Date: Fri, 18 Feb 2000 07:53:57 GMT
From: Jennifer Lake <orchid888@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Wormhole, Part 2

	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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