(By HGHunt)

Veronica. Sad Veronica. Losing to Chelsea had been bad enough, but then to witness the incredible homage the other girls seemed so willing to pay to the victress was enough to break her. Almost. The tortuous fight had taken everything physically from her that she had to give. To top it off, the humiliation and psychological pain of what she had witnessed, in part, between Chelsea and the other girls going at each other with so much incredible lusty energy was even worse. SHE had been a leader among these girls for up to three years with some of them, and now it was clear that Chelsea had not only replaced her, but probably had taken on an even more lofty idol status among the six. Even though she slept through the last hour and a half of their orgy she had seen and heard enough to know that Chelsea was literally acting like a queen and the six were acting like pawns. It was enough to make her puke.

The sleep cured her worst physical exhaustion, but the pain from the fight and its aftermath lingered when she finally awoke in the pitch-dark room, huddled on the floor of the wrestling room about half an hour after the others had left. She moved her arms and legs; twisting her body this way and that to decipher what might be hurting. Fortunately it seemed that nearly all her pain was muscular. Her muscles were very sore as were many of the bruises and welts on her head and torso. And to top it off she had a monstrous headache. But she could move and it seemed apparent that Chelsea and the six were gone. Her eyes were working but it was very dark. Looking toward the door she could see the faintest glow of the emergency exit sign down the hall through the small window. Carefully she stood and placed one foot in front of the other. Meeting no barriers she made it to the door and found the light switch. Flipping it on she looked around the empty room. She saw her apartment key lying on the floor, lonely. The girls were gone and so were her clothes. She noted the clock. It read 10:08. She knew it would be dark outside now. Afraid of the possibility of walking across campus naked she began scrounging among the nooks and crannies of the wrestler's den. She found a couple of dirty sweatshirts and some towels tossed in a pile behind one of the workout apparati. Wrapping the towel around her like a skirt and pulling the musty athletic department sweatshirt over her head she left. Yuck!

Her walk home in the darkness of campus went by without incident; luckily for her. Few were about and she stuck to the out-of-the-way paths. She made it to her dorm room safely. She ached for a bath but had to satisfy herself with a long slow shower. She looked at herself in the mirror and saw that she had five red marks on her face, two of which were ballooned up into knots. Her lip was bloated from the cut administered by Chelsea's fist. Her body had nearly 20 similar bruises and visible marks. Her legs ached and her eyes stung from all the tears.

The shower helped but it certainly didn't remove the damage she had suffered. She looked at her once-proud bush of pussy hair and recoiled to see how much had been ripped out. Like Chelsea she had maybe 40-50% remaining. She wondered how much Chelsea had left. After all, their feminine pubes had been the instigating cause of their bush war. She couldn't really remember just exactly how their fight had ended, but she knew that she had fought with Chelsea hard for a very long time and that she had felt 'in the advantage' for much of the fight. It must have been by the slimmest of margins that Chelsea had managed her victory. What should she do? Should she wait in hiding some time and pummel the shit out of the bitch? Should she quit school, the team, and slink away somewhere else where she would never see Chelsea again? Should she just bide her time, looking for the perfect opportunity to challenge her again? How would the other girls treat her now?

All those questions floated through her mind as she drifted off to sleep.