Morgan's Gang Bang Ch. 01

My name is Morgan Thomas. I was blessed with, by all standards, a beautiful face and a perfect body built for sex. I've been turning men's heads since I was eighteen, when my body blossomed. Now I needed this job and was confident my tits and legs would tip the scales in my favor. I tried to relax, but I was nervous and needed this job. Then I breathed a sigh of relief; the head of human resources was a man.

The interview went without a problem. I knew I had him from the time I sat down, making sure the beginnings of my stocking tops were showing; it never failed. I still don't know what it is about nylons; their power over men is unbelievable. Especially with sheer black nylons, which is the reason I chose them. I made sure to seem coy and innocent; I had him right where I wanted him. To seal the deal, I made a production of taking off my jacket and putting my arms at my sides, forcing my tits out; the white wool top clung to my body, showing every detail of my shelf bra. There was no question that the job was mine, with just one interview and a salary that was more than I had expected.

I love my job in sales, the people are nice, and there is no pressure, and it was my first job where we got bonuses. It was Friday, the end of a quarter, and everyone got a bonus, so the bosses all left early; I could go as soon as I was done.

Shortly after lunch, one of the men from a private bookkeeping firm doing the company's year-end taxes was walking by; he stopped and introduced himself. I had noticed him checking me out and wondered when he would make a move. His name was Sam, and I put him in his sixties, so of course, I started feeling a tingling in my pussy, that I got when I was around older men. I swung my legs around, giving him a little show, and it was not lost on him. We talked for a while, and I was not surprised when he asked me to go out for coffee or a drink after work; I accepted, and we met at a small bar near the office.

The conversation was easy, maybe because it was a nice change, unlike young guys who only wanted to get me into bed or on my knees with their dick in my mouth. He was a widower with a son in college. We spent the next two hours talking, and I was flattered when he asked me out to dinner Saturday night; I accepted without hesitation. I settled into bed that night feeling like a schoolgirl going on my first date.

I married when I was seventeen years old and three months pregnant. I miscarried in my sixth month, and we divorced the following year when we found out that I would not be able to have children.

Now at twenty-five, I wanted to have some kind of relationship with a man who wasn't married. Whatever the reason, I had good feelings about Sam, despite the fact he was at least thirty years older than me and maybe had a different idea of what a relationship meant; I had no idea what I was getting into.

I spent Saturday getting my nails and hair done; I wanted to make a good impression; he might be the one. I was tired of living by myself, just getting by.

I wanted to look extra nice, so I went shopping and picked up some sheer black stockings and a black push-up bra, although my boobs didn't need it; my 34 d boobs barely fit into the lacey cups, but I liked the look. I wasn't planning to go too far on the first date; I wasn't a whore, nor a prude; maybe I just liked how sexy underwear gave me much-needed confidence, and who knows, before the night was over, he might end up seeing them.

Shortly after my divorce, I experienced deep depression; my self-worth was low, my ex had moved in with a beautiful girl, and shortly after that, they got married. I felt like a loser. My well-meaning sister was worried about me and had moved in. It was nice for a while, but I needed male attention in the worst way.

The biggest problem was that the men I could be interested in were all married, and I didn't want to wreck a marriage just for fun. The one blind date my sister had set up for me didn't go so well, he was my age, and the date turned into a "grope fest," with him trying to get me drunk. When the date was over, and it was time for a good night kiss, he grabbed me, forcing his tongue in my mouth and, at the same time, taking my hand and putting it on his rock-hard cock; it felt like a piece of iron, I gave it a quick squeeze and broke away. I was pissed and told him the date was over and don't call me again. It's a shame, he had a nice-sized dick, and I could have used it, but I didn't like him. I was going into my apartment when I heard him say,

"No wonder your husband left you."

It stung, and it wasn't true; if he knew how good I sucked cock, he would have kicked himself in the ass. But that was it for blind dates. Now this possible relationship with Sam had my hopes up.

Sam picked me up at eight; I was as nervous as possible; I had chosen the only black dress I had that covered my knees and had a turtleneck. It was still hard to downplay my boobs, which was hard, they tended to sway if I walked too fast, but at least no cleavage was exposed, and it just fit nicely without clinging to me. I chickened out on the garter belt and opted instead for pantyhose. I chose my three-inch pumps, the lowest high heels I owned; I just didn't want to come on too strong; I took it easy on the makeup, no dark eye shadow or hoop earrings.

We had a great time; I was so relaxed with him; while he was very polite and attentive and maybe a little controlling, I was the type of woman that needed a firm hand. I may have been a little submissive, but I need a self-confident man to keep me in line.

What I liked about him the most was he didn't try and get me drunk, like most guys do.

We were talking about our families when he asked about my mother. He said he had known a woman in town, and I looked a lot like her but with a different last name. I told him yes, that was my mother, but I hadn't talked with her for years; I didn't say she had kicked me out, so she could entertain her many boyfriends. She had been a stripper at a local club and had been fired for giving blow jobs in the back room. What a stigma to be the daughter of the local whore; I hoped he didn't think I was the same. There was an awkward silence, and he saw it made me uncomfortable and dropped the subject.

When he took me home, we kissed lightly, and I said I enjoyed myself; he agreed and said he would call. It had been a perfect date, and I was feeling good. Later that night, I had a couple of glasses of wine and got comfortable in bed; I let my hand stray to my slit; thinking about him had gotten me wet, so I slid one, then two fingers in my cunt, working on my clit, I brought myself to a decent orgasm. I was resting on my back, somewhat satisfied, licking my fingers, wishing I were getting pounded doggy style. I thought of Sam and hoped he was up to it as I drifted off to sleep.

Sam called me the next day and said his country club was having a fundraiser next Saturday, and I would like to go? I said sure, it sounded like fun.

I hadn't felt this good in years; the week flew by. He called me Friday to confirm our date and said he would pick me up around seven. Sam didn't know it yet, but he would get "lucky" tomorrow night.

I had never been to a country club before and hoped I hadn't overdressed; as we pulled up to the valet stand, I was shocked to see some women in gowns. I wore a black cocktail dress that barely reached my knees, with a black choker that highlighted my long neck. I was showing quite a bit of cleavage. When we pulled up to the valet, I slipped on black opera-length gloves I had stuffed into my purse, just in case. The young man who opened my door was treated to a show of stocking tops as I slid out. My garter belt and stockings made me feel sexy and desirable, which is vital for a woman.

"You look very nice," he said, staring at my exposed nylons, mentally undressing me.

The fundraiser bore me; I was the youngest woman and by far the best-looking. As soon as Sam went to the bar, I was hit on by several "Happily" married men that I ignored, but it felt good knowing that men still wanted me.

I noticed Sam talking intensely with two men; they were smiling and nodding their heads. They turned and were looking my way. All of a sudden, I felt very vulnerable. They talked for a few minutes, then they looked at their watches and patted Sam on the back as he started my way with our drinks.

"I hadn't seen those guys in a while, you would like them, Morgan."

"I'm sure I would, what kind of drink is this, it smells like medicine?"

"It's a Manhattan, you'll like it."

I slowly drank it; it wasn't bad, just strong; I started feeling it right away, I had decided to let Sam have sex with me tonight, and I didn't want to spoil it by getting too drunk.

Sam whispered in my ear,

"Why don't I show you our private room upstairs?"

"Sure, it's a little slow down here. I'd like to see it." Truth be told, Sam seemed nice, and I didn't want to insult him, but this party bore me to tears.

I finished my drink, and Sam promptly got another; I was beginning to think he was trying to get me drunk; well, it wouldn't be the first time. We took the elevator to the second floor, and as we walked down a dimly lit hall, he put his arm around my waist; by the time we got to the room, his hand had slipped to my ass, and I had a thong on so he could feel my tight ass covered by only the thin dress material. His touch was gentle, but I didn't let on; this must have encouraged him because his hand gripped my ass tighter, I could have complained, but I didn't want to dissuade him.

He finally moved his hand to open the door; I was surprised to see three men sitting at a small bar; I had hoped to be alone with Sam. He introduced me; besides one of them named Steve, I was too buzzed to remember names; all I knew was they were at least sixty, and I was getting wet thinking of them; along with me, they could do anything they wanted. I had to control myself, I was a little nervous, but they were all very polite. After a while, I realized they were staring at my legs and tits; simultaneously, I felt uncomfortable and hot. Sam took my drink to freshen it up, he said; looking back, he must have slipped something in it. The liquor hit me like a ton of bricks, I was awake, but I wasn't there.

One of his friends commented how nice my dress looked; Sam agreed and asked me to model it; at first, I said no, but they kept pressuring me, and I gave in. I could barely stand up; the room was spinning. My skirt was bunched up from sitting, exposing my stocking tops, but I just didn't care. In a mind fog, I remember one of them inching my dress up to my waist.

Detached from reality, I saw my skirt pulled up, exposing garter straps and my tiny panties. One of the guys just whistled and said.

"Sam, you've outdone yourself, are you sure she won't say anything?"

"Yes, she's the typical divorced young woman, she'll blame herself and be too embarrassed to tell anyone."

Were they talking about me?

I couldn't understand if I was in trouble, then I sort of passed out, falling into Steve's arms, but I was still aware of what was happening.

"You didn't give her too much, did you Sam? I like them awake so I can hear them moan and cry."

"Don't worry she'll be awake enough."

"She's beautiful, I can't believe she agreed to this."

"She didn't yet, wait till I get my cock in her mouth; she'll be begging for it, just like her mother."

I felt them pulling me up and unzipping my dress.

I cried out, "What's going on, let me go, I want to go home!"

"All in good time Morgan, we're going to have some fun first."

"I just hope you can perform like your mother; it will go a lot easier on you if you can," Sam laughed."

My face was burning. They thought I was a whore like my mother. I was vaguely aware of standing between two men I didn't know, with Sam in back of me fumbling with my zipper, I finally realized they were undressing me and started to struggle, but they were too strong. I had always fantasized about being stripped and forced to fuck by more than one man, but now that it was happening, I was scared. They pulled my dress off and just stood there leering at me,

"Welcome to our little "club," it's time for your initiation."

I was stripped down to my lacy bra, garter belt, panties, and stockings, and between my four-inch heels and the drinks, I could barely stand up. Sam pushed me into a chair and then carefully pulled my panties off, lifting them to his nose,

"Ah, so sweet," he said as he inhaled them and passed them around. With that, they lifted me up and carried me to the couch. As Sam unhooked my bra, he was smiling, saying,

" You're going to like this," as the other men laughed. My swollen boobs sprang free.

"You only get tits this firm from a girl in her early twenties."

He said while mauling my tits.

Despite my fear, my body started to respond, with one guy sucking on my tits and Sam getting closer to my pussy with his tongue. I exploded when he clamped his mouth on my cunt and started to lick and lightly nibble on my clit. I didn't object when a dick was offered; I sucked it greedily. I was feeling like a slut with a dick in my mouth. Sam was particularly good at eating pussy; I quickly had an orgasm that shook my whole body.

My head was spinning, and I started to black out; when I came to, they had me lying over the edge of the desk, with my boobs supporting my upper body. I was being fucked from behind while somebody was holding my head up by my hair, forcing his dick down my throat. My body was starting to respond; I was drifting in and out of sleep when I jolted awake as I felt a finger, wet and greasy, probing my virgin asshole; I started to scream,

"Let me go, I want to go, you're going to kill me!"

"You won't die, you'll just be sore for a while, now somebody get a cock back in her mouth."

I never felt so much pain as when he forced his way into my tender ass. They fucked me mercilessly, switching between my pussy and asshole, and they made sure I always had a cock to suck on.

I heard the door open numerous times and counted at least five dicks using all my holes. At last, they were getting tired; they pushed me to my knees, forcing me to clean off their dicks with my mouth. Then Steve said,

"I've got an idea let's get the valet up here."

I don't know how much time passed; I was half awake when I heard Sam say,

"Do what you want to her, it's part of your tip,"

the young guy was shaking as he rubbed his cock on my lips, forcing it into my mouth; once it was in, he began to face fucking me, but he didn't last long. He was stroking his dick furiously when they started cheering.

"Cum on her face, cum on her face."

And so he did, cumming like he had been saving for a week; my face was a dripping mess. I could hear cell phones clicking while he smeared his cum over my face and tits.

They all left, but not before taking more pictures. They were having fun, pinching my nipples, making me squeal in pain, and threatening me about taking my clothes with them; I had to beg them not to. Sam held my dress and bra above my head; I was still kneeling, feeling helpless. I looked up at him, hoping for some pity, but he had a cruel look and said,

"lick my shoes or these clothes go in the trash." I was broken; I licked his shoes, almost throwing up, and finally, he threw my clothes across the room. I tried to stand up, but he put his foot on my back and, forcing me down, said,

"Crawl over to your clothes, bitch." They all started clapping, making me crawl over to get them, my boobs swinging free, with only my nylons and heels on. I was so humiliated I began to cry. Sam patted me on the head,

"I told you she would be like her mother, it's in her genes, come on guys let's get out of here."

After they left, I couldn't move for a while; when I finally stood up, I had cum dripping out all of my holes; thankfully, there was a bathroom. I cleaned up and dressed and went downstairs; everyone had left, just the staff was there cleaning up. One older woman took pity on me; I must have looked horrible, my blonde hair falling from the French twist I had worked on. I was fixing my hair when I realized I had missed a smear of dried cum on my cheek. The woman called me a cab, and while we waited, she wiped my face off. I could barely stand up; I couldn't feel any lower. The cab driver was a young guy who kept looking at me in the mirror; as we pulled up to my place, he said,

"You look like you earned your money tonight." I didn't answer him,

I couldn't blame him; I looked like a hooker as I staggered to my door.

I slept most of the day in bed, and that bastard was right; I was sore as hell.

After a long hot bath, I started to feel better; what was beginning to worry me, I wasn't as devastated as I thought I should be. I was turned on thinking about all those hard, dripping cocks and wishing I hadn't drunk so much, so I could remember more of what they did to me.

I called out sick on Monday, feeling anger, self-pity, and wanting it to happen again. I never felt more like a woman when they were screwing me. I wanted another "Party," but I was scared if I tried to recreate it myself and got the wrong kind of men, I could get hurt permanently; I just wished Sam would call; I was willing to do anything.

Then an opportunity presented itself; earlier in the week, a friend of my brothers had called me; he was going to throw a surprise party for my brother Tim and wanted to use my apartment for it. My mind started plotting; this could be it. I returned the call to Frank; he was my brother's closest friend and had just about grown up in our house. I told him to come over around seven that night; I almost laughed; he could barely say yes; he was so nervous.

I'm not bragging, but most of my brother's friends had a crush on me, and I had encouraged it, always going braless around them and bending over when I had tiny shorts on, were they ever heartbroken when I got married. One had even asked me out on a date after I divorced like that would happen. I felt naughty and would have fun at his expense and give him something to jerk himself off to.

I went all out, the whole deal, dark stockings, garter belt, push-up bra, and of course, heels, couple that with a skintight cream-colored dress that left nothing to the imagination.

I opened the door and nearly felt sorry for him; Frank hadn't seen me in probably a year; he couldn't speak at first, then stammered.

"Hi Morgan , you look great."

"Thanks Frank, it took me forever to get my hair in these curls, and do you like my dress? I think it's too short."

I turned around, giving him a side view of my tits, trying to overflow my straining dress.

"You look perfect, " Was all he could say.

I took his arm and said, "Let's sit down."

He followed me into the living room, taking in the view of my wiggling butt.

I got a bottle of honey whiskey and two glasses. I sat back on the couch, crossing my legs, making sure the first of two dark bands of my stocking tops were showing, that coupled with the fact my suspender straps were clearly visible through the thin material. He was obviously focused on my legs; I tugged my dress down; I knew I had to distract him, so I started to talk about the party; he figured there would be six guys, not counting my brother. I imagined them surrounding me, ripping my clothes off, and doing whatever they wanted. I was getting wet just thinking about it, but how do I get rid of my brother at his own party?

We made a list of food and booze and started talking about old times. Finally, Frank got up and confessed he always had a thing for me.

"That's sweet, you were always following me around," I laughed, "I was afraid if I stopped suddenly, you would have gone up my butt." He stopped smiling, leaned over, and kissed me lightly on the lips, I should have stopped him, but I needed something to boost my bruised ego.