One Last Gangbang Pt. 01

This one is a bit outside the box for me. I'm writing it at the request of another member and while the ending is one of romance, it certainly doesn't start that way. The beginning provides you with a bit of history in order to bring the remainder of the story into context. I'm cautiously optimistic as I submit this for publication, it could go either way.

I want to thank my proofreader. His suggestions and corrections are greatly appreciated.

One Last Gangbang

As the older smelly guy with a beer gut finished ejaculating, grunting and carrying on like he'd just dumped a gallon of semen in me I thought to myself, *two more, Karen, and that's it, you'll never do this again*. The only reason I knew the guy had finished was because of his grunting. Some of the earlier guys were quite good in technique and equipment, leaving large deposits of semen within their condom. Beer Gut's condom had barely a dribble. The last two wanted it doggy which suited me fine, I wouldn't have to look in their eyes and pretend. All I had to do was rest a few minutes, apply more KY, make lots of noise and thrash around on the bed a little.

I had agreed to a gangbang of six guys, all older and divorced, all potential customers of the company paying my bill. They would abide by my rules. One at a time, no spit roasts, no double penetration, no blow jobs. Those rules would be assured by Elvis, a tall heavy dude who loved hurting people for fun. He was happily married with three kids and never wanted my body. Only the five hundred I paid him each time to make sure I was safe if multiple people were involved.

They could have me any way they wanted vaginally, it was an extra five hundred if they insisted on anal, and they could only cum once. In the earlier days that would not have flown, but it was no longer the earlier days. I had enough money stashed away to not need the life of prostitution any longer. I wasn't angry or hateful of my clientele, it was a career choice I had made at a much younger age. Fact of the matter was, I simply didn't care anymore. If they weren't going to do it on my terms, it wasn't going to happen.

I had turned the offer down initially until the owner of the company wanting to entertain his foreign potential customers sweetened the pot so much that it was nearly impossible to turn away. A thousand dollars each along with my normal corporate fee of two thousand and I set the rules. Who would pay money like that for a hooker you might ask. It's certainly a legitimate question.

In my humble opinion most men who hire girls like me dream of screwing a younger version of the woman they married. They think they're fucking someone less experienced than I am, (I can play the innocent college girl and fake an orgasm with the best) when in reality they're in bed with a twenty-six-year-old professional. By the time they might figure out I'm older than what they thought they saw they're thinking with their dicks, and it no longer matters. Twenty-six is not old for an experienced hooker. It was entirely my decision to quit when I did. It was time to move on to the next phase of my life.

My heroin-addicted mother began pimping me at an early age. The choice of prostitution was more palatable to me than being dirt poor and living with a heroin-addicted mother. It provided money and a degree of independence I liked. Mother may have ended up an addict, but she wasn't stupid. It all began with pain meds following a work injury which eventually morphed into addiction.

People have asked how I became so street smart, it was quite simple. I watched and made sure that I didn't make the same mistakes others around me had. It wasn't hard to figure out the world is full of educated idiots. How do you avoid the streets and pimps? Mother knew the real money was in older men and initially set up my "dates" accordingly. They were generally well off, had manners, and weren't abusive. All men she had met one place or another looking for a good time with what they thought was someone less experienced than they were.

I had seen the movie Pretty Woman with Julia Roberts and decided that was the avenue I would pursue, no street corners or mean abusive pimps for me. My clients were more interested in having eye candy alongside them, fine meals in elegant restaurants, followed by me being in the wrappings of seductive lingerie. I learned early on the most exciting part about the present was in the unwrapping, so I dressed accordingly. I was also willing to do what their wives or girlfriends wouldn't. It was not unusual to be flown across the country in someone's private jet for a weekend of playtime. There were several I initiated into the mile-high club, always a winner. I had once spent a week in Paris, the days were mine, the nights were his. With the sizeable amount of money transferred into my offshore bank account it was a win-win all the way around.

By the time my mother departed this earth I was already in charge of my finances, I had the clientele list along with any other pertinent information concerning my existence. It was she who had originally found Elvis to protect me, he and I had worked together for years. Elvis was an interesting person to say the least. By day he was an excavator operator. If he wasn't working for me on Thursday, Friday or Saturday night he worked as a bouncer for Puss 'N Boots, a self-proclaimed "gentleman's bar" which in reality was no more than a high-priced titty bar.

I wisely stayed away from the drugs and limited my alcohol intake to a minimum. When I was home, I worked out at least three mornings a week keeping my body toned and inviting. At five foot seven with a petite frame and naturally larger than usual breasts for someone my size (34DD) turning heads was never a task. My waist is slim, my legs are long, my butt is big enough to look good without being a bubble butt, and I keep my over the shoulder hair long to frame my favorable facial features. Through the years I have never had to recruit work. Word of mouth travels fast when you're young, discrete, in shape, and fuck like a mink.

Back to the present ***

*Two more Karen* I silently said to myself. Only two more loads of spunk before Elvis would usher them out the door and on their way. He would remain in the suite area while I showered, take the five hundred I normally pay him for a gangbang and be on his way. Through the years there had been more than a few times I was so glad to have Elvis with me, drunks who have paid for sex think it's theirs to take anytime and any way they choose. They sometimes don't grasp the concept that once they've cum we're done, unless they paid for more. As I walked from the bathroom after showering and changing into different clothing, I noticed Elvis had a sad look on his face.

"This gonna be your last gig Karen?" I nodded. "We been together a long time, I wish you the best. SooLin (his wife) told me to tell you it's time to go find yourself a good man and have some babies. Let me know where you are when you get there, me and the little woman will want to know you're okay."

You need to understand Elvis. He's a massive southern white boy version of a steam roller. How this stuff works I'll never understand but he's married to this skinny little Korean girl who pops out babies like they're loose corks in over filled wine bottles. The second most amazing part about him is that he has no desire to bed me. He's seen me in just about every conceivable position sexually and still remains true to SooLin. I once jokingly asked why he never tried to hit on me. His answer floored me.

"I got more woman at home than I can handle at times. Why would I go lookin' for another?"

All I could do was grin and think, *You go girl, way to keep his belly full and his balls empty*.

I tossed the bag with my other clothes and lingerie onto the bed and gave him a long hug. It was comforting for me, all the times he'd seen me in sexual situations he never judged me and always treated me with respect. I kissed his cheek, grabbed my bag and asked if he would escort me to my car one last time, he nodded and smiled. Not allowing me to tote the bag he slung it over his shoulder and at the same time offered me his arm, I gladly slipped my hand through the crook of his elbow and walked with my head held high as we exited the posh hotel suite.

He had my car keys as he always did on these occasions, walking to my ride he unlocked it, tossed my bag in the back, and opened my door. I'd made the mistake of opening my own door only once, after the two-minute tongue lashing I received about chivalry and me robbing him of an opportunity to be a gentleman I decided to never do that again. Truth is, I liked it, he made me feel special.

As I started the car he waved and went his way, I knew I'd see him again, his wife and children loved me, and I them, no way was I going to completely eliminate them from my life. I smiled as my 2019 Audi A4 warmed up, a huge step above the 1994 Honda Civic I fondly named Henrietta. That little car had been faithful and reliable, but it was time to trade up when I did. I had affectionately named this one Andrea the Audi. People say I'm weird because I name my vehicles, I could care less what they think. Piss off. I owe no one anything and I'm completely debt free, being wise enough to let my clients pay for as much as they were willing to.

The clock showed it was only eleven seventeen as I left the parking lot. I was tired but still a bit keyed up. I stopped at an all-night diner on the way home. It was often referred to as a greasy spoon, but I liked it. I ate there often if I was getting home late. The place was clean, the food was good and the prices reasonable, not to mention they were one of the few places I could get poached eggs, my all-time favorite comfort food. I sometimes wondered why I ate at this little out of the way inexpensive diner with over a million in the bank as well as investments. I deduced it was because that's how I hoped my life would one day be ... simple and unencumbered, with a loving hubby and kids playing in the yard. When Glenda put the plate in front of me she asked.

"Still workin' on that exit strategy you was tellin' me 'bout?"

Glenda was probably in her late fifties, she looked like she'd been ridden hard and put up wet, she'd lived a hard life and it showed. She knew what I did for a living, it seemed to make no difference to her. I sat back and said with a smile.

"Not working on it any longer, as of tonight I'm done. I'm moving on to somewhere new."

She patted my hand, "Good for you girl." Then walked away. Knowing I would likely never see her again I left a crisp hundred-dollar bill under the check as a tip. As I was getting into my car, she hung her head out the door and yelled, "Thank you."

This would be the last night in my condo, I'd sold it three weeks prior, the cleaning people would be in tomorrow. I had nothing of significance to move since I'd sold the place to include the furniture and appliances. Considering the place was paid for and I sold it for almost seventy thousand more than I paid, the sale added another three hundred forty-seven thousand to my coffer after all the costs were subtracted. At six tomorrow morning I would be driving west from South Carolina to Evansville, Indiana where I would undergo minor facial reconstruction.

I'd read about facial surgery extensively, reaching the conclusion it was what I wanted to do to help ensure that on the off chance I might meet a previous client, they wouldn't recognize me. The two largest facial reconstruction cities were LA and Miami, places many of my former clients hailed from. I chose where I was going based on reviews and talking with past clients of his, most of them former hookers like me looking for a fresh start. The cost outweighed the risk of ever running into a former client and exposing my sordid past. It wasn't as though they were going to completely build a new face, just enough to make me look different. Maybe a little older.

I was in no rush to get there, it took me two days for a one-day trip. I stopped and saw attractions if I was interested, taking little side trips to see a museum or whatever. When I'd reached my destination I checked in with the Midwest Facial Plastic Surgery office, confirmed my procedure dates and went to find a greasy spoon that served poached eggs. Knowing I would likely be in Evansville at least two months for surgery and follow-up visits I had been in contact with a realtor. He found an older two-bedroom ranch to rent, it had been completely renovated and brought up to current standards. As I was signing the paperwork, making a deposit and two months' rent in his office the realtor kept watching me from the corner of his eye. I was dressed casually, very girl next door with absolutely nothing showing that might be considered a flirt. I finally sat back and looked at him with a stare.

"Okay, why do keep looking at me? Is something out of place?"

He sheepishly looked out the window and pointed. I asked, "What? What are you pointing at?"

"Your car, it looks expensive. Some folks might wonder how a girl your age can afford a car like that."

I wanted to be pissed and tell the chubby little shit where to get off, I chose to err on the side of good manners.

"I recently inherited a large amount of money. I'd been driving beat up old clunkers all my life and decided I was going to get something nice for a change. And frankly sir, I don't care what people think. We're done here Mr. Abrams. Thank you." He nodded, shook my hand and watched as I drove away. It was a half mile to my little rental.

My ultimate goal was to fit in and not be noticed while I lived in Evansville, but driving a different vehicle was off the table. While in my very early twenties I chose to not lay in bed all day waiting for night work when I had it. Instead I attended a tech school where I earned a GED and then went on to take classes as a receptionist/office supervisor. Yup, they still have classes for such things, as much as the techies would like us to believe robots can do anything, the truth is they can't. Just like we'll always need plumbers and electricians and carpenters and drywallers and painters and auto mechanics and on and on, we still need people to answer phones and work in offices.

The facial clinic had recommended a local GP where I could get a required pre-op exam taken care of. With that phone call out of the way I went in search of a furniture/appliance rental place. Considering I would only be there a few months I contracted on a month-to-month basis, delivery would be the next day. Kitchen and laundry items would be connected, and the beds assembled so all I needed to do was put on the bedding.

It took several days and several small diners before I happened upon Georgette's. It was off the beaten path, it had been a neighborhood institution for over fifty years, and yes, they served poached eggs. There are those who turn their nose up at the thought of poached eggs, but like I've said before, I don't much care if you like them or not. I do.

The surgery went without a hitch, taking just over nine hours. I knew I would be in ICU at least two days if not three before I was moved to a private room. The surgeon predicted I could leave the hospital in five to seven days and then come in for weekly visits for the next month and a half. I had two weeks before my final exam and release at which time I was planning to go west, or maybe north. Somewhere that regular everyday folks lived and existed without the glitz and glitter of a city. Somewhere I could meet a simple man of conviction and character, someone who would love me for who the new Karen will be, not who I had been. Somewhere that city people called "fly over" country.

Considering I still had some swelling and was comfy in Evansville I chose to stay another two months, which in the long run was a wise decision. The puffiness would be gone and there would be no questions as to why my face looked as it did. Next door to me was a young couple with two kids, in exchange for me watching her kids for a few hours she would do the grocery shopping for me and help me put them away. Only once did she ask why I had facial surgery. I fed her a cock and bull story about an auto accident, I'm not sure if she believed me, but she never asked again.

It was three weeks before I left Evansville that the couple next door asked me to come over for a Saturday BBQ with some of their friends. I agreed and was thankful for the company. I'd been cooped up a long time as my face healed. The food was good, the company was decent, and the alcohol flowed, more so with the husbands than the wives, I kept to my one beer rule and went to soft drinks. Paul, the next-door neighbor, continued bringing me a beer, each time I politely refused, and yet twenty minutes later there he'd be with a fresh beer. I finally told Cara, his wife, that I was going to call it a day and asked if she needed help cleaning up.

She gave me a hug and told me with the other wives' present she had plenty of help. I showered to get the smoke smell off my body and was sitting on the couch in night clothes reading a book when I heard a knocking at the patio doors about eleven thirty. I never left the house unlocked and I didn't open it for just anyone. It was Paul and he looked loaded to the gills, I kept a piece of one-inch dowel two inches shorter than the sliding patio door in the lower door track to keep anyone from just walking in if the door was unlocked. I slid the door open as far as the dowel allowed, he immediately tried to open it completely, looking upset that he couldn't.

"What is it Paul, why are you here so late? I'm sure Cara could use your help."

He slurred his words, "She don't need me, she's in bed. I came to see you. Maybe we should party a little before you go away."

I was officially pissed, "By party you mean you think I should let you screw me."

His face displayed a shit eating grin, "Yeah, you aint had a guy at the house since you moved in, I'll bet you need a good dickin by now. So lemme in and I'll show you a good time."

Part of me wanted to call and wake Cara, another part of me wanted to reach through the opening and crush his throat, instead I decided to dress him down, to humiliate him.

"You're a stupid man Paul. You have a wife who loves you to death along with two babies who adore their daddy. Yet here you are making a fool of yourself trying to get in my pants. You don't have what I want or need, take your limp little dick home and worship your woman when she wakes up. You're a sad example of a loving husband, you disgust me."

With that I slammed the door shut and locked it staring daggers at him, I drew the curtains and made sure the rest of the house was locked before I hit the hay. The next day I was digging around in the little flower bed I had concocted of different plants in pots on the porch. I heard rustling from the hedge and looked up to see Cara with the kids, after hugs from the little's Cara sat next to me, she was obviously bothered.

Not looking at me she spoke, "Paul tried to get you in bed last night didn't he? He thought I was asleep, but I watched him sneak out through the back door. I want to apologize and also say thank you for not letting him do anything."

I softly touched her hand, "I told him he was a stupid man to ignore a loving, faithful wife and two gorgeous kids to try and get in my pants. Cara, you need to confront him, let him know you won't put up with it."

"Oh, he's never done that before. He's just so taken by you. I don't know what's wrong with him. I make sure he gets lots of sex, lots of variety, I've even let him do my butt a few times a year, but it takes a lot of wine for that to happen. Why would he cheat on me?"