The Perfect Gangbang

The Perfect Gangbang

an erotic short story by Alastair Anders

Copyright 2013 by Alastair Anders.

www.alastairanders.com

Kindle Edition

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. All characters depicted in sexual scenarios are 18 or older.

For adults only.

This story contains consensual role-play scenarios that should be negotiated in advance with a partner or partners. Always practice
Risk Aware Consensual Kink
.

The Perfect Gangbang

“There should be seven, maybe eight of them,” Irina said.

The receptionist nodded and took it down. Irina shifted nervously in her chair. She reached for one of the business cards and turned it over. On the back read “Your Wildest Dreams Come True.”

“What should they look like?” the receptionist asked. “Any preferences for age, body type, ethnicity?”

Irina swallowed, crossed her legs, and clutched her Gucci purse on her lap. She felt like she was carving out a bloody piece of her subconscious and spreading it out on top of the desk, for the receptionist to poke with her pencil. The receptionist was a young woman with librarian glasses and a calm demeanor, which Irina knew was probably cultivated for the job, but which made her feel even sillier right now.

“It doesn’t really matter what they look like,” she said. “Just big dicks. And lots of cum.”

The receptionist nodded and scribbled something down on a piece of paper that Irina couldn’t see.

“In fact, it’s probably better if they’re kind of ugly,” Irina added. “And they should swear a lot. But not spit on me, I don’t like that.”

“Okay.” The receptionist chewed on the end of her pencil. “Do you have some kind of staging area in mind? Like a penthouse or something?”

“Not really.” Irina thought about it for a moment, sifting through old mental frames of the fantasy that she’d been using for deep and hard orgasms since she was sixteen. “A warehouse, or an abandoned building would work.”

“Perfect.” The receptionist added it to her notes.

Over the next hour and a half, the receptionist took down hundreds of notes, ranging from Irina’s relationship with her parents, to her opinions on bruises, to how much girth she liked, to the fact that she’d broken her tailbone as a teenager. She gave Irina a waiver to sign about contact with bodily fluids, reminding her that all of the agency’s performers were tested for STIs every two weeks.

“What’s your schedule like this week?” the receptionist asked.

“I fly back to Moscow on Monday,” Irina said. “Early. I have a Saturday morning shoot at 10, but I’m free after that.” She gave the receptionist the addresses of the nightclubs and boutiques and theaters she planned to visit on Saturday and Sunday, as well as the card from the hotel where she was staying.

“Great.” The receptionist stood up and shook Irina’s hand. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Irina, and I hope you have
lots of fun
in New York.”

Her voice held so much obvious lust and pleasure that Irina giggled and blushed.

Irina wrote a check to the agency, and stumbled out of the office and into the bustling New York City street. Upstairs, she knew, the receptionist would be making her calls, probably making especially sure that Irina got the men with the fattest dicks, the heaviest loads. Soon, very soon, this city would contain seven or eight strange men on a mission to track her down, gag her and handcuff her, and pull her into a van. They would drive her to an abandoned building where they would gather around her in a circle, rubbing their dicks until thick ropes of cum shot all over her tits and face and stomach and pussy. Everything was in motion now. Giddy, she turned on her high heels and clicked back to Broadway.

Irina woke up on Saturday around seven in the morning, too excited to sleep. Her clit was as hard as a kidnapper’s cock and her pussy had already filled out a wet spot underneath her ass. In the shower, she ran the shower-head attachment over her breasts, tickling her nipples until they tightened and puckered and stood up to their full height, then pressed the jet of warm water between her legs and rocked it back and forth against her clit. She thought about testicles dangling over her face, full of cum and heavy as ripe avocados, and her pussy clenched as she came so hard that she gasped for breath and had to catch herself against the shower wall.

She completely phoned it in at her shoot, even though she’d been nervous all month about it. All she could think about was the feel of cold clammy air on her bare skin and the gentle shlick-shlick sound of men jacking off in the dark. As the cameras flashed all around her, Irina lay back on the sofa, her eyes closed, her lips parting slightly.

All afternoon she wandered around through a sexually animated world. Every man who passed her might be carrying a chloroformed rag in his pocket, her ticket to the realization of her fantasy. She bought a pair of boots on Fifth Avenue, green snakeskin with gold plating, because she couldn’t stop imagining those killer spike heels flailing helplessly in the air as cum rained down on her from every angle.

She watched the bartender at the nightclub who fixed her vodka martini, noticing his muscular arms and trying to guess whether his cock would be sliding inside her helpless pussy by the end of the night. Or would it be the bouncer at the door, who regarded her behind mysterious mirrored sunglasses? Irina nearly fainted, and her pussy creamed so intensely that her panties soaked through and a trail of sweet wetness began to run down the inside of her thigh.

Late in the night, she got invited out to an after-hours club at some underground warehouse in Bushwick. A perfect place for a kidnapping, she thought. All those abandoned warehouses, all those narrow little alleys. They could grab her right off the sidewalk, and no one would know.

In the nightclub bathroom, Irina texted the address of the after-hours club to the agency. Then she went back to her hotel and changed into a skin-tight black dress and her new pair of boots. She slicked on an extra layer of mascara and applied her sluttiest red lipstick. She wadded up her soaked panties and tossed them in her suitcase. Let them find her without underwear. Irina grabbed her purse and headed out.

As the hotel room door shut behind her, strong arms clapped around her body, pinning her arms to her sides. Someone pulled her backwards, lifting her up off the floor, and she could feel the indent of a hard cock straining through jeans and underwear as it pressed into her ass. She shrieked, and a warm wet rag soaked with something chemical was clapped over her nose and mouth. She moaned and closed her eyes as everything went dark.

Her hands and feet were bound. There was duct tape over her mouth. The surface against her back was scratchy car-floor fabric. Everything smelled like cigarettes. Street lamps were flashing past her.

Irina closed her eyes and sank back into unconsciousness.

“Call him. Fuckin’ call him back, I’m not driving around all five boroughs with this bitch.”

Irina blinked. She looked around. She was in the back of a stripped-out van with two enormous men in leather jackets sitting in the driver’s and passenger’s seats. The passenger was fiddling with his cell phone. Behind the seats crouched two men wearing ski masks, both watching her intently.

“I haven’t squirted in almost a week,” one said to the other. “Been saving it up for tonight. I’m gonna drown this bitch.”

“If we don’t get there soon, my balls are gonna burst right in my pants,” the other said. He grasped the hem of Irina’s dress and lifted it as high as he could, blocking out her vision. “Somebody’s not wearin’ panties,” he said.

Irina felt the tip of a finger begin to probe the crease where her legs closed. She was already incredibly turned on, and with no more than a gentle push his finger slipped all the way up to his third knuckle.

“Not wearing panties and looking for a good time,” he said. He raised his finger up to the glow of the streetlights, where it glistened, then ran his thick tongue down its full length.

The driver banged on the roof. “HEY! What did I tell you! You save that pussy for everyone, you hear me?”

The passenger snapped his phone closed. “All right! He got the keys. Ten minutes away.”

The bodyguard who had touched Irina’s pussy extended his slick finger to the other guard. “Good pussy — go on, try some of this.”

The other bodyguard flattened himself against the wall. “Man, you’re sick — there’s something real fucking wrong with you.”

They lifted Irina out of the back of the van and carried her through a battered metal doorway, through a network of hallways lit by flickering overhead fluorescent lights. They carried her up two flights of stairs into a darkened hallway full of doors. She could smell dust, and mold, and somewhere far off she heard glass breaking and police sirens.

“This one,” somebody said.

A door opened, and Irina was carried into a dark, empty apartment, and spread out on a cot in the center of the room. Somebody grabbed her arms and shackled them in thick leather handcuffs high above her head, lifting her breasts and holding them up for display to everyone in the room. The rope around her legs was sliced apart, and two men seized each leg and bound her ankles to the bedposts, spreading open her already swollen pussy.

“Hit the lights,” somebody said.

With a click, a weak lamp on the kitchen counter snapped on. Six men stood around Irina. Another faced the corner of the room, whispering into a cell phone, “We got the bitch, yeah, everything’s set up.”

The men were all tall and muscular, with beaten-looking faces and broken noses. Several of them had networks of prison tattoos lacing their biceps and collarbones, along with ragged scars. They wore tight T-shirts, denim or leather jackets, and heavy jeans or leather pants. Each of them was wearing a wide leather belt with a huge metal buckle, and each one sported an enormous cock-bulge in their pants. A few of them ran their hands along the ridges of their cocks, making sure Irina could tell the full length and girth. Her nipples were already hard beneath her dress, and her pussy was oozing.

The man in the corner snapped the cell phone shut and deposited it on the counter. “He says go ahead and get started. Work her over. You and you —” he pointed to two guys, one bald and with a boxer’s face and the other stroking a bulge that extended almost halfway down his thigh. “Warm that pussy up.”

A chorus of cheers and happy assent rose from the crowd. Buckles started to come undone, popping open with heavy, final clatters. Zippers cracked open, and monster cocks popped out from beneath elastic waistbands. Irina moaned behind her duct tape.

“Yeah...”

“Fuck...”

A bottle of lube got thrown around, high above her, and her men squeezed out palmfuls of thick gel and ran it along their cocks until the shafts glistened. Some of her men could barely touch their thumbs to their forefingers when they jacked off. They worked their fists along the lengths of their cocks, slowly, squeezing the heads under their thumbs. A droplet of lube landed on Irina’s dress, and soaked through to her skin.

A pair of sewing scissors appeared in someone’s hand, and he took the strap of Irina’s dress in his fist and sliced through it, slowly, so she could hear every thread being severed. He ran the twin points of the sewing scissors along her breasts, pausing to capture her nipple, then traced a line to her other dress strap. The back of Irina’s dress fell away. Someone’s hand grasped the neckline and slowly pulled it down, exposing Irina’s full, perfect breasts to the air.

“Work those titties,” the bald guy said to the crowd. “Milk her like a fuckin’ cow.”

The two men closest to Irina’s breasts knelt down beside her and started to lick. Their tongues circled around her nipples and fluttered against the most sensitive spots, right at her tips. Irina arched her back, pushing further into their touch. She felt her clit swell and grow, pushing her pussy lips aside. One man opened his mouth and took almost her entire breast inside, slathering it with his tongue, and the other sucked on her nipple so hard she thought she really might squirt milk. Juice flowed out of her pussy.

Irina moaned. Above their heads she could see the other men working their dicks, and she thought of all the cum built up inside them, the glistening cockheads ready to burst, the splatter of cum across her bare skin. Her dress was sliced in two down the middle, and the two pieces were ripped apart to another round of cheers.