Betsy's LA Fantasy

Ben and Betsy were taking one last adventure trip before they were to start their family. Both had grown up on farms in Iowa, where they now lived on the farm Ben had inherited upon his parents' demise. While they had both been sexually active since high school, it was mainly vanilla humping in the hayloft or in the bed of the pickup. They'd felt sophisticated trying oral sex, but were later surprised when their version was like fingerpainting to a Renoir. They'd just been slathering their tongues over their partner's genitalia.

They'd learned better on their honeymoon. They'd book a Mediterranean cruise, and had fallen in with a French couple, who in a haze of alcohol (and probably some surreptitious drugs) had introduced them to swapping. It was an eye-opening experience. Not only were they given a masters course in oral sex but found that they weren't limited to missionary or doggystyle positions.

Betsy was especially enamored with multiple partnering -- spit-roasting and various double penetrations. She loved it all, except when it involved two women. She was definitely not bi-curious, much to Ben's disappointment. He'd wanted to try a threesome with two women. However, he found any sex with Betsy exciting and adding any partners, even male ones, was doubly exciting.

Back in Iowa, they found it difficult to find partners to experiment with. The first friends they approached thought they were "sick, just sick, going outside the bonds of marriage. And nobody's putting their thing in MY mouth!" That reaction made them gun shy about approaching any other friends.

They enjoyed experimentation between themselves for the next few years, but decided for their fifth anniversary to go to a Sin City. Ben wanted Las Vegas, but Betsy held out for Los Angeles. "There's movie stars there, Ben, and I hear there are some pretty wild night clubs there too." She also felt that her two fantasies had a much better chance of coming true in LA than in Vegas.

She'd tease Ben with role play. He knew she liked threesomes, but she had bought several dildos in Des Moines, of different sizes, and had Ben use them on her, along with his penis, in gangbang scenarios. It excited them both. She begged for it harder, bigger and deeper.

When Ben commented on the color of the ersatz phalluses, Betsy palmed him off with the explanation that all the big ones were that shade. That seemed logical to Ben.

Leading up to their trip to LA, Betsy researched clubs in LA, looking for ones that were predominantly African-American in clientele. Hollywood Club Crawl, Carbon, Club 54 and Bootie Mashup were likely possibilities, but something about the Club Negra made her moist. Looking at the clubs Facebook site, and unauthorized videos she found online, she thought the men looked like black adonises.

She broached the gangbang idea to Ben a month before their trip. He was dubious, but she reminded him how much he had enjoyed their cruise threesomes. He admitted that, but was still hesitant -- how would he be among multiple male partners? "Honey, you'll be fine. Remember Lorelei on the cruise said that your penis was larger than average. You've got nothing to worry about."

Ben hadn't even been considering his size, but now that was something else to worry about. No, he was think of how much time between turns there would be and how many others there would be in this gangbang. He was thinking three or four, including him, but she sounded like she wanted more. He wanted her to be happy and left it to her without any argument.

They got into LA late the first night, checked into the hotel and went right to bed. The next morning they took a Hollywood tour, with Betsy ohing and awing over the houses of the stars. Ben smiled at what a rube she was being and just nodded when she excitedly wondered if they'd see any stars.

After dinner, Betsy hurried Ben to La Negra, where they were assailed with the sight of writhing bodies and a wall of hip-hop noise. Ben saw that there were very few white faces and was about to suggest to Betsy that they should try another club when a tall, slim man approached his wife, bent down to get his face level with hers, and ignoring Ben, asked Betsy to dance. Ben was surprised at how quickly she agreed and headed off to the dance floor, leaving Ben holding her purse and coat.

Ben tried to keep track of Betsy while looking for an open table. It took three songs before he found one, and then wondered how Betsy would find him. Her phone was in her purse and he couldn't see her on the dance floor. The waitress came, and Ben ordered drinks, in order to keep the table.

It was not until after the fifth dance that Betsy and another young black man came up to the table. "I've been looking all over for you! We've got a table near the dance floor. Come on!" "We" turned out to be Betsy, six young men and another white woman. Betsy sat down between two of the men. The only open seat was at the other end of the table, and with a sinking feeling in his chest, Ben sat down. Almost immediately, Betsy jumped up and hit the dance floor with another one of the men. After that, except to take a quick drink, Betsy was kept on the dance floor and away from the table.

"Yo, boy. You've got one hell of a wife. She can really shake that booty!" said the man to Ben's left. "When she twerked me I swear I almost came on the dance floor." Beyond that, Ben was ignored, except when the check came. "Pay the check, Ben. They let us share their table, and we're all going to Hiram's house to party some more!" Before Ben could argue, Betsy was headed for the door with the group. Ben quickly dropped four hundreds onto the waitress's tray. He'd have preferred using a credit card, but was afraid Betsy would be gone before the transaction could be completed.

They crammed into two cars -- with Betsy in the first and Ben in the second. His heart was in this throat when his car stopped at a liquor store, where they had Ben purchase whiskeys and beer. He relaxed a little when the driver pulled up in front of a non-descript apartment building. There in front was the car Betsy had been in. Ben had no idea where they were -- he hadn't taken his eyes off of the other car until the liquor stop and had missed any road signs. The entire trip took over a half hour, without their booze stop.

In the apartment, Ben was shocked to see Betsy dancing alone, with her shirt pulled out of her skirt and unbuttoned, showing her bra covered breasts. She shimmied like a striptease artist, and her eyes lit up when she saw Ben. She danced over to him, giving him a kiss on the cheek. Her eyes were bright, and dilated. She was flying high.

"This is it, honey. My gangbang -- the boys have already agreed but asked me to strip for them first. Sit down, sweetie. If you're lucky I'll give you a lap dance!" With that, she shed her shirt and danced away. Soon, her skirt followed.

Two of the "boys" jumped up and started dancing with her, unhooking her bra and freeing her 36C breasts. Cheers broke out, and redoubled when her panties were pulled down and off. Ben was surprised to see that Betsy had shaved off her usual landing strip in anticipation of tonight.

While no one offered Ben any of the liquor he'd purchased, several shots were poured into Betsy, who was now pulling clothing off anyone who came near her. The other girl, seemingly jealous that Betsy was the center of attention, got up and began kissing Ben's wife. Unlike Betsy's stated dislike of lesbian sex on the cruise, Ben could see the girls were seriously tongue wrestling and massaging each other's breasts.

"Time to take these bitches into the bedroom," Hiram called as he stripped off his clothing. Ben saw the others were doing the same, so he began removing his clothing. Hiram stopped him.

"No, boy. We've got you a cab outside. You can come pick her up in the morning. Here's the address and phone number", he said thrusting a piece of paper into Ben's hand.

"No, I can't...." Ben started before Hiram closed his large hand on Ben's throat.

"Betsy's already agreed that her first gangbang shouldn't include you. You can join tomorrow. In the meantime, if you don't want to get hurt, go back to your hotel and come back in the morning." Hiram tightened his grip and Ben began choking. He was marched to the hallway outside before Hiram released him and closed the door.

Sure enough, there was a cab waiting downstairs and at a loss at what to do, Ben got in the cab and directed the cabbie to his hotel. Ben set in the corner of the back seat, his head against the window, tears falling from his eyes as he sobbed.

Betsy's shots had been laced with MDMI and everything felt wonderful. She sucked cock after cock, did DP's of every sort and even triple penetrations. She found herself licking cum out of the other girl's pussy (never did learn her name) and even licked a few assholes. Nothing was too much and for the next few days, she was kept dosed, now with fentanyl laced heroin, and provided with an array of everchanging partners. Most of them were paying for the pleasure and others were auditioning her as a potential prostitute.

The next morning, Ben grabbed a cab and gave the address on the paper, anxious to reunite with his wife. The address turned out to be the Hollywood Station of the LAPD. He checked the address over and over again, each time the cabbie assuring him that this was the address on the paper. He pulled out his cell and called the phone number that came with the address. "Los Angeles Police Department -- How can I help you?" said a polite voice.

When Ben related to the police sergeant the events of the previous evening, he could see the disgust and pity in the cop's eyes. It was soon obvious that Ben had no idea where Hiram lived, what cab company had brought him back to the hotel or any details that would be helpful. Betsy's phone was turned off or destroyed. No help there.

He had used a credit card to buy the liquor, but a quick call established that there were no cameras in the store and the clerk, when contacted, denied knowing any of the men who had accompanied Ben into the store.

"The cab was probably off book -- no record of the trip. These pimps know how to cover their tracks when procuring new talent." Said the cop. "The liquor store as well. The clerk may know who they are, but will never say. He's probably rewarded in free pussy. We'll keep looking for your wife, but chances are, unless she gets picked up in a prostitute sweep, we won't find her. And the first few years, they'll keep her in one of the higher class houses, until she's worn out. Then they'll move her to a bondage house or have her working the streets, depending on how strung out she is."

"Strung out?" Ben asked.

"Yeah, they'll control her by keeping her addicted to drugs: heroin or fentanyl most likely. They'll keep her drugged until all she can think about is her next score. I'd like to give you some hope, but I've seen this too many times. Best you go home and move on with your life."

Epilogue:

Ben stayed in LA for three months, searching for Betsy without any success. He had to borrow all he could from his relatives and her parents, but finally had to admit defeat. He headed back to Iowa, hopeless and lost.

Within three months, Betsy had been sold to a pimp and had been pierced and tattooed multiple times, proclaiming her as Jerome's Bitch, a Queen of Spades and a lover of anal intercourse. Her plans were coming to fruition, however. She'd plan to start a family and she was now pregnant, although given the amounts of drugs in her system, it didn't bode well for a successful term or outcome.

She did almost daily achieve the fantasy gangbang for which she had come to LA.