I was visiting my sister out in California, taking a break from both Junior College and work to come out and see the sights, and to get a first-hand look at the lifestyles in L.A.

I had been with a few men before, and was always eager for sex, even so much so that frequently I would test my partner's stamina and re-cycle time. This perceived need for more continuous stimulation was what drove me to think about getting gang-banged from time to time. What I didn't realize is how degrading and mechanical such an experience could be.

One night, I went out to a club not far from my sister's place. She had begged off coming with me, with an excuse about it being a weekday night, she said, "You're on vacation, so you can sleep in, so why not just go out by yourself?" It sounded like a practical idea at the time. But it was a Big Mistake.

I put on a bright red crepe dress, cut short above the knee with a pretty pleated skirt. It was nice and soft and fluid, and draped beautifully over my breasts and hips. I wore just pantyhose and a smooth bra underneath, since the material clung a bit and would show a panty line for sure. Even my sister said I was looking good.

Anyway, at the club, the action was great. Lots of guys looking over a lot fewer girls, good music, cheap drinks and a big dance floor, my kind of place. I had hardly sat down when I was approached for a dance, and when I returned I found that wannabe admirers delivered three different drinks to my spot. This was looking like a fun night.

A group of three handsome, obviously well-to-do guys took a big interest in me, and spent their time paying close attention, switching off dancing with me until I begged to sit and rest, and buying me more drinks than I could possibly consume. I kind of liked being the center of attention for three cute guys, and I teased them all a little with my talk and my hot dancing.

As the night wore on, it was obvious that these three guys were a team, and were going draw straws or something to see who had to leave and who got to stay with me. That was OK by me, since they were all fun to talk to and dance with, and they kept me busy with all of their attention.

Finally, it was last call and we were about to part and head our own ways, when the guy named Brad asked if I needed a ride or something. The club was only about six blocks from my sister's apartment, but I had walked over (no car) when it was still light out, and would now have to walk back in the dark, slightly tipsy. Getting a ride with them sounded safer than the alternative of walking back alone, so I said yes. Another Big Mistake.

We walked out together, and Brad and one of the other guys who's name was John led me, arm-in-arm, to their car. It was a four-door Beamer, red, and my third admirer Steve and John climbed in front, while Brad held the door open for me on the driver's side rear. As we drove out of the parking lot, I began to give directions to my sister's place, but they turned the other way. When I protested, they said they knew an after-hours private club where we could pick up where we'd left off, and that it was not far away. I pressed them to just take me home, but Steve just drove faster and didn't even acknowledge my protests.

We stopped for a light, and I opened the door to get out. But I was stopped cold by Brad's huge hand around my arm, pulling me back into the car. "Let me go, please!" I said with a stern attitude, but he just dragged petite little old me across the seat and onto his lap. I could feel that he was hard, and could sense the excitement in his tone of voice.

I was, as I said, a bit tipsy, and that little submissive fantasy light went on in my head. Here I was, with three cute guys in a nice car, and they wanted to take me somewhere. I wondered how it would feel to take them all, one by one, and have my multi-orgasmic appetite satisfied once and for all. So I quit protesting and turned around on Brad's lap and straddled him, giving him a big, wet kiss. Another big mistake (who ever said that whiskey makes you frisky was both a prophet and a bastard).

Brad quickly got the message, and said "That's more like it, baby." I slid off of him, back onto the seat. He held me close and told me how beautiful I looked, and how he and his friends were so taken with my charm and beauty, and how they all just wanted to spend a little more time with me, drinking and dancing. I should have known that I was being schmoozed, but my radar was just out of order or something. We pulled into a parking lot of another club, and got out. It looked like their after-hours club story was legit, so I wasn't on the defensive and was, in fact, eager to get inside where there were other people.

Steve led the way, and unlocked the door, holding it open for the rest of us. I couldn't hear any music or people inside, and I began to get this cold, clammy feeling that they were up to something that I hadn't planned on. Steve locked the door behind us, and left the lights off, so that only the light from a couple of beer signs behind the bar dimly lit the entire club area.

I said, "This place doesn't look like it's open for business or anything." They all just laughed, and Brad said that it sure was, and that I was going to find out first-hand. I struggled out of Brad's grasp, and ran for the door.

Locked.

They walked over to me and Brad scooped me up in his arms and carried me over to the pool table. Now I was getting excited, mostly because I was scared, but a little because I thought I knew what they were going to do, and I had this fantasy...

Brad gently laid me down on the table, and I tried to get up, talking loud now about just what was going on here or something. Brad held my legs, Steve held my arms, and John reached into his coat pocket for something. He brought out a small bottle of something, opened it, and shoved some up my nose. I snorted it back out quickly, and thought, "Are they trying to get me high on coke or something?" I'd never done coke, and didn't know how it should have felt.

My rejection of the stuff made John angry, and he got some more of the substance out of the bottle, covered my mouth, and stuffed it up my nose again. I struggled and squirmed, trying to break free or shake the stuff from my nose, but eventually I had to breath, and I took the whole load up my nose in the process.

I immediately went limp. My mind buzzed, as I felt completely detached from my body. I couldn't even move a muscle, and I couldn't feel a thing. No touching, no pain, but complete awareness of my surroundings. I thought I had died or something, but I was still breathing. They put some more of the stuff in my nose, and my involuntary breathing reaction sucked it up into body. Steve said, "That oughtta be enough to keep her down." Then they started in on me.

I couldn't even move my eyes, but I could see from my side vision that they had lifted the skirt of my dress up to my waist, and were taking off my pantyhose. I could see them moving my legs to get the stockings off, but I couldn't feel a thing. It was almost like watching a movie or something.

I couldn't see clearly, but one of them (I think Brad) dropped his pants and was obviously trying to work his way into me. He got on top of me, but I couldn't even feel the pressure from his weight. I could see myself moving up and down in rhythm with his motion, and I could smell his perspiration and beer breath. He pounded my pussy for a few minutes, and made a grunting noise that indicated that he had come.

The next one, I think it was Steve, took his place and did the same thing, pumping me, then grunting. The last one, John, wanted it a bit differently, so he grabbed me by my waist and lifted me up in the air and down onto his cock. While holding me by my hips, he worked me on and off his dick, and I could hear the slurping sound as my now cum-drenched pussy took him in again and again. Still, I could only hear and see peripherally, and it was totally weird that I couldn't feel a thing. Completely numb. I couldn't even blink, and my eyeballs were hurting because they were getting all dried out.

After they were done, it sounded like they got a round of beers from the cooler and were winding down. I could hear them comment on how tight and hot I was, and how wet I got. John said that the way he worked me on and off him was a lot like getting a great hand-job, and they laughed and said he oughtta know about that, him being his own best sex partner and all.

After they were finished, they picked me up and carried me back out to the car. We began driving again, and quickly wound up back at the first club. They carried me out of the car, and sat me up on the side of the club, just outside the door on the sidewalk. They said thanks for the wonderful time, and told me that the stuff would wear off soon and I could be on my way.

I sat alone for what seemed to be an eternity, then I began to twitch involuntarily. This made me loose my balance against the wall, and I slid down into a doubled-over laying position. After a few more minutes, I could feel the prickly sensation coming back to my arms, legs and skin. I could move now, and I crawled a little to a post, then used it to get me on my feet. I could now feel everything, and I could tell I was sore and bruised all over. Slowly, I walked one step at a time back towards my sister's apartment.

My ability to walk smoothly returned quickly, and I nearly ran the rest of the way to her place. I pounded and pounded on the door, and my sister, Jean, opened it up in near panic. After the expected "Oh my God's" and "What happened to you?" she said we needed to call the police.

I thought the same thing for a minute, then I hesitated. Here I was, a good looking girl from out of town, went to a pick-up bar by herself, seen drinking and dancing with these men for several hours, and left voluntarily with them. No last names, no license plate, no witnesses to what they did to me, and apparently no witnesses when they dropped me back off. Not a real good set of facts or circumstances for a Grand Jury to ponder.

So, I talked Jean out of calling the cops, and agreed to see her ob/gyn the following morning. He was very nice and understanding, and said that I had been probably been drugged by PCP, some sort of animal tranquilizer that has the weird effect of leaving the body completely numb but completely aware. He said that I had some bad abrasions and a few bumps and bruises, especially where I was grabbed around the hips, but that I would be OK in a few days. He gave me a prescription for some painkiller, and an antibiotic just in case.

I spent the remainder of my California vacation just sleeping and gazing dazedly at the TV. I was still in a half-trance when Jean drove me to the airport, and I slept soundly on the plane. I awoke when we touched back down, and as I walked to the baggage claim, it all seemed just like a bad dream, that it really didn't happen after all, but was some freakish nightmare. I was back home now, and I could put the bad dream behind me.

Well, I spent the next few months hanging out with friends after school or work, and never did get the desire back to do some of the lone bar crawling that I used to do. I guess I'm very lucky that I came through it all with no permanent damage, either physically or mentally.

Now I do have a heightened sense of awareness and suspicion about newfound friends, and I'm cured of doing stupid stuff like getting a ride back home from perfect- strangers. I also never, ever wish for my old fantasy of a gang-bang, since I now know that without the caring and sharing that goes along with making love, screwing is just a mechanical act.

The End