Shelter
Copyright© 2023 by Crimson Dragon
Chapter 30: Prayer
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 30: Prayer - While living on the streets, Sarah meets Brady, a handsome and spiritual benefactor. He offers her shelter and an opportunity to escape her past in an idyllic utopia. Does his generosity mask more sinister motives? Is utopia tarnished? The right path is rarely the easy path.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Mult Consensual Drunk/Drugged BiSexual Heterosexual Fiction Group Sex Polygamy/Polyamory Caution Slow Violence
“Sarah?”
Sarah opened her eyes. The world appeared sideways. Brady’s motionless legs lay across her field of view, his blood-stained shoes floating in front of her eyes. Not a nightmare. She closed her eyes again. She wished for shoes.
“Sarah? Please. I need you to free me.” Janet’s voice sounded weak and frightened.
Sarah groaned without opening her eyes. “I can’t.”
“Sarah? I know it hurts. God, I know it hurts. You at least need to call for help. You need help. We need help.”
She lay immobile, gathering her strength.
“I want to die,” she murmured.
“I know,” Janet said. “I know. But you can survive if I did.”
“I can’t. I’ve done things.”
“Forget that. Get the phone. Call emergency. Please.”
Sarah didn’t answer her. She couldn’t make her lips or tongue work. Pain filled her consciousness.
Finally, she managed to push herself up to her hands and knees. She didn’t want to see Brady, but he lay there, silently accusing her.
“You can do it,” Janet. “You have to get the phone. Please.”
Somewhere beyond her perception, Sarah could hear a baby crying. But that couldn’t be. She must be hallucinating, or residual echoes of the gunshots.
One hand moved, then the other, then her trembling legs. Even her toenails hurt. The phone lay beside Brady where he’d dropped it when she shot him, its screen pulsing.
One hand. One leg. One hand. One leg.
Painfully slowly, Sarah crawled past Brady’s shoes and reached the device. The screen showed a timer, every second ticking away. It read seven hours forty-three minutes and a handful of seconds. Either Brady had pressed the red button before telling her to shoot Janet, or his death spasm had ground his thumb into the device. Fuck.
In less than eight short hours: Boom.
She tried not to think about the van to concentrate her meagre resources on the immediate task at hand. Her fingers trembled uncontrollably. She breathed in deeply and tried to fight the pressure behind her eyes, think clearly. Only three numbers, not perfect numbers or calculus, but three simple numbers. She thought about the willow, feeling safe under its branches. She thought about Patrick and her mother fighting, Patrick touching her breasts; she thought about Rebecca and Geeky Phil.
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