Club Dingo

I kept telling myself the fantasy was wrong. No sane woman wants to be wildly gang-fucked by half a dozen well-hung men. But I did. Every night I would lay awake and caress my nipples while thinking about their cocks sliding up inside me. Then I would spend half the night fucking myself with a giant, purple dildo I keep in the bottom of my lingerie drawer. This went on for months and it was beginning to affect my work. I just couldn't concentrate on anything but my carnal desires. I was left with no choice: I had to live out the fantasy so I could satisfy my curiosity and get my life back in order.

On a Friday night, after work, I went home and slipped into a tight black dress barely long enough to cover my ass. I'm a 36c-24-36, so I filled it out well. After teasing up my blonde bangs and painting on some cherry lipstick, I headed for Club Dingo.

It was a seedy place about a mile from my house. A neon sign in the front blinked nervously. The C and D were burnt out. The o was about to go. I stood near the entrance and looked inside. Shadowy figures danced, drank and blew smoke from their mouths. Hip-hop music boomed from the speakers. I knew what I was about to do was dangerous, could maybe get me killed. But it had to be done, so I took a deep breath and strutted forth.

Inside, half-naked women bounced their tits on the dance floor as their Latin lovers grinded into them from behind. A few shady characters sipped beer at the bar, occasionally yelling into each other's ears. The whole scene was a bit overwhelming, and I needed something to calm my nerves. I asked a white-haired bartender with a patch over his eye for a martini.

"A what?" he asked.

"A martini," I said. "A dry one, please."

"We don't serve those here," he growled.

"Oh, what do you serve?"

"Beer and booze. You haven't been in here before, have you?"

"Um, no. How 'bout a whiskey sour?"

I took my drink and tried to slip unnoticed into a dark corner. The bartender made me shakier than I had been when I first walked into the bar. As I stood in the corner, sipping my drink, a fight broke out on the dance floor. A black kid and Hispanic kid wildly swung fists at each other. The black one landed a right to the Hispanic guy's chin. The Hispanic guy fell on his back. Just as the black kid was about to pounce, the Hispanic kid pulled a knife. He picked himself up and waved around the blade, taunting the black kid in Spanish, daring him to attack. The black kid took the bait and lunged. He would've gotten stabbed in the stomach, but a bouncer appeared from nowhere and snatched him back. He threw the black kid into the corner, then seized the Hispanic kid's wrist. Before the Hispanic kid knew what was happening, the bouncer had pried the knife from his fingers. A few other bouncers, none as muscular and handsome as the first, came to throw the troublemakers out. Just before the big bouncer disappeared back into the crowd, I caught a glimpse of his tight ass, wrapped in a pair of blue jeans. I sighed.

As the mop-up bouncers heaved the two thugs out the front door, a guy with slicked hair leaned against the wall next to me. He wore a ridiculous shiny gray shirt and black jeans. His cologne reeked like bug spray.

"Hi, babe," he said. "You look lonely over here."

"I'm doing just fine, thanks," I said.

He moved closer.

"Ya know, I haven't seen you in here before."

I had to get rid of this creep so I could meet a real man. I said, "Yeah, I'm meeting my boyfriend here."

He moved closer. I could feel his breath on my ear. His cologne made me want to gag.

"I could be your boyfriend," he whispered.

I pushed away from him and said, "Thanks, but no thanks."

He came at me fast, grabbing my wrist and left ass cheek.

"Aw, come on baby," he said through gritted teeth, "I don't think you know what's good for you."

I tossed my drink in his face and darted for the door. I ran through the parking lot, crying and fumbling for my keys. In the car, I lost all control. Sobbing, I beat the steering wheel with the heel of my hand. I hated myself. This was a stupid idea. And my fantasy was stupid, too. I was a whore just for thinking of such things.

In the middle of my tantrum, a knock came at the window. It was that asshole from the club. His shirt was soaking wet and he was obviously very pissed off. I scrambled to lock the door, but he was quicker than me. He threw the door open.

"OK you bitch, I'm gonna teach you a lesson," he said.

For a second, I accepted the fact that I was going to be raped and murdered. That was the price you paid for trying to live out a fantasy, I thought. Mom and the nuns at my Catholic grade school were right after all.

Then the bouncer pounced. It was the same one that broke up the fight inside. He threw the creep against Trans Am so hard his body left a dent. The bouncer punched the jerk in the stomach, then upper cut him in the nose. The creep fell to the ground and scrunched up into the fetal position.

"You should learn how to treat a lady," the bouncer said coolly. "Now, get out of here and don't come back."

He had a squared-off jaw and thick, rippled arms. My imagination ran wild. His dick must be huge, I thought. God, I'd love it pumping inside me right now. In and out, with my pussy gushing like a geyser.

"Are you OK?" he asked.

I snapped back to reality.

"Yes," I said. "I thought I was a goner for a second."

"We've had problems with that guy before. But I whacked him pretty good this time. I don't think he'll be back."

"Thanks," I said. "I'd really like to repay you."

"Don't worry about it. Just doing my job."

I grabbed his thigh and slid my hand to his crotch, immediately realizing his cock was bigger than I had imagined.

"No, I insist."

I got out of the car and closed the door. On my knees before him, I unzipped his jeans and pulled them down to his ankles. His stiff dick was at least nine inches long. Starting at the base, I licked to the top, like a lollipop. Then I wrapped my lips around the head and bobbed back and forth. He grabbed the hair on the back of my head and made me take it deeper. Tasting his pre-cum, I sucked harder.

We gazed lustily into each other's eyes as I blew him. In his ecstasy, he noticed something across the parking lot. He gestured with his finger.

"Do you mind if some friends join us?"

He must have read my mind.

"Can I suck their dicks, too?" I asked.

The other guys, all bouncers from the club, heard me. They formed a circle around me and whipped out their cocks. I sucked them one-by-one, my tongue tasting their raw flesh.

When they were all good and hard, the hero bouncer pulled off my dress and panties. I got on all fours and he stuck his nine-inch nightstick in me from behind. As he pumped away, hands gripping my hips, a blonde bouncer stuck his dick in my mouth. Two others kneeled on either side of me and slid their members against my tits. One just watched and masturbated. A sixth guy, a redhead with a beard, slapped my forehead with his dick until the blonde graciously let him trade places. One of them came in my mouth. I don't remember which, but I swallowed every drop. The love juice wasn't as good as a martini, but it sure tasted better than that whiskey sour.

From behind, I could feel the hero bouncer tremble. Then came a warm splat on my ass. He rubbed the cum into my skin with his cock. But he wasn't finished. He turned me over onto my back.

"We want to fuck your tits," he said.

I spit on my cleavage and rubbed it around, then squeezed my passion pillows together. They took turns for at least half an hour. While waiting in line, they would listen to me groan and jack themselves off. I fingered myself as I watched the cockheads come at me. It was a huge turn-on. I came twice.

I wanted their jizz all over my face. The hero must have sensed my desire because he told me to get on my knees. I opened my mouth as they gathered around me.

The redhead shot first, then the blonde. Three others popped at the same time, filling my face and hair with their cream. Then the hero stepped up. An unbelievable load shot from his canon. The first blast streamed into my mouth. The second splattered on my face. The third gooped up my hair. The fourth fell on my tits. I sucked the fifth effusion from the head of his cock.

Five of the bouncers thanked me, pulled up their pants and went inside. The hero gave me his shirt, emblazoned with the Club Dingo palm tree logo, to clean up. I protested, but he said there were plenty more inside.

"I can tell you really enjoyed that," he said, rubbing his firm pecs.

"Yeah, it's something I've been meaning to get out of my system."

"You shouldn't let yourself get so clogged up. Stop by more often."

"Thanks. I will."

He smiled and sauntered back into the club.

The epilogue to the story is that Club Dingo isn't such a scary place now. I go just about every weekend. The bartender's name is Henry, and I taught him to make martinis. I drink them out of chipped margarita glasses, but, hey, you can't have everything. Besides, it's worth it so I can have my weekly cleaning session with my hero, Max, and his band of big-dick bouncers.