Random scenes Through the Looking Glass

[Sultry_Shade]

Ever had writers block? Well that’s me right now and has been me for awhile. The need to write still rests within me, and aches to be free. Yet the ability is as slippery as an eel to catch and I feel as though my words fall like ashes on blind eyes; colorless and unseen.
So I figure maybe a little simple writing release project might help.
Thus, “Random scenes through the looking glass” is born.

So feel free to add your own shard to this shattered reflection if you will. Or simply play voyeur to my attempts at defeating the evil that is writers block.


There is little structure to this particular form of role play. If you want more info please feel free to pm me.

thanks

 

[Sultry_Shade]

Thats the way the mirror crumbles...

Teetering like a drunk about to lose his feet, Alethea could see the mirror wobble from it’s mounting on the wall. As if trying to shrug free of its moorings. The reflection buckling upon itself as the ancient looking glass began to mysteriously pitch forward; it’s decent slow and strange. “NOOOOOOO”, she could feel the scream leaving her lips, but proving to be as ineffective as her lunge to catch the crashing mirror.

Her heart racing, mind reeling, she throws herself in the path of the falling heirloom, praying she can somehow prevent its imminent destruction. Time shifts, the world falling into lethargy, and all moves as if trapped in molasses.

Struggling through the pull of time gone awry she struggles helplessly watching the mirror coming down as she slips beneath its massive frame. Wincing in anticipation of the crashing burial of her body under the weight of the ancient glass; she closes her eyes. Yet, it never comes.

There is a shudder across the surface of the glass, a shiver almost unperceivable and the world goes black around Alethea, a shadow swallowing the sun.

With a crash like an ice bomb exploding the elegant old mirror falls to the hard wood floor. Silvered shards fly in all directions and the beautiful antique frame splinters into pieces. Of the lady of the house, there is no sign.

 

[Sultry_Shade]

fragments

The maid hearing the deafening explosion from the next room pulls away from the kitchen boy's embrace. Her eyes wide O's of surprise.


"Wut might that be do ya think?" She looks down at the scarcely clad lad below her. He can only shrug, completely worn from his mistress's ministrations. "Best take a peek to be sure of Miss Alethea's well being." she hops lightly from his lap, leaving a raging tent in her wake, her flounced skirt settling over her curvaceous rump.

"HOLY," she sputters at the sight of the once majestic mirror now lying in fragments on the mahogany floor. She looks for her Ladyship but only finds more bits of the broken antique.

Behind her padding in on naked feet, dressed only in his jeans is the tussled haired young man. “Wusn’t that the mirror that belonged to that daft old dame, who had the house up on the hill.” He looks to the maid expectantly.

“You mean the old Widow Riley?” she queries him.

“No, no, she wasn’t that old. The other hill.” He quips back a little impatient.

“Ooooo, she coos “ you mean Madam Alice. I do believe your right Winslo, that was the very dark glass itself that some say Madam disappeared into over 20 years ago.” Hycinth can’t help the shiver that comes through her at the memory of the great lady’s disappearance.

 

[Sultry_Shade]

Beyond the frame and splinters

Something soft as goose down brushes Alethea's cheek, causing her to abruptly sit up with a squeal! Her eyes fly open, and she looks about wildly, wondering what fate the mirror has met. Did it knock her out cold? She attempts to shake the cobwebs from her head, and looks about expectantly.

Yet there is no mirror, in fact there is no wall. Only a vast glade of waist high grass under a liquid silver moon. “Hasn’t the moon already waned, she thinks to herself, that moon just doesn’t seem right.” Catching her thoughts so absurd she realizes none of this was right. Here she was in some isolated glade in the middle of who knows where. How could it be, her home, servants, everything, just gone.

At first immobile with confusion it is all Alethea can do not to panic. This was not her element; she was a woman of means used to being surrounded by a vast manse and capable staff. Somewhere in the distance there is a strange note on the wind. It catches her ear, but does not linger and is swiftly lost.

“Now that had to come from somewhere, she figures. Gathering herself together, she manages to stand. Uncertain on quaking knees, she takes a few steps into the grassland ocean. The wind shakes the stalks at her, startling a small “Eep” from her lips. Firming her shoulders she tries to maintain some resemblance of calm. Just in case anyone might be watching.

She turns to the direction of that haunting note and begins to walk.

 

[Sultry_Shade]

duty calls

"We better get to cleaning this mess up Hycinth, or it'll be our arses when the lady returns." Winslo acts first reaching down to turn the destroyed artifact over.

"Be careful ya fool, don't cut yurself you might be in more trouble then if you left the damn thing alone." She wags a finger at him, knowing how the Lady feels bout stains on her floors. “I wonder where her Ladyship is, this would have woke the dead.” She glances disdainfully down upon the array of broken glass at her feet. At that moment, something within one shard’s depths catches her eye.

“Wuzzat,” she murmurs, her eyes unable to make sense of the miniaturized scene playing out before her. Leaning closer she can make out a woman dressed exquisite riding attire, making her way through a waist high sea of grass. The woman bares a very striking resemblance to the Lady Alethea. “Nooo, can’t be.” She pulls away as if bitten.

“Cum on woman, get a moving.” Winslo appears at her elbow dustbin in hand, unable to help noticing Hycinths pale face and haunted expression. “what is it!? You look like you’ve seen the devil.” She could only look at him dumbfounded and shaking.

 

[Sultry_Shade]

Steeling her shoulders and looking straight ahead Alethea plows through the grass. Pushing aside the dew laden blades, grimacing as her hands come away slippery from the condensation. Something about the dew makes it cling to her skin even as she attempts to wipe it from her hands.

A strange tingling sensation begins in her palms, but she shrugs off the wonder and continues to make way across the field. Her mind never slowing in it’s contemplation of how she came to be in this curious place. As she ponders, the note from before resounds more strident through the misty air. Like the call of a hunting horn, or a summons, she can’t be sure.

It gives her direction and she turns on her heel to head once again in search of the sound. The breeze tickles her ears, and ruffles the greenery, sending an odd thrill of pleasure up her spine. The tingling in her palms rushing through her body, making her feel flush and light. Something unforeseen was definitely happening to her.

 

[Sultry_Shade]

Important decisions

"Woman you must be mad, standing and shiverin like that. Snap out uv it!" Winslo's words were sharp like a whip and cut through Hycinth's panic. She finally turned to him her face ashen.

“Win, it was her, it was the Lady Alethea. She is in the mirror. Somehow inside of it, this must be what happened to Madam Alice as well. Only the mirror was whole then.” Her words spill forth in a rush causing a look of confusion then concern to cross Winslo’s face.

“It isn’t possible Hycinth, mirrors just don’t swallow people whole.”

“I don’t care what you say, this one did! And something tells me we shouldn’t move it until we can find a way to get the Lady out.”

Winslo was not a bright lad, and had always respected his elder bedmate and friend, but it was hard to swallow this line she was feeding him. Yet if he failed her that would be the end of his pleasures between her plush thighs; that much he knew for sure.

“Ok, ok, we lock up the main ballroom. We’ll have to make up something, but how are we going to find a way to get the Lady back. That is if she is in the bloody mirror at all.”

 

[Sultry_Shade]

beyond the glass

The night begins to roll in like a bank of clouds brewing on the horizon. Not a sultry lazy stroll of darkness, but a march of pitch black, the kind of night that would often terrify the Lady Alethea as a child.

Despite her attempts to find her way to the cause of the haunting melody, she found herself increasingly lost in this foreign world of grass planes, and sparsely populated groves. Another disconcerting fact was the lack of life, no birds, no deer, nothing. Only the greenery and the oddly shifting sky all around her, reminding her how far she was from anything familiar.

Biting back her fear she presses on, until she can’t even see her hand before her face. The darkness so complete; exhausted she falls to her knees a soft huff of air escaping her pursed lips. Then it came again, that sound, only this time it was almost on top of her.

Like the chiming of a fairy band the music plays, a bitter and beautiful tune that stirs something wild deep within the lost Lady’s breast. Her breathing suddenly labored and a thin layer of sweat covering her lithe frame. She could almost feel the music like her own pulse, tightening her nipples into firm knots against her blouse.

She suddenly felt flushed, and an intense need steals over her. Not the kind of woman to have such random bouts of lust, Alethea finds herself quite repulsed and frightened by her body’s responses to this eerie environment and melancholy music. She shoots back to her feet, goblin green eyes like witch fire strain to pierce the shroud of night.

To her success she sees a beacon off in the near distance and what appears to be a rather impressive structure fortified into the base of a hill.

It is at that moment that she sees the manor that the wind whispers at her ear in a voice both alien and utterly familiar. “To me Alice, to me” it breaths and is gone. Shaking her head, she mutters to herself. “Great now I’m hearing things. Best check myself into a clinic when I get back; if I get back.” Suppressing another involuntary shiver of fear ensnared with desire. She turns her feet to the west and towards the house in the hill.

 

[Sultry_Shade]

Further decisions

Finally managing to control her tremors and reign in her fear she turns to the kitchen boy. “Ok Win, if you think she is still on the property, then we’ll conduct a search, but until then no one comes into this ballroom.”

Still wondering about Hycinth’s mental state, Winslo nods and they make a show of locking all the entrances and windows into the Grand room. “Ok Hycinth, I’ll play along with all this, but if I’m right then you have to be my slave for a week. Deal?” He said with a sly wink.

“Winslo you cad! How can you think of sex at a time like this?” Her eyes are wide with surprise at his audacity.

“Cum on Cynth, I’m sure the Lady is fine. Is it a deal or no?” He presses knowing that she will cave, he always could read her like a book; a book with lots of dirty pictures. He smiles at the tawdry mental image.

“Ok, Ok, anything Win, If you help me. I hope for everyone’s sake your right. I’ll start by searching her suites, you go to the stables. I know she had plans for an afternoon of riding. Perhaps the rain did not dissuade her from it after all. ” she says with a gesture towards the barns at the back end of the property.


“I’d rather go to the master bedroom with you.” Winslo says with a wink, but quickly moves to follow her orders; as she flashes him a grim look.

 

[Sultry_Shade]

On through the night

Stumbling through thickets and brambles, eyes fixed on the beacon urging her onward. Alethea feels the brush tearing her riding outfit and scratching her sensitive skin. The rush of air onto her flesh through the rends in the fabric sends a series of chills down her spine, the kind of delicious shiver that occurs at the subtle breath from a lovers lips.
The sensation is not without pleasure, but so out of place it fills her with unfamiliar emotions.

Pausing a moment to try and shake loose the bizarre sensations spilling through her; the lady finds herself mysteriously transported to the driveway of the house in the hill that she had previously viewed from afar. A wave of disorientation smashes through her and she falls to her knees, dizzy. The light of the house seems to glow a golden halo all around her, and as she glances down at herself, she realizes just how poor repair her clothes are from her trip through the darkness.

Shreds of her once elegant white riding blouse barely cover her breasts, bits of her bra peeking through the fragments. Her slacks although in better shape are also torn and dirty, coming untucked from her high leather riding boots. “I must look an awful mess,” she whispers into the empty night. “I hope I can find some help here.” She glances a bit nervous and expectantly at the looming mansion before her.

Its spires and gables seeming to reach to the broiling sky; a dark and foreboding place lay at the end of the short drive. It was unavoidable, the sense of intimidation attached to its grim façade. Not a woman to be easily intimidated, she throws off the feeling and strides with as much confidence as she can muster towards the massive front portal.

It is half way up the drive, when a gravely voice stops the lady cold in her tracks.
”Sweet Alice, in this darkness, to these blind old eyes, you are a vague silhouette, yet I know your footsteps by heart. Are you sure that is the destination for you?”

 

[patrick1]

wr

He's drinking from a bottle marked DRINK ME, swigging it straight down, careless of the fluid marking his white gloves, when he hears that familiar gravelly voice and goes out to the window to look.

A woman. Boots. Torn attire.

Some sort of damsel in distress. Is that the sort of story I'm in? he asks himself.

He has whips and chains in the cellar, of course. Or perhaps she's the sort that needs rescuing. Did I have to sell the last white charger to pay for the roof repairs?

He removes a single white glove. He looks again, and rather lusts for the flesh of her phrases. Should he disguise himself? As a playing card, perhaps? Or present himself as the animal he really is?

Dilemmas, dilemmas....

 

[Sultry_Shade]

Compulsion

Hycinth waits for Winslo to vanish from sight into the deluge, before returning to the grand ballroom for a closer look at the mirror. Despite having warned him not to touch anything, she gently reaches down and begins to carefully arrange the broken pieces. Almost as if compelled by some other force to do so.

It is then a small piping voice, like the cry of a wee bird, somewhere in the back of her mind chimes; shards of the mirror of dreams. “Wot the hell!” She starts at the voice realizing by her own exclamation that it was only inside her own head. “Shards of the mirror of dreams, now what does that mean?” She ponders aloud, her hands continuing to draw the puzzle that has become the ancient mirror back together.

 

[Sultry_Shade]

A cat with a grin or a grin with a cat

Starting at the voice as if goosed, the Lady Althea whirls on her feet. Pretty limber for a woman in riding boots, she turns to face a giant tree that she hadn’t recalled seeing upon first approach. The dark branches conceal some unknown being within their shimmering green depths.

“Who’s there? I demand you show yourself!” she draws herself to her full five foot nine inches, trying to make herself appear intimidating, despite her ragged attire.

“Who, who, who, who’s there? Who, indeed. “ the gravely voice mocks back, followed by a round of the most eerie uncanny laughter. “Come now Alice, let us not game, this is serious business you coming to this house.”

“What in the blue hell are you prattling about?” she snaps back her voice slipping dangerously close to a hysterical screech. “And stop calling me Alice! You must have me confused with someone else!”


“My,my,” this time the voice comes forth as almost a purr. “What poor manners.” As it speaks something within the rustling branches begins to take shape. Slowly and blurry at first two glowing orange orbs appear; each marred in the center by a long black elliptical slit. The flicker and brighten, followed by more of that maddening laughter.

“Stop toying with me. Who are you and what do you want?” Alethea finally manages to regain command of her tone, now sounding very much in charge.

“Well, if you aren’t Alice and that is the way you’re going to be, you can just take your chances Miss.” The voice hisses back, the orange eyes now framed by a dark striped face. In the soft glow of the manse light, she can just make out the head’s feline shape. Strange memories dance at the edge of her perceptions then flee; she is left feeling as if she should know something about this.


“No need to be a sore head about it.” The moment the words leave her lips they bring about a chuckle from deep within her. After all here she was in some alien place, in rags, talking to a decapitated cat. The enigmatic face does not respond but only watches, its orange orbs seem to reflect a semblance of mirth.

Decidedly turning her back to the voice and the bodiless cat, she once again faces the house so cleverly built into the hill. Staring at its dark windows she feels a chill of dread and powerful desire wash over her. It was as if she could feel cold calculating eyes watching her from inside. Despite the terror of the place, her feet seem to move as if given a separate life, drawing her up the front steps the massive double doors.

 

[patrick1]

wr

He strokes the blind Cheshire cat on the other side of the dream. The air is like silk: he can part it and reach through sometimes.

He makes his eyes penetrate the realm: there she is, looking up towards him.

He makes himself not look. He goes to his card table. He was playing Patience. So why is every card suddenly the Queen of Hearts? With her face upon it?

He tries to begin at the end and end at the beginning. Sorrow; hope.

No, it's no good, he can't help it. Hope keeps rising, as if the world of affairs were all in its ordinary order, as if she were still looking up at his window, contemplating coming in.

Don't look, he tells himself. Don't look.

He looks.

Her body is swathed in a sort of halo of something. His own desire, perhaps. Or whatever she is feeling.

He watches.

 

[Sultry_Shade]

Mirror mirror on the floor

The mirrored fragments seemed to almost guide Hycinths fingers.
Unable to pull her attention away from the glittering debris, she doesn’t’ hear Winslo’s return from the stables, at first.

“Cynth! Wut are you doin? I thought you were going to check the Ladie’s rooms.” His words are like a slap, startling Hycinth from her daze. She looks up at him, her eyes somewhat cloudy.

“Win, when did you come in? Your soaking?” her voice is distant her words sluggish.

“Hycinth, are you awright? “He slowly approaches his lusty maid partner looking down at the array of jagged glass displayed all around her. Again this time with an edge of agitation in his voice he asks, “Wut are you up to? You said we shouldn’t touch the mirror.”

This time Hycinth’s response takes him completely by surprise. From her crouched position on the floor she leaps up and grabs him, ignoring his soaking clothes and all. Her mouth hot and needy seeks his out and suddenly he finds himself in a very hot embrace.

Head spinning, he tries to regain his bearings, something is not right about this; but the pleasure from the maid’s plush lips and curvaceous frame quickly reduces these thoughts to ash and they fall to the floor in a tangle of limbs and lust.

 

[Sultry_Shade]

On the verge of a dream within a dream

The warning of the disembodied cat lingers in Alethea’s mind. Did she really want to go inside this forbidding old structure? Suddenly feeling very small and timid she looks around and sees no other structures, only the house and miles of wide space all around. Again her body trembles with that lustful fear that makes her stomach knot and her flesh run with goose bumps.

Entangled in the thorns of indecision, she shuffles her feet, her body suddenly feeling very heavy. How much time had passed, she felt like she hadn’t slept for days, and a dull ache in the pit of her stomach reminded her of another need as well.

“Damn,” she sighs under her breath, and moves towards one of the lead glass windows to see if she can see anyone inside. In mid step her foot gets caught on a loose plank in front of the door and in an instant she is pitched forward. Her hands instinctively shoot out to catch her, falling against one of the massive double doors, only she doesn’t stop, but continues to pitch forward as the door silently swings open.

Her feet franticly scramble to keep up with the rest of her as she stumbles into the gloomy foyer. The sound of her entrance echoes a deafening chorus in the room’s silence. She looks about in wide eyed anticipation.

Her view is befuddled by a conglomerate of objects filling not only the foyer, but spilling into the main parlor. Items of all shapes and sizes, curious curios and objects de art, placed haphazardly all about as if set aside by some mad collector.

Cautiously she steps further into the entrance way, the door behind her swings shut with an almost inaudible snick. The sound just loud enough to make her jump, the jittery feeling in her stomach that much stronger.

Swallowing back the bitter taste of fear, she calls out. “Helloooo, anyone home? Hello, I don’t mean to intrude, but I need some help.” Her voice seems to bounce around the room, teasing her. “Please?”

 

[patrick1]

wr

Her voice is half-undressed. Or half-dressed. No, half-undressed. When she cries for help his heart twangs, not with sympathy, alas, but with a melancholy lust. He waits, listening for her to touch the tripwire hidden in the space between the ancient telephone and the Victorian aspidistra that will catapult her to the cellar.

She doesn't trigger it.

He listens for her to try the music box that plays 'Twinkle twinkle' but she doesn't play it.

He half-hopes for her to stamp her feet, and become Alice in all her glory, then perhaps he might become himself, with a fob watch and a white tail.

But no. She simply stands there and cries for help. So he bends and strokes the eyeless cat, who promptly reminds him of their founding text:

"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," Alice remarked. "Oh, you can't help that," said the Cat: "we're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad." "How do you know I'm mad?" said Alice. "You must be, said the Cat, "or you wouldn't have come here."


He reaches, then, for his old top hat. He goes to the top of the stairs. He clears his throat. 'Twinkle twinkle Alethea,' he sings, 'how I wonder what you fear.'

He smiles, in what he hopes is a good simulation of madness, and descends towards her...

 

[Sultry_Shade]

Bodies entwined like weasels in heat, Hycinth and Winslo writhe beside the remains of the mighty mirror. Sweat and other sweet fluids of ecstasy mingle on their skin and in the air. A funk of fierce need embedded in lust outside the restrictions of love.

To the tune of their abandoned cries the fragments of the once majestic looking glass begin to quiver as if receiving life from their upraised voices. Jittering and squirming now like mercurial serpents they begin to glide towards one another.

Oblivious to the dark miracle taking place beside them on the floor, Winslo plunges in and out of the receptive Hycinth lost in his passions. Her eyes stare to the ceiling unseeing, lips slack, as if she has been transported beyond.

The glittering silver snakes of glass begin to weave clutching one another in a similar fashion as their human counterparts. The antique coalesces once again into its true form.

Continuing in their lustful pursuits, they fail to sense the impending danger. The very air dancing and flashing with electricity that seers the soul, the old fashioned glass begins to swell. A mound of rounded reflections begins to take shape as Winslo approaches climax.

“O O O CYNTH CYNTH, I’m very near to spending!” He crows out attempting to pull from her silken embrace, only to find himself pinned in her, trapped. “CYNTH!” He cries, but she is deaf to his appeal.

The glass swells like pregnant disco ball, stretching on the note of Winslo’s desperation. As he feels himself beyond return, he spends, spilling his seed deep within the climaxing maid beneath him.

As they orgasm, the swollen mirror cracks and begins to emit a horror show red light. From this eerie hellish fissure, unfolds a form. Sweaty, exhausted, Win glances down at Hycinth to find she has fainted. It is then a foreign voice catches his attention.

"?gniod ruoy kniht uoy od tahw"

Turning he sees a visage that sends him into a dead faint alongside Hycinth.

 

[Sultry_Shade]

Fear and consequences

“Twinkle twinkle Alethea,' he sings, 'how I wonder what you fear.'”

The words ring a clarion call resounding through the massive chamber. Her knees very nearly buckle at the sound of it, vibrating as it does with a sense of command. The very query put forth fills her with a twisted passionate dread. A thin stream of sweat breaks upon her chest and slides between her breasts.

At first her feet are frozen to the floor, her breath coming in short sharp burst. Something nags in the depths of her mind, something but what? A warning like a siren of hell begins to blaze behind her eyes, but too little too late. She lets her head raise and follow the voice up and up. She sees a top hat clad silhouette backlit by the upstairs chandelier.

A lump the size of an ostrich egg seems to render her mute for many an uncomfortable moment. Something moves at the feet of the finely dressed stranger. Straining her green gold eyes, she can just make out the familiar jagged striped pattern of her previous tormenter. The bodiless cat was now whole, and obviously at home in this place.

Struggling to regain control of her vocal chords she responds in a tone far more confident then what she feels. “You have me at a disadvantage I’m afraid. As I do not know your name.” unconsciously her arms move in a protective stance, crossing over her breasts.

 

[patrick1]

Endeavouring to appear imperious, he almost trips, and stops to try and clear his mind.

Lust. Is it her beauty, or the defects upon her, that arouse his priapism? There is a thorn in her hair, dirt upon her left cheek just below the eye-socket. Flesh peers at him from unexpected nooks and crevices of her tattered clothes. His fingers tingle inside his white gloves, wanting to touch her.

Another step towards her. She will see soon how old and melancholy he looks and then will all be lost? The cat is purring at him the rhythm of 'Twinkle twinkle' but instead he finds another poem on his tongue. He speaks...

'Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness...'

No, no. He has the words here somewhere, the original words to conjure something new for this vision beofre him, this dangerous manifestation of his own dreams. he pats his pockets. He fishes inside his coat and pulls out - no, no, that's a whip, dammit.

Her eyes widen in alarm.

'Twinkle twinkle Alethea,' he sings, still searching about his person, digging deep into his left hand pocket, 'how I wonder what you fear...'

Rope. That's what's in his left-hand pocket. He takes it out. For a moment the silk of dreams parts and he sees her, what might happen next. Lust seizes him. A woman...

'Down the cellar you may fall to,' and his eyes can't help moving to the trapdoor only two paces to her left, 'where what he dreams would appal you...'

There should be tea, there should be innocence, there should be - who else? - not the blind cat rubbing against his legs, and his right hand, freed of its glove by his left, reaching out to touch the beautiful dirt on her cheek.

 

[Sultry_Shade]

mirror reborn

Standing over the comatose pair, the wild haired, and blood streaked woman puts her hands on her hips. An expression of disgust creeps over the mystery woman's face. Her fair unlined features are marred only by the random splashes of crimson so vibrant against her porcelain skin.

“Do I know how to make an entrance or what,” She speaks then laughs a wicked chuckle into the empty room. She wipes the blade of her long handled knife against her skirts, brushing a random lock of strawberry hair from her eyes. She slips the blade into her belt, kneeling.

Now I wonder what sort of place this is, she wonders to herself. Taking a closer inspection of the two lovers for hints of her where a bouts. Finding nothing remarkable about the pair, she turns to survey the rest of the mighty room.

As she turns, her eyes fall to the glossy mirror now lying whole and undamaged on the floor. Her storm cast eyes, grow wide at the sight, a vision she never thought she would again see.

“Well Hell,” her words soft like a prayer “I’m outside the looking glass.”

 

[Sultry_Shade]

No time to say hello...goodbye...

As the shadow at the top of the stairs begins his descent, Alethea’s fear begins to build, rising like the waves of a tsunami from the depths of her being. Shivering uncontrollably she swallows audibly, her cool demeanor shattered like the mirror before her transition into this place.

His response to her demand for information, “'Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness...” leaves her head spinning and vision hazy. She tries to respond her tongue glued to the roof of her mouth, rending her mute. It is an uncomfortable alien feeling, this paralysis.

As he draws nearer she is again overwhelmed by the idea that she should be able to place him, as well as the cataract eyed cat now sitting at the bottom of the stairs humming. “I do know” she tries to say, but nothing will come.

He stands before her, his face obscured in inky shadows created by the brim of his top hat. Her eyes fuzzy have trouble focusing on anywhere but his gloved hands. There is an aura of lingering sorrows mingled with a latent power she cannot describe. Her trembling increases.

Watching his limber glove clad fingers search pockets, her trepidation becomes overwhelming. It’s then that she catches sight of the whip and then the length of rope, her eyes roll slightly like a spooked pony.

He then reaches forth with naked fingers, his right hand now gloveless. She bites her lower lip, the pain jolting her from stasis. She stumbles back and away, his fingers tracing the air where her cheek had been only seconds before, and then with a loud creak the world beneath her feet gives way.

Plummeting into darkness, falling, she finally finds her voice and a scream cuts the suffocating stillness.

 

[patrick1]

wr

There are times when one must hurry, even though more haste is less speed, because the woman's scream is, of course, followed by the splash of her tumbling into the cold, cold water, and she must be rescued, really in a matter of moments frankly, there's no time to be writing this...

<>

Later. As he emerges from the elevator she is already rising from the waters a second time. How beautiful a woman can look in distress. The rise and fall of her bosom; the greater revelations of her goose-pimpled flesh; the shape of her body in the saturated clothing; her wild eyes...

Her voice is, however, somewhat piercing. Perhaps action is required.

'Here. Here.' He tosses the rope into the water. He could reach in and grab her hand, but he wants her to grip the rope. And she does. He hauls her in. He helps her ashore, upon a floor of glass. She looks up at him, as if about to thank him. Then she sees his grey-green eyes are blinking from within a pale, wrinkled mask, and her words freeze on her lips.

'Here,' he says, as she gasps for breath. He helps her to crawl a couple of steps to where a wooden frame rises from the ground. Oh: she gasps for a different reason: the ground is a mirror, and when she looks up, so are all the walls, and the ceiling, and even the door that is slowly closing on the icy pool where she fell. And in all the mirrors is a wanton woman and a lascivious man, who is binding her right ankle to a wooden post.

'No!' she cries. Of course it's not true. She looks again, at the ceiling. What wanton woman? Don't be ridiculous. There is only herself, helpless, dishevelled, terrified, and a man in absurdly elegant clothing and a mask, who is binding her left ankle to a wooden post.

The binding, then, is indeed happening in all the mirrors. Yes. 'Here,' he says, helping her to her knees, holding her soaked and shaking body. He strokes her back, as if comforting her. Yet he has bound her legs, apart. And he murmurs in her left ear: 'If you don't want something to happen here, beg for it. For instance,' and his caresses extend to her buttocks, and her damp hair, 'the first thing I want to do with you is to strip you naked and whip you. So beg me to do that, so I won't do it.'

And with that he continues his surprisingly gentle caresses, while his voice relapses into twinkle twinkle alethea, how I wonder what you fear...

 

[Sultry_Shade]

riddle me curiouser

She couldn’t remember the last time she had fought her way free of the glass’ shiny embrace. Could have been years or centuries, not that time made a difference to Alice anymore; that obsolete concept lost its power a long time ago.

Glancing one last time at the still slumbering couple she realizes that it must have been their energy and one other form of catalyst that brought her out of the mirror lands. What could the other element be? She would have to solve this riddle or face the possibility of more of the dark wonderland’s madness spilling into the waking world.

That would simply not be acceptable. Nor could she continue to traipse about this place looking like a reject from an abattoir. So thinking, she covers the dreaming couple under a table cloth from one of the banquet tables, and ventures off to find a place to clean up.

 

[Sultry_Shade]

mirror mirror is that me

The fall was terrifying but the landing was far worse. As she hit the icy water all Alethea could think was, “I’m going to die here.” And she almost lost consciousness, chill of the water the only thing keeping her awake. She could not hear herself screaming or feel her limbs as a certain amount of shock began to set in.

The mysterious man was on the shore tossing her a line; the rush of gratitude she felt could not be described. Yet when she reached the mirrored land a part of her wished she’d never taken the line. His mask frightened her and his eyes held a suspicious quality she could not pin point. And then there was the singing, haunting her.

Her eyes began to deceive her, visions of herself as buxom seductress wantonly begging for the handsome lusty man to make her his. It was a looking glass lie and she knew it with her mind, but her body did not believe her brain and a bizarre lethargy began to steal her will. The end affect of this being, to make her further pliable to the stranger’s ministrations.

She found it harder and harder to watch the real elegantly dressed man in the frightening mask work his rope magic on her wrists and ankles. His false face filling her with dread. She sought to look anywhere else, and was soon lost to the seductive sorcery of the reflections.

The man in the glass was virile and handsome; lustfully he ran the silken ropes round her flesh. Despite the screaming of her mind that it was all an illusion, she could feel the heat building dangerously inside her; actually feel the satin cord as it cinched her limbs firmly in place. The desires stirred within the spill of confusion that had become her soul.

Surely she must remain in possession of her sanity. Or was it more like regain possession? Dizzying conflicting thoughts, she found herself weakened further by the circular illogical clamoring that had begun to confuse her thoughts. Her body was taking over, her flesh growing hot as her long lithe frame was stretched upon the wooden frame.

Secured neatly into place, her ragged blouse almost completely gone, her white lace bra wet and virtually transparent revealing her hard pink nipples. She felt a foreign ache steal over her, wiping any further resistance against the full force of the looking glass’ masquerade.

It was then she heard his words and her mouth felt full of sand, “‘if you don't want something to happen here, beg for it. For instance,' and his caresses extend to her buttocks, and her damp hair, 'the first thing I want to do with you is to strip you naked and whip you. So beg me to do that, so I won't do it.” She could barely move her lips, terrified.

Knowing this must be madness but fearful of what might happen if she failed to comply. Alethea began to plead with the man, in her most endearing tones.

“Please spare me, I, I’ll behave, whatever, just don’t do that,” She stammers and stutters. “Don’t hurt me.” Her voice cracks as a random lunatic thought scrambles over her mind. The pleasure in pain, and she her pulse responds with frantic throbbing. She begins shaking her head continuing to beg, “ no no no”