Emily's Rebirth

Emily was sitting in the morning room when the doorbell rang. She was not expecting visitors that day so listened carefully as Katherine walked across the tiled hall floor to answer the door. Voices murmured and the door clicked shut. Once more Katherine's shoes sounded on the tiles as she came to bear her message. The morning room door opened. In seconds, Emily took in two things: the look on Katherine's face and the envelope in her hand. Katherine held it towards her, her hand clearly trembling. Emily stood, reached out and took it. With numbed senses she opened it and unfolded the paper it contained. It was one of those telegrams where only the details needed to be filled in. Certain words jumped out at her: 'painful duty', 'death', 'killed in action'. A brief cry escaped her lips and then, as Katherine watched helplessly, Emily crumpled to the floor.

She came back to consciousness once again in the armchair where she had been resting. Katherine and Mrs Marsden, the housekeeper, were looking on anxiously as Jenkins waved a bottle of smelling salts under Emily's nose. She could only assume that Jenkins himself had lifted her back into the chair although she had never credited him with such strength. He had only remained as their gardener as, at 68, he was too old to sign up. That's not to say he had not tried. Emily could still remember laughing as he returned from the recruitment drive complaining that they would only sign up the younger men, men such as her husband Charles. She looked down at her hand. The telegram was still crushed in her fist. Mrs Marsden broke the silence.

"Ma'am, is it...your husband? Is he hurt?"

Emily handed her the crumbled paper. Mrs Marsden smoothed it out, read it and stifled a sob. Katherine too, started to cry.

"Oh ma'am, I'm so sorry. Whatever can we do?"

No sound could escape from Emily's lips. She just shook her head and waved in the direction of the door. Mrs Marsden nodded and, with her arm around Katherine's shoulders, moved towards the door.

"You too, Jenkins, " murmured Emily and the old man stood up slowly, grasped her hand briefly and left, closing the door behind him. For what seemed like hours, Emily sat, staring at a point somewhere above the fireplace. No tears sprang to her eyes. As time moved on, the light in the room changed. A sudden darkening, caused by gathering clouds outside, brought Emily back to reality. She stood up and moved towards the table by the door where Mrs Marsden had left the telegram. She picked it up and read it twice, taking in every word. Placing it back on the table, her hand then moved to her left side, gently touching her dress over the point where she knew a dark bruise was still to be found. She winced. Rolling up her left sleeve, she could see the purple marks left by her husband's fingers as he had grabbed her and thrown her across the bedroom only the previous week when she had refused to sleep with him the night before he returned to the front. She could still remember his cruel taunt, "Well, at least I can get a Belgian whore when I get to Ypres." Those had been the last words he had said to her. She hoped his death had come before he had the opportunity to search out any such girl. The thought of him dying whilst still frustrated brought a smile to her lips. A giggle grew in her throat and, by the time it escaped from her mouth, it had grown to a laugh. She placed a hand over her mouth to stifle the sound. It wouldn't do for the servants to hear her laughing when she was supposed to be in mourning.

That night Emily stood in her bedroom, naked in front of the full length mirror. She had asked Mrs Marsden to draw a bath for her before she left for the evening and it awaited her in the bathroom next door. Returning her gaze to her reflection she gently touched the marks on her body. They varied from dark bruising to fading yellow patches. Here and there were small pale scars and even an angry red mark on her upper arm where Charles had once stubbed out a cigarette. She let her touch linger on some of the marks. Some were still tender and she winced as her fingers brushed them. Breathing deeply, she raised herself and fixed her reflection with a steely gaze.

"No man will ever hurt me again. He is dead. The bastard is dead!"

Hearing the words out loud, so brutal and so final, made her realise the truth. Momentarily she choked but the sob caught in her throat and disappeared. With a finality to her step, she moved towards the bathroom.

A few short minutes later, she lay in the warmth of the bathwater. She closed her eyes and thought about her life. She could start again, find someone new. Someone who would love her rather than treating her like an unwanted animal. Again her fingers brushed over her body but this time she was not marking her damaged flesh. Now she was exploring her new self. She touched her right breast, cupping it gently and stroking her nipple with her thumb. She felt it growing hard. Urgently, she squeezed it between her thumb and forefinger. The sensations spread from her nipple like electricity flowing through her body. Her free hand moved into the water and nestled between her slightly parted legs. She ran her finger through her wiry triangle of hair, searching out her smooth lips. She parted them gently, feeling the wetness there that owed nothing to the bath water. Running her finger up her slit, her body shuddered as she reached the growing bud near its apex. She circled it slowly, biting her lip and wonderful sensations coursed through her body. This was not the first time she had masturbated. In fact, Charles being at war for the last three years had given her a number of wonderful opportunities to explore her own body. She knew that, when he had been home on leave, she had never received any satisfaction from him. He would frequently get drunk and then force himself on her, ignoring her cries as he roughly penetrated her. However, once he had left, she allowed herself to give her body the pleasure it craved. She was certain Mrs Marsden and Katherine must have been suspicious as she seemed to spend a large amount of time in the bath.

Coming back to the moment, her finger was still circling her clitoris but she knew she needed more to bring her crashing to an orgasm. Pressing with the heel of her hand against her tender bud, she inserted two fingers deep into her wet pussy. She loved that word, loved the coarseness of it, loved what it described. She could feel the explosion growing inside her and pumped her fingers deep into her hole, pressing hard onto her clitoris.

As Emily's muscles spasmed around her fingers, she cried out, "You bastard, you never made me come. Not once. I hate you! I hate you!" She continued to finger herself long after the feelings had subsided but, as she slowed down, she was surprised to find that her face was wet with tears.

That night, she slept more deeply than she had in years.

***

The next week was a constant round of visitors, all commiserating with her over Charles' death. She had to remain the grieving widow, paying lip service to the 'great loss' she felt. On the fifth day, Katherine entered the drawing room to tell her that a Mr. George Garner was at the door. Emily started. George! Charles' younger brother. She had not heard from the family at all. She had written to pass on the news of Charles' death but, as the family had tended to keep away from them, she had not expected a response. She instructed Katherine to admit him. Standing, she prepared herself to continue her façade of grief. The door opened and George entered. It had been at least five years since she had last seen him but he had not altered. He was dressed smartly but the most noticeable thing was his pronounced limp, leading to him walking with a stick. In fact, it was this limp that had led to him being refused a posting in the army, meaning he was left at a desk in Whitehall. Charles had always referred to him bitterly as 'the cowardly George', despite his clear incapacity.

"Emily." He greeted her with a slight incline of the head.

The atmosphere between them was uncomfortable. Emily wanted to scream at him yet knew she had to keep her composure.

"I had not expected to see you, George. It has been, what, five years? I did say in my letter that there would be no funeral. It is my understanding that Charles will be buried in Belgium."

"I know that, Emily. Mother was against my coming but I had to see how you were."

George's words puzzled her. It seemed unlikely that any of the Garners should feel the need to sympathise with her. She had assumed they would mourn on their own.

"Why should my well-being be a concern of yours? You have not bothered with me until today."

"Emily, that is not true. We have thought about you regularly. Are you well?"

George seemed to be struggling to articulate his feelings. Emily was uncertain what he was trying to say.

"How do you feel about Charles'...death?"

She was puzzled. Had he seen through her mask? She didn't know what to say. His next words shocked her.

"It is better to be honest. Mother and I are relieved that he is gone. It is a weight off all our minds."

Emily's head swam. Was George saying what she thought?

"Do you mean...? You knew...what sort of man he was?"

George looked away, seemingly desperate to avoid her gaze.

"My brother Charles was a bully. I knew it, my mother knew it. Even my father knew it. I assume he hit you?"

All the emotion Emily had been feeling, not just for the last week but ever since she had married Charles Garner, burst to the surface. In one stride, she reached George and screamed in his face.

"You knew? You knew he beat me? You knew what he did to me and you did nothing? Damn you! Damn you!"

George's stick clattered to the floor as he reached up to grab Emily's hand which was about make contact with his cheek.

"Yes, I knew, WE knew and, yes, I suppose I deserve to be slapped but you must believe me when I tell you we could do nothing."

Emily pulled her hand away and turned in disgust.

"Don't tell me that your crippled leg stopped you! You still have a backbone, don't you?"

George's reply was almost a whisper but it made Emily stop and she felt the anger drain out of her.

"Yes, I have a backbone but did you ever ask yourself about my crippled leg? Did Charles never gloat to you that it was he who caused this? That he knocked me down when I was six and jumped on my leg so badly that the doctors thought they would have to remove it? And it was not just me. He treated mother appallingly as well, even before father died although it was worse after. He would beat her just as, I understand, he beat you."

Emily gasped. "But why?"

"Why? Because he could. Because he was a bully. He always took what he wanted and often took what others wanted just because he knew he could. That's why he married you."

"I...I don't understand."

"Because I loved you. Charles knew that, he could always tell what I was thinking. When he saw that I was attracted to you, all those years ago, he would not allow me to be happy so he married you himself. All because I felt something that he never could, something I still feel..."

As George's words tailed off, Emily looked up at him. She had just heard the words from a man that he husband had never managed to say to her.

"You loved me?"

"Of course I did. I still do, which is why I am here. I have wanted to say this to you for a long time."

George reached over and brushed Emily's cheek. She leant into the warmth of his hand. Before she knew it, his lips were on hers. The softness of his kiss awoke something within her. This was what love meant, this tenderness. Excitedly, she kissed George back, opening her lips to admit his tongue. Suddenly, he stepped back, breaking their connection.

"You're not angry? You don't hate me?"

"No, George, I don't hate you. I may be angry later but for now I need to feel alive again."

Emily moved to the door and turned the lock. The blinds were still drawn over the windows as befitted a house in mourning. Turning back to George, she pulled him near and kissed him once more. His arms gripped her shoulders as he held her against him. She was desperate to feel some warmth at last. Urgently, his fingers searched for the buttons on the front of her dress. Undoing them, he released the dress from her shoulders and let it cascade to the floor. His hands found her breasts through her undergarments and he squeezed them softly. Emily moaned into his mouth. Taking one of his hands, she placed it between her legs. Even through the material of her bloomers George could feel the warmth and wetness of her sex. His hand fought its way through the material to rub softly between her sodden labia, slipping one finger inside her. Emily bit softly on his lip to stop crying out as he caressed her is a way Charles had never done.

She gasped into his ear, "Make love to me. Make me come. Do something your brother never did."

Gently, George removed his hand from her wetness, caused Emily to gasp at the emptiness he left. He grasped the edge of her slip and lifted it over her head and then released her brassiere. As her breasts were freed, George bent down and softly kissed each nipple, feeling them grow firm in his mouth. Gently pulling away, he caught sight of the bruise on Emily's ribs. Kneeling before her, he kissed that as well. He slipped his fingers into the waistband of her bloomers and swiftly pulled them down. Before Emily could squirm, he buried his face between her legs and kissed her warm pussy. Emily had to lean back on the table to steady herself as her body gave way to sensations, the like of which she had never known. George's tongue lapped at her wetness and flicked over her clitoris. This was not like those moments she had touched herself in the bath, this was something entirely new and wonderful. Grasping the back of George's head, she pulled him closer to her, pressing him deeper into her.

"Oh God, yes! That feels wonderful but I want you to make love to me. I want to feel you inside me."

She lifted George to his feet, her body still tingling from his administrations. Quickly, she helped him shed his clothes. Her hands moved to his trousers but he stopped her.

"My leg..."

Kissing him, she assured him that whatever injury he had, it would simply be a match for her bruises. She felt him relax and returned to unfastening his belt. As she undid the buttons, his trousers slipped down. Following his lead, she slipped her fingers into his underpants and let them fall. His engorged cock stood proud from his body. As George had done for her, she knelt before him. Grasping him in her hands, she allowed her mouth to enfold the end of his firm manhood. Occasionally, Charles had forced her to do this but now she was doing it because she wanted to and it felt so good. Using her tongue, she licked all around the end of George's cock, revelling in the taste of the drops of pre-cum that leaked from the end. Greedily, she swallowed more of him, feeling his firmness filling her mouth. She knew she could continue this until George exploded down her throat but she wanted her own satisfaction. Standing, she turned and leant on the table, spreading her legs as she thrust her backside at George. Her glistening sex eagerly awaited him. Looking back at him she spoke.

"If you are truly sorry for your brother, then fill me with your warmth."

She felt George's body close behind her, felt his still hard cock brush her wet entrance as he supported himself on the table. His hand moved between her arse cheeks as he gripped his cock and, with a sudden thrust, guided it into her. A shudder ran through her body. That felt so good. She could not remember ever being so wet. Certainly not with Charles and rarely by herself. She pushed back, forcing him deeper into her. As his tongue had done earlier, George's cock was making her feel as she had never felt before. Unlike Charles' rough fucking, her pussy welcomed George's cock. He was undoubtedly bigger than Charles; despite her incredible wetness she could feel every inch of him as he moved inside her. At times he seemed to withdraw almost completely and she cried out, believing he was going to leave her unsatisfied. However, within seconds, he was deep within her once more. Gradually, his thrusting became more urgent and she felt the unmistakable signs of the orgasm growing inside her. She started to cry out, short, unintelligible noises and George seemed to join with her. Both were revelling in the feelings. Her hand reached down and she rubbed her clitoris urgently, pushing herself toward the precipice. Suddenly, she felt him stiffen and then, like a dam bursting, he came inside her. She felt his hot cum spurt again and again within her, bringing her to undreamed of heights. She thought she would pass out as she came again and again, each spasm of her pussy milking George's cock once more. She collapsed on the table, the cold polished surface squashing her breasts while George's exhausted body seemed to envelop her.

After what seemed like hours but was, in reality, less than a minute she felt George lift himself from her. She stood and turned, almost coming to orgasm once again as she felt their combined juices flood out of her and cascade down her legs. Drawing near to George, she pressed her breasts to his chest and kissed him deeply once more. His arms held her tightly. She whispered in his ear, "Thank you, thank you, finally I feel as if there is something in my life to keep me safe, to stop me being afraid."

"Always, always, my darling," George replied. "Never again will you fear the sound of a door closing or a footstep on the stair. I am here for you now...if you can forgive me for not being here for so long."

Emily smiled. "If you make me feel like that every night, I believe I can forgive you anything."

As their bodies clung together, it seemed to both of them that they were beginning a new life, as if their previous existence was nothing but a forgotten nightmare, fading away with the coming of the dawn.