Chapter 1

It was going to be just one of those days for the man, and he wasn't even aware of it. He had to deliver something to one of the richer clients on his routes. The minute he opened the door and walked in he should have sensed something, but he didn't. Had he known what was going to happen, he might have stayed out of the place.

Suddenly an arm, which belonged to Eunice Graham, flung about his neck, which drove him off balance and sent him reeling to the floor.

Then Madge Winthrop ripped open his pants excitedly trying to get to his cock. The two women were fast upon him, while Gail Beckwyth capered about on the fringe of the action. She wanted to do something but didn't know what to do.

The messenger cried out, "What the hell-" but was never able to finish for his mouth was suddenly stuffed with Eunice's sopping panties. His words were now muffled and nothing but vague gasps could be heard. Madge bound his feet with his own pants, exposing his package of cock flesh. The wrinkled balls sagged and the prick surged upward.

Eunice ordered Gail to tie the man's flailing hands with her pantyhose. Gail was eager to obey. She reached down beneath her tight miniskirt and pulled her hose down and began to tie the man's hands behind his back. She moved clumsily, but rather effectively. Even in his confusion, the messenger could not help darting a wide-eyed glance of admiration at the bare thighs and lustrous tangle of silken-fibered pussy hair that flashed for a moment as Gail skimmed down her hose. Her tight, teenage pussy was a wet, rosy slit, nearly lost in the luxurious splurge of light-brown cunt foliage.

The scene was altogether inappropriate for its setting. The elegant, cream-toned paneling, Aubusson rugs, and silk-upholstered furniture of Madge Winthrop's Fifth Avenue apartment in the most exclusive section of Manhattan's upper East Side seemed the last place in the world where a man would have to fear physical attack. And yet, incredibly enough, it was happening.

The messenger still could not quite believe it. He blinked his eyes. Yes, there they were-three sleek, fashionably-attired society beauties-binding him, gagging him, popping his buttons and rending his clothes in their eagerness to expose his most private parts!

The manager had warned him to be careful. Mr. Michel himself-proprietor of New York's oldest, most prestigious firm of jewelers-had personally entrusted the tissue-wrapped box to the messenger's hands.

"It's a birthday present to Mrs. Winthrop from her husband. The pears are worth a quarter of a million. Belonged to the last French Empress. So be careful!"

And he had been careful. Of thieves, muggers, sidewalk ruffians. But who could have expected trouble from Mrs. Winthrop and her friends?

Uggh! The woman who had jammed her panties into his mouth must have been playing with herself a long time before she removed them, he reflected dazedly. The thick, clinging taste of pussy juice was overpoweringly strong. And the scent nearly overwhelmed his nostrils. The panties were positively sopping with syrupy wetness before they were crammed between his lips.

It was the merest ease for the three women to wrestle the man to the carpet. He lay there now, gagged and bound, his eyes flickering worriedly from one lovely, impassioned face to the next.

What would happen now? He was not long in finding out. Eunice Graham squatted the magnificent rotundity of her full-fleshed ass onto the man's face. A sigh of intense satisfaction escaped her as she ground her moist, fragrant orifices against his nose, his chin, his mouth.

"Shit," she murmured as she wriggled atop his face. "I'm so glad Michel's messenger has a long nose. Ooooh, girls, you should try this! There's nothing like having a long, cold nose up your cunt. It's delicious! like the appetizer before the main course."

Actually, the whole thing had been Eunice's idea to begin with. And the messenger wasn't the first male the women had attacked, enticed, or otherwise exploited. Nor would he be the last.

Eunice Graham had broached the idea several weeks before. She and her friend Madge had been conversing over cocktails in Eunice's Park Avenue apartment one afternoon. They had been discussing the general boring predicament of upper-class wives in New York somewhat listlessly.

"Damn!" Eunice declared in disgusted tones as she sipped her martini apathetically, "if I had ever realized what a fucking bore marriage with Henry was going to be, I'd have told him to take his millions somewhere else. All right, he's rich. So what? Lots of men are rich. Maybe not as rich as Henry, but rich enough. The real trouble with Henry is that he's just too frigging old, that's what it comes down to. All right, I'm not exactly a kid myself. I'm thirty-four. Henry is a lot closer to sixty than he'll ever admit. That's a big difference. His idea of a wild orgy is to kiss my breasts a couple of time, climb aboard me, politely plow me for five minutes, then doze off. Some trip, huh?"

Eunice's pretty lips curled in disgust as she spoke. As she crossed her sinuously-curved legs, Madge caught a glimpse of white satiny thigh above her stocking tops that contrasted excitingly with the little nest of coal-black pussy hair that cuddled between them. So Eunice is thirty-four, she mused. I just hope to heaven I look that good when I'm thirty-four.

Madge was politely envious of her friend. Although Madge had a considerable edge in terms of years-she was only twenty-three-she wished devoutly that she had been blessed with Eunice's voluptuous, full-blown figure. Eunice's body was a rich landscape of breathtaking, roller-coaster-ish curves that no man had ever yet skidded along without losing a portion of his sanity somewhere along the way. Even Henry, stuffy as he undeniably was, had lost about fifty percent of his starch under Eunice's incessant, lascivious prodding.

Madge's body, on the other hand, was knife blade-slim. Her breasts were peculiarly shaped, tubular in contour, like enormous, firm-fleshed salamis that hung nearly to her waist. When erect, her nipples were nearly an inch long. In the first weeks of her marriage to

Carlton Winthrop, he had repeatedly choked himself into something bordering on suffocation as he attempted to squeeze an entire luscious breast into his mouth and down his throat.

After a while, Madge had lost patience. One night she blurted, "Shit, Carlton, you may as well face up to the fact-you'll never be able to eat one of my boobs whole! I simply can't have you turning blue in the face every night of the week. Why don't you fuck my tits instead? That way we'll both get some satisfaction!"

This arrangement turned out to be much more practical. Carlton Winthrop took a peculiar delight in screwing his wife's gigantic, meaty blobs, and Madge loved the sudden spatter of Carlton's come against her chin and neck.

That was in the early days of the marriage, however. Since Carlton set his sights on becoming the first self-made millionaire in his family, his usefulness in bed had rapidly diminished. He had long since gained his goal, but his zeal for work had not diminished one iota. Night after night he crawled into bed alongside Madge, entirely worn out from the exertion of driving his account executives to the breaking point, developing new business ideas, and entertaining clients.

So, as the women sat there that afternoon, drinking and complaining, a pact slowly took shape between them. They had observed that most other wealthy wives had the same complaint. As Eunice declared, "Rich men are just not where it's at when it comes to getting it between the legs every night. They've got tired blood, or something!"

The two women made a solemn vow that from that day on they would take cock wherever they could find it. They would seek it in the lowest social stratum if need be. Among truck drivers, ditch diggers, handymen, even tramps, if need be. The only criterion would be the man's ability to get it up fast, to keep it up, and then get it up again in a hurry.

That very evening, Madge and Eunice had made a little slumming tour of Manhattan. They had gone into bars along the waterfront, poked into dark Chinatown alleys, circulated among fantastically-garbed throngs in Greenwich Village. Eunice was the first one to act. Suddenly, on a dimly-lit side street on Manhattan's upper West Side, without saying a word to her companion, Eunice had left Madge's side and accosted a perfect stranger who was lounging on the stoop of an old brownstone. There had been a few words of muttered conversation, then Eunice had calmly leaned over, placed her hands flat against the brownstone wall and planted her legs firmly apart. The stranger stepped up briskly behind her, raised her skirt, yanked her panties down just far enough for his stabbing cock to lunge between her legs and proceeded to dispense something like twenty minutes of hot, steaming, cursing fucking into Eunice's exquisite, willing body.

Her slurping cunt seemed literally to inhale the man's turgid cock, to take it in, press it, squeeze it, maul it in the steam roller of her frenzied pussy lips, to inundate it and deluge it with wave after wave of warmly-aromatic pussy juice, and then, by some mysterious suction, to yank the custardy sperm from the depths of his churning balls and cause it to geyser inside her guts in spurt after heaving spurt!

Madge had looked on, speechless. She was shocked and shaken to her very core by her friend's rashness. At the same time, she could feel her own twat crawling with the little worms of imperious lust. When Eunice had parted from the stranger and the two women were once more alone, Madge remarked ironically, "I pity the next girl that comes along. You didn't leave him much, did you?"

"Put your hand between my legs," Eunice grinned, raising her skirt above her crotch. "Go ahead, feel me."

Madge did so. She gasped. Eunice's whole crotch was drowning in sticky-scummy sperm. It was oozing from her orifice and bathing her thighs as far as the knees. "Henry could never come like that," Eunice laughed, baring her teeth. "Poor Henry! He throws half a dozen drops of semen and worries for fear he may be overdoing it. He keeps accusing me of sucking him dry!"

The women walked along, arm in arm, reveling in their new-found freedom. Madge wasn't slow in following her friend's example. Several blocks further to the south she astonished the black operator of an open-air parking lot by simply walking into his little booth, taking his hand and pressing it up under her dress, against her naked cunt. The black led her to a space between two cars at the back of the lot, and sprawling on his back, allowed Madge to ride him like a horse. Madge went at it very slow and easy, purposely drawing out her pleasure, extracting every last ounce of enjoyment from the virile slab of meat that teased in and out of her honey hole with such authority.

She sat astride his hips, facing away from him, so that the man might have the pleasure of watching her hair-bordered cunt lips suck at his wet, gleaming ebony stick each time she heaved her ass aloft, then retract within her as she lowered her hips again. When he finally came, it was not in successive spurts, but in a continuous fire hose stream that did little to cool the coals of her lust beyond the momentary sensation of orgasm. She let it gush inside her. Then, when she felt the smashing stream die to a gentle oozing, she abruptly yanked the throbbing tool from her pussy with a suddenness that made the man flinch. Cuddling it to her cheek, she soothed and fondled it like a baby until the tension and leftover soreness had evaporated from the organ. Then, working intently with her lips and fingertips, she coaxed it back to life once, more, this time receiving the full charge of his massive eruption on her tongue.

Smiling, the black man reached up and touched her face. "How was it?" he asked. "How did it taste?"

Madge poised her face over his. Positioning her lips about twelve inches above his, she slowly curled them back, allowing the gluey mixture of spit and sperm to drool languorously into the man's open mouth. "Taste "it for yourself," was her rejoinder. Then, rising, she settled her skirt decorously about her hips, and returned to Eunice who awaited her just outside, on the sidewalk.

Gail Beckwyth hadn't come on the scene until considerably later, until Eunice and Madge had a record of many escapades behind them. Gail was only nineteen. She had been a freshman at Wellesley when Madge was a senior. Surprisingly, a friendship had rapidly developed between the two girls in spite of the four-year difference in their ages. Even more surprisingly, it had endured even after Madge's graduation and subsequent marriage.

Gail was enormously wealthy too ... on paper. As the sole heiress to the huge Beckwyth cereals fortune, she stood to come into something like two hundred million dollars on her twenty-first birthday. Meanwhile, at the strict stipulation of her late father, Clarence Beckwyth, the trustee for the estate, a crusty old attorney named Sealey, doled out five hundred dollars a month for living expenses. This did not, of course, include such matters as rent and education, which were provided for under separate stipulations of the will.

How glad Gail would be when she had college behind her and a whole glamorous, exciting world would be hers to command! But that was still nearly two years away. Right now, she was glad to settle for a summer vacation in New York where she could be near the things she loved-the discotheques, the art galleries, the exclusive little world of the powerful, the talented, and the beautiful that centers on New York.

Gail had long had a hunch that Madge was rather far out in her sexual tastes. But not until she'd joined Madge and Eunice for lunch that afternoon had she had the slightest idea that rape was included among them! When the two older women had first broached their plan to fuck the next man they saw, Gail had demurred.

"How do you know who it might be?" she objected. "It could be someone filthy and horrible. I have no objection to a sexual adventure now and then. In fact, I rather like the idea! But I prefer to be a little selective-"

It was at that very moment that the doorbell had rung, signaling the arrival of the messenger from Michel's. He wasn't filthy and horrible at all. He was rather a mousy man in his early forties. He reminded Gail somewhat of an instructor at college that she'd had a crush on during her freshman year. And when she saw his dick flop out of his torn zipper, her queasiness dropped from her like a mask and she was as avid for the game as the others.

While Eunice was ruthlessly mashing the great, hairy gorge of her cunt into the messenger's face, Madge was swiftly rousing his cock to full attention. Her face glowed with anticipation as she vigorously jerked the flaccid rod with her fingers. While she jerked him with one hand, the other was industriously pinching, churning, and waggling his balls. In no time at all the limp, worm-like little tool grew firm and rubbery and took on a fresh, ruddy complexion.

Gail stood by open-mouthed in amazement as she noted what Madge's firm ministrations could accomplish. Gail wasn't a virgin, but her two encounters with sex thus far had occurred in the pitch blackness of a boy's dormitory room. Darkness and timidity had conspired to rob her of all but the most rudimentary knowledge of what actually happened when a man acquired an erection. She was truly astonished to see how so tiny a thing could grow to such huge dimensions. Goodness, she thought, is that what that boy stuck into me?

Her next thought was, how nice it would be to have her cunt invaded once more by a warm, firm prong of living flesh instead of the cold plastic vibrator she'd been using almost nightly for the last few weeks. As Madge slowly impaled her twat on the man's straining, erect pole, Gail cried, "Oh Madge, please hurry! I'm dying for a fuck, I really am! Please, can I be next?"

Hearing this, Eunice turned her head to say, "Why don't you let lover boy here finger-fuck you while you're waiting?" Ramming her knee viciously into the man's head, she snarled, "Stick a couple of your fingers up my friend's cunt and do a good job of it or I'll piss in your face!"

So, while Eunice continued to take her pleasure in masturbating herself against the messenger's face, and Madge made the man's sword slash and harry its way into the darkest, most mysterious recesses of her treasure-cave, Gail kneeled beside him, her legs spread and guided his fingers into her honey pot. He no sooner placed his fingertips tentatively on the outer lips, than the honey began to ooze unrestrainedly forth.

It wasn't as good as a real screw, but it was a hundred times better than the vibrator. Pushing her dress nearly tjo neck level, Gail commenced to caress her nipples while her hips kept time to the insistent, plunging rhythm of the male fingers. "Oh shit ... shit," she murmured, bucking her hips forward. "This feels good! Now hold your fingers rigid. Hold them steady. Don't move them. I want to fuck your hand. I want to fuck the living shit out of it!" Her eyes clamped tightly shut, Gail bared her teeth as she wallowed in erotic luxury, rotating her hips in tiny circles about the man's fingers, now making them diddle the outermost portals of her cavern, now forcing them to perform their duty in the holiest, swampiest depths of her pleasure tunnel.

"Oh shit, shit!" she murmured. Only she could come this way. Suddenly, it was over. She felt the man's hand go limp inside her box. She saw his legs shudder, then go slack. "Hey, what the fuck's going on here?" she cried, dismayed. "I want some more!"

Madge rose from her squatting position. She clutched her pussy in remembered ecstasy, moaning. "Oh, that was a good screw!" She mauled her juice-oozing pussy for a moment. "Shit, it was like having a steel spring vibrating inside your twat!" She nudged the messenger's inert form. "How do you make it jiggle and hum inside a lady's cunt like that?" she demanded to know, yanking the panties from his mouth.

"Never mind!" Eunice cut in imperiously, "that's past history. The important thing is, how he's going to make it jiggle and hum inside my little slit. It's my turn now!"

The man turned dull, lifeless eyes on her. "It's nobody's turn now," came his hoarsely whispered comment. "I'm fucked out. I can't handle no more!"

"Shit you can't!" Eunice hollered, nudging the man's ribs cruelly with the pointy toe of her patent leather shoe. "You can't stop at one. What kind of a man are you anyway?" She was peeling out of her dress as she spoke. As usual, she was entirely bare underneath. As the man's eyes roved hungrily over the white lushness of her curves, the explosion of black hair between her legs, the arrogant pout of the brick red, brick-hard nipples that adorned the two cups of wriggling custard that constituted her breasts, his shrunken cock gave a dying twitch. But that was all.

"What do you mean, I can't stop at one?" he croaked. "I already been fucked twice today."

"What!" the comment erupted from the three women with a single voice.

"Yeah," the messenger reiterated wanly. "I put the chocks to Mrs. de Peyster when I delivered the diamond earrings to her this morning. What a lay that was! The woman is a maniac, I tell you. And then afterwards, when I took the emerald clips to Mrs. Larrabee, she insisted on sucking me off. It was some morning, I tell you! What the hell's going on anyway? It looks like the whole world wants to ball the messenger from Michel's!"

"Well," Eunice sighed. Her eyes sought out those of the other women. None could think of a thing to say. They untied him.

The man slowly, painfully rose to his feet. He buttoned his shirt and adjusted his jacket. He had only slight success in returning his flaccid cock within the ripped fly of his pants. "One thing about those other ladies," he went on in grieved tones, "at least they were polite. They were nice enough to ask me if I'd ball them or let myself be frenched. They didn't grab me and knock me down and tear my uniform!" He gazed down woefully at his mutilated trousers. "Just tell me one thing, how am I going to explain the condition of my uniform when I get back to the store? That's all I want to know!"

"All right, all right," Madge snapped irritably, "Let's pot make such a big thing of it, shall we? You're free to leave any time you want to. Go ahead, pick up your hat and get out!"

"Not so fast," the man replied haughtily. "Where's my package?"

"Oh shit, yes, the pearls," Madge groaned. "Where are they? Anybody see them?" It was Gail who finally found them, where they had been kicked beneath the stereo console in the confusion.

The messenger took them from Gail's hands and gravely handed the tissue-wrapped package to Madge. "Thank you," Madge said dryly, "now please go!"

"Not yet!" the messenger insisted. He placed his cap on his head. Then, remembering his place, he removed it and tucked it beneath one arm. "I have been instructed to sing a little song," he declared. And with that he began:

"Happy birthday to you...."

"Oh, shit," Madge muttered, rolling her eyes heavenward.

"Happy birthday to you. ... "

At this point, the man's cock flopped ludicrously out of his torn fly and hung there, swinging. A single drop of crystalline sperm glittered at the tip.

"Happy birthday, dear Ma-aadge. ... "

Eunice impudently took the pearly drop on the tip of her little finger and popped it into her mouth.

"Happy birthday to youuuu ... " And with that the man scooped his penis back inside his ravaged pants and, drawing himself erect with all the dignity he could muster, marched out of the room.

All three women dissolved into laughter at once. "Shit, what a caper this has been!" Madge cried, rolling helplessly on the floor in her merriment. Finally, she remembered her present. She unwrapped it, held the pearls up for her friends to admire, then, on an impish impulse, she began to stuff the entire quarter-million-dollar strand up her vagina. A look of intense ecstasy suffused her features as she slowly pulled it out again, a fraction of an inch at a time.

"Oooh, that feels good," she breathed, as the wet, irridescent pearls popped out of her pussy one by one. "You girls ought to try this some time. But remember, the pearls have to be from Michel's."

There was another burst of giggles from the group. Then Eunice said, "Make us a drink, will you, Madge? I could certainly use one."

The women seemed entirely relaxed and cheerful as they sat over their drinks and conversed. But Eunice's eyes constantly sought Gail's. Each knew the other shared her thought: It's all right for Madge to laugh it up. She had her kicks. But how about us? We've still got hot pants. And not a man in sight.

Eunice could still taste the saltiness of the single drop of sperm on her tongue. That was just the appetizer, she thought. Now I'm ready for the full meal!