Part 6 - My Gangbang

The images of Andrea gangbanging at Club Rome were seared into my brain. She was laughing hysterically I don't even know how many men she screwed that night. It wasn't the screwing itself, though, that had left me so stunned--it was the energy released she emitted, the way she took over the room, the way all the men had to be with her.

Her screams were the siren call, ringing off the room. Lust stank in the air, the caustic burn of sweat. Every thrust of the men into her was a scream of her strength, her body a battleground of lust and submission. Lust from the act stuck to me, the manner in which her eyes darted to mine through the fucking room--half-closed with ecstasy, half-blower.

I couldn't stop thinking of her all day. It was an addiction by the minute. The harder I struggled to force the thoughts away from my brain, the harder they dominated my universe. I dreamed of becoming her, a recipient of love and desire this great.

I was discussing Club Rome at the office during my break. "Did you lose your virginity at last night's gangbang? You were great," I stuttered, rage tears repressed.

Andrea smiled and took a sip of her latte, her mouth widening into a grin. "You're the first person to ever ask me that so directly," she laughed. "No, it wasn't one, though. But then, technically, it was kind of one of the larger ones, I guess." She settled back in her chair, a sly grin spreading around the edges of her mouth. "Why do you need to know?"

She was so sure of herself. I wasn't merely jealous and fascinated but also curious something inside me stirred. "I don't know," I said, trying to be as ordinary as a human being was capable of being. "It just feels like such a life-changing experience."

Andrea smiled. "Intense is a great word," she said, her eye glinting. "But also magically liberating. Having power, all these men running around to do your bidding It's nothing else." She sipped the latte, her eyes meeting mine over the rim of the cup. "You should give it a go."

The idea struck me like a ton of bricks, my heart thudding furiously with excitement at the very notion. "Me, at a gangbang?" I stuttered, my cheeks burning to a brilliant red with colour.

Andrea set her cup down on the table, never breaking eye contact with him. "Yes, you. I can tell you're interested, even if you are too afraid to say anything." She leaned in close, almost a whisper. "It's not for everyone, but I think you've got something."

Her words lingered in my mind, and I couldn't help but be stunned at the sensation of having that sort of power, of being so wanted by so many men. It was a possibility as terrifying as it was seductive. "But where do I begin?" I breathed to myself, fear and excitement mingling in my voice.

Andrea's eyes sparkled. "All right, I'll fix it," she said, smiling. "I know some people. I'll try to do something for you."

"No, don't do something like that on purpose," I grumbled, my voice hardly above a whisper, but the flash in my eye betrayed me. "It has to be spontaneous, natural."

Andrea reclined, a smirk of knowledge spreading on her face. "No, no," she pulled her hand away, her eyes upwards in an accusing gaze. "You need a conductor. Martin will be your maestro, your guide, and lead you through the symphony of pleasure."

My heart pounded at hearing her mention Martin. I recalled then that he was among those who had attended her gangbang party at Club Rome. "Okay," I could whisper, my breath catching on a dangerous shudder even as I tried to keep my wits. "You have a guide, one who's master, one who leads and follows, one who has the beat of so cruel and old a dance," Andrea continued, her voice like a hissing snake.

"A bloke who can read a room and get all the players playing your game. When you're lying there with all those hungry bodies at your back, you want to know you're safe, you can trust the men you've got at your back. Martin's that man. He'll treat you like the queen you are."

Her story was so vivid I could have been feeling the burn of club lights on my skin, the beat of the bass in my chest, and the heady aroma of lust and adrenaline that hung in the air. For all the fear creeping over me, excitement was inevitable. I acquiesced, taking conditions without knowing the extent of what I was committing myself to.

Each time I ran into Andrea, there were barbed comments on my "performance," her eyes sparkling with malicious gleam and sadistic amusement. I was a rollercoaster, crashing to the crest out of control and fearing what lay ahead for me. My imagination haunted me with images of suspense and fright, fantasies with black silhouettes of faceless men, all vying to make me their trophy. I had to set my boundaries with Martin first. I sat and made a list, shaking as I wrote out my boundaries and fantasies.

The possible loss of control was both exciting and frightening. I chose five men--five, but not many more, and not fewer. I could cancel the scene at any moment. They would be on their best behaviour they could be and wear condoms for everything but straight interrogation.

I wanted to retain some control over all of these variables and chose beforehand who was going to be fucking me.

Andrea had already sent me 10 pictures of the men who were going to give me my gangbang, and quite frankly, they just got better and better and were just gorgeous as I looked through. I read them slowly, sending a line of horror and shiver down my spine. These men were opening doors to me to the levels of pleasure and debased power that she wrote about. I pondered for a moment, selecting five. They were all various types, all shapes and sizes--each something other than my worst nightmares.

I got dressed for the evening out, going out of my way. A tight black figure-hugging dress that left nothing to the imagination, no bra, no knickers. A stupid thing to do for someone like me, but I had to be as hard as I could. Layers and layers of make-up, catching glimpses in the mirror, the girl in the mirror not used to this new-found confidence that was scary and alien.

I was shaking when I arrived at Andrea and Martin's. The house was dim, with a sense of tension hanging in the air. Martin, a shoulder-width giant with a presence of authority and tough blue eyes and rock-like, comforting face, stood in the doorway and invited me inside. "Hello again," he said, relieving me of my trembling list. "All will be as you've asked."

He took me to a vast room that had been set up as a stage for my night of debauchery. A king-size black silk bed that took center stage was daunting. My boys whom I had personally selected from the photos were already there, lounging on the other couches, sipping cocktails, and gazing at me with hungry eyes.

"Let's get to know one another first," I said, attempting to stall, my voice somewhat trembling. Martin smiled, a knowing glint in his eye, and we sat on the couch in his living room to talk and drink. We just sat and talked, laughed and joked. There was some background music, something soft and jazzy and upbeat, I think Norah Jones.

We talked about nothing, really, but it helped to dissipate the tension in the room. One of the dark-haired men was a bit closer to me, his hand brushing against mine on my thigh. "Want to dance?" he asked.

I breathed in, my heart racing. This was it--the point of no return that I had secretly longed for and feared. "Okay," I said to myself, trying to sound as even as I could muster through shock. Norah Jones' voice is hypnotic. She had always calmed me, but here she drew me down into the depths of my own wanting.

He pulled my hand and us into the middle of the room, where strobe lights mixed and swirled across the very shiny floor. We danced to the beat of the music together, my breasts over my mouth. His hands ran down my back, his hands on the curve of my buttocks, a shiver down my back. The other men stayed and watched.

The closer the music came, the tighter his grip on me became and tension coiled in my stomach. I looked up into his face, tension lined bold and clear. He kissed me, his tongue searching deep inside my mouth. My body acted on autopilot, hips grinding into his, heart beating in cymbal-clang that sweetly harmonized with the bassline of the music.

The dance floor was full of the other men pushing forward, their hands on my body as the music got louder. The gentle touch of silk on my skin was mixed with the rough sounds of their breathing, hoarse and naked with need. Martin stepped back, his face blank, but his eyes never leaving mine.

Andrea moved in closer, her lips curled in an evil grin. "Ready to start?" she whispered, low in my ear. "Surprise first," though. She took me into the guest room. A massage table, warm oil in a bowl. "Let us start some warm-up," she coaxed, her voice softly but firmly pushing.

I nodded, frozen in awe and terror. A bald and naked man with a heavily framed body came out of the shadows, a work of art, nothing but a work of art, and moved towards me in the walk of a panther.

"Off and on the table, dress," Andrea told you, gazing up at me as she shut the door, and left us alone in the room with the unknown, buffed man. I simply stood there, my rabbit-a-thumping heart, but curiosity regarding what was to come got the better of me. I slowly undressed, the cold of the air embracing my warm skin. The man's eyes roved over me, his face questioning but amiable. I hoisted myself up onto the massage table, the leather cold and sticky on bare skin.

He warmed the oil in his hands, the scent of jasmine and sandalwood rising. Strapping, uncompromising fingers, following the line of our travel down my spine with the pressure of one who was uncompromisingly and lovingly so, and would be to work straight in to relieve tension. As the thud of party music distant gave way to darkness, the thrum of his fingers against skin continued. He sat lower on thighs, thumbs penetrating through the muscle with gentle pressure.

I stiffened, a mix of surprise at what he was doing and the heat of the oil and kneading stroke of his fingers relaxing me in. He spread my legs even farther, his fingers sliding up between them to rub over sensitive territory. I breathed quietly against the pressure of his thumbs on my pussy. He stopped, leaving room for response, and continued then, his touch more intimate, more individual.

The air was warm, the smell of oil and the heat of his body enveloping me as he leaned over my ass. He spread me open, his thumbs digging into the flesh there. Each thrust a promise of pleasure, each clenching a mirror of the domination I was to receive.

I could sense him edge closer to me, his warm breath against me. "Turn over, please," he growled at me, his gentle low growl. I turned over, my chest heaving to each harsh gasping breath that I drew as I turned over onto my side, my breasts swelling in time to each wheezing gasp. He began to rub the breast, thumbs drawing circles on my hard nipples. The pressure had the sweet shooting full-strength straight into my stomach and arched my back of its own volition. He did not remove his gaze from me when he moved down my belly, his oiled fingers. He did not break eye contact with me when his hand went inside my waxed pussy, and I was tormented by anticipation that filled every part of me.

He was teasing, his fingers tracing the edge of my labia, teasing and taunting before he entered. My legs spread wide apart, squeezing him in tighter. His professional hands on me in was all I could handle. I gritted on my teeth not to moan, not to let him have any notion of just how much I liked this. He began to tickle my clit with his thumb, stroke by stroke pressing. It felt, growing in my stomach. I felt myself heating up, body reacting to his touch skill. His second hand came under my hips, him deeper within me. Air was missed, eyes rolling back of my head, as he hit that hidden spot that made my legs shake.

"You are ready," he panted, his gentle command that sent shivers down my spine. The music grew more demanding now as he led me into the middle room. The men had half-formed a circle around the bed, their eyes devouring as they gorged on the sight of me. My body greased with oil, my nipples standing erect with want, and my cunt moist with anticipation.

Andrea pushed a mask into my hands, this evening's gift of freedom and concealment for uninhibited passion. I took it from her shaking hand and tied it across my eyes, soft as velvet against my face. The coarseness of the blackness heightened the other senses, all sense, all hearing, acutely heightened.

My vagina had been moist as the first man walked towards the bed. He reached out his hand and grasped mine, drawing his hand up my arm with gentle strokes, and a crack of goose bumps tore up my body. He climbed on the bed and lay on top of my chest. The chill of the room gave a cold contrast to heat emanating off his body.

I could sense the bed move as the second man climbed into bed with us.

He buried his face in my neck, lips burning against my skin. His hand crept down to my breast, closing over it and twisting the nipple into a hard ball of desire. I hissed, the sound echoing through the silence of the room. The first man took this as a sign, at my front door and rubbing against me with slow pressure. Firm, hot. I could feel every inch of him, the way he filled me out. He was stroking me slowly, as if he liked the feel of me closing round him. I had the headboard in both hands, knuckles white with the pressure of holding on. The second man came in to kiss me, his tongue wrapped around mine as the first man found his rhythm.

Too soon and too fast, the other three men came in, hands and lips tracing me with a ferocity that I was not expecting, but it was thrilling.

Each new touch was a wave rising up over me, cresting the last one as I was in the undertow of passion. He stroked me everywhere--my breasts, my belly, my thighs--with each stroke a promise of more to follow. His rhythm picked up, his hips slamming into my ass with a wet slapping sound that reverberated off the walls. I was filling up, a wave of feeling swelling and just moving and on. He withdrew at the end, leaving me panting and wanting.

The second man came in, he rolled me over onto my back, face into pillow. He didn't even flinch, his dick went behind my pussy. His hips in his hands as he entered, his balls slapping my body muffled by the pillow.

A huge orgasm ripped through me, tearing a scream from my lips. It was nearly too much, but the need for more was so ravenous. The second man's penis was claimed by a third, filling me to the brim. His hands on my hips, rocking me back with his thrusts with a crazed, beautiful strength.

He got up and rolled me over onto my back. The world whirled around me as another took his place between my legs, the hardness of his body pressing hard against mine. I could feel the bed creaking beneath me, the weight of them down on me to tell them that they needed.

The mask fell, lost in the whirlwind of need. I did not require it. My eyes were opened and pinned in the desolation of my need. The third man's cock thrust deep within me, the skin to skin smacking echoing in the room. I felt the wetness of my own need and the oil, a greasy dirge of need. Another orgasm burst through me, and I screamed.

I'd forgotten what I was being screwed by, and men kept pouring in like waves, taking turns on his trophy, shoving his huge need down into me. Fingers felt me up, pinching and nipping breasts, inching along my dampness to fiddle with my clit. The bed creaked under our ardour.

I longed to have skin to skin, skin-to-skin contact of their cocks. I told Martin in a whisper, "I want them in my body without a condom. I want their sperm."

His eyes ravaged mine, and for a moment, I had the glimpse of shock in his before he leaned his head. "As you wish," he breathed, suspended beneath which tension hung in mid-air. Sounding was less than the beat of staved thudding, the sole sound the hiss of breath and the beat of skin against skin.

And the other guy, the second who crawled on top of me, never stopping looking into mine, his dick thrusting and persistent. I could feel the heat of his naked skin, the wetness of his cock as he was pounding my cunt, the stimulation making my skin pucker out into goose bumps. He was rough, his hips pounding into mine with a wild lust that had me whining and tossing my head back and forth. The feeling of his cock so huge inside me it was almost more than I could bear was too much. I climaxed again, my body convulsing all over him as I screamed out in orgasm. "Come in my cunt!" I begged.

I could feel his body stiffen, and with a grunt, he gave in to my pleading, ejaculating his hot semen deep inside me. Being filled by him with his semen was new. It was sensual, bestial, and divine. Another followed, his penis smooth like the previous one and ready to ride me at his whim. He did not relent so far as to play with me, he only took what was his, hard in me with ardour the width of an eyelash shy of savagery.

The men twisted and staggered but not a word on their lips. They diverted their hungers away from me, their tattoos, and I glowed at their helplessness to me. They strained flesh to breaking point, the pain embracing the orgasm, double feeling of sensation to be eaten. They climaxed, wave upon wave of come burst over me.

I wake, the room still whirling, map of my body--my cunt on fire, running out of my cunt, heat of cum combining with my juices. The men spent, out on the bed, panting, and their cock's slick with evidence of their climax. Smell of smell of sex, my hunger, heavy in the air and the pheromones of their hunger.

Andrea's arm touched mine as I woke up from the dream. "You were wonderful," she whispered soothingly. "Are you okay?"

I nodded, shivering with orgasmic afterglow. "Yeah," I managed to extricate myself, my throat parched from screaming. "It was Intense."

I lay, spent and full, among men who had but a moment earlier risen from ecstasy. All of their gasping, all their pounding, testament to the hold I'd made on them. Hold I'd never experienced, slippery feeling that made me invulnerable, yet utterly open.

The bed was quiet and still when I woke up, and they had all vanished, leaving behind only the sweet trailing fragrance of perfume and the bright blot of our excess on the mattress. I lay there, body coiled tight in thudding ecstasy, and basked in what had been. The bed was a rumpled mess of silk and wetness, a war zone for lust and desire.

I stumbled into the bathroom, legs trembling with the intensity of ecstasy. The mirror glared back at me like an evil demon of the night--makeup smeared, hair in disarray, and the flush of lust on my cheeks. I showered, scalding water that washed their touch off my skin but was still somehow present in the feeling of their touch on my skin.

With water running down my body, I couldn't resist touching myself, reliving each stroke, each moan, each ejaculation that had filled me. I knew what I'd done, shock and excitement all tangled up. Having the men's semen inside me was a strange comfort, to remind me of just how much control I'd had.

This was the strongest sensation I had ever felt, but I knew that this was just the start of my journey to this new sex power and freedom.