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Alison's Wonderland Paperback – June 22, 2010

4.1 out of 5 stars 17 customer reviews

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About the Author

Called a “Trollop with a Laptop” by East Bay Express, Alison Tyler is naughty and she knows it. Her sultry short stories have appeared in more than 100 anthologies including Coupling edited by Sommer Marsden and Sex for America edited by Stephen Elliott. She is the author of more than 25 erotic novels and the editor of more than 75 explicit anthologies, including Alison’s Wonderland and 69. Visit www.alisontyler.com 24/7 as she’s a total insomniac.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.



Lily had walked past the shoe shop a hundred times. On her way to work at the flower shop early every morning, wearing shabby jeans and baseball boots that were worn the same color as the pavement, she'd walk fast and barely glance at the shiny, chichi window display. She didn't need to see heart-breaker heels and designer bags that would cost her a month's wages.

For the past six weeks, though, she'd found herself swiveling on her heel and turning to look at a particular display.

The window stretched high above her head, the plate glass polished so bright it reflected her image like a mirror. But Lily wasn't looking at herself. Her gaze was totally transfixed on the shoes. Glossy, cherry-red, skyscraper-high, patent-leather fuck-me shoes that made her heart beat faster just looking at them. They had deep curves and a dangerous heel and they stood center stage on a podium by themselves, proud, shockingly beautiful and insanely unaffordable. They made Lily's mouth water. She could almost taste the red of them.

Once, she'd approached the door, got close enough to feel the cool hum of air-conditioned air on her face. And then she'd checked herself. Girls with ratty hair and dirt under their chipped-varnish nails didn't enter shops like that. Not without a motorcycle helmet and a package under their arm. Not in a million years.

While she was at work, emptying buckets of stinking slime-water and slicing the stems of stargazer lilies, Lily let her imagination wander. In those shoes, she'd be able to walk anywhere—up red carpets and through gilded palaces, across Hollywood Boulevard and down the Champs-Élysées. She'd be a shameless scarlet bombshell, and take no shit from anyone. Her hips would swing and her lips would pout and men would fall at her feet.

And then her boss, Margie, yelled at her for daydreaming, and Lily snapped out of it and got on with the cold, dirty, green-stained work of the day.

It was the first Saturday in May. The city was full of mist that crawled lazily up the streets and muffled the edges of the morning. Dragging herself reluctantly to work, Lily walked past the siren-red shine of the shoes, and drifted to the window to gaze at her unreachable dreams through half an inch of bulletproof glass.

"You like them."

Lily nearly fell on her ass. A man had appeared, silently, in the shop doorway. He wore a black shirt and trousers the color of champagne. His face was taut and unlined, and his smile barely tweaked the corners of his mouth.

"I was just looking," Lily said, backing away.

"I see you," the man continued, fixing her with fathomless gray eyes, "every morning. You look at my shoes like you're starving."

"Your shoes?"

"I design them," he said.

"No shit," said Lily.

"For women," he said, "like you."

"Oh," Lily said, and looked down at her faded, raggedy Ramones T-shirt.

A smile snaked across the man's face.

"It's what's underneath that matters," he said, his eyes hooking on Lily's chest.

If Lily had seen herself in the plate glass, she'd have seen her cheeks flare as red as the shoes. She looked down at the paving slabs and tried to think of a witty comeback.

"Come in," the man said, pushing the door open.

Lily's eyes flicked from the shoes to the man and back again. In her mind's eye, she pictured the flower shop's shutters rolling open and Margie cursing the empty street. And then, although she knew it was crazy and although she couldn't afford to get fired from another job and although everything about the man made her feel she had sleepwalked into some surreal stage play, she followed him into the cool, palatial interior.

The whole place must have been polished by an army of women on their hands and knees, Lily thought. Every damn surface shone like a mirror. Even the light shafts that fell across the room looked glossy. The air smelt faintly of a sweet, spicy perfume, and the shop was silent. There was no sound other than the click of the man's shoes as he walked across the marble floor to the window display.

He lifted the shoes by the straps and brought them to Lily, dangling them from his hand like a bunch of grapes he didn't want to bruise.

"See," he said. "Aren't they beautiful?"

But as Lily reached out, he swung the shoes away and shook his head. He gave her a smile that made her feel dizzy.

"Not yet. You can wear them tonight. When I take you out."

When Lily finally turned up to work half an hour late, she was clumsy and preoccupied. She knocked over a display and broke an orchid stem, gave the delivery driver a funeral wreath instead of a get-well-soon bouquet and ruined a hundred silk roses by dropping them in water.

"What is going on?" Margie bellowed. "Lily Spink, get a hold of yourself!"

By six o'clock, Lily was wired. She stood by the door of the shop, stepping from foot to foot anxiously while she waited for Hans. That was his name—the shoe man. It was about all she knew. But she'd guessed he was rich. She had an inkling he'd take her somewhere fancy, and so she'd stripped down to her spaghetti-strap vest and tried to scrub the green stains off her jeans. Her outfit wasn't Chanel, but it was the best she could do at short notice.

When his car pulled up outside, dark, sleek and quiet, Lily whistled under her breath. It looked like a cruise ship.

"Hold on!"

Lily rolled her eyes as Margie's foghorn voice called her back. Her boss nodded at her. "Take this, honey."

She pressed something into Lily's hand—a sprig of little bell-shaped white flowers nodding on a stem, tied in ribbon— and gave a tight smile.

"Lily of the valley. Your namesake."

He drove straight to a club downtown, tucked behind the old merchants' quarter. Hans climbed out of the car and walked around to Lily's door to open it. When she swung her feet out, he bent forward and stilled her with one hand on her knee. Lily swallowed. Hans crouched at the curb. His hands slid down her calves and looped around her ankles. Slowly, almost daintily, he unlaced her baseball boots. When he tossed the battered boots in the gutter, Lily nearly cried out, but then she saw the hot glimmer of the red shoes and caught her breath.

Hans laid them at her feet.

"Put them on."

As she stepped, at last, into the arched shoes, they clasped her feet like the hands of a lover, and Lily knew she was beautiful. When she climbed out of the car, her spine unrolled and her hips tipped forward, until her body was an S that leaned toward Hans. Even in her frayed old jeans and with her hair loose and tangled, Lily felt like a queen.

She'd tied Margie's posy to the strap of her vest, and Hans's eye caught on it as they climbed the steps.

He raised an eyebrow. "An unusual corsage."

Lily didn't answer. She felt a bit dazzled.

They entered the club arm in arm. Every head turned to look at them. The men's faces were lustful and the women looked as if they'd sucked sour plums. Damn, Lily thought. These shoes work. She swayed across the marble floor, hanging from Hans's arm. The shoes were so high they gave her vertigo, but there was also a zing and a shiver creeping through her veins. Lily's tits tingled like they had lithium batteries attached to the nipples.

Hans led her past the jealous crowd and through a pair of long velvet curtains at the back of the club. They entered a dark, cavelike room with black walls and black marble floors, a vast glittering chandelier hanging overhead the only decor.

"Want something to drink?" Hans said, his lips brushing her ear, and Lily shivered. Everything he said made her feel as though she were swimming in syrup.

"Or shall we dance?" Hans slipped an arm around her and let his hand trip over the curve of her buttocks. Lily's heartbeat seemed to follow his touch, and she had to force herself to breathe out. When he pulled her onto the edge of the dance floor, her feet started to twitch. Lily was restless. Antsy. She felt like there was a swarm of bees in her belly, and it was part sweet torture, part agony as the thrills spilled over and trickled through her veins.

Hans watched her. His gaze stroked down her curves, and Lily felt as though she were being wrapped in hot, wet silk. Delicious shivers ran up and down her legs, and she twisted from side to side to let the tingles travel right to the end of her fingertips. What was going on? She dropped her eyes to her feet. Was it some kind of weird acupuncture?

"Oh, God," she said. "These shoes—these shoes are… fantastic."

Hans circled her, still observing her body with intense interest. As she pointed her toes and flexed, like a cat trying to shake an itch out of its fur, he put his mouth to her ear.

"Dance," he whispered, and gave her a sharp slap on the rounded cheek of her ass. The sting made her leap, and Lily whirled around, her mouth open wide in surprise. Before she could say a word, though, her attention was distracted by a low, pulsing sound. It could have been her heartbeat thumping in her ears or it could have been music, but whatever it was, the rhythm spoke directly to her body, to her hips and belly and the sweet wetness gathering between her legs.

Lily danced. She rolled back and forth and stroked herself, balancing on her tiptoes in the towering shoes. As Hans watched, she danced for him and toward him, winding around his body and rocking against him. The complex, noiseless music continued and grew louder as she ground into his crotch, lifted up tall enough on the shoes to meet the stiff length of his cock as it pressed against her, hot even through the layers of their clothes.

Deep in Lily's thoughts, a glimmer of apprehension flared. Weren't there any waiters, any other people wandering into the hidden ballroom? She hunted the dark corners of the room, but found nothing in the shadows except more shadows, deep and thickly layered, and the sensation she was floating underwater, drifting down beyond the depths to a place where no light would reach her. She felt caressed by the dark, just as Hans gently stroked her hips and slid his long fingers inside the waistband of her jeans, reaching down to tickle the top of her ass.

When he kissed her, it was like drinking very fine brandy— smooth and strong and dark gold. Lily smelled the perfume on his neck—civet and patchouli, something dense and elusive—as he deftly unbuttoned and pushed her jeans to her knees. Any shame she might have felt evaporated like smoke, and she closed her eyes as his swaying movements helped them dance closer to each other, until there was nothing between their skin but heat and a damp slick of perspiration.

Perhaps he slid his trousers aside as swiftly as he'd undressed her, or perhaps his clothes somehow melted away, because now Lily felt Hans's cock, hot and hard, slide between her thighs and nudge at the seam of her pussy. She was molten wax, all liquid heat, and Hans was flowing into her like a knife into butter.

His hands circled her hips and held her fast as he pinned her on his prick, pulling her down slowly until he filled her right. But Lily couldn't stop moving, like the beat wouldn't leave her alone, and she squirmed against him, working herself closer and closer.

She no longer knew if she was trying to dance or fuck or swim. Her feet slid around to get purchase on the floor as he took her and lifted her up with each stroke. Lily heard moans, and wondered if they came from her mouth. Her body was wildly restless, insatiable even as she felt the blissful ache of his cock thrumming inside her.

As they worked against each other, his hands moved everywhere at once—cupping her breast, slipping over the fuzz of her pussy, pinching her clit and molding her ass. Gripped in his rough embrace and tugged and dazzled by whatever the shoes were doing to her, Lily's head started to spin.

"You like that?" he asked, and she heard a dark thread of menace running in his voice.

"Don't want me to stop, do you?" he asked, while his fingers strummed and rubbed and tweaked at her. She crawled upward, like she was trying to climb his body.

A voice in her head chanted a mantra she was only half aware of. More, more, more. Lily didn't know what she wanted more of—his cock, his fingers, his voice slithering into her ear like a trance, the brandy kiss or the wet shine of the shoes that clung to her feet. The feeling, the thick, dark, urgent and sweet feeling. The beat of the music rolling into her. Everything, everything.

Lily started to shiver. Hans fucked her steadily, decisively. She had to fight to breathe. The polished floor was slippery under her feet and she felt herself tumbling, slipping, falling as the burn of orgasm rose up through her body.

It started in her feet, red flares of sensation that burned in her veins and swarmed around her thighs, a hot crush inside her that uncurled and licked over her clit, clutched at her heart and sparked in her nipples as the man pinched them tightly. And then it was everywhere.

She closed her eyes and saw crimson, opened her mouth and screamed scarlet, felt the red crash over her and through her and shake her until there was no world anymore, no ballroom, no Lily.

The red splashed across her heart and sizzled in her fingertips.

The waves rocked her back and forth, swaying her until she was seasick. Lily unraveled and spun out like a ribbon caught in the ocean's deep currents. She was limp, her body shaky. Ready to climb down now, to find air, to break the surface.

But Hans's arms circled her waist and the shoes were tight on her feet. Although she was flinching, oversensitive, the cock inside her was harder and stronger than ever and her body wouldn't stop moving against it.

"Hans," she said, almost ready to beg for a moment's pause. She was ignored. He rubbed relentlessly at her aching nipples, making her flinch as the too-strong sensation shot through her. She was bathed in sweat, cooling now and slick over the surface of her skin.

She tried to pull away. But she found herself tugged toward Hans, as though there were a strong magnet in her stomach. And her hips—though they ached, they kept on moving. Her body seemed possessed—though she frowned and blinked she couldn't seem to see clearly.

"Yes," Hans said, and his smile curdled. "Dance with me."

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Product Details

  • Paperback: 416 pages
  • Publisher: Spice; Original edition (June 22, 2010)
  • Language: English
  • ISBN-10: 0373605455
  • ISBN-13: 978-0373605453
  • Product Dimensions: 5.1 x 1.1 x 8 inches
  • Shipping Weight: 1.6 ounces
  • Average Customer Review: 4.1 out of 5 stars  See all reviews (17 customer reviews)
  • Amazon Best Sellers Rank: #1,255,432 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)

Customer Reviews

Top Customer Reviews

By Mrs. Baumann VINE VOICE on June 22, 2010
Format: Paperback
Plot Summary: This anthology of erotica puts a new spin on fairy tales, and twenty seven authors have dreamed up some deliciously naughty scenarios for Snow White, Little Red Riding Hood, Cinderella and more.

I think I'm becoming addicted to erotica with a fairy tale theme. Alison's Wonderland is full of lots of tie 'em up, and tie 'em down action, and while bondage isn't usually my thing, most of the stories kept it light enough for me to enjoy, although I do confess that I didn't know there were such things as blindfolds with padlocks. I keep wondering how that could attach and lock onto someone's head? I'm laughing at the new things this book taught me today! So yeah, there's quite a bit of bondage action, but there are plenty of other styles as well. Some of the stories were tremendously kinky, some were touching, and a few were even bittersweet. It's a good mix.

The other big theme I noticed throughout this collection were older women and younger men, and some of these ladies were seriously in charge and in control. I like the idea of seeing 40-something and 50-something heroines in an erotica collection, so bravo. We ladies don't dry up and blow away as we age, and I appreciate those authors who had mature female characters.

Some of the stories played quite cleverly on a fairy tale. My favorites were: "The Three Billy's" by Sommer Marsden, where a cranky librarian with the unfortunate name of Ms. Troll goes head-to-head with three repairmen named Billy, "Wolff's Tavern" by Bella Dean, where a red-head seeks help from a big bad man named Wolff when her car breaks down, and "Rings On My Fingers" by Alison Tyler, about an 'un-inked' bookshop clerk who lusts over tattoo artist. I believe this collection has something for everyone, and you won't believe what the seven dwarves really do to Snow White.
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By J. Wine on January 21, 2012
Format: Kindle Edition Verified Purchase
I love fairytale rewrites and I generally tend to like Erotica stories, however I didn't really like this book for various reasons. For one, the stories stuck me as odd. For some the build up took a good amount of time, others it was more like "I LIKE BEING SPANKED, SPANK ME." which is not my cup of tea. The stories were long in some places, too short in others. None of the stories I've read have particularly got "my blood boiling" so to speak and I am about halfway through the book now and I don't think I'll be reading the rest of it.

In hindsight, I may have been unfairly comparing it to Nancy Madore's Enchanted: Erotic Bedtime Stories For Women which I thoroughly enjoyed.
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Format: Paperback
Once upon a time, at College, I came across a theory that was to me novel, audacious, and helped reinforce the idea that what I was going to learn in college was not just going to be more high school, but was a whole new type of learning.

That theory, as expounded by one of my professors, was simple. All fairy tales, she said, every single one, had at its bottom a sexual context. Some were cautionary tales, she said, tales meant to warn young women about the dangers of sex outside of marriage. Others were symbolic rites of passage, suggesting the transformation between girl and woman by means of various symbols. Others were meant to show the transfer of bonds between a girl and her father and a woman and her husband.

This old theory was firmly in mind as I began to read Allison's Wonderland, an anthology of erotic fiction based on fable, fairy tale, myth and legend. Readers of my reviews know that I am well and familiar with Ms. Tyler's previous work--both as an indefatigable anthologist and a writer of her own right. That work, in the main, however, has been kinky, sexy, hot contemporary erotica. Characters that you could meet walking down the street in Los Angeles, or encounter in a sawdust-floor bar in deepest Texas.

This anthology, on the other hand, is a little different.

Some of the stories in this collection, such asJanine Ashbless' Gold on Snow and Georgia E Jones' The Walking Wheel, are explictly set in a fairy tale or historical fantasy world. Others take the idea and theme of various stories and transform them into contemporary contexts, sometimes very much a tale sprinkled with magic. Charlie, in Portia Da Costa's Unveiling his Muse meets a fairy queen of his own creation.
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Format: Paperback
Have I ever told you how much I love you, Harlequin? Because I do. Completely & totally. I want to thank you for not only putting out a collection of well written erotic stories, but putting out erotic stories based on & inspired by some of the best loved fairy tales out there. The only problem? Well, several readers are going to find it hard to put this away & others might not realize how incredibly difficult it is to write erotica. (Hey, you try writing a sex scene & find ways to describe the same body parts & actions without repeating yourself!)

Alison's Wonderland is a compilation of erotic stories written by several different authors, each of which lend their own personal style & tastes to this exotic blend. There's stories here based on Cinderella, Beauty & the Beast, Red Riding Hood- even the Billy Goats Gruff! (Don't worry, there's no goats in that story, although there is a woman with the last name of Troll!)

I'll warn people that if they don't like a good heaping of BDSM, they might want to skip a few of the stories in the book. (Hey, some people like it, some don't.) No worries though- Tyler made sure to include just about everyone's tastes in this book. It also doesn't hurt that she also made the book cover into something that you can openly display on your shelf without worrying about anyone looking at it & immediately thinking "oh, porn on display". What will really intrigue readers is that Tyler tries to make sure that she collected stories that have deeper meanings to them. Whether it's Belle finding the will to assert herself or two women finding love with each other, it is nice to see that these stories have more to them than just sex.
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