1. A Scarred Wonderland


    Date: 8/22/2015, Categories: Hardcore, Author: MadMartigan, Rating: 18, Source: LushStories

    stained yellow paper. “And you have a giant treasure trove of dirty perversions. Does Grayson know?” I see red. The monster in me rages. If I’m the Red Queen, that’d make her… “No, I’m not the Mad Hatter in this story,” she giggles. “You aren’t following along very well.” An exaggerated sigh, “It’s kind of annoying.” “Fuck you, you …” “I’m not a crazy bitch either,” she finishes for me. Her masked head shakes, hair whipping like flames. Her right hand leaves the book; she extends her middle finger. “Nuh-uh. Nope. No way. You are.” O/o\O When I’d zone out in my studio, lost in the haze of strong pastels and white canvas, I’d sometimes sneak a joint. Just one. Almost like a ritual. For the first few weeks, it was a habit I hid from Grayson - until he found me one day out on the porch, home early from the office. I remember stumbling over some excuse as he plucked it from my fingers, took a drag, and pressed a weed flavored kiss to my lips. After that night, we’d sometimes work out way through a bowl, get high as a kite, and slow fuck our way through his collection of Bob Marley vinyls, until we passed out. But most of the time, it was just that one joint in the heat of creativity, my mind wandering off. During those times, I’d drift off into Wonderland. I’d think what a time Alice had. The things she got to see. I used to want to disappear like she did. Now I’m wishing I never had dreams like that. This isn’t Alice’s Wonderland. This one is blackened. Scarred. Ugly. “Just what ...
    is it you want?” I whisper. “To give you perspective, my queen,” the girl taunts. “My name is Taryn.” I spit it out, trying to sound confident, unafraid. But the words come out brittle and weak. “No. It isn’t.” She snaps the book shut and it disappears. Then she starts swinging gently back and forth, slowly at first, and then quickly, violently, until she’s vaulting from the bough, twirling and spinning in a cloud of crimson, before landing neatly on her feet. She mock bows and skips close, white skirt fluttering up, revealing freckled thighs and stripped panties. “Do you like it?” She’s pressed in tight now, running cold hands up and down my arms. Her ivory mask leaves me shivering more than her icy hands. One side twists into an exaggerated expression of joy, the other, sadness. “I do. It’s such a fun dichotomy. Melpomene and Thalia. Tragedy and comedy. When you mash them together, that’s when you get a real story. You can’t help but root for the bumbling underdog, even when you know they’ll wind up dead. Like Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. Hopelessly fascinating idiots. Kinda like us, huh?” I don’t know what to say. Her twisted intelligence betrays her youthful voice and slight figure. I settle for the biggest question I’ve had since I pulled Grayson’s Chevy up to the house. “Why?” She taps a finger to her head and a girlish peel of laughter echoes from under the mask. “Finally! They thought you’d never ask. They don’t have much respect for you, you know.” “Who?” She waves ...
«12...101112...1920»