Alice Through the Whiskey Glass

If this is an alcohol fuelled wet dream I'm going to make the most of it.

If you haven’t guessed from the tag line this gets a bit naughty and a bit weird. Thank you to the person who suggested the idea of an author waking up in their own spanking story - you know who you are.

My body jerks awake. My back aches and my head throbs as it rests against something hard. I sit up and glance at the three-quarters-empty bottle of whiskey and the glass on my desk. It must be late, the days are long at this time of year, but dark shadows fill the room. I must have fallen asleep before I finished the story.

One of the shadows in the corner of my study seems to move. I peer at it, convinced the alcohol is clouding my vision. It has the shape of a person sitting in the armchair. Tendrils extend out from the body towards the lamp on the table next to the chair. The light clicks on, and I blink groggily as the brightness stings my eyes.

The shape transforms into a woman, mid-thirties, long blonde hair and wearing an olive green dress. “It’s about time you woke up,” she says. “I’ve been sitting here waiting for hours.”

“Waiting for what?” I shake my head, which seems to rattle my brain, making it throb even more. “Who are you?” She looks vaguely familiar, but my addled brain cannot remember who she is.

“For you to spank me.” She looks annoyed. “Well, more than spank me, apply the leather strop you keep in your desk and possibly a cane to my naked behind and then fuck me.” She stares at me as if challenging me to disagree. “Well, at least, if not you, one of your characters.” She smiles. “Sir is favourite, but maybe I could have a fling with Jocelyne or Sandie - she sounds like she knows how to wield a whip.”

“What do you mean, my characters? They’re fictional.”

“Well, so am I. Don’t you remember? You were writing about me, you’d got me to the point where my panties were wet, nipples hard and my pussy humming; then you got pissed and fell asleep. Now it’s time to deliver.”

“I don’t believe this,” I say out loud. “I’m hallucinating.” I look at the bottle; did I really drink that much? I switch back to the woman. “If you are one of my characters, what’s your name?”

“Alice,” she says without hesitation.

“You can’t be real.”

She stands up and drags the dress over her head. Underneath, she is wearing a pair of white knickers with a lacy top and no bra. Her breasts are two large teardrops and her hips are wide and full. The sensual curves of her body make her look as if she has stepped out of a Renoir painting, just as I had described.

She steps closer and leans across the desk, her breasts swaying in front of my face. I can feel her breath on my forehead and smell her light perfume.

“OK, so you’re real, but maybe you read what I had written when I fell asleep.”

“You’re saying that, after I unlocked your laptop, I had rapid plastic surgery so that I look like Alice, just so you would bend me over and spank me.”

At this point, I begin to wonder why I am arguing with an attractive woman who seems determined to get spanked and fucked. Standing up, I open my desk drawer and take out the black leather strop. “Bend over the desk.”

“About fucking time,” she says as I watch her ass cheeks tighten as she leans forward, her ample breasts flowing out from her sides as they flatten against the desktop.

I bring the strop down and there is a very loud and definitely not an imaginary crack. “And stop being so cheeky.”

“Yes, Sir,” she giggles.

I yank at her white panties, pulling them down. She is right, between her legs they are so wet they are almost transparent. She does a little dance, bringing her feet together and wriggling her behind so they drop to the floor and then spreading her legs. Her open lips are silvered with her essence.

The strop sings through the air again making a series of ever louder cracks as it sends ripples through her flesh. Now she is quiet except for the sharp intake of breath each time it lands. Her cheeks are reddening, I can clearly see the imprint of the flat leather across her pale flesh from the last strikes.

I step back. Fingers are moving between her legs, pushing her lips apart and pressing on her clit. The sight makes my cock begin to stiffen. I wield the strop again, the leather smacking down vertically onto one of her rounded butt cheeks and then the other. Her fingers begin to move with increasing urgency, pulling at her lips, spreading them wide and then sliding into her.

My cock is now hard, pushing against my trousers in an expectant peak. I unzip my fly and move closer to her, the strop still beating at her cheeks with a steady rhythm. The head touches her soft folds. She senses that I am close and her fingers reach out and drag me into her.

My erection is instantly wrapped in a soft, liquid glove that tightens around it each time I whack the leather against her. If this is a hallucination, some kind of alcohol fueled wet dream, I am going to make the most of it. Abandoning the strop, I grasp at her hips and pull her onto me, my whole body jerking as I pound into her.

Alice is making sounds between grunts and moans interspersed with sharp gasps, her fingers clawing at the desktop. She rears up, slams herself against my thighs. I grab at those beautiful soft pillows of breasts, pinching at the nipples and she begins to utter a series of short, sharp bellows. I can feel her pussy clenching around my cock. She is drawing me out, my mind registers nothing but the torrent surging up my shaft and pulsing into her.

We are both breathing heavily as she flops back down onto the desk. The room slowly comes back into focus as I slide out of her. Alice wriggles round and looks over my shoulder, still half lying on the desktop. “OK, Simone, that was nice, you get me out of here now.”

“Who the fuck’s, Simone?” I look at her. Is she back to being imaginary?

“She’s the author.”

“No, I’m the author. You said so.”

“No, you’re not.” She stands up and kisses me, just a peck on the lips. “You’re just another character. Quite a nice one and quite a good spanker, but still just a character.”

Author’s note: He flops back down onto the chair at his desk. His eyes feel heavy and begin to close as his head leans forward to rest on the hard top. When he wakes, the room is empty, she is gone.

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