Fifty Shades of Alice at the Hellfire Club (11 page)

“Yes. But don’t show your appreciation too much.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, the publishing industry has a tradition of mistreating most authors, so good treatment tends to confuse them. But in the case of our competition…”

“The last cock standing wins.” Alice finished.

“That’s right. Lewis comes, he loses.”

“And my count starts over.” Alice was at sixty-six—she’d had a tiny one during her second bath—and didn’t want to start over again. The very thought of it exhausted her. “Okay, so the poets I like get a few licks, but I don’t allow them to come.”

“Right.”

“And the others?”

“Do with them what you will.” Jane smiled. “Ready to begin?”

Alice nodded. She stepped into the mirrored hall and let the silk slide off her body. Her nipples tightened and tingled, protruding so luridly they cast shadows. She could almost feel eight sets of eyes on her, moving over her breasts like eager hands, venturing between her wet folds, wanting her. Movement stirred in the holes, cocks rising, cocks poking through, a regular candy store of cocks, all hungry for her.

“May the first poet begin!” Jane called.

“Hmm,” said Alice. She studied the rod that went with the poem. It was nice enough, long and smooth, the ridge prominent enough to make sucking it fun. But there was something missing. She wasn’t sure what. “I really think the word cock is a lot hotter.”

“Picky, picky, suck my dicky,” came the poet’s answer.

Alice shook her head. Some writers just couldn’t take constructive criticism. “Sorry. I’m not turned on at all.”

“Yeats? You’re eliminated!” Jane declared.

“But she didn’t so much as touch me!” W.B. Yeats declared. “How am I supposed to work on my Second Coming?”

“You know the rules, Yeats. And that joke was so obscure only lit majors and those who Google it will understand it.”

“Well, you both can kiss my widening gyre.” The cock withdrew from its hole.

Alice looked at the remaining seven holes. She hadn’t counted on eliminating a poet so fast, but as soon as he’d brushed off her opinion as if it didn’t matter, she just couldn’t muster the enthusiasm.

“Number two,” Jane called out. “You’re up!”

A grunt sounded behind the wall.

“Not
that
number two. Read the poem.”

“What?” Alice said to the penis. “If you’re gay, then why are you competing to win my favor?”

“I don’t know. You seem perfectly nice, but I don’t really want to win your favor. It just seemed like a good opportunity to read my poetry.”

“Robert Burns, you’re eliminated!” Jane declared. “Sorry about that, Alice. But that’s the type of thing you get with an open poetry slam.”

“Oh my.” Alice put her hands on her naked hips. “So far, this has been somewhat disappointing. That Burns fellow wasn’t good at all. I also think he was trying to poop.”

“I had too many chicken wings!” Burns declared. “I can feel the Battle of Sherramuir raging in my bowels.”

Alice wondered how many more little known literary references she’d have to endure before this was over. It wasn’t erotic in the least. And it couldn’t have been funny for more than one person out of ten thousand.

Jane nodded sympathetically. “It will get better. It almost has to or this book will get terrible reviews. May we have the next poem, please?”

“You like them?” Alice asked. She skimmed her hands up her sides, catching her breasts and lifting, fluffing them up like the corset had.

“Very much,” said the poet. “Will you pinch your nipples for me? Make them really stiff?”

Now this was more like it! She rolled her nipples between her fingertips, until they jutted out as if begging to be sucked. Then she lowered herself to her knees in front of the hole.

The manhood pushing through was long, and very hard, the head the rich red of a cherry popsicle. Alice couldn’t wait to taste. She swirled her tongue over him, tracing the ridge, then teasing at the frenulum underneath. Then she fit her mouth over him and took his whole length deep into her throat.

“Please, Alice,” the poet said. “Those tits. Can I feel them?”

“Of course.” Alice brought her hands on either side of her soft mounds. Moving closer to the wall, she slipped his member into her cleavage. He was still wet from her mouth, and when she started to move, he slid, slick and easy.

She moved up, the reddish head disappearing between her voluptuousness. Then she slid down, and he burst free, thrusting up toward her mouth like a spear. Down. Up. Down. Up.

“I’m going to lose it, Alice. I’m going to come all over those luscious tits of yours.”

Alice liked that idea. She liked it a lot. But she’d also liked his poem. She let his hardness slip free. “I’m sorry. But I want you to continue to the next round.”

“Thank you,” he said, but she couldn’t help note that he sounded disappointed.

Alice couldn’t help note she was a little disappointed, too. And really ready to see what she could do with the next cock that recited a poem she liked.

“All right,” Jane said. “We have one poet moving to the next round. “Will the next poet please read?”

“Sort of charming, I guess. At least it conveys the spirit of the competition.” Alice actually thought it was terrible, but she felt like sucking some cock, so she’d let that slide. She eyed the glory hole, but could see nothing but the smallest hint of a tip. She knelt down for a better look, then realized the problem.

This poet’s penis was too fat to fit through the hole. In fact, its girth was much larger than its length, and the shape reminded Alice of a fire hydrant. It also reminded her of something else.

Well, not something, actually.
Someone
.

“Humpty? Is that you?”

“Miss me, Alice?”

She had. The old egg was obnoxious at times and totally inappropriate and kind of annoying, but he had the warmest hugs, and Alice considered him an old friend. “It’s so good to see you!”

“At least it’s good to see the chode, eh?” He said, wiggling the head around a little.

“Actually, yes. But I can’t fit you in my mouth, Humpty. You’re wider than you are long.”

“That’s okay. I can’t even fit it through the hole. But even so, it was worth taking a trip to this side of the looking glass just to see you naked again.”

Alice bent down and gave him a couple of licks just for being such a sweetheart.

“I’m sorry,” Jane intervened. “This is nice and all, but we promised poetry and hot blowjobs in this scene, so you’d better get back at it, Alice. Humpty Dumpty is eliminated. Next!”

And since Alice was feeling a little hungry again between her thighs, she squealed in delight. But when she bent down to give a nice, medium-sized cock with an upward slanting glans a big kiss for a reward, he spurted before she even touched him with her lips.

“Lewis? Oh no, that’s not you, is it Lewis?”

“I’m sorry,” the disguised voice said. “I haven’t been here at the Hellfire Club very long, and you were just so hot I couldn’t control myself.”

“Oh, no. Lewis?” Alice was really getting worried now.

“No. I am Lord Tennyson.”

A member of the aristocracy! Alice was mortified. She bowed her head and curtseyed, possibly a ridiculous thing to do while she was totally naked. “I’m so sorry, Lord Tennyson, sir.”

“No. I enjoyed it. ‘Tis better to have come and lost than never to have come at all.”

“Alfred Lord Tennyson is eliminated. Next!” Jane called.

“Short and sweet. I like that.” Alice glanced down to examine the poet, but to her surprise, there was no cock sticking out of the glory hole. “Will you thrust yourself through? I want to take you in my mouth.”

“Look closer,” said the voice.

Wondering if this was some kind of trick, or that Humpty had tricked Jane and found his way to another glory hole, Alice bent forward at the waist, her breasts swinging forward. The poet on the other side of the hall probed between her legs with his long tool.

“I still don’t see anything.”

“Look closer.”

So Alice did, and then she saw it. But it wasn’t a cock. There in the glory hole was a beautiful flower of a vagina, the poet pressed back against the wall to give her access.

Sticking out her tongue, Alice reached it through the hole and gave a lick. Then another. And soon she was swirling her tongue over the poet’s clit, then plunging into her opening. Swirling and plunging. Swirling and plunging.

“Ahhhhh,” the poet moaned.

As Alice worked, the stiff shaft behind her worked as well, swirling his tip over Alice’s clit, then dipping into her wetness.

“Ahhhh,” Alice moaned.

She pressed back against the poet behind her, impaling herself on his length, feeling him stretch her as he sank deep, then she moved forward, sinking her own tongue into the poet in front. And with each rock forward and back, her breasts swayed, heavy and ripe.

“That is so hot,” said one of the other poets.

“I wish I could be part of that,” said yet another.

“Oh my God!” cried the poet Alice was mouthing.

Alice moved her tongue faster, feeling the muscles in the poet’s pleasure cave pulse around her tongue. Finally the pussy moved away from the glory hole and out of her reach.

“I’m afraid Elizabeth Barrett Browning will have to be eliminated,” Jane said.

“Why?” Alice asked. She hadn’t expected a woman to be part of the duel, but once she’d gotten over the surprise, they’d had such a lovely time.

Jane shook her head. “First of all, you made her come. Secondly it’s stated very clearly in the rules that the last cock standing wins. And since the next cock to read—er, I mean poet—is already penetrating you forcefully from behind, let’s just get on with the verse, shall we?”

“Why don’t you forget masturbating and just keep shaking my buds like a rough, rough wind?” Alice said, bracing her hands on the mirror in front of her and pushing her bottom against the mirror behind.

And shake he did. His shaft sank deep, then pulled out, so just the tip was still inside, then plunged again, moving in long, hard strokes. And as he pumped, his swinging balls slapped against her most sensitive bud.

Tension built, low in her belly, then an orgasm gripped her, shuddered through her, clenching her muscles and making her knees weak. She couldn’t even manage to count out loud when another claimed her, then another. “Sixty-nine!” she finally cried out.

“We have one more poet to read,” Jane said. “And in the interest of preserving this hot scene, he will take Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s place.”

And just like that, a beautiful, erect cock slid out of the wall in front of Alice. It was the perfect size and boasted a charming, upward curve. Just the sight made Alice all shivery. She took it in her mouth before the poem even began, licking and swirling and sucking hard.

Alice let the cock slip from her mouth. She’d almost gotten carried away, sucked that last poet off before he’d even finished his poem. “That was so sweet.”

“We have three finalists,” Jane announced. “And now you’ll move to the end of the room.”

The poet behind her pulled out, leaving her dripping, her pussy gripping nothing but air.

But being a good girl who liked following rules, Alice positioned herself at the dead end, and to her delight, a glory hole opened on each wall, forming a horseshoe around her, and three cocks poked through.

Alice paused, savoring the splendor in front of her, men who could spin words, ridiculous as they were, and yet were also flesh and blood, wanting her, longing for her.

“Poem!” demanded Jane.

She gripped his member, stroking her fist up and down his length as the next began.

Not a very good last line, but she took this one into her mouth anyway. The longest of the three, this bard tasted of her juices and she realized he was the one who’d been buried hilt deep in her before.