La Belle et La Bete Belle s Discovery
- 2 years ago
- 26
- 0
45 – Abigail, Belle Of Kilronan free porn video
[Hi there, monsieur or madame editor! This one is a little more difficult. I would like to have the sections that are not part of the letters italicized, in addition to the first and last three paragraphs. Each letter begins with ‘My ____ Abigail,’ and ends with the name ‘Tristan’. Also, if the chapter/letter titles (Final Letter, First Letter, etc.) could be in bold that would be awesome. This is part of my 69 Love Stories series. Hopefully they can go in so that they display in numerical order on my submissions site. Thanks! You get extra brownie points for this one.]
Fair warning, this is an odd piece (it is not a story per se) that consists of letters from war and flashbacks to the night the two had together. Don’t go into it expecting a conventional story.
This one was very different for me. Something got me thinking about the profound letters people used to write and I decided to try writing a few myself. And this is what came out of it.
All rights reserved.
*
The Final Letter
The letter in front of her is badly smudged. Tearstains have blurred many words beyond comprehension, but that makes no difference. She has long since committed every line to heart and rightfully doubts that she would ever need the letter to prompt her recollection.
My Dearest Abigail,
I now know that I shall never again, in this lifetime, know the joy of seeing your face in the flesh. This letter shall in all likelihood be my last. If you wonder at the change in penmanship, Wesley now writes for me as I cannot raise my hand to the task.
I find myself thinking, ever more often, of your bright eyes at the moment of our separation. It was my truest wish in that moment to seize you and run from this war, to some distant land so that it would not so tear us asunder. And therein lies one of war’s vile tragedies! If I were to act on that terrible impulse, and abscond with you to the Far East or the Americas, I would no longer be a man worthy of your love.
My only fear, as death approaches, is that my passing will cause you some small sorrow. To see you smile was once my chief ambition in life, and I hoped that it might be again, but I now fear that I will cause you more pain than bliss when the balance is weighed.
I commend to you Wesley, who will deliver this letter if he is able. He has been closer than a brother to me. One cannot fathom the plans or passions of the heart, but if you were to become fond of him, I do not doubt that his worthiness of your love would fall little short of your worthiness of his.
Know this, that even in the moment I leave this mortal life, to join the one that follows, that it will be with a smile on my face as I think of you.
Give my love to my mother.
Ever your unworthy servant,
Tristan
She is standing, still naked, in the doorway. His coat feels rough against her skin. There is too much needing to be said… and yet there is nothing left to say.
As she begins, again, trying to make her promises to him he stops her with a finger on her lips. He follows it with a kiss, one more passionate than any yet. She knows why he will not accept her promise. It is a foolish thing to do with a lover who enters a war, he told her.
The kiss ends. When it does, he simply turns and begins down the path towards the road.
He does not look back.
The First Letter
My Longed For Abigail,
Although it has been only a few days since my departure, I already have began to understand man’s pure hatred for war. That such a thing could tear me from your arms is an act of violence unimaginable. It is now my most urgent prayer that all wars may come to an end. There is no glory in this misery.
I think of your warm and gentle hands when last you touched me as I bid farewell. I oft imagined as I traveled that I could feel the warmth of your hand on mine, and the sensation has not decreased since that moment. It is a comfort in all trials to feel your presence so close to me, even though it is only a whisper.
My fellow soldiers are confident. They ensure me that we will soon throw down the enemy and shall be returned to our homes before the year turns. I fear that their wishes will not to be proven true.
Give my love to my mother.
Your humble servant,
Tristan
She is watching him sleep. His face is peaceful, although his body is not. She can see every mark, from her nails, that she had made on his chest.
The thought of the embrace when she caused them fills her again with warmth from core to fingers.
She places one hand on his heart and feels its slow beat.
The Second Letter
My Beloved Abigail,
I openly admit that much of my day has been spent in grieving. The distance that separates us torments me, as ever, but I find new reason of late. I have killed a man. He thought to surprise me, and ambush my brothers in arms, so I struck him down without mercy.
The sight of his body on the ground, little more than a boy, has torn at my very being. I cannot question the rightness of my action, but that does not abate my guilt. Did he have a sweetheart to whom he wrote, as well? I found a letter on his person but I could not read the writing. It has since been confiscated in the search for fresh intelligence of our enemy.
I wonder if you will receive this letter. And if so, in what manner will it affect you? The thought of causing you pain you is more than I can bear. And yet, to keep hidden a part of myself frightens me even more.
Pray for me. Pray for a swift resolution to this and all other wars.
Give my love to my mother.
Your unworthiest servant,
Tristan
He is being gentler than she had expected. She can feel the soft texture of his lips and tongue on her skin as he makes his way down her chest.
The roughness of his stubble contradicts the softness of his kisses, and when she feels it she is lost in the joined sensation.
The Third Letter
My Sweet Abigail,
I now find myself in the midst of a most vexing paradox. I long, with a fervor beyond words, for our reunion but I also fear that I am no longer a man whom you would welcome back. This war has changed all of us, myself being no exception, for the worse. We are all of us less sweet, less genteel, and less hopeful than we once were.
I do not know the antidote to our spiritual decline, or whether one exists. If it is not hopeless, than I do not doubt that the first ingredient of such an elixir will be the return to our lovers’ bosoms.
Many of my friends still among the living have lost limbs or other elements of their physical selves. I wonder if you would welcome me back as readily if I am without legs or without eyes? There is, however, one organ with which I would be willing to part. I have no fear that removal of my heart will cause my death, as you have possessed my true heart in your hands these many months.
They say that our enemy is defeated, that the fury of his attacks has abated. I do not know whether this is so. I cannot but hope, although our current situation is still desperate.
Give my love to my mother.
I remain your humble servant,
Tristan
She is staring into his eyes as he gently moves above her. The sensation, having him inside of her, is overwhelming.
But she focuses on his eyes. They are passionate now, although most often she remembers them being gentle. It was his sweetness, and the kindness of his voice, that drew her to him.
She is losing herself to the waves of pleasure. As her climax approaches, her world goes black and she loses sight of his eyes.
The Fourth Letter
My Cherished Abigail,
The sounds of the sickbay around me are loud and my attention is often pulled to the activities associated with its care. I have been wounded, although not sorely. The doctors tell me that
I will soon be free of this place so that I can return to my comrades.
I often fail in my search for words to describe to you the depth of my feeling, and the failure troubles me. Even so, I persist because you are more precious to me than my health or anything else I possess, besides my hope of heaven.
The man next to me has lost his arm. Despite the knowledge of this, he will often mention it, telling me of the pains he feels in it. When he discusses it, I often become almost convinced that it must be real, until I once again turn towards him and see the empty sleeve. This is common amongst those who have lost limbs.
I sympathize with the man, for I feel the identical sensation. The loss of your presence has been a pain to me since my departure. But suddenly, now and again, I will feel the warmth of your presence and I believe for a moment that we are together. When the moment passes and I find myself once alone, it feels as if I have lost you all over again.
Even so, I endure this because I find the memory of you to be worth any amount of pain I may endure at your absence.
Give my love to my mother.
With you in soul, if not in body,
Tristan
She is slowly waking as morning light floods the room. The warmth she can feel beside her is comforting, and so she clings even tighter to him.
When she opens her eyes, he is looking at her. The gentle look has returned.
He smiles at her.
The Fifth Letter
My Darling Abigail,
I woke this morning imagining that I could feel the warmth of your body in bed with me. The doctors tell me that I have a fever, but I can only hope that all of this has been the fevered dream, so that I may wake up to my true life soon, to find you by my side. If that desire cannot come to pass, I have wished that the fever may continue, even wearing me away to nothingness, so much have I mourned your absence, that the pale shadow of your presence in a dream is a delight.
I cast off such thoughts only because I know that my joy in the reality of your presence far exceeds that of this counterfeit that my mind has produced.
The hospital that I lie in is filled with other soldiers, some recovering and others dying. I sometimes wonder if the other dying men long for their sweethearts as I do for you, although I cannot imagine any could match you in beauty or kindness, and whether that is the cause for their slow decline.
They say this war will soon be over but I have long since ceased to trust such rumours. The disappointment of their falsity, when it is discovered, far outweighs the pleasant hopes for our imminent return.
Give my love to my mother.
Your faithful servant in body and soul,
Tristan
She is lying on the bed, watching him. Washing his face at the basin in the corner of the room, he has his back to her. He is still naked, she watches the easy movement of the muscles under his skin.
When he turns around, he smiles at her. It is a smile both of happiness and regret. She recognizes it, because it mirrors her own emotions. Her voice is almost in a whisper but she speaks.
‘Come back.’
At that, his smile widens and he approaches the bed. As he wraps his arms around her, and she can feel him stiffen against her, she puts her head on his shoulder. She is hiding the tears in her eyes.
She was not asking him to come back to bed.
*****
I hope you enjoyed!
This one definitely different than my norm, so I don’t expect to write another like it. As always, any constructive criticism is welcome.
Be kind, please rewind.
Jeannie
- 11.06.2022
- 15
- 0
