My whole body is numb. I lie in bed staring at the ceiling fan wobbling on its rusted bracket, going around and around, and I cannot feel my legs. Two days. Two days since that room at the Star Hotel, since the hands and the cocks and the blindfold and the cum filling me until I passed out. I don't even know who dropped me home. I woke up here on my mattress with dried cum flaking off my thighs and my asshole burning and my pussy so swollen I couldn't close my legs. Someone carried me. Someone dressed me—or didn't, because I was naked when I woke up. I don't know. I don't care. The memory of those men using me at the same time makes my clit throb even now, even through the soreness.