Fifty Shades of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde Read Free Book Online Page B

give ungainly pleasure, Helen ran her hands through his hair—a quite unwelcome gesture. Dorian slapped her hand away and held her wrist firmly so she couldn’t make such a move again.
    He moved a hand up her thigh to her ass and squeezed her cheek. Helen felt him raise his hand. In anticipation, she rode him harder, got him in deeper. As she began to climax, he spanked her sharply. In a sexual delirium devoid of self-control, Helen shrieked.
    â€œYes,” she cried. “Spank me, Dorian. Punish me!”
    He slapped her again and again, three times, ten times. She lost count. The pleasure was ruthless. Helen arched her back as her calves flexed and tightened. She was nearly going to explode. She ceased to thrust, but Dorian kept up the rhythm, plunging into her repeatedly. She threw her head back and let out a long cry as he smacked her ass relentlessly. There was no controlling it now. When he thrust into her again, she came long and gloriously, rushing his cock with warm secretions.
    She continued to ride him, working to get him to come, too. Her thighs radiated with exhaustion. Then he pushed her off him.
    â€œGet down,” he ordered.
    She got onto the floor of the carriage. She placed her hands on his knees and, without further instruction, took his bulging cock into her mouth. When he held her head, she slapped his hands away. She sucked and rolled her tongue along the head. Dorian’s breath quickened.
    â€œAh!” he cried, his cock twitching against the roof of her mouth.
    When she felt he was close, she withdrew him from her mouth, letting just her tongue linger, and grasped his cock with her hand. She gave several rapid jerks, and when he lurched the penultimate lurch, she closed her eyes. His sperm burst hotly all over her face.
    Dorian fell back into his seat and caught his breath. Helen gathered her underwear, which her desire had moderately soiled, and slid them back on. She sat back beside Dorian and noted an exquisite smarting in her insides, where his cock had plumbed her so thoroughly. Her bottom rang sorely in the bruised aftermath of his beating.
    Dorian quietly repaired his own disarray. He pulled and tucked and buttoned himself back into place. Within minutes, it was as if the whole thing hadn’t happened. Ah, but there was the detail of his drying seed on her face.
    â€œDorian,” she said. She bunched up her skirt and held it out to him.
    â€œYes?” he said, looking at her with confusion.
    â€œPlease spit.”
    Dorian cringed.
    â€œNo,” said Helen, bringing the skirt closer to his face. “Spit. Now.”
    Dorian rolled his eyes, but obliged at last.
    â€œThank you,” she said, and with the wet part she wiped her face.
    She took out her pocket mirror and applied a sheath of powder to her nose and forehead. The looking glass revealed the clouded eyes and rosy complexion of a woman who’d just been properly fucked. She smiled at herself, and thought of Rosemary biting her lower lip. What the dear thing had coming to her! Helen imagined her nude on the floor of her studio, surrendered in submission, while Dorian ravaged her.
    Dorian. What a marvelous find he was! Grace was his, and the white purity of boyhood, and beauty such as a Greek god’s. There was nothing that one could not do with him. He could be made a Titan or a toy. What a pity it was that such beauty was destined to fade!
    â€œI believe we are nearly there,” said Helen.
    Dorian was gazing out the window. A solemnity had draped the carnal mood.
    â€œSomething on your mind?” Helen asked. Gentleness did not come easily to her, but she managed to muster a kind voice. Dorian seemed deep in a thought he would never share. At last, he turned to Helen.
    â€œI think I’d like one of those cigarettes, if you don’t mind, Lady Wotton.”
    Helen managed to conceal any reaction to being called by her married title, and withdrew her cigarette