2 comments/  11756 views/  7 favorites

'Til Death

By: TamLin01



"All extremes of feeling are allied with madness."

-Virginia Woolf, "Orlando"

***

It was sundown. The carriage reached the cottage on the cliffs. Porphyria told the driver to wait. "And don't disturb us even if the sky is falling."

She followed the path to the cottage door, but hesitated before knocking. Maybe I should go back, she thought. Maybe I should just throw myself off the cliffs instead. That would be better. But she knocked, and when the door opened she went in without waiting to be invited, or even greeted. 

She had to duck a bit to fit through the doorframe. She was a great, tall woman, with strong arms and broad shoulders and a hard face, but she was often called beautiful. A duke wrote a sonnet about her hair two seasons ago. She called the verses "quaint."

Hester wiped flour-covered fingers on her apron. She was small and delicate and anyone would admit she was pretty, but gentlemen of every stripe stayed away from her, and no one would have dared write her love poetry, no matter how smitten. She said nothing to Porphyria but instead went back to the kitchen and continued rolling out dough on the sideboard. Porphyria waited as long as her patience would bear and then coughed as loud as she could. Hester looked at her. "Well?" she said. "What do you want?"

Porphyria took a box from her pocket and set it on the countertop. Hester smeared flour on it as she picked it up. "Open it," said Porphyria. Inside was a diamond necklace. 

"How...pretty," said Hester.

"It's priceless. It was worn by my mother at Queen Victoria's coronation. Just one of those stones would buy all the land from here to Marblehead Hall. It should be more than enough." 

Hester turned the necklace over in her hand. "I'm sorry," she said. "But I wouldn't have a thing to wear with it." She dropped it onto the dirt floor.

Porphyria scowled. "If that's not good enough then what is?"

"You know my price," said Hester, continuing to knead the dough.

"I will not pay it."

"Then you will not. It's your decision."

"I'll find someone else to help me," Porphyria said, turning as if to leave.

"But there is no one else. You've traveled all over the isles and even to the continent, but found no one who can do what I can."

Porphyria turned back. "How do you know that?"

"I know," said Hester.

Porphyria seethed. Hester separated the dough into pans, singing under her breath.

"If I agree," said Porphyria, "do you promise to give me what I want?"

"You know I will," said Hester, without looking up.

Porphyria went to the window. She felt ill. Her eyes burned, but she refused to cry.

"Fine then," she said.

Hester stood up straight. "We have a deal?"

Porphyria bit her lip. "Yes."

Hester picked the necklace up off the floor. "I'll keep the jewels too, if you don't mind?"

"Not a bit."

Hester hung up her apron. She washed her hands in the rain barrel and took her hair down one layer of brown curls at a time. She took Porphyria by the hand (her fingers disappearing in the great woman's palm) and led her into the little bedroom. She turned her back as Porphyria undressed, but after several minutes it was clear that Porphyria was having trouble with her layers of undergarments. Hester bit her lip to keep from laughing. This went on for some time. Finally she said, "Let me help you."

"I don't need help."

"Plainly you do," said Hester, moving behind the other woman and undoing the snaps and buttons. Porphyria made a noise very much like a growl but kept still long enough for Hester to undo everything Porphyria herself could not reach. Then Hester stripped Porphyria down to her chemise and Porphyria on the edge of the thin mattress, hands knotted in her lap. Hester undressed by herself, and then both women stared at one another, unsure what to do. 

Finally, Hester leaned in and kissed Porphyria on the lips. Porphyria nearly fell off the bed. Hester kissed her again, with a bit more force. Porphyria's body went rigid. It was like kissing a blacksmith's vise. 

Hester sighed. "This is not going to work," she said.

"Wait!" said Porphyria.

"No," said Hester, reaching for her dress. "It won't work. You don't love me."

"Did you expect me to?"

"No, but I expected you to be a little more convincing." Hester looked out the window. "Do you remember when my mother stood at this window and watched us play down on the rocks?"

Porphyria blinked. "Yes. I suppose. We were there almost every day." 

"Do you remember when your father took you away and made you promise not to come back, telling you that you should never associate with our kind? You remember that day in particular?"

"Yes," said Porphyria.

"I loved you even then. I think about that day every time I look out this window. Do you know what it was like for me when married that man and went to live at Marblehead Hall and left me thinking I would never see you again?"

She looked at Porphyria.

"I could have had you for myself if I'd wanted. I could have forced you to believe that you love me. I have that power. But I didn't. For you. And you can't even do this one thing for me, not even when you need my help. I gave up a lifetime, and you won't give me a night."

"Give me a chance!" said Porphyria. Her words came between little hiccups, like sobs: "I have never...done...this before. It is not easy. But...I'm willing if you'll just help me!"

Hester had never heard this tone in Porphyria's voice before. It almost sounded like pleading. Hester drummed her fingers on the windowsill, thinking.

"Maybe I should make it easier for you?" Hester said.

"What do you mean?" said Porphyria.

Hester went to a shelf and took down a round box. She drew a pinch of something that looked like crushed rose petals from it.

"Taste it," she said. "Just a little."

Porphyria came no closer. "What is it?"

"Something to make you forget. For a little while." She held her hand higher. "Taste it."

"I don't need witchcraft."

"If that were true you would not be here."

Hester touched the substance to Porphyria's lips and Porphyria felt lighter. She sighed, and then swooned, closing her eyes as she fell onto the bed. She was not sure where she was all of a sudden, but she felt too good to care.

Someone touched her bare arm. It felt very good. Someone else was in the bed with her, she realized. Who was this woman? Porphyria was not sure, but the touch of her hand was soft, and warm, and sensual. 

Porphyria closed her eyes again. She felt the other woman removing her last few underclothes but did not object. The sensation of silk against her skin was thrilling. Once naked she stretched like a cat. 

She forgot that Hester was there as soon as her hands went away, and then when she was touched again she experienced the surprise of finding another occupant in the room all over again. When Hester kissed her she pondered the sensation of another pair of lips, decided that she liked it, and responded in kind. 

Hester was momentarily alarmed when Porphyria's strong arms wrapped around her as tightly as they could. For a second she feared she would not be able to breathe. Porphyria's tongue darted into Hester's mouth, and then she bit Hester's lower lip. Her hands pawed Hester's undergarments and Hester only just managed to slip out of them before they were torn. Both women tumbled naked across the bed, limbs entwined. The night turned hot.

Outside the driver wondered, idly, how much longer his mistress would be.

Porphyria felt like she was on fire. Everything that grazed her skin jolted her. She could concentrate on nothing for more than a few seconds before becoming distracted by something else. She kissed Hester again, filling her mouth with the taste of the other woman. The more she had, the more she wanted. Hester barely caught her breath between kisses. She broke off long enough to kiss Porphyria's neck, tongue moving in a circle. Porphyria's red, red lips opened and she moaned. Hester cried out as nails raked her back.

Hester's tiny, shapely breasts were pressed to Porphyria's ample bosom. Her little fingers cupped Porphyria's breast and squeezed as her teeth grazed the tip of one nipple. Porphyria convulsed. She took hold of Hester, strong fingers fondling her body, and Hester gasped, shuddering.

"Take me," Hester whispered. "I'm yours."

Porphyria's hand slid between Hester's legs as Hester's tongue flickered out, licking her nipples one by one, lapping around and around them before flicking the tip. Porphyria pressed on the back of her head. Hester began to suck. Porphyria's hand pushed against Hester's sex. Hester whimpered, whispering between the darting movements of her tongue:

"I belong to you. Own me. Use me. Do whatever you want with me."

One finger slid inside Hester, then two. She was wet and hot, and she clenched around the invasive touch. She rocked back, breath quickening. Porphyria smiled as she pushed harder. Hester whimpered. 

"Oh God!" she whispered, as Porphyria thrust a finger up into her again and again, causing her sex to quiver and ache. "Oh God, oh God, oh God!" she repeated. She was sweating all over. Porphyria's other fingers nudged her clit, and she almost passed out. She was pushing down with her hips now, chasing Porphyria's touch whenever it retreated. Porphyria slipped a third finger inside. Hester's eyes rolled back. Her body jerked and twitched. She tried to move but it was difficult, as Porphyria rammed her fingers up inside each time she did, reducing her to a writhing mess. She fell onto her back, legs splayed, knotting the blankets.

Hester was coming down off her climax when Porphyria grabbed a handful of her hair, dragged her up, and, before Hester could say anything pushed her face between Porphyria's thighs. Hester was nearly smothered. Her lips parted instinctually and they met something wet. She pushed her tongue against the slit. Porphyria grunted. Hester opened her mouth, fixing her lips and running her tongue inside, tasting the inner rim, then went deeper. 

Hester watched Porphyria's breasts quiver with each breath. She was grinding against Hester's mouth. Her breathing came in slow moans and little sighs, and then there came a deeper, harder panting sound, and an insistent growl from somewhere in her throat. Eventually she was screaming.

Hester moved her head up and down. Her tongue lapped over and over. She was legitimately afraid of what Porphyria might do if she stopped, so she concentrated entirely on the moment. Her fingers massaged the Porphyria's inner thighs, her calloused fingers moving along the pale, delicate flesh of the other woman's gleaming white nakedness. She tasted wetness. She found Porphyria's swollen, trembling clit and engulfed it with her tongue.

The entire bed shook as Porphyria threw herself against the mattress. Her hands clawed Hester's back. Hester didn't stop. Porphyria ached all over. She was burning up inside. She tried to push the feeling out, but there was always more of it.

She screamed: "More!"

Hester went faster. Porphyria was covered in sweat, twitching all over. She buried was screaming non-stop now:

"More, more, more!"

She pulled Hester away and slapped her across the face. Hester blinked, stunned, and then Porphyria pushed her down again, and her mouth opened again, and they went on like that until Porphyria shuddered and screamed her last and collapsed, exhausted. Hester wiped her mouth and took a deep breath, then kissed Porphyria one last time, risking being crushed in another embrace.

They lay side by side for a little while. Then Porphyria's stomach lurched and she ran to the window just in time. She spat bile into the weeds and brush. 

"Sorry," Hester said. "I should have mentioned that can happen once it's run its course."

Porphyria tried to reply but the pain made it too hard. Eventually she settled down. 

"I don't remember anything. Did we..." Porphyria said, and then realized that she was naked and sweaty and sore. She felt sick again, but dressed herself without incident. Hester seemed bored as she watched, sliding back into her own clothes.

Porphyria did not look at Hester, or seemingly anything at all, after they left the bedroom. She stared at the floor, and muttered: 

"Well. You're paid. Now give me what I came for."

Hester went to the mantle and removed a loose chimney stone, taking a small leather bag on a chord from behind it. Something rattled inside. She put it into Porphyria's hand.

"Is this it?" Porphyria said.

Hester nodded. 

"If this is a trick—"

"Then you know where to find me," said Hester.

Porphyria put her cloak on and left. Hester watched her from the door, but Porphyria did not look back. Her coachman had fallen asleep waiting for her.

"Danner!" she said, waking him. She climbed into the cabin. "Harness the horses. We're finished. Back to Marblehead Hall."

"Yes, mistress," he said.

"The workman, they should have arrived by now?"

"Yes, mistress."

"And they're reliable, and know how to keep their mouths shut?

"Yes, mistress." Danner climbed into the bucket.

"Good," said Porphyria, and it was the last thing she said the entire trip back.

***

"Heave gents, heave!" said Danner. Rain dripped into his face from the brim of his hat. His boots squelched in the mud.

"Begging your pardon sir," said one of the workers, "but we've been heaving all night."

"Then perhaps you lack proper motivation," said Danner. "Move that box or you forfeit your pay."

The worker scowled, but wrapped the rope twice around his hands and braced himself against the fence to pull harder.

"Danner, why aren't they finished?" said Porphyria. She stood under an awning, watching the workman pull at what looked like a great trunk that had become stuck in the mud. They were at the gate of the little churchyard on the other side of the estate, trying to pull the box out and load it into the waiting wagon.

Danner took off his hat and rung it out. "We had a problem with some of the men. Half of them refused to work when they found out they would have to open the mausoleum. The rest had some trouble moving the coffin on their own. They've almost got it now."

"Have them take it to the old stable on the east side, the empty one," Porphyria said. "Make sure that none of the house staff are around to see them."

"Yes, mistress," said Danner. "Shall I dismiss them after?"

"No. Send them to the kitchens. Wake the cook and give them whatever they want, then tell them they can sleep in the other stable tonight, and that tomorrow they'll be paid to take the coffin back to the crypt and seal it up again."

"Back?" said Danner.

"Yes, back. Do you have any objection to following my orders?"

"No, mistress, none at all."

"Good." Porphyria watched the men work. "I suppose you're wondering what this is all about, Danner?"

"Not at all, mistress," said Danner. "I do your business and I mind my own."

"Good answer. Did you turn out the old servants?"

"Yes, mistress. There's not a single person in the house who worked here while your husband was alive."

"Excellent." She paused. "I think it's time for a drink. Take care of this lot, then join me in the study, will you?"

Twenty minutes later Danner changed his clothes and knocked on the study door. He sat on the red velvet couch opposite Porphyria, sipping the absinthe she poured for him. 

"Well," she said.

"Yes, mistress?"

"This seemed like a good occasion to talk," said Porphyria.

"Indeed, mistress? Whatever about?"

"You've been...very faithful to me, Danner, these last few years."

"Always, mistress."

"I've been able to rely on you for everything, and I appreciate the services you've rendered me. All of the services. And the discretion around them."

"There's no need to thank me."

"I didn't," she said, though she smiled as she said it. "And do you have any regrets, Danner?"

"None whatsoever, mistress."

"Not even about those mausoleums that you had a hand in filling?"

"It had to be done, mistress."

"Yes," said Porphyria, looking far away. "It had to be done. I'm lucky to have you around, Danner. It's hard to find good help these days.

"Nevertheless," she continued, "as much as I value everything you've done, it should be noted that, as of tonight, certain improprieties in our relationship must be discontinued."

Danner's heart sank, but didn't show it. "That is entirely your decision, mistress. I serve in whatever capacity you deem suitable."

"Yes. But you see Danner, that makes me a bit nervous."

"Nervous, mistress?"

"Yes. To put it bluntly, I'm just not sure if I can trust you now that certain...choice rewards are beyond your grasp."

Danner nearly spilled his drink. "There's no need to worry about that-"

"And the thing of it is Danner, you know all of my secrets. I don't like it when any person knows too much about me."

Danner's palms were sweating.

"Given everything that's happened, I'm afraid we have to part ways. Starting tonight. Starting right now, actually, unless I miss my guess." Porphyria looked at her nails.

Danner rolled the absinthe around his mouth. Something tasted funny...

"Ah," he said, after he swallowed. "Oleander."

She nodded.

"A good choice, mistress. I didn't even notice it." His limbs felt heavy. "But what do you intend to do with the body? I won't be around to dispose of it."

"You already have. You'll be in the coffin when the workman seal it back in the vault tomorrow. You'll lie next to the Grey family's ancestors until the end of time. A fitting reward for all of your service to the great old house, don't you think?"

Danner's vision tunneled. Even now, he had to admire her thoroughness. It was her most charming quality. She patted his hand. "For the record Danner, it was...nice, while it lasted. Nice for what it was."

He tried to answer, but his throat closed up.

"I would give you a kiss for old time's sake, but I'm afraid it just wouldn't be appropriate. 

"After all, " she said, standing, "I'm about to be a married woman again."

And that was the last thing he heard.

***

Porphyria rolled the body up in a rug, then slung it over her broad shoulders. She locked the door of the study, then went to the old stable on the east side. As per her instructions, there was no one in the corridor to see her. The rain had stopped. 

The coffin lid was unscrewed but not removed. She had worried that one of the workers might take the opportunity to rifle through for valuables, but it seemed that Danner picked a trustworthy lot after all. Such a shame to have to let him go.

The lid was heavy, but she was a woman of unusual strength, and she popped it free after a little work. A sour smell greeted her. She picked up the shape wrapped in the tattered winding sheet and laid it on the ground then, panting from exertion, she replaced it with Danner's body and put the lid back on. She sat down on the casket, wiping her brow with a silk handkerchief.

Now, for the business at hand. She unwrapped the winding sheet, and looked at the shrunken, moldering form inside. She did not flinch. Why would she, when this was the man she loved? 

She took the leather bag from around her neck. Unlacing it, she dropped something that looked like a dried, black walnut into her hand. There were more inside. Remembering Hester's instructions, she crushed the black thing in her palm. It left a stain. 

She pried open the mouth of the corpse, popped the crushed mass inside, and watched. First, the body quivered. Then the bones rattled. Porphyria backed up a step when the arms moved. Then the whole thing sat upright, jerking and twitching. It turned its head, joints creaking, and opened its mouth. The rags of its clothes disintegrated as it stood up.

It walked toward her, one skeletal hand reaching out. Porphyria backed away. Was this how it was supposed to happen? Had she done something wrong? The dead thing came closer. A horrible noise came out of its mouth. Its empty eye sockets stared at her.


Til Death Do Us Part?



"Eagle Glen Motor Inn, Cabin 12" the slender lady muttered to herself as she parked her car right in front. She still wasn't sure this was a great idea but she knew she just couldn't spend another Christmas at her sister's place. It's not that she didn't love Irene..and her husband Greg..and their daughter Penelope.

"Penelope," Ronny whispered barely aloud as she remembered those beautiful bright round eyes getting even bigger as she rounded the corner from the stairs into the large living room and saw the presents surrounding the tree. Penelope, whom everyone else seems to prefer to call Penny, had just turned four that November and was at a wonderful age for a visit from Santa. No, it wasn't that she'd not enjoyed their company or the Christmas day festivities, but it had been hard for her that first Christmas without Stephan. He'd been dead only a few months then and she still saw him everywhere! She had hoped that her sister and her family would be a good distraction from her grief. Instead, it was like living a constant reminder of what she no longer had and never would have now.

Ronny (she never thought of herself as Veronica anymore despite insisting that people not shorten her name for the first two decades of her life) could feel Stephan sitting in the car in the seat next to her even though she knew he couldn't be there. She'd been driving two Christmases ago when they'd come here for the last time. He'd dozed off during the long mountain climb away from Interstate 61 and had been sleeping soundly when she'd pulled the car up in front of their cabin. She was weeping silently as she sat there staring at the cabin door, which still had the two of the number twelve hanging crookedly on just one nail, afraid to look to her right to the passenger seat she knew was now empty. As if it was yesterday or even moments ago, Ronny was remembering how she'd awakened Stephan with a kiss upon his brow, then over both eyes, and finally, knowing he was awake now and just waiting, her lips had caressed his mouth before his lips parted and she had wandered dreamily in. When the kiss had ended he'd smiled up into her face framed by her shoulder-length red-brown hair and, with that so-familiar twinkle in his warm brown eyes, had chastised her for starting to celebrate their holiday too soon. 

He had told her sternly, "No time for that fooling around. There're things to be done...unpacking and decorating and preparation for dinner. There'll be plenty of time for that sort of thing, Ronny (he always called her that, and she'd been just 'Ronny' ever since she'd lost him) after the work is finished." He had pretended to be like a general in charge of his single soldier, ordering her to do this and that as they gathered their suitcase and the boxes and bags of food and gear they'd bought for their holiday stay here in the beautiful Appalachian mountains and carried it all inside. On the last trip in there'd been only one small overnight-style bag left and, very uncharacteristically, he'd not volunteered to go out and get it, but had ordered her to fetch it double quick if she didn't want to pull KP for their whole vacation. But, then he'd followed her out to the car, stood watching as she got the bag and locked up their vehicle. As she was approaching the door, somewhat nervously because he had that look in his eye, she was sure he was up to something. 

When she stepped onto the little stoop just outside the cabin door, Stephan had stepped up quickly and swept her up into his arms. He kicked open the door as she clutched the bag across her stomach he kissed her, holding the kiss as they passed over the threshold until he'd kicked the door closed behind them..exactly as he had on their honeymoon three years before! 

Ronny hadn't even remembered how the overnight bag had disappeared, but in moments they were on the overstuffed divan inside the room of the cabin which served as living room and kitchen. The bag was gone, her arms were around his neck and she was drinking in his scent as he hugged her to him and nuzzled her throat just inside the fur-lined hood of her coat. Despite 'the general's' orders of minutes before, they had not waited until all the unpacking was done, but had made love right there hastily, passionately like sex-crazed teens who were finally alone for the very first time and didn't know how long it would be before they were interrupted. 

Still sitting inside the SUV, now with her eyes closed Ronny revisited the blissfull event. It had all been a glorious blur of activity...of zippers and buttons being undone and snaps and straps being popped and pushed aside..of urgent kisses and suckings and touches without subtlety or nuance intended only to pleasure and to prepare for the coupling which had ignited such fires within her that Ronny had seriously doubted they could ever be quenched. And they had spent three incredible days there in Cabin 12 of the Eagle Glen Motor Inn. 

Except for the few times they'd ventured out to explore the woods surrounding the lodge or to replenish supplies, it was as though the two-room interior with it's rough timber walls and ancient furnishings (including the wonderful high double bed with the huge down pillows and hand-made comforter that had 'come to know' them quite intimately) was their whole world. 

Most of the time in the cabin had been spent with Stephan wearing only the short satin robe she'd given him the Christmas before (the one that was barely long enough to hide anything important and that parted readily when the important part wished to demand some attention) and Ronny wearing naught but one of his long flannel shirts. As often as the urge had come over either of them, they had given and taken freely of the delights of one another's passion. 

Resolution at last settled the flutterings in Ronny's stomach and she shoved open the door abruptly and got out of the Lincoln Escalade she and Stephan had purchased right after getting back from their second honeymoon in Colorado. She moved quickly to keep from loosing her nerve as she pulled her overnight bag from the back seat and made for the cabin door. The key stuck slightly just as it had two years ago, but she remembered the trick of pushing in and then turning and was inside, the door was closed and she was standing with her forehead leaning against it, her back to the room that was filled with so many memories.

Taking and expelling a long breath she began turning slowly to take in the familiarity of her surroundings and all the painfully joyful stirrings they impelled. Along the wall to the right of the cabin entrance were two chairs on either side of a slightly rickety oak table upon which they'd eaten many a meal. The chairs were wood and wicker and in varying states of repair. The table was centered on the wall decorated with an old-fashioned hand-done cross-stitching in a frame. She knew without moving to see the artwork that it had a picture of a horse-drawn sleigh emerging from a covered bridge at the top and the words from that old children's song about the winter holidays "Over the river and thru the woods" below. 

In the corner was an old style wood and iron butter churn long past its usefulness. Above that was a built in shelf on which rested a radio that looked like it hadn't worked since the golden age of such programming as The Shadow and Abbot and Costello. There was no TV, no computer (harder for Stephan than for Ronny as he had been connected to the pulse of the business world on every continent thru his work -- but he had promised..and kept his word not to even bring the laptop), only that radio which got a 24-hour church revival station and the static-filled "Voice of the simple folk Country-Radio on 86.8 on your AM dial". 

Continuing from that corner along the side wall, the one shared with Cabin 10 (all the even numbered cabins were along this side of the office and the odd ones made up the opposite wing of the Glen Eagle Motor Inn), an old four burner electric stove, a sink with a very tiny counter between it and the stove, and a small refrigerator. Under the sink was limited storage space to serve as a small pantry.

The opposite wall from the one of the door boasted an antique cupboard and a sideboard she knew were filled with dishes and bowls and glasses and such with table cloths and spare bed linens in the lower drawers. The cupboard was tall with solid doors covering the upper two thirds decorated with faded painted images to far gone to be clearly identified and two long drawers below. A stuffed majestic-looking bird was displayed on a shelf above the sideboard. The heavy furniture piece had an uneven surface due to the age and swelling of the wooden boards on which stood a pitcher and bowl which Ronny believed was made of Chinese blue willow patterning -- possibly the only real thing in the whole cabin of true monetary value. Between the heavy-looking furniture pieces was a doorway with a short tension rod and a blue satiny drape filling the area within the frame. 

She stood and stared at the fabric barrier for what seemed like forever as though she might be able to will Stephan to push back the shiny material and step thru as he had so many times when last they visited. When he failed to appear, she released the breath she'd not realized she'd been holding and finished her perusal of the room. The old couch along the left hand wall (there was no Cabin 14, so there was a window which could be shuttered from the inside but was currently uncovered that looked out at the woods alongside and behind the Inn) was flanked on either side by end tables supporting tall lamps with large red glass globes at the bottom of each. The lamps matched even though the end tables did not. 

Ronny knew that the switch just below the bulb hardware was a three way that would either light a small bulb inside the red globe for 'just the proper ambiance' as Stephan had declared on more than one occasion during their previous stay, or light the bulb surrounded by the tall, cheap paper shade for 'enough light to wake the dead' he had exclaimed when she had once fumbled the switch twice instead of once in the wee hours of the morning and blinded his stirring form just so she could 'sneak off to the bathroom'. Or one more twist would light them both for a useless combination of red ambiance and blinding 60-watt illumination. The memory of that full-bladdered dash after she'd stumbled from the sofa and had blinded her lover by accident rushed to take over center screen in the 'movie' she was watching of her former visit to the cabin.

Stephan had chased her squealing naked form thru the draped doorway and the bedroom up to the door of the little bathroom which she slammed once in side and slid the bolt into place to hold him at bay while she rid herself of some of the bottle of wine she'd consumed after dinner and around their lovemaking sessions that evening before. He stood at the door talking inanely to her all thru her ablutions -- annoyingly asking disjointed random questions just to make her constantly aware of his presence. After flushing, as she was washing her hands at the charming little pedestal basin, the questions had abruptly stopped. She called to him drying her hands and received no answer. 

Expectantly she had slid back the bolt and, calling softly again, began exploring the bedroom for where he might be hiding. She hadn't been able to find him..not in the bedroom, nor in the living room either despite the assistance of the brightly shining end-table lamp. Ronny, thinking the only place else was the car, had been moving to the door when there had come a soft knock from the other side. Playfully, she'd answered "Who is it?"

"Delivery for Mrs. Stephan Lebron." was the reply in a voice she knew better than her own. Veronica Marie Hairston Lebron was still very naked as she had opened the door. Surprisingly, so was her loving husband, Stephan Ambrose Lebron... he was standing without even his little robe - completely naked with his hands on his hips and, despite the cold, displaying the gift he'd implied he was there to deliver when he had knocked. He was rampant, his manhood fully engorged and pointed up at her demanding attention. Taking him firmly in hand she led him into the house enjoying both the contact and the game saying "Well, bring it right in here and I'll see to it..." she was maneuvering him far enough into the room that he could push the door closed behind his no doubt frozen, muscular ass and dropping to her knees "..that you get a good..." she paused her face inches from the prize in her hand, her eyes locked with his "..tip..." and she punctuated her sentence with a sloppy wet kiss on the very tip she'd included in the double entendre of her little joke. Reaching around to grasp those nearly frozen muscles just above his thighs she took him between her lips and rewarded him warmly for his late night, wintry delivery.

Ronny was weeping openly once again as this memory flooded her senses during her examination of the cabin's living area. Her eyes centered on the worn braided rug in the middle of the room upon which two mismatched comfy chairs stood facing the couch. The 'delivery' scenario had played out to its conclusion which included Stephan seated, upon the hideously orange chair, his legs stretched out before him on the matching ottoman and his erection reaching up to meet Ronny's own sex as she straddled the arms of the ugly chair lowering herself to take him fully inside of her. They had joined and separated and joined again, over and over, in what had seemed an endless sharing, Stephan supporting her buttocks and helping with the effort of this energetic trysting while Ronny hands on the top of the winged back of the chair steadied her as she rose and fell raking her breasts up and down across her lover's chest and face playfully twisting to avoid his attempts to capture the trembling 'nibble' of either between his lips. 

When it was over, she had collapsed, totally spent against him. He had turned her sideways allowing her to curl up in his arms and upon his lap and they had slept some more being awakened finally that day by the sun's rays pouring thru the un-shuttered window over the couch. Not caring who might have seen what, they had showered together crammed into the tiny shower before going to bed...where it was some time before sleep claimed them again. For three days that had been their life. They slept, ate, made love, drank wine, and dreamed about the years ahead...years that would now never be. 

Tired of crying and a little upset with herself for being so out of control. Veronica Marie (as her mother always called her whenever she was displeased with her daughter) moved sullenly thru the living room, past the much less ugly, memory-laden easy chair and its lumpy green companion with the doilies thrown over the top and both arms, and thru the blue fabric wall between her and the bedroom. She laid her bag upon the low dresser in the room and stretched out upon the bed, still dressed, on top of the comforter and tried to gather herself after the long drive and emotional arrival. Imagining that she could still smell Stephan upon the coverlet, Ronny drifted off to sleep. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Stephan blew softly across her left ear lobe and down along her neck. Somewhere, deeply inside the mush of sleep-muddled thoughts, she felt the breath and tried to climb from the mire to where he was. His breath came softly again and his fingertips pulled back a few strands of her hair to expose all of the ear and that side of her throat. He'd discovered early on how sensitive her neck was, especially just below her ear and slightly forward and had used this 'weakness' against her a couple of times when she was trying to be unhappy with him. 

The trail blazed by his warm breath was then followed by a kiss on the lobe and a dozen tiny nips from there downward along her skin. All the way to her bare shoulder and then back up to 'the spot', upon which his kiss dwelt and increased in passionate urgency. Despite wanting him to think she was still asleep, she couldn't stop her body from responding to the feelings he was awakening; so, she yawned a little quiet yawn and raising her left hand up over her head she sleepily began to slowly roll over onto her back.

He ignored her hand and continued his kiss-therapy down into the hollow at the base of her throat and then across and up the other side to the corresponding 'spot' on the opposite side of her neck. Ronny's mouth opened slightly when he first touched it and then she drew in a long breath between her teeth as he began to apply himself to working the spot with a combination of teeth and tongue and lip that he knew would raise her desire to a must-be-conscious-to handle-this level. She held her breath just as he captured and held and her excitement. 

A long moment passed and neither moved, at least not so an observer could have seen. Then he abandoned the spot and, confident that she was awake enough for what he wanted, moved his mouth to hers. She exhaled and parted her lips to welcome his kiss, sharing the exploration and the passionate grapple that she had come to know and love so well. She gasped inside his mouth once when she felt his strong hand cover most of her right breast, felt the nipple harden and stab at his palm, but he wouldn't let her break the kiss...so she rejoined him. 

For an eternity they danced their dance. Caresses became stroking and even clutching at one another. Nibbles became nips and biting became sucking and breathing became ragged and erratic. He used every trick he knew to delay the eventual merging and she reveled in his strength and his patience despite the glorious frustration with which he was lovingly torturing her. When finally he entered her she thrashed frantically about in the throes of the first of what she knew would be a number of wracking orgasms. Or perhaps it was just one long ebbing and flowing that seemed to continue endlessly. 

She was completely awake in every way long before he stiffened from head to toe and froze trembling throughout his own release. She cried in joy and beautiful anguish and raked at his back as she moved beneath his impaling pose milking his strength mercilessly. When finally he began breathing again and lowered himself to his elbows, she took control and rolled his unresisting musculature onto his back without freeing him from her sex. 

As their juices merged in a steaming broth, she slid up and down along his torso, traced the outside of his thighs with her small feet, and drew circles and swirls in the perspiration of his chest with her turgid nipples, while grinning deliciously, almost evilly down at the face she loved so much...

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Ronny woke to the wracking of her own sobs. The dream had been so real. Stephan had been right here, touching and kissing, and making love to her. She could feel him inside and wrapped all about her. She could smell his scent in the air she was breathing. She could taste his kiss and the salt of his man-sweat. Her own body, beneath her clothes was wet with perspiration and she was sure, moist with her own passion-produced secretions. 

Opening her eyes knowing he would not be there beside her on the bed or anywhere in the tiny bedroom of Cabin 12...listening, straining to hear the shower running or the kettle beginning to whine or any sign that he was just over there behind the bathroom door or just beyond the blue fabric wall in the next room waiting for her and knowing the sounds would not...could not...come...all this was more painful than standing in the small mortuary room and watching them close the box over her lover's silent form. Clasping her hands above her head on the pillow, now damp with her tears and perspiration, and then moving them down to rest upon her bosom, Ronny caught herself in the old habit. 




Til Death Do Us Part?



From the day of her wedding, she'd always catch herself turning her wedding ring on her finger or simply just rubbing it gently between her thumb and forefinger. She loved touching it. It was like that constant friend always reminding her just how lucky she'd been to meet and fall in love with Stephan. He used to laugh when he'd see her 'at it again' as he would put it. 

"You're going to wear off all the gold plating and find out what a cheap bastard you married," he'd say, looking sheepishly just like a small child caught at something they knew they weren't supposed to do. He'd pout and sometimes add, "They promised me that with normal wear and tear, that finish should fool you for at least ten years. After that, the jeweler assured me, that you wouldn't care anymore once you found out it wasn't all real gold." 

And, I'd slap him and laugh and tell him how little it really mattered what it was made of to which he'd always say "Oh, in that case, let's take it back and get one of those cheap green ones instead. I can buy a couple of bottles of that Grey Reisling wine you like so much with the money we'd save!" And he would grin triumphantly proud of his great new scheme to save money. And then run, when I came after him with whatever I could lay my hands on to beat him with. 

The last time they'd come to the cabin, she'd lost that ring. Whether down the bathroom drain or through one of the cracks in the ancient flooring she wasn't sure, but it was gone. They'd spent most of the night and a few hours that Sunday searching everywhere they could think of...and then searching again. She'd been devastated. 

And then, almost as if the loss of the ring had been prophetic, she'd lost him. Since the funeral, she'd caught herself a number of times rubbing the base of her finger in the old way. As if the ring was still there bringing her some comfort. They say that when a person loses a limb or part of one that often they behave as though it is still there and can even experience pain as if from the missing flesh..

"Phantom Limb Syndrome or some such they call it," Ronny muttered as she lay there. Cried out, and knowing she could not sleep more now, she got up and stripping down, went to steam away her grief in the shower. As the mist filled the tiny room, she had to fight the image of Stephan's face suddenly appearing nearby, the feel of his arms closing about her in the shower, the sound of his laughter or his teasing tone. 

"You're going to steam what little paint there is in this poor little cabin right off the walls and furnishings." he had said on more than one occasion. Once, he'd crept in so silently and she'd been so lost in mental wanderings that she'd never seen him reach in behind her as she leaned against the back wall and let the wonderful heat of the water wash over her back, buttocks and legs. Simultaneously he cranked the cold tap open and the hot tap closed to take all the wonderful steam away and release torrents of icy cold all over her. Ronny had screamed and whirled seeking her abuser but by the time she'd gotten out of the stall he'd already cleared the front door. 

That night he'd returned, many hours later, arms full of peace offerings in the form of her favorite wine, three different colors of roses, and the largest box of assorted chocolates she'd ever seen in her life. To this day, she still chose to believe, that despite the gifts, he'd have slept alone with aching loins that night had it not been for the lingering affects of the wine. Ronny smiled softly at the memory of the love they'd made on that occasion. He'd been so afraid to upset her, Stephan had basically yielded to her preferences or demands the whole time. From removing her shoes and clothing 'just so' and gently bringing her slowly to the brink and then pushing her over the top using just his hands and those incredibly soft and knowing lips, he'd been her slave, and only when she was quite sated did she offer him any release from his own pent up passions. 

Upon leaving the shower, she threw on an old t-shirt, panties and her favorite pair of worn jeans and, somewhat more under control, she made herself unpack her bag and spread her things around as though she was actually going to stay the whole three days she'd originally booked in the reservation. She was going to stay and she was going to make it thru these few days. Maybe she'd even come back again next year or so. Stephan would be pleased that she continued their traditional visits here and it would keep some of her best memories of them together alive and fresh in her mind. 

Adding heavy socks, the leather boots that matched her fleece-lined leather coat, and a scarf her mother had made for her, Ronny headed out into the cold. She decided to hike the mile and a half to Bark's Roadside Tavern. There was a gas station with a convenience store attached. Subconsciously convinced she'd not be staying, Ronny had packed clothes for the trip, but had brought no food nor drink other than two bottles of their wine. Now, she knew she'd have to eat something if she was going to stick it out and she wanted something to drink other than just the wine. 

Annie at the Quik Stop Mini-Market, as it was called, was thrilled for both the company and the business as things were mighty slow here in the mountains right now. The walk had been invigorating, but now, sixty two dollars and thirty nine cents later, Ronny regretted her decision not to bring the car. The big woman behind the counter had rustled up an old rucksack and helped her pack her acquisitions into it. Ronny offered her some money for the pack grateful that her return hike would be more comfortable but Annie told her the hilarious story of the backpack being left behind by a biker couple who'd been scared half out of their wits while staying at the Eagle Glen. "Came thru in the wee hours of the morning claimin' the place was haunted, filled their bike with gas and then left the pack and their purchases behind." Annie'd saved everything for them, but they'd not returned and "It's been so long I'm sure they're not coming". 

Surviving the hike back in pretty good time, Ronny took a moment in the parking lot to admire the Christmas decorations the owners had put out for their guests. Besides the lights dangling along the eaves of all the cabins, there was a sleigh lit up on the roof over the center building of the inn, and thru the large plate glass along the front she could see the huge tree standing just inside the door she'd passed earlier when fetching her cabin key. It was decorated not with elegant satin balls and bows with turned wide bands of ribbon that one might expect on a tree at Macy's in New York, but with strings of popcorn alternated with cranberries and hand made paper ornaments and old fashioned glass balls and candy canes...just like hers at home had been decorated when she was a child. The lights blinked giving off a hundred fuzzy glows when they were on and viewed thru the frosty window.

There was only one other car in front of one of the cabins of the Eagle Glen Motor Inn, so she felt almost like the decor was all just for her...the prodigal daughter, returned for the holidays. Walking under the glow of the white-lit strands simulating icicles, the twenty-eight year old high-school teacher from Centreville worked her magic on the lock and re-entered her home for this Christmas. She shed her coat and boots and set about completing the process of moving in.

Stowing her groceries, Ronny started to warm milk for hot cocoa and lit two large pine-scented candles, one in each room, that she'd purchased from big Annie. The wind picked up and it began to snow just as dusk was falling. Ronny shuttered the window over the loveseat and turned on the ancient radio. The "Voice of the Simple Folk" station was playing non-stop Christmas music with a country twang thru static that she knew she'd get used to. Cocoa and a novel in hand, she curled up on the doily-decorated loveseat and settled in for a good read.

Sometime during the second of many narrow escapes for Scarlet Rose, the heroine in her book which she was reading for the umpteenth time, Ronny dosed off. She woke with a start to a thump on the ancient boards of the floor of quaint little Cabin 12. The candle was still burning and was the only light in the living area except for the electric clock on the stove across the room. 

2:31 a.m. The thump turned out to be nothing more than her novel hitting the floor when it fell from her hand. Ronny stretched while her eyes adapted to the darkness, noticed the chill of the room and rose from the sofa. She took the mug over and rinsed the chocolaty remains from the bottom leaving it in the sink to air dry. 

Amy Grant was singing I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day. Ronny went to the utility closet in the bedroom and retrieved the kerosene heater to take the chill off the cabin. She used the bathroom and then set the heater up in the living room beside the comfy-but-ugly orange chair. Within moments, warmth began spreading outward from the middle of the room. 

Realizing she'd not eaten an actual meal since breakfast before her drive yesterday and despite the late hour, Ronny decided to make some of the beef stew she'd bought and warm up some dinner rolls. While preparing her very-late-night Christmas Eve feast, she caught herself singing along with Gene Autry's I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus. "He didn't see me creep, down the stairs to have a peep." She had to admit, she felt pretty good. 

Thru the cracks between the boards of the shutters, white light was peaking in so she opened them to reveal most of a full moon rising just outside her window. Two more country carols later and she was curled up once again, this time under the comforter from the bed, on the sofa with her book. It was propped on her knees, held open by the frame of the booklight which shone down upon the pages. On her lap was a plate beneath a Campbell's Soup bowl steaming with the thick stew. Beside the plate was a small wicker basket lined with a worn dishtowel which was wrapped up and over the fresh-from-the-oven dinner rolls. 

Before beginning to devour her holiday dinner, Ronny raised the wineglass in her left hand and toasted "Merry Christmas my darling, wherever you are," and she emptied it and sat it upon the floor, spoon in one hand, bowl steadied by the other, and book before her, she returned to the adventures of her heroine. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Scarlett had seen that look in the eyes of too many men before and knew what was coming. She also knew that, bound as she was at present, there was got going to be anything she could do about it. She saw from the glazed expression that he was no longer a man. He was little more than an animal...a flesh and blood extension of the raging erection he revealed as his uniform pants were discarded. 

Under other circumstances, this was the time when 'The Rose' would normally reveal her thorns by drawing forth the twin stilettos normally strapped to her thighs and getting to the task of 'pruning' the monster approaching he,r depriving it of it's huge, bulging, blood engorged weapon. The stilettos however were six feet away hidden in the folds of the hooded cloak she'd worn in here. Another time, she'd have dodged the beast's first advance, curled and rolled across the stony floor and been at the cloak and armed before the beast could swing his 'club' around for another assault. 

But this was here and now and there would be no curling, no rolling and dodging, for she was strapped wrist to knee sideways across the guard's sleeping cot with the leather bindings running under the bed connecting her legs to her tied hands. The guard's hands were trembling as he hoisted her skirt slowly up her thighs and over her buttocks to push it up onto her back. His blinding excitement increased as he grabbed the silk of her bloomers and shredded them along the center seam gutterally crying out in the heat of the moment and the exertion. Scarlett knew that her ass and sex were completely exposed to the man/beast in the flickering of the fire blazing in the hearth to the left of the head of the bed and realized that even were she not gagged with the filthy rag the man had used earlier to mop the sweat from his brow, she would not be talking her way out of this one. Once the beast had taken over, no man could hear anything..."the penis has no ears" her mother had told her "and when it takes over a man's thoughts the only sound he hears is the pounding of the pulse that's racing within him." Mother had been proven right many times over. 

Running his dirty, rough hands over the soft flesh of her hips and down over her cheeks, the monster's pulse quickened and he readied himself for the thrust that promised release from the pounding in his head. That was when the iron grate in the ceiling gave way with a crash and both of the room's occupants swung their faces toward the noise to witness the graceful drop-to-a-crouch and then rising up to his full height of well over six foot of muscled silk and leather of their unexpected guest. 

"Stephan!" Veronica muttered against her gag, her mind awhirl with wonder that he'd found her! Without taking her eyes off of the only man she'd ever loved, the girl knew her enemy was torn between feeling cheated of his prize and regretting the loss of his trousers. She too was divided in her feelings at the moment. It was a great relief to have been rescued prior to the impaling she was about to endure, but having blundered badly enough to have been in this predicament and to have needed rescue by her beloved was something she'd have rather not allowed to have happened in the first place. 

Stephan made short work of the guard with the rapidly deflating 'ego' and then was there leaning up across her back and whispering in her ear. "I appreciate the offer, my love, and confess to being tempted as this is not something you and I have tried before, but I'm afraid there's not the time to take advantage of this situation properly!" The humor in his voice was purely at her expense and totally intended to add to her discomfort and she couldn't help but notice the bulge against her naked hip as he reached forward and deprived her of the gag.

"Lucky for you we've got to hurry before the General arrives with reinforcements, my dearest Stephan, or I would show you the glory of my plan for exhausting the guard prior to affecting my escape and I would leave you here, weak and whimpering in my place!" His weight shifted onto her back as he reached over with his rapier to slice thru the cords that held her in such an embarrassing a position. The bulge nestled comfortably between her buttocks and she was tempted, briefly, to forget the General and the other soldiers they would yet have to avoid. 

Sensing her hesitation, he pushed himself up and off of her. As he backed away, he clutched the remaining fragments of her undergarment and ripped them free of her completely. "It appears that in the cleverness of your plan, your clothing has become ruined my love, but I promise you, you'll not be needing these where we're going anyway!" She could feel his smirk as she straightened and began freeing her legs. The shift in position caused her skirt to fall back down over her skin shielding her from his hungry gaze and giving her enough dignity to put her once again on even footing with her lover.

"I don't need silk or cotton to make the likes of you behave or misbehave at my choosing. And wherever we're headed next we'll be going by horseback. You know I can ride dressed or not equally well." As Veronica turned to grab up her cloak and retrieve her daggers, Stephan swooped in between her and her weapons. He drew her up and into his arms and kissed her fiercely...not with lust, for he was never that far from the self control that she'd admired so many times, but with love and concern. She could feel how much he'd been worried for her when she'd been unable to keep their rendezvous just south of the General's stronghold! And she loved him all the more for that worry. 

Their love raged in that kiss with hands moving and clutching and tongues thrashing...until they heard the sound of boot and steel upon the stone steps to the dungeon! "This way," Veronica whispered as she grabbed up her belongings and headed for the wall in the far corner she knew would pivot inward if touched just the right way. "We'll use the General's own private escape!" Stephan took up his rapier from the bed, but didn't hesitate in following his beloved. He'd trusted her with his life to many times to stop now.

He dropped Veronica's torn underwear over the dead guard's head. "Sweet dreams." and he leapt after her shape disappearing into the dark tunnel beyond. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Ronny woke drenched yet again in sweat and bodily secretions. The room was hot and the dreams brought on by her novel had made things even hotter! She often found herself changing the names in the story. She'd been Scarlett Rose in her dreamworld since she'd been a silly teen imagining the white charger that would someday carry her strong, sexy lover into her arms and the two of them off into the sunset. Then Stephan had come into her life and had become everyone of Scarlett's lovers, not her sexual conquests which were plenty throughout the many stories she'd read of this particular heroine, but the men she'd actually loved in return. 

"It had been so real!" she thought aloud as the young teacher-turned-heroine re-oriented herself to the surroundings of the cabin. The heater was aglow in the center of the room. Her book was piled on the floor atop the wicker basket with the remains of the rolls inside. Rubbing her eyes she stood and stretched. As she raised her arms up over her head the fabric of the well-worn tee shirt was dragged across her breasts making her acutely aware of how sensitive her nipples were. This in turn brought the story and the scene from the book, altered by her dreaming, rushing back and she became aware of the blood racing thru her...the pounding in her temples drowned out "The Little Drummer Boy" coming thru static from the radio in the corner as she became tuned in to the need that burned within her. 

Ronny headed beyond the blue curtain into the chill of the bedroom area which was shielded from the effects of the heater. She stripped off the soaked shirt and threw it towards the dresser. Yielding to the commands from within she laid her hands flat, fingers splayed upon her mostly flat tummy. The rose-colored nails of her longest fingers disappeared just beneath the waistband of her jeans and she just stood still for a long moment reveling in the feel of being so alive.

Slowly she drew her hands upward and, separating them, outward over and across her breasts. The nipples began to rise up to push back against the palms sliding over them. She pushed inward mashing her breast-flesh together and, covering their tips firmly, squeezed. Her head rolled backward exposing her throat as her hands continued to climb up its long milky whiteness over chin and cheek and into her hair fingers toying with her red-brown tresses. 

By the time she began the return trip from head to tummy, her hands had become Stephan's. He was here and he was behind her enjoying the exploration of her body which she had so willingly given to him. It was his fingers drumming softly against her throat, tracing patterns and teasing her breasts and sliding over her ribs to join once again on either side of her navel. He hesitated only a moment before forcing the button thru its corresponding eye and pushing the zipper to its lowest point. Moving to her hips, it was Stephan's strong hands which pushed both jeans and panties over her hips and to the floor.

Ronny stepped free of the clothes and headed once more to the shower. Inside with the water warming to her like a lover, she closed her eyes and 'allowed' Stephan's hands access to her most sensitive and intimate places. He knew everywhere she needed to be touched and exactly how to touch her as he found each spot and she trembled, first with building excitement, and then finally in sobbing, wracking, release. 




Til Death Do Us Part?



Spent, but clean and sated for now, Ronny toweled briefly and crawled in between the soft flannel sheets of the bed. She slept dreamlessly this time and awoke from her slumber rested as she couldn't remember feeling in a long time. She wasn't even concerned about the way reality and her fantasies kept intermingling. She did not feel she was losing her mind. She was redefining reality into a life in which she could continue... with Stephan as oft as possible...and without when with others who did not know her as he did. 

Lying there reviewing all that she'd experienced throughout this unique overnight stay in Cabin 12 of the Eagle Glen Motor Inn, Veronica Marie Hairston Lebron realized that it was Christmas day! She was immediately assaulted by mixed reactions to this revelation, but struggling to choose which of the many voices inside her head she would heed, she sorted thru the memories of many Christmas mornings before. Presents under the tree, giggles and laughter and ooohing and aaahing as paper and ribbon were stripped away, Mother and Father, Irene and, eventually Greg and even Penelope... her eyes moistened as she recalled Penny's squeal of delight at finding a cute, fuzzy puppy squirming to extricate itself from a Christmas stocking just last year. 

All those Christmases had combined to create and mold the love that lived within her she knew. But Stephan was the one for whom that heart had been created. He was the one who was to share all it had to offer for eternity! She smiled as she realized she'd spent the most important parts of Christmas already with Stephan. He'd been alive, in her arms and in her heart throughout Christmas Eve and all of Christmas morning.

Ronny drew herself up upon the bed, shoving the pillows into a wall behind her against the iron of the bars at the head of the bed. She was content now that she had come. It had been the right thing to do and a tradition she would continue. As if in confirmation of the basic rightness of her conclusions, not that Ronny needed any reassurance at this point, she spotted something upon the small wobbly nightstand beside the head of the bed. There, beside the clock radio she'd set there the day before and the hairbrush she'd placed there after her first shower last evening, was a small round band, yellow gold in color, glinting in the bit of sunlight shining in from the skylight high above the bed. 

Stunned with the discovery, Ronny reached slowly and took up the shiny thing. The flannel top sheet fell away from her nakedness as she retrieved the object and examined it. Inside, if she held it within the beams of nature's light falling there upon the stand, she could just read the tiny letters "All my heart for all my days". Stephan had whispered those words to her even as he'd placed it upon her finger for the first time those few years ago. As she settled back against the downy cushions behind her, Ronny closed her moistening eyes and slid the ring back to its rightful place.

"Thank you Stephan." she whispered as her tears stole from beneath her lids and began their voyage lovingly over cheek and chin. And, though no one else might have even heard it had they been there, Ronny knew the voice that spoke to her in reply, "Merry Christmas, my Rose, merry Christmas." 



'Til Death



She closed her eyes. "Jonathon," she said, "please, come back to me." She waited for the touch of the ghastly fingers. It didn't come. She flinched in anticipation, but nothing happened. Then she heard a voice:

"Hello?"

She opened her eyes. In place of the horrible ambulatory corpse was a young, handsome, virile man, dressed in the tattered remains of his funerary garb. His skin was fair, and his hair was long and dark, and his eyes were blue. His expression was one of quiet bewilderment. He looked around the empty stable, bemused.

"Jonathan!" she cried, and threw herself at him. He caught her with some evident surprise, and before he could say anything she was kissing him over and over again, repeating his name between half-hysterical sobs: "Oh John, John, John, John!"

It was several minutes before she could say anything else. She sank into his chest, crying, and he, astonished, put his arms around her until she recovered. 

"I knew it would work," she said. "I knew you would come back to me, I knew it, I knew it. If you had any idea how long I've waited for this, everything I had to do-"

"Hello, miss," he said. 

"John, this is-"

"John?" he said. "You keep calling me...John?"

She blinked. "Yes."

"Is that my name? John," he said, as though trying it out.

She brushed his hair back, touching his face. "Yes dear, of course. You're Lord John Grey."

"I am," he said, evidently unsure. "And who are you?"

"John, it's me! I'm your wife!"

"You are?" He pondered this, eventually appearing not displeased with the notion. "And where are we?"

"Darling, don't you remember anything?"

"I don't seem to," he said. "I am sure I have never seen you before in my life. And I have no remembrance of ever being called John, although now that I think about it, I don't recall ever being called anything else either. The last thing I remember is...being here with you. There's nothing else."

She looked into his eyes. "John? You can hear me, can't you? This is real, isn't it?"

He nodded, but his expression was blank. "Perhaps if you explain more, I will remember?"

She smiled. "Well darling, you've been...gone, for some time. Yes. For five years. But now you're home again."

"I see. This is home?"

"Yes. Oh, but you must be freezing in those rags! Here, put these on. They're yours, I saved them" She handed him a bundle of clothes. He seemed fascinated by the workings of the buttons and laces as he dressed. "Just as handsome as ever," she said when he was done. He smiled like a child.

She lead him into the house. Every other step she looked back at him, smiling. "It's no wonder you can't remember, you've been through so much. It will all come back to you soon darling, you'll see."

"Yes," he said, "I'm sure it will." He gaped when he saw the interior of the grand entrance hall.

Porphyria rang a bell by the central staircase. After a minute a tired-looking maid appeared. 

"Wake the kitchen staff," Porphyria said.

The maid looked surprised. "Are you sure, mistress? You've had them up once tonight already."

"Don't talk back to me!" said Porphyria. "Do you see this man? This is my husband."

The maid nearly fell over. "Ma'am? Have you remarried? We had no idea, which is to say I had no idea, which is to say-"

"Wake the kitchen staff. Tell them to begin breakfast. The sun is almost up in any case. Let them know that they're cooking for the new master of the house. Don't just stand there catching flies, go!"

The maid gaped again, but hurried away.

Porphyria took Lord Grey to the dining hall, where he inspected each and every fork and candlestick on the table with rapt fascination while she talked the morning through, touching his hand every few seconds.

"This, of course, is Marblehead Hall," she explained, "built by your grandfather. You lived here all your life, except when you went to France for your education."

"I see," said Lord Grey, balancing a silver butter knife on his finger.

"I've kept everything in order here while you were away, and, oh darling I just can't believe that it's true, that you're really here again. I've missed you so much."

"I've missed you too, or I imagine I did," he said, tracing the pattern on the tablecloth with the utmost concentration. "Why did I leave?"

"Let's not talk about that now John. Let's just enjoy being together."

Lord Grey agreed that this was an excellent idea. At breakfast he ate enough for three men, and paid no mind to the open stares of the servants. After, Porphyria showed him the entire house.

"John, do you remember the garden? Do you remember when the duchess gave us this fountain as a wedding gift?"

"I may," said Lord Grey.

"John, do you remember it was this window where we stood together to watch the sunset our first night here?"

"Perhaps, just a bit," said Lord Grey.

"John, do you remember when I fainted here, and you carried me up five flights of stairs to my bed and then rode all night long to find a doctor?"

"I can just barely remember," said Lord Grey.

It was well past noon when they reached the bedchamber. Porphyria shut the doors, then threw her arms around Lord Grey's neck, kissing him. "Do you remember this?" she whispered.

He smiled. "Perhaps if you refresh my memory some more..." he said.

"Darling, you know you left before we could even have a proper wedding night."

"How monstrous of me," said Lord Grey.

"Help me with this." She indicated the laces of her dress. When her petticoats were taking too much time to remove she ripped them off instead and pushed Lord Grey onto the bed, climbing on top, straddling him with splayed legs.

"I've been waiting so long for you," she said.

"I would imagine," said Lord Grey.

"Of course there have been others, but you must know they meant nothing."

"Of course," he said. She had stripped him half-naked before he could even think of objecting (not that he would), and she had his stiff cock in her hands, stroking it and running her fingers over the swollen head. His expression conveyed complete disbelief that he was, in fact, this lucky.

Porphyria had no patience to undress fully. She freed herself up just enough to allow access between her legs and guided him in, gasping as his cock filled her from one end to the other. Her head lolled to one side.

"It's just like I imagined..." she said.

"Is it?" he said, face flushed. "I still can't quite remember everything."

"I'll jog your memory," she said, smiling. Working her powerful thighs she pushed herself up and down him. Her breasts strained against her corset. She felt him throbbing inside of her, the pulse from his body giving her a deep and abiding satisfaction.

"Tell me when you start remembering," she said, kissing his fingertips and bouncing over and over. Up and down, in and out, slowly, from the tip all the way in. Lord Grey's eyes rolled back and he stammered something incoherent.

"Oh, God, the nights I've spent thinking about this." She tugged the pins out of her hair, letting it fall. The bed frame groaned under the weight of their bodies and the constant, steady, rhythmic thumping.

Lord Grey felt hot and flushed, the heat generated by all this activity trapped under the layers of clothes he still had on. He worked as fast as he could to free himself from coats and shirts without disturbing Porphyria, who was riding him with single-minded abandon. She caught one of his hands and stuck two fingers into her mouth, full red lips closing around them. She moaned and continued to push herself up and down, up and down, her outer lips gripping his shaft. He thought her quite wanton for a well-born lady, but he did not disapprove. 

She was almost doubled over now, lying across him, her face only a few inches from his. Her mouth was open and she was moaning again and again: "Oh John, John, John!" He felt something stirring. Her expression was disarmingly intense. "I want you to fill me."

"I am!" 

"But more than this."

She clamored off of him and turned away, moving to all fours and gripping the headboard. He thought she might dent the oak. Lord Grey positioned himself behind her. He put a hand between her legs and she moaned. My, my, he thought, rubbing and admiring the symmetry of her back and the firm, rounded flanks of her thighs and backside. He put the tip of his cock inside of her and grinned when she squealed. Easy does it, he thought, sliding in. She pulsed around him, and her voice died in her throat when she tried to talk, although he was reasonably certain that all she was going to say was his name again anyway.

He reached under her body and took hold of her large breasts. What a sumptuous feast of a woman, he thought, pumping her from behind. She was wonderfully receptive, and when he accented his thrusts by bringing his hand down on her flank with two solid smacks she cried out and trembled. There was incredible power in her body, but she felt almost helpless to him.

When he sped up, so did she. When he slowed down she matched. She never seemed to tire, or more accurately, she seemed to be in a state of constant satisfied exhaustion, her head lolling to one side, eyes closed, mouth open, a growling moan her one constant utterance. Her legs, hips, and shoulders rocked back and forth with machine-like rhythm. 

He squeezed her hanging breasts, tweaking each of the swollen nipples. She whimpered. He dragged the length of his cock out of her, all the way to the tip, and then slid it all the way back in at the same time that he twisted them, pulling down. She cried out again. 

Her arms gave out and she half-fell onto the bed, smothering herself in the pillows and arching her backside in the air. Lord Grey responded by going even faster. As afternoon became late afternoon he found himself exhausted. His limbs ached and his hair was drenched in sweat, but Porphyria showed no sign of giving out. Every little movement he made excited her more and more. She racked the headboard again, screaming

"Yes! Oh God, yes! Just like that! Fill me completely."

"I will," he said, "momentarily I think."

"Oh yes, John, yes, yes!" She rocked back on him again and again, and he felt the pressure swelling, expanding, pushing, looking for release. She was going harder and harder, and in fact she had never decreased her pace even once, the entire process being one great quickening from beginning to end, until now she was going so hard and so fast that he believed she would harm herself if she continued.

That hazard was avoided when he felt himself swell and spurt, and she froze, keeping completely still, his cock buried halfway inside of her as it released. Her body jerked and twitched a few times as he groaned and continued gushing up into her, and when he was done she fell over, grabbing him, rewarding him with kisses and caresses and words of endearment, and finally she fell asleep in his arms, and whispered his name in her sleep.

Three days passed, and Lord Grey professed to remember more and more. Porphyria followed him everywhere, constantly at his beck and call. He began to learn (or remember) the layout of the house, the names of the servants, and the details of his affairs. He commented how well she had got on in his absence, and she beamed. 

He became a late riser because of the long nights she kept him up, and took to afternoon naps to recuperate from her daytime lusts. She never seemed to tire.

On the morning of the fourth day Porphyria woke, smiling, to the sight of Lord Grey's face, but her smile vanished as soon as her eyes were fully open. She felt cold all over, and hugged herself. Lord Grey put a hand on her arm and she pushed it away.

"Darling?" he said, "is there anything wrong?"

She looked at him. "I saw your face, John. I saw how you looked at me when you thought I was sleeping."

"And?"

"You really don't remember me at all, do you? You don't remember anything, still?"

Lord Grey hesitated. Then: "No. I don't."

She got out of bed. "Why did you tell me you did?"

"Well, it seemed so important to you. And you were sure that I would remember soon anyway..."

Porphyria dressed in a hurry. "I have somewhere to go John. I'll be back in a few hours."

"Very well," he said. He was staring out the window, distracted. Then, as an afterthought: "Where are you going?"

"To see someone who has a lot of explaining to do," said Porphyria.

***

Porphyria pounded on the door of the cottage. Hester's lips were already set in a sneer when she answered.

"I-"

Porphyria swung her arm and the riding crop hit Hester on the cheek with so much force that it knocked her down.

"You lying bitch!" said Porphyria.

Hester rolled over, clutching her cheek. Blood seeped between her fingers. 

"You lied to me, you cheated me!" said Porphyria.

"Didn't it work?" Hester said, standing.

"Yes, for all the good it does me!" She almost hit Hester again. She set the riding crop on the sideboard instead. "He doesn't remember me, he doesn't remember anything!"

Hester smirked. "Why did you think he would?"

"Because that's what I wanted!" said Porphyria.

"Ah," said Hester, applying a towel to her face. 

"You tricked me." Porphyria's words were black with rage.

"I did not. I said that a bezoar that old could cure a body of anything, even death, and it did. But I only promised to heal his body. You never asked about his soul. Even I don't know how to heal that."

"But you knew what I wanted, and you knew what would happen, and you didn't say anything! You didn't warn me!"

Hester looked away. "Why should I have, after you cheated me?"

Porphyria grabbed the crop up again. "Cheated? I gave you everything what you wanted, you disgusting slag!"

"No!" said Hester, coming at Porphyria so fast that she actually backed away. "You didn't, you didn't at all. I wanted you, but all you gave me was your body! So that's what I gave you; a body. Like for like."

Hester squared her shoulders, expecting another blow. It didn't come. Then she saw that Porphyria was actually crying.

"Isn't there any way?" said Porphyria. "Isn't there any way for me to really be with him again?"

Hester looked away again. The sight of tears on Porphyria's cheeks disturbed her. "I don't know," she said. And then: "I'm sorry."

Porphyria stood at the window again. She looked out at the cliffs. 

"Hester," she said, "you really do love me, don't you? You shouldn't, but you do."

Hester laughed without humor. "Some days."

"Is there anything you wouldn't do to be with me, if you could?"

Hester shook her head. Then she said: "Porphyria, what are you thinking of doing?"

"The only thing I can," said Porphyria. She went to the door, then stopped, came back, and, without warning, kissed Hester on the lips. Hester nearly fell over. Without another word, Porphyria turned and left. 

She rode hard all the way home, and asked the first servant she found where Lord Grey was, and then went to the study to see him. He was at the sunny window, reading, when she entered.

"John," she said, taking off her riding gloves, "I want you to listen very carefully. There's something I need you to do for me."

***

Lord Grey counted the seconds. He looked at Porphyria, slumped in her chair, examining her vacant eyes and blue lips. He checked her pulse. Nothing. He picked up her empty glass and sniffed the inside.

"Ah!" he said. "Oleander."

After ten minutes were up, he reached into the little leather bag that Porphyria had given him and took out a black, nut-like object. Exactly as instructed, he crushed the bezoar in his hand. It left a black mark on his palm. He fed it into Porphyria's open mouth, then sat back.

He watched, fascinated, as her skin flushed pink, and her eyes began to move, and her limp limbs unwound themselves, and then she began to breathe again, and all at once she was alive.

She sat up, eyes shining, amazed. She looked at him.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"I am your husband," Lord Grey said.

She blinked. "You are? Are you sure?"

Lord Grey considered this. It was, all things told, a very difficult question. "You have always said so," he replied eventually.

"Oh," she said.

He kissed her hand, and she blushed.

"I am Lord John Grey, and you are Porphyria, my wife, and this is Marblehead Hall, my ancestral home, where we live."

"I see," she said. "Have we always lived here?"

"For as long as I can remember."

"Well then," Porphyria said, and stood. "I suppose if things are as they always have been that we have nothing to worry about."

"Not a thing," Lord Grey said, and kissed her, and she kissed him back.

"To think," she said., smiling, "we are married, and yet it's almost like meeting for the very first time."

Lord Grey smiled back. "I thought the same thing myself, not long ago."

Porphyria picked up the little leather bag from the table. "What's this?" she said.

Lord Grey took it from her. He remembered the last instructions Porphyria had given him before drinking the poison.

"Nothing we will ever need again," he said, and threw the bag into the fire.