The Knave opened up a portable throne and placed a cushion on the seat. “I must gird my loins,” said the Queen. She removed her skirt and stood in a pair of pantalettes, with a harness around her hips. Set into the harness was a slender godemiche or dildo made of bone but covered in white silk, embroidered with the royal monogram.

“Come here, maiden Alice,” commanded the queen.

“Yes, your Majesty?” asked Alice. She was not sure what was expected of her, but her self-consciousness had formed itself into a burning in her cunny, which now felt as moist as a mouth that expects to be fed.

“Would you like to sit facing me, or back-to-front?”

Alice was now standing quite close to the Queen, whose features were more handsome than delicate, and whose whole demeanor unnerved Alice, despite her desire to be deflowered and honored for it.

“Back-to-front, if it please Your Majesty,” she answered.

“You please me greatly, my dear,” said the Queen, smiling so broadly that she looked almost amiable. She wrapped her arms around Alice’s backside and pulled her forward until Alice was standing between the Queen’s knees. The Queen then held Alice’s left breast and lifted it while bending down to bestow a long, sucking kiss on its hard little nubbin. She then switched sides to give its twin the same treatment.

“I could spend the whole day kissing you, Alice,” she said, “but we have more serious business to attend to. You must sit on my lap and lower yourself onto my love-spear until you are fully seated like a general in the saddle. It will hurt you a little the first time, but once the deed is done, you will be glad for it.”

Alice climbed onto the Queen’s lap, and found that even the royal thighs were hard under their thin covering. Nervously, Alice reached back and positioned the godemiche so that it barely penetrated her lower lips. As the Queen held her arms to steady her, Alice began a slow backward descent.

“Go, Alice!” shouted one of the men in livery.

“Be brave, Alice!” urged the Knave.

“Open yourself for me, darling!” added the Mad Hatter.

“Courage, dear!” said Dinah the cat, the throbbing rhythm of a heartbeat faintly audible in her voice.

The group of onlookers began clapping in rhythm as Alice lowered herself, inch by inch, onto the very solid object that forged a path where none had gone before. “Oh!” she said, feeling a burning tear deep inside her. Luckily, the fluid she had produced earlier helped pave the way.

—

“Becoming Alice” appears in The Princess and the Outlaw: Tales from the Torrid Past (Lethe) and The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 13 (Running Press).

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Jean Roberta teaches English and creative writing in a Canadian university, and writes in several genres. Her fantasy erotica includes “Taste” in Best Erotic Fantasy and Science Fiction, “Smoke” in Best Fantastic Erotica, and “The Way to a Man’s Heart” in Like a Sword, all from Circlet. Her bisexual pirate saga, The Flight of the Black Swan: A Bawdy Novella (Lethe) is available in several formats, including audiobook. She blogs here: www.ohgetagrip.blogspot.com and here: www.erotica-readers.blogspot.com.  More here: www.JeanRoberta.com

The moon is full tonight.  I can’t see it shining on the billows of snow outdoors, but I know they look like the curves of a voluptuous woman, sparkling like a queen’s jewels.   I want to remember all the words of that French song:  my country is winter.  Je suis une citoyenne de l’hiver.

I can’t sleep, even though my comforter is as warm and soft as the sympathy of an old friend.  Tara’s last words are like an annoying song in my head:  “You’re not really my type.  You can’t meet my needs.  Let’s face it.  I’m not putting you down, but you have to admit it.”  Her canned speech was meant to justify her escape, so she could rush into the arms of Bo the jock, heartthrob of the under-30 crowd.  I wonder how long the new couple will last.

If the three of us were stranded in the northern woods, I wonder who would survive.  My womanly body can withstand the cold, and I have good instincts.  Weightlifter’s muscles and cuteness don’t catch fish or muskrats or rabbits.  Political correctness and popularity don’t count in a life-or-death situation.  Some women have lived such trendy urban lives that they never get to meet their true selves.

A warm heart behind warm breasts always counts, or it should.  I would appreciate a woman with my qualities.  I would hold a woman like that with all my strength, and not let her go.  I could live in a cave with a woman like me, exploring her body like an old-time voyageur ranging over the True North.   Pressed against her in our bed, I would start with her breasts.

Tits like mine deserve hands like mine:  knowing hands that can support them, making them feel weightless but generous.  The homage of those hands would send tingles from the flash-points of my hard nipples through my warm flesh, over my ribs and all up and down the central power line of my spine.  My belly would flutter, and my clit would turn on like a lightbulb.

In the short days and long nights of winter, I could spend months in bed with a woman like me.  We would not give a damn about the world outside, and we wouldn’t lose interest in each other like bored children looking for new toys.

My old, favorite toys would give us endless pleasure.  I wouldn’t even mind getting out of bed to look through my sock drawer for my thick purple candle with the undulating shape that looks like a Coke bottle on speed.  A woman like me would love to be stroked with a thing like that, and she wouldn’t care what it was made for.  Women like me are household witches who can make magic out of anything that comes to hand.

Wax grows warmer and softer when you play with it, almost like human flesh. My candle is more responsive than some women.  More reliable too.  Rubbing it between my lower lips makes me feel as if I’m melting and changing shape inside.

I want to be filled to bursting by someone like me.  I can smell my own heat, and it warms the space between my sheets like some essential oil.  My candle absorbs more of me each time.  Someday it will smell more like me than I do, and then I can share it with a woman who will appreciate it whenever I can’t be with her.

I am the butch and the femme, the doer and the done-to.  The right woman would value my versatility.  I am persistent.  I’m almost there.  Just a little more — oh!  Yes!  I am so good for me.

How I wish I could hibernate in my cozy suite until spring.  I’m not sure the rest of the world is ready for me yet.

—

“Hibernation” appears in the charity anthology, Coming Together: By Hand (www.eroticanthology.com)

—

Jean Roberta teaches English and creative writing in a Canadian university, and writes in several genres. Her fantasy erotica includes “Taste” in Best Erotic Fantasy and Science Fiction, “Smoke” in Best Fantastic Erotica, and “The Way to a Man’s Heart” in Like a Sword, all from Circlet. Her bisexual pirate saga, The Flight of the Black Swan: A Bawdy Novella (Lethe) is available in several formats, including audiobook. She blogs here: www.ohgetagrip.blogspot.com and here: www.erotica-readers.blogspot.com.  More here: www.JeanRoberta.com