Chloe Hunt awoke on Saturday morning, her head swirling and body aching. Had she really been fucked by an entire rugby team or was it just another one of her dreams? No, it had been real enough, validated by the feelings in her body. In comparison, the dreams had now become pale imitations of that couple of hours in the changing room.
Limping across the landing, the pretty schoolteacher ran a long hot bath, generously doused with bubble bath, stepping in tentatively and standing for a minute whilst growing accustomed to the heat. Sucking in the steamy air she eased down onto her backside, submerging in the bubbles that puffed up like a giant meringue. Head only above water, the undercurrent stroked at her battered pussy like hot fingers. Oh that felt so good.
Reaching down Chloe spread the soft lips wide, submitting to the water's urgings, groaning in a mix of pain and pleasure as its warmth entered her inner sanctum. Gathering up a ball of foam in her fingers and arching her back upwards, she brought instant relief, literally cleansing away the soreness inside. No permanent damage, it seemed, she teased the clit until it throbbed. At the same time, Chloe cupped each pert breast, wincing at the pain from the bite marks that had been inflicted by Jack two nights earlier and which remained as a reminder. After the events of the previous night, it seemed an eternity. Oh how she wanted Jack back and for her life to return to normal. Taking the plunge she submerged fully, the blonde mane straggling like jellyfish tentacles at the surface.
It was then that something happened that took her breath away – quite literally. The bathroom door barged open and in crashed a shadowy figure. Chloe's head re-emerged through the surface, face masked in terror and about to scream when a large hand stretched to cover her face and push it back down again before water. The resultant cry was muffled, a line of staccato bubbles pumping upward from her lips.
Chloe thrashed from side to side, trying to break free of the strong grip, the water crashing in waves around her. She watched through the glazed surface as her assailant's free hand reached down to find its way between her legs. Three thick fingers parted the labia, making a bee-line for her swollen clit. Straining to see, she made out the face of Charlie, her milkman. A chirpy type of chap given to flirting on the doorstep, he'd asked her out hundreds of times to no avail. All that pent-up lust had now manifest itself in this violent liaison. "You've had your chances, Chloe dear," he averred, the words wavy.
The milkman's fingers bent to rub her clit purposefully, sending more air bubbles to the surface like machine-gun fire. As the air drained from her lungs, the heady feeling was like nothing Chloe had ever experienced before. She came hard as the last helpless trail of air bubbles burst on the surface...
* * *
Chloe awoke from the dream with a fearsome jerk, alone in the bathroom. Suddenly the water felt cold around her body and she shivered markedly. Outside in the street, the milk float rattled a lonely furrow sending an even bigger shiver down her spine. An intense dream, the squirt from the resultant orgasm had left a cloudy seam of pussy juice in one of the clumps of foam. Rising quickly, the pretty blonde groped for the towel, its warmth and downy feel bringing welcome relief.
As she dried, a knock on the front door startled her. Easing aside the curtains to peek out, Chloe saw the milk float parked obliquely outside and heard Charlie the milkman whistling on the porch. Damn, it was Saturday and he'd come to collect. She swallowed hard, a frightening thought. The knock came louder, more insistent, and Chloe was forced to wrap the towel around to go to answer, peering around the edge of the door. Charlie's eyebrows elevated as he spotted the matted clump of wet hair and a glimpse of bare damp shoulder. He tried to catch a look around the door, giving Chloe a big early morning smile and causing her heart to race. "Keep the change," she stated, thrusting the note into his hand to curtail the embarrassment.
As she did so, the door opened a few more inches, just as the towel slipped ever so slightly, revealing the briefest hint of nipple. Charlie issued a salacious parting glance, his features etched indelibly on her brain. Closing the door, she leaned back upon it, breathing like an asthmatic. It was then that she realised she'd wet herself, a warm stream trickling seductively down her inner thigh. She jumped as the door rattled once more, face a picture of fear. Oh God, was Charlie coming back to finish the job like in the dream?
Composing herself, despite standing in a warm puddle of pee, Chloe opened the door a crack. It was not Charlie but Kevin's father Frank Manning that stood on the step. An overbearing older man, Chloe seemed to be surrounded by them.
Then a thought struck her hard like a head on smash, stealing her breath. Frank had seen the CCTV tape, hadn't he? Oh God, he must have done. Why else would he be at her front door? Was this nightmare ever going to cease? Chloe quaked inwardly, waiting for the accusation to fall. Shuffling uncomfortably, her pee-hole quivered once more and a warm gush tickled her pubes, running down her thighs.
"The wife and I are going away for the weekend," began Mr Manning. "Could you keep an eye on Kevin, make sure he doesn't throw any wild parties?"
Ironic words, Kevin was the least likely person capable of throwing a wild party. Chloe nodded her head vigorously, unable to shut the door quickly enough. Again she leaned back against the door, fighting to control the tears. Even at the weekend her ordeal remained. Stepping over the warm puddle, she eased off the towel, naked in the hallway. On hands and knees she mopped up her mess, feeling worthless.
A precious half an hour snuggled into the sofa was interrupted by the bleep of the mobile phone, sending her heart racing. Kevin's message was simple: Next door, one hour.
* * *
An hour later the demure schoolteacher stood on the neighbour's step, shivering in spite of the clement weather. Kevin answered the door with a grin, ushering her through into a lounge that was not dissimilar to her own but in reverse. She was shocked to observe that her schoolboy tormentor was not alone. An equally, if not even more geeky kid was perched on the edge of the sofa, wearing spectacles and a goofy expression. "This is my cousin, Nigel," Kevin announced.
"You never said anything about..." Chloe began.
"Shut it," Kevin snapped.
Chloe lowered her head instinctively. "Sorry."
"SORRY? Sorry what?"
"Sorry SIR."
Kevin allowed himself a satisfied grin, taking a seat next to his cousin. Nigel looked young and under developed, surely no older than his mid teens, but Chloe was assured that he was eighteen. It occurred to her through the myriad of grotesque thoughts circulating her head that these two had probably reached adulthood without seeing a woman naked, other than on the Internet or in a porno mag. In many ways she could be seen to be providing a valuable service. At least that was what she tried to convince herself, to justify this madness to a rapidly eroding conscience. "So, what is it you want today, Sir?" she asked meekly.
Kevin looked on thoughtfully, like a kid in a sweetshop who'd found a banknote. He took a minute to consider the options. "Okay, do a striptease for us."
Chloe cringed, not so much at the request itself as the implication. She'd hoped they might take turns at screwing her, satisfying their urges and in the process losing their cherries and then let her be. It would be a quick release. Or that was what she'd hoped. As it was, this had all the hallmarks of a lingering torture. The pain showed on her pretty face. Kevin shook his head, sighing. "Miss Cunt, if you're not at least going to make it look like you're enjoying this, we're going to have to hurt you. Understand?"
The mere threat jolted the pretty teacher and she forced a smile that radiated over to Kevin. "That's better. You see, if you play ball and be a good girl, all this will be over – today.
Chloe regarded him quizzically. "Today?"
