We get woken by Rob's phone just before eight o'clock in the morning. Answering it wearily, he suddenly mutters, "I'll have to check with John." Grabbing his dressing gown, he leaves the room and returns shortly, talking on the phone again.

"Sorry, Sharon. I've got to go," he explains. "That was Sam; their car won't start, and they need a ride to Manchester. They're coming around now. I will be back this afternoon. John will show you around and look after you. Sorry again," He kisses me and then runs to the bathroom.

I slip out of bed and put my negligee on, which matches the baby doll nightie and the missing cami knickers. Silky, soft, and flowing, it wafts around my legs as I walk. It's not entirely see-through; there are enough folds and material to leave a little mystery. Just not much! Stepping downstairs, it wafts behind me like a train, exposing me from my belly button down.

I put the kettle on and play a game of "hunt for the coffee," find it, and brew a cup for Rob and me. He comes downstairs, complaining and muttering to himself. I hand him the coffee.

"Relax, sip this, and get something to eat," I soothe. "I'll still be here later."

Sam and Tony arrive. Rob grabs some cereal bars, gulps his coffee, and leaves.

Thirty minutes later, Pete and Jake come down. They were throwing bags down the hall and walking into the kitchen when they stopped dead in the doorway.

I am leaning against a countertop, hands resting on it, one leg raised and bent, my foot against the counter door. My negligee, being what it is, has slipped down my legs, exposing everything below my waist.

"Coffee, anybody?" I innocently ask, lowering my leg and waltzing across to the kettle—the silky material wafting behind me. They perch on stools at the breakfast bar while I make the coffee.

"You've brought bags down. Are you going somewhere? I ask.

"Um, yes, we're going home for a few days. Catching the nine-thirty train to London," Pete replied.

After giving them their coffees, I pull one of the stools to the other side of the kitchen and perch myself on it, giving them room to eat and drink in peace. Plus, they have an excellent view as I struggle to climb the stool and my negligee slips undone, revealing my knickerless lower half again.

"Are you sure you have to go?" I tease, slowly making myself at least half decent.

They hesitate.

"Yeah, we've paid for the tickets, and it's my mum's birthday too, sorry." Jake pouts sadly.

Ten minutes later, they had left. That leaves John, who walks in next. He is dressed and ready to go.

He admires me sitting on the stool, and I twist around a little to show him more.

"Good morning, John. What are we doing this morning?" I query.

"Rob and I were going to give you a tour of Loughborough and the campus, then get a bite to eat at the student union cafe," he replies.

"That sounds good to me; I'll just go up and get ready," I said, sidling past him. He is an odd one. He has me all to himself and chooses not to make any advances!

When I come back down, it's nearly ten o'clock. I've showered, shaved, made up, coiffured, and dressed: a lovely white sleeveless T-shirt, a maroon flowing mini skirt, grey knickers, no bra, and the black leather bomber jacket from last night. The weather is fine and sunny; however, it is still a little cool.

John looks impressed as I walk into the lounge.

"I'm ready; shall we go?" I propose.

"All ready," John replies. "Do you mind if I take some pictures of you as we go?" he asks, hefting his camera.

"Not at all, snaps? Or posed?" I query.

"Both, if possible?"

"No problem, just let me know what you want," I agree for some unknown reason. Where could these pictures turn up!

"I won't be showing them to anyone; they're purely for my own collection," John says as if reading my mind.

Rob and John are correct. The town is not much of anything, likely because of its proximity to larger cities. The campus, however, is impressive, vast, and spacious, with modern buildings and amenities.

We are sitting, having a light lunch, and chatting amicably when I ask him bluntly why he didn't take advantage of having me to himself this morning.

He's a bit taken aback but bravely answers.

"It's not that I don't like sex. I do, but I get a greater thrill from watching and photographing pretty girls. Last night, that was great," he explained nervously.

"A voyeur then; there's nothing wrong with that," I nod at him. "But you did screw me last night, didn't you?"

"Well, that was peer pressure. Not that I didn't enjoy it, of course," John shyly grinned.

Walking across the campus back to the house, we bump into some of John's mates.

"Hi, John," one says, looking me up and down. "Is this the tart you were talking about?"

John turns beet red.

I look at the lad and step up to him, place my hand on his crotch, and purr. "Would you like to find out?" Then walk past him.

"You've been talking about me, then? I challenge John as he catches up to me.

"Umm, yes, I was drunk the other night, and it just sort of came out; I'm sorry," he stammered.

Looking over my shoulder, I see the three lads are still standing there.

"You coming or not?" I shout.

I look up at John as they scurry after us. "I might let you watch," I tease.

John smiles in response.

Slipping my jacket off as we enter the house, I lay it on the floor with my shoes and turn to the three lads.

"John's watching to ensure good behaviour, no argument," I affirm, and proceed up the stairs and into Rob's bedroom. The lads trail behind.

On reaching the bed, I turn around, face to chest with the lippy one. Who pushes me onto the bed, then kneels on its edge and leans down to kiss me gently. That's unexpected! He explores my face, kissing and gently lapping his tongue over my skin, nibbling at my ears and neck. He bites, kisses, and caresses me, following the neckline of my T-shirt. It's so sensual that I begin to breathe heavily.
He slides his hands down my sides, grips the bottom of the T-shirt, and pulls it up over my breasts. I lift my arms over my head so he can remove it altogether. Tugging it higher, he leaves it covering my face and trapping my arms.

Continuing his attentive behaviour, over and around my breasts, breezing over my nipples and making them tingle in excitement. This is the first time anyone has paid any real attention to any part of my body other than my pussy this weekend. It is divine.

Slowly and caringly, he continues to explore my body, reaching my skirt. Finding and releasing the catch and zip, slipping it casually to the floor, gently tugging at my knickers, taking them down, and letting them join the skirt. Pushing me down onto the bed, he continues teasing and exploring, running his tongue along the crease at the point where the thigh and pubic mound meet. One side, then, avoiding my quim, to the other. Down my leg, slowly covering all of me, reaching my foot, sucking on my big toe. That feels so weird! Up to the top and down the other side, sucking the other big toe and stopping and leaving me writhing in expectation. I open my eyes and peer down at where he stands. He is still fully clothed; his friends are not. They are beside him with rampant cocks twitching in excitement, pre-cum dripping freely.

Stepping aside, he lets his mate approach me. This lad stoops and lifts my legs, resting my feet on his shoulders. Grabbing hold of my thighs, he presents his cock to my waiting entrance and slides himself into my body with a violent thrust. His cock feels so good; it's such a contrast to the gentle foreplay I enjoyed just seconds ago. This is a more primal enjoyment as his cock pounds into my wanton sex, bringing my body alive. Igniting my body with lust and desire. Firing his seed inside me just before I scream in ecstasy, thrusting my hips urgently into him, demanding all of him.

Swiftly changing places, the second lad does not allow me time to recover. Instantly assaulting my messy hole, forcing cum to fly from my pussy, splashing over us both. He has hold of my thighs and is in control of my body, just like the previous lad. He was pulling me to him on each thrust, forcing his manhood as deep as he could into me and ripping over my tender inner flesh, shaking my tits back and forth with his urgency. My orgasm never stops; it ripples over me constantly, making me short of breath and lightheaded. It's glorious in its intensity and scary in its power. His cum finally shoots to the back of my vagina. I can feel his cock jerking as he holds inside of me, letting it empty its load.

Gasping for breath and relief, I try to sit up, but before I manage that, I am turned over and lifted onto my knees. Someone kneels behind me, and a cock presents itself to my still-pulsating maw. It enters me smoothly and slowly, enjoying its journey into my sodden, silky-smooth sanctum. Short, regular strokes allow me to recover my breath as the fuzziness leaves my head. This is so nice; this has to be the first lad. Turning my head, I see John sitting in the corner, grinning wildly. It is the first lad; the tender and gentle touch he first displayed continues as he slides his cock in me. Letting me savour the feel of his member caressing my inner self, sliding serenely but purposefully. He seems to last forever; I wish he could. His tempo and depth of stroke begin to increase, as does my urgency to climax again. Expertly, he controls us both, and we cum together; he grips my hips and holds us tightly together as I clamp my vaginal walls tight around his marvellous member, draining every drop out of him.

Expecting to be released, I am surprised as hands grip my hips and another cock rubs over my slit, finding the entrance to my sex and penetrating me forcibly. Looking over my shoulder is impossible, but John is no longer in sight. It must be the watcher, now becoming the doer. Not for long, as he rapidly loses his load inside me. There was too much anticipation and not enough practice. I roll over and pull myself along the bed to sit against the headboard. I see the three lads are dressed; John is nearly so.

"Tart enough for you?" I question the three lads.

"John got that wrong; you're no tart. You're a full-blown fucking slut," the lippy one replied eagerly.

"Is that a problem?" I probe.

"Not so fucking likely; we've got to go. Let us know when you have the tart over again, John, you lucky bastard," he hopefully asks John.

John shows them out and returns a few minutes later.

"Watching only?" I query.

"Yeah, well, it's that peer pressure thing," he sheepishly answers.

After cleaning up and getting dressed, we go downstairs, make some coffee, and chat until Rob gets home a few hours later.

"Have a nice time," he asks no one in particular, with a little smirk.

"Yes, thanks. How about you?" I quip coyly.

"Not so much. Football is not my thing, and they lost. They'll come over about seven, and they're bringing pizza and wine," Rob continued.

John and I both nod. The next hour or so is spent chatting and drinking coffee.

Sam and Tony arrived a little early, Pizza and wine in hand and apologies on their lips.

After eating and drinking, we're all more than a little tipsy. We settle down to watch a Star Wars movie. I'm unsure which one; they all blur into one to me. I lie there, stretched across the sofa, well, Rob, Sam, and Tony are sitting on the sofa, and I am draped across their laps, with them idly caressing my body. Rob has a hand on my tit, over my T-shirt, Sam has undone my skirt and is stroking my mound over my knickers, and Tony is running his hands over my legs. John is watching from an armchair. As the film progresses, hands wander under my clothing, bare tits, and bare mound being gently caressed.

John suddenly spoke. "Sharon, when did you get into sex so much? Rob and I have always considered you to be almost prudish. Even if we did and do consider you dead sexy."

I raise my head and look at him. "What do you think your parents are doing right now?" I counter.

"That's gross," John answers.

"Why? Can't they have a sex life?" I riposte.

Rob cuts in. "She's got you there. You wouldn't be here if they didn't." He laughs.

John, suitably embarrassed, rephrased the question. "Well, OK. Sex like this weekend. You know, a bit wild and out there."

"That's a whole different question," I answer, as I sit up and move to another chair. My skirt falls to the floor, and my T-shirt is missing. When did that happen? Which leaves me in my knickers only. Sitting comfortably and as demurely as I can, I spend the next twenty minutes or so telling them about Ken and my adventures. The hotel pick-ups, sex clubs and swinging, and ultimately dogging, where I was used by up to seven or eight men in an evening, with Ken watching. I do not mention my consulting career or ever hint at getting paid, or the more extreme amateur events. Telling them about being screwed twenty plus times may have them thinking of me as easy. Or as a slut! I can't have that!

They're all agog by the end of my story, and the questions start.

What clubs, where was the dogging site, what's the most men I have had in one session, or over a weekend? I answered them all truthfully, well, nearly. Then comes my favourite question. What's my favourite position?

"That's for you to find out," I challenge them.

They're up for the challenge, and they seem to have lost all inhibitions about them all being naked as they quickly shed their clothes, revealing four rampant cocks eager to explore.

They're a bit boring to start with: missionary, doggy, cowgirl. However, they have decided not to cum too soon, and each of them only takes a few strokes per position. John is watching and advising; he also has his phone out. Filming? Perhaps.

The ideas start flowing with a few of my suggestions. Up against the wall, forward and reverse, crossing the T, scissors, knees around my ears. Each lad tried every position. It is so tormenting, so teasing, and so much fun.

Suddenly, the room seems so much fuller, and it is. Someone, John, I presume, has called for back-up, and the three lads from this afternoon are back.

"She challenged us to find her favourite position," Rob informs the newcomers. "And I think we need new ideas."

"Ha, that's easy. She's a slut, as long as she has a cock in her, it doesn't matter how it got there," one of the newcomers laughs. It sounded like the lippy one from earlier. "So let's just use her and see what she can take," he continued.

A lot. No more playing games as they take me relentlessly, any positions, face fucked, spit roasted, and all rooms in the house. Each offering new possibilities for unthought-of positions. On the stairs, tied to the bed, on the kitchen worktops, over the table, up against a window looking over the street. No one is holding back, and a constant flow of mixed juices runs down my thighs.

Eventually, they run out of ideas and cum. The reinforcements leave, and the remaining lads wander off to bed. I make for the bathroom before retiring to Rob's bed and languish in warm, bubbly water for ages, alone with my thoughts and revelling in my debauchery. I have so missed sex.

Waking with a start, desperate for a wee, I jump out of bed. Or would have if my body worked and stopped hurting so much. As soon as I move, my arms, shoulders, legs or even my toes, pain shoots through my muscles.

Falling back the few inches I managed to move off the bed immediately gives me relief; however, I still need to pee. Slowly and cautiously, I get my feet on the floor, give myself a while to get my breath back and stand slowly up. Swaying slightly as I gingerly walk to the door, open it and cross the landing to the bathroom, taking care of my immediate needs, then running the bath and sliding gently into the relaxing embrace of the hot water. I may have got fitter over the last few months, however, I'm certainly not match fit!

That's better, the water has cooled, and my aches and pains have eased. Drying off, brushing my hair, and applying a little makeup further refreshes me. I almost feel human again; however, I am thirsty and hungry.

Slipping my negligee on, I get halfway down the stairs when I have a sudden thought. I'm basically naked, I don't know how many lads are about, or what mood they may be in, am I coming across as brazen? Should I get dressed appropriately? Do I want to be used again, who knows how many men again? My pussy answers that one, gushing with juices at the thought.

"There's coffee in the kitchen," Rob shouts out from below.

Too late for second thoughts now.

Rob is alone, and he pushes a mug of coffee across the table as I walk into the kitchen. He does not comment on my attire, but asks what I would like to eat.

While Rob prepares my breakfast/brunch, it is past noon, so I go into the lounge. Apparently, John wants to talk to me, and he is in there.

John looks miserable as he looks up at me. Sitting myself down opposite him, demurely covering my body, I wait for him to speak.

"I'm so sorry for what happened last night. It was all my fault; I shouldn't have phoned Gilbert or let things get out of hand. Are you alright?" John spluttered out.

"I'm fine. Please don't beat yourself up over it. It's not my first rodeo, and I'm hoping it won't be my last. If you get my gist," I placated him. "Who's Gilbert?" I ask.

"Oh, sorry. Gilbert is the chap you invited back yesterday afternoon, with his goons Clive and Owen," John explained.

"They were with him, plus one other guy whom I don't know. They took over, and we went with it and just kept at it," John nervously informed me.

"Yeah, so eight guys, including us," enthused Rob, who had been listening at the door. "You were bloody fantastic, I can't wait to do that again."

"We'll have to wait and see on that. Certainly not today," I respond.

"That's better than a no. So, a maybe?" Rob cheekily enquires.

"Oh, it's a definite maybe," I happily reply as I quickly do some mental maths. Six yesterday, plus Rob this morning, then Gilbert and his mates, plus John, then eight last night. So nineteen. That's not a bad body count for my comeback!