Watching You, Watching Me, Chapter 1 - I Get Off
That feeling was back.
The feeling that someone was watching her. No, not just watching her; staring intently at her.
Alice laid her pen on the desk and closed the log book she had been working on. Closing her eyes, she leaned back and stretched her arms above her head. In the year since she had turned down Hamish’s proposal after taking a fall in the garden she had felt as though someone was always following her. The feeling came and went in varying degrees through the day but was strongest in the evenings when she was preparing to retire.
All of her efforts at trying to see who was following and watching her proved fruitless. She had caught glimpses in windows and mirrors but never more than flashes of color. Bright orange, a moment of green, occasionally a bit of purple, but never once had she seen anything more. For a few months Alice had thought she was going mad and simply imagining everything. Recently, however, she had decided that if someone (even if it was a figment of her imagination) was watching her she might as well accept it.
An unforeseen result of this acceptance had been her imagination running rampant; more so than usual.
In the evenings as she undressed and prepared for sleep, she imagined that was the time her watcher was paying the most attention. It had to be her imagination that he (as it was her imagination she decided her watcher was most definitely male) was doing more than just watching her. Much to her surprise, Alice thought she could feel him enjoying her movements as she undressed…enjoying in a most physical way. At first she had found herself blushing at this line of thinking but lately she had decided to enjoy it. She had turned away the affections of two other men since the incident at Hamish’s party but that didn’t mean she didn’t wish for attention. It was just that none of the men who had approached her had felt “right”.
Her watcher did.
Of course he does, she thought to herself, standing and pushing the chair back under the desk. You’ve imagined him how you want him to be. As she moved to the dresser and pulled out a fresh nightgown she wondered about the appearance of her imagined watcher. Her mind had given him a pale complexion with fiery red hair and bright green eyes. She wasn’t sure why her imagination had added an elaborate top hat but it felt right. Alice sometimes thought she might have met someone who fit that description but the memory never surfaced completely.
Brushing away those thoughts she laid the gown on the bed and moved to stand in front of the full length mirror that was set in the corner of the room. The feeling of being watched seemed to become more intense and she fought back a smile. After all, Alice didn’t want to scare away this figment of her imagination, not when she’d finally decided she enjoyed his presence. Instead she reached for the first button at the neckline of her dress and slowly began the process of unfastening them.
****
Tarrant Hightopp, Royal Hatter to the White Queen, wondered if it was possible to be more mad than he already was.
He was fairly certain it was very possible and happening to him right now!
For days (or had it been weeks? months?) he had been staring into mirror that stood in his workshop. Not long after Alice had left he had caught a glimpse of her in it while he had been working. Tarrant had been so surprised that the fabric he had been trimming ended up a shredded mess, forgotten on the floor. Since that first glimpse he had essentially planted himself in front of the mirror, eating and drinking only when the items we pushed into his hand at sporadic intervals by his friends. He had paid them almost no attention. Instead his focus had been on the mirror, waiting for it to show him Alice once again. Sometimes he would notice her turn suddenly, seeming to stare directly at him but then look confused and continue on her way. The mirror was sporadic with what it showed him except for one thing.
He noticed that it showed Alice consistently right before she would go to bed.
Those times the mirror would stay clear from the moment she would begin to lay out her nightclothes to the moment her breathing evened out once she was asleep. During those times he was treated to (tortured with) the image of her removing her clothing, piece by piece, before pulling on a thin gown to sleep in. At first he noticed that she didn’t turn toward what must be a mirror in her world at all. In fact she often changed so swiftly that Tarrant almost wondered if he had blinked and missed all the wonderful Alice-bits that must have been exposed.
Lately he had noticed that she seemed more relaxed and her movements slowed, allowing him to view more of her than his own mad mind had ever dreamed of. He often watched her hands as they moved piece by piece and he barely realized that his own hands were moving as well, reaching for parts of him that begged for the touch of a certain soft hand. He could imagine that it was Alice’s hands instead of his own that reached for the fastenings on his clothing, that brushed his bare skin, that…
Tarrant shook his head to bring himself back to the moment. Alice was there, right there, standing in front of the mirror and starting to undo the buttons that lined the front of her dress. He felt his own hands flexing, desperate to take over that action for her. Instead he would have to content himself with this watching.
****
Alice reached the last button and decided that if she was going to continue to indulge her imagination she might at least have fun with it. She trailed her fingers back up the now open line of her dress until they reached the neckline once again. Looking at the mirror and her own reflection she allowed herself a small smile before pushing the dress off one shoulder and then the other. She felt the material slide down her body until it was piled on the floor around her ankles. Her imagination conveniently supplied her with an indrawn breath from her watcher. Alice knew that while she was still clothed in several layers, there were two important ones missing: a corset and stockings. Despite her mother’s constant reprimands Alice had flatly refused to conform that those ridiculous articles of clothing and she was very grateful of that at the moment.
Her hands found their way to the ties on her petticoat at the small of her back and with a few practiced movements she had the ribbon undone and it fell to the floor to join her dress. Now she looked back into the mirror, clad only in her chemise and bloomers. While she had taken to undressing slowly in front of the mirror, this was the first time she had stared into it, letting her imagination warm her blood with the mental images of her watcher and how he might be enjoying these moments.
It might have been most improper for her to think of such things but then Alice had never liked to err on the side of proper. She knew much more about the male anatomy and how they took their own pleasure than she ever expected to thanks to the Chattaway sisters and their tales. Now she found that knowledge formed an interesting mental image and she found that she could picture her watcher, his reflection in the mirror ghostly over her own. Alice found her breath quickening as the (imagined) reflection’s hands clenched and unclenched on his pants legs, his face pale and yet flushed. She wondered what those hands might feel like on her body and closed her eyes for a moment, her hands moving across the fabric of her chemise, resting on her stomach.
Feeling her skin tingle she opened her eyes and slowly undid the ties of her bloomers. These she slid down her legs with her hands, feeling a tingling from her hips to her toes and her hands moved across her body. Alice watched with eyes half open as her (imagined!) watcher moved his own hands to the front of his trousers and began to unfasten them. Her lips parted slightly. She hadn’t guessed her imagination was this active but she was too intrigued to want it to stop. Her fingers reached for the bottom of her chemise and with a quick movement she pulled it over her head, finally standing bare before the mirror.
She took in the sight of her own reflection meshing with that of her imagined watcher. Alice saw him jerk as if in pain and saw his lips move, framing a word. Of course I’d want him to say my name, she thought. And though she knew it was just her imagination, she found herself excited, watching him watching her. As he leaned back against his chair she watched his pale, bandaged hand reach into the opening of his trousers and free that straining part of him that she was quite interested in. Reaching up to take the pins that held her hair up, she smiled and then shook her hair once it was loose. It felt soft on her back and Alice ran her fingers through it, enjoying the feel.
She tilted her head back and ran her hands down her neck until they brushed over the tops of her breasts, feeling her nipples harden beneath her palms. Her imagination was kind enough to supply her with the sound of her watcher groaning and the hoarse noise sent shivers down her spine. She felt the tingling travel across her skin until it stopped at that place between her legs, the place that no proper lady should ever think of. Not that she could remember the last time she'd been described as a "proper lady".
Alice opened her eyes just enough to be able to see her watcher in a rather delightful position. One of his hands was gripping the arm of the chair, hard enough that she could see the grooves his fingernails had scratched. The other hand....
She had to take a shuddering breath.
The other hand was stroking his member, moving up and down the shaft with quick, even movements. Though Alice knew what he was doing, it was a different experience seeing it...or imagining it, rather. Her own breathing started to get faster and she felt her heart speed up as one of her hands slid lower, down her stomach until it stopped just above the hairs that hid her own sex. This time her imagined watcher growled her name, his voice carrying a hint of a brogue. Alice's knees grew weak and she sank to the floor, kneeling in front of the mirror.
When her eyes focused again Alice saw that her watcher had moved out of his chair and was also kneeling, his free hand braced on one edge of the mirror. His other hand continued to move, faster and faster. Leaning back on her heels she let her fingers travel even lower, brushing that small spot that throbbed sharply. Alice's other hand clenched and she felt the sting of the scratches that her own nails made. She could imagine the ragged breathing of her watcher and knowing that he was growing more excited just watching her spurred her on.
Her fingers moved again, bringing that sharp throbbing. Unable to stop herself she moved to press the heel of her hand against that small hard spot and her fingers moved, pressing into the cleft that was already so damp. The combination of sensations along with the sounds her imagination supplied was so intense that she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out. The imagined watcher did cry out and the sound of her name in his voice (how was her imagination so vivid) pushed her into a sudden rush of pleasure, her own voice crying out a name that she only vaguely recognized.
Slowly her body's spasms subsided and she slumped to rest on her hands and knees, trying to slow her breathing. When she looked up at the mirror again the reflection that she had imagined was gone. The feeling of being watched still remained though it felt more...relaxed...than usual. Alice reached out to the bed and pulled herself to her feet. Ignoring the gown that she had laid out, she slipped between the sheets, enjoying the feel of the cool linen against her skin. It was only as she started to drift into a rather satisfied sleep that she remembered the name she had cried out.
"Tarrant," Alice whispered, tasting the syllables. They felt familiar on her tongue but she couldn't place the why. As the heaviness of sleep took her she wondered if her mind had finally gone completely round the bend in creating a name for her watcher. Or even worse, maybe she hadn't imagined it at all. After all, she thought, nothing is truly impossible.
****
In a distant land, separated from her by only a looking glass, Tarrant Hightopp pressed his hand against the cool surface of the mirror and felt his heartbeat slow from its frantic pace. “Remember me, Alice,” he said in a rough voice. “I’ll be watchin’ ye.”