Such Stuff Ch 21

Part 21

Who Stole the Tarts?

Lizzie was dreaming again.

Another day gone. Not an unpleasant day. Far from it—the land she was in was lovely, the people interesting, friendly and fun, Conrad was locked in his tower unable to spoil her day but even from there he was interfering with her in her dreams—it was just that Lizzie wanted to go home.

Another night of rest. A pleasing prospect? Perhaps, but Lizzie was a little frightened about falling asleep. What might Conrad try now?

She drifted off.

A rather sweet dream it seemed to be to Lizzie as she stood outside a rather quaint gothic building with a great wooden door. There seemed no dan­ger. She pushed at the door, opening it and went into a courthouse.

The King and Queen of Hearts were seated on their throne with a great crowd assembled about them—all sorts of little birds and beasts, as well as the whole pack of cards: near the King was the White Rabbit, with a trumpet in one hand, and a scroll of parchment in the other. In the very middle of the court was a table, with a large dish of tarts upon it: they looked so good, that it made Lizzie quite hungry to look at them—"I wish they'd get the trial done," she thought, "and hand round the refreshments!" But there seemed to be no chance of this, so she began looking at everything about her, to pass away the time.

Lizzie had never been in a court of justice before, but she had read about them in books, and she was quite pleased to find that she knew the name of nearly everything there. "That's the judge," she said to herself, "because of his great wig."

The judge, by the way, was the King; and as he wore his crown over the wig, he did not look at all comfortable, and it was certainly not becoming.

"And that's the jury-box," thought Lizzie, "and those twelve crea­tures," (she was obliged to say 'creatures,' you see, because some of them were animals, and some were birds,) "I suppose they are the jurors. This must be the trial of the Knave of Hearts, yes there he is, looking downcast"

The twelve jurors were all writing very busily on slates.

"What are they doing?" Lizzie whispered to the Gryphon. "They can't have anything to put down yet, before the trial's begun."

"They're putting down their names," the Gryphon whispered in reply, "for fear they should forget them before the end of the trial."

"Stupid things!" Lizzie began in a loud, indignant voice, but she stopped hastily, for the White Rabbit cried out, "Silence in the court!" and the King put on his spectacles and looked anxiously round, to make out who was talking.

"Herald, read the accusation!" said the King.

On this the White Rabbit blew three blasts on the trumpet, and then un­rolled the parchment scroll, and read as follows:—

'The Queen of Hearts, she made some tarts,

All on a summer day:

The Maid of Hearts, she stole those tarts,

And took them quite away!'

"Consider your verdict," the King said to the jury.

"Not yet, not yet!' the Rabbit hastily interrupted. "There's a great deal to come before that!"

"Bring the prisoner forward then, and be quick about it."

Lizzie looked at the Knave but to her surprise the Rabbit pushed at her urging her forward. All eyes were on her and several of the jury, not least a bright yellow and black wasp she had not noticed at first, were pointing at her, whispering and shaking their heads.

"This is not how it is in the book," thought Lizzie recognising the wasp as Conrad. Once again he was invading her dreams, invading her mind, but now from his lonely sojourn in the Tower Innominate. "There is certainly no wasp in Wonderland and it is the Knave of Hearts who stole the tarts."

"Call the first witness," said the King; and the White Rabbit blew three blasts on the trumpet, and called out, "First witness!"

The first witness was the Hatter. He came in with a teacup in one hand and a piece of bread-and-butter in the other. "I beg pardon, your Majesty,' he began, 'for bringing these in: but I hadn't quite finished my tea when I was sent for."

"You ought to have finished,' said the King. 'When did you begin?'

The Hatter looked at the March Hare, who had followed him into the court, arm-in-arm with the Dormouse. "Fourteenth of March, I think it was," he said. The Dormouse sat down next to Lizzie looking quite worn out.

"Fifteenth," said the March Hare.

"Sixteenth," added the Dormouse.

"Write that down," the King said to the jury, and the jury eagerly wrote down all three dates on their slates, and then added them up, and reduced the answer to shillings and pence.

"Three shillings and nine pence," said Conrad quickly and loudly (and smugly).

The Queen glared at him.

Just at this moment Lizzie felt a very curious sensation, which she recog­nised: she was beginning to grow larger again, and she thought at first she would get up and leave the court; but she was the prisoner and would have to remain where she was as long as there was room for her. She was growing away from being a little girl and back into being a young woman again. Her dress was filling out as her breasts pushed the front of her dress away from her.

"I wish you wouldn't squeeze so," said the Dormouse, who was sitting next to her. "I can hardly breathe."

"I can't help it,' said Lizzie very meekly: "I'm growing."

"You've no right to grow here," said the Dormouse.

"Don't talk nonsense,' said Lizzie more boldly: "you know you're growing too.'" And indeed the Dormouse was growing too but only in a single respect. The pressure of Lizzie's warm body against him and the sight of her breasts pushing at her dress revealing an almost indecent amount of cleavage was clearly disturbing him, causing him to have thoughts it is perhaps best not to have in a court room when you are lacking clothing and, moreover, are in a public place. He was about to be greatly embarrassed; his penis was rising out of his fur, rising in a very obvious and prominent manner.

"Oh, what am I to do? Look what you are doing, this is your fault causing me to grow at anything but a reasonable pace and in this ridiculous fashion, what are you going to do about it?" hurriedly whispered the Dormouse who by now was anything but sleepy. "You must do something, hide me — hide it."

Lizzie had nothing to hide the burgeoning cock with, nothing but her hand. Calmly but quickly she placed her hand over the Dormouse's cock and glanced around the Courtroom with a smile, and an attempt at a look of com­plete unconcern on her face, to see if anyone had noticed. Nobody had, they were all too busy watching the proceedings or worrying about what the Queen might say — except of course Conrad who was staring straight at Lizzie and grinning broadly, and, not surprisingly, the Dormouse. The Dormouse had cer­tainly noticed with a squeak as Lizzie's warm fingers closed around his penis.

Lizzie could feel it under her fingers all warm, smooth, hard and still grow­ing. She glanced down, it was not visible under her hand but if it did not stop growing it soon would be.

Lizzie was in a quandary. What could she do? If she moved her hand away the Dormouse's embarrassment would be visible for all to see, if she left her hand where it was the sensation and its very presence would keep the Dor­mouse hard and therefore unable to move. What was more, Lizzie was still growing and there would shortly not be room enough for both of them on the seat and, being the accused, it was not possible for her to move. The Dormouse would have to move but, surely, he could not walk erect across the Courtroom. What would the King say—moreover what would the Queen say? What could Lizzie do, what new plan could she devise? She had to make the cock smaller.

Gently, surreptitiously, Lizzie began to stroke the Dormouse's cock. He was quite beside himself, going red in the face, all thought of sleep or tea for­gotten. Lizzie gazed up at the King as if concentrating totally on what he had to say rather than what her fingers were doing. The Dormouse was not used to manual attention from a pretty girl, an endless round of tea with the Hatter and March Hare was his usual lot. The success of Lizzie's stratagem was not long in being achieved. A sudden spurt of warm sticky wetness on and be­tween Lizzie's fingers denoted her plan had worked. It was not long before she could remove her hand.

She sat, demurely licking her fingers as if nothing untoward had hap­pened. The Dormouse got up very smugly and crossed over to the other side of the court, all potential for embarrassment having subsided.

All this time the Queen had never left off staring at the Hatter, and, just as the Dormouse crossed the court, she whispered to one of the officers of the court, on which the wretched Hatter trembled so, that he shook both his shoes off.

"Take off your hat," the King said to the Hatter.

"It isn't mine," said the Hatter.

"Stolen!" the King exclaimed, turning to the jury, who instantly made a memorandum of the fact, "just like the tarts. They too were stolen. Her guilt is proven." He pointed at Lizzie and all the jurors looked at her. "What made you do it... Maid?" The King looked round expectantly. Nobody laughed.

"This is all wrong," cried Lizzie.

"Much you know about it," said the King.

"It's not me but the Knave of Hearts who should be on trial—he stole the tarts you know!"

"Ha, adding slander to your misdemeanours, this really is too much."

"I am not the Maid of Hearts. Look at me; I don't wear a heart on my dress. See, you all have your suit displayed. Observe, your Majesties, you wear the heart and there is the Three of Clubs, there is the Seven of Diamonds. Even the Knave has Hearts, and, I do know, he stole the tarts."

"Strip the prisoner — she must stand naked so we can all see her and as­sess her guilt"

"Or not, your Majesty," said the White Rabbit

"Where?" said the King apparently startled and then looking around the court with a smile. There was a dead silence.

"It's a pun!" the King added in an offended tone, and everybody laughed, "My joke, you see, Hornet, like a wasp only bigger."

Conrad caught Lizzie's eye and smiled his smug smile.

"Off with her clothes," said the Queen.

"The witness will help."

The Hatter was not actually much help. He fumbled around but his fin­gers were so shaky that he could not undo bows or buttons or anything. It could not have helped that Lizzie did not want to strip in the middle of a packed courtroom. She did not wish to be exposed to the view of all. The jurors lent forward expectantly. Even the Dormouse, already satisfied by Lizzie, awoke and his sleepy eyes watched the process of the disrobing.

As the last shred of clothing was removed Lizzie stamped her foot crossly causing her breasts to shake and shouted, "I did not steal those tarts, it was him, the Knave" and she pointed her finger at the Knave who was keeping very quiet.

But the jurors and the whole court were not looking at the Knave but star­ing at Lizzie as if she had told a great falsehood. They were not looking at her face but lower, much lower, indeed at her sex. Lizzie's eyes slowly followed their gaze downwards and saw her pubic hair; her tight golden curls had been trimmed, neatly trimmed and shaved to form a perfect heart shape.

"Contempt of Court, lying under oath, the case proven," cried the King. "Fetch my black skull cap. The punishment must be swift."

"There's more evidence to come yet, please your Majesty," said the White Rabbit, jumping up in a great hurry.

"I, for one, do not believe she is a maid at all," said the Queen, "there is no innocence in that face or, I suspect, anywhere else. Examine her."

"And what if she is a maid?" asked the White Rabbit.

"Then her guilt is twice proven. Off with her maidenhead"

Lizzie stood naked with all the creatures, cards and the Hatter staring at her, taking in the beauty of her body. It was humiliating, embarrassing but, Lizzie remembered, this was not her body and, in any case, it was not a real experience but only a dream.

"You must be examined, please lie across this table at once," the White Rabbit swept books, parchments and other paraphernalia of the courtroom from the great oak table.

"I shan't," said Lizzie firmly. But there was no shortage of volunteers to hold her down, to take her arms and legs and lift her and hold her down on the table. Poor Lizzie was soon on the table with her head towards the court. Her struggles were to no avail.

"No, no the other way. The jury must see all," cried the Queen.

Lizzie was spun round on the slippery shiny top of the well polished table­top and her knees forced apart revealing not just her golden curls so carefully trimmed to a heart shape but the pink folds that lay beneath. Everyone craned his or her neck forward for a better view.

A debate developed as to who should do the examining. Eventually, to set­tle the argument, the King took it upon himself to undertake the task. He stood peering at Lizzie, his gaze travelling up from her pretty knees, up the smooth insides of her thighs to the golden curls and the curves of her sex. He was a bit short sighted and, placing a gold pince nez on his nose, ordered Lizzie's hips brought right to the end of the table. He bent close to her, so close she could feel his breath on the delicate folds of her sex. She jumped at the first touch of his finger upon her, a tentative touch at the very edge of her sex where the gold­en hairs grew.

"Well, what have you found?" demanded the Queen.

"Nothing as yet."

"Get on with it, we haven't all day. Is she or is she not a maid?"

Despite the embarrassment, but this was of course only a dream, Lizzie found the great interest being shown in her sex strangely arousing. Perhaps back before her adventures in dreams and beyond had come to her she would not have reacted the same way. But all she had seen and experienced sexually was changing her, readying her for new and different triggers to her arousal. She could feel herself becoming moist and she realised that the King and oth­ers would able to see the thickening of her lips as the blood rushed to them and the tell tale wet sheen of a girl ready for intercourse.

The King did not like to be hurried, not even by the Queen, and he was careful to direct his fingers all around Lizzie's sex before attempting to enter. Quite unnecessarily, he spent some moments moving the little bud of her, now hard, clitoris around causing Lizzie to bite her lip to keep an appearance of calm.

The volunteers holding Lizzie's limbs were well aware of the charged sexu­al nature of the scene. They could see Lizzie's nipples rise and harden and if, because they were holding her arms, they could not see the swelling of her sex they could catch the scent of her arousal. The arousal was transmitted to them and indeed there was a very great deal of sympathetic swelling within the trousers and breeches of the assembled men, cards and creatures in the court­room.

The King inserted a finger. There was no resistance; it slipped easily in until it was lost from view. He tried a second and then a third. Again no resis­tance, no obstruction, they slid easily up the moist canal. Without thinking he began to push the bunched fingers in and out of Lizzie simulating the motion of intercourse. Lizzie in her dream moaned—it was a very good feeling.

"Well?" demanded the Queen.

"I can find no evidence she is a maid."

"The Accused must be fully tested," stated the White Rabbit reading from a great leather bound book on court procedure.

"Well, if I must, I must," the King said, with a melancholy air.

It was clear to Lizzie what this meant but she thought the execution unlike­ly. The King, after all was nothing but a member of a pack of cards and, in es­sentials, merely of two dimensions rather than three. Lizzie could not see that a two dimensional cock, a flat cardboard penis, was going to be of much use to her. It would, in any case, get rather damp and, being made entirely of card­board, might lose its rigidity when wet. She was not sure his fingers now had the same effect they had at first, after they had pushed in and out of her a few times.

"But I think the task should fall on the witness," said the King folding his arms and frowning at the Hatter.

"I'd rather finish my tea," said the Hatter, with an anxious look at the Queen.

The King resumed his accustomed place on the throne and signalled for the Hatter to begin. "Give your evidence, or I'll have you executed, whether you're nervous or not."

"I'm a poor man, your Majesty," the Hatter began, in a trembling voice, "-and I hadn't begun my tea—not above a week..."

"You'll need to take your trousers off," said the King helpfully.

Lizzie watched the Hatter in some surprise. He was a tall, angular man given to shakes and it took him some time to remove his trousers, what with his coat getting in the way of his braces and all, but there he stood with his long surprisingly thin cock jutting out of his long shirt, its bulbous ruddy head bobbing in time with his heartbeat.

"Well?" said the Queen.

The King burst into laughter. The Queen glared at him. "Well - you know, to plumb its depths or indeed," his voice began to falter under the Queen's gaze, "her depths — that's what we want the witness to... to do," he ended lame­ly.

The Queen turned back to the Hatter, "proceed."

The Hatter looked uncomfortable with everyone looking at him - particu­larly the Queen and, as a consequence, he was beginning to droop a bit. Nonetheless he stepped forward and prepared to apply himself.

Lizzie was held firm by the officers of the court, all of who would rather have been in the Hatter's place, her sex conveniently at the end of the oaken table held open and ready. The Hatter took his cock in hand and stroked it up Lizzie's lips and touched her clit with its tip. It was visible to the Court that he had recovered from his fright and was now rigid and ready to engage. A pearly drop of semen appeared at the very tip.

"It's been a long time..." he began.

"Get on with it," cried the Queen.

The Hatter pushed and the bulbous head of his cock slipped into Lizzie and disappeared. He pushed forward and the long thin shaft shortened as it too entered Lizzie and was lost from sight. Smoothly the whole cock slid into Lizzie without a pause or any difficulty.

"Ha! That PROVES her guilt," cried the Queen, "not a maid at all!"

The King turned pale. "Consider your verdict," he said to the jury, in a low, trembling voice.

"There's more evidence to come yet, please your Majesty," said the White Rabbit.

"What else is to come?"

"Come?" cried the Hatter, "yes I think I...!"

It had all been too exciting for the Hatter, the hot wetness around his cock, the gentle friction, the slipperiness and the vision of Lizzie held down helpless, naked and exposed before him was just too much. He began pulsing into Lizzie as his cock pumped backwards and forwards between her thighs. Lizzie could feel the spurting, the pushing and pulling but could not come herself — howev­er much she wanted to.

"The Witness has come," announced the White Rabbit.

"The deuce he has!" Exclaimed the King.

"No, the Hatter, your Majesty."

"Having come, you may go," said the King, and the Hatter hurriedly left the court, without even waiting to put his trousers on.

"- and just take his head off outside," the Queen added to one of the offi­cers: but the Hatter was out of sight before the officer could get to the door.

Poor frustrated Lizzie was still held down upon the table, aroused but un­fulfilled. But a curious thing was happening—she was continuing to grow and was now really too large for the officers of the court to restrain her. With an ef­fort she pulled herself free and stood defiantly trying to ignore the result of the Hatter's efforts which was beginning to make its way down the inside of her thighs. This was not lost on Conrad who grinned at her from the jury box.