This is the opening chapter of the novella Down the Rabbit Hole, a re-imagining of Lewis Carroll’s classic Alice in Wonderland. But with much more sex.

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A Warm Summer Day

Alice lay under a weeping willow tree on the riverbank. The tall grass whispered around her in the slight breeze and the sun shone brightly through the leaves, playing across her skin in golden, dappled patterns. Her long, blonde hair was fanned out beneath her head and it shone like a spun-gold halo.

The far pasture was the only place Alice knew she could be left completely alone for a time, away from the din of her crowded family home and on vacation from the cacophony of dormitory life. She sighed deeply, enjoying the peaceful solitude of the vast, rambling fields. The only noise came from the babbling of the nearby stream as it rushed over the rocks, the occasional birdsong and cricket chirp, and the gentle rustling of the grass in the warm spring wind.

Alice believed there was no better companion on such a day as a canvas bag full of books. She had chosen several volumes to keep her company: a thin book of modern poetry, a dog-eared copy of a children’s book she’d long outgrown but still loved, and a couple of the latest bestsellers to be released in affordable paperback.

None held her attention for very long, and she had opened and discarded each one in turn as unsatisfactory. Feeling restless and fidgety, she found her mind wandering from thought to thought, idea to idea, unable to concentrate fully on any of the reading material she had brought along. Her brain felt sluggish and dull, a condition aggravated by certain biological urges she’d lately been unable to assuage, due to an appalling lack of privacy at home and an equally annoying lack of time at school.

Giving up trying to rein in and focus her intellect in any meaningful way, she reclined in the shade of the massive tree with her head propped up against the roots and drew out the last book in the bag. She carefully propped the antique leather-bound illustrated anthology of Victorian erotica comfortably on her belly and let her legs splay open languidly. The breeze fluttered the hem of her blue cotton sundress and she spread her thighs slightly, allowing the skirt to slide up her bare legs and nearly expose her bare pussy. There was no need for modesty out in the middle of nowhere, and as the day had promised early on to be a hot one, she had decided—as she sometimes did—to forgo any panties beneath her full-skirted dress.

She smiled to herself and opened the old book, reading the tales of proper gentlemen seducing innocent girls. The young ladies blushed and giggled as their randy men requested favors, pushing their hands away and protesting while the young men pressed ever onward against every defense. Of course each story ended with the couple engaging in “a bout of love” and “copious spendings” and all of the walls of Victorian prudery came tumbling down. She wondered how many dark wardrobes and woolen underthings had hidden this particular volume.

Though Alice was far from being a repressed Victorian lady, the stories and elaborate woodcut illustrations—by virtue of their being once-forbidden—were still somehow deliciously naughty to her in the way modern porn so seldom was. As imaginative as any young woman that came before her, she lay beneath the tree and let her mind wander; she pretended that she was a proper Victorian English girl, full of carnal desires that both confused and aroused her. She fantasized that she had just slipped away from her stifling, rigid parents with the excuse of needing a bit of fresh air in the garden. Or perhaps she had given her martinet of a governess the slip and had thus managed to avoid an afternoon full of dull needlework or the parsing of irregular French verbs. She was a naughty girl, and her upright, staid family would consider her wanton if they knew how often she stole away to enjoy baser pursuits. Perhaps she tucked this book—a gift from her lover, maybe—in the folds of her skirts before slipping out of the house to a secluded spot by the riverbank. Away from any prying eyes, she was able to hitch up her skirts and spread her legs, letting the dirty little stories and pictures fuel her desire as she explored her body.

Lost in her fantasy, Alice slid her dress up to her waist. She ran a hand over her smooth, freshly waxed pussy, the bare lips serving as a reminder that she was a modern woman and no longer possessed of the thick nest of curls favored by her Victorian counterparts. She lazily slipped a fingertip between the smooth, plump lips and shivered as she found the hard little pearl of her clit and stroked it. She wondered what her imaginary gentleman lover would think if he found her touching herself in such a bold manner, and she spread her legs wider, hoping he would find her lustful abandon so arousing that he’d be overcome and take her right there in the tall, sweet grass.

She let the book fall to the ground with a soft thump, its leaves lightly smudged and faintly musky-scented with her own juices where she had stopped to turn the page. She slipped her hand inside the top of her dress, rubbing and pinching her hard, pink nipples. She inserted two fingers into her tight cunt and moaned a little to herself, fully enjoying the deliciousness of an outdoor frig. She was just about to close her eyes and draw out her sweet climax when an enormous white rabbit ran right past her feet.

She stopped, startled, and sat up. She jumped to her feet and looked around trying to see where it had gone, since it’s not every day a timid field hare passes by close enough to be caught. The sight of a flash of white bounding through the tall grass captivated her, and while she knew there was no way she could ever overtake it, she tore out after it anyway, determined to catch it, although if anyone had asked her (and no one did) she would have said she did not know why she left off mid-diddle to chase a wild bunny she had no hope of catching.

Her bare feet pounded against the packed earth and she was quite out of breath by the time she reached the mouth of a very large, very cave-like rabbit hole yawning from the side of an enormous hillock. Her family had owned the land as far back as anyone could remember and she knew every inch of the property like the back of her hand, but for the life of her she could not remember that particular mound ever being there before. Under other circumstances she might have given it more thought, but as it was, a giant rabbit hole appearing where none had ever existed was the least curious thing she had to consider.

She stopped short and shook her head, not quite believing her eyes. The white rabbit wasn’t a rabbit at all, but a man. He was young and handsome with very muscular thighs and fine, round buttocks. He was barefoot and wore white satin breeches, only to Alice’s surprised delight the entire crotch of the trousers had been removed. The neatly cut-out area left his manhood—which Alice noticed was heavy and impressive and quite as hairless as her own nether regions—and his soft, pink ass entirely exposed. Over his breeches he wore a white satin waistcoat that fit him like a second skin, but no jacket, shirt or tie. His chest was as bare and smooth as the rest of him, and his strong arms looked powerful. He was tow-headed and fair with eyes that were the pale, clear blue of a summer sky, though his expression was anxious and his manner somewhat twitchy.

He pulled a large, turnip-shaped pocket watch from his white waistcoat and looked at the time worriedly. “Oh dear,” he exclaimed suddenly, addressing Alice as if he’d been conversing with her all along. “I am so very, very late! The Queen is going to be most unhappy with me!” He closed the watch with a snap and slipped it back into his pocket. “Come, Mary Anne,” he commanded her. “There is much to do!”

Alice looked around for Mary Anne, and seeing no one but herself and the White Rabbit (which she had taken to calling him in her head), she said, “But…my name is Alice.”

“No time! No time!” the White Rabbit exclaimed and ran into the rabbit hole. Alice felt she had no choice but to follow him. It never occurred to her to be frightened, or even curious as to who he was or where he was leading her.

She ran behind the rabbit as fast as she could go in the dark tunnel, her eyes adjusting slowly to the dim light. She caught a blur of white up ahead of her and ran toward it, trying to catch up with the White Rabbit. Suddenly, the ground beneath her began to slope sharply downward and she scrambled as the earth rolled away underneath her feet. She flailed her arms searching for something to grab onto to slow her fall, and with a shriek she realized there was nothing. Alice felt as though she was falling down a very deep well, and for several seconds with her eyes squeezed shut she waited for the jarring impact of the ground, only none came. All she felt was the cool air rushing past her and she cautiously opened her eyes.

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Down the Rabbit Hole is available in paperback, for Kindle, and for Nook.