Ex-Girlfriend at Gangbang

I'll tell you a story about my ex-girlfriend Karen. She was my first real love and was twenty years old when this happened. God! I still can't believe what she did.

We first met when she came to work in the offices of the Super-League rugby club where I was an up and coming young player. I'd just turned nineteen and thought I had a long career in the game ahead of me. That was before the accident; the one in which my new motor failed to negotiate a country bend and ended up wrapped around a tree at the side of the road with me encased in metal. Fire and Rescue cut me out; badly mangled, my career snuffed out.

Karen had a thing about Rugby players. It was the reason she had come to work at the club and why we were an item. She used to tell me how special it was to have landed me as her man.

Two years after the crash I was no longer in the game, but Karen and I were still on course to be married. Knowing she was still by my side meant everything to me. She said she still loved me, told me so every day, even though I walked with a stick and would do so for another year. Even now, all these years later, you can detect a limp if you look hard, so I was hardly her dream man anymore. And I realise now I still had issues; and they surfaced in our relationship, though I would have denied it at the time.

I began to suspect things between us were not right when she failed to mention the big party, the one due to be held at the home of the club's new owner.

Russian billionaire Uri Chominski had developed an obsession for Rugby Union and was determined to bag a Super-League club of his own. He paid a mind-numbing amount to secure my old team, Newton Falcons. He planned to stay up north while he oversaw things, and so as well as the club Uri purchased an ancient manor house up on the Pennine Moors, a half-hour drive from the stadium. The house had previously belonged to club chairman Abel Holderness, the media tycoon. Rumour had it Uri got it at a knockdown price.

I no longer had much to do with the club but one night in town I ran into my old friend Karl. He casually asked if Karen and I were going to be at Uri's party on the 18th.

I said, "Yeah, sure we are," even though Karen had not said a word about it to me.

Back home I asked her why she hadn't mentioned the party. She got flustered, said she hadn't told me because she thought seeing some of the players again would open old wounds.

Looking at the calendar in the kitchen of our apartment, I saw that the day of Uri's party, Saturday the 18th, was marked as "Wendy's Birthday".

Then I remembered. Karen had told me about her planned night out a few weeks ago and had mentioned it a couple of times since. Even though she seemed very keen, I had not given the matter much thought. The name Wendy meant nothing to me. It was then I began to doubt Karen's intentions.

Something started to niggle at the back of my mind. The more I thought about I became convinced something was going on. And so I pushed the matter, said I really would like to go to the party, that I would welcome the chance to catch up with old friends.

"I can't let Wendy down. It means so much to her that I'm going to be there," she said.

"You never said exactly who Wendy is," I said.

"NO! I've mentioned Wendy loads of times,"

"I don't think so - not until the other week."

She was trying to sound natural, but her slightly flushed face did not back up her words, "She was my bessie mate in college. I've not seen her since ages - but we were on Facebook, and she asked if I wanted to come out and celebrate with her and her friends."

"Oh," I said sensing the lies twist into shape even before the words left her lips.

"Twenty-firsts are special, you know?" her words morphing into statement as question.

I remembered my own twenty-first, spent in traction in the City General Hospital. "Yeah. So they say," I muttered.

By Friday she'd still not committed, and I was getting sick of her messing me around. At first, she said she still planned going out with Wendy and the girls. A little later she told me she wasn't. She also emphasised how the only reason she had not mentioned Uri's party was that she was afraid I'd be envious of the other guys who'd be there, those that had made it as players and were living the dream.

"Unlike me," she said.

That stung. I could not believe her attitude. She knew damned well I was always glad to meet up with old friends and that I'd long got over the depression I'd suffered over my ruined career. The Thursday night before the party I said if she preferred to go out with her friends, I'd go to the party on my own

"You won't get in without an invite," she said.

"Everyone knows me at the club," I said.

"Uri doesn't - or his security people."

"Security?"

"They say he's upset folk back in Russia. Wherever he goes he has a couple of minders with him."

"Tell me the real reason you don't want me to go. Who will be there? Is Jake back?"

"What do you mean by that, Martin? Jake is in New Zealand. Why would he come back to this shit-hole."

I knew she hated me bringing Jake up. He'd been sniffing around when I was in traction. Used to run her to the hospital when she visited. She used to tell me what a good friend he had been. I knew Jake: the only reason he would play taxi to a girl is if he wanted to get in her knickers.

She went on. " - all I'm saying is they won't let you in unless you are my guest."

"The guys from the club will vouch for me."

"Doesn't work like that, Adam. Uri's not your regular club owner. He's an international billionaire, and people say he's convinced someone wants him dead. The man lives in fear of his life, upset someone in Putin's government. His paranoia means it's invitation only. Sorry, darling."

"You seem to know all about the guy."

"Just what people are saying, that's all."

I didn't believe her bullshit about the invites or Uri being some on some Kremlin death list, so I called Karl to get some reality on the matter. When I told him Karen had plans to go out with her friends and would not be taking me to the party and I was planning to drive up to the party by myself, he said, "Don't do that, mate. They'll not let you through the door. You can only come as Karen's guest."

"Is there something people are not telling me here, Karl?"

"All I'm saying this is not your regular get together. Uri has been very selective in his list of guests. This isn't your usual club social. Only a handful of actual folk from the club have invites — all carefully vetted. There are all sorts of other folk coming, though. Bigwigs, from the media and arts, local government. You know the type." I could sense the excitement just talking about the party was having on him "Oh Man, this party promises to be something very specials! Not just another . . . well, let's just say you need to be a more broad minded partner to accompany your loved one to what Uri has lined up - so I can well understand Karen making other plans."

"What you on about, mate?"

"Let just say, no one is going to go want for company at this do."

"Come on, mate. This is me, Adam, tell it to me straight.

"Ok, ok. It's going to be an orgy. Uri is planning a fucking orgy, man! Off-the-fucking-scale!"

He explained and I listened.

Later that night, when Karen was taking a shower, I did a quick scan of her address book looking for Wendy's number and found out. I was so relieved that there really was a Wendy.

It wasn't until the next night that I plucked up the courage to phone her. I pretended I was from the Limo firm. Karen had told me Wendy wanted one to take them into town. If things really were as Karen said they were, such a call would not seem odd to this supposed friend.

But when I got through and said there might be a problem with her Limo, she said, "What limo?"

"The one you booked for your twenty-first on Saturday 18th December," I said.

"You mean the twenty-first I had last year. Who the fuck is this?"

I hung-up. My heart cracked, haemorrhaging trust.

So now I knew: Karen planned to go to Uri's orgy on her own. Why would my Karen want to go to an orgy? Was Jake going to be there? That is the only reason I could imagine she would want to go to a gathering like that. I mean, yeah, we had a good sex life, but neither of us had ever talked about that world where sex is a recreational past time, like skiing, or ballroom dancing. She could barely sit and watch the porn we'd stream from time to time.

But I'm not the kind of guy who flies off the handle when he finds a woman has deceived him. I like to get the whole picture before any confrontation. Also, I was inordinately curious about Uri's orgy. I was determined to find out what Karen had been hatching, what it was she hoped to achieve by attending.

Next day, still playing her game, I said to her, "I could you run you over to Wendy's on Saturday if you like."

"No need," she said.

"I want to. Taxis are expensive."

"There really is no need," she said, trying to sound calm, though I could sense she sensed a change in me. Then as an afterthought, she said: "Sweet of you to offer." She came over and kissed my cheek.

It was the next day, over tea, when she said, "I've been thinking, Adam. You deserve a night out, see some of you old mates. I've decided to text Wendy last thing on Saturday afternoon and make out I've come down with something horrible. Then we can go the party together. Make a real special night of it."

Over the coming week, my thoughts regularly visited a new place: the one where Karen went to fuck other men.

On the afternoon of the party, I told her I'd been talking to Karl.

"Oh?" I could sense her fear.

"Karl says Uri has plans for his party to be an orgy. Do you know anything about it, Karen?

"Some of the girls were talking. Just rumours. Another reason I did not want to go."

"So why have you agreed to come with me now?"

"Well, you'll be there . . . And I know you'll look after me, so even if we don't take part or anything, it might still be fun to watch. It's not every day a person gets an invitation to an orgy . . . don't you think?"

"Yeah, it might be fun," I said, but deep down I was staggering from her words. I never once thought Karen the kind of girl who'd want to go anywhere near such a gathering. We never really talked about sex. As a couple, sex was something we did in the privacy of our own bedroom.

An hour before we were due to leave for Uri's we rowed - loudly. I wondered if I could ever look our neighbours in the face again. Unhealthy imaginings had been building all day, but it was when she came through from the bedroom wearing that dress, the one she wanted to wear for the party, that an all-consuming, possessive nuclear panic ensued.

It was a black skater type dress, which she'd bought that afternoon, especially for the party. High hemmed, sleeveless, and cut wantonly low, it made her cleavage appear large and boisterous. Karen's tits were not that big but the dress transformed them into something they really were not. In that dress, those two milky darlings reminded me of over-proved dough; two small leavening loaves spilling from their baking tins and long overdue for the oven.

Then there were her ever-so-long legs in those sheer, barely black tights. When she walked, the hem of her dress swirled about her upper thighs. It was so high that if you were sitting down when she passed you by, a flash of butt-cheeks sliced by thong was guaranteed.

Did I really sound like her father when I said she couldn't go out looking like that? She said I did - and told me I could fuck-off, that it was her body and she could dress just as she fucking-well-pleased.

I told her I had changed my mind, that I no longer wanted to go. That's when she got angry "I've given up a fucking night out with friends to take you to this fucking party."

"Have you! Have you fucking-really! I think you were planning to go all the time. Is it Jake?

"Yeah, It's Jake. Ok, Happy? Jake's going to be there and I can't wait to see him again."

And then I knew it was over between us. In a way I'd known for ages, just hadn't admitted to myself. I poured myself a stiff drink and thought about what to do about Karen.

Just then the doorbell rang. Karen got it, said, "Yeah, I'll be right down."

I looked at her in utter consternation, "You're still going out?"

"Absolutely, " she said, "and I'm going to have the time of my fucking life . . . with or without you."

I hurried out of the door after her and then sat in silence as the taxi sped across bleak December moors. Way up into the hills on minor roads it snaked. Then, suddenly, through the rain-streaked glass I caught sight of the house nestled in the hillside, all lit up like Christmas.

We pulled off the road into the darkness of woods, still climbing a narrow gravel drive that crunched and spat under the cab wheels as it twisted through ancient Rhododendrons, transiently illuminated by halogen as we passed among them. Eventually, we emerged at the front of the house. Then it was me pushing down my envy when I saw those cars parked: the Mercedes GLK, a vintage E-type, the Lotus and Bentley. Uri's Rolls, and all the others that made my resentment hum and hiss.

As soon as we were through the door, without a word to me, she was off. Circulating she would have called it. I didn't see her much in those first hours, our paths crossing only occasionally; once on the stairs as I made for the toilet; again at the complimentary bar the caterers had put on in the enormous kitchen. In the kitchen, she averted her eyes when I tried to catch them. I wanted to say sorry for yelling at her, try to salvage something. She did not speak, blanked me and stormed away with a newly filled glass in hand. I saw how special she was, how she had a unique aura of sexual ambiguity. She had always been just mine alone. And now tonight . . .

I got a grip and wandered the rooms watching people chatting excitedly and laughing. At that point, there was no indication that this was anything other than a rather posh cocktail party, no blatant displays of sexuality, though I did sense an undercurrent of excited expectation. Soon, a rip-tide would come and wash them all out of their depths.

For the first fifteen minutes I toured the house, sure I would run into Jake. But not sign of him anywhere. I found the bar, and after a few drinks I was able to relax, put Karen out of my mind. I told myself she was not the kind of girl to go sex-crazy, convinced myself not to get unduly concerned about her. It was good to enjoy the banter of male companionship again. I knocked back Guinness, laughed and joked with the lads.

As I'd wandered, I realised I knew very few of the people present. I went through many rooms looking for a friendly face and eventually found three old team-mates in what must have been a library at one time, but the empty shelves looked forlorn minus their ancient volumes.

The abundance of women present was extraordinary: there were the usual trophy girlfriends and gorgeous wives, but also present were a many, many, stunningly beautiful young girls, not even part of the main event; invited as eye-candy, Karl said. They lingered at the edge of things like escorts in some Parisian bordello waiting their moment. Later they stood in cliques, three or four girls in each chatting away while looking around, trying to catch the eye of passing male guest. Later I learned that they were what they seemed: top-class escorts hired for the night, complimentary, like the booze. Available to singles — or any couple who might feel inclined to sample them. I considered my options, thought of Karen and decided best not.

I'd hoped to meet Uri but no one took the trouble to introduce me. I saw him briefly with his arm around Karen in an ostentatiously fatherly sort of way as he walked with her to the bar. After that I would see him coming and going, bringing people together, moving from one clique to anther. He was a large man, his voice booming and heavily accented, The man was certainly a presence. Three monstrously built goons accompanied him wherever he went.

I asked Karl jokingly, when did he think the orgy would start. Even as I asked the question, I was wondering what the etiquette was for an orgy was. Would there be an announcement?

"In the East Wing, there is an old banqueting hall. Uri has something planned for later over there" he said.

"Any ideas what?"

"Could be anything, knowing Uri. A troupe of Albino midgets and oriental dwarves performing for our pleasure and delight," he said.

"Really?" I said, then realised he was joking.

"No, seriously mate. Whatever It is . . . it will be mind-blowing. Uri doesn't do things by halves."

I wandered the house again and sensed how it now heaved with a blatant sexual tension. I tried to estimate how many guests were present and settled on a guess of about two hundred. All were attractive, even the older couples present. Those in their fifties looked fit and well preserved, appealing in that way only the wealthy can project. But on the whole, the guests were young, mainly in their twenties and thirties, though some of the single girls looked as if they still had a year left to spend as teens.

For a while I amused myself by watching Coach Hinchliffe and his beautiful young wife chatting to a girl Uri had introduced to them, He had led her over by the hand and urged between the couple, kissing on the cheek before leaving her to their whims. She was a fresh-faced, flaxen-haired girl who looked young and naïve; butter wouldn't melt sweet, the sort of young female that filmmakers assign the to the role of a peasant girl in costume dramas. I heard her sing-song voice, melodious and sweet. Eastern European. Everyone knew Coach Hinchliffe's reputation, and so I kept one eye what unfolded as the couple pampered the girl with attention.

It was a blatant seduction, and the girl did not object. After a few moment chatting, Pippa Hinchliffe placed her hand in the small of the girl's back and leant forward and kissed her tentatively on the lips. Pippa was tall; she had at least six inches on the girl, who had to crane her neck to receive Pippa's kiss. And then the coach and his beautiful young wife were sharing the girl. They passed her between each other, taking turns kissing her. At one point, another girl, who was just passing, joined the threesome. A friend of the girl, I assumed. And the four swapped kissed for five or ten minutes. Then as quickly as she had come, she eased herself away and vanished among the comings and goings of the other guests.

By Ten I'd drunk too much beer, and the Hinchliffes had gone off with the girl. I was starting to miss my Karen, so I decided it was time to find her, say sorry, kiss and makeup.

I went all over the house in search of her. In the main reception room, the lighting was down low and the furniture pushed back to make space for dancing. Couples swayed in each other's arms, seeming to hardly move at all, looking almost like ghosts gliding through the half-light in slow-motion, feet shuffling across the parquet. All those couples wrapped tight together as if each were shielding the other from some horrible reality while lost in an inner dream of their own making. Many were deep French kissing. I half expected to see Karen pressed up against one of the burly players or associates of Uri. I was relieved when there was no sign of her among the couples dancing.

I scanned the dance floor again, thinking I might have missed her. I was about to move on to another room when I spotted her out of the corner of my eye over the far side of the room, standing next to the longest burgundy leather Chesterfield I have ever seen. Tall, slim, blonde and in that dress, she looked A-list-starlet-fabulous. Obviously, the job she intended the garment to do was going to plan as she was now a honeypot of buzzing male attention. At least three guys stood close wanting to dip in. Others hovered in the wings hoping for a miracle.