Stressful as you avoid Jacob and try to figure out what to do

Over the next few days things seem to veer ever-closer to derailment. You drag yourself into class to take the test, but when the tests are given back yours has written on it, 'I don't know why you bother' on it, and an astoundingly low mark. You'd hoped to at least score high enough to keep the passing mark within sights, but that seems an increasingly distant hope.

On another front conversations with Jacob are few and stilted, as he seems to think you'd stood him up and with all the cuts, bruises and bite-marks from the gang bang you don't dare go see him face to face.

Speaking of those marks, you've been faced with the creative task of trying to cover them each day at school, and the task has almost completely depleted the supplies of make-up you have. Which, come to think of it, Jacob had found for you at a ridiculously low price.

Aside from that there's the worry of the message the guys from the theatre had left you, promising a party at your place this coming week-end. Thinking about it sends you from moans of desire to bouts of anxiety.

Sitting in yet another class you don't hear a word the professor says as you ponder the many dilemmas of your life. You've managed to cover up the healing marks with a combination of light make-up (using up the last of your supplies), a collar to hide a particularly vivid hickey, and a combination of a tank top that isn't as large as you'd currently like it to be, and a pleated skirt that, in spite of being your longest, doesn't cover much and has a tendency to swirl upward when faced with a breeze or sudden movement. At least it's only your inner thighs and butt that you have to hide.

Thinking about your options you realize that you can either surrender to the possibility of a group of guys invading your apartment and fucking you all weekend in a non-stop gang bang, leaving you a cum-coated mess of bliss...

Realizing your fingers are plunging in and out of your much less sore pussy you pull them away and smooth down your skirt, hoping no one saw.

But maybe you can think your way out of it with some clever scheme. Given your grade-point average at the moment the odds aren't good on the scheme, but you stare off into space, willing something to come to mind, only to realize you're sucking on the fingers that were just in your pussy. Flushing in embarrassment and arousal you pull the fingers out, looking around again.

As the class ends you gather your things, bending far over the desk to get a pencil that slipped away, then bending over again to pick up your purse, and yet again when you spot your eraser on the floor. Finally you gather your belongings into a threadbare school bag that you sling over your shoulder, the strap pulling your top askew before you fix it.

What if... You straighten, something you've been avoiding because it pulls your long hair away from your neck and the bruises there it hides. What if you could find a way to get away for the week-end? Preferably with Jacob, but even without him? You can't afford anything, but maybe there are school trips, or maybe you could convince him to go somewhere special as a way to avoid getting gang banged - you abruptly pull your hand away from your nipple, wondering how it got there in the first place.

Hoping that inspiration will strike you walk away from the class room, your heels clacking on the old tile floor as you ponder your options.