The Perfect Gangbang (3 page)

Her First Squirt

In this 3-part confessional story, three women tell the stories of their first experience with female ejaculation. Roxanne discovered her orgasmic potential through a boyfriend's watersports fetish. A fellow co-ed initiated shy, sweet Vanessa. And Alyce, a high-end call girl, had hers with a mysterious client.

Bred By the Succubus

Every full moon, Stella fulfills her evil purpose: to collect seed from unsuspecting men and deposit it into a willing female host! This extreme 3500 word short story includes risky public sex, an intense sex transformation, and an orgasmic birth!

Heaven on Wheels

A Biker Gangbang

The Snakebacks are the most tight-knit biker gang in California, and their leader, the beautiful and dominant Rosa, is widely respected and feared. What no one knows is that Rosa has a special way of keeping her men loyal: every night, she takes all of them on at once! This 3000 word gangbang story contains rough sex, double penetration, and one trashed roadhouse!

Bringing Home the Breeding

An Impregnation Gangbang

When career woman Vera and her impotent husband Bert can't conceive, she starts looking into alternate insemination methods. In this case, Vera's “alternate insemination method” is eight well-hung studs who are bound and determined to knock her up! Warning: This 3,500 word erotic short story contains deep, rough penetration, risky sex, and more semen than a sperm bank!

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.