Fifty Shades of Dorian Gray (15 page)

“Rosemary Hall,” Dorian said, and stood to bow. She held out her hand, which he clutched to his mouth in a flurry of soft kisses that roused her. But she couldn't help but wonder where on Helen that mouth had been. Would she ever forgive him for his sins with her? She did not know to what extent they had been involved, but she felt they were more involved than she could handle, should ever the details be relayed to her. In his letter, Dorian said he'd been spellbound by Helen, engrossed in her wicked wisdoms. The spell was broken, he wrote, and he'd escaped her with his conscience intact.

Dorian pulled her to him, and thoughts of Helen drifted away. He held her close, and she nuzzled her nose in his neck, inhaling his soapy, musky scent.
Dorian
,
Dorian
,
Dorian
. That was the name of the man who had saved her life. She had not even known she was dying, going along her lone days, devoted to her paintings.
Paintings!
It seemed ridiculous now, that she had dedicated herself to the making of illusions, when what was real in the world was standing right before her. Perhaps all along she had just been afraid to commit herself to something mortal.

“Thank you for seeing me,” he whispered.

“Oh, Dorian,” She pulled back to look at him. His eyes were glowing as they took her in with a deep thirst. She had never seen such a beautiful face. She knew its every angle and shadow. She touched his cheekbones, then moved her fingers through his hair. He bowed his head submissively. She was transfigured with joy. An ecstasy of happiness dominated her. She stood on her toes to kiss him. He returned her kiss with hunger. He took her neck between his hands delicately, then ran his fingers down along her slender collarbone, grazing the tops of her breasts. She shuddered in arousal.

“You have forgiven me?” asked Dorian, as his fingers crept into cleavage.

“Yes,” she answered. Her breasts were particularly full and sensitive, given her womb's ailment. When he touched them, every nerve within rang out.

“You will be my wife?” he asked, giving one breast a good squeeze. She bit her lip to suppress a cry.

“Yes,” she said.

He turned her chin up in his hand and kissed her again, then brought his hands back down to her breasts, rubbing them as his tongue caressed hers into motion. He held her against him and she pushed her midsection into him. Just one touch on her burning vagina and she would be free. It ached with a needy life of its own.

“We can go into your bedroom?” asked Dorian.

Rosemary felt the tickling climb start as she rubbed herself against his leg.

“Yes,” she said, her breath shortening.

As they passed into the bedroom, Rosemary saw Parker hurriedly turn away from them, a look of horror on his face.

In the bedroom, Dorian leaped onto the bed and held his hands out to her.

“My beautiful wife,” he said, bringing her onto his lap and kissing her. “How I feared I'd lost you.”

As he kissed her, his hands went delving through her skirts.
Oh, yes
. Rosemary felt she was a purring cat, coddled into total submission by her master's powerful hand.
He will put his hand there and soothe this burning ache
. But then she remembered her diaper and her female disorder and scrambled out of his arms, clambering to the opposite corner of the bed.

“Rosemary, have I—?” Dorian looked at his hands as if they'd inflicted some cruelty.

“No,” she said, and came over to him on her knees. She stroked his shoulder, then held her arms around her. She needed to not touch him and just let her desire subside.

“No, it's all very nice,” she said.

“Well, what is the matter, my dear?” he asked.

“It's me,” she said. “I am ill and cannot make love.”

“Ill?” said Dorian, alarmed. He touched her forehead with the back of his hand. “You are a bit warm,” he said, leaning in to kiss her once more.

“No,” she pulled back. “I'm sorry, but I should not even be out of bed.”

“We needn't get out of bed!” Dorian assured her, pulling the covers down to let himself in.

“No, Dorian, I need to be in bed by myself and rest. I only greeted you so that you would know that I love you as you love me, and I accept your apology and your proposal. Also, in regards to what you ask in the letter: Of course I will wait for your uncle to give you your mother's engagement ring. There is no rush in that. I am yours regardless.”

She held up her left hand, turning it around before him to show her unadorned fingers. He grasped her hand and kissed it with his eyes searing hers.

“I have thought of nothing but making love to you,” he said. “If you are too tired, may I please just lick your secret spot?”

Rosemary felt her face turning red, and the dull ache between her thighs loudened to a sharp urge. A low moan broke from her. She wanted nothing more.

“Oh, Dorian!” she cried, and flung her arms around his neck. She rested her face against his shoulder. How small she was in comparison to him. How safe he would keep her.

“What is it, dear?”

“I am bleeding from my womb!” she blurted out. “I am one of the accursed women who suffers this condition. It sickens no one more than me, and I am so sorry that I am prone to this ailment.” She bowed her head. “It happens every month. Yes, every month indeed! Typically around the 5th. But it lasts no longer than through the 13th.”

She covered her face with her hands, peering at him through the slits between her fingers.

“It's all right,” said Dorian, lowering her hands and holding them in his, where they were as if devoured, so miniature were they in comparison.

“I do not love you any less for this. And it is quite normal, my dear. Though I agree that eight days is a rather drawn-out vigil.”

“It is?” she asked. Oh, she'd known there was something wrong with her. Dorian was just being kind.

“Yes,” he said. He kissed her chastely on top of her head. “But we will work with it,” he said, adding, “But it is true that you must be treated with great care during this ghastly time, and make as little exertion as possible. I have been dreaming of licking you, of savoring your sweet taste in my mouth, but to drive you to such ecstasies would be dangerous,” he said. He looked at her in all seriousness, and nodded as if to be sure she was comprehending him. She nodded back in agreement, though she did not really know what she was agreeing to. He seemed to know a great deal about how a woman's body functioned in this time. She would submit to his wisdom, but, ah, what a shameful mess this all was.

“This is not the end of days, my dear flower,” he said. “You must relax, but here—” He led her hand down to his crotch. His cock swelled hugely against his pants.

“You can still feel my desire for you,” he said.

Rosemary felt around the erect area that was apparently his desire for her. She was unsure what she was supposed to do that would not risk her own perilous arousal. She was also just unsure in general. She knew she had to keep the cock hard, but felt clumsy and shy and worried she'd make it soft. She was grateful when Dorian spoke up and took control.

“You may unbutton the pants,” he said. His voice was not exactly stern, but neither was it brimming with love and understanding. His tone was rather clinical, like he was guiding a novice in minor surgery.

Rosemary complied, gasping as his monumental cock emerged. She stroked it like he had shown her the first time. His eyelids fluttered, and she rubbed more vigorously with both hands. She went on doing this for what felt like a long time, her own desire creaming her diaper, and the aching want there growing to a pounding need. How she wanted to slip him inside of her and ram her against her hemlock headboard with its sweet stenciling of faeries and horses. But she was frightened, too, remembering the monster he'd become the last time he'd made love to her.

She kept stroking him until he abruptly removed her hands.

“Lie down,” he told her.

Oh, dear, was he going to take her in this state? She felt powerless to stop him, she was so desperate to have him between her legs and heaving on top of her. She fell back on the bed, then sprang back up, remembering she would have to undo her swaddling and douche herself in the toilet.

“Where are you going?” asked Dorian.

She bit her lip.

“I must clean myself,” she said. Curiously, she felt she ought to use the word “master.”

“There's no need for that,” said Dorian, patting the bed where she was to lie.

“But—” she started, and sat back on the bed.

“Rosemary,” he said, kissing her neck up to her ears, sucking lightly on her earlobe. The heat of his tongue traveled straight down through her. Her legs twitched.

“I am not going to make love to you here,” he said, his fingers passing down to her skirts. He drew his fingers back up to her face, circling her mouth. “I am going to make love to you here,” he said. Rosemary's eyes bulged. She held her mouth shut. Then she let go of it and tried to smile as if all were well. Then she held it again. Resuming control, Dorian took both her hands in his.

“It's quite a normal act,” he said. “When a woman is in your vile condition, one that she—that you—cannot help, for it is nature's cruel course, then one must become creative.”

He stood and lifted her up—she felt like a little doll in his arms—and set her against her headboard, bringing a pillow to bolster her lower back. His cock was still hard and high in the air. Rosemary regarded it with a nervous gnash of teeth. Her teeth! Wouldn't they get in the way of all this? She remembered how he'd strangled her the first time. Would this not be another form of asphyxiation?

If she could hardly manage his cock in her hands, how was she to fit it in her mouth?
Tell him you can't do it
, she thought.
It's too much
. But to think such words would have to be enough. She could not disappoint him. He loved her. There was so much at stake. If she couldn't please him during this unclean time, then what hope was there for their future? He was right, too. Eight days a month was a long time, and no husband should have to wait in abstinence. That was how they ended up at brothels.

“If you sit up on your knees, that may be more comfortable for you,” Dorian said, fluffing a pillow and setting it on the bed. He tapped it and she rose up and placed her knees on it. She looked at him for further instruction.

“Oh, Rosemary, you look so beautiful right now,” he said, touching her cheek. “I hope you know it will give me great pleasure to watch you while you do this. If it gets to be too much, just signal with your hand, but please don't stop abruptly, as that can be painful for me. And also,” he grabbed her hand and placed it on his ball sack, “keep massaging these like you did before. You can pull harder than that, remember?”

“Yes.” Oh, how she wanted to please him. She crouched down and, taking what felt to be the deepest breath of her life, faced his cock. She had not been this close to it before. It was longer than her head and as wide as her smile. She gave a small lick, and felt like a kitten in a tree.

“Put it into your mouth, slowly,” he said. “Don't be afraid.”

Rosemary nodded, and accidentally banged her head against his cock. They both let out an “Argh!”

Once it was in her mouth, she felt it could be reckoned with.

“Deeper,” he said. “Put it in as far as it will go.”

Goodness, was it only halfway in? Holding his balls with one hand, she used her other hand to guide the rest— or most of the rest—of his cock in. It was hot and salty. A large vein protruded down the base of the shaft. She ran her tongue along it, and Dorian quivered in excitement.

“Yes,” he said. “Oh, Rosemary.”

He put his hands on her head and rocked her back and forth, his cock feeling parts of her throat that had never been touched by flesh. She kept her lips clamped around her teeth. Saliva spilled out the sides of her mouth, helping his cock to slide in and out of her mouth with more ease. At one point, she gagged—a hideous froggy sound. She went on more vigorously, pulling on his balls all the while, using the central vein as a compass for her tongue.

Her own arousal was still calling attention to itself, bubbling beneath her petticoats, but she was resigned to getting this present job done. She kept on until she felt his cock spasm as it had when he had been about to unload his seed inside her. He stilled her head with his hands. She moved him only with her fingers.

“Ah!” he cried, and cried again. It was on the third cry that a river gushed into her mouth, filling her cheeks. She crawled off him and spat over the edge of the bed.

Dorian lay back, regaining his breath. He felt dumbly around for Rosemary, and finding her hand, clutched it to his heart.

“My dear, that was very enjoyable,” he said. “You will become very good at it, in time, I think. We have eight days to practice.”

Rosemary drew closer to him, wrapping his arm around her.

“Did I not do everything right?” she asked, glancing at the puddle of sperm on the ground.
Wasn't that proof of success?

“Oh, my darling,” he said, kissing her hand. “It was fine. But there were a couple moments when I felt your teeth, which you can imagine is excruciating, for the male organ is quite sensitive. Also, toward the end, you must jerk rapidly with your hand but desist using your mouth.”

Rosemary rolled away from him and sighed. There was something she had to say to Dorian, but she didn't know what. The whole process had resulted in dissatisfaction. She wanted to please him more than anything, and had believed she had, yet here he was critiquing her while her own nether parts burned with ungodly passion.

She didn't want to be in bed any longer, but recalling everyone's orders, she snuggled up against Dorian and closed her eyes. He was snoring faintly.