I'm beginning to realize that this is all a dream. It has to be, and if I pinch myself I won't feel anything, I'll just wake up, naked and sweating in a pool of my satin sheets.
I pinch myself, and it hurts, and I'm still in an alleyway. Dorothy is still laying next to me, breathing heavily and trying to come to her senses. Toto is still here, though noticeably frightened, and he swiftly clomps off into the wilderness of the concrete jungle.
I never liked Toto anyway.
So it's just Dorothy and I now, lying naked and flushed in a New York alleyway, surrounded by debris from Kansas, debris that I'm guessing is about seventy or more years old by this timeline. Scattered all around us are piles of grass, boards, and dirt.
It looks like a tornado hit this place, haha.
This is a change for the better though, really. I look forward to leaving the Wizard of Oz references behind me. There are no Munchkins here. No Yellow Brick Road. No green-skinned witches on broomsticks.
And thank god, no flying monkeys.
Now, if we can just find some clothes. I help Dorothy to her feet, and visually sift through the remains of the alleyway, looking for something to cover ourselves up with. Being a model and all, it's my job to be naked, or mostly naked at the least, so this really shouldn't be a problem if you look at it that way.
But Dorothy, on the other hand, is a different story. Granted, I know she was the one who seduced me and all, but she came from a time and age when it was considered unladylike to expose much more than your ankles. I can't imagine she'd feel too comfortable marching around these city streets wearing nothing but a smile.
Throughout the entire alleyway, I couldn't find a single thing to cover ourselves up with but dented old trash can lids. Gripping each handle tightly, we covered our breasts with one lid, and our nether regions with the other. Lacking a third arm, as most humans do, this left our asses swaying in the breeze as we walked out into the crowded streets of Manhattan.
I could feel a hundred, a thousand, a million eyes on us as we searched for a place to get some clothing. The amused look on people's faces as we walked by told me we were on our own.
Let the beautiful women expose themselves all they like. It's more fun that way, right? And my, what amazing asses they have.
At last, Dorothy opens her mouth, her eyes wide with curiosity like a child. "Where are we?" she asks, forgetting to keep herself covered as she stares at lumbering metal beasts on wheels and buildings twenty times as tall as her little log cabin back in Kansas.
I wonder briefly how long ago that little log cabin was destroyed to make way for a highway or a new annex to Kansas City, martyred for suburbia.
A newspaper vendor tells me it's 1978 and I tell Dorothy we're in the heart of New York City. Suddenly I'm curious what year it was that I had sex with her, and I ask her.
"1903," she tells me, and falls silent again.
It's really funny how things work out this way. By my own internal clock I was tied to a table-leg in Kansas with Dorothy's pussy in my face not a half an hour ago, but in reality, seventy-five years, give or take a few months, have gone by.
We walked in silence as I chewed on this thought for awhile.
Somewhere near the Tri-Borough Bridge exit, a taxi pulled over near us and the driver motioned for us to get in. We don't have any money, I told him, but he beckoned us in anyway. We climbed into the back seat together, still covered sparingly by trash can lids. 142nd & Broadway, I told the driver.
I thought that we'd go back to my mother's flat, and we could borrow some of her clothes. Steal, to be more exact. I had no doubt in my mind that there would be no opportunity to return them.
Snapping out of my reverie, I saw the numbered street signs flashing by in the wrong direction.
Ninety-sixth street.
Ninety-fifth street.
Ninety-fourth street.
Where are you going, I asked the driver, leaning over the back seat.
"You won't need to be going back home, Nikki," he told me. "There's someone in the village you're going to want to meet. You too, Dorothy." He turned to us, not watching the road at all, and grinned.
I didn't like it, not one bit.
Dorothy piped up. "How do you know my name?"
I was more interested in how he knew mine, considering I hadn't even told Dorothy yet. How did you know, I demanded, forgetting all about my trash can lids as they clattered to the floor.
"There are eyes from the future watching you," he said. "Each step you take is being documented and recorded, and everything you do has an incredible impact. You are reshaping the future, girls." His grin was wide against his flat, broad nose.
He reminded me of a certain winged monkey I remember from my childhood, right down to the hat and the vest.
I want out of this cab, right now.
"Relax, relax," he crooned. All of the doors were locked from the inside. "We'll be there very soon, ladies."
Sure enough, we were on the outskirts of Greenwich Village within minutes. "End of the line, ladies," he said, and released the lock on the doors. He took our trash can lids from us, leaving us completely exposed again. "Now, I'll be needing to return these to their rightful place, so you two will just have to find some other way to cover up for now." That shark-toothed grin. "It's not far now."
We climbed out of the cab, each with one arm covering breasts, the other arm covering our crotch, and watched as the taxi cab sped away, rounding a corner.
Gone.
If I ever had any intention of stealing my mother's clothes, it was out of the question now. From the village to 142nd street is an awfully long walk when you're nude. I took Dorothy by the hand, exposing my nipples to the warm summer air, and led her towards the heart of the village.
We passed stand after stand of cheap goods being sold for mostly outrageous prices, and it seemed like the same thing over and over, like we were going in circles.
Sunglasses.
Necklaces.
T-shirts.
Patches.
Sunglasses.
Sunglasses.
Sunglasses.
I'd never seen so many sunglasses in my life.
I couldn't imagine where we were supposed to go, or who we were supposed to meet, so we just kept walking, for what seemed forever. I noticed a slight problem.
It seemed that all this public nudity was getting Dorothy a little hot and bothered. She wasn't just covering her pussy with her hand, she was stroking it. I could see glistening moisture on her fingers, and thin trails running down the inside of her thigh. Her eyelids were fluttering those long lashes, and she seemed half asleep.
Stop that, I told her.
She withdrew her fingers from her sex, and put them to her mouth in an 'oh no, I'm so sorry' gesture, but I knew she was only tasting herself on her fingertips. "Sorry" she said.
I couldn't deny I was feeling it too. I wanted to scissor my legs with Dorothy's right here and now in the street, and thrust myself against her until we pass out. I wanted to feel her long fingers inside of me, twisting and probing until I cum on her hand, muscles spasming around her fingers.
A hard tap on my shoulder brings my fantasy to a screeching halt so quickly I can smell the burning rubber, and I thought I would jump right out of my skin. A little boy with a lollipop across the street was staring at me as he was dragged along by his mother. I can imagine it now.
Hey mommy, why did the naked lady scream?
Because she's crazy, dear. There are lots of crazy people in this city.
I am going crazy.
The tapper brought herself into view. Goth before goth was fashionable, that long, straight black hair. The low-cut, form-fitting black dress. Tarnished silver rings on every finger, capped by an elegantly shaped fingernail. Painted black, of course. Milky white skin contrasting against the dark eyes, rimmed with eyeliner, accented by heavy mascara, lips a deep shade of black that shine purple in the light.
My queen of darkness.
"You two look like you could use some help," she blurted, unable to stop nervously glancing at our nude bodies. Her tongue parted her lips, slowly gliding between them.
Look at her, just bubbling with excitement. It's disgusting really. With clothes like that, shouldn't she be moping all over the sidewalk, moments away from suicide?
I can hear the Cure playing on in my head, but here she is with that shit-eating grin on her face, looking like she's about to explode with glee.
This is scary.
Yes, I suppose we could, I tell her.
She leads us to her apartment. It smells strongly of incense, and thick drapes block out the sunlight. Candlelight flickers softly on wrought iron furniture and walls cluttered with oil paintings. Wall hangings of the sun, moon, and the stars in every direction. The studio apartment is slightly cramped, what you might call cozy.
The lair of the vampire.
I had a sudden urge to hold a seance.
We sat down on a long, black leather couch, and I could feel moisture pooling up underneath me already, my sweat running together with my more sexual secretions. I'd be embarrassed to stand, later on. I need something to take my mind off my throbbing sex drive.
Like clothes.
What's your name, I ask the vampire princess. I'm waiting for her to tell me she's the Wicked Witch of the West. I know it's coming. I can feel it.
Say it.
"Scarecrow," she says, giggling.
Damn.
This lacks all the magic for Dorothy. After all, the Scarecrow is supposed to do a rubber-legged dance, and sing a cute little song. The Scarecrow here, well, she's just a girl. A skinny, pale, fragile little girl.
The more I think about it, the more it feels right.
Dorothy puts her hand on my thigh, her fingertip tracing small circles.
The Scarecrow notices this and sits next to me on the couch.
"So why are you girls naked, anyway?" she asks, staring at our bodies. She brushes her long black hair out of her face and tucks it behind her ear.
It's kind of a long story, I say, apologizing more than I am explaining.
Dorothy simultaneously blurts out, "Magic!"
The Scarecrow likes Dorothy's answer better, and she drops in front of Dorothy, looking up into those big brown eyes of hers. "Tell me," she says, giddy as your average high school cheer leader, her hands resting on Dorothy's knees.
"Well I'm Dorothy, and this here's Nikki. I was out milking the cows..."
The Scarecrow's face contorted for a moment in confusion.
"...when I saw a bright flash, and there was Nikki laying out in the field, there were all these strange objects laying around her. She was wet, and naked like she was just born!" she said, her head nodding in that cute way as she told the story, just like the Dorothy I remember, as played by Judy Garland.
The Scarecrow gasped, that sensuous tongue of hers licking her thin lips. "Naked?" she asked, her fingertips rubbing the exposed flesh above her breasts.
"Yeah, and she was moaning and screaming, I didn't know what was happening, so I got Pa." She paused. "I asked Pa what was wrong with her as we carried her back to the cabin." She leaned closer to the Scarecrow, close enough to kiss. She was whispering now.
"He said she had an orgasm."
Right, and if orgasms were fish, I had caught a great white shark.
The Scarecrow giggled, her eyes intent on Dorothy's nipples. She was breathing heavily now.
"I didn't know what an orgasm felt like, but it looked good, and I wanted to try, so when Pa left I got naked too," Dorothy explained, somehow making this sound perfectly normal.
"You mean like this?" the Scarecrow asked, and stood. She reached behind herself, and I heard a zipper go. She peeled her skintight black dress to the floor, wearing nothing underneath. Her sex is completely shaved.
Ghostly in the flickering candlelight, she is strangely beautiful, and I want her intensely.
"Just like that," Dorothy whispers as the Scarecrow straddles her leg, sliding her pussy up Dorothy's thigh. Dorothy's hand snakes between my legs as her tongue snakes into the Scarecrow's mouth, and I spread my legs to allow her nimble fingers in.
The Scarecrow is all over Dorothy, fingers wrapped in her hair as she thrusts her hips sensually against Dorothy's leg, slippery from her secretions. Up and down she slides, moaning into Dorothy's mouth.
I want a bigger part in this play, but I'm meant to watch and be content with Dorothy's magic touch, if she can concentrate that long. I'll get my turn.
The Scarecrow is crying out, loudly, and I imagine if we were out in a field of corn, no bird would come near for all the noise she was making. As an added touch, the closer she came to orgasm, the looser her body became, until she was every bit as limber as the scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz I knew. Cumming explosively, she shuddered and fell backwards to the floor, gasping for breath.
Eager now, I was right there when she hit the floor, already tasting the fluids pulsing from her swollen, tingling pussy. She tried to push me away, but I held onto her thighs, my tongue dancing over her clit the whole time as she orgasmed again and again. "Oh god, stop," she screamed, not really meaning it.
Dorothy's fingers were hard at work on my clit again in a second, positioned behind me as I kneeled between the Scarecrow's long, pale legs. Her fingers feel cool against my scalding hot sex, and in moments my juices are running down my thighs again as I cum on her hand.
It spreads like wildfire through my body, every muscle tensing and quivering, every joint rigid. It felt amazing.
After all, technically, it's been three fourths of a century since I've had an orgasm.
I lay back onto the floor next to the Scarecrow, both of us slowly coming back to our senses. Poor Dorothy sat on the couch, pouting and panting as she was trying to make herself cum, legs spread, eyes clenched shut, and her mouth hanging half open.
"Let us help," the Scarecrow offered. She clambered up to her knees between Dorothy's legs and buried her face in Dorothy's steamy pussy. Reaching underneath her leg, two of my fingers slid easily into Dorothy, thrusting in rhythm with the bucking of her hips. I hefted the weight of one of her large breasts with my other hand, bringing the feast of her nipple to my lips.
It was only a matter of moments before Dorothy was cumming again under our double onslaught. She slid, trembling, to the floor, her vaginal muscles clenching around my fingers, and I lay down beside her.
The summer heat was awful, made worse by our orgasmic adventures, and I was suddenly tired. All I wanted to do was sleep, and it was the first urge I'd had recently that didn't involve sex.
It was strong. Within seconds, I was fast asleep, sprawled naked on the Scarecrow's floor, and I had one last conscious thought before I was out.
Poppies....Poppies will put them to sleep.
I awoke sometime later to find the Scarecrow's leg thrown over mine, and my nipple in her mouth. A sharp bite brings me into painful awareness, and I cry out loudly in a place somewhere in between pleasure and pain.
"Shhh," the Scarecrow tells me, index finger to her thin red lips. She nods in Dorothy's direction, and I see her passed out on the floor, sprawled lewdly like a rag doll.
"Come to my room," the Scarecrow says, pulling me to my feet.
I am about to enter the vampire's den, the haunting place of this beautiful ghost.
She lays me gently down on her bed, and this room is just like the rest of the apartment, all candles and the dark, twisting shapes of wrought iron furniture.
"Relax," she whispers, laying her small body on top of mine. She starts at my temple, kissing downwards towards my ear.
Why are you called the Scarecrow, I ask her. The game today is sex and answers.
"Mostly because of my name," she whispered, barely audible beneath her breathing. "My name is Anna Scarey." She took time out of her explanation to suck my ear lobe. "The name stuck when I started dressing in dark clothes and doing tarot readings, stuff like that. My friends thought it fit."
I wonder if her friends are a tin man and a cowardly lion.
I tilt her chin up and we kiss, my tongue slipping into her hot mouth, her tongue twisting with mine in an intimate spiral. I roll over on the huge bed, taking command of the situation. I need answers.
Do you know a tin man, or a cowardly lion?
She shakes her head, gasping as I suck on the tender flesh of her neck, just below the spot where her jawbone meets her ear. She may not even be paying attention, she's so lost in the moment.
"You never got to.. mmm...finish your story, earlier," she mutters between panting breaths. "Why were you two naked?"
This will sound absurd, I know.
I can hear this in my head, and I can't believe I'm saying these things, taking pauses between each sentence to suck, kiss, or lick some part of the Scarecrows pale, slender body.
Here we go.
I come from the future, I say.
My tongue glides into the U-shaped dip where her collarbone meets the top of her rib cage.
A portal appeared in my shower, and it sucked me in, I tell her.
My lips surround one of her hardened nipples, my tongue swirling around her swollen aereola.
On the other side, it was 1903, I whisper.
My hands caress her small, perky breasts.
On the other side, I was in Kansas, I say, merely breathing the words now.
My tongue rambles down the track formed by the rigid muscles of her stomach.
Dorothy and her father found me passed out in the field, I moan.
I can smell her scent as my tongue passes her navel.
Her father caught me doing this, I say, placing emphasis on 'this', and my tongue navigates her bare mound, darting into her moist slit.
She gasps, and her long black fingernails bite into my shoulders, drawing blood. She gyrates her hips gracefully, keeping time like a metronome with the rhythmic swirling of my tongue.
I part her lips and lose myself completely in the moist pink folds of her warm pussy, my tongue acting on its own and doing a wonderful job.
"Left," Anna the Scarecrow whispers. "No, right," she moans with a sharp intake of breath. "Left," she directs me, even though I know exactly what I'm doing. I'm reminded of the Scarecrow pointing in all directions at the crossroads of the yellow brick road, and completely confusing Dorothy. I won't let that happen.
Imagine Anna's pussy as a map of Oz, and I'm headed towards the most important spot, the place where all the magic happens. The Emerald City, or her clitoris, if you will.
I know the way.
When I reach the Emerald City, the fireworks begin to fly, and when Anna the Scarecrow's orgasm erupts, it would be strong enough to tear the entire land of Oz apart.
If I compared her pussy to the land of Oz, Oz would be in the midst of a killing earthquake, and torrential flooding.
Of course, Oz would also have a giant tongue licking its way across the land.
That sort of thing never happens. It's just silly.
As Anna Scarey drifted off to sleep, I added that we ran from Dorothy's father on horseback, and got sucked into a tornado, just another giant portal that lead here, to Manhattan in 1978.
"You mean like a wormhole?" she mutters before losing consciousness.
Stop.
It fit perfectly, and I couldn't think of a better term for such a bizarre phenomenon. A wormhole, I thought, draping my body across the Scarecrow's, and I drifted into peaceful sleep.
Sometime later, I awoke to find that Dorothy had joined us, and both she and Anna were stirring.
"Let's get you girls some clothing," the Scarecrow said, sorting through the contents of her walk-in closet.
Anna selected a black miniskirt, a black mesh top that showed her nipples, and a long black coat with a feathered collar and cuffs. Add to it fishnet stockings, and black pumps, and my vampire queen was ready to go.
I found a matching miniskirt, baby tee, and jacket, all of a dull silver color. When the fabric bent in the light, the dull sheen glared like chrome. A garter belt and thigh-high silver stockings, capped with silver stiletto heels. Anna even gave me silver eyeliner and lipstick to match.
Dorothy found herself a blue gingham dress, a white baby tee to wear underneath it, and an awful, gaudy pair of ruby red shoes, amongst the Scarecrow's wardrobe.
What the fuck?
Tell me this isn't real.
Tell me I'm dreaming.
Tell me anything, I want out of this nightmare, now matter how incredible the sex has been. I've had enough.
"Let's go out for lunch," Anna said, and I couldn't help but agree with her. I was starving. We gathered at the front door. "Tell me all about the wormhole, Nikki," she said.
As it turned out, I got off easy, because the wormhole on the other side of her front door explained it all for me in more vivid detail than I could ever begin to describe.
To be continued...
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