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She stared across the gravelled yard at the Coach House, and idly wondered if Helen had stayed the night. I hope this isn't going to cause a lot of problems, she thought. I wonder who Helen's parents are? Oh God, I might even know them! How embarrassing could that be? She wandered back into the bedroom, and checked the watch by her bed. Eleven-thirty - even later than she had thought. Time to make that 'phone call. She opened the door to her en-suite and began to run a bath. It suited her mood better than a shower, and meant she could relax and chat at the same time. She retrieved the 'phone from it's place by the bed and set it down beside the bath. For a while she sat thinking about nothing in particular, just watching the bubbles rise to the rim of the tub. She reached over and turned off the taps, before standing up and allowing the dressing gown to swing open. For a moment she stood, surveying herself in the mirror. Not at all bad, she reflected for the second time in as many. .. but she knew it was only a matter of time, just as she had known it all along, in spite of what Norma Taylor had told her. He would be back, demanding more from her, more disgusting and lewd acts which made her want to vomit just thinking about them. But that wasn't all; there had been the party... her agitated mental state... all the sangria she had drunk... the foggy moments with Ralph... going out to the Volkswagen Variant... drinking that bourbon... the kaleidoscopic, filmlike flashes after that, moments of lucidity to be followed by moments of complete blankness... Ralph spreading her legs, putting his penis inside her, she powerless to stop him, him heaving and bucking into her, cumming with his burning hot semen; another, shadowy figure replacing him that to this day she couldn't identify, another penis, more heaving and bucking, more torrents of hot sticky cum pouring into her tender, ravaged vagina... what she suspected had been her own crashing, spiraling orgasm, though.
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