Alice In Chains
Authors: Adriana Arden
Contents
About the Book
‘Look, this girling has feathers where she should have hair.’
‘Bet they’re not real,’ replied Dum.
Dee reached down, took hold of one of the larger feathers in the middle of her delta and plucked it out of her. Alice gave a shriek of pain.
‘They are real,’ Dee agreed. ‘And pretty.’
Young Alice Brown has an unusual problem. Only another trip to Underland can solve it, and her bedroom mirror is the only means of return. Used once more as a pawn by the Red Queen, this time literally, and enslaved by the greedy Tweedledum and Tweedledee, Alice must use her willingness to submit to the bizarre demands made of her if she is to succeed in returning to normal. A delightfully perverse retelling of a classic tale, by the author of
The Obedient Alice
.
Also by Adriana Arden
THE OBEDIENT ALICE
ALICE IN CHAINS
‘So, you’re both masochists, or submissives, or what?’ Juliet asked, sounding slightly embarrassed.
‘Probably a bit of both,’ Alice said. ‘Those are Overworld terms. In Underland being a girling includes all of that and also being a slave, a pleasure toy, a working animal …’
‘Ughh! How can you do that? It means you don’t have any choice, any freedom.’
‘I’m free if I’m honestly being who I am,’ Alice replied.
‘You really like pain?’
‘As part of being dominated or foreplay, it can be fantastically exciting. Sex is much more intense here.’
‘I saw you come a few times in the garden when Ruddle was stimulating fruiting,’ Suzanne said to Juliet. ‘And what about when the insects took your nectar? Don’t pretend that didn’t feel good.’
‘But I couldn’t help myself!’ Juliet exclaimed defensively.
‘Exactly. You were just following your instincts. Well it’s the same for us, for all the girlings down here as far as I know. I just want to be with my master and please him. If it doesn’t hurt anybody else, who are you to judge?’
One
ALICE BROWN SAT
naked and miserable on the side of her bed.
What could she do? Who could she ask for help?
She stood up and, for what seemed the tenth time that morning, examined herself critically in the full-length mirror on the back of her wardrobe door. Most eighteen-year-old girls would have been pleased with what was reflected in the glass. So was Alice up to a point.
Her face, when not creased with worry as now, was pretty and nicely proportioned; capped by a golden bob of collar-length hair, its fringe brushing her brow. Her eyes, when not red-rimmed from crying, were normally clear and bright. Her body, so recently matured into young-womanhood, combined pleasing curves with suppleness. Full breasts stood out from her slender chest, their pneumatic resilience imparting a slight convexity to the creamy flesh of their upper slopes. Though sadly crinkled and cold now, they were normally crowned by a pair of perky pink nipples. Alice’s waist was slim, her stomach flat, her hips a little on the narrow side, which however only served to accentuate the rotundity of her buttocks, the curve of her strong thighs and firm calves.
In all it was a body of which to be proud, except for one bizarre feature.
Once more Alice’s hand crept reluctantly down to the delta of her pubes. Where there should have been a
triangle
of fluffy honey-blonde hair, there was instead a growth of fine golden feathers.
They were downy soft, tiny at the top but growing slightly larger with each layer, pointing downwards and closely following the pouting curve of her pubic mound and dividing neatly about her cleft. At least she could pee without wetting them. The feathers tapered off between her legs just short of her anus.
As Alice turned slightly to look in the mirror sideways the sunlight caught the feathers, making them sparkle with warm golden highlights that played over her inner thighs. On a bird such growth would have looked remarkable, even beautiful. On her it was a nightmare.
She had tried pulling them out with tweezers, but the pain had been horrible. Feathers, as she had discovered to her cost, had much thicker roots than hair. In any case she could not go through life literally plucking herself! She ran her fingers through the hair on her head. Underneath there were more tiny feathers sprouting from her scalp. At the moment they were concealed, but what if they kept on growing until they spread all over her?
With a groan Alice sank back onto her bed and buried her face in her hands. What a mess! Even the timing was terrible. She was sitting her A levels in ten days. Right now she should be revising, not driving herself insane about growing pubic feathers! And she would not be able to conceal the fact much longer. Her parents were already worried about her behaviour. They had even asked her the big question: was she pregnant? If only it was that simple!
Alice knew they loved her and only wanted what was best for her, but how could she explain this? If she secretly went to a doctor what could he do for her? Send her to a vet? In any case, he would want to know how had it happened, and that was something so impossibly crazy that he would never believe it. Her parents were
not
the most imaginative people and to accept what had happened to her they would need a whole lot of imagination. They would either think she was mad, or if she convinced them it was true, they would completely freak out. But then who would believe her story? Alice had endlessly rehearsed the words, even though she knew she could never speak them aloud …
‘Dad, Mum, it’s like this …
‘A few weeks ago when I was coming back from school through Shifley Woods, I met a White Rabbit just like the one from
Alice in Wonderland
, except that he said the place was called Underland now and it wasn’t for children. He had a watch that opened what he called a “transdimensional portal” in a rabbit hole, and I followed him through.
‘Well, he wasn’t kidding about it being adults only, because they call girls from our world “girlings” and use them as sex slaves. And they made me one, which wasn’t so bad, actually. You see I found out I’m a bit, well, turned on by bondage and also quite masochistic and bisexual and OK about doing it with animals, at least the talking ones they have down there, who are really just like people … only not.
‘Anyway, a lot of very weird things happened and I ended up getting the Queen of Hearts – who’s even crazier than in the book – thinking I was part of a revolution to overthrow her. She ordered my head cut off, but I managed to get away by taking a potion that turned me into a bird. That was actually pretty wonderful, the flying bit anyway, but the problem was I didn’t take all the antidote. So when I got back here I found I’ve got these feathers growing on me and I’m very frightened and please help me …’
Of course, long before that her father would have that baffled disapproving expression on his face and her
mother
would be looking sad and despairing, because they would think she was telling some kind of freaky story just to shock them and show up the generation gap. And if she ever did convince them it was all true (how could she ever flash her pubes at her father?) there would be shouting and tears and the whole package that went with them.
Eventually she knew they would support her, because they did love her and she loved them, but then what? They would try medical specialists and keep going up the ladder. And what if the government found out and she ended up in some secret laboratory being interrogated about whether Underland posed a threat to national security?
The only person she could think of who might accept her story and not totally gross out was Simon Gately, her sort of half-boyfriend who was a bit nerdish and deeply into science fiction and fantasy stuff. But even if she convinced him her story was true and he’d said, ‘That’s just amazing!’ seventeen times, what could he do? He wasn’t going to be able to mix up an antidote in the school chemistry lab, or make a duplicate of the White Rabbit’s dimension-twisting watch like some teen genius in a comic book.
The ultimate bottom line remained where it always had been. She was on her own.
Alice shivered, wiped her eyes and blew her nose, pulled on her clothes so that the sight of her feathered pubes would not depress her further, and tried to think rationally.
There was only one place she had any chance of getting a cure and that was back in Underland. Any Underlander who knew the right mix of local ingredients could probably put her right in five minutes. There was something about the laws of nature there that meant you could do wild things to bodies with the help of a few special herbs and mushrooms. But she had lost
the
White Rabbit’s watch, which had reopened the portal returning her through time and space to a point only seconds after she had left, back in Underland. Unless the Rabbit had found it and came calling locally again she couldn’t travel that way. Alice had taken several walks through Shifley Woods in the last few days just in case, but there was no sign of him.
There remained just one other slim chance.
She had met several girling slaves in her travels through Underland. Most had been transported there by the Rabbit or some other procurer, presumably using similar means. But two of them, Keli and Barbara, had made the trip accidentally. What had they said to her? Keli had been hiding from a man she thought was going to rape her and had fallen asleep desperately wishing she was somewhere else. Barbara had been half stoned when she read the Alice story and also wanted to get away from a dead-end existence.
But simply going to sleep wishing you were somewhere else could not be all there was to it, or else Underland would be full of Overworlders.
Was there a pattern she could make sense of? Well, they were both young women in a similar state of mind experiencing heightened emotions. Perhaps being alone or somehow isolated from others at the time was also significant. But dare she experiment with drugs, assuming she could get any, while in her condition? And though she was feeling pretty miserable, she was not in fear of her life. No, there had to be a better way.
Once again she took the book off her shelf that had been the cause of both the most amazing adventure she had ever had and her current dilemma. Idly she flipped through the pages, looking at the incredible world brought to life by those meticulous and often eerily grotesque line drawings. Before her eyes passed the likenesses of people and creatures whose near doubles she had met in the most intimate, degrading
or
wonderful circumstances (occasionally all three). And there was her namesake gingerly stepping through the looking glass. If only it was as simple as that …
The breath caught in Alice’s throat.
Slowly she turned to look at her wardrobe mirror and then back at the illustration, feeling a tiny flicker of hope. Why not? Why couldn’t she just step through the mirror?
Of course she knew, or at least, in view of her recent experience, she was fairly certain, that the real Alice the story was based upon had never actually entered Wonderland by such means. But nevertheless the image of her doing so had captured the imaginations of millions of people for over a century. In their dreams perhaps they even believed it could be done. Indeed it was the power of that belief that may have created Underland in the beginning and was even modifying it to this day. And Alice had the advantage of knowing that Wonderland, or at least its contemporary and rather perverted equivalent Underland, really existed. It was there, somewhere in another world hiding just around some multidimensional corner. She also knew it was possible to reach it without any special mechanical aids if only the circumstances were right. Did the answer lie in the plane of a mirror where it seemed two worlds touched? She sprang to her feet and ran over to her mirror reaching out in desperate need, only to snatch her hand back at the last moment.