Gang Pleasure Subs First Cnc

(CW: rape role play)

About two years ago, Francesca confessed to her Master that she really wanted to experience a night of consensual non-consent with a group of men.

It had been a fantasy of hers for a long time, but one that was frightening to admit to. She didn't want to be judged on her desires, but also, the thought of going through with it in reality -- instead of just in her imagination -- was scary and exciting in the same measure.

Having heard what she wanted, Master frowned. 'You want to be violated?' he asked.

'Not for real,' she said. 'Of course, I don't want to be violated for real. No woman wants that. A fantasy about CNC is about pretend aggression, all in the service of my pleasure. A real-life rape has nothing to do with sex, it's just about power. So, if you're asking me if I want to actually get violated, of course I don't. But I'd love to experience being ravished and taken without any concern for my consent, where in fact I've already given it, in advance.'

Master didn't look convinced. 'And you want me to arrange this?'

'Sir, if anyone could organise something like this so that it's fun and safe, it would be you.'

He shook his head. 'You make it sound easy. Where will I find a group of men willing to do this, all of them clean and tested, and who can be trusted to look after you? There's a reason why CNC is mostly a fantasy.'

They talked about this a little bit more, and Francesca suggested a few options -- some old friends he used to hang out with in another city, or maybe some kind of football club, or perhaps they should try to advertise for some hunky volunteers. But Master rejected all her suggestions, saying that it was too difficult or too complicated or too risky. Eventually she gave up. She was disappointed, of course, but she knew when to stop pushing. She trusted him. If he was saying that it was impossible, then it was impossible. She put it out of her head and life went on as normal.

About six months later, one Sunday, Francesca was in the middle of her daily workout when there was an altercation on the gym floor in front of her. It was around mid-day and it had been raining all morning, so the gym was quiet, only a few men dotted around on various pieces of equipment. Francesca had finished her cardio and was just getting started in the weights area when she noticed two men, some twenty yards away and in her line of sight, start to exchange words in raised voices. At first, she thought they were taunting each other in that way men do when they're good friends but pretend to be arguing. One of them had his back turned to her, but the other's face was taking on a more frantic, angry look by the minute. He suddenly pushed the first man in the chest and sent him flying towards a weights rack in front of a long mirror. Then he grabbed a small dumbbell and threw it at the other man, catching him on the shoulder.

Shocked, Francesca looked around to see if anyone else was watching this. Was anyone coming to help? Eventually, the reception staff overheard the noise and ran over to break up the fight. The two men calmed down quickly, and left the gym at the same time, in a way that now looked almost friendly. Men are strange, thought Francesca, who'd never seen such a quick switch from fighting to normality.

One of the personal trainers who manned the reception came over to her and asked her for a statement.

'I didn't really see that much,' Francesca said, embarrassed by the suggestion that she may have been staring at the fight, although that was exactly what had happened.

'Yes, but did you see who started the fight? Or which one of the two guys was more aggressive?'

She thought about it. 'The one in the red t-shirt,' she said eventually, 'threw a dumbbell at the other guy.'

The personal trainer thanked her and said that he'd pass her details to the manager and to the police, if needed, but in the weeks to come she never heard anything more about it.

Then, one Saturday evening, Master cancelled a planned visit to Francesca's because he wasn't feeling well. 'I'm sorry, princess,' he said, 'but I don't want to cough all over your lovely face every time I try to kiss you. I hope you can use this evening for some nice self-care time. Why don't you go to the gym? It'll be really quiet,' he said.

Francesca didn't need much of a nudge. Gym was one of her favourite places in the world and she loved not just the gym floor with all its high-tech machines -- elliptical trainers, vibration plates, Peloton bikes -- but also the citrus-smelling steam room and sauna and the ozone-treated swimming pool warmed to 30 degrees.

She arrived at the gym just before nine pm, with an hour to go 'till closing time. It was almost empty, with not a soul on any of the cardio machines, although she could hear male voices in the free weights area which was down some steps, on a lower level.

She ran a five-miler, beating her previous time by a minute. After some stretching, she decided to finish the workout with a quick circuit using free weights and bars available on the lower level, where the voices were coming from. It seemed to her she'd never seen the gym so empty. There wasn't even anyone on reception. It felt eerie and for a moment she hesitated whether to go towards the voices, but she told herself not to be silly: this was her gym, her favourite place. What was there to feel nervous about?

She spotted him as soon as she walked down the stairs leading to the free weights area. He was wearing the same red t-shirt as on the day he'd thrown a dumbbell at another member. He was tall and broad, with the build of someone who spends a lot of time training, a flat stomach and impressive biceps bulging underneath the short sleeves of his top.

He, too, noticed Francesca, and said something to the man who stood next to him, holding a kettlebell.

Francesca could see that they were talking about her, but she ignored them. Everywhere she went men noticed her. This wasn't news, although she did start to feel conscious that she seemed to be the only woman in the gym, and that there were at least seven or eight men around her now, giving her sideways looks as she bent over the weights rack, selecting the dumbbells she needed for her workout.

Then the man in the red t-shirt approached her. Francesca could see him in the mirror as he took a slow, leisurely step towards her, his body language relaxed and seemingly disinterested. But she noticed his eyes and they were fixated on her face. She looked away, trying to focus on her exercise.

'Hey,' the man said, once he stood parallel to her, meeting her eyes in the wall-length mirror. 'I know you from somewhere?'

Francesca shook her head. 'I don't think so,' she said.

'Oh, I think I do,' the man said in a deep, slow voice, not taking his eyes off her. 'I know who you are. You're that girl who thought it'd be funny to tell the staff that I'd thrown a dumbbell at another member.' He paused.

Francesca held her breath.

'Aren't you?' he asked. 'That girl who stitched me up?'

She felt her pulse speed up. Blood rushed to her face. A part of her wanted to confront him, to say Listen you Neanderthal, this is my gym, I've been coming here for years and we don't want people like you causing trouble.

But that would just be reckless. She knew that. So instead, she tried to smile, and said: 'I think you're confusing me with someone. I've only just joined the gym, I don't know what you're talking about.'

The man didn't respond, he just looked at her in the mirror. Behind him, Francesca realised that the other men had stopped whatever they'd been doing and were now all watching the exchange. A couple had taken a few steps forward, towards her.

The man's lips spread into a smile full of menace. 'Do you know what happens to snitches?' he asked. 'Especially to girl snitches? You've got to be a dumb bitch to come training late at night, alone, to the gym where you grassed a bloke up.'

Francesca put down her dumbbells. 'Look, I don't know what you mean, but I don't want any trouble.' She looked around for her phone which she'd left on the floor somewhere. It was time to go.

'Too late for not wanting trouble,' the man said, and in one swift move grabbed her around the waist, pulling her towards him and placing the other hand across her mouth.

Francesca tried to scream, tried to struggle, but the man's strength vastly exceeded her own. It was like trying to escape the grip of a bear. Blind panic overtook her, total fear, instinctive, non-verbal; there was no narrative in her mind to explain or comment on what was happening to her, just primal urges of an animal fighting to survive. Around her, the men came even closer, laughing and commenting on the pointlessness of her resistance.

Then she realised the man in the red t-shirt was whispering something in her ear. Your Master says hi, she finally heard him say. Try to enjoy this, it was your idea.

Before Francesca could process what he'd said, the man pulled her down to the ground, almost throwing her on the stretching mat. As if on cue, the other men closed in and knelt around her, pressing down on her wrists and ankles, pinning her to the floor. Rough hands covered her mouth so she couldn't scream. But was she still going to scream, now that she knew that this was the CNC she'd asked for, dreamt about for so many years? Is this how she'd imagined it would happen? It felt so real.

The men pulled her crop-top up and over her breasts, exposing her nipples and the gorgeous nakedness of her creamy flesh. They groped her breasts, pinched her nipples, strong and relentless hands touching her everywhere. While she thrashed helplessly on the floor, trying to free herself, they grabbed handfuls of her hair, pushed fingers inside her mouth, probed between her legs. Soon they started to tug down on her gym shorts, pulling them over her hips, dragging her underwear down too. Within seconds, Francesca was naked from the waist down, the men roughly opening her legs to expose her beautiful sex, already wet and puffy from insane arousal.

So this is what CNC is like, Francesca thought in one moment of clarity between the overwhelming sensations that had taken over her body. The men's voices erupted into laughter and cheering, while the first one positioned himself between her legs, pulling down his shorts and revealing a massive erection.

'This is what happens to snitches,' he said and penetrated her in one swift move, causing her to gasp and his mates to burst out into another cheer.

Fuck-the-snitch, the men started chanting. Fuck-the-snitch.

Francesca struggled for breath under the man's bulky, muscly body, his stiff penis stretching the inside of her pussy like this was her first time having sex. He pushed and thrust relentlessly, but she was so excited, so wet, that all she felt was pleasure and this overwhelming desire to open herself up completely for him, for all of them. After a few minutes of violent thrusting that brought her to the edge of an orgasm, the man pulled out.

'Next!' he yelled, and another man took his place.

One by one, all seven men took Francesca on the mat, all of them growling and panting into her hair, pressing her down with their enormous bodies, burrowing into her with their merciless erections. None of them ejaculated. She realised this was just the beginning.

She felt like an object, a sex doll to be used by them without a choice. She didn't know why but this was the most exciting feeling she'd ever experienced. It removed all worry, all anxiety and doubt, all pressure to be something, anything; she was just a body immersed in carnal pleasure. She could leave behind all her real-life thoughts and troubles; in this moment, she was someone else.

She had no idea how this had been arranged, how the gym was locked just for her CNC experience. The men stripped her completely naked and carried her back upstairs to fuck her again on the main gym floor, where she could see herself in the mirror, on her knees, spit roasted between muscly bodies that mercilessly used every inch of her for their own pleasure. The men took turns on her, inside her mouth and inside her dripping pussy. When she wasn't made to suck one of them, they'd push her face down on the mat, holding her so tight she couldn't move an inch while they pounded her from behind, one by one until all seven of them had cum.

When they got bored of using her this way, they bent her over one of the benches, exposing her behind and egging each other on to take her anally. The first man who penetrated her beautiful, tight ass, did so with a deep moan of pleasure, pushing himself balls deep into her. She felt so full, like she might break in two. The man grabbed her wrists roughly and held them behind her back, then put cufflinks on to secure her in this position. His cock slid in and out of her, with a wet sound that was the best evidence of the enormity of her arousal. When he came inside her, she felt him shoot the hot liquid deep into her and immediately make room for the next man, who plunged his own cock into her body now deliciously full of cum.

She didn't know how long this went on for. She lost all sense of time, of the world outside of the gym. The guys were rough and manhandled her from one position to another, pushing their cocks into her mouth until she coughed and gagged and tears streamed down her face. The more they abused her, the more excited she was, the easier the waves of multiple orgasms reached her.

This is the bitter-sweet fate of a masochist, she thought at one point. Was this something to ponder on when alone? Should she reflect on this and try to understand where her strange desires came from?

Towards the end, when her exhausted body had completely stopped giving any resistance to the men who had fucked her over and over again, she caught the eye of the guy in the red t-shirt. He was looking on almost tenderly, and threw her a smile, so fleeting it was impossible to be sure it happened at all. But it was as if his smile was saying to her It's alright kid, I've got you. This is all exactly as you wished for.

Naked on the gym floor, her body slippery from cum and sweat, her beautiful face smeared with streaks of mascara and smudged lip gloss, Francesca smiled to herself.

It was, after all, a gorgeous fantasy.