Fifty Shades of Alice Through the Looking Glass (Second Book of the 50 Shades of Alice Trilogy)

only did it make zero sense, with all of its made-up words, but there was a smarminess to it that reminded Alice of grammar school, being condescended to by an underpaid teacher’s aide who would have rather been travelling through Europe than dealing with children.
    “Knight!” The Red Queen screamed from the other room.
    Alice didn’t wait to hear the rest but ran out the patio door and onto a stone courtyard littered with small beds. On each of the beds, reclined a naked woman, and on top of each naked woman was a timidly thrusting man.
    Alice even recognized some of the positions from the Red Queen’s book. One couple doing missionary was doing it with their faces together:
Missionary Touching Foreheads
. The next were holding hands:
Missionary With Hands Held
. Another watched a TV show about a woman dying of cancer who was being stalked by her boyfriend after her daughter who needed a kidney transplant was kidnapped:
Missionary While Watching Lifetime For Women
.
    Alice stood and stared at the copulations for a few minutes, unsure what to do. It was a titillating scene, to be sure, and Alice felt like she should be aroused by it. After the Red King’s quick exit from her love cave, The White King’s final tweak of her nipples, and the White Queen’s forced abandonment of Alice’s pleasure folds, Alice was feeling rather lustful. Maybe as long as she watched the missionary position with its endless variety of arm raising and other nonsense, it would be within the rules for her to touch herself.
    She tried cupping her breasts in her hands and teasing her nipples. She tried spreading her legs and massaging her most sensitive spot. She tried walking closer to the couples. She tried standing on one foot. She even tried out some arm raising of her own. But nothing seemed to work. Watching these obviously bored couples going through the motions without even making a peep was depressing, not arousing. Alice wished she had her rabbit vibrator, but that damn thing seemed to disappear on a regular basis.
    “Psst!” someone said from beyond a hedge. “The garden is more beautiful from up here on the hill.”
    Alice turned in that direction, but she couldn’t see anyone.
    “Psst!” Came the voice again. “If you don’t get out of there quickly, you’ll be planted in one of those beds for sure.”
    “Who said that?” Alice asked. “The tree?”
    “Trees don’t talk, dumb ass. Hurry up!”
    Alice took one last glance at the fornicating people, none of whom was looking to be having an enjoyable time at all, and then she scampered through a gap in the hedge and down a twisty-turny path until a green lawn opened in front of her. Lounging on the lawn were three nude women, one with dark skin, orange hair and tiger stripes tattooed all over her body, reaching down to the sculpted hair around her special place; one with pale pink hair, voluptuous curves and glittering rings piercing lush rosy nipples; and one with her brunette hair tied in pigtails and her shockingly fair body looking fresh as dew in the morning.
    Alice glanced around, but there were no beds here, no missionary position, not even any men.
    “What is this place?” she asked the women.
    “We’re the wild flowers.”
    Now this made no sense to Alice. “I’m afraid I don’t understand. Although the three of you are beautiful, you’re not flowers. Not literally.”
    “Sure we are,” said the orange one with tiger stripes. “I’m Lily.”
    “And I’m Rose,” said the pink woman with the lavish breasts.
    The last, who looked delicate and sweet and the same precise age as Alice (because, of course, the youngest she could possibly be in this book is eighteen), giggled. “I’m Daisy,” she said with a southern twang.
    “I’m Alice. So you are flowers because you have flower names.”
    “Now you’re just stating the obvious,” said Lily.
    Alice frowned. She hated being scolded, even by exotic-looking naked women. But scolding, as much as Alice detested it, always made her want to try harder. So try harder, she did. “And you’re wild, because you have colored hair and tattoos?”
    “I don’t have colored hair or tattoos,” said Daisy.
    “Then why are you wild flowers?”
    “We’re the ones lucky enough to escape the beds,” said Lily with a naughty wink.
    “Oh, I get it. Flower beds.”
    “Yes,” said Rose, “Violet, Dahlia, Iris, Pansy, and Marigold are all stuck in the beds, following the Red Queen’s