From Teen Bride To Hot Wife, Part 10: Zen, Caroline, And The Art Of Gang Bangs, Pt 2 free porn video

Seven the next morning, Ray runs Caroline home; she had expected Jerry to be the one.

His motor is all chilled leather, dials and panelling. Joe could name it — this Jaguar XJC coupe — but all Caroline knows is it looks expensive, its plush interior something she could get used to. She decides he is a drug dealer, the taxi firm just a front. Best not ask questions, just get yourself home and bury this night deep.

They drive through early Sunday streets, past dog walkers, milk-floats and paperboys. Now his questions, his angling for facts about her life. She will not take the bait, says she is exhausted. When they are close to her home, she tells him to drop her off at the phone box around the corner, the one from which Jerry had collected her only five hours before.

When the car stops, and he turns off the engine, she grows anxious and hurries to escape the vehicle. Please, let there be no more kissing, no sweet farewells. She has done enough kissing to see her through to the four horsemen.

She reaches for the door handle. His hand is on her shoulder before she pulls to release the lock. His grip grows insistent as he says, "Don't run away just yet, little lady. I have a business proposition for you." He pulls her gently round to turn and face him. "Now you be a good girl, sit still and listen to what I have to say."

 "What kind of business proposition?" she says while lifting his hand away. "I'd be no use as one of your cabbies. I hate driving in the dark."

"I don't need another driver."

"I'm not a whore." It is all she can think to say.

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, luv. I'm not going to ask you to walk the streets for me."

"What then?"

"I'm in the movie business."

"You own a cinema — as well as the taxis."

"Not quite."

"What then?"

"Me and Kenny... we make movies."

She thinks she understands but wants to hear him say it: "What type of movies?"

"The blue type. We're always on the lookout for talented girls, and you're one heck of a talented girl."

She thinks of what this could mean. And then hates herself for even going there.

"I could never do something like that," she says.

"Oh come on, luv, after last night's little performance I would say you were born to it."

"No, not that. What I mean is... I mean I could never be filmed doing sex; someone I know might see me."

"That would never happen with our little setup. Export only, see. We have an extremely lucrative arrangement with a distributor in the States. They just love British accents over there, can't get enough of our English roses creaming their knickers while begging for it. In fact, I only got back from New York last night after clinching our biggest deal so far. Glad I called into the office instead of going home. If I hadn't, I would never have met you."

She does not believe him. But still, she has to ask: "Just out of curiosity, how much do you pay?"

"Depends what we're shooting.." He pauses as if thinking. "At least as much as you get for a month selling records to teeny-boppers — Woolworths, isn't it? What you on, Twenty quid a week?"

"Sixteen."

"You must be mad — pretty girl like you. You're not making the best of your assets, are you now?"

"How much work could I get if I decided to give it a try?" She cannot imagine the world of seedy back street porn as a lucrative career move.

"It's all on an 'as and when' basis. Let's say, a couple of times a month. You okay with girl-on-girl?"

"Depends on the girl."

"You can't pick and choose in this game, luv. What about anal? Oh, I forgot. I'll put a tick in that box."

She blushes.

"A third tick, then."

"That's only two?"

"You passed the gangbang audition too."

"I'll have to think about it. If I decide to give it a go, I'll let you know."

"Don't take too long; we're shooting something in two weeks. You'll be perfect as one of the sixth-formers. Do you still have your school uniform?" She shakes her head. "Pity. We'll find you something. St Dominic's blue I think. Yes, blue will suit you." He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out his wallet. "Here take this." He hands her a roll of ten-pound notes.

"I don't want your money."

"Think of it as an advance. And if you decide not to take up my offer, consider it payment for services rendered."

 She takes his money. It is warm from his body heat. She quickly stuffs into her coat's deep pocket and then opens the car door and steps out on to the pavement. Before she walks away, she turns and opens the door again to speak to him, "How do I reach you?

"The cab office. Ask for Ray and give them your name. Caroline, right?"

He sounds his horn three times as he speeds away.

Under her breath, she mutters: "Fucking moron!"

She wants to think this through, but her skull is held fast by a tightening band of pain that jams out all sense. As well as that, between her legs, her flesh is strip-mined, the seam exhausted from hours of ceaseless fucking. She wonders if she will ever be the same down there again.

She pauses at the front gate, holds the gatepost to steady herself while mentally preparing for what she will find inside the house.

The big light is still on in the living room, the furniture shrouded by a silence that has lain in wait to accuse her. Without removing her coat, she goes directly through to the kitchen and fills a glass from the tap and gulps it down.

Only after a second glass does she take off her coat, leaving it draped over the back of a chair. She sees again how her nightie is ruined, the right strap wrenched loose, the material icky with jizz causing the chilling satin to cling to her belly. It will be the forensics to convict her.

Upstairs to the landing where she stands for a moment outside the bedroom door. She hardly dares take that step, to push and enter. A single deep breath, she exhales as she gently eases open the door, its bottom edge dragging across the thick carpet while making a grating sound that reverberates through its wooden panels.

The room is awash in a bloody twilight from the morning's sunlight filtered and transformed by the heavy, garnet-hued curtains. This semi-darkness is miasmic from Dorothy's musky scent, now laced with the pair's boozy breath. She goes to the foot of the bed and stands watching Joe and Dorothy sleeping back to back, their mingled long, dark hair is something spilt, cascading from their pillows, two rivers at their confluence becoming one torrent. 

She cannot comprehend how the girl can still be here, why he hasn't sent her packing. Her hoped for reconciliation is now scuttled and sunk.

From his half-sleep, Joe senses her presence. He stirs beneath the eiderdown: "Caz?"

Dorothy sits up and rubs her eyes. Her makeup is wretched, a joke by Picasso. "Oh-thank-god, Caz! Where have you been all this time? Joe's been worried sick. We both were."

"Why the fuck would he be worried when he has sweet little Dotty to sink his cock into!"

"No really — Tell her, Joe. Tell her how much you love her."

"Fuck you both!"

She goes to the curtains and flings them back to let the early morning autumn light spill into the room. When she turns back to face the pair, she sees them sat up side by side, their expressions of alarm, an old married couple and their intruder. They watch her intently, second-guessing her every move.

She cannot help but stare at Dorothy's bare breasts, sees her skin made wan in this comfortless light. They appear such monstrous things to her now. How could she ever have kissed and licked them? And not just her breasts, every nook and every curve of the girl. What were you ever thinking, Caz? She's a girl just like you! No, not like you at all; this one is a-treacherous-little-witch-of-a-girl.

 She's seen enough. No, seen too much. She turns away in self-disgust — but no, she turns and looks again, is compelled to by some perverse masochism, a need to punish herself with the girl's presence. Dorothy's eyes are pleading for her understanding, but all Caroline feels is bile rising. How did she ever imagine this person desirable, think of her as a friend!

She gives Dorothy a look of utter loathing, points a vicious finger that cuts the air. It is hatred distilled to the nth degree; a beam of vileness; a pointed bone. She sends words to do murder: "I want her gone by the time I've finished my shower!" It is the venom in Caroline's lashing articulation of the word 'her' that brings Dorothy to the edge of tears.

She is going to be sick. She turns and dashes away to the bathroom. Joe is up and after her but is too slow. He calls to her through the locked bathroom door: "Caz, please let me in." He raps hard. "Please give me a chance to explain."

Her response is silence. And then her awful wretching, the slosh of vomit against porcelain. Silence again. Now a dry wretching. Silence again. The slapped-wood report of a toilet seat falling. Finally, the flush.

Now she is purged she removes the jizz soiled nightie which has lain beneath her throughout the night's incessant fucking, her nightwear as incontinence sheet that has staunched and preserved their oozing cum. She stuffs it into the tiny bathroom bin, pushing it down hard, compressing the discarded cardboard toilet roll centres already in there, along with the cotton wool and tissue. But the receptacle does not have the volume to take all the material, and it brims over the lip.

She steps into the shower, stands beneath steaming jets and scrubs six men from herself, body and soul. She does not relinquish the sponge and soap until she is sure Joe is no longer beyond the door.

She turns off the shower and listens intently. Not a sound. Her back slides down the tiles, her haunches settling onto the enamel tray. She draws up her knees. Her sobbing is profound.

                                                              ********

There is only so much remorse a husband can express to obtain absolution from a wronged wife. Now Joe's only hope is time.

His gift of flowers scorned, he suffers for days. Those silent meals and their eyes never meeting. He tries to talk to her, but when she senses him on the threshold of an explanation, she leaves the room. No excuse can pardon his betrayal. In the evenings after work, they sit and watch the telly in self-absorbed withdrawal, each alone with their thoughts. Later in bed, they lie back to back, never touching. Her silence is a knife thrown at his heart. Bullseye!

On Wednesday evening hope deserts him.

At work, she blanks Dorothy and her pathetic smiles, her eyes and their pleas of contrition from across the shop counters. Colleagues notice how the two friends avoid each other. Cathy from Kitchenware asks what has happened, why have they fallen out. Caroline tells her to mind her own-fucking-business.

Friday morning at work. A toilet break and Caroline exits a cubicle to find Dorothy waiting by the sinks. The girl is smoking a cigarette. You don't even smoke, Caroline thinks. She blanks the girl, just as she has all week, heads straight for the door.

"Caroline!" Dorothy calls.

When her friend does not respond, Dorothy steps quickly forward, pulling her back by the shoulder, spinning around so that they face each other.

"Please talk to me, Caz. Tell me why you are so upset with me. I've not done anything wrong — nothing at all!"

"You don't even understand, do you?"

"But it was what you wanted. You said it was. You did, you know you did."

Caroline looks into Dorothy's eyes. The hurt and despair at home there cause the columns of her propped bitterness to collapse about her.

Dorothy reaches out, her hands imploring, taking up Caroline's, squeezing tightly: "I love you, Caz. I would never do anything to hurt you. Nor would Joe. You have to believe me."

Did she hear right? Did Dorothy just say she loved her?  The icicle of bitterness lodged in Caroline's heart has begun to thaw. Dorothy's eyes glisten with tears, The poor girl looks wretched, has become a lost soul. Caroline does not attempt to free herself from this grip of desperation.

"We can't talk here," Caroline says. "Joe's band have a gig tonight. Come round at seven-thirty. You can tell me whatever it is you need to say then."

                                                        ****

All weekend Caroline considers what Dorothy has told her. On Monday, when Joe gets home from work, he finds she has cooked for him, the aroma of his favourite food greeting him as he comes through the front door. It's T-bone steak and chips. And even though at the table she plonks the plate perfunctorily down in front of him, he knows from this small token of reconciliation that they are Joe and Caz again. He thanks her quietly.

"It's okay," she says and nearly smiles.

But it is another week before the ice that lies between them thaws enough to leave an open channel through which they can travel back to each other.

And yet another week before they begin to talk about it all.

"Why were you so mad with me, Caz?" he says, when at last they lie quietly together in bed after making love. "We both planned what happened, knew how it would be with Dorothy. Don't forget it was you that brought her to me. I thought you were cool with us being together."

"I was — you know I was. It wasn't what the pair of you did, it was the way you were with her, the way you practically ignored me all the time it was happening. I had to fuck you, remember? I felt I was in the way most of the time. And at the end, you rejected me and turned to her. Do you know how much that hurt me? Do you, Joe?"

"I was so excited by her. I got carried away. I'm so sorry, Caz." The intensity of his tone leaves her no doubt of his feelings.

"Dorothy is sweet and sexy — and I forgot you're a male, just another selfish bloke. And just like all blokes, your cock sometimes stands in for your brains. I set the bar too high, expected too much from you."

"I am so sorry I hurt you, Caz!"

She kisses him softly, her love pouring from her and into him.

"Are you and Dorothy friends again?" he asks.

"I didn't want to be, but she made me listen. She explained how upset you were after I left the house. It's because of Dorothy I've forgiven you so soon."

When she came to Caroline on Friday night, Dorothy spoke of how Joe had been beside himself with concern when he heard the front door slam, and how he had rushed downstairs and out into the night to bring her back, and how he had become almost irrational when he failed to find her. And later, when he realised Caroline was not coming home anytime soon, he had shared with Dorothy how devastated he would be if were to lose her. They had talked until the early hours, their sexual drive doused by Caroline's departure.

Dorothy's guileless pleading of Joe's case had won Caroline round, her obvious concern touching Caroline immensely. But it was those words, her statement of love repeated, that routed Caroline's bitterness:

"Joe loves you so much, Caz. You are everything to him. He told me he would kill himself if you ever left him." And then Dorothy had said that thing; those words of love: "He loves you totally, Caz. Just like I do."

Even days afterwards, Caroline's head still reels when she recalls Dorothy's confession. To be the object of another girl's love has shaken every single one of her certainties. She is fond of the girl, but the kind of love Dorothy professes for her is something else. She does not know what to do with the love of a girl.

Joe knows nothing of this, this deepening of feelings between the two girls. His only interest tonight is getting answers to all those questions that have tormented him since their big falling out.

"Where did you get to that night?" he asks.

"Do you really need to know?"

"Were you with a man?"

"There was a man. Do you want me to tell it...  like before?"

"What other way is there? This man you met... "

"The one I telephoned for."

"Dial a man; how does that work then?"

"He drives a taxi. I called his office."

"So you phoned a taxi firm and said, 'could you send a driver round to... ?'"

"He had a lad named Tommy with him too..." As soon as she says it she sees she has misread him.

"Please, Caz. Not two of them. Not two men fucking you one after the other in the back of a cab."

"No one fucked me in the back of a cab. What do you take me for!"

He turns from her and lies on his back and stares at the ceiling. She switches position on to her side to face him, her head propped by her arm, her chin resting in her palm. She tells herself another man would be on his feet and raging. Some might have struck her. Now she knows why she has forgiven him.

This is her gentle Joe, the Joe she loves. Even in at the nadir of her despair, her anger and jealousy, she still loved him and knew that they would always be together. Her hurt was because of the depth of her love and how he did not appreciate it.

She realises that to tell of even just two men would be a half-truth too far. In her mind, she plots a course for the lies she must tell.

"Remember the taxi driver who brought us all home from the pub?" she asks. He does not answer, and so she continues: "Well, his name is Jerry, and while you were busy groping Dorothy in our front garden I was paying him the fare. That's when he said that if I got lonely I could phone him, because you see, Joe, he'd seen how you were with Dorothy, and he thought I might need some company. And I did need some company. I needed all the company I could get."

"You said there were two men."

"He dropped his friend off before we went back to his flat."

"And you were with this Jerry guy all night?"

"Yeah."

"Did he have a big..."

Caroline is learning that lies are easy to tell, that she has the gift. She lies to herself too. This is easier still. These are necessary lies. In months to come, when time itself has worn away their deadly edge, she can ease Joe into her truth. She is sure of it.

And even though she cannot unburden herself to Joe just yet, still she is desperate to confess her self-abasement to someone.

                                                             ****

Dorothy and Caroline have come straight from work to Caroline's bed. It is like they are strangers that have never touched. They are stretched out beneath heavy blankets, holding each other tight and kissing so softly. Neither is sure what to give or what to take.

Little by little, Dorothy expresses love for Caroline with mouth and hands, words and glances. In the midst of their growing passion, Dorothy's eyes insist that Caroline attend. Those eyes have traction, a dark gravity that draws Caroline down into something so endless that she fears she will topple and swirl, topple and swirl, topple and swirl for eternity. It reaches for her, she feels it tangible in the space between their faces, a spiral of eddying love that grabs and holds her in its vortex. There! It has her. It pulls her deep — so deep she fears she will never surface again, will never be free of this thing, this love.

She knows now what to do with another girl's love. She must accept it. Maybe one day she will learn how to return it.

"You never asked me about where I went that night," Caroline says, their two hours of lovemaking having run its course.

"I didn't like to... after — you know — all the upset."

"Dotty, I need you to understand what happened to me after I left the house."

"Why, where did you go?"

Caroline explains about Jerry and her journey to his flat, and how he works for a guy named Ray who makes porn films, and how she thinks he is a drug dealer too.

"Why on earth did you go off with men like them?"

" ...  Because when I got into their taxi, I had no idea they were going to be men like them!" He sarcasm is barely disguised.

"So you had two men?  — or was it three, with this Ray person?" Dorothy asks.

"Two to start."

"Two to start; there were more?" Dorothy asks, her facial expression becoming one of feigned and delighted shock.

"Ray and the others turned up later. It was just Jerry and Tommy, to begin with. When I first arrived, the room was so cold that I'd left my coat on until the gas fire warmed it. When I was ready to take it off, I stood up too fast, and I went all light-headed, and the next thing I remember is being on my knees with Jerry's cock in my face."

"What did you do?"

"What do you think? I did what any sensible girl would do on finding a cock placed so conveniently to hand. I began sucking it. Sucking cock certainly stopped the room spinning —  and that's when the other men arrived."

"How many?"

"Four, I think."

"Six guys, then?"

"I think there were six, maybe. I'm not sure. Yes, six. But when they first arrived, my mouth was full of Jerry's cock."

"Weren't you scared what they might do to you?"

"Why would I be scared? I knew exactly what I wanted them to do to me. I Just hadn't anticipated there being so many of them."

"God, Caz. I would have been terrified."

 "As they came in — when they saw me, they began saying stuff about me. One of them asked for my name. Another said he recognised me, that I worked in Woolworths, and that he'd always fancied fucking me."

"Aren't you scared they might come into the shop looking for you?"

"No one is going to come looking for me."

"How can you be so sure?"

"I just am. Something Ray said."

"Which one's Ray?"

"The porn guy."

"Oh, him."

"Yeah, him. Just let me tell it. I want you to understand everything."

"Okay, Caz. I still think you're so brave." Dorothy leans over towards Caroline and kisses her. It is a determined kiss, one full of love that communicates her concern, her passion and respect.  

Dorothy strokes Caroline's hair while the story continues:

 "I sucked Jerry until he came. Only then did they help me up on my feet. There were men each side of me, lifting me, supporting me while they slipped my nightie off over my head. It was only then that I remembered it was all I was wearing under my coat. I think it shocked them that I'd gone out wearing something so skimpy. It must have looked strange with my long boots."

"I bet they couldn't believe their eyes."

"Then their hands were everywhere, feeling my breasts, their fingers sliding up and down the crack of my bum — and in my pussy too, fingers pushing deep. It was as if ten, no twenty, men were touching me, hands everywhere. I couldn't tell who's belonged to who. In his tiny flat, it was like that playing that game of Sardines — the one where everyone has to cram into a small space until the last player finds you. They surrounded me, pushing themselves onto me, their cocks already out and poking hard against me. I closed my eyes again so that I didn't have to see who was kissing me, know whose tongue was in my mouth. They kept swapping over, see."

"It must have been overwhelming being with so many blokes? Sometimes I have trouble coping with just one."

"Yes, Dotty. It was extreme. All that testosterone for little old me. Yes, I know things could easily have got out of hand, but I loved being the sole focus of so much male attention. I stood with my eyes tight shut enjoying how much they were getting off on having me — because they got insane for me. It was off the scale.

"So there I was with some stranger's cock in one hand, Tommy's in the other. Two lovely cocks all to myself, and another four lined up. Imagine it. And do you know something? All night I had longed for a man to want only me, be the centre of his world. And then all of a sudden there I was with six of men, and every single one of them crazy for a piece of me.

"Now you put it like that, I'm jealous."

"I don't know how I ended up on the bed, but the next thing I remember is one of them fucking me. Yes, that's it. It wasn't Tommy who was the first to have me. It was the big guy, the one named Ray.

"The porn guy?"

"Yeah. It was a single bed, so there wasn't a lot of room. I still had my boots on, and it felt so weird to be wearing them while someone was fucking me. I'd shut my eyes again to stop the room spinning so I could concentrate on the beauty of a big cock fucking me, and how I was getting my own back on Joe. He fucked me so hard the mattress on its metal frame. That was the start of the horrible squeaking it made all night. God knows what the people downstairs thought was going on.

She does not tell of her orgasm, how it had filled her, resurrected her, how Ray had a technique all men could learn from

"Then he was gone, and my cunt was full of his cum, and someone else was taking his place, pushing between my leg. It was Tommy. And his cock was okay. And because my pussy was full of the big bloke's cum, Ray's cum, Tommy's fucking me was smooth, lubricated to perfection. But his cock made a horrid noise when it came and went inside me, a squelching sound, and it got even noisier later, what with all that spunk in there."

"Caz, you're so turning me on."

"Am I? I've hardly begun. While Tommy was fucking me, someone tilted my head to the side and parted my lips, His fingers stank of fags. Then he pushed his cock into my mouth — so far back I gagged. When I spluttered and coughed he backed off a little, and took it out. When I got over the shock, I reached for it and took it to my lips and let my tongue curl all around the end before taking it all in. my mouth, then sucking and sucking."

"Oh God, Caz. What was it like having a stranger's cock in your mouth while another fucked you?"

"It made me feel such a filthy slut. I was oozing one man's cum while a stranger was fucking me while I was sucking another cock." She looks into Dorothy's eyes: "How does it feel knowing your girlfriend is a filthy slut?"

"You are such a slut, Caz. The loveliest, sexist slut I've ever met. And I want to be just like you. Go on. I want to hear everything."

"And then there was someone on the other side of me. He turned my head to face him. When he did, the cock I already had in my mouth slipped out because of the new angle of my head. But this other guy, whoever he was, he had his cock out too, and I started sucking him. But I must have felt sorry for the one whose cock I'd just lost because I remember reaching out for it and began wanking him off while I sucked the fresh one. And that's not easy to do when you are as drunk as I was. I had to concentrate to make it happen for those guys.

"You're all heart, Caz."

"Aren't I just."

"Did each one fuck you more than once?"

"It was like they had a rota going. By the time the sixth had finished, the first one's cock was hard again. The fucking never stopped. It went on for hours — literally. Sometimes they'd pull there cocks out when they were ready to cum. Then it could go anywhere. On my face, or in my hair, over my tits."

"I can just imagine all their cum; I'd love to have been there to lick it off your face."

"I wish you had been. While one fucked me, the others would stand around the bed watching. They were laughing and making comments, such as: 'You won't last five minutes with this one, mate'. 'She's too hot for you to handle, looser.' Stuff like that. I loved how they taunted each other, how they told each other I was too hot for them.

"Each wanted me a different way. Sometimes I'd be on my belly, another time on my side, and another time up on my knees facing the headboard with my hands stretched high and flat against the wall while someone fucked me from behind. They were always moving me about like that. One of them wanted me to go on top, but I didn't have enough energy for that anymore. Not like when I was with you and Joe."

"I loved it when the three of us were together that night."

But Caroline is lost in the memory of all those other men and how they had posed her as if they were window dressers and she the manakin, arranging her this way and that to suit their shifting erotic whims. And as one fucked her, the others would gather round, appropriating her flesh into private lots to kiss or caress, vying with each other for a nipple, her pussy, or a plot of buttock flesh.

She speaks now in tones as if reporting back from the war zone: "One time they had me kneeling on the floor again, with all six of them gathered around me poking their cocks in my face. While I sucked one cock, I had two more in my hands, and the others would wipe their cock around my cheeks, my chin, neck, and in my hair. I made two of them cum, all their spunk caking my hair. I did try to give them all some attention, going from one to the other clockwise. It was hard for me by then. I was exhausted."

She recalls to herself how, later, when he saw seen her fatigue, Ray had lifted her bodily and impaled her on his cock and stood with her held up pressed against him. He became her monolith, a Titan of manhood and brawn, his palms beneath her rump lifting and lowing onto the petrified mass of his cock. She held on to him like someone taken too high and desperate not to fall. She wrapped her arms and her legs about him, as if for dear life. If she were to fall, the drop would be perpetual.

She is speaking from within her dream: "And then someone was behind me — Jerry. He began wiping his cock along the crack of my arse. It was then that I knew what was coming."

"And you let him — his cock in your bum?"

"He was clumsy, and it hurt when he tried to push it in. See, Ray did not know what was happening, and he just kept lifting me. And then when he lowered me, all of a sudden it was like something gave, and then he was inside me — both of them inside me. I thought they were going to split me."

"Did it hurt?"

"In a good way. It was a good hurt. Do you think I'm a twisted little whore, Dotty?"

Dorothy looks into Caroline's eyes, "If you are, you're my twisted little whore — and Joe's twisted little whore. Oh, God! Does he know what you did?"

"No. And you must never say. It would destroy him."

She remembers when it was nearly dawn, how a nascent morning light again illuminated Jerry's squalor, gradually dispersing the lava lamp's nauseous glow. Her body drained, her arms became a rag-dolls, her legs obsolete. To the hulking Ray, Caroline's weight was inconsequential as he stood with legs propped and gently fucked her, more considerately now having become aware of Jerry's cock parallel to his own inside her. Now he gently kissed and sucked her neck and then pressed his tongue between her lips. And all through her ascent and descent Caroline moaned her pleasure.

Their stinking masculinity engulfed her; the mingling reek of nicotine, beer, whiskey, sweat, Brut, and Old Spice. She does not have the words —  or the talent yet — to express the effect their pooled lust had on her thoughts during those hours that led her on to the new stark dawn.

Little by little she felt that the individual she was, the personality of Caroline, the baby girl named and then nurtured for all those years by parents who cherished and loved her, was becoming extraneous, an unwanted side order to six men's unchecked lust for her lovely young flesh. Her body was the feast at which they had gathered, her personality only the caterer whose role was discharged by having prepared and presented them with the dish of her body.

And even though those men cooed soft words to encourage her: "that's it, Caroline. That's a good girl. Yes, like that. That's my girl, oh-babe, yes, like that, yeah!" She came to a brutal realisation: it was her body that mattered to those men, and nothing else. The person housed in such gorgeous flesh was inconsequential, the contents of that pretty shell ascribed the label Caroline were throw away. And so she had put herself aside to give them free rein, had rubber-stamped the abdication of her mind and allowed them to use her body however they chose.

Time had lost its meaning; she was beyond it. Swamped by male flesh, embedded in it, she felt herself, her needs, her expectations, all diminishing until all that was left of her selfhood was like that shrinking light she had often seen in the depth of the television tube when switched off at the end of the night.

Many times before going up to bed she would stare at it as if hypnotised, and yet no one could tell her why that dot of light persisted for so long after its power source was no more. And that is how it was for her; she became that tiny speck of light, all thoughts, those everyday programmes that her brain broadcast all day long were no more. Caroline, the person who heaved about all the baggage that was her life, she had vanished.

She wants to explain this to Dorothy, make her understand.

"At your school, did they send you out onto the streets in your gym-slips to do cross-country?"

"Yeah, we had that. I hated it."

"I hated it too — for the first few years. See, I was overweight, and running was a pain. Along with some other girls, I would just walk the two miles, only breaking into a pathetic little jog as we got back to the school gates."

"What's this got to do with what you were saying... ?"

"Just listen, will you. As I got older, I began losing weight, shedding all that puppy fat. I didn't diet, it just began falling from me. And as the fat disappeared, I found I could run. I didn't realise I could at first. I still thought I would get out of breath if I tried. But then one day, halfway around the course, I needed to pee, and I found myself running and running. And you Know what, Dotty, it was fabulous. I think I came third that day. The games mistress couldn't believe her eyes when she saw me come sprinting home. She actually raised her hands and clapped me through the school gates. After that, there was no stopping me. I would push myself a little harder each time they sent us off to run. By the last year, I was the best runner in the school."

"So what you're saying is, being with all those men was like running?"
 
"Yes. Exactly that. When I ran I would be out of myself, all my cares gone, the bitchiness of the other girls could no longer touch me. Now I know now why people take drugs or drink themselves senseless..."

But that is not right. She searches for words to make Dorothy understand.

 "No, that's not it. It was like when people jump out of aeroplanes with parachutes or climb mountains. They don't know it but what they are searching for is what I experienced while with all those men."

"And what was that?" Dorothy asks.

"Among all their filth and lust, I found my core, The essential me, the truth behind Caroline. All that drink, my fatigue, their bodies, all those cocks, the sucking and the kissing, they all combined to wear me down and strip away everything superfluous. You might think I cheapened myself by what I did — and it would look like that to any normal person looking on. But it opened me to something pure and beautiful that had always been there; the intrinsic me, the me that does not rely on external validation, the opinions of others — at least that was my experience while it lasted. It was only later that I began beating myself up over what I'd let happen. Us girls are just not supposed to do stuff like that, enjoy getting fucked my loads of blokes in one go."

"Would you do it again?" Dorothy asks.

"I don't know. There must be other ways to get back there, to be her again."

Their arms encircle each other, their soft breasts cushioning against each other, their warm breath meeting and mingling as their eyes find each other before they kiss.

Joe returns at midnight to find the two girls asleep in each other's arms. He studies the pair, from Caroline to Dorothy and back again. She is his Caz; it is she of the two his eyes finally settle on to watch now quietly snoring before he takes himself off to the cold back room to spend the night in a single bed that is rarely used.

It is his old bed, the one taken from his childhood home. He has always slept naked, and a chill snaps at his flesh as slips between flannelette sheets. Hoping for a quickening warmth from the heavy, layered blankets, he curls in on himself, goes all fetus in the womb.

Before falling asleep, he thinks of the two girls lying together. He also thinks of his own stupidity.