Let's not go into useless details. First I flew into Las Vegas. After a night, paying cash, I flew to San Diego, landing at Lindburgh Field and, after a couple of weeks, lucked into a modest apartment, in a modest building, down by Hermosa Park in Bird Rock, south of La Jolla. Compared to other places in the area, and being close to the water, it was only expensive (with a small 'e') and small, with only 15 units, one of which was vacant that past day. I had the cash to pay first-and-last months rent-plus-utilities-plus-pool-use There was even a parking space, for the car or truck I'd have to get.
It came with a sliding glass door to a cement play area and a pool. Mail was in a box area, serving the whole place. I rented from what appeared to be the resident manager, Dani (last name unknown, as yet) who was a brunette woman of middle years, wearing sweats and sandals, with a tool-belt around her waist.
[Oh, yeah, since I'm writing for Literotica, it should be obvious that, in an instant, I should have body measurements, breast shape, height, weight, hair style, taste in clothes, sexual preferences, etc., all ready to go, in an instant. Dani should be drop-dead gorgeous, and should fall into my arms and impale herself onto my suddenly straining cock in the first moments after we met.
Nuh-uh, nope.]
Dani showed the apartment, on the first floor, over in the far corner of the building. Giving the place the usual-for-a-man casual look-over, I said, "Yes, OK". She asked if I could pay, and I said, "Sure. Cash OK?" She said, "Yes" and that was that. I signed a year's lease, and asked the usual questions about furnishings, access, rules, and general no-no's, plus the usual ID stuff, which she answered in a no-nonsense manner.
The apartment was kind of odd, in that the kitchen and bath (just a toilet, washstand and a shower) were just a couple of alcoves off a main living area, and the two bedrooms were sort of just-there, appearing to be more of sort-of walled-off afterthoughts. The living area, which gave out onto the pool-and-hot-tub area, was large and bare, with a polished cement floor, and the ceiling was unusually high. There was a big, polished pole set into the concrete, in the center of this large living space. I didn't know, then, that Dani's place was right next door, with only what appeared to be a large, sliding barrier between, but now locked securely.
It was sort-of semi furnished, with an old, disreputable couch, an equally worn, old, wing-back chair with low arms and a couple of tables with a lamp or two. There were no rugs or anything else on the polished floor. I found a disused saucepan and a casserole with lid in the kitchen oven. So, with a rented car, I set out to get the usual housekeeping stuff of modern life. I set up the smaller bedroom, which looked out on the pool area, as my working office, to complete the book I'd started. I bedded down on an air-mattress and sleeping bag for the night.
The next morning, about 10 AM, I awoke to hear a mass gang-rape taking place out front, just beyond the sliding glass doors, thankfully closed by a ratty old curtain that did keep the light out. Looking out, it was immediately obvious that the mass gang-rape was composed of a couple dozen scantily-clad (barely, in about half the cases, with a few topless) of bikini-babes, ranging in age from barely 18 to mid-30's, playing ball in the pool and lounging around on chairs and recliners, getting tanned in the Southern California sun. No other guys were present.
One pair of girls was doing some heavy petting with each other, which I inferred (correctly, as it turned out) was a lesbian couple.
I stayed inside, thinking that the sudden appearance of an unknown MAN would put a damper of what I saw as harmless fun. So I hid out for most of the morning, organizing myself and writing (trying not to feel sorry for myself, too) until, around 3 PM, most of the crew seemed to melt away, get dressed and leave.
Coming out of hiding, I figured that I'd need some sort of introduction to myself that wouldn't involve their immediate move to scream, flee or cover-up. That was solved by a run to the nearest food store, to buy several cases of soft drinks, beer, wine, water, cookies and lots of ice in coolers. My plan was to get all this onto a few wheeled carts, along with a large, hand-printed note saying who I was, and why I was there, with a free invitation to take and eat/drink what they wanted.
I figured I'd emerge after an hour or so, dressed casually, and let some cautions talk happen.
So, about 9 AM, I rolled my trays of goodies outside my pool-side door and set them out, then retreated back inside, to await developments. At about 10 AM, again, the mass gang-bang screaming started, then suddenly became muted, when the apartment dwellers found the drinks and snack items (with the bags still tightly sealed and the drinks in their original containers ... no date-rape drugs feared, I hoped).
At about 10:15 AM, I was startled to hear a sharp rap on the glass door to my new apartment. Opening up, I was suddenly seized by the shoulders and literally dragged into the bright sunlight. By Dani, who was a lot stronger than I'd given her credit for. I had a momentary view of very short cut-offs, long, tanned legs, a lot of bare midriff and a t-top with under-boob showing, I was spun around, to face about the same 2 dozen bikini-clad women/girls, who listened as I was described by my resident manager.
Speaking clearly, with a voice that carried, she said, "This guy is Dan Reznick. He's from Ohio, but he lives here now. He's separated from his slut wife, who is gang-banging his former co-workers, bosses and anybody else she can get her cunt onto. He's a good guy and doesn't gossip. He's got enough money for a while. He's writing a book. He likes to lick and suck pussy. He can massage you. He likes women, but hasn't had good sex for a long time, so let's all fix that."
Dani continued, "OK. Ping, Pang (spoken with a long 'ahh' - think of a lightweight little white ball), Judy and Ayesha, strip him. Wallet and keys to me, first. Then pick him up and throw him into the pool. Everybody gets to feel him up. The pole is in his place, so be sure to let him know if you want to use it, Tops off, girls. Bottoms are optional. Let him know what sexy stripper, escort, pole-dancing women are for."
Don't ever think that a pole-dancing stripper or exotic dancer is a weak little thing, easily pushed or knocked around. It takes strength and lots of it to lift your own body up and around a slender metal pole, especially while making it look graceful and sexy. I was picked up bodily, my pockets cleaned out and contents thrown to Dani. Then, I was swung back and forth 3 times and easily pitched into the pool, clothes and all and literally attacked by screaming, shrieking women, about two dozen of them, mostly topless.
For those demanding detail, that's about 48 individual nipple-tipped boobs, plus arms and legs.
Shirt, belt, pants and boxer-shorts went within a minute, followed by multiple-dozen kisses, bare-breasted hugs, penis tugs, questing fingers, a few sucks and testicle-caresses.
Naturally, I went rigid erect, which led to more screaming, shrieking and giggling, as I was dragged to the edge of the pool, lifted to the lip edge and then forced to have very public oral sex by 4 lovely women: 2 Asian, 1 African and 1 blonde, who set about sucking the life out of me through my cock. I doubt if I lasted 5 minutes before erupting down one Asian throat: to this very day, years later, I'm still not sure whose throat I came into, Ping's or Pang's and neither will even give me hint. Sucking continued until I was limp as a cooked egg noodle.
Then, so help me, all 4 of the naked nymphs giggled, and jumped back in the water.
Groggily looking around, I saw a scattering of bikini tope and bottoms. Looking over in and around the pool, I saw a cross section of mostly young and 'milf' women, all races and sizes, with only about half a dozen still sporting bikini-bottoms, save for one lonely figure over in the corner, wearing a 1-piece cover-up and the two lesbian girls, still making noisy love on one of the lounges.
Dani, still wearing her cut-offs and under-boob t-shirt, strolled up and helped pour me into a wide lounger, where I lay there, fucked-out, naked and limp.
The cut-offs fell to the pool's concrete and the t-shirt joined it within a moment, followed by my apartment's resident manager settling into the crook of my left arm, beside me on the lounger.
