You find yourself alone, thankfully

"Oh thank God," you mutter, seeing no one in the open shower cubicle. Its vacancy is made all the more obvious thanks to the fact that the shower curtain is missing. Half the cubicles seem to be missing their doors as well.

'Renovations,' the landlord had called it, but you can't help but notice that there's been no change in the shabby state of the bathroom. Certainly no one has given it more than a cursory cleaning, a fact made obvious by the smell and the grimy stickiness of the floors.

Another testament to the unfinished state is the series of holes in the wall opposite the shower, like someone had been intending to install additional plumbing but hadn't gotten around to it yet, leaving big black holes where pipes should be.

At the moment all that you care about is that you're alone, and although normally you'd check to make sure you decide that a quick visual check is good enough, and turn the fussy lock on the flimsy door before shrugging out of your little robe with a groan.

"Oh God, how'm I gonna hide this from Jacob?" you mutter, staring down at your body.

Crusty semen from over a dozen men, most having two or three goes at you, covers your body, but beneath the flaky white stuff you can see that the gangbang has left an array of more lasting marks. They cover your body; some light, some deep; bruises from strong fingers, numerous bite marks and hickies, and long scratches from untrimmed fingernails. Fingering your neck you're certain there'll be a fair number of marks there, and if the way your lips feel is any indication you're probably giving Angelina Jolie a run for her money in the poutiness department.

"No wonder I feel so sore," you mutter, your voice sounding husky to your ears - probably from the dicks that went down your throat, you realize, but you kind of like how it makes you sound like a sex kitten.

Realizing you don't have a lot of time you get to work cleaning yourself, yelping as the shower spits out the usual cold water. Normally it takes ten minutes to become lukewarm, but you don't have time to waste. Gritting your teeth you step into the shower, soaping and rubbing yourself gingerly, trying to clean away the evidence of last night's gangbang.

It feels odd to dread Jacob's arrival, or to fear that he'll become amorous, taking you time after time in his indefatigable way. You know that in a good light he'll be able to see evidence of your debauchery, and so you try to think of how to hide it or distract him. Strangely, as you contemplate the possibility of Jacob seeing all the marks and thus realizing you've been unfaithful, your nipples become rigid, and your pussy begins to hurt less.

The cold, you tell yourself, ignoring the moistening between your legs, grateful for the way it sooths the chapped lining of your well-used sex.

Dashing from the shower you dab yourself dry, the rough towel too harsh for rubbing when your skin is this sensitive. You brush your teeth and hair next, and you decide to let your hair and body air-dry while you attend to the marks on your body. You dig out some make-up, noticing as you do a tube you hadn't noticed before.

Intent on making up your face you set it aside to look at later. You've no sooner started to apply the makeup than two lights go out, leaving you with just a couple wildly flickering lights to aid your efforts.

"Oh well, heavier will hide any marks better. Besides, he likes it when I go heavy," you mutter, shrugging before setting to work.

After finishing your face in record time you twist from side to side to inspect yourself, grimacing at the soreness between your legs, and your eyes happen to fall upon the mystery tube.

'Lotion,' you see on the black tube you'd set aside. Anything else it had once said seems to have been rubbed off. You don't remember ever seeing it before, but upon closer perusal you can make out, 'apply to (for?) extra-sensitive...'

"Well, I'm sensitive alright," you mutter, carefully opening the top. It unscrews easily enough, giving no hint of ever being used, and when you squeeze a little out you find that although somewhat runny it's white lotion reminds you of sunscreen, albeit with a slightly fishy smell.

"I'll try a bit," you resolve, and squeeze a dollop onto your palm before rubbing it over the hickeys that line your neck. Almost immediately the lotion seems to soothe your skin, almost like it's numbing the area it coats.

"Wow, that's great!" you exclaim. Doling out more you coat the marks on your neck, then apply copious amounts to your poor abused breasts, putting on so much they gleam like they've been oiled. Of course, that could be because once you start touching them you have a hard time stopping. Your mind keeps wandering to the gang-bang, wanting to relive it, and you have to **** your hands away from your breasts.

"Huh. They look bigger. From the bruising, maybe?" you wonder. "Maybe I should get gang-banged more often. I might grow a size," you laugh, then grimace as you catch a subtle whiff.

"I wish the lotion didn't smell," you mutter. It almost reminds you of the smell of Jacob's condoms the day after, so you fish quickly into your bag, removing a little perfume bottle. Jacob had called it a special perfume, but you think it was probably just a sample he saved to give to you. Still, even if it was cheap perfume it would probably cover the smell. Sure enough, a few spritzes to your neck and breasts seems to cover the smell.

"Now... let's see how you work on the really sore parts," you say, and start working the lotion into the skin around your crotch, coating your inner thighs, the naked skin above your crotch, and all over your ass before daring to draw a soaking finger across your much-used pussy lips.

A hiss escapes you as your finger travels across the sensitive skin, though it doesn't seem as bad as you'd feared. Still, you decide that you'd rather not stick even your fingers inside yourself.

For a moment you think about squirting the liquid upward into yourself. Then a better idea comes to you and, after checking the lock is still closed, you get down on the floor, groaning like an old lady, and put your butt against the wall, slowly working your way toward the wall so that your butt rises up, leaving your crotch at the same height as one of those empty plumbing holes. The process means dragging your still-damp body across the filthy floor, but you don't notice that, or the way your hair trails behind you like a mop, leaving the floor noticably cleaner in its wake.

"Good old gravity," you grin, bringing the lotion first to your pussy. At first you squeeze softly, a thin line of lotion soaking into your lips and tricking inward. As the cool soothing liquid seems to numb the ache you squeeze harder, even daring to put the tube against your lips so you can rotate it, coating your walls as thoroughly as possible.

Next you put it close to your poor swollen anus, which saw at least its fair share of the action last night. Thankfully the lotion seems to work there as well, and you jam the nozzle quickkly against your inflamed opening, squeezing hard on the tube until air bubbles announce that you've used up the lotion.

"I gotta get more of this," you mutter, smiling at the empty tube.

Just then a sound startles you.