Chapter 243 Healing Process(2)

• When he finally pulled out, his body shuddered as he spilled hot, sticky ropes of cum across her tummy and the fabric of her sweater, leaving her skin sticky and defiled, the stocky one wasted no time. He flipped her over roughly onto her stomach, positioning her with her ass raised vulnerably, her face pressed into the tear-soaked pillow. “No more… please, I can’t…” she whimpered, her voice muffled and broken, emotions of exhaustion and despair weighing her down. But he ignored her entirely, his hand coming down in a sharp slap on her pale cheeks, leaving angry red handprints that stung like fire. Unzipping, he revealed his own cock—shorter at 6 inches but girthier, the thick, veined meat ending in a fat head that promised even more stretching. He rammed into her from behind without preamble, the renewed pain making her cry out as her raw pussy protested the intrusion. His thrusts were animalistic and unforgiving, hands digging deep bruises into her narrow hips as he alternated between slow, deep plunges to savor her tightness and fast, punishing slams that shook her entire body. The previous burglar’s cum mixed with her blood, dripping messily down her thighs, adding to the slick, humiliating mess.
• They weren’t content with that. For what stretched into an agonizing eternity—though in reality it was perhaps another half-hour—they took turns with her body, forcing her into positions that maximized their dominance. One would shove his cock into her mouth, the salty, musky taste gagging her as it hit the back of her throat, while the other pounded her pussy from behind. The taller one’s dick stretched her lips wide, veins pulsing against her tongue; the stocky’s thickness made her jaw ache as she was forced to suck. Semen coated her tongue, dribbled down her chin, and filled her inner walls, leaving her feeling utterly filthy and used. By the end, Jenna was reduced to a broken, trembling shell—her body bruised and leaking fluids, emotions locked in a numb haze of despair, betrayal by the very home that should have protected her, and a deep-seated fear that she would never feel whole or clean again. “Tell anyone about this, and we’ll be back for seconds,” they snarled menacingly before slipping out into the night, leaving her alone in the darkness.
• The immediate aftermath unfolded in a disorienting blur: her parents rushing home after her tearful phone call, the sterile coldness of police interrogations where she had to recount every horrific detail, and the invasive medical exams that probed her sore, swollen genitals with clinical detachment. The burglars vanished without a trace, their masks and gloves ensuring no leads, leaving Jenna to grapple with the invisible scars. Nightmares became her constant companions—vivid flashes of masked faces leering, rough cocks invading her body, the echo of pain lingering long after she woke in a cold sweat. Emotions dominated her waking hours too: irrational guilt, as if she had somehow invited the horror by being home alone; revulsion toward her own body, her once-curious pussy now a site of trauma, still tender and inflamed, making even sitting uncomfortable; a profound isolation that kept her from friends and school, her once-vibrant social life shrinking to solitude. The thought of masturbation, which had once brought her innocent pleasure, now triggered panic attacks—her clit untouched, her folds remaining dry and unresponsive amid the fear.