Sharon Goes Back to School Ch. 14

"... told y'all not to leave..." Sharon had gasped and tried to rise up, covering the Hispanic janitor's hands with her own as the bathroom door banged open and a man in a black uniform barged in. He had paused as the white housewife began to plunge toward the toilet, uttering a shrill cry and desperately catching at the back of the seat and the front edge of the stool once again. Eyeing the scene, he had shaken his head . "Jonesy, this why you left your calling card out front?" The black custodian had laughed as the security man stripped off his utility belt, draping it carefully on the sink, using Sharon's robe to keep it from getting wet before he had opened his pants.

"Hell, you don't mind following our lead, I'm happy to share... And she's a peach," the janitor the guard had called 'Jonesy' had leered at the younger bigger blacker man, "Recognize her?" The guard had paused, looking down and tilting his head. He had scratched at his chin.

"Damn, she does look familiar... Kind of hard to picture her in clothes walking the halls, though... She the new speech pathologist?" The custodian snorted.

"That is one frigid bitch... Only way we'll ever see her like this is a heavy supply of rope. Naw..." the black custodian had laughed, "I KNOW you seen this filly... Seen her just about like this, too." The security guard had obviously been skeptical until a particularly vicious pinch from the Cuban caused Sharon to whimper, thrashing her head back in search of some relief from the cruelty.

"No way," he had said quietly, moving around to look at her from the front, "Look up here, little slut," he had ordered, and Sharon had found herself doing whatever the big man said, part of hating herself for it. "Are you shitting me?" And then he had yanked at his uniform pants. "You're done, Jesus... Out of the saddle or I'll sic ICE on your illegal ass."

"Pendejo! Chivato!" Jesus was unhappy but he had reluctantly pulled out of Sharon's dripping sex. "Chinga tu madre cabron!" The big cop had cuffed the Cuban custodian playfully, then caught Sharon's hips, dragging her ass around so she was facing the pipes coming out of the wall to supply the toilet as he pulled her back onto his jutting cock.

"Let her suck you off, little man," Sharon found her mouth was already wide-open as if for just that-- the guard was big and he was taking her roughly, like the Cuban had been doing. She had shivered, certain she would be so marked up Chris would notice... She had found herself praying that they had given him some heavy pain killers. Glowering at her as if she had been the cause of his ouster, the Hispanic janitor slapped his erection against Sharon's cheek, and she dutifully turned her head, sucking him into her mouth again, while trying to spread her feet to take the brute thrusting into her sex more easily.

Unbalanced by trying to take the Cuban to one side while the guard was hammering into her from behind, Sharon's hand had already hit in the bottom of the bowl before she had realized she was falling. The men had laughed, as she struggled to get back up, never letting go of the cock pumping into her mouth.

White light had flashed on the wall of the bathroom, creating an enormous shadow of the guard eclipsing the helpless nude white woman. Sharon had barely noticed, since her face was buried in the Hispanic custodian's crotch, the brute having decided he wanted a prolonged deep throat. Sharon had pushed back the panic that threatened whenever she could not breathe because of oral sex, redoubling her effort to get him off so he would stop.

"Careful... Gonna go... Don't think... Damn! Can you believe?" Sharon shook her head, but her mouth was full of something. She swallowed, but nothing changed. She groaned, then coughed, aware of a salty fluid that she struggled to swallow down... Her body was twitching and she heard garbled moans that sounded like her voice, the thought making her blush. Things were gray, then for a time there was nothing.

Sharon blinked, dimly remembered the bathroom in the hospital, taking on the three men while Chris was being treated for a Viagra reaction. She had tried to sit up, managing only a groan as her head lifted, but she was not sure she was strong enough to actually sit up. Looking around, she had realized she was still in the bathroom, but instead of being bent over the stool... She blinked, trying to focus and think. The world had been upside down. Wincing at the unyielding surface supporting her mid back, letting her head and shoulders sag almost painfully, she finally understood: she had been draped over the stool, face up.

Her body was rocking and she managed to look down her body to see the big guard was steadily fucking her... No, she had a sense of feeling him cum inside of her before, a delicious orgasm that had obliterated all thought. So what was he doing, she had wondered. She had struggled to lift herself higher, aware that there was an erection steadily pumping into her sex, and the guard was between her legs, as if he was responsible. She whimpered, horrified that hours might have passed and Chris would be looking for her.

The thought had propelled her up off of the seat, and she had nearly slipped onto the linoleum floor bare-assed, since the stool had provided support only to her back. The movement was halted, though, as she was 'caught' by the thick handle of the nightstick, which the guard had been using to fuck her. Uncomfortable pressure built as her weight pressed her sex against the 'business end' of the nightstick, but the guard chuckled, easily supporting her by her abused cunt.

She saw the bright flash again, looking around to find the janitor who had turned her out was snapping away with his cell phone. She was resigned to it now, telling herself Chris would never see such pictures. Blinking, though, she realized belatedly that it was her phone that was being used. She gasped, putting a hand up.

"Stop! Don't do that!" If she didn't get those erased Chris might see those. The janitor just laughed.

"Oh, you don't want some souvenirs of tonight's little party?" he had said, then shrugged.

"No problema, puta," the Hispanic janitor had added, "Thees for texteeng to us." His partner had just nodded.

"See, we don't have our phones when we're at work.... But we been mailing LOTS of amazing pictures to our phones." Sharon moaned, embarrassed to be getting off suspended by the guard's nightstick, but unable to stop it or her body's reaction. There was a deep, familiar ache, the feeling she was used to after being thoroughly used at school. Almost pleasant, an echo of the pleasure she had experienced and offered.

Abruptly she had found herself sitting on the cold wet linoleum beside the stool. She was panting so hard she thought she might pass out. Had she cum that hard again? The guard checked his watch. She had realized then, that all three were dressed again. He had held up her driver's license.

"Well, Mrs. Sharon Sobel, I'll be sure to visit one of these days. Just don't think I got enough of that tight little cunt, & the way you came, I don't think you were done, either." Sharon blushed, but shook her head.

"You have my cell number... you can call, but please don't come to my house!" she pleaded, "My family can't find out about this." The men shrugged, clearly they did not care, but she decided they also were not interested in ruining her. At least, she had desperately wanted to believe that.

"Oh no, chica," the Hispanic janitor leered, "I wan to have you een your own home. Een the bed you chair weeth your pendejo hoseband." The other men laughed.

"The second coming of Jesus," the first man... Jonesy, Sharon had remembered, teased, "Well, we've had enough fun for now..." He had finished fiddling with her phone, "Just let it finish sending and then you can delete to your heart's content." He had looked up at her, "But remember we have your contacts, too, so don't try to interrupt the file transfer or I might get upset." Sharon had managed to nod jerkily. She was covering her breasts with her raised knees, arms circling her thighs and calves, ankles crossed to cover her sex. And she had been awfully aware of their mingled jism leaking steadily out of her sex. "We'll leave the 'do not use' sign out until you get put together and gone," Jonesy told her, and then told her how to get back to the ER. Sharon had sat shaking, terrified at the new knowledge that the bathroom was almost in the emergency department. She tried to remember if she had been so loud someone might have heard.

They had left without a backward glance, and Sharon had found herself crouching naked beside the stool like a savage. Blinking in dawning realization that it was finally over, she had jumped up, clutching at the wall and sink as a momentary wave of dizziness threatened to put her back on her ass; part of her was desperate to escape before someone else came in. Struggling to get her breathing under control, she had thrown the robe on before glancing in the mirror. After drawing a shaky breath, she had responded automatically to the bedraggled, cum spattered visage in the mirror, methodically setting about cleaning up. She had grimaced at the rough paper towels the automatic dispenser provided in too short lengths. It had been a struggle to maintain her composure when she had seen the bruising already marring the skin of her breasts and at the front of her pelvis. She had been ashamed at the relief she felt knowing Chris would not be able to suggest they have sex for the rest of her Thanksgiving vacation.

As she had wiped at the ebbing flow of jism, trying as well to collect the smeared ooze already smearing her inner thighs, the memory of her climaxes increased her shame. She worked more gingerly at the the viscous strings of the three strange men's cum coagulating on her labia and clit, trying not to think about how much better those climaxes had felt than anything else she had enjoyed during her vacation. Sex with Kelly was amazing and she loved her husband, but the raw pleasure of...

Sharon had shut down such inappropriate thinking, forcing herself to remember her husband was nearby, having suffered for trying to give her such pleasure. Sharon the slut was pushed into a dark psychic corner to await the next time she was needed.

TWANG, as if on cue her clit had pulsed. Sharon had doubled over at the sink, nearly striking the mirror as she pressed one hand firmly between her legs, while the other scrabbled over the slick porcelain surface, trying to maintain her balance. Pawing at her robe, she had been relieved to find the baggie still in place, and had smeared a dab over her sex before she had cinched the robe tight, checking her appearance in the mirror... no streamer of cum drying in her hair... no hickey marking her neck. She was relieved her make up had already been a ruin, and wondered not for the first time at how men could find her attractive when she knew she looked hideous. .

Exiting the bathroom, she had half expected to find her 'admirers' with new 'guests' standing outside. The corridor was empty except for the 'do not enter' janitorial sign set outside the bathroom door. Hoping she did not look as 'just fucked' as she felt, she had hurried farther along the hall, remembering Jonesy's directions, and he had not been kidding-- the row of rooms with Chris' was almost against the opposite side of the hall from where the men had been making Sharon scream and moan for most of an hour.

Lifting her chin, Sharon had ignored whatever looks those she passed gave her as she had hurried to her husband's room, hoping he did not ask why she was breathing so hard or looked such a mess...

Sharon stopped the movie reel of her memory and glanced to the ED entrance, where a young candy striper had just appeared pushing Chris in a wheelchair. Putting the truck into gear, Sharon pulled out, her eyes moving past her husband to the security kiosk conveniently located by the automatic doors. To her relief it was empty. She focused on Chris, who was struggling to rise from the wheelchair, when someone stepped up to help him. He turned and Sharon saw him say 'thank you' as her eyes tracked up to see that it was the security guard. The guard was leering openly at Sharon as he guided Chris the few steps past the curb to the Range Rover.

"This your ride, sir?" Chris nodded, bracing a hand on the much taller guard's muscled upper arm.

"It is, Pete," Sharon's husband nodded, "And I don't mind telling you I'm ready to get home to enjoy Thanksgiving." The guard nodded, looking into the car at Sharon as he spoke.

"Well, with someone like that waiting to take you home I can imagine so." He winked at her, then swung the door closed, but did not move away. Maddeningly, Chris rolled the window down.

"Well, I certainly hope you get to go home to enjoy some of the day," he told the big guard. The man shook his head,

"That's not going to happen, but you'd be surprised what I have to give thanks for right here," he patted the door, "But thank you for sharing." And then he turned and sauntered back toward the kiosk, whistling happily. The tires squirrled briefly, Sharon was anxious to get away from the hospital.

"Careful, babe," Chris laughed, "I want to get home, not wind up back in the ER." Sharon nodded, trying to deny the sudden fear that somehow her husband already knew what she was doing at school and was somehow involved.

"How did you know him?" she asked, trying not to sound accusatory.

"Who, Dr. McAllistair? I just met him, though I think someone at work mentioned he had taken care of some minor medical issue last summer. He was good... Talked to me, explained things..."

"No. That man. The security guard." Chris shrugged.

"Another new friend," he shifted uncomfortably in the passenger seat, "Let's get the pain medication before we go home. I didn't think I'd need it, but apparently whatever they were using is wearing off and I'm not sure I want to wait to see how bad it gets." Sharon nodded, changing lanes to head to the Walgreens near their home.

"You called him by name."

"What? Oh, Pete. That was on his name badge. He was so tall it's what I was looking at when he helped me to the car. Something wrong, babe?" Sharon flushed. That was the last thing she wanted to talk about.

"No. No, I was just ready to get home. I was glad he was there to help you get up into the car."

"True enough. I doubt little Maggie could have managed without your getting out to help." Sharon managed not to ask who Maggie was. Her husband, she had forgotten, was adept at getting people's names. More than once he had surprised wait staff by speaking to them by name while the family was dining out. Sharon was more distracted by the thought of his statement-- if she had gotten out of the Rover he or someone else might have asked what had made the prominent wet spot at the back of her robe where the continued ooze of other men's spend had collected.

Fortunately, there was a drive through window for the pharmacy. Except for narcotics they had to wait, and for a moment Sharon had thought they would have to go in to sign at the main counter. Fortunately the pharmacist had seen the cause for the ER prescription and wincing empathetically, he had passed the meds through the drawer while wishing Chris a 'safer Thanksgiving,' which her husband had happily agreed he hoped would be the case.

The homecoming was a minor event. Kelly and the kids circled Chris, asking if he was okay and what had happened, and whether he needed anything. He wanly assured everyone he was fine, deflected specific answers while promising there was nothing 'really wrong' and turning the conversation to the meal preparations.

As they got Chris into the house, Kelly had glanced back at Sharon, who had managed to climb gingerly down from the driver's seat; she was more sore than she had expected, and wondered how long she had been out in the filthy bathroom while the trio were using her. Kelly arched a knowing brow and Sharon had managed a smile and a subtle shake of her head, before mouthing 'later' as promise to fill her young lover in about what had happened later.

Instead, she slipped up to the bathroom, and after carefully reselecting clothes so she would not parade through the bedroom to show off the proof of her being used, she luxuriated under the hot spray of the shower until Catherine shouted that dinner was ready.

The kids had done amazing work, Sharon had to admit. The food was perfect, and the table decoration-- tables cape, Catherine insisted, after some cooking show she enjoyed watching-- looked professionally done. Sharon barely ate, though, insisting when the kids asked that it did taste wonderful, but insisting she was just worried about Chris. And even Kelly seemed to accept that explanation. After struggling through half of a small piece of pumpkin pie, Sharon set about cleaning up. In short order the holiday meal was done, the leftovers set aside for dinner, and the dishes were in the washer. Catherine and Kelly were in Sharon's daughter's room, and the men were watching whatever teams were playing football when they should have been home with their families, so Sharon slipped gratefully back to their bedroom.

Standing in the bathroom before the mirror she examined the reflection, critical for anything Chris might note and wonder about. She was relieved that the bruising was in areas he had pawed at in the last twenty four hours. She was surprised, though, at the fan of faint red dots marring the skin of her neck and chest. Leaning closer to the mirror before simply looking down at her body, she found a spray of acne had appeared. There were tiny zits on her shoulders, as well, more than she ever remembered having as a teenager. That suddenly she felt dirty. She shuddered, making a mental note to return to the clinic; there was no knowing what she might have been exposed to in that filthy bathroom.

She grabbed a cleanser from beneath the sink, swabbing the affected skin areas before slipping into lighter pajamas, as she wondered if it was some sort of heat rash from getting too warm while she was sleeping. Sharon climbed into bed and fished the blinder out of her drawer, sure it would not be necessary, as tired as she felt. Despite the total lack of light and her exhaustion, though, she found sleep was elusive. For most of two hours she tossed and turned, before finally dropping to fitful nap.

Sharon's first image was of Chris leaning over her smiling as he shook her awake.

"... going, sleepyhead. We have a busy day, or don't you want to see your baby play ball? You've missed every game this year." Sharon groaned as she sat up. She was amazed at the light pouring through the windows. She looked at the clock. 11 AM!

"I slept all night?"

"Like a rock," Chris paused, "Well, not a rock... you were tossing and turning and mumbling, but you were really out when I came up at 9PM.

"Well we know who's fault that was, don't we?" Sharon was surprised at how angry she sounded and caught hold of Chris' arm as he reeled away from her, obviously as surprised. Where had that come from she wondered, "Sorry, baby... I know you were only trying to..." she managed a blush, looking down coquettishly, "Make sure I enjoyed myself. And I love you for it." Chris smiled, mollified, and stepped back, waving at the bathroom and closet.

"Well, get moving, or we'll be late. This kids already left so Catherine could introduce Kelly to her friends and save us seats." Sharon was a little surprised the girls were going to sit with them, but the thought made her smile.

She hopped up and hurried into the bathroom as Chris left the bedroom. Glancing in the mirror, Sharon frowned-- the acne was worse. In touching the subtle bumps covering her skin, she realized that her nipples were sore as well-- that was easy to explain, she knew, considering what she'd done the day before. Although she had done almost nothing since her last shower, she chose to take another, scrubbing carefully over her neck, shoulders, and chest with the heavy sponge that she had bought years before to aid in exfoliation before getting spray tans. Pausing long enough to apply the ointment and her make up, she tied her wet hair back, then dressed, choosing University sweat pants and a hoodie adorned by the kids' high school mascot over a BZ strappy tank. She was not sure how that had gotten into her drawer but did not really dwell on it, since Chris was calling that they needed to go. Pausing in the kitchen, she grabbed some leftover turkey and rolls rather than the usual granola bar, and then ran out to the garage.