The Adult Story Hub

This work is copyrighted to the author (c) 1994-96 ed. Please do not remove the author information or make any changes to this story. You may post freely to non-commercial "free" sites, or in the "free" area of commercial sites. Thank you for your consideration.
By Caesar

Sicily was not what Ed had expected. Lieutenant Edward Thurmann and his haggard, war-weary platoon had slugged over the hills while slowly beating back the Germans. Ed was part of the famed British Eighth Army as it made its way across the harsh island, having an important part in the taking of Valguargerna. The Canadians were well-known for their worth in wartime, proving it in countless battles during the first World War that few could remember or pronounce properly.
Yet at this battle, the taking of Valguargerna, a significant thing happened to the young lieutenant. It wasn't the small town, nor that particular battle, as it was just another weary day in the life of an infantrymen. No, it was his attempt to change his fate that made it important.
His name was Sergeant Thomas. And during a lull in the artillery bombardment, which side owned the large calibre guns didn't matter, two worn and dirty soldiers huddled as a German sniper attempted to pick off any movement about the shallow hole that the soldiers lay in. Rank had little importance in the dusty hole, as the two men awaited for a flanking manoeuvre to free them from the exposed spot they found themselves in. Lieutenant Thurmann spoke to the sergeant of second section, attempting to hide his fear as well as comfort himself with the sound of his voice.
Sergeant Thomas was four years older than his lieutenant and recognized the futile attempt at self control in a desperate situation. So the man chatted openly, if not with much cursing, with Ed Thurmann. The older man pulled his canteen cup from his utility belt, then pulled a well-worn dry photo surrounded by dirty socks from the cup. He handed it to his platoon commander.
The photo was yellowed with age and use, yet the ageless beauty of the young woman in the photo was unmistakable. Rolly Thomas yelled over the sound of a distant bombardment, "My wife!" He was obviously proud.
"She's beautiful!" Rolly barely heard him as a few shots from the sniper flew over their heads. As such, the Sergeant missed the wide-eyed look of the lieutenant as he gazed at the gorgeous woman. She looked barely twenty. She wore a flowery skirt, as was the style when they left for England, and her light curly brown hair pulled back revealing her neck and high cheekbones.
It wasn't at that moment that the "plan" came to Ed, nor did it really occur what the consequences of his actions were until a decisive moment came. Three days later, Ed Thurmann had to send out night listening posts while the remainder of his platoon rested. Sergeant Thomas' section was chosen for the duty. Being the man he was, Rolly Thomas would pick the most dangerous of the forward holes for his listening post. That in itself wasn't anything out of the normal routine of an infantryman.
What happened next was.
Rushed intelligence came by runner to the platoon CP, or command post, and was immediately given directly to the officer in charge - Lieutenant Thurmann. The orders were simple and to the point: a German company was to advance on Ed's platoon to "test the waters" and to capture prisoners. Just another long night ahead for the platoon commander. Yet two things would influence his decision this night. One, the runner was killed by a stray mortar round less than 500 meters after leaving the platoon CP. The other was that Ed had been plagued by the image of Rolly's wife since first seeing the photo.
That was when the decision was made. Without the knowledge of his own commanders or the rest of his platoon, Ed held back the information. It was a passive action. He didn't even consider the full breadth of the action until the next morning.
The attack came, and the platoon was surprised, but with help from an artillery battery and two lost Churchill tanks, the Germans were repelled, yet not without loss.
Rolly Thomas's body lay under a ground sheet before the sober lieutenant. The chaplain was due to come at any moment for the personal items on the man's body. Quickly, Ed turned his friend on his side and pulled the canteen and cup from the webbing. Inside was the photo.

"Coming!" Mrs. Thomas, widow of Rolly Thomas, opened the door. Standing with his back to the sun was a man in the uniform of a infantry officer, a captain.
"Isabell Thomas?" the deep voice asked. The pretty woman began to shake. Not since that terrible day barely a year and a half ago when a uniformed man had come to tell her that her husband was killed in action was she so scared. She would always fear the sight of an unknown man in a uniform at her door.
"Yes?"
"My name is Ed Thurmann. Rolly was in my platoon when he died. May I come in?"
She felt slightly better. This was probably just a sympathetic visit and not an official one, meaning no bad news from the Defense Department. "Of course. Please..." She closed the door after the tall man entered her simple home. He followed her eyes, and she felt reassured that his visit was friendly, for he was smiling happily and looked excited. But Isabell noticed that behind the eyes was something else, some darkness, but she immediately passed that off as his experiences in the war.
"You are just as Rolly described."
He looked overjoyed and took her hands in his. She felt warmed and a bit surprised at this introduction.
"I wanted to see you and tell you that I'm sorry for your loss."
"Thank you, it was very difficult for several months afterwards. Would you like some tea?" She spoke kindly, but wanted to cover her awkwardness. This officer spoke as if he had known her for years. With her hands still in his, she headed him towards the couch. "I still have terrible nightmares." He let go of her hands as she left him to enter the kitchen. "I don't know how he died. Were you with him at the time?" she called from the kitchen as she filled a kettle with water.
"Yes, he was laying right next to me when it happened." Ed stood in the entrance to the tiny kitchen and continued to lie. "I believe that I would be dead today if not for your husband's gallantry."
She looked sad yet also pleased by these words. "Cream, sugar?"
"Sugar, please." She continued to prepare the tea. "After that horrific night, I was commendated and eventually given my captaincy. But it was your husband's bravery and courage that really turned the Huns. I recommended him for his medal."
Isabell smiled at the tall man, happy that her husband had had such a good friend during a difficult time, and sad that he could not be here with the two of them right now.
He followed her back to the living room, standing to drink his tea, while she sat. Ed paced slowly about the small room and took in the decor and memories, many small reminders for Mrs. Thomas of her lost husband. "This house is just how I pictured it. You are just as I pictured!" She nodded but was unsure of what to say to his particular attitude. "The last words Rolly ever said to me were, 'Take care of my wife'."
She covered her embarrassment. "Oh, that was just like him. Worrying about me even until the last moment." A tear appeared in the corner of her eye. "I'm doing fine - his parents are helping out and I have some wonderful neighbours."
"Of course." Ed Thurmann almost said it absent-mindedly. "Perhaps I could come by sometimes just to say hi?"
Contrary to what she really thought she answered politely, "Of course. But I really am fine."
Edward stood to leave, placing the cup and saucer on the short-legged table. Isabell also followed him to the door, leaving her tea on the table. Her arms were crossed about her, almost as if she were hugging herself, and she felt great sadness and pity, a return of the emotions she had felt when the news of her husband's death first reached her, which was caused by the visit from the officer and friend to her late husband.
Silently Ed turned and looked into the sad eyes of the woman who had plagued his thoughts and was directly responsible for his judgement of death on Rolly. All the damp cold nights, looking upon her photo under a tarp with only a match to light her face. It had been a happier face than the one before him; also it looked ten years younger than the woman before him. Yet in his obsession he loved her frantically, possessively, and with deep unnatural desire.
His arms folded about her easily, his lips finding hers. In seconds his tongue slid between her unresisting lips to fondle her gums and still tongue. It was a passionate, hurried kiss.
Perhaps it from the pain of loosing her husband, or her happiness that she had finally heard the "truth" of how he died, or maybe it was because she had not had a man in years. But whatever the reason, she responded to the captain by opening her mouth and sparring with his tongue. Isabell tilted her head and closed her eyes, her hunger was also apparent, her body firmly pressing against the male hardness.
It would be hurried and rushed. Totally unbiased or uninhibited. An action she had never done even with her only love, her husband. Edward quickly lifted her skirt up to the waist, while Isabell fumbled with the buttons on his fatigue pants. She hadn't worn pantyhose, since silk was still scarce, but her panties were quickly ripped from her body. Mrs. Thomas's back was pressed up to the door, her legs lifted to encircle Captain Thurmann's slim hips. His strong hands hurriedly moved her downwards onto his hard pole.
Isabell screamed out while Edward began to grunt even as he moved his penis in and out of the attractive widow. Her pleasure was easily evident by the moisture and sounds of her passion. Nails bit into his neck and even through the thick wool of his well-pressed blouse as his lips barely left her soft smooth neck.
The end was as quick as the beginning. His seed pumped deep within her lonely body, as her simultaneous response caused her body to spasm uncontrollably and drench the front of the soldier's wool pants.
All too soon, Isabell's mind realized what she had done, but she had no idea why she had done it. A huge wave of guilt ran through her when the considerably smaller penis slipped from her sex. Slowly she dropped her legs to the floor and lowered her dress as she stepped around the panting sweaty man. She felt blood drain from her face as she realized she didn't even know the man that had just taken her. Also that he was a "friend" of Rolly's was enough to give her guilt.
She retired quietly to her bedroom, leaving her guest to leave on his own.
Isabell Thomas spent a full hour in the chilled water of her bath before returning to her room. She had felt dirty and the smallest reminder of her adultery practically sickened her. Yet she smelled the unmistakable odour of food coming from her kitchen and she felt her knees almost give out as she realized her husband's "friend" was still her in the house with her.
"How was your bath?" he asked, wearing nothing upon his body, his well-muscled body still showing signs of their recent encounter as she walked into the kitchen.
She wasn't sure how to ask him to leave, nor was she even sure if she wanted him to. "Fine, thank you." She shyly looked upon his handsome body. "You didn't have to make anything."
"No problem. Thought you would want to get your strength back." His toothy grin gave her a surprising chill. Ed handed her the plate and fork. "I remember in Italy, some months after your husband died, that the wine we found was like heaven. I'll be sure to find some for you." He began to eat at the table, his manners still reminiscent of mess halls. Isabell ate daintily.
"I have to go to see Rolly's parents this afternoon..." She wasn't sure how to continue, but was surprised that Edward looked up at her, almost in anger. Surely he didn't think this was something permanent, did he? "I'm sorry, I should have told you earlier." A long pause. "You gave me pleasure during a sad time and a moment when I needed affection. For that I thank you." She placed her hand upon his, but her pulled it from her. "But I think it's best if you go. Perhaps in time..." She never finished her sentence.
A hand came around and hit the side of her face with a palm, knocking her backwards off the chair. She lay on her side, holding her face, tears rolling down her checks as Captain Thurmann stood over her. Never before had someone hit her, nor could she find a reason for this violent and sudden action. Hadn't they been acting as adults?
"I'm sorry, Isabell!" He sounded truly hurt. "Please! Let's not talk about me going. We are the perfect couple, don't you see that?" His voice was getting louder and harsher. "Can't you understand that I love you? That I have loved you since the first time I saw your picture? Your husband wasn't good enough for you, but I'll make you happy, and you can be mine forever..."
The last sentence froze Isabell's soul. Why would her husband's best "friend" make a judgement like that? How could he act and say these things if he was the friend he had claimed he was? "I loved Rolly, and I still love..."
His beefy hands reached down and lifted her effortlessly. Isabell shook violently, her body jerking like a rag doll in his grasp. "Don't say those things! Don't you ever say you loved anyone but me ever again!" His eyes, wild and uncontrolled, scared the youthful widow more than the physical abuse she was taking. "I love you, damn it! I killed for you, can't you understand that? Tell me you love me?!" He yelled this quite loudly.
She didn't want to say it - she didn't feel any kind of feelings of affection towards this man. If anything she was confused and scared, while her mind logically comprehended the true meaning to his words.
"Damn you, bitch!" He threw her through the air and she hit the wash basin, surely cracking a few ribs. Her loose dress, ripped revealing a pale breast that again ignited the passions of the maniac advancing towards her. "You will be mine, Isabell!" This time he lifted her and threw her over to the counter, her body mostly laying on the hardened wood.
Mrs. Thomas's mind was racing, even while her body was abused and frozen. She comprehended the actions about her, that Edward Thurmann was forcing her upon her back while pulling and ripping at her clothes, his semi-hard penis driving into her. Distantly she realized it was her own voice that was screaming, but overshadowing that the words "I killed for you" and "husband wasn't good enough" echoed about her head. Even the abuse to her body was unimportant compared to the realization of what she had let in her house.
A monster.
"Bitch...bitch...fuck yes...you're mine...you better like this, Isabell or...yes...I'm going to finish...yes!"
Isabell Thomas felt the old wooden handle against her palm. It wasn't planned nor had she searched about the counter for it. Something inside of her caused her to reach out, finding the old cleaver. It was heavy, and she needed to use added strength to lift it from behind and above her head. The momentum of lifting the object also increased the power of its descent as the sharp metal chopped once into the neck of the occupied monster above her.
She looked up in surprise at what she had done. Edward stiffened, then reached for the object stuck in his neck. His bulging eyes looked into the woman he "loved" as his strong fingers pulled the heavy meat cleaver from his neck. It was his death by that action.
The large quantity of blood pumped in spurts from the butchered skin, shooting to about four feet, covering the kitchen and widow in a crimson red colour. Isabell felt his still semi-hard penis pull from her sore dry hole as he stepped backwards, frantically attempting to stem the tide of blood from his body. Sitting up Isabell watched in grim satisfaction as the man dropped to his knees, his eyes revealing his life was only seconds from being lost.
Finally, Edward Thurmann fell face forward in a pool of his own blood. The loud silence deafened the widow until she felt own vomit drive up from her stomach. Kneeling next to the dead captain, she emptied her guts and attempted to contain her revulsion.
Isabell was right. She was able to take care of herself.