The Last Flight. Chapter 4 - Sex Stories

The Last Flight. Chapter 4

... “What is wrong?” I asked them. A young man spoke up. “I am staying here.” “You can't stay here,” I argued, “The wreck is unstable and besides, we need to be visible so the rescue team know we have survived.” “No!” he may as well have stamped his foot, “I say we stay right here!” He looked around at his fellow passengers, most of whom seemed to be nodding in agreement. I noticed Jemima open her mouth before I had a chance to speak. “What is wrong with you people?” She closed her mouth suddenly without uttering a sound. It had been George who had spoken, “This young lady has saved our lives, how can you be so ungrateful?” There was a shuffling of feet but no other movement. “Stay here then, you ungrateful sods.” With a flick of his hand, he turned on his heel and walked away. “I am sorry, Miss, that I treated you the way I did,” he said to me. “I know, now, what an arrogant fool I was. I am just sorry that I had to find out this way.” “It's okay.” I told him, “You have made up for it by your actions. You are a good man.” He smiled. “I am sorry to you too, Miss...” he turned to Jemima. “I forgive you George,” she replied, and I noticed that she didn't offer her name to him. The four of us walked slowly back towards the runway. I hoped there may be some shelter there, old buildings perhaps. We were quite high in the mountains and the sun did little to warm the air. I saw that the other six were now following as I thought they might, rather than being left alone, and we followed ...

... the scar left by the skidding airframe back towards the tarmac of the old runway. I was beginning to shiver. Although it was summer, we had crashed quite high in the mountains and there was a cool breeze blowing. I had no jacket, just skirt and blouse. None of us had stopped to collect clothing, and besides, the afternoon sun was warm and the rescuers would be here soon... wouldn't they? As I hobbled along, leaning against my helper's arm for support, I looked at Jemima walking beside me. She was grim faced but silent. She must have seen me looking from the corner of her eye for she suddenly turned towards me and asked if I was okay. I nodded. “Yes, just a little cold,” I replied. “Cold?” she frowned, “But it's...” She stopped mid sentence as she looked down at my leg. “Oh my Lord, sit down, quickly, get the weight off that leg!” I was puzzled so looked down and gasped involuntarily. My whole leg was red with blood. My shoe was squelching with each step and there was a trail of spots behind me. With the aid of my assistant, I sat in the long grass just before the end of the runway and Jemima lifted the hem of my skirt. The handkerchief was saturated and could not contain the flow of blood still oozing from the gash. Immediately she lifted her own skirt and tore a strip of fabric from the hem, then wrapped it around my thigh and tied it tightly with a knot. “I hope that works!” she said, taking my hand in hers then, leaning nearer to me, whispered, “I think we should stay here ...