The Wizard of Oz is, of course, copyrighted material. The story is meant in no way to imply anything about those wonderful characters' sexuality or tarnish their cherished reputations.
Part 5
Christ, it's cold. This map that the Wizard gave me is worthless, and the four of us are stuck out here in the woods with nothing to eat, drink, or sleep on, and we're all cold and naked. All I have is a big gun that I don't even know how to use. Making it through the night will be an experience I'm not looking forward to. In the Wizard of Oz, the witch's forest had big signs pointing in the direction of the castle. Even better, the flying monkeys gave Dorothy a guided aerial tour, free of charge. Sure, they beat the tar out of everyone else, but it beats freezing to death in a nightmare world where no one will mourn your passing, and no half-rate entertainment shows will run biography specials on you, trying with all their might to capture your mediocrity. Back home, I pass for a celebrity, but here, the four of us are just pawns in someone's game. "I'm hungry," Cordelia whines. "Me too," Dorothy says. Shut up, you two. Now, let's see...the Wizard dropped us off on the eastern edge of the forest, or so she says. This means I just have to follow the setting sun and we'll find the witch's castle, eventually. I think. There's only about thirty minutes of daylight left, and the trees are so tall and thick they block out any view of the horizon. The castle could be anywhere around me, and I wouldn't be able to see it unless I walked right up to it. We keep walking, and discuss what we think we should do when we reach the castle, if we make it there. No one has any clue. "Why sneak around when we could just barge in and get it over with?" the Scarecrow asks. "Oh, she'll have guards everywhere," Cordelia says. "And Miss Wizard said there was a force field too." It's all pure speculation. I tell them, lets worry about it when we get there. A few minutes later, the forest opens up just a tiny bit to reveal a small clearing, with a rock outcrop and a cave opening into it. The mouth of the cave is very wide, but it looks as if it tapers off very quickly at the back, just a tiny hole leading into the darkness. "Shelter!" Dorothy exclaims, running for the cave, her big breasts bouncing with enthusiasm. Wait, I yell. You don't know what's in there! Too late. The other girls follow off after Dorothy, giggling at some unknown joke. I lift the pistol, in case a bear pops out or something. "It's all clear," the Scarecrow yells. Just like that, we have shelter for the evening. Dorothy claims to know how to start a fire. Sure, she's more in touch with nature than the rest of us, but it's not like she didn't have kerosene lamps or anything. She and Cordelia wander off to find some suitable kindling. Hurry back, I tell them. The last light will disappear in about 10 minutes, at best. Everything is filthy in the cave, but at least it's dry. I lay down against a less-than-comfortable rock, and Anna joins me, moving close for warmth. Her hand slips between my legs and begins stroking my clit, as her tongue slides between my lips. I'm warmed up in no time, my cries echoing into the recesses of the cave. Dorothy and Cordelia return long after dark with a large bundle of firewood and kindling, and catch me with me head buried in Anna's beautiful shaved pussy. Cordelia sniffs, "You started without us?" Dorothy sits cross-legged on the floor and piles the wood and kindling together in the center of the cave. She stuffs little bits of grass here and there, then wedges some grass into a split piece of wood and begins rubbing a stick into it. Right. After what seems like hours later, no fire. Just Dorothy screaming gibberish and obscenities, throwing a fit like a little baby. Sure, I'm cold too, but is all this necessary? "Stop!" the Scarecrow yells. "Everyone out of the cave. I'll get this fire started." I shrug, and stand outside the cave with the rest of the girls. "Give me that," Anna says, and grabs the gun from my hand. Without pause, she cocks the gun and starts firing into the cave. Three shots, bits of wood are flying around the cave, and sparks shoot up from the cave floor. We all wait for a sign, deaf from the roar of the pistol. Improbably enough, a bit of the grass catches fire. I ask, Where did you learn to do that? "You grew up in New York, right? You know what it's like," she says. "Of course I carry a gun." These girls are just so full of surprises. We run into the cave and begin fanning the flame, coaxing it into a full blaze. In short time, our little fire has grown large enough to keep us warm through the night. We huddle together near the fire, spooning against each other like sardines in a tin box. We're so exhausted, we only manage one orgasm each before we fall asleep next to the fire, one big tangled mess of girl-flesh, trying to stay warm.
Throughout the night, we're woken repeatedly by the most horrifying noises I've ever heard. Demonic howls, twisted screams, gibbering and sobbing. Nothing approaches us, and we see nothing in the blackness of the forest. I let Anna keep the gun by her side, since she is the only one who knows how to use it.
"Still running around naked, I see." Light comes screaming in through the mouth of the cave, silhouetting the person standing above me. "Looks like you made some new friends, too, heheh," he says. When I squint, I can see that it's the cab driver from New York. This time, he really is a flying monkey. "Get up, ladies," he says, and grabs for my arm. I slap his filthy hand away. Anna places the barrel of the gun against the monkey-man's temple. "Back up," she says. I grin at him, and bare my teeth. You can take us to the witch's castle, I tell him. The safe way. His shoulders heave with a tremendous sigh. "Is the gun really necessary?" he asks. "I was gonna take you there anyway. I don't wanna hurt you, ladies. I'm just another wage-slave here. I do what the man tells me. Or in this case, the woman." Just lead the way, I tell him. We'll decide for ourselves just how harmless you are. Anna points outside the cave with the gun, and gestures for him to lead on. "Actually, you girls have no idea how close you were. You'll find one of the entrances to her lady's castle in the rear of this cave. I was sent here to bring you in. You see, the lady was really rather embarrassed when she found that you'd spent the night on her doorstep. She likes to be hospitable, regardless of her guests' intentions," he says with a scowl. "Well, go on then," Dorothy says, and we open a path for the monkey-man to cross to the back of the cave. At the back of the cave, he reaches into a crevice and begins pulling on something. As he pulls, the rock wall beside him slides away to reveal a staircase leading down and a blue glow spills out into the cave. "This way, ladies," he says, still sporting his shark-toothed grin. The stairway opens at the bottom into a beautifully decorated waiting room, with a large fountain arcing streams of water in multiple directions, and the strange multi-colored lights floating near the ceiling reflect this light, creating a mirrorball effect. "Stay here, ladies...I'll call down your host," the monkey-man says, and moves to the doorway. "No way, ape. You stay here with us," Anna says, and waves her gun as a reminder. Sighing, he sits down across the room from us. A few minutes later, we hear footsteps descending the opposite set of stairs leading up into the castle. It seems as if these footsteps go on forever, getting increasingly louder, before anyone ever emerges at the bottom. At last, our Wicked Witch of the Southeast emerges from the stairway. As I'd expected, her skin is a vibrant shade of green, but nothing else about her presence was anything I'd imagined. The Witch is, simply put, the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. She looks not like a hag as I'd expected, but like a beautiful wood nymph or a dryad. She is impossibly tall, nearly six feet tall without shoes, and her body is rock hard, looking as if it were chiseled from stone by a Roman sculptor. Her breasts are large and perfectly round, bouncing slightly with each step. She wears only a tiny black negligee to cover her torso, and it accomplishes this minimally at best. The demi-cups over her breasts are translucent, and her forest green nipples are perfectly circular, poking at the fabric as if they wish to rip through and release themselves. Her face is slender, just like her body, with high cheekbones and a thin, sloped nose. Her lips are full and beestung, the same dark green as her nipples. Her almond-shaped eyes are feral, a myriad of colors impossible to pinpoint. They seem to shift from one moment to the next, now gold, then shimmering silver. Her face is framed by a small widow's peak leading into a wild mane of jet black hair, slightly curly, which hangs down her back to her knees. "Welcome, ladies," she says, her voice like Heaven. "You won't be needing that," she says, and gestures with a slender hand capped by long black fingernails. The guns flies from Anna's hand into the Witch's, and the Witch tosses the gun into the fountain, where it sinks into its endless depths. "Come this way," The Witch says, gesturing toward the stairs. We follow her, single file, with myself in the front. I follow directly behind her, afforded a glimpse up her short negligee. She wears nothing underneath. The gorgeous, pouting lips of her pussy are forest green, just like the rest of her body. I am captivated. She leads us through endless hallways, all decorated with beautiful tapestries and carved stone, but I can hardly glimpse at them for the Witch's round, swaying ass in front of me. It is far more beautiful than any decoration on a wall. "I've prepared a dinner for us," she says. "It will be held in the room to our left. You may get washed up and dress in the room at the end of the hall. Dinner will begin in one hour." She looks at my body, up and down, and slips her light green tongue out between her lips, then snaps her fingers and disappears in a cloud of smoke. I want to melt. I can see that the other girls feel the same. Dorothy has gone so far as to begin stroking her clit, right there in the hall for everyone to see. In a mad dash, we all scramble down to the room at the end of the hall to make ourselves as presentable as possible. The shower is large, and we all hop in at once, desperate to be the one the Witch takes notice of. We shave each other meticulously, making sure that not a single unwanted hair remains, no matter how personal we have to get with each other. Dorothy shaves the Scarecrow bald, and Anna does likewise for Dorothy. I carve out a tiny V of crimson hair, pointed down like an arrow toward Cordelia's pink vagina. She shapes my hair into a pencil-thin line, slightly wider at the opening, near my moist slit. When we are washed pink and hairless, the four of us give each other a taste-test to verify that we are a presentable meal. I slip my long tongue into each girl's pussy, sipping their nectars. Mmmm, I say, and lick my lips. Vintage pussy. Our clits are throbbing and eager, but we agree to wait. To save it for the green woman. The Witch of the Southeast, or one of her lackeys, has laid out a fresh set of clothing for us. It comes in the usual color scheme - silver for me, green for Cordelia, black for Anna, and that damned blue gingham and ruby slippers for Dorothy. I slip into a little silver patch of fabric, much too small to properly be called panties. My swollen labia peek out from the sides. I'm given no clothing for my upper body, just two silver pasties to cap my nipples. Each girl has been given a similar outfit, in their own respective color. The pasties are all sized perfectly to cover our areolas by no less than a millimeter's width. This must be the Witch's magic. When our hair is coiffed, our bodies perfumed and oiled, and our minds are racing with anticipation, we walk to the dining room, hand in hand. The hallway is dimly lit by flickering candles. The Wicked Witch of the Southeast is waiting for us there, seated at the head of a resplendent oak table. She wears an outfit identical to ours, a deep emerald green, just slightly darker than her own skin. "Welcome," she says. Our meal: a buffet of sushi and sashimi, all laid out for us on the body of a gorgeous young Japanese girl. She lies perfectly still on the table top, our food nestled in between her small breasts, down her stomach, framing her tiny pink labia. A set of plates and chopsticks, color coded, has been set out for us. We take our seats around the table. "Do not be frightened," the Witch says. "Enjoy your meal." We eat in silence for a while, Dorothy loving the taste of sushi. She is the only one of us who has never eaten it before. I fondle one of the young girl's small breasts as I reach for another spring roll, and pinch her nipple between my chopsticks. She smiles, but makes no sound. When our bellies are full, the Witch dabs her lips with a napkin, and says, "I know why you have come here." She lifts a silver pan from the table top, revealing the Wizard's gun again, resting on a platter. A sly little smile spreads across her face. "What story did the Wizard give you?" The girls look to each other, confused. "None," they tell her. I was told to kill you and bring back your panties as proof, I tell her. We were not told why. The Witch laughed. "You are being toyed with," she said. "You are gathered here by the Wizard's slender hand. It is her own twisted experiments which caused these rifts in time and space, these wormholes." "Experiments?" the Scarecrow asks. "In her quest for the ultimate orgasm, the Wizard made a great error, fracturing the spacetime continuum. The incredible pleasure you feel when traveling through a wormhole? That is the result of the Wizard's creation, the intended effect. You, however, Nikki, are not. As a result of your journey through the wormhole, the universe is tearing itself apart, turning itself inside out. Every day, another little piece of our world is disintegrating." "The Wizard must be stopped," she says. I ask, Why would the wizard want you dead? "She knows that I am the only person alive who knows of her experiments. She knows that I am the only person who can stop her from continuing them. We were...lovers...once. Even I could not satisfy her ravenous desires. She is unquenchable." The four of us nodded in agreement. "It is the Wizard who must be stopped, not I. I do not wish for anyone to come to harm. I have less violent methods of ending her destructive experiments. Do not harm her." "How can we trust you?" Cordelia asks. So loyal to the Wizard. "Has she told you anything? No!" she shouted, pounding her fist on the tabletop. "How can you let yourself be used this way?" She's right, I say. "You have nothing to lose. If I am wrong, if the Great Wizard of Oz can prove herself, you know where to find me." Sort of, I say. "I have ways to prevent the Wizard from opening up any more of her wormholes. You will take my panties to her, just as she asked, and tell her that I am dead." She grabbed the pistol from the tabletop and lifted into the air. She fired a single bullet into the ceiling and caught the shell casing in her hand as it fell toward the floor. "Here is your proof." "When she sends you home, Nikki, you must remove yourself from the bathroom where the first wormhole opened. I have created a magical artifact which will negate the wormhole's power." "Come with me, Nikki, and I will give it to you," she says, and stands. I look to the other girls and the disappointed expressions on their faces. I nod solemnly and take the Witch's hand. She leads me upstairs to her bedroom. "I yearn for you," she tells me. With a flick of her black thumbnails, she pops the pasties away from my breasts. She slides her long green tongue into my mouth. Mmm, I say. What about the artifact? "Here it is," she says, and grabs a small stone from the bedside table. She places it in my hand. It is small, the size of a nickel, and smooth like glass. It changes color when I move it in the light, silver, then green, black, blue. Her thin green hands cup my breasts, her tongue thrusts itself into my open mouth. I peel the pasties away from her breasts and take one of her dark green nipples into my mouth. Her skin is slightly salty. She smells of sweet scented oils. "Lie down on the bed," she tells me. I willingly obey. Slowly, torturously, she slides my tiny silver panties down my thighs, past my knees, around my ankles. Soft light casts a warm glow on my shining, wet labia. She slides her own panties away from her body, balls them up, and puts them into my hand. "You'll be needing those," she says. The thin patch of hair above her pussy is purest ebony. I set the magical stone and the Witch's panties beside me on the bedside table so I can put my hands back on her incredible body. I dip my finger into her slit, caressing the soft, velvety folds of her pussy. Her juices taste earthy, natural. If it could be bottled and sold, I'd be a millionaire. Oh, wait. In my old life, I was already a millionaire. I sit up, cupping one of her large green breasts in my hand, and take her dark nipple into my mouth. "Shhh," she says, and pushes me back down to the bed. "Lie still for a moment." On her beside table, near the magical stone and the Witch's panties, is a small velvet bag, tied off with twine at the top. She reaches for it and unties it, spilling a small pile of lavender powder into her palm. "Excuse me," she says, and spits into the dust in her hand. I want so badly to be offended, but I just can't do it. She's too gorgeous. With her free hand, she plunges a finger into the swollen lips of my pussy and scoops up bit of my juices. She holds her finger over the pile of powder and saliva in her palm, and we both watch in anticipation as a single drop of my nectar falls from the tip of her finger into the dust. I ask, What are you doing? "Shhh," the Witch says, and rubs her palms together, blending the powder and liquids into a thick purple paste. With the pad of her thumb, she rubs the paste into my tiny little thatch of pubic hair. She speaks a few magic words, beautiful words in a language I've never heard before. Nothing happens. The Witch smiles, and suddenly, I can feel her filling me, not with her body, but with something else. Oh Christ, I moan. "No, not Him," she says. "Magic." She is inside of me, filling every crevice, vibrating against my g-spot, reaching as deeply as she can, yet she isn't even touching me. She crawls over me on her hands and knees and kisses me, her long black hair falling all around us. "What is it that you want?" she asks. I don't speak, I only think it, and it happens. The Witch's phantasmal occupation of my body begins to pulse inside of me, gently, sending shivers down my spine. The Witch kisses me again and puts her hands between my legs, stroking my clit. I cum instantly. Fuck me, I say. Instantly, the pulsing in my pussy subsides and becomes the Witch's strapon, without the strap. She doesn't even have to thrust her pelvis, but I can feel her, and I am certain that it is her, not just some lifeless spell, slide in and out of me. She turns around and lunges into my pussy with her tongue, waving her gorgeous emerald cunt in my face. I slip my tongue inside. "Go slowly," she warns me. I last longer this time, still numb from my first orgasm, but the Witch has me cumming again in record time. I'm certain the girls can hear me downstairs. I wish they could be here to experience this. Harder this time, I tell her. I bury my face in her cunt, making broad, bold strokes with my tongue. My hands grip her chiseled ass. A small, satisfied squeak escapes her lips. As her spell pounds away inside me, the Witch wraps her luscious green lips around my clit and sucks on it, massaging it with her tongue at the same time. I'm about to have an out-of-body experience, at this rate. I cum a third time, showering my thighs with my fluids. The Witch licks them clean. Enough, I say. My pussy is on overload. The magical extension of the Witch disappears from inside me, and she turns around to kiss me again. I keep my fingers in her slit, still rubbing her button. I want to do that to you, I say. The witch considers it, and agrees. I go through the same process with the magical powder, trading my saliva for hers, and her nectar for mine. I rub the paste into her jet black hair, say the magic words, and I can feel myself filling her, a pleasurable experience to give as well as receive. It feels not like an extension of my own body or a physical object like a dildo, but something more esoteric, some sort of essence of me inside of her. My soul, maybe. If I still have it, that is. I sold that to marketing reps and fashion magazines a long time ago. "Go slowly," she says again. So I do, through no conscious choice of my own. I crawl forward and kiss her moist lips, and fill my hands with her soft, round breasts. My dripping, overstimulated pussy rubs against her rigid abs. "Mmm," she says, and smiles. I reach down with my left hand and caress the folds of her vagina, slippery soft, occasionally bumping up against her clit. I am rewarded with a sharp intake of breath through her plump green lips each time. My tongue dances with hers. "Harder," she whispers, and my spell obeys her. Her eyes roll back into her skull. I rub my fingers directly against her clit, stroking it and pinching it between my thumb and forefinger. She grits her teeth and clenches her toes. This goes on for nearly thirty minutes, her soft moans and rigid muscles. Her breathing is heavy. My hands ache. I move in for the kill. Before I dive in, I take a moment to examine the marvel of her jewel-toned green pussy. Her labia are thick and pouty, like some sensual flower. They glisten with her fluids. Then I slide my tongue inside. "Oh, shit," she moans, and arches her back, but she doesn't cum. The art of tantra, in action. We'll see about that. I deliver a non-stop attack on her clit, employing every technique I know. The Witch groans, squirms, and wriggles at the tip of my tongue, but still she holds off, barely. "Stop," she cries. A broad smile is spread across her face. Her voice is light and airy. I double my efforts. "Don't," she says. "Stop." Her hands rest on my head, but do not push me away. I redouble my efforts. "Oh, God," she screams, her fingernails embedded in my skin. Ever muscle in her body is taut, rigid. With a final flick of my tongue across her clit, the Witch comes explosively, pumping juices from her pussy in a torrent, sweet ambrosia on my lips. She gasps for breath like a drowning woman. She cums like she hasn't cum in twenty years. I withdraw my spell from her body. Her chest heaves, her skin flushed dark green. I lap up as much of her sweet fluids as I can catch on my tongue. "That was amazing," she whispers, and falls silent for a moment. Then she begins to cry. I ask, What's wrong? "I'm dying," she says. No. Not like in the movie. Oh, God, no. "It was worth it," she says. The Wizard, I say, caressing her cheek, wet with tears. She nods her head. "One of her early experiments gone wrong," she says. "If I have an orgasm, I die. I haven't had an orgasm in nearly twenty years." I hold her for a moment as she cries on my shoulder. "I loved her," she says. "And she destroyed me. You have to stop her. All you have to do is place that stone in the shower stall where the first wormhole appeared. The stone will do the rest. I've already set everything else into place. Take the portal downstairs back to the Emerald City." "Thank you, Nikki," she says and kisses me on the cheek. She closes her eyes, and never opens them again. There is no frantic screaming, no melting flesh, no pile clothing left behind in her place. Only silence, and then she is gone, just an empty imprint of her body left behind in the damp sheets. I gather the Witch's panties, clutching them to my breast, and the small stone as well. Goodbye, I say to an empty room, and walk downstairs. She's dead, I say, to the girls, who are eagerly waiting at the bottom of the stairs. It was the Wizard's doing. They ask their questions, and I tell them the story. We hold a moment of silence for the Wicked Witch of the Southeast. On the way out, we stop in the dining room and I pick up the Wizard's gun from the silver platter on the table. Come on, I say, and lead the girls to the Witch's portal into the Emerald City. We're off to see the Wizard, I tell them.
So that's it, after, what, two more years? I think that there are two more parts of this tale yet to be told, but I won't make any promises as to how quickly I'll get around to it this time. I obviously can't keep them anyway! =) As always, send comments and suggestions to orchid888@hotmail.com. I'd love to hear from you!