“Are you kidding? That’s why people read these stories. For the graphic sacks.”
The pun was almost as awful as the pulsing, wet heat between her legs.
“Hurry now, lassie. We’ve got quite a night planned for you and your husband both.”
Alice Is Teased and Edged Until She Can’t Take it Anymore…
Alice’s hands were bound behind her, the graphic burlap covering her head, shoulders and body down to the top of her thighs. Without use of her hands, she hadn’t been able to relieve her sexual frustration during the carriage ride.
Lewis was snoring beside her—he could sleep through anything—and Alice tried to focus on something other than the throbbing in her loins. But every time they hit a bump in the cobblestone, it seemed to go right to the center of her womanhood. She’d never been more wet, and to make matters worse, her lower half was exposed, cool air constantly reminding her that her special place was quite bare to the world.
To make matters even worse, the bald pirate Queequeg had taken it upon himself to give Alice the most wonderful foot massage. He began with peppermint oil, rubbing her heels, and the arches of her feet, with strong, expert hands. Alice had always found foot rubs to be sensual, and this callous-handed brute stroked and kneaded her like he was making love to her feet. It did nothing to quell the empty ache in Alice’s femininity, and she squirmed as he touched her, trying to find something to rub against to relieve herself, but unable to do anything but hump the air.
Then the pirate began to splay her toes and—
My goodness. He’s licking them.
“Such pretty tootsies,” he said, low in his throat. Then he took her large toe in his mouth and began to suck.
The sensation was impossible to describe. Somehow her feet had become an erogenous zone, and each lick and stroke brought pleasure as sure as if it had been against her private parts. Alice undulated in her sack, her eyelids fluttering as the pirate’s tongue encircled each toe, sucking and nibbling as his hands continued to caress.
“You can have your way with me,” Alice whispered, low and throaty.
“I’m fine with what I’ve got. Always been into feet. And yours are lovely.”
He took Alice’s entire heel into his mouth and sucked at it as if it were her breast, rolling his tongue around, making the heat between her legs even more unbearable. A pirate with a foot fetish. Who woulda figured?
But then, since so many had peg legs, maybe feet were a novelty.
“Seems as if you like it, dear Alice.”
“I do!”
“Seems as if you’d like me to lick and stroke more than just your feet.”
“Yes.”
“How about I lick slowly up your leg and then slide my tongue between yer thighs? Would ye like that?”
“Oh, yes.” Alice rolled her hips. Although she knew what she was doing was more than naughty, cavorting with a pirate while her husband was lying next to her, she couldn’t help herself. She was so hot, so wet, Alice could hardly think. She needed relief so badly. Alice tried to arch her pelvis so he had easy access.
“Bet you’d like my cock in your mouth, too.”
Alice moved her tongue over her lips, almost able to feel his shaft slip between them, almost able to taste his essence.
“My cock? You like that idea?”
She buried her face shamefully in the sack, but admitted, “Yes.”
Queequeg shrugged. “Sorry. The captain won’t allow it. You can’t come until we get to the Hellfire Club. And I reckon you’ll have plenty of hard cocks to savor then. But he said I can touch your feet all I like, and recite my pirate poetry. Would you like to hear a poem?”
This wasn’t the time for poetry.
Come to think of it, was there ever a time for poetry? Did anyone actually like poems other than the needy poets who penned them?
“No. I really wouldn’t,” she answered honestly.
Queequeg began to recite anyway.
“I love to be a pirate,
And sail the seven seas,
I also love lasagna,
With extra feta cheese.”
“That’s… awful,” Alice said.
“Awful? But it rhymes.”
“Just because it rhymes it doesn’t mean it’s good.”
“Sure it does. Would you like to hear another?”
“Absolutely not.” She wanted to go back to imagining his tongue lapping at her, his hard manhood penetrating her lips.
But Queequeg cleared his throat and began again.
“I searched for better cheddar,
But I could only find pretty gouda.”
“Abysmal,” Alice said.
“It’s blank verse. That’s why this one doesn’t rhyme.”
“I picked up on that. You should have left it completely blank.”
“That’s a bit rude.”
“Why the fixation with cheese?”
“I like cheese. It’s my second favorite thing.”
“Is your first favorite ravaging extremely horny women?” Alice asked, hopeful.
“No. It is cheese-flavored snacks. Ravaging women is third. But Captain Blackbeard said I’m not to ravage you. And you don’t seem very cheesy anyway, although this story certainly is.”
“That’s the famous Captain Blackbeard?” That she and Lewis had been abducted by a famous pirate hadn’t occurred to her. “But his beard is mostly gray.”
“Can’t a man get older? Got hisself a catchy nickname, so he has to resort to coloring products to keep up with his image? You expect the most feared pirate on the seven seas to touch up his gray with Miss Clairol?”
Alice arched up and opened her legs wider, hoping the sight of her bareness would be enough to move ravishing horny women to the top of the pirate’s list. “Hang the rules. Have your way with me. I beg of you. The captain won’t know.”
“Aye, you’re a saucy one, ain’t ya?”
“Don’t I arouse you?”
“Indeed you do.”
Alice took the foot he wasn’t orally copulating with and lowered it to below his belt, groping with her toes until she found something very long and very hard.
“Why, you’re enormous!”
“That’s the hilt of my cutlass, lass. But since you’re curious…”
The pirate grabbed her ankle. Shuffling aside fabric, he pressed her foot against something not as long or hard, but definitely warm and male. She rubbed her toes up his length and he moaned.
“Oh, please,” Alice said. “I must have it inside me.”
“My willy or the handle of my sword?”
Alice sighed. “At this point I’ll take anything.”
“Anything? Well I have this poem…”
Was he kidding? “Anything other than poetry. Please, I need to come.”
“You know what’s in store for you at the Hellfire Club. You signed the contract. It’s bound to be downright exhausting.”
“I don’t care. If I don’t come soon I fear I’ll go insane. I’ll do anything you ask. Want me to pretend to be a big wedge of provolone?”
“Intriguing, but I don’t think so.”
She was getting truly desperate. “What if I also recite bad cheese poetry?”
“What do you mean by bad? My dear mother loves my poetry. Said my limburger iambic pentameter was so lyrical she could smell the funky stink.”
Alice began her verse.
“Eat me like your Roquefort,
Lick me like your parmesan,
Treat me like your cream cheese tort,
I don’t have my panties on.”
She tried to gauge his reaction, but Queequeg seemed unimpressed. Alice wondered if she should have gone with her first idea, something to do with mozzarella and blow a fella. What man could resist that?
“I think I’ll go back to sucking your toes,” he said.
“Is that all you do?” she asked, petulant. “Cheese poems and foot fetishism?”
“I’m also c
arving my own coffin. I have a feeling I’ll be needin’ it when the Pequod ships out in a few days. That’s what Ismael says.”
“Ismael?”
“They call him Ismael.”
Alice tried to think of some Moby Dick pun, but Queequeg once again began fellating her toes, ruining her concentration, making her squirm and whimper. She didn’t even notice the carriage had stopped until she heard Blackbeard’s voice.
“She been begging for it?” he asked.
“Aye, Captain. Quite a case of the hornies, this one has.”
“Didn’t I say you weren’t allowed to come until we reached the Hellfire Club?
“I don’t care what you said,” Alice spat, defiantly.
“Perhaps I should punish you before we enter the club,” the captain said.
“Yes, punish me,” Alice said. “I insist.” She was so close to orgasm that a few spanks on her bottom would be more than enough to send her over the edge.
“Tie her to the floor of the carriage. I’ll give her the Blackbeard special.”
Queequeg’s eyes got big. “But Captain! That’s too cruel!”
“Her insolence warrants it. Bind her.”
Soon Alice was happily free of the burlap bag and bound, naked and deliciously spread-eagled, onto the floor of the carriage. Whereas she’d felt so self-conscious when the pirates had first burst in on her while she masturbated, Alice was now completely wanton. Lewis was still sleeping, now heaped on the top of the carriage with the luggage, but she hardly gave a thought to her husband. She could focus only on the exquisite release that was to come. Whatever happened next would no doubt be wonderful.
“Do your worst,” she challenged Blackbeard, her skin tingly all over.
The captain got down on his knees and nestled his face between her legs.
Alice felt his hot breath on her thighs, and his long beard tickle her most sensitive spot. She began to thrash her head back and forth, her hips squirming. “God, yes!”
She pressed her pelvis up against his mouth, but Blackbeard pulled away.
“Tie her hips down, too.”
When her hips were suitably secured, the captain once again tickled her nether regions with his beard. It was such a light, soft touch, Alice could barely feel it. But each stroke of his whiskers heightened her sensitivity a fraction. She squeezed her eyes closed and tried to focus on his beard, on it gently brushing her engorged clit, back and forth.
Just a little more, and I’ll come. Just a little bit more and…
The captain moved his beard away.
Alice clenched her fists and yelled. “No! You… you scoundrel!”
Blackbeard laughed, hard enough for his whole body to shake.
“So this is how you punish me? By making it even worse?”
Queequeg rubbed the bulge in his pants. “I seen the captain do this to one lass for two whole days without letting her come. Poor thing was in tears by the end of it.”
“That’s inhuman!”
Blackbeard stroked his facial hair, slick with her juices. “It’s called edging, dear Alice. Bringing you close, then stopping. It’s a form of orgasm denial, and it’s what will be done to your poor husband. What’s good for the gander is good for the goose. He’s to be edged until his balls ache.”
Alice felt a pang of pity for Lewis, but then the beard was back, brushing against her as soft as a spider’s web. She fought against the ropes. All she needed was a tiny bit more pressure. His lips or tongue on her. Even his chin. Something to rub against so she could relieve the insufferable heat.
But Blackbeard simply continued to stroke, back and forth, up and down, light as a feather. She had never felt so close to coming, but the brute knew just when to stop before allowing it.
“Bet you wish you still had that rabbit,” Queequeg said.
Alice’s voice was dry and cracked but she said, “Please. I have money.”
“And what do you mean to pay us for?’ Stroke stroke stroke.
“Lick me.”
Stroke stroke. “Lick you where?”
“Between my legs.”
“Call me crude, but I prefer it when women talk dirty.”
“My pussy.” Alice blurted out, feeling both emboldened and ashamed by the vulgarity. “Lick my pussy. I’ll pay you to lick my pussy.”
Stroke stroke stroke. “I could lick you and put a finger inside at the same time.”
“Yes… oh yes… finger fuck me while licking my pussy.”
“And maybe you’d like Queequeg to put his cock in your mouth.” Stroke stroke.
Alice remembered the feel of his stiff member against her toes. The thought of him in her mouth while the captain licked and fingered was so exciting it brought Alice to the very brink of orgasm. “Yes! I want to suck his cock. I want to suck both of your cocks until you come all over my tits.”
She wasn’t sure where the idea came from, perhaps faded memories of another adventure, but as the words left her lips, she realized that was exactly what she wanted. She wanted it so badly, she was panting.
“Admit you’re a horny little slut.”
“Yes,” Alice gasped, the words arousing her even more. “Yes, I’m a horny little slut.”
“Well, do you know what horny little sluts like you get?”
Alice knew. And she craved it.
“Horny sluts like me get fucked,” she said. “Please fuck me. Both of you at once.”
“Actually… what you get is this.”
Stroke stroke stroke stroke.
Alice screamed in rage and frustration. The two pirates laughed at her agony, and the damnable beard continued to tease her. She was almost ready to die of sexual frustration when the carriage door opened.
The trio looked up to see Madame Bovary, being helped into the carriage by a gentleman companion. The Madame wore a fashionable petticoat dress with ruffles, a black hat, and black, high heeled boots. The fellow wore a tailored black suit. He was swarthy, handsome, perhaps with some gypsy blood in him, and he had a glint in his eye that was either mischievous or cruel.
“Has she come yet?” Madame Bovary asked, looking directly at Alice.
“No, Madame.”
“And her husband?”
“Still asleep.”
Madame Bovary hiked up her dress and squatted next to Alice. The woman wore no undergarments, and was shaved down there.
“You’re suffering now, Alice, pleading for release, aren’t you?” she asked.
Alice nodded and stared at the woman’s uncovered femininity, which somehow aroused her even more. “Yes. Please help me. I beg you.”
“I know how you must feel. The longing. The lusting. Blackbeard certainly knows how to edge. He’s so good at orgasm denial it is practically criminal.”
Blackbeard tipped his hat. “I could continue for a few more hours, if Madame desires.”
“No!” Alice begged. “The contract I signed, it says I’m not to be denied my pleasure.”
“I know. It’s your husband who is to be edged and denied. I’ll be orchestrating that. But you’ve consigned yourself to something even crueler.”
“Nothing can be crueler,” Alice said biting her lower lip and shivering as Blackbeard resumed his incessant stroking.
Madame Bovary glanced up at the handsome man whose black eyes were roaming Alice’s naked breasts. “This is Mr. Heathcliff. He is one of our experts here at the Hellfire Club. He specializes in orgasm torture.”
Heathcliff squatted next to Madame Bovary and smiled pleasantly at Alice. “I’m going to make you come, over and over again.”
“That sounds wonderful,” Alice moaned.
“You would think so.” Heathcliff said mysteriously. “We’ll see how you feel after a full day. Release her, bring her to the Swing Room.”
Blackbeard finally stopped torturing Alice with his facial hair, and the pirates undid her bonds. Alice quickly reached for her special place to give herself release, but Heathcliff caught her wrists.
“Right now, all you can think about is coming. Very soon, you’ll be begging me to stop.”
Alice stuck out her chin, defiant. “I welcome that challenge.”
Heathcliff smiled. “We shall see. We shall see.”
Alice Begs Heathcliff to Stop Making Her Come…
The rafters in the Swing Room had all manner of hinges, ropes, and pulleys attached to them. Alice was strapped into a leather harness and she was hung two feet above the floor. It supported her weight comfortably, and her legs were in stirrups that kept them wide apart. Her wrists were fastened to the rope above her head.
“So beautiful. So defiant.” Heathcliff smiled. “I’m going to have fun breaking you. Taking you to wuthering heights.”
“Ugh.” Alice wasn’t sure what was worse, her unquenched lust, or the stuff that passed for humor in this story.
“Would you like some tea first? I have a special kind.”
“Let me guess,” Alice said. “Is it Bronte?”
“Three kinds, in fact.”
“Can we skip the terrible puns and get to the orgasm torture?” Alice demanded, trying to sound as defiant as he seemed to think she was. In truth, she was a little frightened. She’d been in a swing like this before, back in Wonderland, and the experience had been naughtily divine. But Heathcliff was so mysterious and sexy, that Alice wasn’t sure if being at his mercy was more on the frightening side or on the delicious side.
Alice settled on deliciously frightening.
“So are you going to make me come now?”
“So eager.” Heathcliff laughed and then knelt between her legs. “But within ten minutes, you’ll be begging me to stop. Pleading to rest and recover.”
She gave a little shiver, and clenched her bottom in anticipation. “What do you intend to do to me?”
“I’m going to start by eating you out, Alice. I have a particularly large tongue, and I’m quite good at using it. Many a lady in your current position has gone hoarse, screaming for mercy. No doubt you’ll soon wake your sleeping husband, and he’ll be able to watch your ordeal.”
The very thought of it was so electrifying that Alice almost came right then, but the mention of her husband made her curiosity pique. “Where is Lewis?”
Fifty Shades of Alice at the Hellfire Club Page 2
