Tessa

I went home last night, to rest, to let my soreness work itself out, and to let Cheryl and Kim see that I hadn’t been murdered. I’d forgotten to text them Saturday afternoon and once I’d had a nap, another shower, and dressed, I’d finally picked up my phone to see if I had any notifications.

Cheryl and Kim both had started to freak out, so I’d texted them, had lunch with the guys, then gone home. Now, Sunday morning faced me, and I didn’t want to move, much less get out of bed. My bladder made that impossible, so I went to the bathroom, did what I needed to do, brushed my teeth, and then went out to the kitchen. The smell of coffee had filtered underneath the bathroom door and I knew one of them was up and had made a pot.

“Look who’s not dead,” Kim said with a bitter note in her voice.

“Don’t be mean, Kim, I’m too tired.” I groaned as she handed me a cup of coffee. She had a point, I was alive, but from the waist downwards, I did wonder if my pussy was dead.

“And sore I imagine. Ho