Alex's heart thumped in his chest as he passed through the doors that separated the cloakroom from the main house. It always did when he first entered these gatherings. It was the promise of the liberties ahead; the anticipation of lustful unions.
The party theme was Carrollian fantasy and his mask, a grinning Cheshire Cat, was all that adorned his naked body. He had made the mask himself, and enjoyed the creative process, but couldn't quite recall what had inspired him this time to build - rather than to buy - his disguise.
He walked through the main rooms of the house, passing men and women - masked as he was - in various stages of undress and of play with one another.
Wonderland, whilst perhaps not an original theme, was an apt one and he felt a resurgence of that slight nauseous, giddy excitement that had accompanied him when he had been new and first wandered into that wild, wicked world that lay beneath the respectable surface of the everyday life.
And yet something was missing, something incomplete. About him, the carnal vistas of fornication were on display, but they remained strangely unappealing.
With almost banal predictability, Alice was a popular choice of costume for the attending women and he passed by rooms of Alice's fondling and Alice's fucking, their cheap costumes a gaudy reminder that the fantastical theme was but a fragile veneer for the real purpose of the party.
Alex sighed. He loved sex and enjoyed sex parties, but the reality of the gatherings could never measure up to the fantasies of his imagination, nor to the fantasies that had guided his hands in the weeks before as the Cheshire Cat mask had been brought to life.
His hardness throbbed and ached for release, but he felt no inclination to satiate his lust with any of the couples or groups on offer. Without knowing where or why he was moving in search of something more.
'Over here, Alex'
Alex stopped dead. The sign, entwined with rose-vines, seemed to sprout from the floor at the end of the hallway as though planted there.
He frowned, then glanced back at the other patrons in the hall. They were too enthralled with their pleasures to notice him and he looked back at the sign.
'This way, Alex'. It had changed.
"Curious," he whispered to himself.
The sign was pointing at a side corridor in the wall and he found before he'd time to properly consider why he was walking down this new path.
The corridor was tiled in a chessboard of red and white, and the plain unadorned walls seemed to ripple as he moved. With the sounds of the party growing fainter behind him, Alex moved ever on and, almost to comfort himself, he found his lips reciting the first verse from Jabbercock.
"Naked, and her slithy heat
- Throbbed and tingled in the bed:
Below, her vanquished foe did eat,
- Tongue-teasing as she spread."
His cock throbbed as the words of the erotic poem tumbled his lips and, as though in sympathy, the walls seemed to throb in time to the cadence.
At the end of the twisting corridor was a large door, its imposing edifice held together by heavy bands of black iron. Ornately carved rose vines snaked their way over the rich dark wood and seemed to curl and point, like natural signposts, toward the handle.
Alex frowned. This door seemed incongruous with the rest of the house; older, richer, more secretive. It was a door that he could imagine barring the way to a garden.
"Curiouser and curiouser," he said, his hand extending to the heavy iron handle. It turned far easier than he'd expected, with the faintest to clicks, and the heavy door swung open with a force Alex had not supplied.
His instincts about the door had proven right for as he stepped through the portal he found this was not simply another playroom but, rather, a contained garden.
The conservatory covered him in a great, vaulted archway of glass and metal. Rosebushes grew along the path that ran the length of the structure, their thorny fingers twisting up into bright blooms; virginal white petals stained a carnal red by the paint that had been applied in careless, haphazard strokes.
Ahead, the conservatory splayed out into a circular room where he could see a throng of naked people, masked as he was, and gathered in an excited, cheering mob.
They were undoubtedly like he, masked guests, but their disguises were far superior to those of the crowd in the main house. And there was something more. These people seemed not just to be wearing their masks but to be living their parts. Alex wondered faintly whether these might be actors hired by the party organisers to lend an air of theatricality to the carnal pursuits of the evening.
Their cheering grew louder as he approached and, with his view obscured and driven by curiosity, Alex moved to join them. Almost at a silent command those members blocking his view parted, and he was welcomed into the gathering.
In the middle of the conservatory was a long table. Teacups and cake stands that had once adorned the centre were now pushed to its perimeter, some tumbled onto their sides and some of them scattered on the floor around where they had fallen.
At one end of the table, standing upon a chair and masked as the Mad March Hare was a naked man, erect and firm, and holding an oversize stopwatch in his hand.
In the centre of the table lay a man on his back. This mask was unknown to Alex, but the figure sitting atop him was unmistakable.
With her flaming red hair cascading from beneath the enormous hat and tumbling over her naked breasts the Mad Hatter, her head thrown back in pure ecstasy rode the man in a wild frenzy of fucking.
"Twenty seconds!" cried the Hare, stamping his foot on the chair in excitement.
The crowd whooped again as the call was given, and began to urge the Hatter on. The Hatter, lost in the pleasure of her perversion, ground herself harder and faster against the shaft.
"Ten seconds!" yelled the Hare.
At the call, the man on the table - unable to withstand the onslaught of the fucking - gave a yell of his own and thrust his body upward into the welcoming warmth of the Hatter, driving her over the edge into a furious, bucking climax. She cried out to the skies as she came, the volcano within her erupting into boiling waves of pleasure whilst the man on the table, his orgasm subsided and his cock spent, collapsed back.
The crowd exploded into a roar of approval at the scene and, after a few moments, the man was helped down from the table by several of the crowd, upsetting yet more of the tea things.
At a command from the Hare, the Hatter lent obediently forward onto all fours on the table, her dripping pussy flashing at the crowd behind whilst her parted, panting lips faced the Hare who returned her gaze with loving, lusting eyes.
"Change places!" cried the crowd and, in his eagerness, a man wearing the mask of the white rabbit stepped forward.
The March Hare wrenched his glare from the Hatter and snarled a warning, the Rabbit shrinking back to the crowd with a yelp of fear.
Then the Mad Hare, his wild eyes like a searchlight, swung his gaze over the assembled guests. At length, his eyes came to rest on Alex and he extended a pointing finger.
"Cheshire Cat," he commanded. "Onto the table and behind the Hatter."
Drawn partly by his lust for the woman before him, and partly by the commanding glare of the Hare and the whooping crowd that supported him, Alex found himself approaching the table as though in a dream, siren-led against any will of his own.
The Hatter remained on all fours, her heaving breasts slick with sweat and her glistening, sodden lips still dripping with the juice of her orgasm.
At another command from the Hare, he climbed up onto the table and moved behind the Hatter. His nostrils flared as they drank in the sweet scent of her nectar, and his cock twitched wildly in anticipation.
The Hare, seemingly the ruler and arbiter of the Hatter's pleasures, set his stopwatch and glared at Alex. "You have one minute, tomcat!" he grinned. Then he gave a snicker. "Ready, my dear pussy?" he asked them both.
