Shelter
Copyright© 2023 by Crimson Dragon
Chapter 4: Patrick
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 4: Patrick - 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
They both sat propped by pillows against the headboard. Sarah pulled the covers over her bare legs to her waist, but remained unabashedly topless, her hands clasped in her lap. Brady had kicked off his shoes, tucking his legs under the sheets beside her. He still wore the blue button-down and the khakis below the covers.
“Where did you go?” Brady asked.
Sarah, confused by the question, looked towards the open window. The sun had set beyond the pane of glass, evening sounds tickling her ears: distant sirens, the faint tinkle of girlish laughter rising from the street below, the hum of traffic and the occasional blaring horn.
“I’ve been right here with you in bed since dinner,” Sarah replied slowly. She was only confused because she knew what he meant; however, she didn’t understand how he might know. She turned her face to look at him.
“You went somewhere else when my fingers pushed inside you,” Brady said. He had the decency to blush as he spoke. “You were here physically, but...” his voice trailed off. I wasn’t really in my body. “Were you thinking about someone else? Someplace else? It’s okay if you were.”
Sarah shifted uncomfortably. She didn’t speak for a long time, undecided about how much to share with this virtual stranger. On the other hand, this stranger had given her the first orgasm she’d experienced in longer than she could clearly remember.
It should have been a magical time. The wonders of being a teenager: friends, parties, dating, first kisses, first loves. Instead, Sarah lay shivering awake in her single bed wearing her drabbest flannel nightie listening intently and hoping. She clutched the covers protectively to her chin and prayed.
Beyond her closed bedroom door she could hear their shrill screaming voices arguing. She couldn’t discern the words, but it was always the same: fucking whore, fucking bastard. Sometimes the sound of an open hand striking a defenceless cheek. Tonight, the voices resonated the same chorus, only broken by the inevitable slap followed by the stomping of angry feet and the slam of a door.
Perhaps an hour of silence passed. The silence disquieted Sarah; it would inevitably be broken by the soft creak of rusty hinges. It mattered not if she was asleep or awake, but tonight sleep evaded her, as it often did.
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