Fifty Shades of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde Page A

in, lapping up her juices. Reflexively, Rosemary’s back arched and her calves stiffened. A most enthralling sensation was building in her. Dorian’s tongue moved more rapidly and came to focus on the aching center, the raised ball of nerves at the top of her mound. As he lingered there, she cried out in ecstatic agony. He stopped abruptly, and she felt she would die if he did not bring her to the explosion she was so nearing.
    In all of this, Dorian was still fully dressed. Just then he stood and began to disrobe, removing his shirt and pants without the least bit of shame. And considering the sheer beauty of his body, there was no reason for anything but the utmost pride. He was so tall and broad, and every muscle in his chest was accentuated, exercised to perfection. As he removed his underwear, Rosemary stared in awe, the unfulfilled aching in her pussy rising to a near painful intensity. She had seen dirty daguerreotypes before—Helen had a sizable collection—but none of the penises depicted there had been as enormous as this one. Rosemary realized why his hands were so large and handsome—to pair with this master cock. She felt a very important part of Dorian had been left out of her portrait.
    Deep as her aching for it was, she was worried at first whether it would fit in her, and if it did, would it damage her in some way? He walked over to the bed, his cock sticking straight up like a sword. He was about to impale her!
    In a sudden frenzy, Rosemary wrapped the towel around herself.
    â€œAre you nervous?” he asked, holding his cock and massaging it with more force than Rosemary thought necessary. He was but a foot away from her.
    â€œYes,” she said. Her voice was so meek, she felt barely audible. What was she doing? Here was the beautiful Dorian Gray flawlessly naked before her, handling the very thing she’d longed to have inside of her for months, and she was overcome with cowardice. She covered her eyes with her hands.
    â€œIt’s all right,” he said softly, and came closer. He lowered one of her hands from her face and, with her eyes still closed, brought her hand down to touch him. Rosemary took a deep, empowering breath, and let go of the towel.
    It was warm, warmer than it had been in her dreams. He wrapped her hand around it—or as much as was possible, because her hand was too small to encircle it. He moved her hand slowly back and forth. She opened her eyes and looked up at him. His eyes were fixed on hers, but there was a look of delirium seeping into his expression.
    â€œYes, keep doing that,” he said, letting go. She continued jerking him softly.
    â€œYou can apply more pressure,” he said. She tightened her grip.
    â€œAnd a little faster,” he said. She complied.
    â€œThat feels very good. Now, don’t so much pull the whole thing, just the skin. Yes, that’s good. Mmmm . Keep it light and fast. Now, with your other hand,” he said, taking her free hand and placing it on his scrotum. He guided her fingers into the moist, hairy sac, bringing her hand to cup one ball that her palm could barely contain. Then he brought her hand to the other right beside it. She knew these were the testicles in which lay a man’s procreative seed, but she had not known they were a source of pleasure. They, too, seemed untenably large. She wondered how all of this didn’t show through his pants.
    â€œRub them,” he said.
    She complied, rubbing in the same manner she rubbed the shaft.
    â€œNo,” he said, and she let go completely and looked up at him at a loss. Was she terrible at this? She felt perhaps it would be best to stop.
    â€œI mean, it feels good. You are still learning. Now, when you tug on my balls, you can go a little harder. They can take it.”
    She went back to it. Soon she had developed a rhythm, her right hand loosely jerked his cock, while her left vigorously massaged his balls. Dorian’s head