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Dorothy Does Oz Again, Part 4:

Happy Birthday Ozmerelda

By Aimee Nichon

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2019 Aimee Nichon

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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This is a work of fiction for adults. Its aim is to amuse and titillate . All the characters depicted are over 18. You're over 18. I'm over 18. All the characters are imaginary. Perhaps you and I are imaginary as well.

"I like your style, Dorothy," said Ozmerelda. It had not taken her long to see the humor in my inauspicious arrival at the Emerald City. And now we stood in water up to our knees in the bath that was a part of the guest quarters she had given me, being soaped up by Alfonse and Aladdin, our bathers.

Ozmerelda was a ball of pink lather with a head, arms and legs protruding. Her bather Alfonse was a master of scrub, turning soap suds into a work of art. My bather Aladdin wasn't so bad either. He tended to me with a bar of purple soap. He was less into sudsing, favoring a more hands-on approach -- hands on my hiney, hands on my titties, hands on my pussy. Where he wasn't touching me with his hands, he was touching me with his thing which, by the way, was a fine example of what an erection should be. He concluded his cleanliness campaign by pushing the purple bar of soap into my pussy enough times that I had a bit of a climax.

"It's customary here to tip our bathers," said Ozmerelda, taking hold of Alfonse's thing and stroking it energetically. I followed her example and wrapped my hand around Aladdin's thing, working my hand up and down the length of it.

"There," said Ozmerelda after a few minutes. I was still working on Aladdin who didn't seem anywhere near coming. He was nice and hard, but just not coming, and my hand was getting tired.

"Use your left hand, Dorothy. It's a proven fact that a left-handed hand job is faster than a right-handed hand job."

"It is?"

"Of course." I switched hands and tried to remember this morning with Raggedy Man and the magician. The magician had spurted first, but was he on my left? Yes, I thought he was. That's one for Ozmerelda's theory. I tried to remember other similar occasions but I couldn't remember who was on the left or who had come first for that matter.

Those thoughts were pushed out of my mind by Aladdin's shudder, followed quickly by a powerful spurt.

"You see?" said Ozmerelda smugly.

Okay, but against a left hand job and a right hand job, a blow job always wins. "Hands down," I snickered.

After Ozmerelda and the bathers had left, I tumbled into the comfy bed in the next room and couldn't stop myself from thinking the bed was so big that there would be room enough for both Alfonse and Aladdin. "Cocks and all," I said out loud. I had become kind of potty-mouthed since being in the Pond of Truthiness. Was that another side effect? It felt pleasantly naughty to use words like that, but I really should try not to. And if Alfonse and Aladdin and their cocks, I mean things, were here, I probably wouldn't get any sleep, which I must have needed, because almost immediately I dozed off, and slept soundly through the night.

I woke up late the following morning, and remained nestled in bed for a bit, thinking about Aladdin's wonderful bar of soap. I finally pushed myself to get up, get dressed and get on with the day. It was Ozmerelda's birthday, and she had invited me to her party. I searched through the closets and chests of drawers expecting to find something nice to wear. Nothing. Not even the shirt I arrived in.

I opened the door to my room and looked both ways. Not seeing anyone, I crept down the wide hallway, staying close to the walls as if they might keep me hidden. I hadn't gotten very far when a group of half a dozen soldiers turned the corner into my hallway, heading toward me. I was near a doorway with a sign proclaiming it to be a game room. I opted for the unknown game room rather than the soldiers. I pushed my way through the heavy door, hoping that the room might be empty or that I might find something to wear inside. The room was small, and a half dozen tables nearly filled it. The tables were empty except for one where three men sat playing cards. I backed toward the door, hoping to get away without being noticed, then hesitated, wondering if the soldiers might just now be passing.

"I say there, you," said one of the men. "Come on over here and join us. We're in desperate need of a fourth." Awkwardly I inched closer to the table, my hand on my pussy. I couldn't decide which titty to cover with my other hand, but didn't bother because it was rather pointless to cover just one.

"Would you join us for a little card game," said another. "It would be so sporting."

"Oh I couldn't," I answered. "I was just trying to find something to wear. As you can see I'm quite naked, and I'm feeling rather self-conscious."

"Oh piddle," said the third. "We can fix that, can't we gentlemen?" The three of them, stood and removed all their clothes. They sat back down. "There, now you're not at all out of place. I'm East." Going round the table, he introduced his companions North and West. "You're South. Do you play whist?"

"I'm afraid I don't." I sat in the fourth chair, so as not to be rude.



"Auction, Hearts, Nines?" I shook my head.

"We could play Ship Ahoy," suggested West. "It's very easy, and South could learn as we played."

"Splendid," East and North agreed. Not having any idea what Ship Ahoy was, I just smiled.

"As South, you're the first to draw a card," said West. I turned over a card.

"Seven of clubs," said West. "That makes you my partner, or I guess we should say ship mate." He pulled me up out of my chair and onto his lap, hands on my hiney, pushing me closer to him and slipping his hardened thing into my pussy -- or "his matey into my quarters" as he put it.

North turned over a card. "Three," he announced. West then thrust his matey farther into my quarters three times, as the three of them chanted: "One, two, three." North turned over another card. "Jack of diamonds. Change partners." North eased me from West's lap to his own where his matey was waiting patiently to enter my quarters.

East turned over a card. "Nine." North's matey made nine forays as once again the three of them counted in unison. We went twice more around the table in what was referred to as the Fore Session until an Ace of hearts signaled that it was time to switch to the Aft Session. In the Aft Session, I was sprawled across the table with my partner leaning over me. His hands held my titties tightly, and his matey entered my quarters from behind. The Aft Session was quite demanding, the smallest card drawn being an eight.

In the Below Deck Session which followed, all the mateys were promoted to captains. It began with the drawing of the six of spades at which point I got down on my knees and slipped the appropriate captain into my mouth, taking the length of it and pulling back -- sucking from stem to stern, you might say. The others counted off as I sucked-- six for West, nine for North and eleven for East (funny, I didn't remember decks of cards with elevens), another five for West, eight for North and eleven again for East. Halfway through his eleven, East shouted "Ship Ahoy,"

"He's fired his cannon," remarked the others. And indeed he had, his captain had spurted into my mouth, more a dribble than a spurt, but he was nevertheless declared the winner. North insisted that the rules required a runner-up, and so we continued but West's captain fired his cannon on the very next suck, cheating North out of another turn. This left North's captain unsatisfied and North himself quite morose. There were even tears in his eyes, so I crawled over and pushed his captain into my mouth. He almost immediately fired his cannon. He thanked me profusely as he oh so slowly pulled his captain out of my mouth.

I quickly excused myself before they could think up another game, and slipped out into the hallway.

I tried the next door and found a small room in which a scholarly looking man in a white lab coat sat in a chair facing another chair, which was empty.

"I'm sorry," I said backing out.

"No, come in." He waved me toward him. "You must be my one o'clock."

"Oh no, I'm not. I'm just looking for -- "

"Well, you've come to the right place. You look very agitated. You need to relax. Come sit down."

"I guess I am a little agitated," I said sitting down.

"I knew that because I am a professional."

"A professional what?"

"A professional relaxation therapist."

I was about to tell him that I was looking for something to wear, but before I could he said: "I'm going to help you relax." He pulled his chair closer to mine and placed his hands on my titties. "What are you thinking right now?" He rubbed my nipples with his thumbs.

"I'm thinking that your hands are on my titties."

"It's all right. I'm a professional."

"I forgot."

"And what are my hands doing on your titties?"

"They're feeling them."


"They're making my nipples hard.'

"Hard nipples, good, good. That's a step toward relaxation."

"And what do your hard nipples make you think of."

"Your hard thing sticking out of your lab coat."

"What thing?"

"You know, your c-o-c-k."

"Say it."

"I've been trying not to say it."


"Because if I'd used a word like that around Auntie Em, she would have said it wasn't ladylike and would have washed my mouth out with soap."

"But Auntie Em is not here with us at the moment."

"No, she's dead."

"Well then?"

"Your cock is sticking out of your lab coat."

"Take hold of it." I took hold of it. "Now take a deep breath and relax." I took a deep breath and relaxed. "Now what are you thinking?"

"I kind of like the word cock."

"Do you like the cock itself?"

"I guess so."

"You're stroking it."

"Am I? I'm sorry."

"It's all right. You may continue."

"Because you're a professional," I said, resuming the stroking.

"Have you ever done it before?" he asked, as I worked my hand up and down his hard-on.

"You mean jack a guy off?"


"I guess so. I mean yes."

"More than once?"


"More than a dozen times?"

"I --"

"More than a hundred times?"

"Of course not. Well, probably not. I don't know." I could feel myself blushing.

"Two guys at the same time?"


"Three guys at the same time?"

"That's not possible. Well, I guess if you count two hand jobs and a blow job."

"Blow job? Aha. You've given blow jobs? How many?"

"27," I said sarcastically. "I don't know how many."

"I guess they're all a blur?"

"Oh no. No two are exactly alike.

"How so?"

"Well, there's different length and girth and texture -- and taste of course. Every cock has its own distinct taste. I've always found that fascinating."

"Fascinating indeed," he said. "What do you suppose mine tastes like?"

I slipped out of my chair and knelt on the floor in front of him. I slipped my mouth over his cock and worked up and down it's length several times before releasing it and looking up at him. "A hint of nutmeg," I said.


I slipped it back into my mouth and gave it several long sucks. I pulled it out and licked the head a little. "Definitely nutmeg. Quite pleasant. Do you want me to keep sucking it?"

"No," he answered. "I think I need to fuck you."

I pulled away and stretched out, resting on my elbows. He got down on the floor and pulled my legs apart. "It's a good thing you're a professional," I said as he pushed his cock into my pussy. I loved my new freedom of speech, and being fucked by a professional, of course.

Now thoroughly relaxed, I continued my search for something to wear. I entered a cavernous room filled with dozens of paintings. In the middle of them a long lanky man wearing a beret and nothing else stood before an easel, brush in hand. Realizing this was probably not the place to find clothing, I started to back out, but he turned and spotted me. "Come here," he commanded. I walked over and stood in front of him as he silently inspected me. After he had finished his inspection, he said: "I am the famous painter, DaVinci Pastel. I must paint you."

"I'm the famous girl from Kansas, Dorothy. And I'm afraid I really don't have time to sit for a portrait. I'm searching for some proper clothing."

"I paint fast," he said. "You will remain standing. And proper clothing is irrelevant."

I sighed as he dipped his brush in red paint and watched with surprise as he twirled it around in my navel. He wasn't painting me. He was painting me. He painted like an artist on fire, working through his palette with color after color until he had painted my entire body except for my titties. At this point, he laid his brush down and dipped each of his fingers into a different color paint. Then he began to fingerpaint my titties, moving fingers this way and that in what must have been an artistic manner. He now worked very slowly and methodically, you might say dawdling. His final flourish was the painstaking painting of my nipples a deep purple. When he had finished he stood back and studied his work.

"No," he said suddenly, "purple is all wrong. With that he proceeded to lick the purple paint off my nipples, sucking for a few minutes longer when all the purple had disappeared. He then applied a much more appropriate crimson with, in addition to daubing, a good deal of pinching, pulling and twisting.

When he had finished, he picked up his brush and handed it to me.

"Be my guest." He nodded toward his erection. I dipped the brush into a nice orange, got down on my knees and began to paint, working from the rear toward the front with nice bold strokes. When I got to the head, I was very careful to get into the crevices and the hole at the tip. It was a splendid job, I must say.

As I leaned back and stared at it with pride, he looked down and got a shocked look on his face. "Orange? No, no, no. It won't do."

I leaned in and started licking, again from rear to front. The paint had started to dry and it took some serious licking to get it all off. I then painted it pink, working a little faster. Pink was also unacceptable; I dutifully removed it. Royal blue finally won his approval. He smiled down at it, then picked up a tube of yellow paint and squirted it between my lips.

Pushing his blue cock into my yellow mouth, he said: "Let's make green."

I found the ballroom where I hoped I might also find Ozmerelda getting things ready. The party had already started, so I peeked through the doorway and tried to get Ozmerelda's attention. At last she saw me and immediately pranced toward me.

"Here you are at last," she purred, not giving me the chance to ask her for something to wear. "My aren't you precious. Paint. How whimsical, how cheeky, how provocative. How tit --" She paused and chuckled. "-- tilating. You are a trendsetter, my dear. I guarantee you that tomorrow everyone will be wearing paint instead of clothes. Come let me show you off."

Before I could protest, she had dragged me into the center of the ballroom and introduced me to Count This and Count That. There certainly were a lot of Counts in Oz. Each and every Count I met leered at me unabashedly. They also took my paint as permission to touch me wherever and however they pleased, probably considering it art appreciation rather than feeling me up. I had a Count's hand attached to each titty, a Count's finger fiddling around in my pussy, and several hands (I'm guessing they were Count hands) roaming around my hiney.

Ozmerelda came floating by again. "I see you're the star attraction. Now move along Count Ozdonald. You've been hogging that tit for far too long. Here's your dance card for the evening, Dorothy. Use it wisely."

"Dance card," I squealed. "What a fun idea. I didn't know anyone did that anymore."

Ozmerelda just murmured ta ta and was off again.

Count Ozdonald had not moved along. He maintained his iron grip on my titty. Then I noticed that his other hand was tucked discreetly into his jacket and moving rapidly up and down. Perhaps I should have helped him, but this was Ozmerelda's party and I decided it would be inappropriate to jack off one of her guests. When he had finished I let him sign my dance card, and I moved off. Everyone wanted to sign my dance card, and it soon had more than a dozen names. I did wonder if they all really wanted to dance or were using it as a ploy to feel me up some more.

I found Ozmerelda again. "I've been wanting to ask you if the Wizard is here."

"Most certainly not." She scowled.

"Will he be coming?" I persisted.

"The Wizard is safely locked away in his prison cell. He will be leaving his cell tomorrow only because we shall be hanging him.

"Hanging him? Whatever for?"

"For the brutal murder of my two dear aunts, who were unfairly referred to by the rabble as the Wicked Witches. He had an accomplice, rather a hired assassin. We'll offer him freedom for the identity of the assassin, but of course we'll hang him anyway. And the assassin."

Oh dear, I thought. I'm the hired assassin, and if she asks the right question, I won't be able to deny it.

"But hanging is tomorrow," she continued, dismissing the morbid subject. "Today is a birthday party. We should eat, drink and be merry."

"And dance," I added. She stared at me quizzically as I continued. "I wish the band would get here. I've got an awful lot of partners lined up." I handed her my card.

"Dance? Band? Oh Dorothy, Dorothy. You didn't think . . . you did think . . . There is no band, no dancing.

"But the dance card."

"Dance card is a euphemism, dear. The people on this card are the ones you've scheduled to fuck tonight.

It was after midnight when Count Ozdeville pulled himself out of my pussy and Count Ozmeander departed my mouth. My jaw was sore, my hiney hurt. and my pussy was spent, but my tongue was no longer green. During the night, I came to the decision that someone must rescue the Wizard. And obviously that someone was me. I wasn't sure how, but I was determined to do it.

In the morning it took an hour of scrubbing by both Alfonse and Aladdin and a double tip for each of them to thoroughly remove DaVinci Pastel's work of art. When I was squeaky clean, I donned the little dress Aladdin had kindly found for me. It was a skimpy thing that looked like it was meant for a little girl. But it covered both my pussy and my hiney, and up top just a tiny bit of nipple peeped out. And so I was off to free the Wizard.

There's plenty of cum-raderie ahead in Part 5, Cocksucker General of Oz. Dorothy's adventures will come to a climax (as will many of the characters) as she is appointed to this important position. She'll fulfill her new duties with enthusiasm, pluck and plenty of tongue. I hope you'll be there. Who knows? Maybe she'll add you to her "dance card." -- Aimee

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