The Musketeers

British English spelling and grammar.

***

The musketeers

The Rifleman

The four guys meet in The Rifleman every Friday after work. It's a post mortem of the week, and an opportunity to sort out the world's problems. That's what pubs are for after all. Their names are Alex, Paddy, Anthony, and Damian. It was a year before they realised they had the same initials as Athos, Porthos, Aramis, and D'Artagnan. Inevitably, given the name of their local pub, they call themselves the four musketeers. That seems easier than finding out why Dumas' characters were referred to as the three musketeers plus one.

After a couple of pints, the discussion gets round to Cynthia. She has some kind of gofer office job where they work, and she clearly has a much higher opinion of her status than her payscale would suggest. She has to come down to the factory floor several times a day. And always behaves like she's some sort of manager, though it's all an act. About a hundred and fifty men take her to bed every night, and fuck her senseless. It's just a pity she's never actually with them to enjoy it.

Cynthia flirts, flounces, wears short skirts, and flashes her stocking tops. And she slaps the face of any lower status male who tries to touch her. One has already been verbally warned, and one other is on his written warning. She almost seems to seek out sexual harrassment. So that's Cynthia ... admired, lusted after, but not really liked very much. The four musketeers are sharing their recollections, mostly exaggerated, of gusset glimpses and nipple slips. Damian is sitting back in his chair, sipping his beer and grinning at them in a superior manner.

"You've nothing to say?"

"I've plenty to say. I'm just waiting for you guys to finish your fantasising."

This sounds interesting. Paddy goes to the bar and brings back another round. They take the tops off their pints and look at him expectantly. Damian begins.

"Are you ready class?" Last Saturday I went to a Halloween party at Nakamoto Enterprises. They've got their own function room and bar, like we have here, but much classier of course. Japanese companies are rolling in money. I wouldn't normally get invited to an event like that."

"Why; Coz you'se black?"

"No. Coz I don't work there you dipstick; the party was only for their staff and partners. But a mate whose wife works there, got this fortyeight hour flu thing, and he asked me to take her."

There were no jokey comments allowed now. Mates' wives were untouchable.

"So the place was full of the usual dressed-up yuppies; all drinking; though they call it networking of course. And then there was an incident at one of the tables. Not everyone noticed it, but I was passing, on my way to the toilets."

*** *** ***

Spencer and Cynthia Norton were drinking at his office Halloween party, with their friends Margaret and Larry. Margaret was dressed as a sexy witch; short black dress with stocking tops on show. Spencer was feeling uncomfortable, regretting dressing as Quasimodo. His hump was making him sweat. He managed to smile though: this was Nakamoto's Halloween party and he was determined to enjoy it.

Beside him, his wife Cynthia was decked out as a devil, all in red. She was actually wearing a minimal one-piece swimsuit, cut high over the hips, with barely half an inch of material between her legs. Barely being the operative word. Her modesty was preserved, though only slightly, by red fishnet tights under the swimwear, really they were just a series of squares. Her ensemble was completed with a short red jacket, which concealed the shape of her nipples when it hung in the right position. And she had horns; the kind that flash. Like she and Margaret were doing.

Margaret's husband Larry was returning from the toilets and, for a laugh, stealthily approached Cynthia from behind. Being tall, he made a good Count Dracula. He swept up behind her, exposing his fake fangs, cloak billowing. Margaret grinned at what was about to happen, but Spencer did not. He started to intervene when he realised what Larry was doing, but was a second too late.

Larry put his hands around Cynthia's throat and made as if to bite her; his fake fangs descended to their target. But before he made contact, Cynthia's eyes rolled up; she shoved her chair backwards and it fell over. As she hit the floor, her stiffened legs flew ceilingwards and she kicked the table. It wobbled and brought a glass of white wine spritzer directly onto her crotch.

She made no sound. Just lay there frozen in place, as the drink soaked through her costume. It revealed her darkening cameltoe, getting soaked. Individual pubic hairs pushed their tips through the wet material. Tiny white bubbles of soda water popped around them. Cynthia looked as if she was pissing herself, and didn't appear to be breathing. Larry, shocked, reached to her shoulders to help her up. But Spencer stopped him. He got his hands under her armpits, from the front, and hauled her gently to her feet. Then he passed her to Margaret.

"Please take her to the Ladies' would you?"

"Jesus, I'm so sorry! What happened?" wailed Larry.

"Sit down mate, no harm done."

The barman came, righted the table, and wiped it, the chair and the floor. Larry went and got another round of drinks. When he returned, Spencer explained this was always Cynthia's reaction to having her neck touched, even gently. He imagined it probably stemmed from some childhood incident, but had never pushed her on the subject, as she preferred not to talk about it.

"We don't broadcast this for obvious reasons; there'll always be some idiot who'll do it as a joke. But we really should have told you guys, so it's entirely my fault Larry. I shouldn't even have let her sit with her back to the room; especially with all these vampires about!"

"Christ, she scared me! Does it happen often?"

"No, most of our long-term friends are in the know. The last episode was over two years ago."

"Has she seen a doctor, a hypnotist?"

"Not really. Just forget it, and don't discuss it when she comes back. Cynthia won't either. Just try not to stare at her soaked private parts if you can!"

"Well I can try, I suppose!"

Nobody noticed a large hooded hangman watching.

*** *** ***

"She didn't recognise you?" asked Anthony. "I mean, you are a bit on the black side!"

"I take that as a compliment," Damian replied smoothly. "But she was otherwise occupied. And I was a hangman that night anyway. Fake leather waistcoat and face mask down to my shoulders."

"And she really freaked out?"

"Damn right she did. One touch on her neck, and she stiffened up."

"I'd stiffen up too; especially if I saw that wet cameltoe!" said Paddy.

"You certainly would have. I could practically make out her clit once she was good and drenched. And I can assure she's trimmed."

"Lucky bastard!"

"Don't you get it lads? We can use this against her."

"How?"

"Think it through; she goes helpless and silent if her throat is touched. And our Christmas party is in six weeks."

"But her husband will be there." noted Anthony.

"Sure. And Cynthia will be dancing and flirting won't she?" said Damian.

"She'll only flirt with management - not us workers."

"OK, I've had more time to think this through than you guys. You know they clear the lounge furniture into that storeroom next to the bar, to make space for the dancing. And for the first hour of our do, I'm helping out with the initial rush at the bar - with me so far?"

"Go on."

"Well, imagine I slip an Ecstasy tab into her drink, just to get her in the mood, and half a roofie into her old man's. Further imagine I have the key to that side room in the corner. That huge sofa will be in there. Now, much as I hate to admit it, Alex is our best dancer, despite being white. And he will be especially polite to her between now and the party. After a while, her husband is getting dozy. Alex persuades the snooty bitch to dance with him, and leads her towards that unlocked door ..."

The Party

The weeks flew by and the musketeers' plan got improved every Friday. Silence implies consent; they would stop if she told them to. The party was well attended. Cynthia was wearing a short, dark blue dress, and was braless again. Her husband didn't know many of her colleagues, and looked a bit lost. But he was making the most of it. The least he could do; she had attended his party after all. The first drink was free and Cynthia had a gin and tonic. Damian slipped in an E, and half a roofie found its way into Spencer's Guinness. They sat with two of Cynthia's friends from the office. She didn't have that many, but was looking hot, so plenty of male colleagues stopped by to introduce themselves to Spencer. And ask Cynthia to dance.

Alex, who had been extra polite to Cynthia for weeks, sat alone at a table nearby, keeping an eye on them. Anthony and Paddy were farther away; not drinking too much and discussing their target.

"Plenty of braless talent here tonight." said Paddy.

"In Cyn's case, it makes it easier for us to keep her tidy. Damian says we're not to leave any marks on her, or cum stains on her clothes."

The inital bar rush eased off and Damian joined them.

"How's it looking?"

"She's danced a lot already, once with her husband and lots with everyone else who asked her Well, managers and higher office staff anyway. There's been the usual Christmas kisses and flirting. Nobody likes her much but the Christmas party is the only time they can squeeze her arse without getting their faces slapped."

"Good. Alex made a move yet?"

"No. She's seen him though."

"Excellent. He needs to play at being nervous, as if he's building up to asking her. What with her being a goddess and him a humble worker."

"Her old man is cool with the flirting and groping; I get the inpression he enjoys watching, though he doesn't look especially tired."

"That's ok. We don't want him falling asleep yet. If he's still frisky when we're ready, I'll slip him the other half tab."

The band played some slow songs; arses got groped, breasts accidentally brushed against, and ears whispered in. Then they took a break. When they were ready to play again, the format would be a couple of fast ones, to get everybody up dancing again. Then more and more slow tunes, as the lights were lowered.

"Only one dance, Spence?" asked Cynthia. "Don't you fancy me? Everyone else has given me a twirl. I wouldn't be surprised if you find handprints on my buttocks!"

"Sorry babe, I'm feeling a bit tired."

"Oh no, I was hoping you were going to jump on my bones tonight. I'm really in need of a good seeing to."

"I'm sure I'll shake it off. I do enjoy watching you get groped though. It stirs up your juices, and then I get all the benefits. I'll finish this pint. Do you want another?"

"Not yet. Two of the guys I danced with bought me some. They got a squeeze of my arse as a reward. I never allow that at work, but they know it's ok at a party."

There was only the pair of them at the table now. While Cynthia had been dancing, the other couple had slipped away, 'to circulate' they said. The truth was they'd had enough of her flirting and flashing. The band restarted with a fast number. As the second, up tempo song began, Alex suddenly appeared.

"May I have this dance Mrs Norton? ... Mr Norton?"

"No problem." said Spencer.

Her husband's response made it difficult for Cynthia to turn him down. Still, it had been a very polite request.

Alex took her hand and led her onto the floor. Cynthia soon discovered he was an excellent dancer. But as horny as she was, she didn't feel he was entitled to a squeeze; he was only a shopfloor worker after all; she did have standards. She enjoyed the next number, and then a slow one came on.

"One more, please?"

She smiled and felt herself warming to him. He was trying so hard, and really had behaved himself. He hadn't tried to touch her inappropriately, and could not know she was feeling sexy.

"Very well."

Spencer sat up straighter in his chair and took a deep breath to clear his head.

"Excuse me sir?"

It was the black bartender again.

"Somebody ordered this Guinness." He put it in front of Spencer. "But there was a misunderstanding and he doesn't want it. I remembered it's your tipple, and it's just been drawn; shame to throw it away."

"Oh, thanks."

"No charge, it was our mistake."

Cynthia was surprised to find she was having a good time and getting quite a buzz. The next dance was a waltz. Alex was gaining confidence now, as he didn't ask, just held her close. He smelled nice and she began to get more aroused. She did not actually like him of course. Yet there was definitely a tingle in her groin, and the beginning of a lump in his trousers. Cynthia's left hand was on his shoulder and pulled him closer. They were almost cheek to cheek and she could feel him breathing in her ear. Her nipples were responding, and his erection pushed against her belly. This had better be his last dance. Perhaps she and Spencer could leave soon; she was bursting to get him inside her. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this turned on. So when this dance was over, she just might give this guy a thank you kiss; just a small one on the cheek.

Alex manoeuvered Cynthia until her back was to the store room door. It opened a crack and he guessed Paddy and Damian were waiting in the darkness. He looked around; no other dancers over this side. Those that were nearby were totally engrossed with each other. Then Anthony stepped up behind her and gripped the back of her neck. His thumb and forefinger dug in. She froze, went white, and dropped her arms. Alex stepped back from the dancing and watched Cynthia retreating from him; her heels sliding across the floor. One of her shoes came off. The door swung open, and Anthony dragged their prize in. She stood there rooted to the spot, even when the pressure eased a little.

Out on the dance floor Alex retrieved her shoe. Then he waited a minute looking around. When it was apparent nobody had noticed, he went in and Damian slipped back out, heading for Spencer, who was nodding off.

"You don't look so well sir. Better come with me. Cold water will do the trick."

He helped him to the toilets, walked him to the farthest stall and sat him down, leaning him back. Spencer closed his eyes and sagged. Damian stepped out of the stall and checked the place was empty. He closed the door, jumped up, leaned over, and managed to lock it. Then dropped back and went to join the private party. The storeroom lights were not turned on until all four musketeers were present.

"Listen." Damian said to Cynthia, holding the back of her head. "You told us you wanted to fulfill your gangbang fantasy tonight; remember?"

His thumb and forefinger pressed against the back of her ears, and made her nod.

"We are reasonable men, and are aware that ladies sometimes regret what they promised. So, here's the deal. We want to give you a good time, fucking your mouth, cunt, and arse.When you're satisfied, we'll return you to your husband. But if, at any time, you change your mind, tell us, and we'll stop. OK?"

There was another nod.

"Good. Let's get your clothes off then."

He turned her round to kiss him, experimenting with how gently he could hold her neck, without her coming back to life. It turned out, once she was 'under', a slight pressure was sufficient. He pushed his tongue into her mouth. Alex unzipped her dress and let it slide off, removing her remaining shoe. He pulled down her panties. Despite being forced, Cynthia stepped out of them. Her clothes were folded neatly and put on a chair. Once she was naked, except for her stockings, they could all see Damian had been right. She was trimmed, and had a perfect triangle of short pubes. Alex knelt down beside her and pulled her buttocks open.

"That's a very tight little hole for us to fuck." He looked up. "Say 'No' Mrs Norton and we'll leave it alone!"

Even without her neck being touched, she would have found it difficult to reply. Damian was still drooling into her mouth. Cynthia gulped down his saliva.

"I go first guys. I want to try something." said Damian.

He pushed Cynthia to her knees.

"You're scared I'm going to squeeze your neck hard. So you'll do as you're told, right?"

She nodded, this time voluntarily.

"Good. Now take off my belt."

She obeyed like a robot, and held it out in front her.

"Alex. Loop it round her neck and see what happens."

He buckled it like a lasso, and pulled it.

"Not too tight. Give it to me."

Damian loosened it. Holding it lightly, he asked: "Can you feel the buckle on the back of your neck?"

She nodded.

"And you know what I'll do if you fight or shout?"

She nodded again.

He passed her a glass of red with another 'E' in it. The noose was only resting on her shoulders now.

"Get half of this down your throat; you'll need the rest to wash away the taste of cum."

She complied.

"Now lean across the back of this settee."

The other three musketeers were already naked.

Paddy sat astride the sofa back, and Cynthia straddled it, keeping her feet on the floor; her hips sticking out over the end. He took the belt pulled her head down to his erection.

"Do a good job now, with no complaining. Or I'll have to pull it tight, OK?"

She gave another nod and dipped her head onto his cock. Without being asked, her hands cupped his balls, and she started sucking him off. One hand squeezed the base and the other dragged back his foreskin. She licked around the head before taking it down her throat. Paddy dropped the end of the belt and pulled her head all the way down his dick; then let her go. Apart from the leather, dangling loosely round her neck, there was no other pressure now, but she kept going. Damian took up his position behind her, thumbed her cunt lips open and thrust into her. He fucked her at a leisurely pace, withdrawing all but an inch on each stroke. His huge black cock glistened with Cynthia's vaginal juices.

"Pass me that lube for her arsehole."

He slipped a well-oiled thumb up her arse as he continued fucking her cunt. Then he stopped.

"Who's next?"

Alex stepped up and took his place. A trickle of Cynthia's vaginal liquid was displaced by his dick. It ran over her clit, and down one thigh.

"Christ, she's wet!"

"Of course she's wet." said Damian. "She's been looking forward to this for weeks, haven't you Cyn?"

No reply.

"We'll all have a dip up your cunt first, before we give your browneye a good hard reaming. Speak now, if it's not what you want ... ok then."

Damian took Paddy's place on the back of the sofa and pushed Cynthia's mouth down onto his dick, which was wet with her own juices. She gagged but remained silent and sucked it all in. They soon got into a routine where each musketeer took her up the cunt and then went round and got cleaned by her mouth.

They knew they didn't have very long and four dicks in succession might have dried her cunt. But even the last penetration forced more juice out. Cynthia got wetter and wetter. The insides of her thighs were soaking, and both stocking tops were stained. Either the Ecstasy was working its magic, or they were.

"Time for the main event." said Damian. "The lovely Cynthia has asked for four dicks up her tight little rosebud, so we'd better give her what she wants."

He looked at Cynthia.

"We haven't got long, so it'll just be a quick arsefuck and we'll finish; last chance to say no."

She didn't, so he thumbed her buttocks apart. She groaned as he plunged into her. After a second, he withdrew his huge member till it was almost all the way out.

"This is the best fun your arse has ever had, right?"

As he rammed up there again, she skidded forward across the sofa back, scraping her tits and grunting.