Fifty Shades of Alice at the Hellfire Club

by Melinda DuChamp

  “Just beyond that curtain,” Heathcliff indicated the partition hanging on the far side of the room. “Madame Bovary will be pleasuring him, but she won’t let him come.”

  “She won’t?” Alice remembered the exquisite torture of Blackbeard’s gray beard, and the orgasm that still eluded her. She’d signed the contract, but now the idea of putting Lewis through what she’d experienced felt cruel.

  “That’s what you want, isn’t it? For Lewis to last longer? To consider your pleasure rather than selfishly caring only for his own?”

  “Yes.” He had a point. She wanted their sex life to get better, didn’t she? And she was sure Lewis would want that, too. And when it came down to it, her arousal had engorged her nether regions and made her so wet that what pleasures awaited her were all she could really think about. She raised her feminine parts and tried to swing in Heathcliff’s direction. “That’s why I signed the contract. That, and the hundred orgasms I’ve been promised.”

  Heathcliff laughed, deep and heartily. “Only a hundred?”

  Alice pursed her lips. “You think me greedy?”

  “Of course not. You deserve more than a hundred. And you’re about to get them.”

  “More than a hundred?”

  “Dear girl, you must not have read the contract’s fine print. You’ll be freed when you have a hundred orgasms, but only if your husband doesn’t come. If he does, your number is reset and you start over from zero. You might be here for weeks until he learns to control himself.”

  Before Alice could overcome her shock at the pronouncement, Heathcliff buried his face between her legs. His tongue touched her swollen clitoris and hadn’t even begun to lick when Alice’s orgasm overwhelmed her.

  She gasped and shuddered as she came, her whole body clenching in glorious release. It was one of the most powerful climaxes she’d ever experienced—no doubt because of all the previous edging—and after the contractions ended Alice felt herself on the verge of a second.

  Heathcliff slathered her with a slow, fat lick, and another wave of sensation flooded her. It was even more intense, and he buried his long tongue inside her and held her buttocks, bouncing her on the swing as Alice cried out in ecstasy.

  Weeks? Alice would gratefully stay here forever! Within a minute Heathcliff had eradicated years of mediocre marital sex. Hopefully he would teach Lewis his tricks so her husband would be equally adept with his mouth.

  Alice let her head fall back as Heathcliff expertly went to work, bathing her privates with long, languid licks punctuated by short, stiff jabs inside her. It was so marvelous, so wonderful, that Alice wondered if it was all just a fantasy, because no woman could ever be so fulfilled.

  A third orgasm shook Alice, leaving her out of breath.

  It was amazing, wonderful, yet when the spasms subsided, she felt another need yawning deep inside, and more than anything, she wanted to be filled. “Make love to me, Heathcliff. Please. I need you inside me.”

  Heathcliff didn’t answer. Nor did he strip off his clothes and fill her with his manhood. Instead, he merely continued to lick, his tongue seemingly insatiable. He pressed her hard against his mouth, focusing entirely on her clit, and a fourth climax overtook her.

  Alice tried to close her legs—a reflex reaction because the multiple orgasms had made her sensitive down there. But the ropes and harness kept them wide open, and Heathcliff continued his oral assault.

  She grunted, low in her throat. “I want… I want your… I want your cock…”

  He coaxed another orgasm from her, and Alice shook in the ropes and tried to swing away from him. His probing, darting tongue had made her so sensitive that it was almost painful. She needed a minute or two to recover, to reset.

  But Heathcliff gave her no mercy. If anything, his ravenous tongue increased in speed, forcing Alice to come once again, even though she required a rest.

  “Please,” Alice said, trying to squirm away from his probing mouth. “I’m too sensitive. I need a moment.”

  “Five down, ninety-five to go,” Heathcliff said between licks.

  “I can’t… I…”

  Once again, an orgasm crashed through Alice, gripping her whole body. Alice screamed again, Heathcliff forcing it out of her even though she fought against her bonds and his tongue.

  It was both delirious pleasure and merciless torture at the same time. Alice no longer had any control over her body. It was as if she was an instrument Heathcliff was sadistically playing. He would make her come, she would beg for rest and try to get away, his licking painful on her sensitive bud, but he would keep at it until the pain became intense ecstasy once again.

  “Too much… it’s too much…”

  “We’ve only just begun.”

  Alice squeezed her eyes shut. This was worse than the edging Blackbeard had made her endure. When orgasms were separated by a few seconds or minutes, Alice could have them all day long. But being made to come over and over again, without any respite, had turned orgasms into some kind of exquisite punishment. She didn’t think her body could handle any more stimulation, but Heathcliff wouldn’t let up. After she came, when her female parts were most tender, he would increase his speed and pressure, causing her body to clench and shake in an effort to get away from him.

  But Alice couldn’t get away. She was his helpless prisoner, forced to endure climax after climax even as she pleaded for mercy.

  “I can’t take anymore… I can’t… please…”

  He took her sensitive clit in his mouth and sucked upon it, hard, while furiously assaulting it with his tongue.

  “I beg you,” Alice begged, coming for the tenth time.

  Heathcliff looked up at her, rubbing her sore, swollen clit with his thumb. “No mercy, dear Alice.”

  “Don’t I have a safe word?” she moaned. “Something I can do to make this stop?”

  “There are no safe words in the Swing Room, Alice. I will continue to force you to have orgasms until you reach a hundred, or until you pass out. How many have you had so far?”

  “Eleven.”

  “From now on, you’re to count them aloud.” He began to lick her again, with increased intensity. “Welcome to the Hellfire Club.”

  Lewis Learns a Lesson In Orgasm Denial…

  Lewis awoke to the sound of a woman screaming, somewhere close by. A sound he knew intimately well.

  Alice.

  Even though his head was still fuzzy from sleep, he recognized this kind of screaming from earlier in their relationship, before their sex life had become perfunctory and routine. Alice was coming. Hard. And from the intensity of her cries, Lewis knew whomever was making her come was doing a very good job.

  He wanted to be that person.

  Lewis opened his eyes and tried to sit up. Couldn’t. He was tied to a padded, leather table, his arms stretched out over his head. He strained against his bonds and found them to be strong and tight. Then he looked down and saw he was naked.

  Where the hell were they?

  Alice screamed again, ecstasy dripping from the sound. “Please! No more! I can’t take another! I beg you to stop!”

  Lewis followed her pleas, realizing they came from behind a curtain on the far end of the room.

  Then his wife began to moan again, low in her throat, then rising in pitch.

  He tried to remember where they were, how they’d gotten here, but the last thing he recalled was falling asleep after some mediocre sex with Alice. So what happened? Had they been kidnapped?

  The seriousness of the situation should have hit him hard, but instead his wife’s cries had a different effect. His cock grew long and stiff, stretching upward along his belly.

  Alice was being ravaged, just beyond the curtain, and all Lewis could think about was how turned-on he was.

  “You did this to her,” a female voice from behind him said.

  Lewis craned his neck to see who was speaking. It was a woman dressed in thigh-high boots as black as her hair. She wore a leather corset t
hat pushed her bare breasts out, nipples hard and pointing toward him. He skimmed his eyes lower, and realized she wore no additional undergarments, and her feminine parts were shaved and smooth. In her hand she held a black riding crop.

  “Who are you? Where are we?”

  “This is the Hellfire Club. I am Madame Bovary.” She skimmed her riding crop over her breasts and rested its leather tongue against one protruding nipple.

  “I demand you release us immediately.”

  Madame Bovary smiled in a way that was quite cruel. “You signed the contract. You paid for your stay here. You cannot leave until the contract is honored.”

  Behind the curtain, Alice moaned, “Yes, I’m a dirty little slut! I’m a dirty little slut! Now please, stop!”

  “What contract?” Lewis asked, but his attention was mostly focused on his wife’s moans and this stranger’s nipples.

  Madame Bovary produced a piece of parchment covered in ornate script. At the bottom were his and Alice’s signatures. Lewis vaguely recalled signing it after dinner several days ago. Alice had brought it to him when he’d been tipsy with mead and half-asleep, saying something about how it would improve their marriage.

  “What did I sign?” he asked, suddenly fearful. Had he unknowingly conscripted them to sexual slavery?

  “You and Alice are to stay at the Hellfire Club until the terms of the contract have been fulfilled.”

  “What terms?”

  “Alice must have one hundred orgasms before being allowed to leave.”

  Lewis blew out a sigh of relief. Though he’d been an inattentive and selfish lover these past few years, he knew full well his wife’s capacity and appetite for sex. Alice would enjoy herself; she was clearly enjoying herself right now. A hundred orgasms shouldn’t take more than a day or two.

  “How many has she had already?”

  “A dozen at least, I’d guess from her cries. Heathcliff is quite gifted at making women come. Even when they are completely exhausted. But while your Alice is being forced to orgasm, you shall be allowed none.” Madame Bovary raised an eyebrow. “Which seems fair, considering how many you’ve had during your marriage at the expense of your poor, long suffering wife.”

  Ouch. That hurt. “She… told you that?”

  “She did. It’s the main reason she came to us.”

  “I know I haven’t been a very good lover. But when, when we’re… together…”

  “You mean when you’re fucking?”

  Madame Bovary ran the end of the crop up Lewis’s bare thigh, making his erect cock twitch.

  “Yes, well, when we are, Alice enjoys it as much as I do.”

  “Is that what you believe? That all she needs is a kiss on the cheek and thirty seconds of your pathetic thrusting? You think that satisfies her?”

  Lewis felt his face redden.

  “Did you ever ask her if she was happy with your sex life?”

  “We… never talked about it.”

  “She never tried to talk about it with you?”

  Lewis swallowed. He recalled the many times Alice had broached the subject of lovemaking, and he’d always brushed her off. It wasn’t that he didn’t love Alice, or care about her needs. But work was stressful, and he was often tired at the end of the day. Every other part of their relationship was perfect. So, the sex was mediocre. If that was all that was wrong with their marriage, Lewis happily accepted it.

  “I admit I avoided that particular subject,” he said. “But I fail to see how this remedies anything. I have to lay here and listen to my wife have orgasms, while I can’t have any. Is that supposed to even the score?”

  “Alice is a loving, generous, gracious woman. She didn’t come here to even any scores, or punish you for being a poor lover.” Madame Bovary leaned over, slinging her breasts forward, her stiff nipples brushing against Lewis’s neck as she whispered, “Though I may do a bit of punishing of my own accord.”

  The riding crop flicked against Lewis’s stiff rod with a thwack, and he cried out.

  “Then why are we here?” Lewis said, somewhat hoarsely.

  “Training. Alice will be trained to come faster, so even your poorest attempts at lovemaking will satisfy her. And you…” Madame Bovary reached down and gripped Lewis’s manhood. She began to pump it vigorously. “You will be trained to last longer.”

  “Uhhhnn,” Lewis answered.

  “Every time you come, Alice must start again from zero.”

  “Say what?”

  “If you ejaculate, Alice will be forced to endure another hundred orgasms.”

  “But… you’re stroking me!”

  “And your hips are bucking, rising to meet my hand. You’re a selfish lover, Lewis. Eager for your own satisfaction while caring not of poor Alice’s needs. But we shall teach you self- control.”

  Lewis squeezed his eyes closed and forced himself to remain still, but Madame Bovary continued to pleasure him. She went from long, languorous strokes to hard, fast ones.

  “Look at how quick you are,” she said. “A drop of your essence has already leaked from your tip.”

  Lewis felt a tongue slowly swirl across his glans, and he shuddered with pleasure.

  “This isn’t fair!”

  “Were all of your marital quickies fair?” Madame Bovary said as she returned to pumping him, the moisture from her mouth lubricating her fist. She had switched her grip so her thumb rubbed under the ridge of his head every time she moved her hand up.

  “No,” Lewis admitted, though it came out more like a moan.

  “Would you like to see what Heathcliff is doing to Alice right now?”

  Lewis did want to see. Alice was now alternating between pants and whimpers, and it turned him on tremendously to see her in the throes of pleasure. But if he were any more turned on, he’d be past the point of no return and spurt all over Madame Bovary’s knuckles.

  “I’d like to see,” Lewis said, “but only if you stop what you’re doing with your hand.”

  “Fair enough.”

  Madame Bovary released Lewis and walked over to the velvet curtain. With a lascivious grin she tugged the partition back, revealing the debauchery in the adjacent room.

  Alice—sweet, dear Alice—was totally naked and hanging from the ceiling on some sort of swing, several feet off the floor. Her legs were in stirrups, spread wide, and like Lewis her hands were bound above her head.

  Kneeling between her legs was a dark-haired man Lewis presumed was Heathcliff. His head was buried there, shaking back and forth aggressively, as Alice cried out in her throat. Heathcliff was shirtless, broad-shouldered and muscular, his hands cupping Alice’s bottom as his thumbs parted her womanhood wider.

  Lewis felt himself very close to coming, and his prick jerked and twitched at the sight of his wife being so vigorously licked.

  “How many orgasms have you had so far, Alice?” Madame Bovary asked.

  “Fifteen,” Alice moaned. “Please let me rest. I can’t take any more.”

  “Describe to your husband what Heathcliff is doing to you.”

  Alice’s eyes widened when she saw Lewis. “Lewis! You must be… appalled… seeing me like this.”

  Lewis tried to swallow. “You’re so beautiful, Alice. I wish it were me with you right now.”

  “Describe it,” Madame Bovary demanded, her voice deep and stern.

  “He’s torturing me with orgasms. Licking me. Nipping me. Swirling his tongue all over me. My clit feels as if it is aflame, and he… ooohhhhh!” Alice shuddered. “Sixteen! He keeps punishing me with his terrible tongue. He won’t let me rest, even for a moment. I can’t take any more. I’ll go insane.”

  “Has he penetrated you yet?”

  “No. I wish he would. Anything to stop his licking.”

  “Be careful what you wish for, Alice,” Madame Bovary said. “Heathcliff can do things far more intense to you than the tongue lashing you’re currently receiving. He hasn’t even taken out his toys yet. Sixteen orgasms is only the beginning.
”

  Lewis was amazed. Sixteen orgasms, all through oral stimulation? The most he’d ever given Alice was two. He watched as Alice thrashed on the swing and then mumbled, “Seventeen.”

  Then his attention was drawn by Madame Bovary, who had substituted her riding crop with a long, black, raven’s feather. She began to stroke it along his shaft. It was a wonderfully sublime sensation, and Lewis’s cock seemed to grow even stiffer.

  “See how she handles one finger, Heathcliff.”

  Heathcliff turned and smiled, his handsome face slick with Alice’s juices. Then Lewis watched as he slowly inserted his index finger into Alice.

  “Oh, my!” Alice gasped. “Eight… eighteen…”

  Heathcliff began to work his finger in and out, and with the same rhythm Madame Bovary teased Lewis’s cock with the feather.

  “Describe what he’s doing to you, Alice.”

  “He has… his finger… unnnhhhh… inside me…”

  “What’s he doing with his finger?”

  Heathcliff began to move so quickly, his hand was a blur. Alice screamed.

  “Fucking me! He’s finger fucking me!” Alice grimaced and threw her head back, her bare breasts bobbing with the rhythm of Heathcliff’s penetration. “Oh… nineteen!”

  Madame Bovary tickled the head of Lewis’s cock with the raven feather, and Lewis was so turned on he was moments away from spurting all over.

  “Please stop…” Lewis said. “I’m going to come.”

  “Don’t come, Lewis!” Alice screamed. “I can’t bear to start over!”

  Lewis closed his eyes, trying to blot out the sight of Alice naked and in ecstasy, trying to tune out her moans, trying not to feel the gentle stroking of his manhood with that awful feather.

  “Keep your eyes open or I’ll oil up my hand and finish you off,” Madame Bovary said. “And after you come, I’ll continue to stroke you.”

  “That’s cruel. It’s too sensitive after I come.”

  “That’s what your poor wife is enduring right now.”

  Lewis opened his eyes. He watched as Heathcliff slipped a second finger inside Alice.