All people are over eighteen.
Chaperone Ch. Two
I vaguely remember Bill coming home. I lay still, not wanting to have a confrontation. I heard him going into the spare bedroom, then silence.
My whole body hurt, especially my bruised lips. I was afraid to use the bathroom. My rear and my cunt were sore to the touch. I lay there shaking. What was I going to do?
I didn't have to worry too long about what would happen. I slept until twelve. Staggering into the kitchen, with a heavy robe on. I could hear Bill moving stuff around upstairs. What could he be doing?
Bill walked into the kitchen. Pouring a cup of coffee, he turned to me.
"Carol, I've been practicing this, so please let me finish. You mean the world to me, and I don't want to hurt you, but I can't continue to lie to you. I still love you and hope you understand, But I'm moving in with my lover, Rob.
You talk about electric shock. I was dumbfounded; my sister was right. Partly hungover, I started to cry.
He crossed the room and stood next to me. He tried to hug me, but I pushed him away.
"It's not because you're gay; it's because you lied to me. I would have understood."
He hung his head.
"It's nothing I can control; I'm leaving now; the house is yours; I'm making enough to maintain two houses. I'll keep in touch; you know you can call me anytime."
I should have held him; I'm sorry now that I didn't.
I couldn't comprehend what he had just said. What am I going to tell my son? I wished I had a job. The house was so silent that I felt alone. I couldn't bring myself to call Jean; I was so embarrassed.
I showered and put on sweats. I curled up on the couch, feeling sorry for myself. I was drifting off to sleep when the doorbell rang; I saw two policemen standing on the porch.
Opening the door, why did I feel so guilty?
"Yes"
I foolishly thought it was about my purse or phone. I was still suffering from my hangover, so I was not thinking clearly.
"Carol Morris?"
"Yes, what's wrong?"
"We have some questions for you about last night. Can we come in?"
"Of course."
"Last night, a girl was repeatedly raped by several men. In reviewing the security film, it clearly shows her entering a hallway leading to a room where she was assaulted several times. It also shows you entering that same door shortly after her. And then, after a short time, you rush out, visibly shaken."
"I don't remember doing that. Are you sure it's me?"
"The principal has identified you. The girl refuses to identify the men, but their general description matches that of a group of men drinking with you. Do you care to tell us anything?"
I was panicking. I was trying to act like I didn't know anything.
"I remember going into a hallway to see if anyone was in there drinking; I didn't see anyone and went back to the prom."
They didn't believe me, judging from the look on their faces. They got up to leave.
"Call us if you think of anything, no matter how small. The victim is in bad shape, and we feel you know her."
Nodding my head, I walked them to the door, feeling guilty as hell.
I went to bed and slept until noon the next day. I walked out to see if the garage had returned my car, but as I opened the door, my purse and cell phone were on the porch. I went inside and checked my purse; everything was there, and my phone had no photos or videos.
Recovering took days, and I was getting used to living alone. I should have called Linda, but I chickened out because I didn't know what to say, and I was afraid I would tell the truth.
My mind started wandering, and the soreness finally went away. I started to fantasize about what they had done to me. The mind has the ability to blot out painful things, only remembering the pleasant ones.
I pictured myself in my corset and nylons kneeling on the car floor, being forced to suck their cocks; my hands strayed to my cunt. I was able to orgasm just thinking about it. Memories were not going to satisfy me for long; I needed as many twenty-year-old cocks as I could get.
Adapting to living alone, I began to enjoy the freedom of being able to eat when I wanted and generally being free, but I was lonely.
I was constantly thinking about Linda. The ordeal must have been worse for her than for me. I wondered if she had been a virgin. What an introduction to sex.
Time passed quickly; Bill was generous with money, and I busied myself re-decorating. It had been two months since that night.
The need for sex was consuming me. I spent my days and nights dreaming of being forced to suck a group of men that didn't care about anything but using me.
I spent my days going to places I thought I might meet twenty-year old guys with hard cocks. It didn't always work out like I wanted, except one.
One Saturday night, I went to a bar outside of town.
I wore a short denim skirt, suntan pantyhose, and ankle boots with a three-inch heel. A tight white top completed my outfit. I headed for a country bar.
Once inside, I thought I had made a mistake. Every young guy was with a girl. I sat alone at the bar; the girls were at least half my age and did not let go of their boyfriends. I was depressed and feeling alone.
It was just about time; I was heading home when I felt a touch on my arm.
"Mrs. Morris?"
My heart sank; another of my son's friends, Eric, something I couldn't remember. He flashed a beautiful smile triggering a tingle in my pussy.
"Are you alone? Is Mr. Morris here?"
"No, I'm alone."
"Let's sit at a table. May I call you Carol?"
I took his hand and melted at his touch, following him to a secluded table.
I had to find out if he ever talked to his old classmates. He shook his head no. What a relief.
He was engaging, and we had a great time. The only thing suspicious was that he kept ordering me drinks while nursing his. I didn't care; I was having fun, and he surely couldn't think anything would happen.
I sat back and tried to pull my skirt down; thank God I had pantyhose on. He openly stared at my legs.
"You've got beautiful legs, Carol."
I blushed beet red.
"Thank you, Eric. Nobody has said that recently."
He reached out and put his hand on my thigh, stroking my nylon-covered leg. It felt so good I parted my legs, and he inched higher. What was I doing? Letting a man my son's age get this close to my throbbing pussy.
I came to my senses, closing my legs and removing his hand. I tugged my skirt down as far as I could.
"Let's calm down."
I said. He smiled and moved closer to me, our legs almost touching.
"Won't your husband worry about where you are?"
I told him I was separated without going into details.
We sat for another hour, drinking and talking. I was drunk, my head spinning.
I stood up, swaying a little bit.
"I'm going home."
"You can't drive. I'll take you home, and we can pick up your car tomorrow."
In my liquor-filled brain, that made good sense to me. I gave him a wet kiss on the lips.
