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wild and aggressive, her breasts buckling with each thrust. Alice could hear every moan, every slap as the woman sheathed Lewis’s full length. She could smell the tangy scent of sweat and arousal, Lewis’s, Madame Bovary’s, and her own.
    The more she experienced the scene, sitting in the swing, drenched and open, the more electric she felt. In under a minute she’d gone from begging Heathcliff for mercy to wondering what was taking him so long to get back to her. Thinking about him, between her legs, entering her with his fingers, maybe even his cock, made Alice squirm in her harness.
    “I see I haven’t broken you yet,” Heathcliff said, his eyes gleaming. “No worries. I’ve got a friend who can assist.”
    A stern, brooding man with a long goatee walked into the Swing Room. He was at least twice Alice’s age, and wore a vintage tuxedo.
    “Alice, allow me to introduce bestselling author Charles Dickens.”
    Alice frowned at the new arrival, her ardor cooling, at least a little. “I’m familiar with Mr. Dickens. He screwed me many years ago.”
    “He did?” Heathcliff asked.
    Alice nodded. “In high school. I had to read Little Dorrit and got a D on the book report.”
    “I’m sorry to hear that,” Dickens said. “Hopefully I can make up for it.”
    “I don’t see how.”
    “Well,” Dickens smiled politely, “I have great expectations.”
    Lewis groaned. It may have been from Madame Bovary’s undulations, but Alice leaned toward it being the bad Dickens joke.
    No doubt there would be more, as well.
    “Can we get the Tale of Two Titties pun out of the way before we get started?” Alice asked.
    “My, she’s a saucy one, Heathcliff.” Dickens focused on her naked titties and grinned. “What are we using on her?”
    “I’m going to use the Hitachi wand on her bare clitoris, while you work on her with the dildo stick.”
    “That should temper her literary criticism for a bit.”
    “I suspect there will be a
Hard Times
reference as well,” Alice said.
    “Perhaps a ball gag, too,” Dickens suggested.
    “Good idea.”
    Alice abhorred ball gags. When she could no longer talk she felt depersonalized. Just a mindless animal, acting on instinct while strange, mysterious men played with her helpless body. Like cruel children with a toy.
    The very idea made her shiver in anticipation, and when Heathcliff strapped the gag in her mouth Alice had a small orgasm.
    “Eimm,” she mumbled.
    “I think she said
eight
,” Dickens said.
    “I’m making her count her orgasms,” Heathcliff said. He was holding a stick the width and length of a broom. But rather than straw bristles on the end, instead there was a large, black dildo. Alice’s eyes widened at the sight.
    “Never seen one before?” Heathcliff asked.
    Alice shook her head, feeling her breath catch.
    “I picked it up at the old curiosity shop,” Dickens said. “Right next to the Pickwick Club.”
    “Charles, would you like to show the lady how it works?”
    “With pleasure.” Dickens took the stick and rubbed the tip against Alice’s opening. “The long handle allows for much greater control. One can do things with this that are impossible with a regular dildo. For example…”
    Dickens eased the rubber shaft into Alice. She was quite wet from all the earlier activities, and she stretched wonderfully open to accommodate its width. It felt otherworldly, and she moaned.
    He started by plunging languorously in and out. Each time he sank the full length into her, Alice gasped for air, sensations building.
    “Now watch how fast I can go.”
    With short, three inch strokes, Dickens caused Alice to scream in her throat. It was much faster than she could ever do to herself with her rabbit. It was even faster than a man could make love to her.
    “And I can also use a turning, churning motion,” Dickens said. “I like to call this the Oliver twist.”
    As he pushed in and out of her, Dickens twisted the rubber cock like a turn of the