Gotha's Embrace Day 02: Sophie's Session

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I don't know how I managed to return to the cathedral hall in my stunned state, but somehow I did. Befuddled, I sat down on the end of a bench, barely registering the others already present. Sister Isabella came by to ask why I hadn't shown up at the library, to which I apologized and curtly replied that I had been otherwise preoccupied. I saw Ashley and Seo-Yeon look at me with wide, concerned eyes, but all I could manage was a weak smile in return. My mind was filled with an incessant buzzing, and it was hard to focus on anything, least of all my surroundings. Closing my eyes, I tried to steady myself.

Shortly afterwards, Father Gregory entered the hall to step onto his podium and deliver his sermon. I barely heard his words, given my unfocused state, but nevertheless they seemed notably targeted towards me. He spoke of the bonds of family, of the respect one should have for the Father, and the reverence one should have for the Mother. Seeing as how we were devoid of both here in this place, Father Gregory stated that he and Mother Prosperine would act as their surrogates, and that we were to love and cherish them as we would the Lord himself. He then spoke at length of the sins that beset us, especially the ones perpetrated by our dearest and closest, those personal iniquities that were some of the most arduous challenges one could ever hope to face. In the end, he preached, faith was our only saving grace. Faith in the Lord and faith in each other, so that we would always be guarded against temptation. He ended his sermon with a plea for strength and a prayer to the Lord.

Dinner followed afterwards. I gulped down the food without tasting any of it, completely oblivious to everybody and everything. A worried Ashely asked how I was doing, to which I responded with a grunt, before zoning out again. It was only after I had undressed and was lying awake in my bed that everything came rushing back at me.

My husband. My father. That girl. Father Gregory. My life. All of it came hurtling back like boulders in a landslide, threatening to bury me. I thought of all the lies, all the falsehoods, all the signs that I had missed. All those late nights and excuses for work, and Henry was probably off fucking some whore in some seedy slum. I saw again the receipts in my mind and heard the audio recording that Father Gregory had played for me, trying to piece together how it must all have happened.

How could I have been so blind? No matter how much I tried to justify my actions, or inaction, I could only feel the dismal weight of failure pressing upon me. I had let it happen. All of it. I had let my community down. I had let my family down. I had let myself down.

But most hurtful of all was the thought of my sons, and how they would react when they learned of all of this. I had never told them about my past abuse, instead giving them all the love that a mother possibly could, just so that they would never have to experience what I had experienced. Now all of that was going to be for naught, and the peace and love that I had so carefully cultivated would be shredded into oblivion. They were going to go through the same trauma that I did, and it was going to scar them undeniably. It would change them. They might even hate me for it.

NO! I thought angrily. This was not my fault! If it was anyone's fault, it was Henry's. It was my father's. They were the ones that had abused me and my trust. If my father had not been an alcoholic and had not tried to have his way with me, I wouldn't have been blindsided by all of this. I wouldn't have refused to see. I wouldn't have ended up as damaged goods.

Then why didn't you stop him? A sinister voice inside of me asked.

NO! I mean, I tried, didn't I? What he did was unforgiveable, taking advantage of me and my emotions. I was just a helpless young girl, not yet capable of understanding, not yet able to fight back.

Why didn't you tell anyone?

I didn't know who to go to! My mother was gone. I was alone. It was just him and I...

Why did you enjoy it?

NO! I never enjoyed it! I couldn't have! I was confused! I didn't know what I was doing!

Prove it! Prove that you didn't enjoy it!

What? How?

You know how.

My heart skipped a beat. I knew what I had to do. Almost without thinking, my hands reached down underneath the covers to hook themselves around my knickers. Before I could reconsider, I angrily tore them off and threw them in a corner. The old blanket covering me was coarse against my naked skin but I ignored it. I was going to show them. They didn't have a hold over me, no matter what Father Gregory said. I was going to prove it to them, once and for all.

With my right hand, I gently reached down and stroked the moist lips of my vulva through my thick bush, surprised at how aroused I already was. Ever since having kids, I had given up on shaving myself due to decreasing interest from my husband, thus neglecting the necessary upkeep to maintain a neat and tidy presence down there. Besides, I had always seen self-masturbation as crude and unsightly anyway, and so hadn't been particularly encouraged in that regard. Yet now that I was wet with anticipation, my dripping sex was making quite a mess, drenching my dense pubic hair with sticky fluids. Reaching in, I carefully found my folds, ignoring the bristly whiskers around the edge. In my mind, I imagined that it was my father stroking me, exploring my secrets, probing my most inner and guarded depths. He was trying to draw out any hint of weakness, but this time, I was going to defiantly resist his advances. I was going to show him that he couldn't control me. I was going to prove that I was the boss. As if in response, my fingers started moving a little faster, finding and rubbing just at the edge of my clitoris. It was so like my father, trying to excite me, trying to goad me into giving in, just a little bit.

Is that the best you got? I asked as I arched my body towards him, spreading the lips of my vagina so that my he could have better access to me. And oblige he did, running his nails around my twitching vulva, which was now drenched in steamy juices. My body was starting to heat up, reacting to the attention that it was receiving. Tingles ran up my spine as his supple caresses along my creases drew out long strands of gummy nectar, flowing down in rivulets to start coating my rear. I saw my father lift his hand to lick my forbidden sap off his fingers, a sly grin on his face, as he drove further and further into my most private recesses.

It was starting to feel good. Really good. I didn't recall that I had ever been this sensitive before. But I'm not going to give him the pleasure of knowing, I thought adamantly. I would be as a bulwark against the tide that the waves would crash upon. I would be the mountain that stood against the storming winds. I would be all that, and more, no matter what type of treatment was heaped upon my body. No matter how much delicious punishment he dispensed.

Let him try to break me. I will never give in.

I felt fingers brush along my clit, causing me to shiver. They were so close to my opening now. It would be so gratifying if he would just insert them inside. He could fill me up so easily with his large dirty appendages. They would probably slide right in, given how wet I was. But instead, he continued to play with me like a tasty treat, never attacking me directly, always circling, prodding, retreating. The game of cat and mouse was starting to drive me crazy.

Had it always felt this good? Again, I was surprised at how responsive I was, so receptive of the carnal attention I was receiving. It was as if my own body was betraying me, an insidious subterfuge where my most solid foundations had been weakened and chipped away at discreetly, so that any large shock would cause a sudden collapse of my resolve. The strangeness of it diverted my concentration. Why does it feel so good?

His fingers were now circling steadily around my clit. The sensations were starting to coalesce, and I felt a momentary shot of panic. No! I have to resist! No matter how good it feels! Yet I could feel something building now. He had distracted me long enough with soothing touches and disarming playfulness. The time had come for a more direct strike, one that would batter and breach my weakening defenses. He was going to focus all his energy down my centre, forcing his way into my core, making me implode. All of a sudden, I didn't know if I could stop him. No! I can't let him win!

And yet he continued on mercilessly, drawing ever closer and closer to that hidden entryway that I had barred to everyone save my betrothed.

The one that cheated on you? The voice was back, taunting me.

I flared with anger and indignation, but it only drove the fingers assaulting me to redouble their efforts. I was gasping for breath now, being stimulated into surrender. My defenses were starting to crumble and give way before the onslaught. Fighting the urge to moan and cry out, I brought a hand to my mouth, trying to stifle any sound that might escape.

Suddenly, I bit into something hard. The solid permanence of a physical object snapped me back to reality, and with startling realization, I found myself doubled up, on my side, with one hand sticky and wet between my legs while the other was in my mouth. I looked down and saw my wedding ring, the silver band twinkling weakly in the moonlight. Instantly, the tension drained away from my body. All that pent-up frenetic energy seemed to dissipate, leaving me hollow. I collapsed in a heap.

What had come over me? What was I doing? All of a sudden, I was racked with shame and guilt. Unable to contain myself, I buried my face into my pillow and wept. I hadn't allowed myself to feel sadness, only anger, and now, all those sorrowful emotions were flooding over me. How was playing with myself like some wanton whore going to solve anything? What was I trying to prove? What would my sons think of me if they saw me like this?

Throughout my life I had always tried to be kind and helpful to everyone I met. I knew the story of the good Samaritan, something that I aspired to, always lending a hand to those in need. I knew how cruel the world could be, how vindictive and indiscriminate its nature, and I had resolved to be a steadfast anchor to those that were weighed down by the forces of indifference and spite. But sometimes I felt I had no one to support me. There was nobody that was looking out for me when I needed it the most. And the feeling of that emptiness was crushing.

No! It doesn't have to be like that! I thought, fighting back my despondence. The world may be a cruel and unforgiving place, but it was also full of compassion and love. One only had to take the time to look for it. The key was through the bonds of friendship and kindness, two pillars that had always supported me through the toughest of times. No one gets through everything alone. My purpose was to forge those bonds with and amongst those people around me, allowing everyone to come out all the stronger for it. And I would be strong as well, for myself, for everybody that I knew, and above all else, for my children.

Tempered by these encouraging thoughts, I calmed my mind, slowly removing my hand from between my thighs. With my stresses unwinding, I was finally starting to feel sleepy, and before long, I began to drift off. Dark figures seemed to dance around the periphery of my dreams, but I ignored them. They were not worth thinking about.