Caroles Orgy

Carole Banning stared out the window of the Lear Jet at the banks of clouds below. She wrung her hands nervously and felt a gnawing in her guts. She had always hated to fly. This trip was only her fourth time to ride in a plane, her first in a private jet, and she was nervous to begin with. Add the fact that she was flying to New York, and she that was that much more afraid.

She had watched, along with everyone else, on that awful morning over a year and a half previously as the disasters in New York and Washington had unfolded, and all she could see in her mind’s eye at that moment were jetliners smashing into tall buildings. Carole forced the images out of her mind, and fortunately, right then her attention was distracted by the steward, who was offering her some wine. She asked for a white zinfandel, and the steward produced a bottle, opened it, poured her a glass then left the bottle in a bucket of ice. As she took a big swallow of the tart liquid, Carole was grateful for the soothing effect of the liquor on her nervous stomach and jittery disposition.

It was a Thursday morning in late April, the culmination of a whirlwind 24 hours that had begun the previous morning, when she received an urgent message from Mary Jones to come see her bosses, the Bourne Brothers, in their big office immediately. Carole had worked for Bourne and Bourne since September of the previous year, and Mary was the Bourne Brothers’ personal secretary. The company was a major stock brokerage firm headquartered in a mid-sized Southern city. Twin brothers Peter Bourne and Paul Bourne had been hugely successful on Wall Street in the early 1980s and had formed their own company around 1985, which had been equally successful.

But the company harbored a dark secret, as Carole had found out in February, about nine weeks ago. She had been called into the Bournes’ office and accused of embezzling $150,000 from a major client of the firm. As an accountant, she had handled the account, and now the money was gone. She had vehemently denied the charge, but they claimed to have extensive evidence of her wrongdoing, and threatened to send her to jail and prosecute her if she didn’t have sex with them right then and there.

Naturally, she had balked, but when Ralph, the security chief, had slapped handcuffs on her and hauled her toward the door, she had consented, reluctantly. The Bournes then had fucked her like she’d never been fucked before, and once they got her going, she had responded like a wild woman. When they had finished, they had made her a devil’s bargain. They would pay back the $150,000 to the client out of their own pocket, but in return she had to agree to take on a new job with new responsibilities for an indefinite period of time.

The position was euphemistically called the liaison officer, but in reality she was to serve as the company sex toy, their whore. She would be expected to service men and women in the company’s upper management as part of a rewards and incentive system, and top clients with whom the firm wanted to curry favor. Again, she had balked, but when she was shown newspaper clippings about a woman who had refused to take the offer, she had seen that there was no way out. The woman had been successfully prosecuted and sent to prison for a 6 to10 year term. Carole felt she couldn’t risk that, so with a heavy heart, she had agreed to take the position, even though it meant jeopardizing her marriage of nearly 22 years.

Of course, it was all a scam, the “evidence” an elaborate fabrication. The Bourne Brothers had set up the liaison officer’s position as a reaction to their loathing of women in general, and specifically a blind hatred of their father’s widow, his sixth wife, who had conned them out of ownership of a successful plantation that had been in their family for eight generations. It also showed their contempt for the institution of marriage, which they believed had given this woman, and all of their father’s other wives, the means to rip them off.

So as a measure of revenge, they had made sure they created a whore’s position for a married woman of their stepmother’s age. They filled it with women who looked similar to their nemesis: average size, nicely built, straight shoulder-length dark hair and pretty. Carole was the 14th woman to fill the position in the 18 years the company had existed. The Bournes had become very adept at finding vulnerable women like Carole, and had become experts at creating forged documents that gave the appearance of wrongdoing. They had been good enough at it to convince a prosecutor to press the case and good enough to convince a jury to convict Karla Jackson back in 1998.

Carole hated the idea of cheating so flagrantly on Mark, her husband, but she felt she had no choice. And once she decided to get into it, she had gotten into it in a big way. Carole had reasoned that if she was good, if she put everything she had into the job, the Bournes might keep her term of service short. So she had thrown herself into the job with gusto, and, she had to admit, she had been getting more good sex than she had had in her entire life. She was sort of reliving her youth, her wild late high school and early college days, when she had led a very active sex life. That had changed the second semester of her junior year in college, when she had met Mark. Until that fateful day that past February, she had never had another man after she’d met and married him. But by now, she had lost count of how many different men and women had used her body in the nine weeks she’d been doing this.

By the time she finished her second glass of wine, she was feeling a warm glow in her insides, and she could feel herself begin to get hot in anticipation of what would happen when they touched down in New York. The Bournes had told her brusquely that she was to take the day, and go with Mary to buy some nice, sexy clothes, that she was to accompany them to New York for a shareholder’s meeting. They would leave bright and early in the morning and would return Sunday evening.

At first, she had tried to get out of going, but they had insisted, hinting of dire consequences if she refused. They told her to tell Mark she was going to personally deliver a report to the shareholders on the major project she had allegedly been working on. That had been the standing excuse for the increasing number of late nights she’d been working, when in fact, she was out on dates with company executives or top clients of the company. She had told Mark that she’d gotten a promotion, with a raise in pay, but also with added responsibilities. She hated lying to her husband, but she knew she couldn’t let on what she was really doing. If she had, she knew, her marriage, which had up to then been a good one, would be over.

So she had gone shopping with Mary, buying several new dresses, all of them short, to better show off her dancer’s legs, plus some other items, and had come home early to pack. She had fixed a nice big meal for her family – the Bannings had three kids: a son at college, and a daughter and another son in high school – the first time she’d done that in several weeks, and had sprung the news at dinner. Mark had not been pleased. They had had plans for a weekend of spring cleaning, and he was leery of her going off to New York alone with the Bournes, no matter how honorable Carole said they were. There were a lot of things about Carole’s new job that he didn’t like, and this was just one more. They had argued about it, but before the night was over, they had made up, as they always did, and even had sex that night for the first time in several months.

As she lay awake listening to her husband snore, she thought to herself that maybe if she and Mark had done this more often maybe she wouldn’t have given off the signals of a woman whose body was hungry for sex. It wouldn’t have, because the Bournes had picked her out not long after she walked in the accounting office for her initial interview. Leon, the accounting manager, had immediately alerted the Brothers that he had the next liaison officer interviewing for the job that they always used as the lead-in to the whore’s position.

But Carole didn’t know that, and she let herself cry about her situation for the first time since she’d agreed to take the Bournes’ offer. She loved Mark, and had almost from the first day they had met. She didn’t want to lose him, or her children, but she was trapped.

Nevertheless, she had put it behind her that morning and dressed in a sexy skirt and jacket set, complete with stockings and a garter belt, and, by rule, no panties or bra. The Bournes’ driver had met her at her front door at 6:30 a.m., just when everyone in the house was starting to stumble out of bed. She didn’t want to give Mark a chance to see what she was, or, more importantly, what she wasn’t wearing. So she’d kissed everyone quickly and out the door she went. As the car drove off, Mark stared long and hard as it disappeared, then shook his head as he reentered the house. He had to get the kids off to school and himself to his job as a copy editor for the local daily newspaper, so he didn’t have time to dwell on his mounting doubts about Carole’s job.

Carole’s reverie was suddenly broken by the touch of a hand running up the inside of her left thigh, past the tops of her stockings, up to her naked pussy. She looked over sharply to see that Peter Bourne had moved into the seat next to her and was working his right hand up her short skirt.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Just priming the pump, so to speak,” Peter said, as he felt Carole’s pussy begin to swell and moisten under his touch. “Remember, this is my plane, I can do whatever I want. And right now, I want to feel that hot little pussy of yours and get you warmed up for later.”

Carole sighed, laid her head back on the seat, spread her legs and let him do whatever he wanted. She had no illusions about what she would be doing in New York. She knew she was going to be passed around to shareholders and clients as a reward and incentive. She was going to New York to get thoroughly fucked; she just didn’t know all of the particulars.

Peter worked a couple of fingers into Carole’s juicy pie, feeling the wetness begin to boil. With his thumb, he rolled her clit around, getting a groan of arousal from Carole. It was all Carole could do to keep from hiking up her skirt, pulling out Peter’s dick and riding him until he filled her with his hot cum. Indeed, that’s what she thought he wanted, so she turned her face to Peter and they kissed, long and hot, as Peter continued slowly playing with her pussy. Carole ran her hand over the bulge in Peter’s pants, but he stopped her when she went to unzip the fly.

“Not yet,” he said, removing his hand from Carole’s twat. “I want us to take our time. Paul’s going to join us, and we have a real treat waiting for you when we get settled in.”

Carole could have cried from the frustration. Peter had expertly brought her climbing toward an orgasm, but had stopped before she could get her much-needed relief. Carole knew she was becoming addicted to sex, if that was possible. She was finding she needed sex just about every day, or she went nuts. That was one reason she had moved in on Mark the night before; she hadn’t had her daily dose of cum, and she had found herself aching for it. She smiled as she thought of her husband. Last night had reminded her of why she’d married him. He was kind and considerate, a very good lover, when they got the mood right, and he had a very nice 8-inch dick that she had always enjoyed. But, as always, when she thought about Mark, she thought about what she was doing behind his back, and she felt the pangs of guilt. So she put her husband out of her mind, poured another glass of wine and looked ahead.

Peter had gotten up and moved to another part of the plane, and Carole decided to try for some rest. But just as she was drifting off, she felt the seat next to her being filled once again, and again she felt a hand moving up her skirt. It was Paul this time, and he wasted no time getting his fingers in Carole’s cunt. He used his left hand on her pussy, while pulling her skirt up to her waist with his right. Carole didn’t care; all she wanted was for one of these men to make her cum.

Paul was leaning over in the seat whispering in Carole’s ear, telling her how hot her pussy was, and how much he was looking forward to getting to New York, getting to their Manhattan apartment, and getting her naked. Carole just closed her eyes and let Paul take her on an escalator to ecstasy. The wine and the Brothers’ hands were giving her a warm glow all over.

Carole opened her eyes just a bit, and when she did, she sat up straight and gave a sharp little scream. There looking through the curtain at her was the steward, an elderly gentleman, who had a very ungentlemanly bulge in his uniform pants. He was staring at her wet, exposed pussy with undisguised lust. Paul looked up and told Carole to relax, that the man was harmless, as he continued to stroke her pussy.

“That log between his legs doesn’t look too harmless,” Carole said. She had always had a secret weakness for men with big dicks, and the steward appeared to have a very nice-sized cock.

“Maybe you’d like to see it, to stroke it, to suck it?” Paul asked. Then to the steward he said, “It’s your lucky day, Malcolm. I think the lady wants to suck your cock. Don’t you, my dear?”

Carole didn’t answer, but simply crawled onto her knees in front of Malcolm, opened the zipper on his uniform slacks and saw a gnarly 9-inch cock spring out, fully loaded. Malcolm couldn’t believe his luck. The Bournes were usually fairly contemptuous of their hired help, and had never before offered him one of their whores. It was like a scene out of one of the porno magazines he kept at home, as Carole licked the underside of his cock, opened her mouth wide and sucked him deep in her throat.

In the nine weeks she’d been doing this, Carole had become an expert cocksucker, able to deep throat all but the biggest cocks, and she inhaled Malcolm’s iron-hard dick all the way until her nose was buried in his white pubic hairs. She swirled her tongue around the shaft as she bobbed her head furiously up and down on his cock.

It didn’t take much of this for Malcolm to start moaning loudly and humping his hips wildly, driving his cock relentlessly in Carole’s throat. With a strangled gasp, he thrust his dick deep in Carole’s throat one final time and shot a gargantuan cum load straight into her stomach. Malcolm’s cum was thick and tasty, and there was so much of it that she simply could not swallow it all. Twin rivulets of semen dribbled out the corners of her mouth as she worked her throat on the still-spurting cock, milking every drop.

When he was finished cumming, Malcolm backed away, put his dick back in his pants, gave Paul a small bow and left quickly with a word of thanks.

As he watched the steward leave, Paul marveled at how quickly and easily Carole had slipped into the role of cum slut. Women were all the same, he thought with a smirk; under the proper motivation, any woman could be turned into a cum-craving whore.

Carole sat back in her seat, poured another glass of wine and wiped the excess cum from her chin. The encounter had left her shaking with the need to cum, and she thought about hiking up her skirt and frigging herself to orgasm, but as she started to pull her skirt back up and go at it, Paul shook his head and told her not to, that he wanted her in stark need when they arrived at the apartment. Then he left, trusting that Carole would not disobey him.

The rest of the flight was uneventful; a meal was served and Carole concentrated on putting a dent in the bottle of wine. She had started drinking quite a bit more than she ever had before. She had found that when she was liquored up, she was more relaxed, hornier and more uninhibited. And alcohol also helped dull the feelings of guilt at what she was doing. She could lose herself in an alcoholic haze and not have to think about why she was doing what she was doing. She could just react and go with the flow of the moment.

By the time the plane touched down at a private airfield on Long Island, Carole had drained the bottle and was feeling no pain. Indeed, she was feeling quite good. She had a warm glow in her stomach from the wine and a hot spot between her legs that the effects of the wine and the manipulation of her pussy had triggered.

It was a warm, sunny day in New York as Peter, Paul and Carole climbed in a limo for the drive into Manhattan. A bottle of champagne was opened and the trio sat back to enjoy the hour-long drive to their destination. Peter sat on Carole’s left and Paul on her right, and as soon as they were rolling, they both went to work on Carole. Paul ran both hands between her legs while Peter kissed her furiously. Carole’s cunt was bubbling with arousal as Paul thumbed her clit and stroked two fingers in her pussy. Peter ran his tongue sensuously over her left ear and down her neck, sending shivers of lust all through Carole’s body.

Carole could feel a big climax building, building, building, but before she could cum, both brothers pulled away and sat back in the seat. Carole let out a guttural growl of frustration, but she knew better than to complain. She just clenched her fists and waited it out. When the twins felt she had descended back to some normality, they started in on her again, this time with Peter fingering her twat and Paul giving her incredibly sensuous kisses. Paul even unbuttoned the jacket that was the top half of her outfit and kissed and sucked her right breast. Carole knew they were teasing her, but she couldn’t help the lust that once again began to spiral upward. And once again, they left her hanging.

By the time the limo reached its destination, a swanky apartment building in the Upper West Side, Carole was ready to fuck about anything with a dick, animal, vegetable or mineral. The Bournes had kept up their teasing all the way into the city, and her every nerve was on edge. She was also quite inebriated, having downed three flutes of the bubbly liquor to go with the bottle of white she’d consumed on the plane.

As soon as the door closed on the apartment, Peter and Paul sandwiched Carole between them. Peter kissed Carole deeply, while thrusting his hips into her backside. Paul’s hands reached around and unbuttoned the jacket and pulled it down her arms. That was the cue for Peter to take both of her tits in each hand and alternate licking and kissing the coral-colored nipples, while Paul licked and nipped at her ears from behind. Carole let her head loll back as the lust swelled in her groin. Paul took that opportunity to lean in and kiss her furiously.

Peter took his time working Carole’s breasts. Her tits were full and round without being excessive, just right in the brothers’ view, and her nipples were pointed out like little erasers and were very sensitive. A low groan escaped from her lips as the brothers switched positions, Paul moving to the front and Peter to the rear. Peter and Carole kissed wantonly while Paul worked on Carole’s tits.

Moving down until he was on his knees in front of her, Paul reached around and unzipped the skirt and let it fall to the floor, leaving Carole naked except for her stockings, garter belt and high heels. Paul ran his hands up the insides of her thighs, to her dripping wet cunt. He plowed two fingers deep in her pussy, and Carole felt a sharp spike of arousal roll through her body. Peter reached around and cupped Carole’s tits, squeezing the pointed tips between his fingers.

“God, please fuck me,” Carole breathed. At that moment, nothing in the world mattered except getting her hot pussy around one of these fine specimens of cock. That was the signal the brothers were waiting for. Moving away from Carole, they leisurely stripped off their clothes, exposing their juicy 10-inch cocks, the ones that had brought Carole so much pleasure back in February. The twins had stayed away from Carole over these nine weeks, letting her get conditioned to accepting anything anyone had to offer in the way of sex before they took her deeper into lust.