073

Tanner still wasn't home when I got back. A little too much fun with his buddy, I guess. It actually met my needs. After what happened, I didn't really want to see Tanner right away. I was a little sore and a lot guilty. Everyone told me not to feel guilty because my rapist made me orgasm, but my body's betrayal of all I held dear was deeply disturbing. To cum was bad enough, but begging to be fucked even worse. No matter if my friends said I was experiencing normal responses to sexual stimuli, I had a hard time not thinking of myself in the worst possible terms; a slut, whore, floozy, tramp, trollop, harlot, strumpet. Every kind of epithet for a wanton woman of the loosest morals paraded itself through my mind.

I'd never been one to slut shame someone in school who through love or misfortune, found herself pregnant or castigated for their morality. My parents raised me better than that. I tried to remain friendly and kind with them no matter how many others cast them aside. And when my girlfriends started having sex regularly, they still remained my dearest friends no matter if they chose to exercise their sexuality in a manner different from myself. But in my heart of hearts, I'd held a grain of smug superiority for waiting; for withholding myself from boys until I was married; to not succumb to the flood of hormones and give myself to anyone who attracted me. It had been hard, but I'd held myself better for being able to resist the temptations of sex others had given in to. When I was the last of my girlfriends to maintain my virginity, it was the pride of my waiting which allowed me to withstand the teasing and taunts of those calling me an ice queen or eternal virgin.

To find myself surrendering now so readily to my carnal desires; to beg to be fucked by these strangers knowing I was another man's wife, ripped at the very core of my self perception as a woman. It was blowing up every image I had of myself; every ideal I'd held close. I'd been skewered on two cocks, one filling my throat, one filling my cunt, neither of them my husband, and begged them to fuck me. I was devastated. Jolene could tell me a hundred times I wasn't a slut for surrendering, but it wasn't enough to overcome my saying once, 'Fuck me, you bastard. Fuck me hard.'

So I undressed myself, save for my panties and went to bed, hoping for sleep to find me. I left my panties on hoping to discourage Tanner from further forays on my sore sex. Closing my eyes, I tried to sleep, but I was plagued by visions of my degradation. I heard Tanner come home and pretended to be asleep so I wouldn't have to face him after what I'd done. I heard him in the shower and brushing his teeth, then he made his way through the dark room to our bed. He pulled back the sheets and climbed in beside me, covering both of us when he snuggled behind me. I could feel his heavy cock rubbing my bottom through the cotton fabric.

"Brooke," he whispered. "Brooke."

I remained still, barely breathing, hoping he wouldn't force me to acknowledge his presence. Figuring I was asleep, he left me alone, and I released a quiet sigh of relief. His arms surrounded me in his warm embrace, and I started crying, silent tears rolling down my cheeks. Tanner was asleep for many hours before I followed him.