"... So Jean... .this is where reality starts to set back in," the devastated 55 year old widow and recently retired teacher's inner voice guessed, her breath heavy and continuous as she trembled on the bed.
At least a half dozen orgasms having tripped through her flesh like falling dominos, Jean's entire body was numb as Shane's salty ejaculate trickled into her belly.
"How long had it been since the boys started coming into the room... an hour... two... three... And how many men had there been?" Jean dizzily wondered, feeling a bit melancholy that other than Shane, she would never have any clue which of her former students had done what to her.
"That's the way it should be, " she reassured herself. "That's the way you wanted it."
Still, Jean could feel the heat of the collective gazes of all the men in the room on her naked and spent body. And even in her debilitated state, she could also sense the strange, silent hush that hung in the room.
"Exactly how is a moment like this supposed to end?" Jean's conscience wondered. "When you fantasized about this... all you needed to do was roll over and go to sleep when you were done... and it was over. But this is real Jean... what happens next? You left the proverbial door open for them Jean... but you didn't give a moments thought to how you'd close it when this was all over!"
Before she could contemplate her lapse of planning however, a warm and steady grip took hold of the inside of her left thigh.
"MMM... AAHH," Jean gulped in surprise as she tried to focus her bleary eyes upwards, sensing her new suitor's weight creeping up the bed.
"... George," she sighed softly, once there was recognition.
The fact that there was an assembled crowd of men surrounding the bed was lost for the moment as she stared at George Sanders' vivid face wickedly smiling down on her at the same time his coal black hand cinched around her pale thigh.
"So that's what his touch feels like on me," Jean guiltily thought as she watched his fingers knead her cool, slippery skin.
George Sanders had been in one of Jean's first classes back in the early 70's. Now 48 and married, he had been one of the few black students at the local high school in those days. Even though segregation had ended a decade prior to that, the presence of African-American students still elicited a good deal of tension in the mostly white school district, even today.
A champion for the underdog and a deep-seated belief that everyone deserved dignity and a fair chance at an education, Jean had always had a special place in her heart for George and the handful of students like him, for what he endured in those difficult days and for what he had eventually made of himself.
Over the years, Jean was often confronted with the whispers of racism from her friends, co-workers and at times, the school administration. As hard as she tried making her classroom a comfortable and safe place for her minority students to learn, it chilled Jean to hear many of her fellow teachers casually throw the "N" word around in private when they would often act the role of open minded liberal Southerners when in public.
Thankfully with each passing year, the scourge discrimination seemed to lesson in the community, but Jean knew the undercurrent would long outlive her. She had made peace with herself though, knowing she had done the best job she could and as she laid there on the bed at the age of 55, shamefully naked and defenseless in front of George Sanders, her rubbery legs spread wide as his hand swiped across her reddened vagina, somehow Jean felt a strange vindication in what she was doing.
"It's like an oven down here," George said to the throng of onlookers around him as his shiny black fingers angled through the puffy and flared folds of his former teacher's cunt.
"UURRGGH... UURRGGHH... AAAHHHH," Jean shivered, bucking her hips upwards each time George's knuckles scrapped across her throbbing clit.
"As bad as I want to... I don't think her pussy can take it right now," George said a few moments later, after assessing the condition of Jean's already ravaged genitals.
Pulling his fingers out of Jean's snatch, George slowly rubbed the greasy secretions through the older woman's pubic fleece before carefully working the tip of his thumb into her puckered anus. The twinkle in his eyes clearly told everyone in the room what he planned to do.
"I've got a better idea," he finally nodded to the men on each flank of the bed. "Her pussy is shot guys... help me roll her over on her stomach and let's get her ass up in the air."
Jean had somehow made the hesitant, all be it conscious, decision to give her pussy to a motel room full of her former students. The implication of the words she had heard out of George's mouth however signaled a reality she hadn't even once considered.
If she had been either 10 years younger or it had been a hour earlier in the evening, perhaps Jean might have had the limberness and courage to fend off the inevitable progression of events. Before she knew it however, she felt her limp body go momentarily weightless as her equilibrium was shifted a full 180 degrees.
Her face now flush against the pillow below, Jean was blind as George positioned himself on the bed above her.
"You know what he's gonna do," that same nagging voice inside her head warned. "And you know you're never going to be the same after he's done!"
Her vision useless, the only sensory information Jean could rely on was George's heated grip on her clamy flesh and the sound of his husky voice breathing down on her as he worked her up to her knees.
Sensing the cadre of men surrounding her close in, in essence creating a claustrophobic huddle around the bed as they strained to get a better view, the sheen of the soft bed linen clinging to her sweaty skin caused Jean to feel as if she had been snared, for display, in a spider's web.
Then a shattering bolt of electricity fissured down her spine.
"UURRGGHHHGGHHHHH... Oh God... Oh God... Oh... God... Oh... God," Jean's muffled voice hiccupped through the room as George's middle finger dug into her rectum.
Skewered on her former student's twisted digit, Jean clenched her teeth and swam her knees against the mattress below as George worked his finger down to the first knuckle.
"MMMMMGGGGGRRMMMAAHHHHHHHHH," she strained under the pressure of George's anal probe.
