Deceit - Part 3

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humiliation Sex  |  House: Booksiesilk Classic Group

A second chance to meet Helen!

Photo: Helen Carswell-Jones


There isn’t a moment to lose if Helen is to save her best friend’s life. Still wet from her swim, she tousles her damp brown hair with her gym towel, wonders what to do. Should she call 999, ask for the emergency services? Ask for who? On what grounds? On the basis of a snatched conversation? Or should she get herself over to Sian’s flat as soon as possible?

She procrastinates, unfamiliar with emergencies. Procrastination leads to indecision. Indecision leads to panic. Her panic brings her out in a thick daub of sweat. She inhales sharply, restoring her inner calm. Helen recovers. She wishes Bryn was here. He’d know what to do. But Bryn is in Leeds, attending a moulded fittings conference, his phone switched off, not to be disturbed. She dries herself, throws on her tracksuit and soft running shoes, finds her phone, and makes a beeline for the house.

The imposing Georgian manse overlooks a pink gravel drive. Standing on the forecourt are two muddy quad bikes and a post box red Mini Hatch Classic. The keys are still in the ignition from when dreamy Helen forgot to take them out. She throws open the door, throws her sports socks, towel, and phone on the passenger seat, jumps in, belts up, revs the engine, and shoots off down her private driveway, weaving between the opening security gates, onto the forest road.

Sian’s apartment is three miles away in the suburbs. It is a ten-minute drive at the best of times. Thirty when the schools come out. Helen checks her gold wristwatch: ten-past-two, sighing with relief. The narrow winding lane takes her past a golf and country club, and a chain of less-well-appointed abodes, to a sharp bend. She glances at the mirror, applies clutch, selects third, glides round the bend, then has to brake. The queue of traffic stretches far into the distance, far as her eyes can see. There is a bright red sign at the side of the road with faded white lettering:

Road Works

Cars stream towards her in the opposite direction. Unable to turn round, filled with road rage fuelled by her frustration, Helen thumps her fist angrily on the steering wheel, sounding the horn. Just as she is about to pick up the phone and dial 999, the car in front of her edges forward.

Her mind is in a quandary:

Should I stay or should I go?

Helen goes. Three red lights or twenty minutes later, she arrives outside Sian’s apartment block. She claps a sticky mitt over her forehead staring in disbelief. The block has a common entrance, a secured door, an entry phone. Helen Carswell-Jones stamps her foot on the accelerator pedal, stalling the engine.

Why didn’t I remember that?

Unless her luck changes very quickly, she will have to call Sian to enter the building.

Assuming Sian is even conscious.

Helen climbs out of the Mini, slams the door, and rushes up to the entry phones, selecting:

Flat 5 - Braker

She holds the button down for a full five minutes.

Sian doesn’t answer.

Submitted: August 14, 2021

© Copyright 2021 hjfurl. All rights reserved.

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Add Your Comments:



Oh! Scary...and exciting too. Traffic jams are the worst. Time to zip up her latex cat suit and fly through a window.

Thu, August 19th, 2021 12:58am



Thu, August 19th, 2021 11:35am

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