Chapter 1

I’ve gone off the deep end again with another fairy tale parody. This time it’s the beloved characters of A.A. Milne who are getting the treatment.

There’s quite a bit of set-up, about sixteen-hundred words, but after that, it’s sexual tension. Then rope. Then fucking. Lots of fucking.

All characters are over eighteen, and you should be too, if you’re reading this.

Copyright (c)2020-2022 WaxPhilosophic. No unauthorized reproduction is allowed.

Dedicated to my dear friend TrueMort. Check out her stories here on Literotica. The inspiration for the kink club is all hers.

Down the Rabbit Hole

Deep in the Hundred Acre Wood–which, coincidentally is the name of a subdivision, and not an actual forest, with the only thing resembling trees being the streets they were named after. For, you see, the forest was slowly being cut down to make way for a housing project. A project headed up by a great bear of a man, known to his friends as one Winston Theodore Poulous, or as Winnie T. Poo by those who were not so fond of him.

Winston, frankly didn’t care who was fond of him or who wasn’t, for he had only two loves in life: making as much money as possible, and Miss Hunny, his buxom, young, secretary. But, as they say, therein lies the rub, for Miss Hunny was quite enamored with a local environmentalist with an ivy league law degree, and all-around pain in Winston T. Poulous’s back-side, the lovely Miss Robin Christopher. Miss Hunny even made it a hobby of hers to find out all she could about her idol, Miss Christopher–every sordid detail.

In fact, as our story opens, Miss Hunny is staring rather longingly at Miss Christopher as she strides confidently into the construction trailer that serves as Winston T. Poulous’s on-site office. Perhaps it speaks to Robin Christopher’s unshakable composure that Miss Hunny’s unabashed staring does not evoke even so much as the smallest reaction. This, of course, does not deter Miss Hunny in the slightest.

“Why, Miss Christopher,” Miss Hunny drawls. “What ever should bring you to the humble offices of Winston T. Poulous?”

“You know exactly why I’m here.”

“Oh, I’m quite sure I don’t.” Miss Hunny reached just behind her ear, to take a strand of her blonde locks, and twirl it around her finger while she batted her lashes. “Perhaps you would care to explain it to me. Say, over lunch?”

As Miss Hunny was taking another long look at Robin Christopher, beginning with her no-nonsense, short-cropped brown hair, moving along to the tailored suit coat hung so perfectly on her broad shoulders, and finally to her slim hips and muscular backside. This is the point at which she sighed, a long and languid sort of a sigh… right before her period of longing was interrupted.

Interrupted that is, by the great bear of a man, her boss, the one and only Winston Theodore Poulous.

Though, at the moment, Hunny was strongly considering jumping ranks and joining in with the camp of those who referred to him as Winnie T. Poo. Because of his intrusion, Miss Hunny was denied her usual lengthy and detailed study of what Miss Hunny had been know to classified as Miss Robin Christopher’s ‘substantial assets’, usually with the last word hyphenated as ‘ass-sets’. Miss Hunny sighed again.

“Miss Christopher,” Winston boomed. “So nice to see you. What can I do for you today?”

“Let’s skip the small talk, Winnie. You know damn well why I’m here.” Robin Christopher pulled, from the inside pocket of her suit coat, a rather thick, legal-sized envelope all done up with a red string tie, and thrust it in Winston’s direction.

Miss Hunny sat at her desk, tenting her fingers, eyes following the envelope as it was passed. She was still smiling since Miss Christopher’s reference to her boss as Winnie to his face, the remark that was causing his jaw to tighten and his palor to turn ever so slightly crimson. Miss Hunny rested her chin on her tented fingers as the scene played out, lowered her eyes to study Miss Christopher’s ass-sets once again, and sighed another of the smallest of sighs.

“Remind me again, please,” Winston said, not giving an inch to Miss Christopher.

“The burros, Mister Poulous. The endangered North American wild burros, whose mating habits you are disrupting with your continued expansion of this subdivision. This envelope contains a university study of the fragility of the burro’s environment, along an injunction ordering the halt of construction until such time as a panel of Equidae experts can assess the situation and come up with a proper remediation plan.”

“Miss Christopher, please. You really expect me to halt construction, so that what? — A bunch of donkeys can up their chances at getting a piece of tail?” Winston Poulous laughed–a great big bear of a laugh. “Why, just last week it was the owls who were endangered. And — and before that,” Winston chuckled, “it was the wild boar, if I remember correctly. The little piglets were upset about something, was that it?” Winston brought his hand to his forehead in a mock fainting gesture. “Oh, bother,” he said. “Whatever shall we do about the piglets?”

“You cannot continue encroaching on the natural habitat, Mister Poulous. I won’t allow it. I’ll do everything in my power to stop you.”

“I’m sure you will. I’m sure you will.” Winston T. Poulous turned his back on the attorney, straightened his posture, and strode off toward his office. “But until I see something signed by a judge, I bid you good day Miss Christopher.”

“That could have been better,” Robin Christopher muttered as her head dropped to study the floor.

“So?” Miss Hunny purred from behind her desk. “How’s about that lunch date, Miss Christopher? It’ll cheer you up at least.”

Robin Christopher turned and glared at Winston’s secretary for a moment. While Miss Hunny was batting her lashes and thrusting her chest out, Robin turned toward the door and strode forward.

“Wait,” said Miss Hunny. “I do all the filing. Pay all the bills.”

Robin Christopher stopped.

“I know things,” continued Miss Hunny. “Even things that go on under the table. Off the books, if you take my meaning.”

“Well, I was thinking you might be interested in hearing about some of that over lunch. Maybe help your case.”

“Over lunch?” Robin said. “You’d betray your boss for a free lunch.”

“Well,” said Hunny. “There is quite a bit of information to cover. Perhaps dinner would be a better choice. And some dancing?” Hunny’s ample bosom shook as she giggled. “Maybe breakfast, too?”

“Let’s start with lunch and I’ll decide from there.” Robin Christoper shed her suit coat, folded it once, and draped it over her left arm. Draped over her right arm, was Miss Hunny, blushing like a school girl. The two of them made for the exit.

“So, you know all of this for a fact, Miss Hunny?” Robin Christopher pushed her empty plate aside and leaned forward on the table, resting her chin on her palm, mere inches from Miss Hunny. “You have proof that Winston T. Poulous has been bribing the city council?”

“Yes. And the local office of the Environmental Protection Agency.” Miss Hunny waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “He says it’s just the way business is done. Very nonchalant about the whole thing really. He’s even found a way to classify bribery as a business expense. For income tax purposes.”

Robin Christopher pushed her chair back and stood up. “Miss Hunny, I could just kiss you,” she said.

“Oh, you will,” said Miss Hunny, “and more.” Miss Hunny reached into her purse and produced her cell phone. She began casually swiping through a series of photographs, many of which featured a younger Miss Robin Christopher, dressed in tight black leather.

Hunny paused on a frame of Robin Christopher and a very tall, very dark, and very gorgeous Australian aboriginal woman. They were both clad in skimpy leather garb, smiling, and each holding a few lengths of red rope. The pictures were grainy at best, but the faces were instantly recognizable.

“Remember this?” Miss Hunny asked.

“I–I” Miss Christoper stammered. “Law school is very expensive. I did what I had to do. It was all consensual. Nothing–“

“Isn’t that stunning aboriginal woman on your right known in the industry as Miss Kanga?” Miss Hunny drawled on. “A famous, or should I say, notorious dominatrix.”

Robin Christopher placed her hand on the seat back in an effort to steady herself.

“And what about that Cajun midget boy you two used to tie up? Little Roux, wasn’t that his name?”

“Little people,” Robin managed to squeak out. “Uh… The correct term is, um, little people.”

Miss Hunny continued swiping across her phone to display another series of compromising pictures.

Robin sat back down in her chair with a rather unceremonious plop. “I–I was just the rigger. I’m good with rope. I didn’t… Who have you shown these to?”

“No one, so far, Miss Christopher.” Miss Hunny said. She produced a pen from her purse and began absentmindedly doodling on the back of a cocktail napkin, silently waiting, as Robin Christopher to mulled over her options.

“W–What do you want?” Miss Christopher asked. “You want me to let your boss off the hook, is that it? Is that what this is about?”

Miss Hunny threw her head back and laughed–a great big laugh–a laugh, that had Winston T. Poulous been a party to this lunchtime conversation, he might have remarked sounded very much like his own.

“I have learned a few tricks from Winston, over the years,” Miss Hunny said. “Ways to guarantee that I always get what I want.”

“And, what is that, Miss Hunny? What do you want?”

“Oh, I have a wide range of demands. But they all have one thing in common in the end. Yes, you’ll soon see. Whatever Hunny wants, Hunny gets.” Hunny held up her phone to show Robin the grainy photo on the screen, the one with Robin dressed in a tight leather corset and not much else. “And Miss Christopher, Miss Hunny wants you.”

Miss Hunny gazed unwavering at Robin, and slowly ran her tongue over her pouting lips.

Robin Christopher swallowed. She stared at Miss Hunny’s phone, now resting on the table, still displaying the picture of Robin, standing arm in arm with Miss Kanga, both holding several lengths of red rope.

“I’m starting with you asking me to dinner,” Miss Hunny drawled. “A very nice dinner, with dessert. Preferably one of those desserts that comes out of the kitchen on fire. I always love the reaction a flaming dessert gets, don’t you?”

Miss Christopher straightened up in her seat a little, opened her mouth as if to say something, but then returned her gaze to the cell phone display.

“Then, Miss Christopher, comes the good part.” Miss Hunny smiled. “Because after dinner you will be taking me dancing.”

“Oh. Oh, is that all?” Robin said, her shoulders relaxing a little.

“Yes,” said Hunny. “Oh, but there is one little detail I left out.”

Robin Christopher slowly raised her eyes to Miss Hunny across the table. Miss Hunny was grinning. Robin didn’t speak.

“You will be taking me to The Rabbit Hole. It’s a kink club.” Miss Hunny’s grin got wider as she spoke. “All of our dancing will be the Horizontal Mambo, if you take my meaning.” Miss Hunny slid the cocktail napkin across the table to Robin, and leaned in close. “It’s also called fucking, if you don’t.”

Miss Hunny sat back in her chair, her fingers interwoven behind her head. Miss Christopher began to perspire as she processed the information, starting with a single bead of sweat coursing over her forehead.

“And you’ll be tying me up,” Miss Hunny said. “It is what you’re good at isn’t it? Oh, I do hope so. That’s why I sought you out.”

Miss Robin Christopher slumped back in her chair, looking like someone had knocked the wind out of her with a gut punch. Miss Hunny, on the other hand was already standing up and stashing her cell phone back into her purse. She pulled out a tube of lipstick and painted her lips in bright red.

“See you at six, dear?” Miss Hunny shook her bosom, flipped her blonde hair over her shoulder, and turned to go. “Don’t be late.”

Robin Christopher sat for a long time, alone at the table for two, before reaching out to pick up a cocktail napkin. She picked it up and brought it half way to her forehead when she noticed the blue ink bleeding through.

Rather than wiping her brow, Miss Christopher carefully opened the twice-folded napkin to display four equal quadrants. In three of the four quadrants there was a rough sketch of a woman with long hair, suspended in rope, while a woman with shorter hair penetrated her in a variety of ways with a rather well-endowed strap-on. Several crude ovals arranged at the bottom of those three quadrants suggested that the two women had an audience of on-lookers. The last quadrant showed the two figures alone, and curled around one another. At the top of the napkin was written, ‘These are my demands. Nothing more, nothing less.’

Miss Christopher took one more look at the napkin before carefully folding it up and tucking it inside her suit coat pocket. She drained the last of her water glass and took a quick look around the restaurant. After laying out enough cash to cover the check and gratuity, she quietly slipped out the back entrance.