Fifty Shades of Alice at the Hellfire Club Read online

  “Describe what he’s doing, Alice.”

  “His… oh God… his fingers are rubbing my G-spot. I’m going to… I’m going to… twenty!”

  “Please,” Lewis said, his whole body shuddering. “I can’t bear to watch.”

  “But watch you must. Look closely as Heathcliff uses his fingers and tongue at the same time.”

  Heathcliff did as Madame Bovary said, going down on Alice as he thrust his digits inside her, and Lewis’s wife made a sound he’d never heard before. It was like the growl of a bear, and she thrashed back and forth with an intensity Lewis didn’t even think was possible.

  It was too arousing, too erotic, for him to handle. And as his wife shook with orgasm, Lewis’s prick jerked and he spurted all over his belly. With so little stimulation, his orgasm was a poor one.

  “Oh, Lewis!” Alice cried. “No!”

  “I warned you,” Madame Bovary said. She went to the chest and removed a bottle of oil, pouring it on Lewis’s still-twitching manhood. Then she began to stroke him.

  Lewis cried out. His cock was too sensitive, and her touch was painful. But she continued to pull on him as he struggled in vain to get away.

  “This is what bad husbands get for coming too soon,” Madame Bovary said, torturing him with tugs.

  Lewis groaned in agony. It was worse than tickling. Worse even than pain.

  “Do you wish me to stop?” Madame Bovary said.

  “Yes! Please!”

  “Then make me come.”

  She climbed atop Lewis, straddling his face, her bare sex pressed against his lips. Lewis began to lick her, desperately wanting her to stop tormenting his poor, sensitive penis.

  “Do you like seeing me sit on your husband’s face, Alice?” Madame Bovary said. “When was the last time you did? Answer me.”

  “Years,” Alice moaned.

  Years? Had it really been that long? Lewis closed his eyes, despising himself as Madame Bovary continued to torment him. He deserved this, and more, for taking Alice for granted.

  “One!” Alice yelled.

  “Lick harder,” Madame Bovary commanded. “We’ll make a lover out of you yet, Lewis.”

  Alice Gets to Thirty (Which Was Really Many More But She Had to Start Over Because of Lewis)…

  Heathcliff was just as devious with his fingers as he was with his tongue, and he ripped climax after climax out of Alice until she felt ready to collapse. Even worse, watching Madame Bovary torture Lewis turned Alice on something fierce. She rode his face while teasing his soft manhood, crying out in orgasm as her husband whimpered in agony. But, incredibly, Bovary’s expert hands were able to reinvigorate Lewis’s arousal. Alice couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten it up twice in one day, let alone twice within ten minutes. Watching it made Heathcliff’s orgasm torture even more unbearable.

  Madame Bovary came a second time, then crawled off of Lewis’s face and impaled herself on his cock, reverse-cowgirl.

  It was Lewis’s favorite position. He always loved to watch his shaft disappear inside Alice as she bobbed up and down. And Madame Bovary was good at it, making her strokes slow and sensual, her breasts swinging with each plunge. Alice groaned inwardly, and then outwardly. Her husband wouldn’t last long.

  As Madame Bovary humped Lewis, she said, “Get your toys, Heathcliff. And get the wordsmith to help you.”

  Mercifully, Heathcliff stopped his oral assault, and Alice was left hanging there, open and exposed, dripping with arousal, watching a beautiful woman ride her husband. She caught Lewis’s eyes, and his were intense with passion.

  “I will try to hold out for you, sweet Alice,” he said.

  Then Madame Bovary reached down and began to knead his balls as she rode him. He moaned.

  Alice continued to watch the coupling. She’d never really gotten into pornography, but this was different. She wasn’t watching some well-hung actor. She was watching her husband, his shaft hard and ready, his eyes electric with lust. And Madame Bovary was so beautiful, wild and aggressive, her breasts buckling with each thrust. Alice could hear every moan, every slap as the woman sheathed Lewis’s full length. She could smell the tangy scent of sweat and arousal, Lewis’s, Madame Bovary’s, and her own.

  The more she experienced the scene, sitting in the swing, drenched and open, the more electric she felt. In under a minute she’d gone from begging Heathcliff for mercy to wondering what was taking him so long to get back to her. Thinking about him, between her legs, entering her with his fingers, maybe even his cock, made Alice squirm in her harness.

  “I see I haven’t broken you yet,” Heathcliff said, his eyes gleaming. “No worries. I’ve got a friend who can assist.”

  A stern, brooding man with a long goatee walked into the Swing Room. He was at least twice Alice’s age, and wore a vintage tuxedo.

  “Alice, allow me to introduce bestselling author Charles Dickens.”

  Alice frowned at the new arrival, her ardor cooling, at least a little. “I’m familiar with Mr. Dickens. He screwed me many years ago.”

  “He did?” Heathcliff asked.

  Alice nodded. “In high school. I had to read Little Dorrit and got a D on the book report.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Dickens said. “Hopefully I can make up for it.”

  “I don’t see how.”

  “Well,” Dickens smiled politely, “I have great expectations.”

  Lewis groaned. It may have been from Madame Bovary’s undulations, but Alice leaned toward it being the bad Dickens joke.

  No doubt there would be more, as well.

  “Can we get the Tale of Two Titties pun out of the way before we get started?” Alice asked.

  “My, she’s a saucy one, Heathcliff.” Dickens focused on her naked titties and grinned. “What are we using on her?”

  “I’m going to use the Hitachi wand on her bare clitoris, while you work on her with the dildo stick.”

  “That should temper her literary criticism for a bit.”

  “I suspect there will be a Hard Times reference as well,” Alice said.

  “Perhaps a ball gag, too,” Dickens suggested.

  “Good idea.”

  Alice abhorred ball gags. When she could no longer talk she felt depersonalized. Just a mindless animal, acting on instinct while strange, mysterious men played with her helpless body. Like cruel children with a toy.

  The very idea made her shiver in anticipation, and when Heathcliff strapped the gag in her mouth Alice had a small orgasm.

  “Eimm,” she mumbled.

  “I think she said eight,” Dickens said.

  “I’m making her count her orgasms,” Heathcliff said. He was holding a stick the width and length of a broom. But rather than straw bristles on the end, instead there was a large, black dildo. Alice’s eyes widened at the sight.

  “Never seen one before?” Heathcliff asked.

  Alice shook her head, feeling her breath catch.

  “I picked it up at the old curiosity shop,” Dickens said. “Right next to the Pickwick Club.”

  “Charles, would you like to show the lady how it works?”

  “With pleasure.” Dickens took the stick and rubbed the tip against Alice’s opening. “The long handle allows for much greater control. One can do things with this that are impossible with a regular dildo. For example…”

  Dickens eased the rubber shaft into Alice. She was quite wet from all the earlier activities, and she stretched wonderfully open to accommodate its width. It felt otherworldly, and she moaned.

  He started by plunging languorously in and out. Each time he sank the full length into her, Alice gasped for air, sensations building.

  “Now watch how fast I can go.”

  With short, three inch strokes, Dickens caused Alice to scream in her throat. It was much faster than she could ever do to herself with her rabbit. It was even faster than a man could make love to her.

  “And I can also use a turning, churning motion,” Dickens said. “I l
ike to call this the Oliver twist.”

  As he pushed in and out of her, Dickens twisted the rubber cock like a turn of the screw (even though that was written by Henry James, not Dickens). The sensation was so magnificent, so overpowering, Alice couldn’t draw a breath. When she was finally able to fill her lungs she mumbled, “Enn.”

  “That’s ten, Charles,” Heathcliff said. “You’ve given her two.”

  Then her bottom was being cupped, and Alice’s clitoris ignited. Heathcliff was holding the world’s strongest back massager—a Hitachi wand vibrator—against her as Dickens continued his thrusting.

  The combination of both at once was mind-blowing. Alice went into orgasm overload. She couldn’t think, had no control over herself, and lost her mind to the intensity of the experience. It was less like a climax and more like convulsions, taking her to a place she’d never been before.

  Not even in her previous fantasies.

  Alice was vaguely aware of Lewis crying out, so loud that Charles dropped the dildo stick.

  “I do believe that Lewis scared the dickens out of her,” Heathcliff said.

  “He came again,” Madame Bovary said. “Restart her count.”

  “Not a problem,” Dickens said, entering Alice again. “Now let’s change the angle and give that g-spot a workout.”

  As Lewis yelled again, Madame Bovary tugging on his spent cock, Alice gave in fully to the seemingly endless multiple orgasms, one peak crashing into the next until she lost herself completely. She was vaguely aware of Heathcliff licking her neck and her nipples as her body contorted and she was rocked with never ending pleasure.

  Also, she decided that maybe Little Dorrit wasn’t that bad after all.

  It went on and on and on. Dickens kept changing positions and angles, coaxing new sensations from her. Heathcliff fingered her labia open and pressed the Hitachi firmly against her exposed, swollen clitoris, keeping it there even as she thrashed and shook.

  When she reached an uncountable number of climaxes, Alice hung there, limp and exhausted, momentarily confused as to why the gentlemen had stopped. A moment later she was being lowered gently to the floor, Heathcliff rubbing her wrists, Dickens removing the gag and handing her a delicious glass of cold orange juice. It took her a few minutes to remember where she was, and when she looked for Lewis in the other room she noted he was gone.

  “Where’s my husband?” she asked lazily, surprised by how little she cared.

  “Poor chap was having some difficulty maintaining his fifth erection.” Dickens said. “Madame Bovary took him to get a Viagra shot.”

  “Five?” Alice asked. “I only noticed the two.”

  “That’s common during orgasm torture,” Heathcliff said. “The experience is so intense you lose track of time.”

  “How many did I have?”

  “Altogether? Well over a hundred and fifty. But because of Lewis’s poor performance, we can only credit you with thirty.”

  Alice stretched and yawned. “I feel wonderful. Almost drunk.”

  “I’m sorry we had to stop. You were really into it.”

  Alice sipped more juice. “So… while we’re waiting… perhaps the two of you would like to…” She stared at the bulges in each man’s trousers, imagining one in her mouth and one gloriously fucking her.

  “Speaking for us both, we’d love to, Alice.” Heathcliff smiled, but his eyes were sad. “But Madame Bovary said, as soon as you’re able, we’re to take you to the baths.”

  “What happens in the baths?” Alice asked.

  Dickens shrugged. “Baths, of course. Oh, and degenerate sex. Same as every room at the Hellfire Club.”

  “Will you two be joining me?” she asked. She’d grown fond of them and could imagine lounging in warm water, a stiff cock in each hand.

  “That would be lovely,” Dickens said. “But we have to stay here and work on a woman named Jezebel. She fell off a beanstalk or some such silliness. We’re supposed to take her mind off of things.”

  “Oh. Well, I can’t say that I’m not disappointed. You both were quite extraordinary, and I haven’t come that many times in, well, ever. I’d really love to have the opportunity to pay you back.”

  “Your pleasure is our payment,” Heathcliff said.

  “Maybe next time?” she said.

  “You can count on it.”

  Alice tried to stand up, but found she was still a bit dizzy and her knees were weak. Heathcliff wrapped her in a white silk kimono and scooped her up in his strong arms.

  He carried her through the Hellfire Club, and Alice feasted her eyes on some tasteful interior decorating, along with many fascinating acts of debauchery.

  The first room they passed held a large, wooden pillory. The device was clamped around the head and neck of a woman, forcing her to stand bent at the waist, legs locked in a splayed position. A line of men stood behind and in front, waiting their turns to enter her in a variety of ways, sending her full breasts bounding with their thrusts. Each time one man finished, grunting his satisfaction, the woman yelled, “Bring on the next hard cock!” And so her wish was granted, a ready shaft being pushed into her mouth or between her open nether lips.

  If Alice wasn’t luxuriously exhausted, she might be ready to try something like that.

  The next room was abuzz with electricity… literally. Couples lounged on simple couches and braced themselves against walls. Some were bound, some not, but all of them were experimenting with some kind of electric devices, many causing visible electric arcs and zapping sounds.

  “What are they using?” Alice asked Heathcliff.

  “They’re stimulating various erogenous zones with violet wands and TENS units.”

  “What are those?”

  “Violet wands deliver an electric charge, like a shock. It can be quite stimulating.”

  “Ooo,” Alice said, thinking of how much fun she could have with that, depending on the region zapped. “And TENS units?”

  “They connect to electrodes that are either adhered to the skin or inserted inside.”

  “Inserted inside?” Alice could almost imagine how that would feel. “Like an electric shock dildo?”

  “Or a butt plug, yes. But those don’t feel like shocks. The electricity causes the muscles to contract. The sensation is similar to the contractions of an orgasm.”

  Now that Alice could imagine. “Maybe we could go back there?”

  “Maybe, dear Alice.” He kept moving down the hall.

  The next area they passed smelled good enough to make Alice’s stomach rumble. But the scene itself wasn’t just about eating. It was a vegan orgy where fruits and veggies were being used in a much more erotic way. Bananas appeared to be popular, as did carrots, and grapes. One adventurous woman, surrounded by a semi-circle of appreciative onlookers, was doing something mind-boggling to an enormous butternut squash. And a lone man was having what appeared to be an intense argument with a pineapple as he fingered a tomato, neither of those euphemisms.

  Saying goodbye to the fruits and veggies, they moved on to a very curious room. Divided by a thin wall, men lined one side, women the other. Between the two were holes at genital level. Many of the men thrust their hard members through the holes, the women on the other side doing whatever they liked with mouth and pussy and breasts. Alice had heard about these—glory holes they were called—and she always thought it would be wicked fun to have sex with a totally anonymous cock in that way.

  The next room wasn’t a room at all but a small amphitheater. Grandstands of seats surrounded the stage where a woman was chained to some sort of vibrating saddle device while being spanked by a handsome man dressed in a leather cape. She thrashed wildly, and the sounds she made rivaled Alice’s in the Swing Room.

  Next was an oral sex daisy chain, twelve people in a circle, each sucking and licking while being sucked and licked. It seemed like a perfect example of cooperation.

  Next, a man in a latex vacuum bed, who breathed through a tube while women rubbed oi
l and themselves over his vacuum-encased body. It looked more odd than stimulating, but to each their own.

  Next, a wrestling mat, where female combatants wore strap-ons. Alice wasn’t sure what determined wins and losses, but perhaps that wasn’t the point. After watching for a moment, she realized that everyone was a winner.

  A foot worship area was after that, where Alice found Queequeg, who was dividing his time between licking a pretty girl’s toes and licking a large wedge of brie. He gave her a wave.

  “Hello, Alice. Would you like to hear more poetry?”

  “How can I phrase this nicely?” Alice asked. “I’d rather be stabbed to death with rusty forks and my body thrown to wolves.”

  “A quick one then.” Queequeg cleared his throat and said:

  “Cheeze Whiz, Cheese Whiz

  All I see is Cheese Whiz

  It’s in my pants

  It’s in my hair

  It’s up my ass

  It’s everywhere.”

  “Dreadful,” Alice said.

  “Perhaps another, then.”

  “Please, no.”

  “It’s a short one.”

  “I still couldn’t bear it.”

  Queequeg recited anyway.

  “I ate some bad cheese,

  And I got a disease.”

  “Deplorable,” Alice told him. “I want those three seconds of my life back.”

  Queequeg laughed, waved her off, then went back to his toe and brie sucking. Heathcliff continued the tour.

  They passed a bound man who was having hot candle wax poured onto his body as he whimpered. To Alice it seemed unpleasant, but the man’s enormous, twitching erection told a different story.

  And then, a room filled with people eating hot wings. Nothing erotic about it at all, but they smelled pretty good.

  They also passed a room with a lot of semi-clothed people going to the bathroom.

  “Call me a prude,” Alice said, “but I never understood how people could get aroused by bodily functions. Especially enough to dedicate a whole room to it.”

  “That’s the restroom,” Heathcliff said.

  “Oh. Nevermind, then.”

  “Even so, Alice, nothing is morally wrong if two adults consent to it. One person’s turn-off could be another person’s kink. There’s a character here who walks around wearing a diaper and acting immature.”