The Faces of Alice: Part Five

Alice blew through that closet door and left Ellen locked up while she sailed out for the Sacred Circle. Ellen lay abandoned. She didn't flinch at the joke—trapped in one closet while lust locked her deeper in another. Her phone blinked with Dina’s text, three simple words, unread. Alice never saw it. Something else had taken her. Inside her head butch Al and candy-lipped Alicia were already hours late, elbows out, running the show. When the three of them—however many that added up to—stormed into the Circle, the sisters turned and stared. Alice glowed. Hair in perfect barrel curls, pink toile tutu barely hiding the purple double-headed cock swelling from her cunt, trucker cap cocked back, deep black lace between her tits like a dare. They dropped at her feet before she opened her mouth. “Ellen isn’t coming,” she said, voice syrup thick. “You’ll make do with me.” She lifted her arms. Clothes fell like petals. Six bare girls watched, legs shifting, nipples tight, slick gathering between soft folds. She ordered them to chant—loud, dirty, shameless: “There is no love spell, there is no power circle, we’re all just here to fuck!” Every syllable sharpened the ache already slick between her thighs. Alice shed her tutu and let the dildo swing free, thick, curved, glistening at both ends. She told them to double up. They climbed each other, cunt to cunt, giving Alice six pretty targets lined hip to hip. She sank onto the first pair. The bulb popped past slick lips and drove in deep. Moans stacked on moans. Hands worked between bodies, rubbing clits, feeding on whoever was free. Juice ran in shining trails down trembling thighs. Across town Christy came home to muffled thumps. She cracked the closet; Ellen spilled out swearing. They put two and two together fast—Alice had gone calling on Aphrodite, the goddess whose twisted gifts always arrived with fine print. Ellen summoned her. The deal was blunt: lift the spell and the Circle would quit dragging the goddess into dull little rituals. Aphrodite shrugged, amused. “True love’s kiss, one good cum, whatever breaks the lock. They usually figure it out.” They tore out to fetch Dina. Back at the Circle the sisters had slid into a writhing knot. Mouths latched on swollen lips, fingers plunged, tongues hammered until legs kicked and clear arcs sprayed across bellies. Alice sat enthroned at the center until the doors blew open. Ellen strode straight through, yanked rank as High Priestess, and barked the bodies aside. She dropped between Alice’s legs and licked slow, wet, commanding—erasing the last threads of the curse. Then she shoved Dina forward. Dina stripped, climbed over Alice, and kissed her like nothing else mattered. Their hips lined up; swollen clits met, slick and hot. The rhythm started gentle, then turned frantic—wet friction, grinding, breath shuddering. Alice’s back arched, voice cracking into a raw scream as the orgasm tore through her and everything else fell away. When the haze cleared, only Alice was left blinking under Dina’s weight. She clutched the girl’s waist and whispered sorry into her neck, said she only wanted to prove she belonged somewhere. Dina kissed the apology quiet. The rest of them, wet, tangled, spent, watched while the last echo of the goddess’s laughter faded into nothing.