Frantic City Gangbang

This is dedicated to a certain litster who I have a wild crush on..this is for you, babe, you know who you are, my beautiful slut...

In an episode of the Flintstones, Fred and Barney get an opportunity to judge a beauty contest sponsored by the Royal Order of Water Buffaloes. The contest is in Frantic City (a/k/a Atlantic City.) They made their plans to concoct a story to Betty and Wilma (not a bad body, that Wilma Flintstone, by the way, Fred was playing way over his head). This was overheard by a pet, their prehistoric parrot, a pterodactyl. Wilma and Betty sniffed out the lie, but couldn't figure out just where the boys were off to. Just then, the parrot squawked, "Awwwkkk, Frantic City!" They had been dimed out.

For this story's purpose, it is an apt title. Frantic City is the location.

As instructed, you went alone to the front desk of the Borgata in Atlantic City, the sparkling new East Coast testimony to hedonism, or at least as close as you could legally get to it north of the Caribbean. The admiring clerk handed you the key for the room in my name, and you declined the bellhop's gracious offer to help you with your shoulder bag. He just wanted to check out your ass in your short shorts, anyway, that was tip enough for him. You had been directed to pack very light, cosmetic and hygienic and girly-things only, nothing more. Your wardrobe would be provided for you.

You found this VERY sexy. You were more than excited at the possibilities to come, and open to anything. It had been some time, if ever, since someone had gone to all of this planning for the sole sake of your pleasure, and you were hell bent on appropriately showing your gratitude.

You slid the key into the lock, and even this reminded you of insertion. "God," you thought, "Every damn thing makes me think of sex, I'm so fucking horny right now."

The room was adorned in a typical casino style. A large hot tub took up almost half of the split-level suite. Surely, it was meant to be posh and luxurious, all marble trim and plush carpets and pastel colors on the murals on the wall. However, like virtually all casino hotel rooms, it really came across as garish and ostentatious. "Oh, well," you decided, "I'm not here to redecorate tonight."

There was a rather large wrapped package on the bed and two dozen roses on the dresser with a card. A chilled bottle of Tattinger's champagne (your favorite) sat on the nightstand, the cork already freshly poured by room service. "He must really care for me," you thought. Little did you know.

The card simply said, "Open the box, take a shower, put on the contents, meet me in one hour at the 'B Bar' on the casino floor. Have an open mind. Kisses."

You opened the package squealing, like a little girl on Christmas. Inside, there was a fluffy robe and on top of that, a hair brush, a woman's razor and lotion, and a bottle of your favorite perfume. "He pays attention to everything, every detail," you gushed.

As you reached for the robe, you noticed there were quite a few more items beneath. A silky white designer button-down blouse; a stunning gold necklace in the shape of a dove; a pair of black strap sandals, stylish but not overbearing, about three inch heels; a short ("SHORT, OH MY GOD," you murmured as you held it up) leopard-skin miniskirt; and, in the sheerest see-through material possible, a pink lacy thong, barely a wisp.

"This is gonna be quite a night. I'm a lucky girl. And he'll be a very happy guy," you mused, bouncing to the shower.

One hour later you were on the floor of the Borgata's spacious casino, trying in vain to follow the signs that would direct you to the B Bar lounge. The casinos purposely made their directional signage rather vague, with the hopes that the uninitiated would give up in despair and wander to where the casinos really made their action, the tables. It wasn't hard to find the tables, that was for sure.

Because you were so distracted, you didn't realize the distraction that you yourself were causing. Male and female guests alike snapped their heads in attention as the beautiful vision wandered aimlessly. The combination of your perfume and lotions and shampoo and soap wafted in the air like an aromatic gift from the gods. At one point, a security guard walked flush into the one-armed bandit protruding from a slot machine as he gazed at you in awe over his shoulder. He bounced off the machine in an embarrassed huff, attracting your attention. He blushed sheepishly, as you smiled coquettishly at him.

"Can you help me find the B Bar? you cooed. "I am SO lost. This place is huge."

The guard picked up his hat and he admired his view of your skirt, barely covering your tight ass, your heels subtly highlighting the sensual sinewy curve of your calves. Your use of the word 'huge' almost invoked a response from him that would have been less than G-rated, but he composed himself. "Certainly, miss, I would be glad to escort you if you wish," he smiled. "It looks like you could use some surveillance anyway. You look quite dangerous."

You realized how radiant you did in fact look. It aroused you completely to know that your man wanted you to be the center of attention, the envy of every woman, the fantasy of every man. You allowed your ass to sway a bit more than it usually did as the guard's gaze scoured over you out of the corner of his eye, your hips sashaying to his delight.

"Here you are, sweetie, the fabulous B bar," he said, and with a exaggerated bow from the waist, he left you. You smiled and blew him a kiss. "Good God almighty," he thought. "We see some world-class trim in here, but that is one wild piece of ass. What lucky bastard is going to plug that tonight?"

If only the guard knew, he could have joined in ifhe stuck around. Luck is when timing meets opportunity. He had shitty luck tonight. Five other guys wouldn't.

The bartenders and waiters nudged each other when you walked up the steps. "There she is," one wispered. Another said, " Hot damn, that's gotta be her." Most knew the plan. It was a good plan, it took organization and cooperation. But mostly, it took a lot of cocks.

You saw me at one of the black leather couches that hugged the perimeter walls. I was talking to several men who watched you with a combination of admiration and unabashed lust. These men were chosen specifically to be our guests tonight in my own suite. A light bulb switched on in your brain as you started to do the math. One. Two. Three. John makes four. As only a horny woman can do, you took quick inventory of each man, ranging in all shapes and sizes, aged anywhere from late twenties to early fifties, you guessed. You stopped in your tracks when you saw another man approach our cozy fraternity. He was possibly the most striking man you had ever seen, and I watched and laughed with glee as I saw your jaw visibly gape open. Five.

I rose to embrace you. "My god, honey, you look radiant!" There was that word again, the perfect description for your appearance on most evenings, especially so tonight. I kissed you proudly as the men gathered in a tight circle as you looked around quizzically.

As I kissed you lightly on the cheek and inhaled your scent, I pulled your dress up to your belly button as the men's tight circle shielded the view from the other patrons. "Excellent," you gushed. "There it is boys, our ground zero for tonight." It may not have been charming, but it was spot-on accurate.

The realization hit you at once, like a lightning bolt, shocking you so that each tactile sense instantaneously became paralyzed, only your mind raced. "Oh my Lord, he actually did it," you thought, your body softly trembling in a wonderful combination of fear, anxiety, and wild desire. "I'm going to have five cocks." Your cunt tremored as your knees buckled ever so slightly. A tsunami was forming deep within your thighs somewhere, your ocean of juices gurgling from the earthquakes below.

You became aware of my fingers pulling the micro-thin strand of fabric from your pussy, exposing you as my fingers teased your mound. "The cleanest, freshest, tightest, hottest cunt on the planet awaits us, boys. Shall I make the introductions? Why small-talk? We're not here to chit-chat. We're here to fuck her. She's our slut tonight." My fingers eased gently between your folds.

Instead of feeling an emotion that you might have expected, humiliation, concern, disgust, you felt another one instead. You never felt more alive and appreciated as a woman than you did at that very instant, the object of desire by five virile, and undoubtedly, talented men.

"Honey," I continued, "This is Chris." Chris was the youngest of the group, probably about twenty-five, clean cut with a bright smile showing the whitest teeth. "Chris is going to dental school. He likes to fill cavities, and is training to do so. Would you like to fuck Chris?" You nodded, almost absently-mindedly, still barely believing what was transpiring.

"Very good," I said happily. "This is Carl. Carl is a captain with the Atlantic City Police Department. He is trained to put out fires. Would you like to fuck Carl?" Carl had silver hair, looked to be about fifty, but very well-preserved with huge forearms and a rugged jaw. Again, you nodded, this time a little less meekly.

"Splendid!" I next pointed to the man with the darkest black eyes and olive skin. He looked like he just got off the cover of a European fashion magazine. "This is Antonio. Antonio is a bartender here and can have just about any woman he wishes, as you can probably tell why. He is trained in cock-tails. I showed him your picture and he couldn't wait to have you. Would you like to fuck Antonio?" There was no hesitation, you were warming up very, very quickly to this idea now. "Absolutely, I want to fuck Antonio," you purred.

I chuckled merrily. "Why am I not surprised? And this...," I hesitated, using my hands to guide your face to turn towards the most beautiful specimen of man you had ever seen, six-feet-six, you estimated, built like a triangle, golden blond curly hair, steel blue eyes. "This is Danny. He's also a firefighter. He is called Danny the Hose. Would you like to find out why, as if you couldn't guess. Danny is trained in fucking a woman as she has never been fucked. He is our closer, so to speak. Would you like to fu..?"

"Are you outta your fuckin' mind?," you interrupted, allpretense of demure lady-like behavior disapearing in the anticipation of sex. "I wanna fuck Danny right here, I don't care who's watching. Can we go upstairs now?", you hopped eagerly on your heels. "Can we? Can we?, you mocked, again little-girl-like. "Nice to meet you boys, but Jesus Christ, can we fucking go upstairs?"

The men all laughed so heartily it caught the attention of any patron in the bar who wasn't already mesmerized by this brazen group scene in the epicenter of the lounge. "You were right, Johnnie. You told us she was a complete slut," Carl slapped me on the back. "What you didn't tell us is just how much more stunning she is in person then even in her pictures."

All of the men had already seen the photos that you had e-mailed to me, they knew every curve and crevice of both the outside of your body as well as the inside of your pussy, so graphic were your photos.

As the six of us exited the bar accompanied by small murmurs and the intrigued glances of the bar-goers, you leaned into me, squishing your firm breasts against my chest and kissed me, the kiss of a woman ablaze with sexuality. "Thank you," you looked at me lovingly, pulling your mouth back from mine. "Thank you."

The night was young.