Chapter 1

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Mother, Son, .

Desc: Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Wealth buys what wealth wants. These three Ladies Who Lunch know what they want. They buy it, rent it, find it, share it. The term Size Queen is meant to be disparaging. The Cock Club ladies don't give a fuck. Melanie, Margie and Mallory just don't give a fuck.

Melanie, Margie and Mallory didn't consider themselves connoisseurs of male appendages. They didn't measure, didn't brag, didn't faint with pleasure.

Nope, Mel, Margie, and Mal simply knew what they liked: sex. Fucking. Climaxes. Cocks. Big ones.

The name, Cock Club, wasn't a serious one. It was an ironic nod to what the ladies thought of as a pleasure inducing pastime. Not a weakness, not a sin, not at all.

The three Upper East Side women came from money and married into money. Their ancestors, going back five or six generations, were referred to as financiers. A term preferred over robber barons.

Their husbands toiled away: banking, wealth management, hedge funds. Mel, Margie and Mal were generally happy in their marriages. They liked and got along with their husbands just fine most of the time.

They didn't feud with other ladies. If they were upset, or bored with someone, they just quietly cut back on interactions with them. The same with their husbands, it was simply dreary to fight about most things.

The ladies knew about the string of younger and younger bimbos. And said something only when one of the husbands was going a little ga-ga over his latest girlfriend. Mel, Margie and Mal weren't resigned to their husbands' philandering, they just weren't that interested.

None of the three depended on a husband's earnings, they had money of their own. A lot of money. For perspective, a million seconds is around 10 or so days. A billion seconds is over 30 years.

So, financial independence. Generations of breeding. Vigorous sexual appetites. Patrician good looks. A greedy willingness to do whatever it took to achieve pleasure. They were intelligent, smartly put together and worked at staying in shape.

Mel and Margie and Mal met for lunch one day around 3 at the Carlyle. Deciding which salad to order, Margie said, "He found a new Trophy Cunt. Another blonde."

Shrugs.

Even Margie herself wasn't all that interested in her husband's latest girlfriend.

All three ladies attended The Spence School -- Lower, Middle and Upper. Both buildings were within walking distance of their parents' townhouses. And Spence was where they first started fucking, finding it very much to their liking. Very much.

The three had been Debs, attended the Seven Sisters, married at around 24, 25. After 14, 15 years of marriage they had a mild curiosity about who their husbands were fucking. But they were far more interested in who they themselves had fucked, were fucking and would be fucking.

The Cock Club that they had formed over, fittingly, cocktails was one of the most exclusive private clubs in town. Only three members. And no other ladies would be invited. Mel, Margie and Mal didn't mind sharing studs with each other, but three ladies was enough.

The main reason they shared their favorites wasn't generosity. By trading boys each had two additional sources of cock.

There wasn't a clubhouse, there weren't any officers, no formal meetings. The Cock Club's raison d'ĂȘtre was cock. The larger the better. Find it, fuck it, pass it along to the other two.

Among the three ladies they had homes in Manhattan, The Hamptons, Martha's Vineyard, Aspen, San Francisco, London, Paris and Hong Kong. Not each of them had a home in each location though. That would be excessive. They also had agents -- procurers -- in each location. Agents who knew exactly what the ladies wanted.

Young and hung. Actor wannabes, pool boys, waiters, chauffeurs, college students, high school students. The ladies made size exceptions for middle school boys. It was worth it to see the excitement in their faces as they got their first ever pussy.

Despite all the sex they enjoyed, the ladies weren't jaded. They were high vitality women, recovered quickly and genuinely enjoyed life.

Mal had a son, 14. None of the three could remember who had fucked Thornton first -- Mel or Margie. It had been a while back and many men and boys had been savored since then.

But Margie still fucked the kid once in a while. Mel less often. Marge told Mal, "You should try him yourself, not bad." None of the three was remotely shocked at the incestuous suggestion. These were experienced ladies.

In fact Mal had been considering it. From time to time. Especially late at night after a couple of lines. Thornton was certainly handsome enough. And Mal didn't need Margie and Mel to tell her he was hung fairly decently. She checked that out herself from time to time.

Thornton was used to his mother's strong willed ways. It was simply easier to go along with a lack of privacy than argue. Plus she allowed him to fuck two of her younger maids. New York and The Hamptons. What he didn't know was that his mother paid them. In cash and under the table. She knew that tax-free income was more valuable to them. Especially since the maids' husbands didn't have to know about the extra cash.

So if extra pussy meant that Thornton's mother occasionally watched a maid suck him off, so what? And there were her friends, Margie and Mel. Fantastic pussy. They were jolly too, didn't take life so seriously like his father and his friends did.

Sometimes Thornton thought his mother was looking at him in an odd way. Evaluating him. With the full sophistication of his 14 years he wondered, then fantasized, that she wanted him.

His mother and Margie and Mel, looked like carbon copies. Thin, tall, blonde, aristocratic. Confident, graceful, always on the move, cat-like. Thornton would always remember what his mother had told him one morning in The Hamptons.

She had interrupted a wonderful blow job from the maid. Mal ran a finger along his cock as if she were measuring him. She gave her son a nice smile and said, "Mel told me you gave her a wonderful fuck last week."

His mother nodded to the maid and said, "Give him some pussy." She left the room. Those words, 'wonderful fuck' resonated with Thornton. They made him feel almost like a man.

The Cock Club didn't keep minutes, didn't take a single note. Mel and Margie and Mal didn't talk sex every single time they met. But usually they did.

This luncheon they were discussing the San Francisco Problem. They didn't mind fucking gay guys, not at all. The conversations were often more amusing during the boys' recovery times. But lately it had been all gays.

Margie said, "Couldn't that cunt at least find us some bi guys? We pay him enough."

Mel said, "San Francisco's a challenge."

Mal said, "Fuck San Francisco. That cocksucker should be looking in Marin, down the Peninsula. East Bay."

Margie said, "Not the East Bay."

"You're right. Let's tell him to start with Marin."

It wasn't that frequent, but once in a while the ladies struck gold. A handsome boy, hung, and not dumb.

The Cock Club hadn't set up any formal guidelines as to what constituted hung. Each of them had fucked enough men and boys to recognize hung in two ways: sight and sound.

They didn't have to measure a cock to instinctively realize it was around 8 or 9 inches. Or more. Had they been blind, they could have told that their lover had a huge one from the happy yelps and screams the ladies themselves were making.

But, gold. Every once in a while that magic combination -- over 10 inches, fat, attached to a good bod, a decent mind -- a keeper.

Mel, Marge and Mal had a young aspiring cinematographer who filmed them fucking the elite of elite. The girl was professional in her manner and brought in a guy to do the initial makeup and touchups along the way. The ladies understood that a different patina was required under the lights.

Their cinematographer brought in another guy for the lighting and a third one for sound. It had to be the most expensive homemade porn on the planet. Maybe not, there's a lot of money out there.

Looking at the Cock Club's collection of DVDs an alien visitor would assume that all males had huge cocks and that all females were gorgeous, slutty and could cum that hard.

At another lunch, Marge asked Mal, "You fuck Thornton yet?"

Thornton, Mal's teenage son.

Mal shrugged, "Not yet. More wine?"

When husbands were traveling the Cock Club went slumming to pick up new lovers. Ventured below 23rd Street. They kept a permanent suite in the Battery Park Four Seasons. The drivers for all three ladies were paid for their discretion. Paid well.

When the Cock Club let men believe that their pick up lines had worked, the minimum was one man per lady. When they worked NYU and Columbia, it was child's play to nab two each.

Mal told her two friends, "I bet I only see one in 10 a second time."

The ladies nodded, that was the problem. They sometimes were able to intuit which man would meet their standards, but not usually. You just couldn't tell if you had a winner until he was between your thighs.

Because they could afford to be choosy about their men, they were choosy.

Not that sex was all they did. Mel, Margie and Mal served on various charity boards, supported the arts, financed promising musicians, artists, actors. They led textured lives. It was just that sex was always in the air.

It was Mal, the mother, who was slightly more adventuresome, slightly more creative. She was the one who had started loaning Cock Club DVDs to her son to jack off to.

At lunch Mal said, "Let's enlist Clive to manage our agents."

Mel and Margie knew instantly what she meant. Clive was a debonaire walker, an escort for ladies whose husbands were unable to attend this function or that one.

Clive was witty and every bit as gossipy as Capote had been in his heyday. Gay, of course, but very presentable. He lived at the Sherry-Netherland, just down the street. Clive had been a confident of the ladies ever since their coming out balls. He was 60, looked 40, acted 20.

Over cocktails Mal said to Clive, "Not a word, dear, this is top secret."

"My lips are sealed, you all know how discrete I am."

Margie said, "Cut the shit, Clive, this is serious."

"Oh my."

Mel said, "The Cock Club needs your help."

Clive sat forward, antennae alert. He adored the Cock Club ladies. So forward thinking, so bold, so pragmatic. Such wanton sluts.

Mal said, "You know our arrangements, we pay for it. Saves time."

Clive knew full well what 'it' was.

Margie said, "Around the world."

Clive nodded. The ladies' homes were as well known to him as their appetites. He'd been a frequent guest at all of their homes over the years. He admired their taste in art, furniture, architecture, dinner parties and men. And boys.

Mel said, "We want to enjoy a better standard of product."

Clive nodded. Smarter men. And boys. More handsome. Larger equipment.

Mal said, "You'd be ideal, Clive. Meet with our agents. Do whatever you think best. Flatter them, bribe them, threaten them."

Clive smiled, "Thornton."

The Cock Club ladies got it immediately. Mal said, "I'll let you suck him off. Up to him whether he wants to fuck you."

Margie said, "Encourage the kid, Mal, we want to keep Clive happy."

"Of course."

Mel winked at Clive, "Naturally you'll want to check out the new merchandise. Start in Hong Kong and work your way East."

Mal nodded, "Good idea, we'll be out there in a couple of weeks. But start with Manny before you leave. That cunt has disappointed us the last three or four times."

Manny, the Cock Club agent for Manhattan. Not The Hamptons, that was Ronald.

Margie smiled at Clive, "Interested? Expenses on the Club of course."

"I'll give it a whirl. Try two or three cities, see if I get bored."

Mel said, "Fair enough."

Mal called her son, "Where are you? Good. Is your father home, wait he's in London. Stay there, I'm bringing a friend by, new experience for you. Take a shower. Love 'ya."

She held out her hand to Clive, "Let's go."

As her driver took them uptown, Mal wondered if Thornton had been with another boy at Hotchkiss. Probably not.

Her son's bedroom was on the fourth floor. Thornton was wearing a robe. Was startled when he saw Clive. Mal said, "You remember Clive, Honey. I told him he could suck you off."

All three Cock Club ladies were brisk when necessary. Efficient. Mal didn't want her son to dither.

Thornton stared at his mother. Clive began undressing. Mal undid Thornton's robe and gave his soft cock a friendly little swat. "Pretend it's Linda." One of Mal's Manhattan maids.

Mal began unbuttoning her blouse. She whispered to Thornton, "Or pretend it's me."

Clive grinned, typical Mal, willing to do whatever it took to get what she wanted. Mal looked at her son, he was torn between nervousness and excitement. Thornton's eyes darted back and forth between an erect Clive and his now naked mother.

He'd seen her nude dozens of times. She wasn't teasing him, nor trying to tempt him. Mal just didn't care who saw her.

She lifted a full boob to her mouth, smiled at Thornton and sucked in a nipple. It worked, he was fully hard. Mal and Clive hadn't coordinated their movements, each of them had enough experience to function in a seemingly choreographed manner.

Mal lead Thornton by his cock over to where Clive was seated. Guided her son's cock into Clive's mouth. Everything was moving so fast.

Mal whispered, "Close your eyes, Honey. Just relax and enjoy it."

As she watched Clive at work, Mal idly wondered how many boys he'd sucked off in his decades of prowling. Mal was at the upper limits of Clive's preferred age brackets. Which was absolutely fine with Mal. The Cock Club liked younger ones from time to time too.

The ladies upper limit was considerably higher than Clive's. They'd instructed their agents to go as old at 30.

Mal had seen enough cocksucking over the years to realize that Clive was deliberately drawing it out. Was easing up to keep Thornton from cumming. Mal smiled at her son, he had his eyes closed. He usually did what she told him to.

Then Thornton stiffened. It was time.

As he was dressing, Clive said, "Thank you Mal, it was a treat."

Mal smiled, "Let Linda know if you want another taste, right Thorny?"

"I guess."

"Right Thorny?"

"Yes ma'am."

On his way back home, Clive smiled. Mal not only gave her son to him, she set it up so Clive could go back for more.

Still nude, Mal said, "That wasn't bad, was it."

"No, I guess not."

"Clive is doing a favor for the Club. I want you to treat him nice."

Mal had always been open with her son. It was fun to shock him, to read the awed expression on his face as she shared her latest adventures. Thornton was quite aware of the Cock Club and its hedonistic background.

Thornton said, "I don't want Clive to fuck me."

Mal shrugged, "If I want that, I'll find one more your own age. But I may have you fuck him. You're still young enough to interest him." She smiled, "Barely."

Then Mal wrapped her arms around Thornton. She said, "Thank you, Honey." She stood on tiptoes and kissed him deeply for a long, hungry time. She wanted to see if she could get his cock stirring back to life this soon. She could.

Thornton never knew what got into his mother. From time to time she would drop whatever she was doing and just start kissing him. The servants were used to it, although Mal could care less what the servants were used to.

She stepped back, gave Thornton's cock a nice squeeze and left, walking nude upstairs. Mal rang for Linda and said, "Give Thorny some pussy, would you please? He did me a nice little favor."

"Of course."

Linda would also retrieve Mal's clothes and put them in the hamper. Linda's husband managed the rooftop gardens and knew that his 17-year old wife fucked both the father and son. It was a good gig that he and Linda had, he didn't complain.

Mal called Margie, then Mel, "Come by once in a while and fuck Thorny. I told Clive he could suck him off some more."

"Sure."

When Linda came back up, neither she nor Mal mentioned Thornton. That little chore had been taken care of.

For the fun of it, both Margie and Mel told Thornton, "Your mom is thinking of fucking you. You're in for a wild ride."

Clive, acting in behest of the Club, did what he usually did for people who worked for a living -- promised the Club's agents more money and flattered them. In Hong Kong he said, "Hire more scouts, do more research. I know it's a challenge, especially finding boys that meet the ladies' standards. But you're up for it. You're their very favorite agent."

That litany, or a customized version, was repeated in San Francisco, Aspen, The Hamptons, Martha's Vineyard, London and Paris. Mal was considering a villa in Tuscany.

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