Menage a Trois

by

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Fa/Fa, Mult, NonConsensual, Rape, Heterosexual, Rough, Light Bond, Humiliation, Gang Bang, .

Desc: Sex Story: An illustrated tale of sex and violence told from three points of view. What happens when supper is interrupted by three baseball bat wielding rapists and a woman in a Queen Elizabeth mask?

Gina

Man Preparing to fuck a woman that is being held by another man

She screamed but they didn't stop. The one behind her, the one who'd been wearing the Prince Charles rubber mask, wrapped his arms tighter around her chest, pinning her arms to her side.

"Make as much noise as you like, little lady, no-one will hear you!" he said, in a pleasant educated accent, and laughed.

The one in front of her was laughing too, as he tugged at the waist band of her tweed skirt with enough force to rip out the fastener.

"She's no lady," he chortled, his voice muted by the grinning Richard Nixon mask which covered his face, "She's a whore! Or she will be before the morning!"

The skirt slid down her stockinged legs. With his left hand, the speaker stroked the soft white flesh exposed between her black lace stocking-top and her panties. With his right hand he unzipped the fly of his jeans.

"Nothing but a fuck-toy!" he elaborated.

She tried to kick him but only succeeded in tangling her feet in the cloth of the skirt.

Prince Charles licked her slender neck. She could feel his hot, wet, tongue probing between the collar of her blouse and her ear. She instinctively shook her head to avoid the slimy aggravation. He responded by taking her ear between his teeth. He wasn't biting, yet. She could also feel his erection, barely constrained by his woolen track-suit pants, pressing into the small of her back.

She stopped screaming and tried begging.

"No! Stop it! Oh... I beg you..." she pleaded.

Nixon slid a fore-finger under the elastic lace which formed the crotch of her fashionable pink bikini style panties and pulled. The panties slid off her hips and down her thighs.

"You're college boys, aren't you? Is it rag week? Please, before you go too..."

"She's a natural blonde! I do declare!" crowed Nixon.

"For pity's sake... don't do this!" she wailed. Her voice was growing shrill.

Prince Charles let go her ear and stepped back. He had taken her blouse in both hands, one either side of the line of pearl buttons which held the demure top together. As he retreated, he pulled.

The buttons parted explosively and the woman's ample breasts, tightly confined by a pink lace brassiere, were unveiled. The blouse, pulled off her shoulders, now pinioned the woman's elbows and freed Prince Charles' hands. He cupped one lace covered breast in each hand. She could feel his erection again, harder and now pressing between the cheeks of her arse. He put his tongue in her ear.

"Please... don't do this!" she gasped.

The panties caught on the small metal fastening which secured her stockings to her garter belt. Nixon swore and pulled. The panties ripped.

"No! Stop it! You monsters... ! You filthy perverted..."

Nixon felt between her legs.

"You're dry, Whore! And tight!" he growled.

You low grade ill-bred bastards!" she screamed. "Get out of my house! You scum! You..."

Nixon held the tattered remains of her panties under her nose. He'd stopped laughing.

"Shut up!" he bellowed. "Shut the fuck up! Or I'll ram these down your throat till you choke!"

Her eyes were big. Pale blue. Wide open. Filling with tears of rage and helplessness.

"Do you understand, Whore?" Nixon shouted.

The woman nodded. A tear ran down her cheek.

Prince Charles undid her bra. It fastened in the front. Without its support the woman's full breasts sagged slightly then bounced softly causing Nixon to laugh again.

"Nice tits!" He chuckled. "More than a mouthful, eh, Charley?"

He was having difficulty in extracting his swollen penis from his briefs and through the opening in the fly of his tight jeans.

Prince Charles cupped a breast in each hand. He took the prominent nipples between thumb and fore finger and rolled them, quite gently. He nibbled her ear taking care not to cut his mouth on the half carat diamond stud which decorated the lobe.

"Very nice!" he agreed, between little bites which were more like kisses. "Do you like that?"

She whimpered.

Nixon undid his belt and dragged his jeans and his briefs down onto his thighs. His erection, released from its constraints, sprang out and up. The woman looked down. His member was big. Bigger than her husband's. It was corded with thick raised veins. Like some animal drooling over a meal about to be devoured, it dripped a saliva-like string of glistening fluid.

Nixon pumped it twice, easing the foreskin over the purple tinted glans.

The woman looked at his face. She could make out his eyes, hard and cruel, in the holes cut in the caricature mask. She sobbed.

"Just a quickie to start with!" He panted, entering her roughly. She began to scream again. Prince Charles pinched hard on her nipples and sank his teeth into her ear lobe, drawing a tiny spot of blood.

She was still screaming, minutes later, when Nixon ejaculated deep inside her, pressing her hips to his with a clawlike grip on her bare buttocks.


The newlyweds had been thrilled when Trevor's uncle had offered them full use of his farm ten miles out of town. He'd bought it, on the recommendation of his accountant, as a tax minimization gambit three years earlier. Not a good one, as it turned out. Trevor offered to pay rent on the house and Gina said she'd keep an eye on the agistment, so a deal had been done which satisfied Uncle Gus and gave Gina and Trevor their own little love nest, far from the madding crowds.

Gina was always careful when Trevor was away on business, which, as the year progressed, became more frequent. When he was away, the doors were bolted, barred and chained securely. Not that there was any real risk, but the farm people she dealt with were a dour lot and she had made few friends in the local community. She didn't mind. In Trevor's absence she painted watercolor landscapes of the surrounding countryside which sold well in a gallery in town. When he returned she was happy to be the loving wife of a successful IT specialist who, she was sure, would, one day, make a fortune to rival Gates'. She was also less security conscious.

As Gina prepared supper, Trevor played chess at the other end of the big, solid, kitchen table with the sixteen year old step-daughter of his Uncle Gus' second marriage known as 'Kipper'. She was a sort of cousin who had, said Gina, a teenage crush on her handsome and athletic husband. Kipper was a frequent visitor at the farm when Trevor was present. Her dark complexion and long black hair contrasted with Gina's short blonde page-boy and peaches and cream coloring. Kipper was still wearing her school uniform. She usually changed before supper into something which showed a bit too much teen flesh, Gina had said acidly on several occasions...

Gina finished tossing the salad. The table was laid. The steak ready for the pan. She looked for a bottle of Merlot. There was only white wine in the rack.

"I'll just pop down to the cellar and get a bottle of red." she told the chess-players. "Supper will be ready in about ten minutes!"

As Gina descended the steps into the cellar, which led off the big kitchen, Kipper leant across the corner of the table, moved her King's Bishop with one hand and grasped Trevor's thigh with the other.

"Check!" she said, grinning.

"No, Kipper!" Trevor hissed.

"It is so!" declared the girl finding what her hand sought and giving it a firm but gentle squeeze. "You know how good I can be!"

"Stop it Kip!"

"You didn't say that before."

"Kip!"

"You came in my mouth!"

"That was before I was a married man!" Trevor grinned, making no effort to move her hand. Kipper pouted and gripped him tighter. She could feel his penis start to swell under the denim. She started to rub. Trevor sighed.

"Only just!" Kipper snorted. They could hear Gina clicking up the cellar steps in her high heels. She always felt she had to dress up when Kipper visited. Perhaps she sensed the teenager's fierce resentment that she was Trevor's bedmate not the youngster. Lambskin boots and old jeans, out! Tweed skirt, stockings and patent leather pumps, on!

"Why don't you come to my room tonight after the blonde bitch is asleep!"

He smiled, hungrily, but shook his head.

"I'll be waiting!"

"Waiting? Waiting for what, Kipper?" said Gina emerging from the cellar with a bottle of Wolf Blass.

"Waiting for Trev to give in. I'm just about to take his Queen and mate him!" she smiled innocently. Hands in her lap.

The door bell rang. Gina put the bottle on the table. "Open it, will you?" she said. "I wonder who that can be?"

Neither Trevor nor Kipper made a move to answer the door. The bell rang again, Longer this time.

"I'll go then!" said Gina, shortly, and strode off down the stone-flagged corridor, her heels going clicketty-click until she reached the hall with it's carpet, mirror and umbrella stand.

The bell rang a third time as Gina reached the door. Without thinking she undid the chain but before she could turn the handle the door burst inwards and all Hell broke loose.

.... There is more of this story ...

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