Pain. So much pain. I woke up, eyes barely able to crack open, and all I could feel was pain. My head was on fire, submerged in ice, expanding to huge size, and being crushed in a vice. My stomach turned, making noises I had never heard before. It felt like I had been eating hot sand last night, the way my throat crackled as I breathed. When I had reminisced college I never thought about the hangovers. Or the shame. Oh god, the shame. What had I done last night? The beer pong game flashed through my mind: the lap dance, Bret, his bulge, the vibrator that had driven me wild all night, sucking a dildo in front of a crowd of frat boys, stripping nude, smoking weed, being spanked so hard and so well I had practically came, Bret's bulge pushing into my gut, having an ice cube put in my pussy, making out with that spunky little blonde, her sucking my tits, getting my head written on, and then getting finger fucked better than I ever had till I passed out. All by that frat boy douche bag. What an idiot I was. Why was I getting wet when I thought about him? Well, he had made me cum harder than I ever had, and so many times in a row. I was usually one and done. As long as those pictures didn't leak beyond anyone in that room I would be fine. Oh fuck. Pictures. And Videos. Why was I so stupid? Why was I awake? What was that noise? Oh, my phone. I picked it up, making out the name Eliza through my plastered eyes. Fuck. I was supposed to be at her dorm in five minutes. Not only was I not ready, I had the words DIK SLUT written on my head in permanent marker. Groaning and cursing myself, I answered.
"Mom," Eliza's voice was worried. My stomach sank. Had the pictures gotten out? What was a matter. "I know we were supposed to go to Target together, but Kelly, my roommate, showed up and her family wants to take me to brunch. Then they were going to go to Target. Kelly invited me to her club meeting tonight. Is it ok if I go? Do you want to come?" Relief, flooded over me. She was worried about me being mad at her, unaware if what I had done.
"No honey, that's fine. I was going to have to be on conference calls all day anyway. Work never stops," I said. If only. I had been left out of more and more at work. I needed to find a new job. But that was a problem for a different time.
"Mom, are you ok? You sound, um..., weird." Eliza seemed a little confused.
"Yeah honey, I just didn't sleep that well last night," I lied. "I think I'm getting a cold. I'll see you whenever you're free. Just text me. I love you."
"Thanks Mom! Love you too," she said, hanging up. A little socially awkward, but a very sweet girl. How lucky I was that I didn't have the type of daughter that got stripped and fingered in the middle of a frat party. I sat up, head still wringing. I tried to stand, collapsing back down. My legs were jelly. My vagina was sore, still, from just getting fingered. At least I thought it was only fingers. I couldn't remember getting home. I put a finger down, probing my lips. No semen or evidence of anything more of fingers. They weren't that bad, at least. I breathed a sigh relief and tried to stand again.
Shaky, I managed to keep my feet this time. Coffee first, I thought, stumbling towards the kitchen. Reaching the room, I managed to measure out the grounds, add water, and hit brew. I leaned against the counter, taking deep breaths. I felt the cool ceramic of the sink on my skin. It felt good, cooling. Wait...my skin. I looked down and realized I was nude. My clothes must still be at the frat house. I cursed myself again, pouring myself a cup of coffee. Gagging slightly and stomach turning, I managed to get it down. My head felt a little better, and I stumbled to the shower.
The hot water felt great, and the ache in my muscles started to die away. I let the water try to wash me clean. It worked slowly, on my body, as I scrubbed my forehead free of words. My skin got red, raw, as I worked out the entrenched ink. Unfortunately, it did not work on my conscience, which still burned. Jeff, my sweet and innocent husband, was blaring in my mind. He had once apologized to me for staring to long during a topless scene in movie we were watching, he would have never done that to me. I sighed deeply, chest heavy with guilt. Although he did go to a strip club when we were dating. It was for someone else's bachelor party and before we were married, but he had gotten a lap dance. And it had made him cum in his pants. Was that same? Not really, I knew deep down. But sort of, I told myself. Taking a deep breath, I realized what's done was done. There was no way to undo it. How was I going to tell him? I thought about his face, what it would look like as I described getting finger fucked by a kid half his age and cumming harder than he had ever made me. Telling him would hurt him more than anything else I could do, I realized. He would never find out. He worked alone, and didn't use the internet, so even if the pictures leaked I'd be fine. I would keep this a secret. All I had to do was never go back to the frat house, that way it couldn't get worse. As resolved as I was to not hurt my husband and to be a good wife, I had felt under Bret's control all of last night, and I didn't trust myself to be good if I went back, so I needed to steer clear.
I quickly realized that wouldn't be possible. My clothes were still there. And I needed the shorts. They had been a gift from Jeff, and a very thoughtful one. He had noticed me fidgeting with my sleep shorts, always trying to get them to a more comfortable spot and always failing. Then one day I had come home to find a new, much more comfortable, pair on my pillow. I had displayed my appreciation orally, something I rarely did for him. He would definitely notice if they were missing.
Again, I cursed myself. I had been doing way more often these last 12 hours. I shut the shower off, stepping out and drying off. I grabbed my bathrobe, throwing it around me. My head was still killing me, but I could somewhat manage now. My wet hair was helping, keeping it cool. I stumbled out of the house, down the block and knocked on the door of DIK. No answer. I waited a minute, then two. I knocked again, and again waited. The air was cold, cutting through the bathrobe. Finally, the door opened.
Bret answered, and I couldn't stop myself from being excited. He stood there, leaned up against the door frame in pair of basketball shorts, his muscular chest and six pack on display. He looked me up and down, focusing particularly on my cleavage, smirked, then shut the door. I instantly pounded on the door again, enraged. He opened the door.
"Keep it down, you dumb slut. People are sleeping," He barked, starting to shut the door again. I put my hand in frame to stop him, and thankfully he relented just before slamming my fingers into the frame.
