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Ask Alice

by Mike Kimera © 2011


Erotic Fiction"Carol, this is Alice."

Alice is small, round, pale and naked.

Hot fingers of desire run their nails up from my belly to my breasts.

This instant arousal shames me, not just because it is lust without a context but because the trigger for my arousal is not the soft heavy flesh in front of me but the ugly slave collar around the girl's neck and the strange gag across her mouth.

Alice is in a deep squat, hands behind her head, arms and legs spread wide, breasts and sex exposed and available.

Without thinking about it, I take a step closer. In my heels, I tower above her; my sex is level with her head. All I'd have to do is lift the hem of my little black dress and…

I make myself stop. The girl hasn't even looked at me and I am ready to use her like a sextoy. This isn't how I think of myself.

I turn towards Alan.

"You're sure she's OK with this?"

"Ask her."


"… the tongue-clamp means that she can't speak. The loss of speech is worth it don't you think? See how wide and wet her tongue is? How the pressure of the clamp keeps her attention on this soft sensitive tissue over which she has surrendered all control? How the saliva that drips from it makes her breasts glisten and reminds her that she is an object on display, ready for use?"

The gag is a kind of bridle through which Alice has forced her tongue. The gag holds her tongue at full extension. It looks painful. I want to think of it as monstrous and barbaric but the main effect it has on me is to want to stroke my thumb across the surface of her tongue.

"Squat down," Alan says, "and look into her eyes. Get closer. Close enough to suck the tip of her tongue into your mouth. What do you see?"

My little black dress is short and form-fitting. Underneath it I am wearing thigh-highs and the tiniest of thongs. As I squat, I am intensely aware of the way the fabric slides up my legs, exposing my thighs.

I get close enough to Alice to smell her sweat. She is younger than me. Her skin is perfect. I want to lick it. Slowly, deliberately, she makes eye contact with me.

Looking into her eyes I understand for the first time that I am dealing with a person here, a woman, like me. Except that she is bound and naked and drooling. And I can take her if I want to. The thought makes me wriggle with excitement but I keep eye contact.

"I see… embarrassment? Defiance? Fear?" I say.

Alan squats next to me, so close that his shoulder brushes mine. He reaches out, grasps the tip of the girl's tongue between his finger and thumb and turns her head toward him.

Something in her eyes changes when he touches her. She looks at him as if he is the only person in the world.

"I see desire and submission," Alan says, letting go of her tongue. "I see a struggle between her picture of herself as a strong woman and her need to be offered for the use of strangers."

Alice looks down.

Alan brushes the hair back from her forehead.

"You do want to be used, don't you Alice?" he says.

There is a pause then, looking only at Alan, Alice nods.

Alan stands up. I remain squatting, torn between hunger and conscience.

She nodded. She could have said no. That makes it OK doesn't it?

I look up at Alan.

"And she, er… likes women?"

"That," he says, "is something we are all about to find out."

"Oh God."

It comes out almost as a groan. As he'd promised Alan has arranged for me to live my fantasy.

Alan and I have known one another since University. He was one of the first people I came out to. Back then, I was dating Heather and he always asked me a lot of questions about what it was like to sleep with a woman. I always told him that he should know; he'd done it often enough. He kept on at it; asking for a threesome or just to get to sit and watch. He even offered to film us. I thought about it but Heather was a private person and wouldn't consider it. Heather left me two years ago. Since then, Alan has hit on every girl he's seen me with.

Alan is very public in his sexuality. He's a control freak. He's a martial arts expert who stays in perfect shape. He made his money in the City before the credit crunch and now runs a string of Dojos. He also trains pets. That's how he describes it. His pets are submissive women that he literally has begging him to tie them up and slap, pinch, whip and fuck them into ecstasy. I've seen the photographs.

This evening, Alan and I had one of our regular dinners at Langhams. It's been a while since I've been with someone so it was a relief to be able to talk freely; the more wine we had, the more freely we talked.

Towards the end of the meal, Alan asked me the question that had brought me face to face with Alice.

"Tell me about what gets you off."

"You know what gets me off," I said, making light of the question. "Pretty young things who think I'm gorgeous."

"Don't be evasive. Tell me about the long-held fantasy that you return to time and again and which always gets you off. The one that shares your bed with you when you are alone. The one that has nothing to do with anyone's pleasure but your own."

I didn't reply.

Alan looked at me, letting the silence build. He's a hard man to say no to.

"My deepest darkest fantasy," I said, leaning towards him so that I could speak quietly, "has always been to have sex with a straight woman. I don't mean a woman who is gay but not admitting it; I mean a woman who is strongly heterosexual but who still offers herself to me.

"Sometimes it's a married woman, neglected by her husband and exhausted by her kids, who I sweep off her feet. Sometimes it's a cocky young thing who doesn't desire me at all but is willing to use her body to barter her way out of a bad situation. Hey, it's a fantasy. I'm allowed to think bad things as long as I don't do them.

"What the fantasies all have in common is that I'm the first woman who has ever fucked them. I know how that sounds but the whole 'she's not a virgin anymore' thing makes me hot."

I could see the excitement in Alan's eyes. His whole body-language had changed. He'd moved into that predator-on-the-prowl mode that makes him look sexy, even to me.

"So, I've told you mine. Now it's your turn."

"Mine is always the same," he said. "I think about you squatting on the face of a pretty woman and coming so hard that you scream."

That sent a sliver of ice-cold excitement into my spine. It wasn't just the image; it was that I knew that Alan meant exactly what he said. Which meant that he'd spent years, cock in hand, working towards the short strokes, with me as the centre of all his desire. It was a disturbing and arousing piece of knowledge.

"Well," I said. "I guess we all fantasize about what we can't have."

"I don't accept that. These fantasies tell us what we really need. It only makes sense to arrange to live them."

Without waiting for me to reply, he reached into his jacket, pulled out his phone, and pressed a speed-dial number.

When the call went through he said, "Be there in twenty minutes. Prepare yourself and wait for me." then he hung up and signaled the waiter for our bill.

"What was that all about?"

"Come home with me and you'll find out."

I had indeed found out. I'd found that my fantasy-made-flesh had a bone-deep appeal that both appalled and illuminated me.

Alice is mine if I want her.

I will get a straight woman's tongue where it will do me the most good and Alan will finally get to watch me fuck.

It is perfect.

Isn't it?

"It doesn't matter if Alice enjoys you forcing her tongue into your cunt or grinding your clit against her nose." Alan says. "What matters is that she shows me her obedience. If she's a good pet, I'll send her home to her husband with my cum up her arse and we'll all be happy."

Alice is married. Alice left her husband this evening because Alan told her to. Alice is going to let me fuck her because Alan told her to.

I allow myself to touch her.

I slide my hand down her thigh. She gives a small involuntary flinch but she stays in place. Alan has trained her to stay in place.

Her sex is wet on my fingers. Long, engorged labia that part easily. I take her imprisoned tongue into my mouth at the same time that I push two fingers into her.

She closes her eyes and waits.

Alice will let me do anything to her. Anything at all.

I want her eyes open. I want her to look at me; to see me, the woman who is going to show her what sex can be. I want to leave my mark on her memory.

My fingers find the roof of Alice's sex, my thumb presses into her clit so hard she struggles to stay in her squat. When I suck hard on her tongue then clamp down on it with my teeth, Alice's eyes shoot open. I have all of her attention now.

I hear Alan unzip. I have all of his attention too. He steps closer until his erection, as hard and purposeful as his will, is visible above Alice's head. Wordlessly he starts to stroke himself. Slow unhurried strokes that speak of controlled desire and absolute entitlement.

I realise that he is going to stroke himself while he watches two women, one gay, one straight, squatting, sucking, fingering, fucking, putting on a show for him.

Now I know exactly what I want, no, what I need to do.

I pull out of Alice's sex, release her tongue and use both hands to undo that cruel tongue-gag.

Alice looks at me with a question in her eyes. It seems to me this is the first true acknowledgment she's made that I am anything more than an extension of Alan's will.

I look up at Alan. He grins at me, displaying his arousal like a trophy or perhaps a weapon.

I put my hands on either side of Alice's face as she flexes her freed tongue.

I lean forward and kiss Alice on the forehead. Alan's erection hovers above us like a bird of prey. I work my way down Alice's face until I am close to her ear.

"Go home to your husband," I whisper. "You deserve someone better than Alan."

I stand up, straightening my dress as I rise.

The look of astonishment on Alan's face is the highlight of my evening.

"I'm leaving now," I say to Alice. "I'm calling a cab. If you want to leave with me, be upstairs in five minutes."

Looking from Alice to Alan I realise that neither of them know what her answer will be.

I leave the room smiling. It seems that I may have swept a straight woman off her feet after all.

© 2011 Mike Kimera. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.

Bio: Mike Kimera was raised as an Irish Catholic living in England and now works as a management consultant living in Switzerland. At the age of forty three he started writing stories about sex and lust and the things they do to us and ten years later he's still at it. Mike has had stories included in fifteen anthologies and has published one book of stories: Writing Naked. The title story won the Rauxa prize for Erotic Fiction in 2005. "Toying with Lily" was short-listed for the John Preston Short Fiction Award in 2008. You can find Mike's stories at:

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