My Aunt. Chapter 21 - Sex Stories

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My Aunt. Chapter 21

Date: 11/8/2014, Categories: First Time, Author: Annamagique, Rating: 6, Source: LushStories

I led Bethany by the hand through the front door where she released me and returned to the kitchen, using the door further down the hall. I stood for a moment and watched her then opened the door and went back into the dining room. I stopped dead when I saw her! Marjory was sitting where I had left her, but now she was slumped forward on the table, her head resting on her arms, a pool of thick blood spreading across the dark green velvet of the table covering, dripping onto the carpet beside her. As I approached she looked up at me, still holding the carving knife that Bethany had let fall to the floor. “I am so sorry, Victoria,” she whispered. “I told you I was weak. When he took her life, he took mine too.” I took her hand and recoiled in horror. Her wrist opened and the blood poured forth in faint pulses as her heart tried to pump what little remained round her body. Quickly I grabbed a napkin and tore a strip of fabric from it then tied it as tightly as I could around the gaping wound, trying to stem the flow. Slowly she turned her other hand over and the knife slipped from her grasp. She had cut that wrist also. “You cannot save me, Victoria, I died so long ago. I will be with him again when he joins me in hell.” I screamed for Bethany but, as she ran through the door, Marjory rolled her head back onto her hands and breathed her last, the blood flow slowed then stopped as her heart pumped no more. I sank down onto my knees and sighed. That vile man had a lot to answer ... for. Bethany came to my side and put her arm around my shoulder but didn't speak. There was nothing to say until, finally, I looked up at her. “I think we had better call someone. Would you find Aunt Helen, please.” “Are you sure you're all roight, Miss?” Bethany looked concerned and clearly didn't want to leave me “Yes,” I replied. “I am,” I smiled wearily up at her. As she turned to leave I took her hand and stopped her. “When we are alone, call me Victoria,” I said quietly. Her eyes sparkled and her face lit up. “You mean it?” she asked. I nodded. “I mean it,” as I squeezed her hand gently. Whilst I was alone I remained at Marjory's side. I do not know why. There was nothing I could do for her but I really did not know what else to do, my mind was exhausted. I sat back on my heels and leaned forward, resting my forehead on her lifeless thigh and I swore an oath that no man would ever put me in such a position. I would always control my own destiny and to hell with convention. It was the expectations of the society in which we lived that was as responsible for the death of Marjory Wallace as her husband. Her sense of duty to him and to the church had overridden her sense of right and wrong and, in the end, it had destroyed her and Francis Wallace was as responsible for the death of his wife as much as he was for that of his victim. It seemed a lifetime but, in truth, only minutes had passed since Bethany left and now she was back with Aunt Helen and Philomena Watson. “Oh my ...