someone or some people—the Guard."

"Oh, well, if that is all," he said testily and turned to go but then looked back, "see that door there at the corner of the house. It leads to the Guard­room. And much pleasure may it give you. Ho ho, they can give you none for their spears are all locked up!" 

Puck stalked off, clearly cross. Lizzie doubted it would last for long. He was bound to find some mischief to make with all the preparations underway. Perhaps he would make himself a nuisance with the kitchen maids, he was sure to find amusement with them now they were so busy. She doubted whether he would simply curdle the milk. Lizzie crossed the lawn and stood at the corner of the house looking up at the stone built round tower. It was the only corner of the house to have a round tower or turret rising, through several windowed storeys, to a conical slated roof in the French style. She turned the handle of an iron studded oak door and pushed. It was heavy, but slowly opened revealing a flight of stone steps spiralling upwards. She ascended.

For the first two storeys there were no doors but right at the top another oak door awaited her. She pushed it open and stood, quite frozen to the spot with astonishment. The door opened on a circular chamber with rough stone walls pierced by the windows Lizzie had seen from below. The floor was flagged without carpet and the whole appearance of the room was Spartan and manly: very different from much of the rest of the house. It was not the room which froze Lizzie but the occupants. Lizzie had never seen such beauti­ful men—though striking or handsome was perhaps a word more appropriate to the Guard. Six magnificent black men occupied the room; or not so much oc­cupied as dominated the chamber drawing her eyes to them. They were tall, muscular, beautifully proportioned, handsome, noble, even, thought Lizzie, breathtaking. Moreover they were almost entirely naked. This sight that excit­ed Lizzie even after all the nakedness she had seen and the sex she had experi­enced both in dreams and Conrad's mad fantasy. They were naked but for a curious arrangement around their sex, their genitalia, their penises and balls. These were partly hidden, partly obscured by finely wrought lattice cages ap­parently made of silver and held in place by fine silver belts encircling their waists and thighs.

Men so magnificent should have been adopting dramatic poses to show off their musculature, their fine features and interesting, but tantalisingly ob­scured, sexual attributes. The reality was quite different. The men sat in pos­tures of dejection and despair. Even their black skin, which Lizzie thought, should have shone with vitality and health seemed dull. Three of the men cra­dled their heads in their hands. Two stared blankly into space. Only one seemed able to turn and look at Lizzie as she stood in the door.

"I... are you the Guard?" asked Lizzie rather lamely.

The affirmative reply came slowly and, whilst accurate, it did not greatly help Lizzie in understanding anything of what she saw before her. 

Lizzie did not know what function the Guard performed, what the great problem was that the Chevalier had alluded to, nor what was the reason for the terrible state Lizzie found the Guard in.

"Who is your captain?" she said brightly in an attempt to lighten the som­bre mood of the room.

"We have no captain. We are unled and useless. The key is lost." The only member of the Guard who had shown any interest in Lizzie turned away and hung his head. It was not a promising beginning for Lizzie. 

"What key? I do not understand."

The man turned to her, "the key that releases our spears for the ceremoni­al. Without the key we cannot parade, cannot perform our duty." His hand waved downwards towards the silver cage around his penis. Lizzie bent to look closer. The silver work was indeed of the highest quality, beautifully made and forming an enclosure. Lizzie's eyes looked within at the man's penis. Her adventures both in her remarkably vivid dreams and in this strange place had exposed her to a succession of penises, she was almost a connois­seur, her interest and fascination aroused by what she had seen and done over the last weeks. The penis nestled within its cage, soft and at rest lying across its ball sack, dark and wrinkled with only a little lighter brown of the glans showing through at its end where the foreskin did not fully cover the smooth head. Lizzie wanted to touch it and stroke it to see what it would look like ready for use, fully erect.

"This cage surely must open," she thought to herself. She could see where the metal appeared to be jointed, appeared to be hinged. The man moved his thighs and sighed. The movement of his thighs as they opened a little revealed, hanging just below the silver cage, a small heart shaped padlock securing a contrivance of rings holding the whole silver assembly together.

"It's locked," said Lizzie out loud and really to herself. But the man an­swered.

"Alas, all locked and we do not have the key. It has been lost, been mislaid we know not how."

"You poor man," said Lizzie and began to stroke his thigh close by the sil­ver cage, "but why, why are your cocks locked up?"

"We are under orders, our spears only serve, they are not for our own use. They are locked away until needed but the key is lost."

Lizzie felt very sorry for the men. How cruel to lock their cocks away so they could not play with them or use them for the pleasure of others. Only to use them 'under orders.' Her hand cupped the silver metal, warm from his body, her hand so near and yet so far from his soft black penis. A penis she in­creasingly wanted to touch.

A cry startled her. Lizzie drew back her hand in alarm and saw the cock within its cage was stirring, rising within the metal. She stared in fascination. Surely there was not room for it to grow, certainly not if it was of any size and she suspected...

"I am presenting! To my aid comrades!"

Suddenly there was movement around Lizzie. The other members of the Guard were on their feet, in motion around her; purposeful motion as if it was something they were trained to do, knew exactly what to do. A wooden pitcher was seized and a torrent of ice cold water thrown over the loins of the first guard splashing Lizzie in the process making her dress wet.

"Who are you?" demanded one of the guards. "What did you think you were doing?" demanded another. The incident seemed to have aroused them from their stupor.

They did not look pleased. "Look what you have done—can you not see the risk of presentment within confinement?"

"I'm Lizzie, I meant no harm. I just thought it seemed so wrong for your cocks to be locked away."

"Wrong! Wrong? No, that is how they should be- but not when we have duties to perform. Did you not know the Marchioness is to visit, we must march, we must drill, we must prepare, we must present!"

Lizzie was pleased to see the animation in their faces, their bodies, their movement and their voices but it did not last, dejection returned."

"But we cannot. The key is lost."

The Guard slumped back into their former reverie and despair.

Lizzie was quite moved. Where was she to find a key to release the poor penises of the Guard from their confinement in their silver prisons? She re­called that in the room of mirrors, when she had first fallen to Conrad's mad mansion, she had found a key in a table drawer that certainly had not fitted the door. The true key had been very different, a dildo—something that had, in retrospect, given a very clear indication, or warning, about the house. Lizzie set off, leaving the Guard to sink back into their despair.

"I shall find it and release you," she called but whether they heard or not, they made no acknowledgement. 

Finding the room of mirrors was not easy but the door was open just as she had left it. The key was still in the drawer. She had not much regarded it on her arrival. It did not fit the lock, did not even touch the sides of the keyhole but now she looked at it closely she saw that it was silver metal and did seem just the size to release the Guard from its confinement. She took it and hurried back. Even though she had been gone some time she could not detect that there had been any movement from the Guard. She held out the key.

"Is this it, is this what you have lost?"

The change in the room could not have been more marked. All at once the Guard was on its feet, moving, talking—a veritable air of positive action seemed to pervade the place.

Carefully Lizzie knelt and inserted the key in the little silver padlock swinging beneath the intricate metal cage of the nearest member of the Guard. The key turned, the padlock came undone, releasing the rings, allowing the cage to open and fall to the sides so that the cage came apart, folding back on itself and revealing the man's penis. Freed from its confinement, and with Lizzie in close attendance, it began to move as if it was uncurling from a long sleep. It swung away from its nest of dark curls and began to rise, its head turn­ing as it did so to point at Lizzie, before it moved upwards in a series of jerky movements. Lizzie watched with rapt expression—it was a magnificent sight as the penis thickened and lengthened, the foreskin sliding backwards to re­veal the dark shiny head as it reached upwards to its full curving extent and stand a full foot from the man's body. Lizzie had never seen a penis so big, so outsize, so impressive—so magnificent.

She stared and was about to reach out and touch when she remembered the other men. Quickly she went from cage to cage, attending their genitalia, re­leasing their penises, allowing them the freedom to rise, and rise they did, so that Lizzie found herself in a room with six of the most perfect men she could imagine all erect and looking at her.

"We must drill. We must prepare. We must be oiled. You must help."

And so Lizzie found herself opening a stone jar of oil and liberally apply­ing it to the naked skin of the men, rubbing it over them to bring a sheen, a gloss to the dark skin. Lizzie had a wonderful time, dipping her hands into the oil and, with hands dripping, giving them free rein to roam freely over hard stomachs, fine chests, large biceps, tight bottoms and of course the magnifi­cent penises. She certainly made sure the men shone and her actions main­tained their impressive stiffness.

Rubbed with coarse towels to remove the excess oil the men lined in a row and began to march round the room, their skin shining, their tight muscula­ture on show and, she could not but use the word, their magnificent penises displayed curving and thrusting before them. 

Lizzie was quite surprised at the effect they were having on her. She was wet; really wet and they had not touched her, not given a hint that they wanted to. They could easily, very easily as they were six strong big men, have over­powered her and taken her any way they chose - or again, as there were six of them, all ways they chose. The idea of being their plaything, being swapped from shiny penis to shiny penis was attractive to her but even when she had been oiling their penises there had been no interest in that. Were they gay? Surely not!

All at once the Guard stopped their march and swivelled into line.

"We need commands," said the first Lizzie had spoken to. "We need to be drilled, we need to be maintained—are you the new Captain?"

Lizzie was not sure how to reply. The Chevalier had asked her to sort out the Guard not to captain it. "I don't know, I don't think so."

"You must try, the Marchioness comes — we must be ready for the ceremo­nial."

Lizzie tried to remember the parade ground commands she had heard in films, on the television and even when they're Changing the Guard at Bucking­ham Palace (Christopher Robin went down with Alice).

"Right turn, quick march!" And they did. A quick march with naked erect penises to the front—what a sight!

"Halt. Attent-ion." And they did. Rigidly to attention.

Lizzie walked along the line inspecting the men. Her hands fondled the penises.

"Nice well oiled weapons," she giggled, "plenty of shot in these sacks." She lifted a man's ball sack. The men did not seem to see what was amusing.

"Where, then, are your weapons, your rifles, muskets, pikes or swords?"

The men looked puzzled. Lizzie's hand tugged at the foreskin of one of the men maintaining its firmness.

"In your hand," said the man with a note of surprise in his voice.

"Oh," said Lizzie quite taken aback. Surely Conrad's mad erotic world could not be this mad? But it was.

"Present A-rms!"

Right hands flew to penises holding them against their stomachs pointing exactly vertically. Lizzie walked along the line admiring her troop.

She set them to march again marvelling at how they maintained their rigidity. Curious she asked, "How do you stay hard for so long."

"Maintenance is the task of the Captain. Long practice and strict thoughts."

Lizzie realised management of a team was not simply a matter of giving orders but encouragement was needed for team maintenance. She began to re­move her clothes. That should encourage the penises to stand firm and might result in a more personal attention. Certainly there was no wavering. The men drilled, weapons at the ready.

Despite her now naked state, there was no falling out of line to touch, fon­dle or even penetrate Lizzie. Eyes certainly looked but there was no break in discipline.

"Is it time for weapon practice?" asked Lizzie hopefully. "Halt. Attent-ion. Hands on Weapons."

The men halted and hands flew to hold their cocks—this time at 45 de­grees—marvellously in line. Lizzie actually sighted along the end of the line and couldn't fault their accuracy. She was pleased to see the hands were unob­trusively stimulating the penises. So they are interested in sex—it is not just for show after all. She made another inspection. A close inspection of the weapons. A very close inspection, crouching down before them. The shiny cock heads did look so very nibbleable. Should she? She did. A cockhead slid smoothly into her mouth. She glanced upwards. The soldier was clearly enjoy­ing the experience but apart from his hand stroking hic cock he did not move at all. It seemed a shame not to repeat the exercise - five times!

Standing Lizzie backed to a table and lay back on it provocatively slightly opening her thighs and looking invitingly at the men. She could have said, "Come and get it!" or "Well, boys here I am!" But in keeping with the martial nature of the Guard she said "Make ready," she opened her legs a little wider, a revealing sight for her men, "Aim," she raised one thigh a bit—Lizzie was ready to be fucked hard, she could feel her sex a pool of wetness, she knew how exposed she was to the men and could see how their eyes were glued to be­tween her legs, "Fire!"

Lizzie had expected a rush for her. But she could not have been more sur­prised. There was no rush by the Guard to impale themselves in her; no rush to fill her to overflowing with semen; no sudden feel of hands and penises all over her—none of these things. Instead in unison six gorgeous shiny big black cocks jetted strands of silver across the room. The distance was considerable, the number of the subsequent jets impressive, the co-coordinated orgasm as­tounding. The disappointment for Lizzie considerable.

"Oh no!" Cried Lizzie starring in disbelief at the line of now discharged cocks. A moment before there had been six of the finest penises Lizzie could ever see standing and potentially of great utility to her but now they were be­ginning to wilt, would not be able to penetrate her, would not provide the firm­ness between her legs that she so desperately desired.

Lizzie understood. She now understood what the ceremonial was—a cere­monial discharge of their weapons by the Guard—the whole point of the drill that she had witnessed but had misunderstood.

"Stand at Ease," said Lizzie slowly getting off the table. The Guard stood legs apart, penises hanging. "Perhaps we can have some more weapons prac­tice this evening. Perhaps we could try some target practice, some hand to hand combat, some..."

"The practice is done. We must prepare ourselves for tomorrow when the Marchioness visits."

Lizzie's disappointment was written all over her face.



Such Stuff Ch. 17



Part 17

The Sticky Maple Tree

"I found the Guard," said Lizzie quite pleased with herself, "and their key."

The Chevalier looked up blankly from his papers before understanding dawned.

"Certainement? Ma chérie, you are a treasure indeed." He visibly im­proved. "One worry gone. I could kiss you, indeed I could perhaps," he glanced downwards at his exposed cock, "perhaps," his penis twitched as if coming to life, "but no, I have not the time."

Lizzie frowned, no one seemed to want to pleasure her that morning, "The Guard seem to want me as their Captain."

"Mais oui, they would hardly want me—would not maintain their stand! Lizzie, you would be marvellous but you will need to look the part. Go to Mr. Qui'ver in the village. Tell him I sent you. He will provide the uniform."

Lizzie paused at the Gatehouse, unsure of the way to the village. She had of course been to the village, had journeyed by river with the odious Conrad and his boating party but she thought there was, probably, a shorter route than walking the winding riverbank. She looked at the road leading away from the Gatehouse between an avenue of Lime trees until it rose up the side of a funny little sugar loaf hill and disappeared behind it. She looked at several paths leading away. "Now which is the way to the village?" she said quietly to herself.

She was staring out from under the Gatehouse when she felt a hot breath on her neck. It made her turn startled; she had not met the Gatekeeper before. An old woman looked out at her from under a yellow straw bonnet, dressed in a faded yellow dress.

"The village? Well there are three, no rather four ways if you choose to go by boat. You can follow the path by the river, but that is muddy, you can go by the road or follow the track through the wood. It's up to you. If it was me, I'd go though the wood. It is much the shortest way, an easy path to follow, you can't get lost. Yes I'd go through the trees but there again I like that sort of thing. You might or might not, I wouldn't know." She smiled showing the odd miss­ing tooth but not unpleasantly—her manner seemed friendly.

"What sort of thing?" asked Lizzie quickly. She was more than a little aware of the strangeness of Conrad's world—or his mind—and was suspi­cious of everything.

"Oh sylvan things—stands of trees, fine specimen trees, everything arbo­real you could wish for. I like a good stand of Maple, don't you?"

"I certainly like Maple Syrup," said Lizzie with a smile, "and if that is quickest I'll go that way. So I go straight on that path?"

"That's it straight on down that path there."

"Thank you," called Lizzie already rushing off.

"But I don't know if you will find it the quickest..." but Lizzie was already too far off to hear.

The sunshine was lovely though it was, if anything, better in the wood than outside it with the heat of the sun cooled a little by the shade of the leaves. Looking up, the sun shone right through the canopy of leaves so above her there seemed a sky of green. Lizzie almost skipped along the path. She was actually happy. She was in a delightful wood, on her own and with a job to do—a purpose. For a moment or two the feeling of being trapped, the knowledge of being imprisoned left her and she was enjoying herself.

The path wound along but it was going fairly straight. Lizzie was careful to keep an eye on the sun's position to make sure she was not being lead astray. But all was well as there was only one path - though the path did seem to be narrowing a bit and the trees a little closer together. Lizzie noticed the trees changing and now rather than Beech she could tell by the leaves they were Maple. 

She was not conscious of it at first but she became aware that she was having to brush the leaves and small branches either side of the path away from her. It was almost as if they were trying to touch her, pull at her - even hold her. She tried to turn back but the branches seemed to urge her on until all at once the path opened out again into a glade of particularly massive maples. All at once she was free of the clinging twigs and the path seemed free and easy. The grass around her sweet and verdant. The path lead on and with no branches to touch her Lizzie hurried, increasing her pace, a little disturbed at the feeling she was not in control of her journey but, she reasoned, it was not as if this was a dark, dank and silent wood which might have frightened a young girl: on the contrary it was light, dry and full of birdsong. 

It may have been the light or it may have been the prettiness of the scene that caused Lizzie not to see the root across her path. She tripped over it and went flying to land at the foot of a particularly large old knarled maple. She lay momentarily winded before rising, or trying to rise because someone—or something—was holding her ankle. Her eyes widened in surprise because a root had coiled around it or, at least, was coiling itself around her ankle. She tugged hard get­ting up onto her knees and trying to pull away but as she put her weight on the free leg's knee and pulled at her caught, leg she felt something around the other ankle. Before she could turn and use her hands to try to free herself she felt a curling around her wrists. Beneath her and in front of her there was movement underground and an eruption from the mould of the forest floor of roots bursting out and twisting and wrapping themselves around her, trap­ping her. 

Not content with catching her wrists and ankles the roots seemed to be trying to touch her everywhere and, surprisingly, get into her clothing. The feel of plant life growing and winding its way into her dress was most peculiar and certainly frightening. Lizzie struggled, trying to free herself, but she was tightly caught, stuck on all fours beneath the old Maple tree. The root tendrils by now had reached her breasts and Lizzie felt them growing up her breasts until, reaching their summit, they seemed to curl tightly round her nipples and began to pull. All at once Lizzie understood. This was not some terrifying Hor­ror 'B' film where the poor unsuspecting heroine is eaten by the strange plant form from another world: rather it was Conrad's peculiar mind at work creat­ing erotic experience even from the trees of his dream world. 

She was going to be molested by a tree, there was nothing she could do about it and, so, she might as well try and enjoy the experience despite her need to get on to the vil­lage. The tugging at her nipples was really quite pleasant and now there seemed to be a slow movement up her thighs. "But, of course," she thought, "Silly me, I've come into a wood in Conrad's mad world and obviously, quite obviously if I'd thought about it, I'm going to be fucked by a tree. Should really have anticipated that. Quite an obvious expectation!" Lizzie was not slow on the uptake—though it was not as simple as that.

Through the waving of small roots and branches to the front of her ap­peared a rather more substantial root or was it a branch? It was quite bent at first but as it straightened up and pointed towards her Lizzie was struck by its resemblance in shape and form to a human penis. Really it looked quite the image right down to its rounded rather bulbous end, prominent ridge and crag­gy wrinkled bark—well perhaps wrinkled, but bark was unusual. What is more, as it waved closer to Lizzie's face it even had a little marking rather like the slit at the top of a penis head through which a man, Lizzie was a little cir­cumspect in her thoughts, a man produced fluids. Lizzie was rather expecting it to dip and disappear under her heading for the join of her legs but instead it came closer and closer to her face until it wavered there bumping against her lips.

"Surely not!" she exclaimed in surprise but the opening of Lizzie's lips to say the words was clearly taken as an invitation and before she knew it the end of the root or branch was pushing between her lips. It was not soft like a man's penis — Lizzie by now knew about such things—but it was not hard like a piece of wood or Heartfelt's work. Lizzie tried to pull back but she was caught and the tree was not going to be denied. Lizzie bowed to the inevitable and began to suck, rolling her tongue around the smooth wood.

The feeling on her nipples was getting stronger. Really this tree did know what a girl liked. She could feel tendrils creeping higher up her thighs until they were sneaking and winding their way into her undergarments, tugging and pulling the thin material away from her by now wet sex. Lizzie had expect­ed to be immediately penetrated and - she was not disappointed in this—but it was not at all what she had expected. Her eyes suddenly went very wide in­deed as she realised a very slender tendril was sliding up into her but not into her vagina, not there, but a much, much tighter orifice a little way to the front - it was creeping up her urethra! It was a very odd and not unpleasant experi­ence but certainly not a sexual experience Lizzie had ever had before in real life or dream. A very gentle little sliding, rather enjoyable, quite exciting feeling, not unpleasant at all, certainly sexual but at the same time it did rather make her want to pee. Indeed any more of the stimulation and that was certainly what was going to happen. "Surely," thought Lizzie, "the tree does not really want me to water it in this way?" But it seemed it did. The gentle wriggling did not stop and try as she might Lizzie could not prevent the sudden release as her bladder began to empty sending a long stream rushing out around the ten­dril and falling to the ground where it puddled on the soft mould before sink­ing in and disappearing.

As Lizzie sucked on the tree penis she thought she could taste, just faintly, maple syrup. "No, surely not," she thought, "surely this tree is not going to produce..." but there it was in her mouth just the smallest dribble of maple syrup. She swallowed; she really did like the taste.

The activity between her legs had not stopped. The invading tendril had not removed itself, and others were at work tickling and playing with her. She was just wondering if they were directly soaking up her moisture in a plant like way when she felt something more substantial at the entrance to her sex. "Presumably another penis," thought Lizzie, "now that's what men would like to have!" It was pushing at her seeking entrance. Lizzie was resigned to the in­vasion, the arboreal rape, and pushed against it to help it. It was certainly firm, "No chance of this cock going soft on me," thought Lizzie. Slowly it worked, (or was it grew?), into Lizzie filling her. She moved naturally against it feeling it rubbing against her. She became wetter, the tendrils kept moving, and Lizzie sucked harder.

It was quite a sight to see—Lizzie on the forest floor with woody shoots holding and invading her. Conrad would no doubt have liked very much to have seen it but probably he had seen similar scenes before. He was not there but Puck was, sitting on a branch with a big grin and a big cock, watching the scene and it was he who saw with amusement the third woody cock sneaking towards Lizzie—Lizzie with her rump very much in the air—it was he who saw her dress and underclothes pushed aside, her round and white bottom fully re­vealed as the woody penis lined up her bottom hole before it pushed or rather grew into her anus. Once again Lizzie's eyes opened wide at this latest inva­sion but there was nothing she could do as she was so tightly held, it was push­ing the rubbery ring aside and entering her bottom. Of course she stopped moving against the other cock situated in the more usual place and even ceased licking and sucking on the cock in her mouth, which was by now drib­bling a thin stream of syrup, as she waited for the latest penetration. The newly entered cock pushed on into her, filling her bottom. She began moving again, moving against both cocks lodged deep inside her and she took up her licking and sucking again. The tendrils pulled on her nipples, caressed her thighs, tickled her labia and clitoris, wriggled inside her little pee hole and the three cocks remained hard in her. Above her on his branch Puck pulled at his own cock.

Despite the imposed nature of the sex, Lizzie was fast approaching or­gasm. The cock in her mouth, though, was ahead of her. Suddenly and without warning it was spurting dollops of maple syrup into her mouth. The little slit marking was indeed an orifice and it was releasing its sap into Lizzie's mouth. The aborescent ejaculation was long and productive. It was lucky Lizzie liked maple syrup so much as the portion was generous. She paused; rather startled by the sweet surprise she had received. The penis withdrew a little but a seep­ing of syrup continued as Lizzie began to push once more against the other cocks building herself towards a strong orgasm. As she came she sucked hard on the penis in her mouth and could feel the other cocks pulsing, one deep within her bottom, the other in the more conventional place, filling her with their syrup. From above her there was the gentle patter of semen falling on her dress, falling from a little man with a big cock sitting on a branch.

As Lizzie rested, satiated, still on all fours, she began to feel the tendrils wrapped around her wrists and ankles relaxing, the tendrils withdrawing from her underclothes, she gave the penis in her mouth a last suck drawing a little more syrup from it as it withdrew and then with a deep squelch the other cocks pulled stickily from her. The syrup oozed from her running into her nether lips, matting her golden hairs and sliding very slowly down her thighs. Lizzie could feel how sticky she was, full of maple syrup—simply dripping from her. Free now, she pulled off her clothes seeing much of them were al­ready messed and looked at the old Maple. Quiet now, no sign of strangely moving roots or tendrils, yet it seemed to her to have a distinctly smug air about it. She tossed her hair and started to walk on but it was not the easiest of things to do with her thighs trying to stick together and the syrup sliding further down them. She felt with her fingers, trying to assess how much had those cocks pumped out? It was a lot. And just touching herself made her fin­gers sticky as well. She licked her fingers a bit more to remove the stickiness thoug, actually, she'd already had enough syrup for the day. It was a hot, sticky, messy Lizzie who heard the splashing of a stream and ran forward along the path to it keen to bathe and wash away the stickiness.

It was a lovely little stream splashing along, its water looking crystal clear and clean—just what a girl in need of a wash could wish for. Or it would have been, had it been a little warmer and there not been a small figure dressed in a blue cap sitting on its bank.

"Oh, hullo Robin," said Lizzie trying to sound unconcerned, as if the sight of a naked girl, thighs smeared with maple syrup and carrying her clothes was just the sort of thing anyone might expect to see in the woods.

"In spring the sap rises," said Puck and rolled around on the ground laughing at his own joke. Lizzie would have been cross, had he not rolled right into the water. His face, as he spluttered out of the stream, was a picture.

"Yes Robin, my idea too—a bath," and she stepped into the water. It could have been a lot warmer but Lizzie was careful not to give any cause for Puck to make a comment and sat down in the water without a murmur. The water gur­gled around as she calmly started rubbing herself all over to remove the syrup. "And did you find the kitchen maids?"

"Little fun they were, all busy and cross. No time, they said, for your silli­ness. Silliness—me! Whatever next! No, they sent me," and his wrinkled nut brown face looked all crafty, "they sent me in search of some things they want­ed." He looked sideways at Lizzie, "but where would I find candied orange peel, let alone Maple Syrup." He winked.

Lizzie threw water at him and he wandered off down the path, "Ho, ho, Maple Syrup where would I find that and where would I find something to put it in?"

Clothes washed, a rather damp Lizzie walked on to the village. It was still a lovely day and Lizzie was quite content. At last someone - or at least some­thing—had taken an interest in her, had wanted to please her sexually. It was just a little bit odd it had been a tree - but a girl in need cannot always be too fussy.

It was not a long way, just as the Gatekeeper had said, that is if amorous trees did not waylay you, and presumably that is what she had meant by "that sort of thing." Lizzie was not totally sure it was really her cup of tea but per­haps again another day she might just try such a walk again. She was soon going down the village street seeking the shop of Mr. Qui'ver, the Silversmith. It was not difficult to find.

The door into the shop was low and she found herself in a tiny little shop with a glass counter displaying all manner of jewellery. Particularly, Lizzie was not exactly surprised to note, items for piercings of an intimate kind. Well, she had no intention of having her nipples pierced let alone, ouch the thought of it—no, certainly not!

A rather wizened old man appeared, bent over and grey—rather exactly as she had expected. He looked at Lizzie, "Yes miss?"

"I'm the new Captain, the Captain of the Guard."

"Really?"

"I need a..."

"Yes?"

"I need the equipment."

A hint of a smile crossed his face, "I suspect your mother rather failed in that respect."

"The Chevalier Heuron..."

"Ah!"

"...suggested you might be able to remedy my," Lizzie blushed," my defi­ciency in that department."

"I can of course make, indeed I am sure I have the 'Ornamentals', the sil­ver chains, the cage and the padlock, but you will need your weapon, your cock, your penis and, I suspect, you do not have this being, unless my old eyes deceive me, a woman, oh yes indeed, a young woman, a most delightful, pretty and charming young lady. You will not only need a model—but a working model. This I can do, oh yes. But first I must take measurements."

"I'm a 8 1/2—7 with a middling bend," said Lizzie quickly.

"Ah, good, so we know that, but I shall need to take a cast to work to. Ev­erything must fit exactly to look right. Come into the back room and remove your garments."

It was not a request Lizzie could remember hearing in a shop before nonetheless she found herself in a back room undressing in front of a strange man.

"What do you need to measure?"

"I need to model your pubis, oh yes, I need to take a cast so the base to the artificial penis will fit closely to your body and the penis be well supported. It would not do for it to come adrift or wobble around—hardly military—it must stand rigidly to attention and fire on command. I shall take a cast, make a mould in wax but, alas, there is something else I must do first." He was look­ing downwards at Lizzie's now exposed sex. "Oh yes, those," and his hand brushed lightly across Lizzie's curls, "must come off. Otherwise they will come away most, oh yes most, painfully when I pull the wax away! There is nothing for it, I am sorry, but you must be shaved. The barber can or, if you wish," his eyes darted to hers, "I have the necessary items."

It seemed to Lizzie his spoken regret did not match his face which gave every indication that he would relish the task. Indeed he was already looking for a razor.

"Now lie down, my dear, just spread yourself a bit. Lovely. Now I shall be most gentle, most gentle. Now where is my shaving soap, where is that badger hairbrush? I need a hot flannel, oh yes that is just the thing. Certainly that is the thing."

Lizzie was not awfully keen on the idea of being shaved but equally she did not like the idea of all her pubic hair being ripped away with the wax mould. The idea brought tears to her eyes.




Such Stuff Ch. 17



"Now first I trim with these scissors, oh yes, what pretty curls."

Lizzie again was not too sure about this strange man smoothing her curls with his fingers and cutting them away but she lay there as they fell.

"Now the hot flannel to soften the hairs—not too hot I hope? Now I lather up the brush and apply, spread it nice and thick, build up a strong lather, oh yes." He was enjoying his work.

Lizzie felt the sharp steel scraping across her skin, her delicate very per­sonal skin—she kept very still.

"There we are, there we are, nice and smooth, oh yes."

Fingertips caressed now hairless skin, indeed moved to caressing other skin that had never had hairs—pinker, even softer skin. Lizzie sat up and looked down. She hadn't looked like that since she was a little girl. Gone were her curls, just a mounding of pale skin around her slit.

"No, my dear lie back, oh yes, whilst I mix and heat the wax. Nearly there, see how easily it melts. Let me just rub in this lotion, it will prevent adhesion and shield you a little from the heat. I'll just rub a little more, especially just here. I expect that feels good, oh yes. Now lie back as I apply the wax, see how it moulds and takes on your form."

The hot wax was a shock at first but it soon cooled. The strange man ap­plied successive layers building up the wax mould until he was happy. Careful­ly he lifted it from Lizzie—it came away easily.

"Wonderful, wonderful. Let me apply this balm."

Once more his stroking, seeking, curious fingers roamed at will over Lizzie's sex rubbing the balm from a glass jar. It was clear he enjoyed his work. He seemed to be getting more and more worked up as he rubbed.

"May I, may I, oh yes my dear, this all makes me so excited that I cannot concentrate, may I, please, may I place my penis in your mouth." He unbut­toned his fly releasing his hard, rather small cock. "Please quickly, let me put it in." Without waiting for Lizzie's acceptance or refusal he pushed his penis forward against her lips. "Quick, quick, suck."

Lizzie surprised, did as she was told.

"Oh, I come, I come, oh yes I come." As Lizzie sucked the spurting began. Lizzie now knew to keep her tongue tip at work just below the head at this mo­ment. She really was becoming quite the experienced sextress.

The penis was tucked away as quickly as it had appeared. "Oh yes, thank you, your equipage will be ready tomorrow morning, oh yes, I will attend and fit it myself at the House. Perhaps then," he paused, "a further suckage might be possible?"

Lizzie walked away from the shop bemused. What a strange little man. She paused at the teashop and looked in at the window. Even the éclairs were definitely penis shaped and filled with cream not confectioner's custard. "Well what a surprise!" she thought but, even so, went in for a cup of tea with a smile on her face feeling actually quite happy with the day's progress. So the strange little man would fit her tomorrow.

As she sat drinking her tea and eating one of the strange éclairs, trying not to let the cream squeeze out and make a mess, feeling at peace with the world she suddenly started, with a frown crossing her face. "I must be on my guard." She thought, "I must not let myself be seduced by this made up world. True, it has its good points but it is not real, it is not where I belong and I do so want to go home."



Such Stuff Ch. 18



Part 18
The Guard Salutes


Such a lot seemed to have happened yesterday and now, today, there was more excitement. Lizzie was to be properly fitted as Captain of the Guard ready for her men to greet the Marchioness. Before she was even out of bed and dressed Lizzie was worrying whether all would be well, whether she would let the Guard down—she did not want to do that—it was certainly a responsi­bility. It was not until she walked into the Yellow Morning Room still thinking of what she had to do and saw Conrad sitting there in his complacent, rather smug, manner that she remembered she was a prisoner here. Lizzie looked around at all the friendly faces looking at her, puzzled at herself for forgetting.

"A big day today, Lizzie—we have responsibilities and duties here and the Chevalier tells me you have taken on the Captaincy of the Guard. Your pub­lic spiritness is commendable—though certainly no surprise to me."

It could have been taken as a compliment had Conrad not been gently tap­ping his book as he spoke. Lizzie's lips tightened. So even her taking over the captaincy was—or he implied it was—ordained in the book he was writing. Questions flowed through her mind—she really needed to read more. Should she just ask him? No. How far ahead had he written? If she knew what was written could she do something different and spoil his writing?

Despite her renewed irritation with Conrad, Lizzie did not intend to let the Guard down in the slightest, and was soon on her way to their turret but was halted by the sight of Mr. Qui'ver hurrying towards her clutching a brown case.

"I am here as promised, oh yes, all is ready for the fitting. Please," he mo­tioned into an adjoining doorway, "this chamber here and remove your clothes."

He seemed as keen as yesterday to have her naked but it was certainly nec­essary if she was to be equipped.

Mr. Qui'ver opened his case, "See I have worked long into the night, oh yes, but all is ready. Please lie back so I can..." He lifted out of his case a rather strangely shaped black rubber item. "So I can mate you with your penis, oh yes. Now first I must apply this ointment. It acts as a sort of glue. It is easily soluble in hot water—the attachment is not permanent. That would not really do, oh no. First, I must ensure you are lubricated."

Lizzie was glad to hear the attachment was not permanent, though she had hardly thought it would be, and surprised to find his fingers once more in her most intimate areas. Surely there was no need: but it became clear there was indeed a need because not only did the base of the artificial penis closely mould her pubis but also it continued on underneath her to rise up in a horn to fit right inside her—a horn she could feel, as Mr. Qui'ver made the insertion, was a 8 1/2 - 7 with a middling bend.

The penis was attached and its operation explained. It was not simply a strap on dildo—Lizzie had heard of such things but of course never seen—it was not permanently erect for, by a cunning arrangement of tubes, it could be inflated to the tumescent state and further, again by an ingenious arrange­ment of tubes and a reservoir contained in the rubber scrotum, it could be made to ejaculate.

With nimble fingers Mr. Qui'ver encircled Lizzie's waist with the silver chain and positioned the beautifully made silver cage and its pendant heart shaped padlock in position.

Lizzie looked at herself in a mirror. The reflection was most bizarre of a half man—half woman. The shape was very much female, the breasts and head female but the great black penis hanging between her thighs was impres­sively male. She turned her body to admire her profile. Never had she seen her­self like this. She giggled—what would Lotte think? What would the Green Maiden think? Lizzie blushed - she remained slightly surprised at her amorous thoughts about the Green Maiden and now, of what she might do to her with her new appendage.

"Wonderful, marvellous, oh yes, you look every inch the Captain." Mr. Qui'ver seemed quite beside himself. "May I just check..." He busied himself, his fingers checking the fitting, running around the edges of the rubber penis, feeling where the insertion had been made. It was very obvious he enjoyed his work, particularly the intimate fitting of young ladies. "Is it to your satisfac­tion?" He looked at Lizzie quizzically. "Is the fit right? Is it to your liking?"

"Certainly Mr. Qui'ver, excellent work indeed, yes comfortable and certain­ly what I need," replied Lizzie. And she really was pleased, even the silver chains and paraphernalia looked just right to her. Glancing at Mr. Qui'ver it was clear there was something else he wanted. She remembered his request of the day before—the request for a further 'suckage.' Lizzie did not like to disap­point or appear ungrateful. As Lizzie extracted his cock she found, as expected, it was hard and ready. Her nimble fingers stroked the small penis. Mr. Qui'ver closed his eyes.

"Oh yes."

Lizzie blew on the end, just where the little slit was, her soft lips formed an 'O' and she pushed them over the first half of the shiny helmet shaped head. Her tongue tickled the bell end in her mouth. Lizzie was learning what men liked, how to please them. What she had not allowed for was the hair trig­ger of Mr. Qui'ver's orgasm.

"Oh yes," he said almost inevitably and the warm spurting began.

Lizzie had not even really sucked on it once, just placed her lips over the penis and already it was filling her mouth with warm, viscous cream. Lizzie's tongue tickled and the cream flowed.

"Oh yes," said Mr. Qui'ver for a third time and then, as the spurting ended, "I really am much obliged, oh yes."

On Lizzie reaching the turret, the Guard were impressed with how their captain had been fitted out and said so, but they also commented on the incon­gruity of her pale creamy skin and the blackness of the penis. Would Lizzie mind if they standardised the colour to match?

The prospect of 'blacking up' seemed odd and had anachronistic and slightly disturbing overtones to Lizzie — a throw back to Minstrelsy - but she saw no reason to other than accede to the request and certainly not when it meant six very male pairs of hands rubbing all of her skin very carefully to apply the colour. She was gratified at see the effect the work had on her men—a very prominent effect. She was also intrigued to see a very different Lizzie in the mirror — the colour match to her men was just right. And the colouring was not the end of the sensuous experience for then her six erect comrades oiled her so she shone.

By now, Lizzie was as sexually charged as the Guard though she did not show it in the same obvious, proud way. She needed to, though, the Captain had to lead her men. She grasped her right ball and began to pump. In slight jerky movements, just like the real thing, Lizzie began to rise until she was as prominent as the rest of them. The sight was even odder in the mirror. There she was with a great black penis rising from her thighs and behind her in the mirror she could see her Guard watching her, also sporting erections. What would her friend, Lotte, have thought? Would she have loved the image or not? Would she have loved to be there? How much did she think of sex?

It was time to parade and she marched her men out. Lizzie glanced to­wards the Gatehouse. There was sound; was the Marchioness approaching; was that cheering? Lizzie marched her troop into position—she had been very fine in her timing. It could have been a disaster but now they were ready and in position.

Lizzie was surprised to see the Marchioness fully dressed in a fine blue rid­ing suit of matching leather jacket and culottes—she was not riding side sad­dle. Lizzie had expected to see her in some ridiculous sexual get up of Conrad's prurient imagination but it looked as respectable as could be. Really rather a pretty outfit with a frilly white blouse under the blue jacket and sensible rid­ing boots poking out from beneath the culottes. Lizzie really admired the cos­tume.

The horse was held and the Marchioness stood up in her stirrups before descending. To Lizzie's surprise she could see what looked like a second pom­mel behind the first, shining wetly in the sunlight. As she looked, Lizzie re­alised it was not a pommel at all but a leather dildo forming an integral part of the Marchioness' saddle, a saddle she had been able, no doubt, to sit upon by virtue of a necessary slit between the legs of the culottes. Certainly not a sad­dle for a man—it was a woman's saddle. Lizzie thought it must be dangerous to have such a thing inside you as you rode but this was not the real world, nothing was quite normal here. All seemed tainted by Conrad's mind. Not that all was unpleasant by any means: quite the contrary there was an awful lot to like and people to like too. It was just, well, so warped.

Conrad was greeting the Marchioness and then it would be Lizzie's turn or, rather, the turn of the Guard to welcome the visitor, to present arms and fire a welcoming salute. Her eyes turned to the right and checked the Guard again. They were ramrod straight, arms down their sides, chins up, backs taut and of course their magnificent long penises rigid. The Guard looked marvel­lously turned out. Lizzie had personally oiled every part of them that morning to ensure they shone in the bright sunlight. The Marchioness would not find fault. The silver of the ornamentals gleamed.

The Marchioness turned in the direction of the Guard and smiled - it was obvious she was already impressed even before the Guard presented. She walked along the line inspecting.

"Well oiled weapons," her voice sweet and melodious, her hands ready to touch and verify her statement, her thin fingers sliding up one after another of the long cocks, her hand weighing the heavy wrinkled shot bags. When she came to the Captain she smiled as her fingers slipped up Lizzie's rubber cock. "A little different here, but so well turned out." Her fingers brushed Lizzie's nipples, black nipples hard with sexual excitement. "Very good Captain—carry on."

She stepped away as Lizzie began her carefully rehearsed manoeuvre.

"Troop—make ready."

Hands busied themselves stimulating cocks. Lizzie waited watchful for the last hand to stop moving and release.

"Troop—present a-rms."

Hands flew back to cocks and held them exactly at 45 degrees from the horizontal. There was no deviation, Lizzie held her own ready, but lower down than the men—she needed to be ready to squeeze a ball hard.

"Troop—make ready to fire the salute." Hands moved.

"Ready!"

"Take aim."

"Fire!"

In fairness to the Guard, it has to be said that only Lizzie was a bit behind in the firing. Six jets of silver shot from the magnificent penises, followed frac­tionally later by Lizzie's own shot. It was, after all, her first ejaculation.

The Marchioness clapped her hands in pure delight as further spurts came from the cocks. Lizzie, her eyes looking sideways, squeezed her ball in unison with the spurts from the men and was impressed how realistic her own cock's performance was proving. It almost shot as far as the men. The Guard's shared ejaculation was long and prolific but the rolling volley could not be sus­tained for long. The excitement over, rigidity could not be held and before any drooping could spoil the picture of martial discipline, Lizzie gave the order to "Stand at ease," as she released the pressure in her own cock allowing it to de­flate.

"Right turn—march." Lizzie followed her troop, pleased at the perfor­mance, their duty done. She could hear the Marchioness saying, "Really Worri­ty, no one comes close to matching your Guard in drill, turnout, timing, disci­pline, the display. Who is your new Captain?" The voice became inaudible.

Lizzie stood the Guard back from the further welcoming ceremony, stand­ing at ease but still impressive. She watched the further introductions and then the welcoming entertainment of gymnastics. Never had Lizzie seen the like. The first, a remarkable, arguably artistic, certainly energetic, undoubtedly skilful sexual coupling on the trampoline. Up they went separately; down they came together, up in the air as one. All quite something to see. It must have taken a lot of practice.

The work on the horse, parallel bars and beam were equally impressive. Lizzie had to admit that she did prefer seeing gymnasts naked. The sight of strong athletic bodies, both male and female, fully exposed enabled one to ap­preciate the musculature as it worked and strained. She liked to see the penis­es of the male gymnasts even when flopping around soft. This added to her ap­preciation. She particularly admired one young man with an unusually large, and therefore remarkably pendulant, scrotum. At work, it flew about beneath (or above him depending on the exercise). A fine sight indeed. She was delight­ed to see him later fully erect performing on the horse. She could not quite work out the requirements but it seemed for some exercises the men were re­quired to retain rigidity throughout.

It was not just the men she appreciated and could easily understand why men like to see a pair of bouncing breasts. There was plenty of opportunity in the gymnastics—and, of course, on the trampoline. The girls who could do 'the splits' at school had always impressed Lizzie and she had watched gymnastics performances at the Olympics but she had never seen what she saw now. A dildo was placed on the ground, positioned to be pointing upwards. Then the naked gymnasts took it in turns to go down on it so that it disappeared, sliding up into them, their legs at right angles to their bodies—at 180 degrees to each other. It was the fluid way it was done repeatedly as part of the exercise. Again it must have taken hours of practice. It was clear the Marchioness was very im­pressed indeed.

The welcome over, the Marchioness, with much waving and blowing of kisses, entered the house. Lizzie sighed and turned back to the Guard feeling as sexually excited as she had when the Guard had blacked and oiled her that morning. The gymnastics had done nothing to ease her wet need. She thought of trying to find the male gymnast with the impressive scrotum but she stopped herself. She was too easily falling into the seductive trap of the place, the sexual hedonism, the easy gratification and following of desire and—in any case—there were her duties to the Guard to complete. The troop was standing where she had left them. She marched them off back to their quar­ters. The ornamentals jingled.

Lizzie felt in need of a bath or shower, the morning had been hot and, of course, she needed to soften the glue and remove her penis - she did not think she needed that for any further purpose. Indeed it would impede what she would most like to do and that was to be fucked rather than fuck. In any case she needed to wash off her changed colour if she could. To her delight she dis­covered the Guard had their own bathroom. A manly affair. A tap was turned and hot steamy water began to cascade into a giant white tiled bath. It was im­mediately obvious to a Lizzie that she was going to have the pleasure of bathing with six men. There was room for all to bathe. She hoped they could play the game of 'find the soap.'

It was like being in the changing room at an old fashioned rugby or foot­ball club before the introduction of showers when the post match bath was communal. It was as if she had stumbled into the wrong changing room, naked, sweaty and grubby perhaps after a girl's hockey match and finding her­self in the male changing room at bath time. There were not fifteen or eleven men there, that would have been greedy, only six, but what men! Men who were, self evidently, pleased she had joined them. Perhaps now, their duty done, they would actually fuck her, serve her in a different way. She hoped so.

Intercourse, though, was not possible until she had divested herself of her male appendage; Mr. Qui'ver's device was certainly stuck fast. Simply pulling at it did no good. All it did was pull at the shaved skin of her pubis, pulling it away from her pubic bone and making her more conscious of its other end that rose and filled her. She wanted filling by her men, she wanted each in turn to stuff her.

Lizzie wondered at herself. This was hardly the girl she had known weeks before. Not that then she had been uninterested, had been without sexual feel­ings, erotic desires; her fingers could testify a very different story as many a night in bed her mind had been filled with naughty images and thoughts as her fingers had stirred. But to actually be seeking sex—if any of this was real—with a man, no six men—was quite another matter. She was finding she was revelling in the sex, enjoying it—perhaps too much. She pulled again at her rubber cock. It needed to come off.

The Guard waited for Lizzie to step into the water first. It was hot, steamy and smelling faintly of carbolic—so masculine, like her men. She really did feel weak at the knees just looking at them as though their masculinity was sapping her strength, making it impossible to resist their advances, their de­mands — as if she would want to resist! No chance of that. Her need for sex was strong. Was it the peculiar world she was in, was it the effect of the Guard or was it really Lizzie herself that caused this need, this strong repeated desire for sexual satisfaction?

The Guard stepped as one into the water. The sudden closeness of the men did cause a weakening of Lizzie's knees; she sank down to kneel, her face at cock level. The coffee coloured plums of their cockheads were at her eye level. Her mouth opened without thought, she wanted to suck, suck those love­ly penises, hold them full, warm and smooth in her mouth.

Oral sex should not be rushed. It should be slow and deliberate, a teasing and understanding, a preliminary or foreplay to the coitus to follow. With six penises to sample, six penises to try, six penises to pleasure, Lizzie had a long time on her knees. It was not a chore, not a duty, it was a pleasure taken in a daze of sexual anticipation. Her body was not left untouched whilst she sucked. Her breasts were attended to, her nipples were pulled, her bottom was stroked—a finger was inserted—but of course her pudenda was left alone and slowly the absence of touch to her sex brought her from her trance.

Lizzie wanted desperately to be fucked but the black rubber penis would not come off, she pulled and pulled but it was stuck fast to her pubis, held in addition by the dildo within. The pulling moved the dildo and made her frus­tration worse. It was such a pale imitation, a poor substitute for the real thing—and there were six of the best real things she was ever likely to see in front of her madingly unable to even attempt entrance. Her frustration at her inability to remove her penis was obvious.

Hands held her, hands lowered her into the hot water, hands caressed, hands stroked, hands tugged. The special glue of Mr. Qui'ver slowly came away, as he had said it would, in the hot water. Lizzie was woman again.

"Please, please just fuck me now."

The Guard obliged one after another, the water churning and slopping around the bath as first one, then another cock penetrated Lizzie and worked until it released. Lizzie did not match the six orgasms of her men but she came close as she lost herself in endless wet, splashing intercourse. A feeling of being permanently and energetically filled, and the delicious awareness of spurting, after spurting — it was an experience of sexual gratification on an or­giastic scale.

Lizzie, washed most royally by her Guard until not a hint of her 'blacking up' remained, returned to her chamber and flopped on the bed. What a day, what excitement and how well her troop had performed - both publicly and pri­vately. She smiled with pleasure at the memory and then frowned. This strange place was dangerously seductive, it was drawing her in, letting her enjoy its pleasures, making her feel wanted and useful—trying to make her want to stay. But she did not want to stay—she wanted to go home. 




Such Stuff Ch. 18



Quietly the happy but troubled girl's thoughts stilled, her eyes closed as she drifted into sleep. An afternoon nap. A rest was certainly needed, there was to be a ball that evening in honour of the Marchioness. Lizzie slept.

The Green Maiden kissed her. "He hasn't really got you Lizzie. He can't keep you. You did not choose to come here, it was a trick. You can get away, you can escape."

"When did I choose? I was walking in a dream I think, I tripped and fell here."

"You chose the wrong path."

"But how do I find a way back?"

"That I do not know. Back you can go but the how of it is quite another matter and, I fear, something for you to find on your own."

Lizzie returned the kiss on the Green Maiden's lips. She felt strong desire for her friend as she cupped a green breast in one hand and felt the nipple re­spond. The kiss was prolonged, tongues caressed. Lizzie only recently from her bath, her bath with her men, was surprised at the return and strength of the re­turn of her arousal. She knew she was dreaming but the surprise was there nonetheless. Lizzie felt a female hand on her own breasts. The girls turned from kissing to suckling—it was as if they were trying to feed from each other's breasts. Taking it in turns to suck, to tickle, and to pull. The mounded softness and the hard little nipples. They kissed again mouth-to-mouth, soft feminine mouth to soft feminine mouth. The touch of smooth cheeks un­adorned by beard or the rasp of shaved stubble - soft, feminine. Two girls to­gether.

The black dildo of the morning was still glued to Lizzie in her dream; it lolled soft against her thigh.

The green maiden's hand slipped down Lizzie's tummy. The girl started with surprise as her fingers found Lizzie's soft rubber penis. The kiss was bro­ken, the girl looked and laughed. A pretty green laugh. She bent her head and lifted the end of the rubber penis on her tongue. Her eyes looked up at Lizzie with amusement as she sucked it in.

The exploring fingers of the green maiden found Lizzie's sex already filled with the rubber device and her little clitoris enclosed. She could not touch her friend as intimately as she wished nor could Lizzie enjoy the close attention of her fingers or busy tongue as before. Lizzie could however explore her friend and it was not long before her own fingers were wet with her friend's scent. This only served to increase her own desire. Her fingers closed around a ball, she began to erect the rubber device causing the Green Maiden to drop it from her mouth and watch with unconcealed amusement at the erection. Had her green friend been with a man? Lizzie wondered, but thought not. Well, she was about to find out what that would be like! Lizzie had a great desire to take the part of a man now she had her own penis. What was it like to have one? More than likely Conrad could arrange that in this very peculiar world of his. He had offered her the nonsense of a second vagina, if he had been serious in that—and given the ridiculous Dai Ambrose Penstimen Fallick it seemed likely he had been perfectly serious. What use would a second vagina be except to ac­commodate a second penis, presumably either the absurd Dai or, in the alter­native, two gentlemen at once? Would it be fun to be a man for a day or two with a penis - yes it would certainly be interesting—or to be hermaphrodite both with her own organ and a penis—that would be very strange.

Kissing her friend again she pushed the Green Maiden back on the soft ground, her fingers running over the green body exploring, touching and teas­ing nipples, stroking down-like green hair, following the hair downwards to warm wetness—stirring, entering, teasing. Lizzie rolled over on top of the girl, lifting her face from her friend as she did so and broke the kiss. She smiled fondly down at her friend, opening her eyes wide as she touched the tip of the black rubber penis to her friend's sex. 

The Green Maiden's eyes opened just as wide as she felt the mock penis seeking entrance. Her mouth changed shape to an 'O' as Lizzie pushed her cock up into the girl, filling her. Lizzie's face de­scended, tongues sought each other again and Lizzie began to fuck her friend. Of course the sensation for Lizzie was not that of a man. She had not become a man but, even so, the penis was cunningly fitted. It filled her as well, it mould­ed her sex and as she pushed into her friend she could feel it rubbing on her clit. Mr. Qui'ver knew his trade—or at least did in her dream—had built a de­vice suitable not just for the formal display of the male Guard but so she could fully perform a man's function and enjoy it too. The front part glued to her skin moved as she pushed pulling the skin, pulling, as a consequence, her sex. At the same time the dildo within her moved, just a little at first but a little more as she became wetter whilst the device itself rubbed against her moist lips and clitoris

It was a lovely feeling being so intimate with her friend, different from mu­tual sucking—though she liked that very much too. Well, liked that with the Green Maiden, she added in her mind, she did not feel at all the same way about other girls.

Lizzie's buttocks moved up and down as she worked at her friend. She could tell by the wriggling and movement of the girl's tongue that her friend's orgasm was not far off. Lizzie reached between her legs ready to complete the simulation by a pretend ejaculation. She increased the speed of her thrusts. The Green Maiden rocked from side to side as her orgasm came and Lizzie squeezed her ball. Squirt, squirt, squirt went her penis into the orgasming girl as Lizzie tried to reach her own climax..

"Oh, you came," moaned the green girl, "you came in me!"

"No, no, I haven't come," Lizzie cried still thrusting, trying to take herself over the brink.

She awoke fingers stuffed inside her, desperately seeking orgasm, rolling on the bed but unable to come. How could she be so in need, so excited so soon after the Guard's good work?

"Ho, ho, ho methinks you need some help."

Puck, as he so often did, had wandered into her room with not so much as a by-your-leave and was sitting on a bed knob, a favourite roost, his outsize cock rising nearly to his chin. How long had he been there? How long had he been watching her roll? For once Lizzie did not send him packing, her need was desperate. The little man with the blue cap was happy to oblige and brought Lizzie to climax whilst filling her with his own.



Such Stuff Ch. 19



Part 19
The Tower Innominate

Lizzie wandered the cold empty corridors bathed in the moonlight streaming through open windows, her bare feet padding almost silently across the bare flags. Un­beknown to her Puck watched from a vantage point high above an empty fire­place. He smiled to himself, Miss Sherrell was proving more and more amus­ing by the day. What had she planned for Worrity? What was her merry wan­dering of the night? He foresaw amusement.

Earlier that evening Lizzie had been to the ball. She had never seen any­thing like it. The ball itself had initially been magnificent, colourful, a real spec­tacle but its degeneration into a drunken orgy spoilt it for her. Conrad had been brash, noisy and commanding as the host. The Marchioness had not seemed to mind and had certainly enjoyed the attentions of the many men who had fawned on her, indeed as the night had worn on had more than fawned, indeed had come on and in her as seemed inevitable in Conrad's peculiar world. Conrad, of course, had sought out Lizzie with the intention of once more seducing her — but such a thing was quite impossible. He could only suc­ceed by force, trickery again or, as Lizzie recalled from the stocks, restraint. As the evening had progressed Lizzie had tried to melt into the background, climb­ing the steps to the musicians gallery and watching as the musicians played for the revellers. The wine flowed, dish upon dish appeared from the kitchens and the noise and merriment grew louder.

"This looks almost like you are hiding, Lizzie Sherrell," said a voice next to her. Lizzie turned from watching the revellers to see Puck sitting on the bal­cony rail, goblet in hand. "Watching not participating. That is not like you — a healthy energetic girl. Such girls need regular exercise to keep those thigh mus­cles in tone. I could assist if you like?" His head was once again on one side and his ever-present outsize penis was firming.

"Do you think of much else, Robin Goodfellow?"

The blue cap tilted to the other side, "Let me see, Japes, Wenches and Mer­riment. What else should I think of? You though, Lizzie Sherrell, think of es­cape, but the Writer won't like that. He could get very angry, cross and venge­ful. You wouldn't like to be chained in his dungeon would you? All those chains, leather, whips and straps. Not perhaps your idea of amusement? He might see it differently. A little enforced sex, he might think, would do you good - cool your temper!"

"And would you help him, Robin?"

"Me, help? What a strange notion. Me help someone! I should think not!"

Lizzie had not intended, had not expected to have any interest in sex that night. She had already enjoyed a bout of sex that afternoon which had extend­ed beyond the dreams and certainly the experience of most girls, being succes­sively penetrated by a team of the most beautifully male men imaginable, expe­rienced a tender erotic lesbian dream which, whilst she might not want to re­count its substance to her friend Lotte, was not at all a distasteful memory and experienced a further orgasm at the end of Robin Goodfellow's ridiculous out­sized penis — perhaps that was a memory she would prefer to pass over - there had been a need at the time.

No, she had not intended to have any more sex that day. She was actually a little sore from perhaps too much stretching and her muscles were in need of no further toning as they ached a little from exertion. Bed would have been sen­sible but she did not feel tired. Her afternoon nap had done her good. It was not that she was enjoying the later stages of the ball, she was detached from that, Lizzie just was not sleepy.

It was the sight of the gymnast, the gymnast with the hanging scrotum Lizzie had so much admired, crossing the hall beneath her, which changed things. Her eyes followed him and her interest was not lost on Puck.

"Fabian Fetherstone," he said, "impressive physique if," he looked at Lizzie obliquely, "you like that over tall shape."

Lizzie turned to him with a smile, "Jealous, Robin?"

"I could be that shape if I wished," Puck said with asperity, "I just choose not to be. I am Faerie you know. Intimate with the Queen."

"You're not going to tell me her name is Titania are you?"

The head with its blue cap, dropped to one side with a half smile, "Might be, might not, and where would you have got that idea from, I wonder?"

Lizzie turned back and watched Fabian Fetherstone. Why was he wearing a tunic, it looked almost like a dress? She got up, not with any plan or purpose in mind but knowing she would like to speak to him and, yes, she would like to see his balls again. What an odd thing for her to want.

"See if I care," said Puck as Lizzie headed off to the stair.

Down in the hall Lizzie was uncertain how to broach the subject. She could not possibly imagine doing so back in her own world. The idea of asking a boy if she could see his genitalia, "Excuse me, I saw you exercising earlier. Would you mind showing me your equipment?" Even so, Lizzie was intrigued. Much more so than she had been with Dai Ambrose Penstimen Fallick but Fabian was more her own age and rather good-looking.

And there he was, right in front of her. She had not worked out at all what to say, what to ask.

"Why the dress?" she said.

Fabian Fetherstone looked rather surprised.

"Tunic," he said, "to let the weights hang."

"Weights?" Lizzie had not heard them called that before. "I saw you, this morning, your exercises."

"Well, of course, I wasn't wearing them then."

"Wearing what? You weren't wearing anything."

"The weights."

The conversation seemed a little circular.

"What weights?" asked Lizzie.

"The ones I hang from my scrotum to stretch it."

"You've got weights hanging from your balls?" said Lizzie in disbelief.

"Of course."

"Why?"

"To stretch..."

"Yes I can see that, but why do you want your balls to hang so low."

"Didn't you think they looked fine?"

"Well, yes I did. I'd like to see them again."

It was an obvious invitation. An invitation to have sex with someone she had not met five minutes. Lizzie was surprised at herself; she had not meant to be anything like so forward. What had this world of Conrad's done to her?

The young man smiled. "Come," he said.

Hand in hand they left the ball. Lizzie did not know where she was being taken.

The gymnasium by candlelight was not an obvious place for a tryst. Belt undone and tunic over his head, Fabian stood naked before Lizzie. Her eyes went to his penis, nestled on its bed of hair and, of course, his pendulant balls. Fabian had not been joking about the weights - she had thought he might be — there were indeed lead weights attached to his balls. They swung as he moved pulling at the ball sack. Despite the velvet of the straps, Lizzie was sure the pulling must hurt. Fabian untied them letting them drop to the floor with a thud, and walked to the parallel bars. He began an exercise, swinging as he built up momentum until he was upside down and then, on the next swing, he was in the air and turning round before swinging down again. This was repeat­ed several times before his acrobatics changed and he did splits in the air. Catching the bars again he swung to the floor.

It was an impressive demonstration and Lizzie could not help but watch the swinging movement, the gyrations of his penis and balls as he moved. Her desire was strong to touch.

Back on the floor now, his skin shone with perspiration. "You see. I have worked to make them so."

Lizzie wanted to touch. His scrotum really was so deep; the balls so low slung; the long hang where the sack narrowed before splaying out again at its base where the testes lodged; the shape all interesting and different. Fabian's development of his body was, Lizzie supposed, no odder than any other body building or wish to develop one's appearance, perhaps by larger breasts, a tuck here or the growth of biceps. "May I?" she said.

Reaching down she lifted his remarkable scrotum, taking its weight, feel­ing the egg shaped testes in their lengthy wrinkled sack, there was so much movement, the sack so large. From her limited knowledge — admittedly much, or totally, enhanced by her very recent experiences — they were heavy. Her hand stroked the wrinkled skin and closed around the sack. She could — just as she had supposed — close her fist, not too tightly though, around the sack tight­ening her grasp so the penis hung over her thumb and the testes, still with room to move, hung below the bottom of her fist. From base of penis to hang of testes was a good seven inches. The penis, soft and curled, began to move over her hand; she could feel it creeping as it lengthened; she stroked it, encourag­ing its rise. It was a nice enough cock but it was the balls that drew the eye and Lizzie wanted a closer look and, it has to be said, the idea of sucking on Fabi­an's balls was tempting. 

Releasing her grip Lizzie crouched. There they were just hanging for her to catch. With a gentle push she sent them swinging from side to side like the pendulum of a clock, back and forth they went — it was al­most hypnotic. Lizzie's tongue tip reached out and its touch stilled the movement, she licked the wrinkled skin feeling its texture on her tongue before suck­ing the twin plums into her mouth. Rolling them around, she tickled with her tongue, drawing as much scrotum into her mouth as she could, almost choking herself.

"What a peculiar thing to be doing in this peculiar world" she thought. The hardness of Fabian's cock was on her forehead. Releasing her hold on the balls they swung wetly from her mouth and she licked up Fabian's cock to en­gulf the head. She sucked.

Clearly Lizzie's work pleased Fabian—perhaps it was about to please him too much, too quickly, for, in a fluid movement, he pulled her from him and lift­ed her up so she was draped over the parallel bars, hanging from the crook of her knees and arms; her dress thrown back and Fabian's smooth face was be­tween her thighs, tongue exploring, seeking out what Lizzie had hidden, hands sliding up inside her dress to tease her nipples. Lizzie wriggled under the on­slaught but, hung as she was, there was little she could do to prevent it - had she wished to! He did not hurry and his tongue was busy for a while.

Fabian stepped back to look at Lizzie. He was standing between her thighs, naked with his penis pointed upwards, slowly his hand reaching out to touch her sex. He stirred.

Lizzie bit her bottom lip; she did so like to be touched there.

Fabian's fingers were fumbling around just out of sight. What was he doing? Why didn't he just keep stirring or push his cock into her, giving her that lovely feeling of being opened and entered. What was he doing? At last—she could feel that she was being penetrated, something was being pushed up into her but it did not feel like Fabian's fingers and it could not be his cock as she could see it standing, its purple head swollen and shiny.

Fabian smiled at her, "I bet nobody has fucked you with his balls before!"

Lizzie's mouth opened in surprise. Fabian had pushed the length of his scrotum into her, balls and all and as he slowly stroked his penis shaft on her opened sex, just on the little swollen bud of her clit, she could feel the twin egg shapes of his testes sliding within her. The novelty of the experience added to her excitement. Every so often Fabian used his fingers to push his balls back up Lizzie to keep them inside her but he did not let up on his penile stroking of her clitoris. Lizzie was biting her lip, rocking a little from side to side as she held onto the bars, her orgasm approaching.

Really this was such a strange coupling. It was questionable whether sexu­al intercourse actually took place between them. Sexual intercourse requires penetration and this means penile penetration - fingers and indeed scrotum do not count. Lizzie's coming, the sudden increase of lubrication, her vocal excla­mation, her obvious joy was accompanied by a simultaneous spurting from Fabian's penis as it rubbed across her sex and through her golden curls, a spurting reaching to her breasts and leaving a trail down her. There had been no penile insertion, it was scrotal intercourse only.

Fabian did not seem disappointed by the place of his ejaculation. It was a relief to Lizzie both to come and to let herself down from the bars because her arms were beginning to ache. Fabian's remarkable scrotum slid from her. Standing again she reached down and took Fabian's penis in hand pulling the skin to close over, and then slide down, the shiny head. "Thank you," she said, "that was good. I do love your wonderful balls." Her hand slipped lower, cup­ping the large wrinkled, rather wet, sack, "I'd like to do that again."

A tentative assignation made, they parted. Fabian contemplating bed—naturally he had invited Lizzie to sleep with him but she was not tired: Lizzie wished to walk not sleep, walk anywhere but to the noise of the revels. Her steps took her out from the Great House into the dark—or rather the not dark of a bright moonlit night. Lizzie walked the gravel paths, across the lawns rev­elling in the coolness and quiet of the night. She was almost tempted to walk further afield, up the road from the house or even into the wood. Was there ac­tually any danger in Conrad's world—apart from Conrad himself of course? Were there beasts of the night, night goblins or something else fearsome? Lizzie rather thought not. She could imagine there might well be things which did sneak up on one but probably only with a sexual intent, perhaps some­thing slithering but slippery warm seeking intimacy and orgasm. Well, Lizzie really had had enough of sex for the day so she was not going to venture too far or even beyond the bounds of the Great House. She did half expect Puck to spring out at her with his usual object in mind, but after a time this seemed un­likely. All was peaceful and quiet. Lizzie walked on, enjoying the quiet as she thought about many things. It was a long perambulation. One by one the light­ed windows of the house darkened.

Lizzie's walk in the moonlight in time took her back into the house and to Conrad's room. It had been an idea only but it did seem not unlikely that with the amount of wine he had drunk he would be very sound asleep such that if she could get into his room he would not easily wake if she looked around—looked around for his book. The idea had developed as she had walked, an idea that she had turned over in her mind and increasingly resolved to try.

With her ear to Conrad's door she could hear nothing—did that mean he was asleep or the door too thick to permit sound to easily pass? Was the door locked? If he was awake and it was unlocked she would never have the same chance again—he would take precautions. If it was locked nothing was lost. But if it was unlocked and Conrad asleep! The risk was worth it. Lizzie turned the handle and gently pushed—the door moved.

A sound of deep snoring came through the narrow crack she had opened. Conrad was asleep. Lizzie stepped into the room. A single candle, nearly spent, feebly lit the scene. Lighting a second Lizzie looked about her. Conrad was sprawled across the bed, naked, his penis betraying, with drying semen, its re­cent use but the girl, or girls, were no longer present. The snores were loud. Her eyes darted around the room. The book was on a desk; an old fashioned desk such as might be seen in a Dickensian adaptation.

Seated at the high clerk's desk Lizzie opened Conrad's book and began to read. It was a most peculiar book. Lizzie could not decide what to make of it, but certainly there were present all the passages he had read to her. Had he re­ally written this strange world, the house she was in and its denizens? She glanced at the snoring, sprawled Conrad. A further idea grew in her head—could she possibly write in it instead of Conrad, change things, perhaps write herself home? But she did not want to be written back in again.

The pen was there on the desk. The pen Conrad used. The yellow fountain pen.

Lizzie picked up the pen and slowly unscrewed the cap. Could she really write in the book, as Conrad seemed to do and make things happen? She could but try. Glancing at the bed Lizzie saw Conrad had not stirred, all was well. The gold nib touched the paper and the black ink began to flow.

A letter was sent, from the Chevalier to the Marquess. The letter detailed the crimes of Worrity, his deceptions, tricks and, certainly worst of all, his tak­ing of Lizzie — a kidnapping no less. The Marquess sent word, a command, for imprisonment. Worrity should be stripped of his privileges and rights. He should be incarcerated...

Lizzie paused, yes, that was the word—but incarcerated where? In a deep dungeon? No, that would be too cruel. It had to be somewhere light but appro­priate, somewhere he could see all he was missing and ponder his misdeeds. Lizzie was getting into the swing of the writing. The pen seemed to flow effort­lessly across the page. A tower, yes a tower looking at the house. But what to call it? She wrote:

...in the Tower Innominate. The Guard was summoned, the Guard marched, the miscreant was seized and carried to the tall flint tower on its hill. The key turned and the Tower sealed. The prisoner could but gaze with sad longing from the Tower's high windows towards the Great House and lament his many misdeeds. The Chevalier was given charge in his place...

Lizzie was not sure of her last sentence. Was this unfair and hard on the Chevalier? He worried so much, dear man, and would this not give him more trouble?

... and was overwhelmed by many offers to assist. The burden proved light.

Lizzie smiled. That was all right then. Would this work? Would her writ­ing actually do anything? It was worth the try and, anyway, Conrad would not like finding this writing in his book. Now, if it did work, how could she write herself home? That was her next task. She picked up the beautiful pen again.

The room was silent apart from Conrad's snores and Lizzie became aware of a faint sound, a faint sound that was getting louder. It sounded like march­ing and was getting nearer. The Guard was on the move! Surely her writing could not already have worked itself through into the reality of the place—could part of what she had written already have taken place?

The door crashed open and it was, indeed, the Guard who marched in, or­namentals tinkling. They were not on ceremonial parade. Their weapons were not at the ready. Their task was different. An arrest to be made. They held chains.

Conrad woke red-eyed and disorientated. It must have been a terrifying awakening from a drunken stupor though Lizzie did not feel at all sorry for him. He struggled as the Guard chained him, protesting, ordering, and swear­ing, until he saw Lizzie at his desk, his beautiful yellow fountain pen in her hand and his book open before her. His face showed fury.

"You can't," he screamed, "You haven't," he shouted, "I'll..." but he was si­lenced by the Guard as they carried him off, the sound of marching fading into the distance.

Lizzie walked, almost in a trance, from Conrad's room to the garden and out into the early morning light, into the freshness of a new day with the dew still on the ground, ecstatic at her success—her success in imprisoning Con­rad. Everything felt suddenly so much better—she looked with pleasure on the beautiful grounds and the fine house.

Lizzie thought, "Oh for a camera. If this really is real, Lotte would be just amazed by it all. Look Lotte, this is the ballroom, this is the river, isn't it idyl­lic, this is the Chevalier Heuron, yes he always dresses like that. That would make her giggle!"

Happiness washed over her. She lay on the grass, despite its dampness, and looked up at the blue sky. Already she could feel the warmth of the day—it was going to be a hot day — she would dry quickly once she stood up. She closed her eyes. Sleep, deep dreamless sleep, came to her.




Such Stuff Ch. 19



It was mid morning before she woke to find the Chevalier Heuron looking down at her.

"Ma cherie you will catch your death if you lie on damp grass mais, c'est ne pas la petit mort." He was smiling as he helped her up but then he looked serious again, "You have heard the news peut-être? We have been deceived. The Marquess has ordered and I must obey.. It is a great burden but everyone, tout le monde, has been so kind. Mais, votre chemise is all damp. You must take it off."

Even with her many adventures in Conrad's world, Lizzie did not feel com­fortable standing naked without her dress in the middle of the great quadran­gle of the house but the Chevalier was insistent. The hot sun on her skin dried any residual dampness within seconds. Really he was worrying about nothing. Of course it was not as if she was standing naked next to a fully dressed man for the Chevalier, as was his custom had his penis exposed through his hose. At the sight of Lizzie's naked body it stirred. Lizzie did not wish to be excepted from the kindness being shown to the Chevalier and was kind to the him.

The sun shone down on the Great House and in the middle of the lawned Quadrangle, surrounded by the house, Lizzie knelt before the Chevalier as he emptied himself in her sweet mouth.

Lizzie stepped again into Conrad's room. It was silent. Its occupant now resident in the Tower Innominate. Was it only a few hours ago that she had sat at the desk writing with Conrad's pen? She still had it tucked in her dress. Tak­ing it out she held it in her hand and looked at it. It really was a lovely object—even if it was in a colour she had come to intensely dislike. But there was no denying the craftsmanship and quality of he enameling and the gleam of the gold. She looked around. So this was Conrad's room, ridiculously over decorat­ed with hangings and carpets in yellow and black. In the wall to the left Lizzie noticed a peculiar doorway, a doorway whose edges seemed to shimmer and change. She had not seen that before. A doorway through which she could see another room—a room which looked so ordinary, so unlike Conrad's room, so unlike the Great House that the contrast was startling. Lizzie walked towards the doorway to step through it and walked into what seemed, and certainly felt like, an invisible wall. It hurt.

Lizzie staggered backwards and then reached out her hand. There was in­deed a barrier, an invisible wall against her passage. She starred through the doorway at the room. It seemed to be a very ordinary room, a very ordinary bedsit in fact—very ordinary for her own world. It was a mess. On the bed were discarded clothes, some of which she recognised as Conrad's. So this was how he came and went between here and... where she wanted to be—home. But why couldn't she just walk through? She tried again with no success.

The doorway had not been there during the night time she was sure, or had it been there but she had not seen it because it had been night and dark both here and in the bedsit? Lizzie sat down again at his desk and starred at the doorway. A glimpse of home, so near yet so far, so tantalisingly close but seemingly unobtainable. A despair crept over her.

But that did not last long. She thought again of the book and her idea to write herself home but as she sat and read page after further page of the book there was nothing about the doorway, nothing about the Yellow Fountain Pen. She looked at it again. It was a beautiful fountain pen enamelled in the most pretty yellow colour. It was a Parker. But what made it special? What enabled Conrad to write and make things happen? Why was the doorway not men­tioned? Might it be possible for her to write and change things, things that were not the result of Conrad writing in the book? She could not see how that could work. In frustration she threw the pen at the hateful doorway and buried her head in her hands. She wanted to go home. She just wanted to go home.

After a moment or two she looked up. She had not heard the bang of the pen hitting the wall. Why was that?

Lizzie got up to look for the pen and immediately saw it—it was in Con­rad's other room — lying just under the bed. She had thrown it through the doorway and it had not been stopped by the barrier, the invisible wall. Yet when she tried she found again she could not go through, could not follow it. Lizzie cried out in frustration. The solution to the puzzle was obvious. Things which came through, such as the pen and, presumably, the odious Conrad could go back. She had not come that way so could not pass. The doorway began to fade. Was it opened by the pen as well?

Now Lizzie saw in despair not only had she lost her view of home, or a bit of her world anyway, but the pen as well which had at least given her some control over Conrad and his strange world. Lizzie could not think that just any pen would do. She was quite sure it was the pen not the book that was the key. She slammed the book shut; conscious she had just made a big mistake. She was furious with herself.

A long walk calmed Lizzie. It was vital she thought clearly. A way had to be found to escape and she had probably just lost a vital key to one solution. Was there another? What had her friend, the Green Maiden said? "You chose the wrong path." Lizzie remembered how in her dream she had fallen to Con­rad's world. She had been walking and had tripped. Had she taken a wrong path? The Green Maiden thought so but what wrong path? How was Lizzie to get back on the path? If she flew upwards could she get back on the path — surely there were not paths in the clouds? Lizzie looked upwards into the per­fect blue sky. There were no clouds.

Lizzie stepped out on the road from the Great House that lead away be­tween an avenue of Lime trees to rise up the side of the funny little sugar loaf hill. A hill that had been devoid of even a tree when she had last set out from the house and been waylaid by the Great Maple in the Forest, but now was crowned by a forbidding tower of stone—the Tower Innominate. Even from here she could see something yellow at one of the barred windows—Conrad was watching her. As Lizzie drew nearer she could make out his features. It was not going to be an easy meeting—she had not come to gloat but to talk, reason, discuss perhaps even negotiate. She had the upper hand but whilst he was trapped in the Tower Innominate, she was trapped here in his world. He would want release. She wanted to go home and be free of him. Perhaps the meeting would enable her release.

Conrad was sitting looking dejected when Lizzie looked into his cell. "Lizzie, how has this happened? Why have you done this to me? I offered you so much. I chose you to come here with me. Is it not wonderful, is it not perfect and is it not fun? You have been ungrateful, unfriendly and nasty to me."

"YOU brought me here against my will. You did not invite me: no, you ab­ducted me. I want to go home."

A slow smile crossed Conrad's face. "Go home? Oh no, Lizzie, far from that, quite the reverse. You are going to be imprisoned, really imprisoned. How will you like that? Oh yes, I can do that. You think you have me locked up and safe here, but I can seek you out, Lizzie, even from here I can seek you out and have you locked away. You think you've imprisoned me, me who thought all this up," his arms swept about him, "well you will soon know what it is like to be really imprisoned." He smirked and pointedly turned his chair away from her.

It had not, after all, been a good interview.



Such Stuff Ch. 20



Part 20

The Wicked Witch

Lizzie tossed and turned finding it difficult to sleep. Conrad had laughed at her from his prison and said she would soon know what it was like to be im­prisoned herself. What had he meant? It worried her. It was a long time before she was able to get to sleep and no sooner, or so it seemed to her, than she had fallen asleep than she was dreaming once again. All she could see around her was that it was all very green, not a soft green, not a dull green nor a natural forest-like green: rather it was a bright emerald green. The import of the colour came to her, she knew where her dream had taken her, she was back in the Emerald City of Oz.

The Green Maiden, her sister in Oz, was dressing her ready to meet the Great Oz. She was dressing Lizzie in one of the prettiest green silk aprons you ever saw. She tied a green ribbon around Lizzie's neck and they started for the Throne Room of the Great Oz. Lizzie felt she was rather underdressed but did not like to say anything.

First they came to a great hall in which were many ladies and gentlemen of the court, all dressed in rich costumes. These people had nothing to do but talk to each other, but they always came to wait outside the Throne Room every morning, although they were never permitted to see Oz. As Lizzie en­tered they looked at her curiously wondering who this pretty girl was dressed in nothing but a green apron and a green ribbon. Many wished to lift the apron and see what was hidden beneath. One of them whispered:

"Are you really going to look upon the face of Oz the Terrible?"

"Of course," answered Lizzie, "if he will see me."

"Oh, he will see you," said the soldier who had taken her message to the Wizard.

Just then a bell rang, and the green girl said to Lizzie, "That is the signal. You must go into the Throne Room alone."

She opened a little door and Lizzie walked boldly through and found her­self in a wonderful place. What interested Lizzie most was the big throne of green marble that stood in the middle of the room. It was shaped like a chair and sparkled with gems, as did everything else. In the center of the chair was an enormous Head, without a body to support it or any arms or legs whatever. There was no hair upon this head, but it had eyes and a nose and mouth, and was much bigger than the head of the biggest giant.

"Well," thought Lizzie, "that is how it should be. I was half expecting, given the way my dreams normally run, to find an enormous cock without a body to support it or any arms, legs or head whatever."

As Lizzie gazed upon this in wonder, the eyes turned slowly and looked at her sharply and steadily. Then the mouth moved, and Lizzie heard a voice say:

"I am Oz, the Great and Terrible. Who are you, and why do you seek me?"

"I am Lizzie, the Small and Meek. I have come to you for help."

The eyes looked at her thoughtfully for a full minute. Then Oz asked, "What do you wish me to do?"

"Send me back to Kansas, where my Aunt Em and Uncle Henry are," she answered in keeping with the book.

The eyes winked three times, and then there was a puff of smoke and a loud report and the head disappeared to be replaced by what Lizzie had origi­nally expected, a large cock. The penis pointed at Lizzie three times and then turned up to the ceiling and down to the floor and moved around so queerly that it seemed to point to every part of the room. 

"Well," said the Cock, "I will give you my answer. You have no right to ex­pect me to send you back to Kansas unless you do something for me in return. In this country everyone must pay for everything he gets. If you wish me to use my magic power to send you home again you must do something for me first. Help me and I will help you."

"What must I do?" asked Lizzie but thinking "do something for me? - I can just guess what that will be if this dream follows my normal pattern!" She had a vision of herself trying to excite the enormous cock and eventually, after a lot of tugging and difficult work, it firing across the room and hitting the ceil­ing. But she was wrong, the dream followed the book.

"Kill the Wicked Witch of the West," answered Oz.

"But I cannot!" exclaimed Lizzie, actually greatly surprised. And so, true to the book, Lizzie found herself leaving the great city, now clothed in a silk dress, and heading East on a mission to kill. She was not greatly worried. She had read the 'Wizard' and knew a bucket of water would melt the witch as easy as anything and in any case this was only a dream.

The Emerald City was soon left far behind. Lizzie was rather sad she had not seen more of her friend, the Green Maiden, and talked to her perhaps even... The dream seemed to have hurried her from the City and on her way to kill but she was once again with her friends the Scarecrow, Tin Man, and the Lion. As they and Lizzie advanced the ground became rougher and hillier, for there were no farms nor houses in this country of the West, and the ground was untilled. The afternoon sun shone hot in their faces, for there were no trees to offer them shade. It was so very hot and Lizzie was dripping under her white dress, the sweat pouring from her, soaking the material and sticking it to her skin. The buds of her breasts, rubbing against the material, hot from the sunshine stood proud moulded by the material, which was almost transparent around them. Their redness showed clearly through the material and the Scare­crow, with repeated sidelong glances, was sure he could discern the little bumps and undulations at the very edge of her areolae. 

The Scarecrow was al­most beside himself in excitement, his permanently erect corncob penis strained forward from his fly desperately in need of touch, encouragement and manual, oral or vaginal stimulation. He glanced downwards but the sway of the material of her dress kept it away from Lizzie's secret curls though the damp material clung to her pretty thighs, the pink skin showing clearly through the thin material. It was a trial for the Scarecrow.

Lizzie's exposure was not just the subject of the Scarecrow's interest. The Tin Man was observant. The dry day meant he was not at all in danger of rust or tarnish but he felt it would perhaps be a good idea to think about using his self oiler just in case. The Lion, walking a little behind the others, could not see Lizzie's pretty breasts and thighs but he could not miss the roundness of her bottom cheeks moving beneath her dress. The dress, wet with sweat, clung to her buttocks revealing their shape in perfect detail. It was an erotic sight and the Lion's mighty penis pointed forward and erect beneath him, the shiny pur­ple head bulbous, his balls, heavy and full, swinging slackly in the heat.

Sexual excitement was electric around Lizzie though she was unaware, feeling simply hot and uncomfortable in the heat. She missed her pretty blue gingham dress now that her wonderful emerald dress was merely white. It stuck to her uncomfortably. What she wanted was to pull it off and sit naked in the shade of a tree or, better still, slip into cool water.

It was hard going in the unrelenting sun but presently the party found themselves on the edge of a ravine snaking through the country. To carry on they needed to descend into it to reach the other side. The sides were steep and the going difficult but as they climbed downwards they found themselves in cool shade and below them they could hear the tinkling of water on stones, a sound revealing there was a stream winding through the ravine. 

Lizzie stood at the bottom of the ravine, cooler now but dusty from the day's walk and the scramble down the side. Above her the bright blue sky showed as a brilliant strip between the walls of the ravine. Should she just wade across the stream or should she pull off her clothes and the silver slip­pers and immerse herself in its refreshing water? It was not much of a decision to make. The Scarecrow, Tin Man and Lion reaching the valley floor were treat­ed to the sight of Lizzie pulling her dress up and over her head revealing her body in all its beautiful nakedness. Carefully she stepped forward into the stream and then bending picked up a pebble. Her companions swallowed in unison, the sight of Lizzie bending forward, her buttocks tensioning and a hint of pink sex showing between them was not unpleasing. The sexual feelings largely dispelled by the climb down into the ravine returned with force. Lizzie herself was unaware as she settled herself down in the stream, its waters bub­bling past her, caressing and cooling her tired limbs. She closed her eyes and sighed with contentment. She was certainly safe from the Wicked Witch of the West immersed in water. There was no way she could ever get near Lizzie when she was bathing.

Of course it was only Lizzie who bathed. The Tin Man was scared of water and with good reason, the Scarecrow too did not wish his straw to become soggy and risk rot and the Lion, who could of course swim if he had to (but never had), did not care for water. He had his long wet and pink tongue to keep himself spotless just like any other self-respecting cat. They stood on the stream bank and watched Lizzie with an intense fascination. Lizzie felt their stares and opened her eyes to see her friends watching her. Now she was quite used to the Scarecrow standing around with his rigid corncob sticking out of his trousers, it looked odd, even obscene but that was how he was, dear thing. But to see the Tin Man with his self oiler ready and the Lion standing proud did indicate to Lizzie that there was a consensus of purpose amongst her com­panions. Lizzie sighed. This was how her dreams seemed to go and it was best to let go and allow her subconscious its rein. Of course there was Conrad's in­fluence but how could he, now he was imprisoned, interfere with her mind given she was trapped in his dream world. Was she dreaming a dream within a dream or was this just a dream whilst she was asleep in a different reality? Her friends were waiting.

The Tin Man just loved watching the Scarecrow pleasuring Lizzie, seeing the corncob penis sliding wetly in and out of her. He did so hope Lizzie would next be kind to him and help with his self oiler. He was worried about the crossing of the river and wished to be well lubricated in his joints before at­tempting the task. He had watched Lizzie climb from her cooling sojourn in the water to the Scarecrow and taken his cob in her hand. 

It was an invitation the Scarecrow had been very pleased to take up and it had not been long before Lizzie had him on the ground with her astride him pushing the bright yellow corn cob up into her. In her dream Lizzie found the corrugations of the cob an enjoyable stimulation, a kind of rubbing she was not used to, and she bounced contentedly knowing she could wash again in the coolness of the stream when it was over.

The Tin Man was almost beside himself when Lizzie raised herself from the Scarecrow, creamy cornstarch dripping from her and back down to the cob again. The Scarecrow had a particular happy expression on his painted face. The Tin Man was pleased for his friend but desperate for help with his self oiler. 

Lizzie knew what was needed and her nimble fingers helped the Tin Man with his difficulty and soon, perhaps sooner than the Tin Man would have liked, he was liberally spraying his joints and, rather carelessly, Lizzie herself.

The Lion had kept rather quiet, though had been watching carefully, wait­ing what he hoped would be his turn. His tumescence had not subsided one lit­tle bit and his balls felt hot and heavy in the heat. Now Lizzie had not missed the Lion's preference, she knew that the Lion watched her bottom, that a bend­ing forward on her part was particularly interesting to him. Opened and lubri­cated by corn starch and possibly a little oil she might well be able to accom­modate the King of Beasts if she was to present herself. She could but try.

Lizzie let go of the Tin Man, and bent forward getting down on all fours like a lioness. In a rush she heard the Lion coming up behind her and she felt the not unwelcome hot wet rasp of his great tongue on her sex. Now the impor­tance of the tongue in oral work is self-evident but the Lion's advantage in this respect was clear. Even before the Cowardly Lion stood over her and placed his great penis at her sex, Lizzie was close to orgasm. The pressing of the great head and its successful penetration took her over the edge. The Scarecrow and Tin Man watched the flexing of the mighty muscles of the Lion's haunches as he applied himself. Lizzie was surprised at the force and evident volume of the ejaculation when it came. She watched it float away as she refreshed herself for a second time in the stream before the party continued its journey.

Now the Wicked Witch of the West had but one eye, yet that was as power­ful as a telescope, and could see everywhere. But whilst the travelers were hid­den in the ravine she was not troubled by seeing them in her country; but it was a different matter when they climbed up and out of its cooling depths. Im­mediately the Witch blew upon a silver whistle that hung around her neck and the events leading to the capture of Lizzie and the Lion were set in train. But Lizzie missed all this, her dream seemed to shift and there she was carefully and gently being lifted by the Winged Monkeys and carried swiftly through the air until they came to the Wicked Witch's castle, where they set her down upon the front doorstep.

The leader said to the Witch, "we have obeyed you as far as we were able. The Tin Woodman and the Scarecrow are destroyed, and the Lion is tied up in your yard."

Then all the Winged Monkeys, with much laughing and chattering and noise, flew into the air and were soon out of sight.

The Wicked Witch laughed and said to Lizzie, harshly and severely, "Come with me; and see that you mind everything I tell you, for if you do not I will make an end of you, as I did of the Tin Woodman and the Scarecrow."

Lizzie, not too worried for she knew the Tin Man would be repaired and the Scarecrow restuffed, so she followed the Witch through many of the beauti­ful rooms in her castle until they came to the kitchen, where the Witch bade her clean the pots and kettles and sweep the floor and keep the fire fed with wood.

Lizzie did not go to work meekly, instead she straightway picked up a bucket of water that stood near and dashed it over the Witch, wetting her from head to foot.

Instantly the wicked woman gave a loud cry of laughter, and then, as Lizzie looked at her in wonder, the Witch began to change and grow younger.

"You thought to trick me, to make me melt away but water does not fright­en me at all you silly girl. Nothing is that easy."

By the door was the chief of the yellow Winkies dressed in yellow and black. Lizzie could now see it was Conrad and he was laughing with glee.

"You are my prisoner and slave here in my castle to stay and work for me forever," said the Wicked Witch and hit Lizzie with her umbrella. Conrad smirked. "Forever," he repeated, gave a little wave and walked out the door.

Lizzie looked at the Wicked Witch in surprise and confusion. The water had not harmed her, Conrad had changed the story. Moreover the water had changed the Witch and made her young and beautiful though it only lasted a short time.

With Lizzie hard at work, the Witch thought she would go into the court­yard and harness the Cowardly Lion like a horse; it would amuse her, she was sure, to make him draw her chariot whenever she wished to go to drive. But as she opened the gate the Lion gave a loud roar and bounded at her so fiercely that the Witch was afraid, and ran out and shut the gate again.

"If I cannot harness you," said the Witch to the Lion, speaking through the bars of the gate, "I can starve you. You shall have nothing to eat until you do as I wish."

So after that she took no food to the imprisoned Lion; but every day she came to the gate at noon and asked, "Are you ready to be harnessed like a horse?"

And the Lion would answer, "No. If you come in this yard, I will bite you."

The reason the Lion did not have to do as the Witch wished was that every night, while the woman was asleep, Lizzie carried him food from the cupboard. After he had eaten he would lie down on his bed of straw, and Lizzie would lie beside him and put her head on his soft, shaggy mane while they talked of their troubles. It was only the second night she did this that she noticed the ef­fect this had on the Lion, his great furry penis would rise and its head would point up in the air. Lizzie was kind and when she reached out and began to stroke the Lion's great cock, he gave a deep purr of contentment. She could barely encircle it with her fingers but, grasped in her hand, she could move his foreskin and slide it across the great purple head. It was very comfortable lying there across the soft warm fur of the Lion's stomach and watching as her hands worked his mighty cock. A great rumbling purr seemed to vibrate through the Lion's body as he lay there enjoying Lizzie's gentle attentions. Lizzie smiled up at his great head with its majestic mane before turning back to watch her hands. She was musing on whether she should lick his cock, cer­tainly there was no way she would be able to take the head into her mouth - but she could certainly tease it with her tongue—when it was shooting, shoot­ing a great stream of creamy fluid. Lizzie had never seen so much coming from a penis—and it kept coming in powerful spurts. But even the mighty Lion could not maintain such a flow for long. The ejaculation faltered and subsided to a dribble. The Lion had come.

Night after night Lizzie came to the Lion and tried to plan some way to es­cape. But they could find no way to get out of the castle, for it was constantly guarded by the yellow Winkies, who were the slaves of the Wicked Witch and too afraid of her not to do as she told them. The Lion and Lizzie consoled each other and it was not long before Lizzie found herself regularly on all fours being serviced by the great Lion standing over her. The Lion was gentle and many times she came with the Lion's warm fur tickling her back and his great penis pulsing inside her, filling her until she overflowed.

Now the Wicked Witch had two great longings. One was to have for her own the Silver Shoes which the girl always wore and the other, which was even sharper, was to play with Lizzie's beautiful body. From the moment she had set eyes on Lizzie far away she had desired her. The very sight of her made her wet with desire and it was this wish that she found easiest to achieve: securing the Silver Shoes was more difficult. If she could only get hold of the Silver Shoes, they would give her more power than all the other things she had lost. She watched Lizzie hungrily, to see if she ever took off her shoes, thinking she might steal them. But the girl was so proud of her pretty shoes that she never took them off except at night and when she took her bath. The Witch was too much afraid of the dark to dare go in Lizzie's room at night to take the shoes, but she always came near when Lizzie was bathing.

She would stand staring at Lizzie, desire rising until she could take no more. She would strip off her clothes exposing her old and wrinkled body but as soon as she stepped into the bath with Lizzie she would begin to change be­coming young and beautiful again as the water touched her skin. She would get in behind Lizzie and sit with Lizzie's back to her and with her legs stretched out alongside Lizzie so Lizzie was sitting in the water with her bot­tom between the Wicked Witch's thighs. This allowed the Witch to reach around and cup Lizzie's breasts in her hands. There was little Lizzie could do. The Wicked Witch had her prisoner.




Such Stuff Ch. 20



The Witch was so besotted with Lizzie's body, so consumed with desire that as soon as she was in the bath with Lizzie's soft hips between her thighs and Lizzie's breasts in her hands that she forgot all about the Silver Shoes. She would take her time washing Lizzie with a bar of soap making sure she was as clean as anything and making sure she touched her everywhere. Lizzie would shudder as she felt a bony finger in her bottom and stare fixedly ahead as the bony hands played with her round bottom knowing it would not be long before she would feel hard nipples against her back and the touch of soapy hands sliding up her thighs. The water may give the Witch the appearance of youth but her touch was her real self—all hardness, boniness and leathery skin.

Out of the bath the Witch would dry poor Lizzie and push her down on the cold stone floor, settling her own sex over Lizzie's face and commanding her to lick and lick whilst all the while playing with Lizzie's own sex, sticking her fingers into her and pinching her clitoris until it was red and hurt. Poor Lizzie's tongue would ache as try as she did, for she knew her ordeal would be over the quicker, it took a long time for the Wicked Witch to come, drenching Lizzie's face. But the Wicked Witch did not care one jot about Lizzie's own needs; her finger work was not for Lizzie and never brought her to orgasm. Lizzie had to seek her own release with the powerful Lion.

Lizzie was quite beside herself. Try as she might, despite wracking her brains, she could not think of a way to escape from the Wicked Witch or, as she knew she must in the story, destroy her. Water had not had the expected ef­fect and, indeed it, had quite the opposite effect. The Witch was equally stuck in trying to think how she might get Lizzie's Silver Shoes. But the wicked crea­ture was very cunning, and she finally thought of a trick that would give her what she wanted. One night she placed a bar of iron in the middle of the kitchen floor, and then by her magic arts made the iron invisible to human eyes. So that when Lizzie crept back across the floor having visited the Lion she stumbled over the bar, not being able to see it, and fell at full length.

She was not much hurt, but in her fall one of the Silver Shoes came off; and before she could reach it, there was a flash of light, the Witch appeared and snatched it away and put it on her own skinny foot.

Lizzie was sprawled across the floor quite stunned by the fall and the bright light, with her dress awry showing her thighs and indeed her pretty sex. The wicked woman was greatly pleased with the success of her trick, but the sight of Lizzie's helplessness and exposure inflamed her desire once more. She bent and touched Lizzie's pretty curls and stroked her bony fingers right along Lizzie's most private areas. The wicked woman licked her lips as she easily pushed her hard bony fingers into Lizzie.

Instantly, before she could even wonder why it was so slippery, why the entry was so easy, why Lizzie was so lubricated, the wicked woman gave a loud cry of fear, and as Lizzie looked at her in wonder, the Witch hand and then arm began to shrink and fall away.

"See what you have done!" she screamed. "In a minute I shall melt away."

"I'm very sorry, indeed," said Lizzie, who was truly frightened to see the Witch actually melting away like brown sugar before her very eyes.

"Where did you find it? Who has been with you? Did you know semen would be the end of me?" asked the Witch, in a wailing, despairing voice.

"Of course not," answered Lizzie. "How should I?"

"Well, in a few minutes I shall be all melted, and you will have the castle to yourself. I have been wicked in my day, but I never thought a girl like you would ever be able to melt me and end my wicked deeds. Look out—here I go!"

With these words the Witch fell down in a brown, melted, shapeless mass and began to spread over the clean boards of the kitchen floor. Seeing that she had really melted away to nothing, Lizzie drew a bucket of water and threw it over the mess.

She then swept it all out the door. After picking out the Silver Shoe, which was all that was left of the old woman, she cleaned and dried it with a cloth, and put it on her foot again. Then, being at last free to do as she chose, she ran out to the courtyard to tell the Lion that the Wicked Witch of the West had come to an end, and that they were no longer prisoners in a strange land.

The Cowardly Lion was much pleased, though surprised, to hear that the Wicked Witch had been melted by his ejaculate, and Lizzie at once unlocked the gate of his prison and set him free. They went in together to the castle, where Lizzie's first act was to call all the Winkies together and tell them that they were no longer slaves. There was great rejoicing among the yellow Winkies, for they had been made to work hard during many years for the Wicked Witch, who had always treated them with great cruelty. They kept this day as a holiday, then and ever after, and spent the time in feasting, dancing and communal intercourse.

Lizzie awoke with some difficulty to find Puck starring at her from his pre­ferred roost on the bedpost.

"Ho, ho, so you escaped then. Not clever enough for you after all. He will be quite the cross one. But you have been asleep for days and much have we missed you. The Chevalier has been quite beside himself. "Oh what if she never wakes, where will we be, what is to be done, a glass casket perhaps for a sleeping beauty..." he mimicked.

"Days? How can I have slept for days? Surely I would be ill or worse but I don't feel awful at all?"

"Ah, well you see you slept, ate and drank in the Land of Oz did you not?"

"But, but that was a dream or is this just a dream?"

"Ho, ho, what thinks you? It feels real enough—does it not to you?"

And Lizzie had to admit it did. It was all a puzzlement.



Such Stuff Ch. 21



Part 21

Who Stole the Tarts? 

Lizzie was dreaming again.

Another day gone. Not an unpleasant day. Far from it—the land she was in was lovely, the people interesting, friendly and fun, Conrad was locked in his tower unable to spoil her day but even from there he was interfering with her in her dreams—it was just that Lizzie wanted to go home.

Another night of rest. A pleasing prospect? Perhaps, but Lizzie was a little frightened about falling asleep. What might Conrad try now?

She drifted off.

A rather sweet dream it seemed to be to Lizzie as she stood outside a rather quaint gothic building with a great wooden door. There seemed no dan­ger. She pushed at the door, opening it and went into a courthouse.

The King and Queen of Hearts were seated on their throne with a great crowd assembled about them—all sorts of little birds and beasts, as well as the whole pack of cards: near the King was the White Rabbit, with a trumpet in one hand, and a scroll of parchment in the other. In the very middle of the court was a table, with a large dish of tarts upon it: they looked so good, that it made Lizzie quite hungry to look at them—"I wish they'd get the trial done," she thought, "and hand round the refreshments!" But there seemed to be no chance of this, so she began looking at everything about her, to pass away the time.

Lizzie had never been in a court of justice before, but she had read about them in books, and she was quite pleased to find that she knew the name of nearly everything there. "That's the judge," she said to herself, "because of his great wig."

The judge, by the way, was the King; and as he wore his crown over the wig, he did not look at all comfortable, and it was certainly not becoming.

"And that's the jury-box," thought Lizzie, "and those twelve crea­tures," (she was obliged to say 'creatures,' you see, because some of them were animals, and some were birds,) "I suppose they are the jurors. This must be the trial of the Knave of Hearts, yes there he is, looking downcast"

The twelve jurors were all writing very busily on slates.

"What are they doing?" Lizzie whispered to the Gryphon. "They can't have anything to put down yet, before the trial's begun."

"They're putting down their names," the Gryphon whispered in reply, "for fear they should forget them before the end of the trial."

"Stupid things!" Lizzie began in a loud, indignant voice, but she stopped hastily, for the White Rabbit cried out, "Silence in the court!" and the King put on his spectacles and looked anxiously round, to make out who was talking.

"Herald, read the accusation!" said the King.

On this the White Rabbit blew three blasts on the trumpet, and then un­rolled the parchment scroll, and read as follows:—

'The Queen of Hearts, she made some tarts,

All on a summer day:

The Maid of Hearts, she stole those tarts,

And took them quite away!'

"Consider your verdict," the King said to the jury.

"Not yet, not yet!' the Rabbit hastily interrupted. "There's a great deal to come before that!"

"Bring the prisoner forward then, and be quick about it."

Lizzie looked at the Knave but to her surprise the Rabbit pushed at her urging her forward. All eyes were on her and several of the jury, not least a bright yellow and black wasp she had not noticed at first, were pointing at her, whispering and shaking their heads.

"This is not how it is in the book," thought Lizzie recognising the wasp as Conrad. Once again he was invading her dreams, invading her mind, but now from his lonely sojourn in the Tower Innominate. "There is certainly no wasp in Wonderland and it is the Knave of Hearts who stole the tarts."

"Call the first witness," said the King; and the White Rabbit blew three blasts on the trumpet, and called out, "First witness!"

The first witness was the Hatter. He came in with a teacup in one hand and a piece of bread-and-butter in the other. "I beg pardon, your Majesty,' he began, 'for bringing these in: but I hadn't quite finished my tea when I was sent for."

"You ought to have finished,' said the King. 'When did you begin?'

The Hatter looked at the March Hare, who had followed him into the court, arm-in-arm with the Dormouse. "Fourteenth of March, I think it was," he said. The Dormouse sat down next to Lizzie looking quite worn out.

"Fifteenth," said the March Hare.

"Sixteenth," added the Dormouse.

"Write that down," the King said to the jury, and the jury eagerly wrote down all three dates on their slates, and then added them up, and reduced the answer to shillings and pence.

"Three shillings and nine pence," said Conrad quickly and loudly (and smugly).

The Queen glared at him.

Just at this moment Lizzie felt a very curious sensation, which she recog­nised: she was beginning to grow larger again, and she thought at first she would get up and leave the court; but she was the prisoner and would have to remain where she was as long as there was room for her. She was growing away from being a little girl and back into being a young woman again. Her dress was filling out as her breasts pushed the front of her dress away from her.

"I wish you wouldn't squeeze so," said the Dormouse, who was sitting next to her. "I can hardly breathe."

"I can't help it,' said Lizzie very meekly: "I'm growing."

"You've no right to grow here," said the Dormouse.

"Don't talk nonsense,' said Lizzie more boldly: "you know you're growing too.'" And indeed the Dormouse was growing too but only in a single respect. The pressure of Lizzie's warm body against him and the sight of her breasts pushing at her dress revealing an almost indecent amount of cleavage was clearly disturbing him, causing him to have thoughts it is perhaps best not to have in a court room when you are lacking clothing and, moreover, are in a public place. He was about to be greatly embarrassed; his penis was rising out of his fur, rising in a very obvious and prominent manner.

"Oh, what am I to do? Look what you are doing, this is your fault causing me to grow at anything but a reasonable pace and in this ridiculous fashion, what are you going to do about it?" hurriedly whispered the Dormouse who by now was anything but sleepy. "You must do something, hide me — hide it."

Lizzie had nothing to hide the burgeoning cock with, nothing but her hand. Calmly but quickly she placed her hand over the Dormouse's cock and glanced around the Courtroom with a smile, and an attempt at a look of com­plete unconcern on her face, to see if anyone had noticed. Nobody had, they were all too busy watching the proceedings or worrying about what the Queen might say — except of course Conrad who was staring straight at Lizzie and grinning broadly, and, not surprisingly, the Dormouse. The Dormouse had cer­tainly noticed with a squeak as Lizzie's warm fingers closed around his penis.

Lizzie could feel it under her fingers all warm, smooth, hard and still grow­ing. She glanced down, it was not visible under her hand but if it did not stop growing it soon would be.

Lizzie was in a quandary. What could she do? If she moved her hand away the Dormouse's embarrassment would be visible for all to see, if she left her hand where it was the sensation and its very presence would keep the Dor­mouse hard and therefore unable to move. What was more, Lizzie was still growing and there would shortly not be room enough for both of them on the seat and, being the accused, it was not possible for her to move. The Dormouse would have to move but, surely, he could not walk erect across the Courtroom. What would the King say—moreover what would the Queen say? What could Lizzie do, what new plan could she devise? She had to make the cock smaller.

Gently, surreptitiously, Lizzie began to stroke the Dormouse's cock. He was quite beside himself, going red in the face, all thought of sleep or tea for­gotten. Lizzie gazed up at the King as if concentrating totally on what he had to say rather than what her fingers were doing. The Dormouse was not used to manual attention from a pretty girl, an endless round of tea with the Hatter and March Hare was his usual lot. The success of Lizzie's stratagem was not long in being achieved. A sudden spurt of warm sticky wetness on and be­tween Lizzie's fingers denoted her plan had worked. It was not long before she could remove her hand.

She sat, demurely licking her fingers as if nothing untoward had hap­pened. The Dormouse got up very smugly and crossed over to the other side of the court, all potential for embarrassment having subsided.

All this time the Queen had never left off staring at the Hatter, and, just as the Dormouse crossed the court, she whispered to one of the officers of the court, on which the wretched Hatter trembled so, that he shook both his shoes off.

"Take off your hat," the King said to the Hatter.

"It isn't mine," said the Hatter.

"Stolen!" the King exclaimed, turning to the jury, who instantly made a memorandum of the fact, "just like the tarts. They too were stolen. Her guilt is proven." He pointed at Lizzie and all the jurors looked at her. "What made you do it... Maid?" The King looked round expectantly. Nobody laughed.

"This is all wrong," cried Lizzie.

"Much you know about it," said the King.

"It's not me but the Knave of Hearts who should be on trial—he stole the tarts you know!"

"Ha, adding slander to your misdemeanours, this really is too much."

"I am not the Maid of Hearts. Look at me; I don't wear a heart on my dress. See, you all have your suit displayed. Observe, your Majesties, you wear the heart and there is the Three of Clubs, there is the Seven of Diamonds. Even the Knave has Hearts, and, I do know, he stole the tarts."

"Strip the prisoner — she must stand naked so we can all see her and as­sess her guilt"

"Or not, your Majesty," said the White Rabbit

"Where?" said the King apparently startled and then looking around the court with a smile. There was a dead silence.

"It's a pun!" the King added in an offended tone, and everybody laughed, "My joke, you see, Hornet, like a wasp only bigger."

Conrad caught Lizzie's eye and smiled his smug smile.

"Off with her clothes," said the Queen.

"The witness will help."

The Hatter was not actually much help. He fumbled around but his fin­gers were so shaky that he could not undo bows or buttons or anything. It could not have helped that Lizzie did not want to strip in the middle of a packed courtroom. She did not wish to be exposed to the view of all. The jurors lent forward expectantly. Even the Dormouse, already satisfied by Lizzie, awoke and his sleepy eyes watched the process of the disrobing.

As the last shred of clothing was removed Lizzie stamped her foot crossly causing her breasts to shake and shouted, "I did not steal those tarts, it was him, the Knave" and she pointed her finger at the Knave who was keeping very quiet.

But the jurors and the whole court were not looking at the Knave but star­ing at Lizzie as if she had told a great falsehood. They were not looking at her face but lower, much lower, indeed at her sex. Lizzie's eyes slowly followed their gaze downwards and saw her pubic hair; her tight golden curls had been trimmed, neatly trimmed and shaved to form a perfect heart shape.

"Contempt of Court, lying under oath, the case proven," cried the King. "Fetch my black skull cap. The punishment must be swift."

"There's more evidence to come yet, please your Majesty," said the White Rabbit, jumping up in a great hurry.

"I, for one, do not believe she is a maid at all," said the Queen, "there is no innocence in that face or, I suspect, anywhere else. Examine her."

"And what if she is a maid?" asked the White Rabbit.

"Then her guilt is twice proven. Off with her maidenhead"

Lizzie stood naked with all the creatures, cards and the Hatter staring at her, taking in the beauty of her body. It was humiliating, embarrassing but, Lizzie remembered, this was not her body and, in any case, it was not a real experience but only a dream.

"You must be examined, please lie across this table at once," the White Rabbit swept books, parchments and other paraphernalia of the courtroom from the great oak table.

"I shan't," said Lizzie firmly. But there was no shortage of volunteers to hold her down, to take her arms and legs and lift her and hold her down on the table. Poor Lizzie was soon on the table with her head towards the court. Her struggles were to no avail.

"No, no the other way. The jury must see all," cried the Queen.

Lizzie was spun round on the slippery shiny top of the well polished table­top and her knees forced apart revealing not just her golden curls so carefully trimmed to a heart shape but the pink folds that lay beneath. Everyone craned his or her neck forward for a better view.

A debate developed as to who should do the examining. Eventually, to set­tle the argument, the King took it upon himself to undertake the task. He stood peering at Lizzie, his gaze travelling up from her pretty knees, up the smooth insides of her thighs to the golden curls and the curves of her sex. He was a bit short sighted and, placing a gold pince nez on his nose, ordered Lizzie's hips brought right to the end of the table. He bent close to her, so close she could feel his breath on the delicate folds of her sex. She jumped at the first touch of his finger upon her, a tentative touch at the very edge of her sex where the gold­en hairs grew.

"Well, what have you found?" demanded the Queen.

"Nothing as yet."

"Get on with it, we haven't all day. Is she or is she not a maid?"

Despite the embarrassment, but this was of course only a dream, Lizzie found the great interest being shown in her sex strangely arousing. Perhaps back before her adventures in dreams and beyond had come to her she would not have reacted the same way. But all she had seen and experienced sexually was changing her, readying her for new and different triggers to her arousal. She could feel herself becoming moist and she realised that the King and oth­ers would able to see the thickening of her lips as the blood rushed to them and the tell tale wet sheen of a girl ready for intercourse.

The King did not like to be hurried, not even by the Queen, and he was careful to direct his fingers all around Lizzie's sex before attempting to enter. Quite unnecessarily, he spent some moments moving the little bud of her, now hard, clitoris around causing Lizzie to bite her lip to keep an appearance of calm.

The volunteers holding Lizzie's limbs were well aware of the charged sexu­al nature of the scene. They could see Lizzie's nipples rise and harden and if, because they were holding her arms, they could not see the swelling of her sex they could catch the scent of her arousal. The arousal was transmitted to them and indeed there was a very great deal of sympathetic swelling within the trousers and breeches of the assembled men, cards and creatures in the court­room.

The King inserted a finger. There was no resistance; it slipped easily in until it was lost from view. He tried a second and then a third. Again no resis­tance, no obstruction, they slid easily up the moist canal. Without thinking he began to push the bunched fingers in and out of Lizzie simulating the motion of intercourse. Lizzie in her dream moaned—it was a very good feeling.

"Well?" demanded the Queen.

"I can find no evidence she is a maid."

"The Accused must be fully tested," stated the White Rabbit reading from a great leather bound book on court procedure.

"Well, if I must, I must," the King said, with a melancholy air.

It was clear to Lizzie what this meant but she thought the execution unlike­ly. The King, after all was nothing but a member of a pack of cards and, in es­sentials, merely of two dimensions rather than three. Lizzie could not see that a two dimensional cock, a flat cardboard penis, was going to be of much use to her. It would, in any case, get rather damp and, being made entirely of card­board, might lose its rigidity when wet. She was not sure his fingers now had the same effect they had at first, after they had pushed in and out of her a few times.

"But I think the task should fall on the witness," said the King folding his arms and frowning at the Hatter.

"I'd rather finish my tea," said the Hatter, with an anxious look at the Queen.

The King resumed his accustomed place on the throne and signalled for the Hatter to begin. "Give your evidence, or I'll have you executed, whether you're nervous or not."

"I'm a poor man, your Majesty," the Hatter began, in a trembling voice, "-and I hadn't begun my tea—not above a week..."

"You'll need to take your trousers off," said the King helpfully.

Lizzie watched the Hatter in some surprise. He was a tall, angular man given to shakes and it took him some time to remove his trousers, what with his coat getting in the way of his braces and all, but there he stood with his long surprisingly thin cock jutting out of his long shirt, its bulbous ruddy head bobbing in time with his heartbeat.

"Well?" said the Queen.

The King burst into laughter. The Queen glared at him. "Well - you know, to plumb its depths or indeed," his voice began to falter under the Queen's gaze, "her depths — that's what we want the witness to... to do," he ended lame­ly.

The Queen turned back to the Hatter, "proceed."

The Hatter looked uncomfortable with everyone looking at him - particu­larly the Queen and, as a consequence, he was beginning to droop a bit. Nonetheless he stepped forward and prepared to apply himself.

Lizzie was held firm by the officers of the court, all of who would rather have been in the Hatter's place, her sex conveniently at the end of the oaken table held open and ready. The Hatter took his cock in hand and stroked it up Lizzie's lips and touched her clit with its tip. It was visible to the Court that he had recovered from his fright and was now rigid and ready to engage. A pearly drop of semen appeared at the very tip.

"It's been a long time..." he began.

"Get on with it," cried the Queen.

The Hatter pushed and the bulbous head of his cock slipped into Lizzie and disappeared. He pushed forward and the long thin shaft shortened as it too entered Lizzie and was lost from sight. Smoothly the whole cock slid into Lizzie without a pause or any difficulty.

"Ha! That PROVES her guilt," cried the Queen, "not a maid at all!"

The King turned pale. "Consider your verdict," he said to the jury, in a low, trembling voice.

"There's more evidence to come yet, please your Majesty," said the White Rabbit.

"What else is to come?"

"Come?" cried the Hatter, "yes I think I...!"

It had all been too exciting for the Hatter, the hot wetness around his cock, the gentle friction, the slipperiness and the vision of Lizzie held down helpless, naked and exposed before him was just too much. He began pulsing into Lizzie as his cock pumped backwards and forwards between her thighs. Lizzie could feel the spurting, the pushing and pulling but could not come herself — howev­er much she wanted to.

"The Witness has come," announced the White Rabbit.

"The deuce he has!" Exclaimed the King.

"No, the Hatter, your Majesty."

"Having come, you may go," said the King, and the Hatter hurriedly left the court, without even waiting to put his trousers on.

"- and just take his head off outside," the Queen added to one of the offi­cers: but the Hatter was out of sight before the officer could get to the door.

Poor frustrated Lizzie was still held down upon the table, aroused but un­fulfilled. But a curious thing was happening—she was continuing to grow and was now really too large for the officers of the court to restrain her. With an ef­fort she pulled herself free and stood defiantly trying to ignore the result of the Hatter's efforts which was beginning to make its way down the inside of her thighs. This was not lost on Conrad who grinned at her from the jury box.




Such Stuff Ch. 21



"Let the jury consider their verdict," the King said, for about the twentieth time that day.

"No, no!" said the Queen. "Sentence first—verdict afterwards."

"Guilty," intoned Conrad from the jury box.

"Stuff and nonsense!" said Lizzie loudly. "The idea of having the sentence first!"

"Hold your tongue!" said the Queen, turning purple.

"I won't!" said Lizzie.

"Off with her head!" the Queen shouted at the top of her voice.

Nobody moved.

"Who cares for you?" said Lizzie, (she had grown to her full size by this time.) "You're nothing but a pack of cards!"

At this the whole pack rose up into the air, and came flying down upon her: she gave a little scream, half of fright and half of anger, and tried to beat them off, and found herself lying on the bank of a river, with her head in the lap of the Green Maiden, who was gently brushing away some dead leaves that had fluttered down from the trees upon her face.

"Wake up, Lizzie dear!' said the Green Maiden; "Why, what a long sleep you've had!"

Lizzie looked at her friend in complete surprise, "How?"

"You're still dreaming, my sister."

The Green Maiden lent forward and gently kissed Lizzie on the lips. In­stinctively Lizzie's lips parted and their tongues touched. The Green Maiden's lips were soft and full. It was a long kiss. Lizzie was aroused—she wanted to come.

Two naked girls on a riverbank in the shade of old willows on a hot sum­mer's afternoon, completely alone but for a small person with a blue cap peek­ing out from behind one of the boughs above their heads, taking pleasure in each other.

Lizzie awoke refreshed, satiated and content. She thought she had beaten Conrad for a second time. She had been imprisoned and beaten the gaoler, sent for trial but won — she began to feel she might well be able to deal with Conrad's control over her dreams.



Such Stuff Ch. 22



Part 22
Underground

Lizzie was on a boat with people — but going where? It had stopped at the mouth of a woody hollow and tied up. Lizzie let herself be swept along with the crowd as it swarmed ashore. Soon she was running with the others so that all the different ways of getting hot and tired were gone through with. By-and-by the rovers straggled back to camp fortified with responsible appetites, and then the destruction of the good things began. Lizzie was puzzled where she was—where her dreams had taken her—but it was fun and happy and she was not much bothered. By-and-by somebody shouted: "Who's ready for the cave?" It was then that Lizzie realised where she was. She saw it was Tom Sawyer doing the shouting. Lizzie had dreamed about him before and she sup­posed she was again the female Huck Finn.

Everybody was ready for the cave. Bundles of candles were procured, and straightway there was a general scamper up the hill. The mouth of the cave was up the hillside—an opening shaped like a letter A. Its massive oaken door stood unbarred. It was romantic and mysterious to stand here in the deep gloom and look out upon the green valley shining in the sun. But the impres­siveness of the situation quickly wore off, and the romping began again. The moment a candle was lighted there was a general rush upon the owner of it; a struggle and a gallant defence followed, but the candle was soon knocked down or blown out, and then there was a glad clamor of laughter and a new chase. But all things have an end. By-and-by the procession went filing down the steep descent of the main avenue, the flickering rank of lights dimly reveal­ing the lofty walls of rock almost to their point of junction sixty feet overhead. This main avenue was not more than eight or ten feet wide. Every few steps other lofty and still narrower crevices branched from it on either hand—it was the most amazing place for explorations, hide and seek and all manner of fun.

By-and-by, one group after another came straggling back to the mouth of the cave, panting, hilarious, smeared from head to foot with tallow drippings, daubed with clay, and entirely delighted with the success of the day.

Lizzie had engaged in the hide-and-seek frolicking with zeal until the exer­tion began to grow a trifle wearisome; she found herself with Tom Sawyer as they wandered down a sinuous avenue holding their candles aloft and reading the tangled web-work of names, dates, post-office addresses, and mottoes with which the rocky walls had been frescoed (in candle-smoke). Presently they came to a place where a little stream of water, trickling over a ledge and carry­ing a limestone sediment with it, had, in the slow-dragging ages, formed a laced and ruffled Niagara in gleaming and imperishable stone. Tom squeezed his small body behind it in order to illuminate it for her gratification. He found that it curtained a sort of steep natural stairway which was enclosed between narrow walls, and at once the ambition to be a discoverer seized him. Lizzie re­sponded to his call. She was finding it all a most enjoyable, interesting and ex­citing dream.

As Lizzie squeezed behind the Niagara in stone she felt her body grow, changing and filling. Tom was changing too. No longer the boy but a grown youth verging on manhood. Lizzie felt, in her dream, a surge of desire as she followed him down into the secret depths of the cave, making marks as they went. In one place they found a spacious cavern, from whose ceiling depended a multitude of shining stalactites of the length and circumference of a man's leg; they walked all about it, wondering and admiring, and presently left it by one of the numerous passages that opened into it. This shortly brought them to a bewitching spring feeding a subterranean lake that stretched its dim length away until its shape was lost in the shadows.

The couple were hot, surprisingly hot for a cave formed long ago by the tireless passage of water but there again it was a dream. Tom whispered,

"I'm mighty hot, think as I'll take a swim. Come to think, Becky, do you want to try too?"

It was then Lizzie learned that, rather than being Huck Finn, she was Becky Thatcher who, she recalled, Tom was somewhat sweet about.

"Don't mind if I do. You go first."

Tom immediately pulled his shirt over his head but then stopped. "No, don't look now, t'aint right."

Lizzie did look the other way but the light of the candles cast Tom's shad­ow high on the towering wall rising from the Lake. It showed a giant image of Tom elongated upwards giving an exaggerated length not only to his limbs but also to his evidently erect cock. She turned to look at him just as his strong body slipped into the black water and he began to swim.

Standing, Lizzie stripped off her own clothes and stepped naked towards the water. Tom, despite his own injunction not to look, had no qualms himself but with the candle behind Lizzie he could only see her in silhouette. Nonethe­less her shapely breasts and the soft curve of her thighs and ample curve to her hips were clear. He almost thought he could discern the hidden curls be­neath her legs as the light shone twixt her thighs as she stepped towards the water. Despite the water's initial coolness, which had caused his cock to sub­side, it now rose again until it touched his stomach. He could feel it bobbing as it hung beneath him in the water whilst he swam across the pool.

Lizzie was in the water, swimming out into inky darkness away from the flickering light of the twin candle flames and out beyond where Tom had swum. It was mysterious and exciting to be swimming deep underground in this secret cavern with only an aroused handsome boy for company. Lizzie's thighs opened and closed rhythmically as she swam breaststroke out into the dark. There was something, Lizzie thought, intensely erotic about swimming naked. It could just be in the mind but it might also be the way she could feel her breasts moving unrestrained by a costume or the complete feeling of free­dom between her legs. A shout from Tom called her back and she swam power­fully in a crawl back to him.

He was standing on the floor of the lake, chest above water but stomach, and therefore erect penis, below the water line calling out, "Not too far out, please Becky. You'll frighten me. I didn't know you could swim like that."

Lizzie swam right up to Tom and then pushed herself up and out of the water. Tom, his own back to the candle had been watching Lizzie coming across the Lake and particularly watching her white rounded bottom rolling as she came in a powerful crawl towards him. She shot up out of the water so it cascaded down her body and across her exposed breasts. Tom's eyes grew round as he took in their fullness and the nipples that crowned them.

"I like this, Tom, it's good here. What's the matter with you?" She put her hands on his shoulders, "You alright?"

"Sure, Becky."

Lizzie hugged him causing his penis to be squashed between her and him. Lizzie could feel it hard against her curly hair. Equally Tom could feel her hair against his excited cock.

"Come on Tom, let's swim again." Lizzie released him and headed back out into the water. Tom followed, his hard penis pointing in the direction he was swimming, rather like some strange probe secured to the bottom of a ship. Ahead of him moved Becky's white bottom. He thought of how it might be if he was to come up behind her, swim between her legs and mount up onto her sinking his cock into whatever was her secret place between her legs—some­thing he knew very little about but would very much like to know more. But of course he could not do that in the water, it would force Becky's head under: but what if she was resting, perhaps her hands and arms resting on a rocky ledge, her legs still in the water? His penis throbbed. For a moment he stopped swimming and stroked himself a couple of times, before continuing to follow.

They were far out into the Lake, the candle flame a long way back, so it was now only just possible to see ahead. Tom could only just discern Becky as a faint greyness in the Stygian blackness.

"I've reached the other side, Tom." He swam to her voice only just able to make out something a little less black then the surroundings. His hand touched something soft and warm.

"Haul yourself out, Tom. There's a ledge we can sit on." A firm hand clasped his arm.

So Tom found himself sitting on a rocky ledge in pitch darkness, or near as makes no difference, his feet dangling in the water, next to a completely naked girl that he couldn't see at all, his bottom feeling the hardness of the rock but penis pointing up and touching his belly. It was quite something.

Lizzie put her arm round his shoulders, "I like it here."

"Becky, might I kiss you."

"Tom, what a question, 'course you may."

He gave her a peck

"It's funny us sitting here." She said. "The others would sure be surprised if they could see us."

"Lucky they can't, 'cos we ain't got clothes on. Suppose it's lucky I can't see neither."

"Why Tom, wouldn't you want to see me?"

"No, I didn't mean that Becky, no way."

"Boys are different from girls."

"Yeah, I know."

Tom felt a hand touch his arm, feeling for his hand. His hand was lifted and placed on something round and warm. He was touching Becky's breast! Through the palm of his hand he could feel the hardness of her nipple. He squeezed. Lizzie kissed him on the mouth and Tom responded as his other hand came up to hold her other breast.

After a time the kiss broke and Lizzie slipped back into the water. "Let's swim back to the light so we can see, Tom."

The naked companions swam steadily back towards the candles. The sin­gle point of light far away seemed almost mesmerising as they slowly moved towards it—a single point of light in the great blackness of the cavern. Gradu­ally they could see each other again and the single point of light became two flickering candle flames. Nearing the shore Lizzie stood again with the water now scarcely higher than her knees. Tom stopped and floated supporting him­self on his hands and just looked and looked at the naked girl.

"Come on Tom, you stand too. I want to see you."

Tom was a bit loath, conscious of his erection, of the very visible indica­tion of his excitement of being with a naked girl. Lizzie bent and pulled him up by the arm, so he stood revealing his hard muscular body and his penis stand­ing up from his own patch of curly hair.

"Why Tom, just look at your cock. What a sight!" and Lizzie bent to look closer at it.

Tom had rarely felt so embarrassed but his feelings instantly changed to never having felt so good when Becky actually touched his cock, indeed grasped it in her hand and was moving and rubbing it - doing what he had done to himself in bed so many times and alone down by the river. But more was to come. Lizzie bent closer.

The smooth head in her mouth was cooler than she expected but her warm tongue slipping over the soft skin soon warmed it. Lizzie loved the feel­ing of a penis in her mouth. The strange connection it made with a man. The happy feeling of giving pleasure and the exciting feeling of not knowing when, should you go too far, you would suddenly find your mouth filling with that hot salty viscous fluid. It did, of course, mean your own pleasure might be de­layed or, maybe, not fulfilled, but it was better to give than receive, and, in any case, it gave her a certain irrational contentment. How many cocks had she sucked since her strange dreams started? How many more were there to come? Would she ever taste a real cock—would she ever be home? Lizzie fal­tered, the dream wavered, the feeling of sadness souring her dream.

Tom picked her up and carried her to the shore, kissing her and whisper­ing to her. The dream strengthened and her momentary feeling of loss passed as she returned to the sexual excitement of the dream story.

On the ground they rolled together, entwined, Tom kissing her with pas­sion, his tongue in her mouth, his hands on her breasts, his cock pushing against her. Lizzie opened her thighs and Tom felt the hot wetness of a woman for the first time on the very end of his cock. He almost came. Pausing he calmed himself. There was no need for hurry in the dark. His fingers felt, his fingers explored, his fingers entered. Lizzie's thighs spread wider, her excite­ment mounting as she once more enjoyed her dream.

By the time Tom judged it right to attempt entry, an entrance he was actu­ally surprised to find was not in any way denied, Lizzie was very close to com­ing. This was just as well as in the nature of things and inexperienced boys, Tom did not hold back either in the force exerted by his buttocks in thrusting against her or in the quickness of his own coming. The orgasm was mutual and satisfying.

After their lovemaking they sat and rested awhile. Tom in a state almost of stupefaction at what had just occurred, at what he and Becky had just done together. But this delicious feeling of contentment was not to last as now, for the first time, the deep stillness of the place laid a clammy hand upon their spirits. Lizzie said:

"Why, I didn't notice, but it seems ever so long since I heard any of the oth­ers." Lizzie grew apprehensive. "I wonder how long we've been down here, Tom? We better start back."

"Yes, I reckon we better. P'raps we better."

"Can you find the way, Tom? It's all a mixed-up crookedness to me."

"Well. But I hope we won't get lost. It would be so awful!" and the girl shuddered at the thought of the dreadful possibilities.

Dressed again, they started through a corridor, and traversed it in silence a long way, glancing at each new opening, to see if there was anything familiar about the look of it; but they were all strange. Every time Tom made an exami­nation, Lizzie would watch his face for an encouraging sign, and he would say cheerily:

"Oh, it's all right. This ain't the one, but we'll come to it right away!"

To Lizzie the dream was turning sour. She knew they were lost, were trapped and knew with dreadful certainty that once again Conrad, from his cell in the Tower Innominate, was insinuating himself into her mind, making her dream this dream and turning it so she was caught, imprisoned, just like him.

Tom felt less and less hopeful with each failure, and presently began to turn off into diverging avenues at sheer random, in desperate hope of finding the one that was wanted. He still said it was "all right," but there was such a leaden dread at his heart that the words had lost their ring and sounded just as if he had said, "All is lost!"

"Listen!" said he.

Profound silence; silence so deep that even their breathings were conspicu­ous in the hush. Tom shouted. The call went echoing down the empty aisles and died out in the distance in a faint sound that resembled a ripple of mock­ing laughter.

"Oh, don't do it again, Tom, it is too horrid," said Lizzie.

"It is horrid, but I better, Becky; they might hear us, you know," and he shouted again.

The "might" was even a chillier horror than the ghostly laughter, it so con­fessed a perishing hope. They stood still and listened; but there was no result.

"Tom, Tom, we're lost! We're lost! We never can get out of this awful place! Oh, why DID we ever leave the others?"

Lizzie sat with her knees pulled up to her chin in despair, how were they to get out of this place? What happened in the story? How did Tom and Becky escape? Yes, yes, Tom eventually, after days of despair, tried further exploring leaving Becky with one end of a kite-line and eventually on one exploration, when he was at the extremity of the line, glimpsed a far-off speck that looked like daylight, dropped the line and groped toward it, pushed his head and shoulders through a small hole, and saw the broad Mississippi rolling by. But that was days away and what if they didn't find it—what if Conrad had changed the story, what if he had closed up the hole, what if she Lizzie did something different—and she must already have done countless things—so Tom did not go that way? But, Lizzie once again gathered herself together pushing black fear from her, and thought, thought of how she had escaped from Oz when trapped by the Wicked Witch, how she had escaped the Trial in Wonderland, and her spirits began to revive. Yes, she could escape this, after all it was only a dream: not real, she wasn't really here any more than this love­ly boy beside her in the candlelight was real. Conrad was not going to get her down, was not going to push her into despair—she would beat him and es­cape.

"Tom, your kite line. Let's explore these side passages." She took it and tied it to a projection, and they started, Lizzie in the lead, unwinding the line as they groped along. At the end of twenty steps the corridor ended in a "jump­ing-off place." Lizzie got down on his knees and felt below, and then as far around the corner as she could reach with her hands conveniently; she made an effort to stretch yet a little farther to the right, and at that moment, not twenty yards away, a human hand, holding a candle, appeared from behind a rock! Instantly that hand was followed by the body it belonged to - Conrad. A slow, widening smile grew across his face as he shook his head from side to side and mouthed "trapped" at her before disappearing.

Lizzie was not going to mention this to Tom but it certainly unnerved her. Conrad's look had been so confident, so sure. They moved on again—aimless­ly, simply at random—all they could do was to move, keep moving. For a little while, hope made a show of reviving - not with any reason to back it, but only because it is it nature to revive when the spring has not been taken out of it by age and familiarity with failure.

By-and-by Tom took Lizzie's candle and blew it out. This economy meant so much! Words were not needed. Lizzie understood, and her hope died again. Conrad was getting the better of her. She knew that Tom had a whole candle and three or four pieces in his pockets—yet he must economize.

They rose up and wandered along, hand in hand and hopeless. They tried to estimate how long they had been in the cave, but all they knew was that it seemed days and weeks, and yet it was plain that this could not be, for their candles were not gone yet. A long time after this—they could not tell how long—Tom said they must go softly and listen for dripping water—they must find a spring. They found one presently, and Tom said it was time to rest again. Both were cruelly tired, yet Lizzie said she thought she could go a little farther. She was surprised to hear Tom dissent. She could not understand it. They sat down, and Tom fastened his candle to the wall in front of them with some clay.

"Becky, can you bear it if I tell you something? We must stay here, where there's water to drink. That little piece is our last candle!"

They fastened their eyes upon their bit of candle and watched it melt slow­ly and pitilessly away; saw the half inch of wick stand alone at last; saw the fee­ble flame rise and fall, climb the thin column of smoke, linger at its top a mo­ment, and then—the horror of utter darkness reigned!

An awful hopelessness oppressed Lizzie; had Conrad won, really trapped her now? The feeling was awful. She could sense his triumph, his thin smug smile—was he watching her, what did he really see? After all thatshe had done, not least causing Conrad's just immolation in the Tower Innominate, was Lizzie now herself trapped and would that then enable Conrad find a way to escape? But, she reasoned, he had failed in Oz, failed in Wonderland; so surely she could find a way out of these caves? Perhaps Tom would find the chink of light—but what if Conrad had changed that? Even so, surely there was a way out of her dream—how did Conrad make her dream anyway? He no longer had his pen but was that just about his own made-up world? Where had he obtained that—who had given it to him/ Had he just found it?




Such Stuff Ch. 22



Lizzie thought back on the dreams Conrad had sent her and to dreams she had experienced before Conrad had begun to influence and take control of her night time fantasies. She remembered one in particular where she had been very frightened of a tiger following her. It had been quite terrifying but she remembered she had become aware that it was only a dream, not real at all and had changed it so the tiger became her own pussycat and she had cud­dled it and woken up safe and sound. Lizzie started—could she change this dream, she knew it was only a dream, could she affect it, alter it, change it and wrest control from that obnoxious man now imprisoned in the Tower Innomi­nate?

Lizzie's eyes opened in the utter blackness of the cave. Tom was asleep be­side her so she felt in his pockets and found the kite line again. In the darkness she reached out to feel for some projection in the cave wall to tie the kite line onto. Immediately her hand found a knob of rock and she tied the line secure­ly. She took this as a good omen and set off in the pitch-blackness down a side passage towards a far-off speck of daylight that she could not yet see but want­ed to be there. The line unwound behind her and as it neared the end Lizzie willed the light to be there— and it was! A broad smile spread across her face, she dropped the line and groped toward the light, pushed her head and shoul­ders through a small hole, and saw the broad Mississippi rolling by. She had won, escaped again and beaten Conrad.

She went back for Tom and broke the good news. They groped to the blue speck of daylight, pushed their way out of the hole and sat there and cried for gladness. They looked at each other. Both looked a sight covered in clay and mud from the caves, faces and hair caked in the stuff. They were free, out of the cave, back in the sunshine, away from the darkness and in the light.

"We sure need a wash," laughed Tom, "guess as I'll have to see you naked again, Becky, that is if you don't mind because I sure don't!"

Lizzie's eyes dropped, "No, Tom, I sure don't neither."

She awoke.



Such Stuff Ch. 23



Part 23

Friday — comes at last

Lizzie exultant.

Her dream of the Mississippi, of being underground with Tom Sawyer had been at times horrible but, in the end, she had beaten Conrad, wrested con­trol of the dream from him and manipulated it to her own escape. She no longer needed to fear Conrad, no longer had cause to be worried about the night and what sleeping might bring. Lizzie knew how to deal with what Con­rad sent her—she could change the dream providing she had time to think and deflect what he sent. Lizzie had indeed won another victory—though, of course, she still did not know how to get home.

Why had the Green Maiden said, when Lizzie had been dreaming, "You can get away, you can escape." She had not said that Lizzie "must try", or "must find a way." It had been more definite. Yet she had not said how—did she know? Or was it just a dream, her own subconscious making things up? A dream within a dream.

Conrad was still in his Tower Innominate. He had scowled at her when she had gone to see him. He had said nothing and she had said nothing until, as she was leaving, Conrad had murmured almost to himself,

"Your last chance Lizzie, I don't want to do this."

"Do what? She had demanded but he had just smiled and turned away.

"Just let me go or you will be more than sorry."

Lizzie had walked away back down the sunny hill to the Great House. The meeting had not spoilt her day at all. She had nothing to fear from Conrad now. She walked the long way to the village, taken tea and cakes and had a very pleasant day only spoiled by Fabian ignoring her as if she had stood him up. It had not been like that, she had not kept the appointment because she had been trapped in Oz but his crossing of the road to avoid her indicated a coolness. It was a disappointment. She would love to have tried again what lay beneath his tunic.

Lizzie sat cross-legged and naked on her bed. She had not had sex all day, had not had sex since her dream of the night before when Tom Sawyer had been with her. She felt in need, there was an itch between her legs. This need was not something she had felt so strongly before, before Conrad had entered her life. She touched her breast, the nipple reacted. Why could Fabian not have been more reasonable to her today? The two of them could be in bed now, she squeezed her nipple, those marvellous egg shaped balls could be sliding with­in her this very moment or perhaps his cock, which would be a more normal ex­perience—not one she had experienced with Fabian though. Conrad's fault.

Gently at first, her fingertips circled her breasts moving slowly towards the nipples. She squeezed them twixt fingertips—what a pity Fabian was being so standoffish—a hand slipped up a thigh. Lizzie's eye fell on her stool. The special stool she had had made just for her by the Artful Bodger. The dildo, 8 1/2-7 with a middlin' bend, was not in place but it took but a moment for Lizzie to find it and fit it to the stool. She let herself down. It felt so good to have something hard inside her—something that fitted so remarkably well, as if it had been made just for her! Lizzie began to ride, the hard wood sliding freely within her, her thigh muscles working, one hand curling in so its fingers could work her clit, the other at her breasts squeezing and tugging.

Puck watching, mused on the pretty scene of a young girl pleasuring her­self alone, he was not sure of a more beautiful sight. He would miss Lizzie when she was gone—she had been most diverting—if she found a way to es­cape of course, but she was most resourceful.

The climax was approaching; Lizzie was almost bouncing on the stool now, her fingers busy. She could feel it building, yes she was almost there and then... gasping, panting with eyes tightly shut she came.

Unlike a real penis the wooden dildo did not self-extract: it remained rigid and hard within Lizzie. She could not just slide off the stool and get into bed but she had to rise, use her thigh muscles to lift her up to stand above the stool, the wood sliding from her, before she would be able to flop into bed.

Lizzie looked back at the wet stick rising from a puddle of moisture. She thought it would have been good to have introduced the Green Maiden to the stool, and she imagined them taking it in turns to ride, each sliding anew on the other's wetness.

She tumbled into bed feeling ready for sleep. "Really tired, really sleepy, really quite worn out, really sleepy, really..."

Lizzie could feel she was on a beach, the sand beneath her was warm and crumbly, and there was the sound of the surf coming up before it ran back down into the sea. She knew she was dreaming again. She laid spread eagled upon sand with the sun beating down upon her naked skin. The light was so bright that she could see red, from the sun's light, penetrating through her eye­lids. She could feel the warm sand and took a handful only to let it trickle out through her fingers.

"I've been here before," she thought. Lizzie knew where she was - she was sure she was back on Crusoe's island. Her eyes blinked open. She had loved being here before and not just because of the wonderful swimming, the beauty of the island and feeling of freedom but there was Friday as well. Friday—Robinson Crusoe's native manservant who he had rescued from the Canni­bals. Lizzie had missed Friday, more than she realised, that, 'comely, hand­some fellow, perfectly well made, with straight, strong limbs, not too large; tall, and well-shaped.'

Lizzie wandered along the sand looking for Friday. But what an awful Sur­prise she had. Instead of discovering the Print of a Man's Foot she looked up to see fifteen or twenty Savages racing along the beach pursuing her, and by the Swiftness of their Running, no Possibility of her escaping them. Her eyes opened in fear for not only were the Savages armed with Spears but also they were lead by a familiar Figure ridiculously adorned with some sort of head­dress in Yellow and Black. Lizzie began running but she did not think she would be able to Escape. This was not how 'Robinson Crusoe' was meant to be!

There was a Shout and a Bang, quickly followed by further retorts. It was Friday on the headland with fowling-pieces. Friday took his Aim again. He had already kill'd two of them, and wounded three more. The Savages were, you may be sure, in a dreadful Consternation; and all of them, who were not hurt, turned upon their Feet, but did not immediately know which way to run, or which way to look; for they knew not from whence their Destruction came; they ran about yelling, and skreaming, like mad Creatures, all bloody, and mis­erably wounded, most of them; whereof three more fell quickly after, though not quite dead. Lizzie kept on toward Friday and Safety but looking back she could see Conrad shaking his fist in frustration, disbelief and rage before flee­ing back with the remaining Savages to the Canoes.

With the Savages in full flight Lizzie was free to embrace Friday, tears streaming down her face. It really did seem Conrad had been out to Kill her: not just imprison or frighten her but really kill her. She could not believe even he could be so Evil. Was this what he had meant by her last Chance? Her eyes opened in even greater astonishment surely he had not meant to Eat her? She could not believe that even of him. There must be another explanation. It was only a dream after all, wasn't it? A dream within a dream.

Already the dead bodies were fading as they had done when she had first come to Crusoe's island. Could it be because she had been to Crusoe's Island before that Conrad had been beaten again. He had not known she had been here—he had meant her to go to a different island, she remembered, with the Swiss Family Robinson but she had chosen her own Dream and it had been free of him—Conrad had not found her there. Yes, her choice had prepared Fri­day to protect her, had thwarted Conrad's plan to hurt or frighten. She kissed Friday.

The horrid Conrad gone and with him the Savages living or dead Lizzie was delighted to be back in her dream of Friday. She had not forgotten that last time she had Awoken before he had had the chance to Fuck her and she did not want to risk waking up too soon this time. She loved this island dream and resolved to Avoid intercourse, at least at first anyway.

Crusoe had kept a Journal in Defoe's story and Lizzie found she too was keeping one and writing it very much as Crusoe might have done, she wrote,

'The Reason why I could not go quite naked, was, I could not bear the heat of the Sun so well when quite naked, as with some Cloaths on; nay, the very Heat frequently blistered my Skin; whereas with a Shirt on, the Air itself made some Motion, and whistling under that Shirt was twofold cooler than without it; no more could I ever bring my self to go out in the heat of Sun, without a Cap or a Hat; the heat of the Sun beating with such Violence as it does in that Place, would give me the Head-ach.'

Lizzie was certainly careful to wear her wide brimmed grass Hat and a big man's Shirt and this not only allowed the breeze to whistle within her shirt but let her breasts bounce free and, lower down, afforded Friday glimpses of her bare Bottom and fair Curls. He reacted to these sights in a Manly way and Lizzie was pleased to see it. Whilst Crusoe was most particular about seeing Friday clothed Lizzie saw things rather differently, and certainly had a differ­ent feeling for Friday than had the Crusoe of the book. Lizzie was very happy to see Friday naked and enjoyed watching his straight, strong limbs, tall and well-shaped, his very tight small muscular bottom and, of course, his lovely soft Penis and hanging Balls framed by a nest of dark hair. She was ever pleased to see his Penis stir, more than happy to see it rise, indeed once risen she would often keep it in that state for a long time by judicious use of her hands. They could be in the cave, walking along the beach or moving through the forest and Lizzie's hands would be at work maintaining Firmness. It was an incongruous sight. Lizzie with her home-made rough sandals or boots, long white man's shirt and wide brimmed grass hat perhaps carrying a spear or gun and beside her Friday, naked, his well oiled olive skin shining, he too carry­ing a spear, gun or stores or food yet with his Penis not at rest but fully Erect. One time, Lizzie and Friday managed a two-hour trek across the Island with Friday erect the whole way but often Lizzie would overdo her handwork and send him Spurting across the sand or onto the forest floor.

Sometimes of course she would be particularly kind to Friday and take his penis in her mouth, letting him Release himself there before continuing what else they were doing. Lizzie settled easily into life on the island. Of course being a dream, time passed at a varying rate but Lizzie found herself busy doing what Crusoe would have done and some things Crusoe would not have done.

'Whenever I sucked on his Penis I observ'd an extraordinary Sense of Plea­sure appear'd in his Face, and his Eyes sparkled, and his Countenance discov­er'd a strange Eagerness. You may be sure I was every Day pumping him to keep him happy with me. Causing his Penis to spurt Manfully in the air.'

Of course it was not just Friday who was alternatively sexually aroused and satisfied. Lizzie had her needs too—it was her dream after all—and much as she enjoyed playing with Friday's cock, indeed it was almost like having one of her own to play with, and sucking the Plum of its large light coffee coloured head, she needed playing with as well.

Friday was more than happy to oblige, though puzzled why his mistress would not let him fuck her. It took great self control on his part not to change po­sition and Push himself into her when he had his fingers in her feeling how Wet she was or was lying between her thighs with his Tongue in the place he so desired.

Lizzie was happy in her dream; she did not want to leave it. She had beat­en Conrad yet again and thought she must now finally be Free of him. Of course she needed to Escape but her dream of Crusoe's island was so wonder­ful, so satisfying and she was happy to bask in it. The island really was like a perpetual summer Holiday, lots of good things to eat, beautiful beaches to swim or fish from and the Company of a wonderful man. From being a ser­vant, a dumb servant she had to communicate with by sign language, Friday was becoming a Friend, a friend apt to learn her Language and, indeed, he was becoming something more:

'This was the pleasantest time of all the Life I led in this Place; Friday began to talk pretty well, and understand the Names of almost every Thing I had occasion to call for, and of every Place I had to send him to, and talk'd a great deal to me; so that in short I began now to have some Use for my Tongue again, which indeed I had very little occasion for before apart from on his great Penis; that is to say, about Speech; besides the Pleasure of talking to him, I had a singular Satisfaction in the Fellow himself; his simple unfeign'd Hon­esty, appear'd to me more and more every Day, and I began really to love the Creature; and on his Side, I believe he lov'd me more than it was possible for him ever to love any Thing before.'

Whilst Lizzie was not anxious to wake from her lovely dream, indeed was happy to stay dreaming, her desire to be Fucked by Friday was steadily grow­ing and it was very clear to her that his wishes strongly coincided with her own. Of course it might be Penetration by Friday would not cause her to Wake: but she remembered her Frustration when she was last on Crusoe's island—waking too soon when Friday had been just about to fuck her. Lizzie wrote in her journal that:

'Friday and I need to become more intimately acquainted, and know every­thing about each other's Bodies.'

Fingers, thumbs, and tongue—all these Friday had had in her but not his Cock. The Hinting was getting stronger. Only the day before, whilst pleasuring her, he had pushed a long almost penis shaped shell into her, Motioning inter­course. The corrugations of the shell had excited Lizzie as it had been pushed in and out of her; she had enjoyed lying back on the sand, legs wide open as Fri­day had worked the magic. Of course she had not at all misunderstood the Symbolism, what Friday was trying to suggest to her. The lovely coffee coloured Plum had stayed full as he had pleased her but she had not relented however much she had wanted to feel its soft hardness pushing into her. In­stead she had got him down on the sand and sat astride his face letting him have free reign with his Tongue whilst she had bent forward and Sucked the Plum. For Lizzie it proved a perfect Orgasm - she coming just at the very mo­ment the plum Spurted. She sucking greedily as electric waves flowed up from between her legs.

Poor Friday's face was a picture when Lizzie got off him—shiny wet with her excitement. Lizzie licked his face before kissing him, her tongue rolling around his own.

It was next day. Lizzie was walking along the sand with Friday - not hand in hand: instead, as was their Custom, it was cock in hand. As Lizzie so often did, she was walking along gaily chatting with Friday her hand clasped around his erect penis. The Plan was for a swimming day and a barbecue of fish on the beach. Lizzie loved swimming and fishing with Friday—it was still like being on a perfect holiday—being completely Free and Naked with him as they swum seeking out the best type of Fish. Sometimes she was able to sneak up on him unawares and make him jump. Once she caught his Penis in her mouth - the speed at which he leapt away thinking some great Fish was about to bite his Manhood off had been so amusing. It had taken Friday quite a time to see the funny side of it.

Part of a perfect holiday for many young people is not just the sand and sea but the Sex, and that morning Lizzie's mind was turning to that, perhaps it was having an erect cock in her hand, perhaps it was the Heat but Lizzie felt re­ally excited, her sex ready and wet for Intercourse. She slid Friday's foreskin up and down a few times, hiding and then revealing the head, pulled Friday to her, kissing him long and hard, her hand moving his cock. She really did want it inside her today. Friday responded slipping down her chest, sucking on her Nipples and pulling them with his teeth as his hand slipped between her thighs. Lizzie's arms went up and round Friday's neck and with a little bound pulled herself up, her Thighs opening wide as her legs wrapped around him and she let herself down, down to let Friday's cock slide easily and smoothly up into her.

Friday was astounded. After all this time of waiting it had happened all in a Moment—he was inside Lizzie, inside his Mistress, her wet heat enfolding him. It was she who was moving, bouncing on his cock, rather than himself. This was not how a man should treat a Woman—it was for him to make the ac­tion and push himself in and out of her. So Friday began to Walk, the motion causing his penis to rise and fall as it slid easily inside Lizzie and, with her arms around his neck, his hands were free to fondle and caress her Breasts within her shirt.

They had not gone far when Friday dropped to his knees and fell across Lizzie to continue Intercourse in the most traditional position. Friday's bottom rose and fell as he Pumped Lizzie—a wriggling Lizzie lost in the ecstasy of the moment. She had denied herself this for too long in this dream—a real fuck—that her excitement and pleasure was building and building. The sheer delight of having this lovely man on top of her fucking her with the hot sand beneath her as a bed was an utter Joy. She was coming, coming and deep within her she could feel Friday come as well—spurting, spurting as the Plum released his Love into her. Lizzie's head thrashed from side to side as the waves kept com­ing up her Body just like the waves on the beach. And as the waves of Pleasure slowly subsided so did the Sounds of the sea and the Island.

There was silence. Lizzie lay still in the aftermath of her orgasm, warm, sa­tiated, cosy and happy. As she had feared, her dream of Crusoe's Island had been ended, just as before, by letting Friday have her—but what a fuck! Per­haps she could dream that again tomorrow night? She lay there, thinking about Friday, thinking about the island, thinking about what she would do the next day. Should she walk in the woods and meet the delightful Artful Bodger and then go on for tea and cake in the village? Should she try and make up with Fabian? Should she try a different road or path—how far did Conrad's world of imagination extend? Should she go and see Conrad again and have a Confrontation? Lizzie lay quietly thinking until it stole up on her that the bed felt different, the clock's tick sounded different, the smell of the room was dif­ferent though very familiar - indeed what could be more familiar than the bed­room she had slept in for most of her life? Lizzie's eyes opened wide in sur­prise. She was home!

Or was she just dreaming? She jumped from her bed and turned on the light. The room looked real, it smelt real, it sounded real and, most importantly, it felt real. There, hanging on the end of the bed waiting for her was the nightie her granny had given her. There on the chest of drawers were her things, even Rabbit, the soft toy she had cuddled since she was smaller than she could remember. Lizzie sat back naked on the bed trying to puzzle out what had happened—how she had got home. What had she done? All she could think was last time she had been on Crusoe's Island—or last time she had dreamt about Crusoe's Island—she had been here in this bed. Her mother had woken her just as she was about to be fucked by dear Friday (there was a feeling of loss)—perhaps the resumption of the interrupted bout, in her just finished dream, had somehow brought her back on a track that led to her own bed and not back to Conrad's world. How peculiar it all was—to move in dreams from one world to another or rather one book to another, for had not Conrad been insistent he was writing a story and Lizzie would be in it? And had she not read part of that book? Lizzie pulled on the familiar nightie, her hands stroking its reality. Had it all been just a dream? She was tired—dare she go to sleep again? Well, it would not hurt to get back into her warm bed.




Such Stuff Ch. 23



The scream of delight woke Lizzie. It was her mother hugging her for dear life, tears streaming down her cheeks, "Lizzie, Lizzie dearest where have you been? Daddy," she shouted, "our baby's home."

The joy of Lizzie's parents at finding their daughter can only be imagined. It was immediately clear to the awakened Lizzie that not only was she really home but she really had been away, really been missing for weeks. A missing person. The date in the newspapers was undeniable. The Police had to be called and Lizzie had to answer innumerable questions from her parents and the Police. But what could she say? What could she answer? How could she ex­plain? It was if she had been whisked off by the fairies.

Lizzie was not allowed out on her own for days and days. Her unsatisfacto­ry answers to questions had not been well received. "I'm all right Mummy, real­ly I am, just don't ask. Nothing has happened you need to worry about. Really, please don't ask."

The bookshop owner had not seen Conrad for quite a time and was an­noyed with his abrupt disappearance. It had inconvenienced him. "He should have given proper notice. Are you a friend of his, do you know where he is?"

Lizzie could hardly admit that, most certainly, she did know where Con­rad was—locked up in somewhere called the 'Tower Innominate' situated on a hill in a half finished book. It did not sound very likely at all: not to someone who had not been there. The most she could bring herself to say was she was 'sort of a friend.' But even that grated on her tongue. The bookshop owner did however tell her where Conrad lived and Lizzie went to look. It was a very ordi­nary Victorian house converted to bed-sits—not in the best part of town.

The owner of the bed-sits was equally unhappy with Conrad. He had dis­appeared and now owed rent. She was about to throw his stuff out and re-let the room. Was Lizzie interested? She might be. The landlady gave Lizzie the key whilst she got on with cleaning.

It was very strange for Lizzie to find herself standing in the doorway of the very room she had seen from Conrad's chamber in the Great House. It real­ly was the room; there was no doubt about it. She could surely not have got the detail so right in her head if she had been dreaming—could she? With a sense of trepidation Lizzie stepped into the room and closed the door, a feeling al­most of fear. It was several minutes before she could bring herself to do what she knew she had to do.

Lizzie turned to the bed and then slowly got down on her knees on the scratchy carpet to look under the bed. Would the yellow Parker pen be there where it had landed when she had so foolishly thrown it that morning in Con­rad's chamber? Lizzie bent a little lower and stopped. She swallowed. It was there. She reached out to pick up the pen that was lying in the dust under the bed, just as in her heart she had known it would be there. Her fingers paused half an inch from its yellow body. Did she really want to touch it again? Why not just leave the thing and go? She now knew for certain what she had dreamt had been true—but could she really leave the pen and risk someone else pick­ing it up and writing with it?

Her hand closed over the shiny yellow barrel and she pulled it towards her.

In her hand it seemed so ordinary. Just a rather lovely fountain pen in a rather garish yellow with black top and bottom and gold bands and clip. Lizzie looked at it in her hand as she eased herself upright again. She turned to look at the wall facing the bed. She was not surprised to see the doorway opening, opening through to Conrad's chamber. Lizzie could see right into it, could see the tall clerk's desk where she had sat writing in Conrad's book — indeed, though she could not see, the very book might well be on the desk. She stepped to the wall and stopped, just looking into the chamber. Should she? A frisson of excitement came through her and not just of wonder or at seeing a place she well remembered, Lizzie recognised it as the thrill of sexual excitement as if the strange nature of the place was radiating out to her through the doorway in the wall.

Almost without thinking her arm came up and found no resistance. She pulled her arm back—it came. Should she walk through?

One moment she was in the bed-sit: the next she was in Conrad's chamber looking back. She stepped back into the bed-sit—there was no resistance, no difficulty at all.

The chamber was how she had left it—the book was still there on the desk. She opened it. Nothing further had been written. Lizzie had no particular interest in the room but she wanted to know what was happening outside. She opened the wooden door and peaked out into the corridor. There was no one there. Did they know she was gone? Had she been gone the days she had been home? It was too much of a temptation not to go out into the corridor, look out of windows and see the Great House and its gardens again, the house of her strange dreams — the house of her sexual awakening. To see it not in a dream but just as real as if she had crossed the road to the Post Office.

From a window Lizzie gazed out across the Quadrangle to where the Guard marched resplendent in their ornamentals. Lizzie looked with desire at their manhood — properly encased in silver cages—what fun it would be to be with them and unlock the cages. To her left dear Chevalier Heuron walked across in deep conversation with his friend, the possessor of the ridiculous cod­piece. To her right Mallow was dancing with one of her friends both (almost) dressed in the thinnest gauze.

Lizzie wanted to go out, see her friends, talk with them and perhaps, no definitely, engage in...

Lizzie bit her lip. It was happening again, the insidious, seductive nature of the place was getting to her, exciting her, bringing her need for sex to the fore—changing her. Lizzie bit her lip and resisted by turning away and walk­ing, walking away from them along the stone flags of the corridor. From anoth­er window she could look out across the countryside to where the Tower In­nominate stood high on its hill. She scowled as she thought she could espy through a window in the tower a hint of yellow—the source of her change. Her resolution hardened.

Quietly, secretly, quite unobserved, Lizzie returned to the chamber. She could not stay here in the Great House—much as she liked both it and its peo­ple in so many, many ways—she could not risk treating it and them, as Con­rad had done, as a pleasure garden to visit and lord over. She could do that, oh yes, she was sure she could do that now she had the pen again. No, she must leave, never to return. But what of Conrad? Should he stay locked forever in the Tower Innominate? Horrid, horrid man. Even so, did he deserve—or more­over would it do him any good to stay locked away—forever? Would it make him any better, make him reflect and realise what he had done wrong? Oh yes, the punishment fitted the crime: but what about any idea of reforming Con­rad? Continual punishment would fuel resentment not remorse and a personal redefinition.

Slowly Lizzie unscrewed the cap of the Parker Duofold pen.

"The Chevalier, being kinder than most, decided that Conrad, despite his grievous errors, should be permitted to leave the Tower Innominate every third day and reside those days as a private denizen of the Great House until eleven of the clock at night."

For some time she sat looking at the words she had written, an idea she was putting into the Chevalier Heuron's head, and then stood and without looking back, walked through the doorway and into the bed-sit. Placing the pen in her pocket the doorway was already fading as she opened the door and left the bed-sit.

No, she did not wish to rent the room.

Despite what she thought, Lizzie had not actually been alone in Conrad's chamber. As the doorway shimmered and disappeared a small figure in a blue cap could be seen, if you knew where to look, shaking his head gently from side to side, saying to no one at all,

"Lizzie, Lizzie Sherrell, you are too sweet and kind by half. You really ought not have done that—let the Writer out. Ho, ho, no! But 'tis all amuse­ment to me—so should I care?"

Home again, Elizabeth Sherrell carefully placed the yellow pen in her dressing table drawer and turned the key. She had beaten Conrad, won against the seduction of his story and controlled her own lust. She sighed, thinking wistfully of what might have been, it was not that easy to suppress de­sire now it had been raised to such a pitch. She would miss Friday, miss the Guard, miss her friend, the Green Maiden—miss people who were her friends, indeed people she had been more than friendly with. Lizzie, though, had real things to do, a real university course to follow, substantial real world chal­lenges: not made up, make believe things to do that are only possible in dreams. How could she really have dreamt such things, even been dreaming dreams within a dream? That chapter of her life was over: the new chapter started now and that was not a dream at all. With resolution Lizzie picked up one of the new books she had bought and needed to read before her English course started. It was a poetry anthology down the years. The new book fell open and Lizzie read, with a growing disquiet, the poem (by Poe) on the page:

Take this kiss upon the brow!And, in parting from you now,Thus much let me avow—You are not wrong, who deemThat my days have been a dream;Yet if hope has flown awayIn a night, or in a day,In a vision, or in none,Is it therefore the less gone?All that we see or seemIs but a dream within a dream.I stand amid the roarOf a surf-tormented shore,And I hold within my handGrains of the golden sand—How few! yet how they creepThrough my fingers to the deep,While I weep—while I weep!O God! can I not graspThem with a tighter clasp?O God! can I not saveOne from the pitiless wave?Is all that we see or seemBut a dream within a dream?

End