Born to Serve

PLACED 1ST IN MAY 2010 ROUND OF "Invalid Item" 

London, Dec 1940

Veronica Lynn gripped the arms of her wheelchair tighter when she heard the ominous siren of the German bomber planes. The blast that followed was the loudest she had heard ever since the Blitz

The Blitz was the sustained bombing of Britain by Nazi Germany between 7 September 1940 and 10 May 1941 in the Second World War

commenced. Instantaneously, the glass window of her room cracked into shards and her chair lurched forward and hurled her across the floor.

Screeching with terror she landed with a sickening thud against the opposite wall. She was just beginning to feel lucky about not banging her head when excruciating pain stabbed her spinal column. The wounds of her forearm where the glass shred her bare skin hurt like the jabs of a million needles.

There was no way she could mount her upturned wheelchair which lay by her side. Her crutches stood in the far corner of the room and the glass made it impossible for her to crawl. Resigned to her fate, she prayed for her swift end. She didn't know when she slipped into a daze

“Missy!”

The familiar voice stirred her back to consciousness.I must be hallucinating she reasoned. Her head felt heavy and her eyelids drooped with drowsiness. She really just wanted to go back to sleep. Strong arms lifted her up.

“Is that you, Vir?” She couldn’t believe her eyes and reached out to touch his warm face. The comfort of his embrace brought tears of relief to her blue eyes.

“The house is badly damaged. Thank God you're still…” His voice choked and Veronica could feel him tremble as he laid her on the bed. She relaxed when he washed her wounds, taking immense care to dab away the glass from her skin with a wet cloth. He applied iodine and bandaged her forearms and wrists.

“When does your ship sail?” she asked.

“It left.”

She sat up with a start. “What are you doing here?”

“I couldn't leave you alone, Missy. Even Melinda and Dinah have left,” he reminded her about the other servants.

“They've taken shelter in the underground stations.”

“But you're here.”

“How can I go with these?” she pointed to her legs.

“Then I'll stay here with you,” he said firmly.

“Are you mad?”

“Look at how badly injured you are. If I would not have come!”

“You’ll die, Vir. I bought the ticket for you to return to your country.” She wanted to hug him. Thank, God, you didn't go. Never leave me alone, again.

“Missy, I know you since I was a child in Lucknow. You brought me here with you. Cared for me. I cannot leave you like this.”

Those words brought back painful memories of her accident in Lucknow, a thriving city in the North of India. She placed a hand on his face, admiring his handsome looks. "You've grown so big, Vir," she observed.

"Do you remember that day when I first came to your house?" he asked, making no attempt to move away her hand.

"Yes. It just seems like yesterday."

"Almost twenty years, Missy."

"Yes, twenty years," she repeated. She dropped her hand from Vir's face and looked down at her lifeless legs, a mute testimony to his country's Independence movement. She would never forget that day. Her girlfriends' laughter still ricocheted in her head. They were shopping for trinkets in the bazaar when a bomb exploded nearby. The flying shrapnels hit her spinal column, paralyzing her legs for life. Later, she learnt that the bomb was planted by freedom fighters targeting the District Magistrate of Lucknow and also Veronica's father, Sir John Lynn. Sir John was expected to make a tour of the city later that day and stopover at the bazaar, but the crude, hand-made device set off earlier than planned and crippled his only child who had just turned eighteen.

His words stirred her reverie. “You need to change, Missy.”

She looked up at him, wondering what was it that made her restless. She had known him since he was a boy. Grappling with her daughter's disability, Sir John had resorted to country medicines prescribed by a Hakim. The same man had recommended Vir, then only ten years old, to Sir John. Allah has blessed the boy's hands. He cures paralytics just by a massage, the Hakim had said. That is why Sir. John Lynn had taken Vir into his household.

He massaged her legs daily, but his clinical touches never elicited the reaction which his mere presence did now. She couldn't fathom her body's response; perhaps it was the sheer relief of his return or the promise of unhindered and prolonged solitude or the sudden realization that the boy she had known had turned into a man. His masculine scents precipitated the acute realization of her unquenched femininity.

“I feel like a warm bath.”

“But with your bandages?”

“Can you sponge me?” she implored, her body craving for his touch.

“Me?”

“I didn't know there was someone else,” she teased, looking around the room.

She enjoyed his bewilderment and made secret plans as he prepared for the task. Her eyes sparkled with mischief when he stood next to her with a pail of warm water, a rubber mat and a rag.

“Remove my dress now.”

“Missy!”

“How else will you do it?” She had to work hard to suppress her laugh. Missy is so cute. Never call me anything else.
Looking troubled, he caught the hem of her ankle length white dress and rolled it past her long legs to stop at her waist. When his fingers grazed her calves and thighs, her skin tingled with sensations she had never been aware of.

He placed one arm below her thigh and raised her gently to slide the dress past her hips. He slipped the dress past her outstretched arms and dropped it on the floor. She blushed when his eyes flickered over her milky white skin. His hungry gaze kindled memories of her pleasant days in Lucknow when every eligible British bachelor in town vied for her favor. They all vanished from her life after the accident, like clouds on a windy day.

“How will you sponge me with these on?” she pointed to her bra and underwear.

He looked worried.

She relaxed when he argued no further, but hooked his thumbs in the waist band of her underwear and pulled it down. Her thighs clung together, a rude reminder of her painful affliction. She wished to part them and show him her bushy treasure, but couldn't move a single muscle.

“Help me sit up,” she whispered. He did and she reached behind and unhooked her bra. Her creamy mounds sprang in his face and her cherry red nipples stood up hard and erect. This time she sensed the tension build up inside him. His breathing became labored and he stared unabashedly at her rounded jewels. Seeing the admiration in his eyes, her head swarmed with sweet thoughts of desire and longing.

She felt his hands on her bare buttocks as he raised her gently and placed the rubber mat. He dipped the sponge in the warm water and cleaned her face. His slow measure motions made her feel like a delicate princess. His hand trailed down to her neck where the warm water and the occasional touch of his fingers stoked her needs further.

He paused on reaching her breasts. She encouraged him with her eyes and he wrapped her breast with the rag and rubbed gently. This time she did not suppress her sigh of pleasure. She had a strong urge to be touched by him and she caught his hand and placed it on her other breast. He pulled both his hands away, dismay on his face. Taken aback by this momentary rejection, she turned her face away, closed her eyes and said, “Sorry.”

Her body burned with desire and her aching womanhood gave her no respite. She was feeling helpless and miserable, when his warm hands gently moved her face toward him. She did not get the courage to open her eyes, but sensed his proximity by his warm breath on face and his weight upon her breasts.

“You're so beautiful, Missy. I can't even dream of a woman like you,” he whispered into her ears and caressed her hair.

Nervously, she opened her eyes, pulled his head closer and French kissed him like the way they did in the movies. She rolled her tongue over his soft lips. His mouth opened and their tongues touched. The minty flavor of his mouth made her womanhood quiver with want.

She released his mouth. “Vir.”

“Yes, Missy!”

“I don't want to die a virgin,” she entreated.

He kissed her a couple of times before lowering himself on to the floor. She watched his every move as he shed his clothes, marveling his toned body with girlish delight. Her eyes devoured his engorged penis, uncircumcised and beautiful. She had only heard about what pleasures it could give to a woman. Her cousins would recount to her tales of their partners' feats in bed, unmindful of how those talks frustrated her. Today, at last, she would partake of those joys that her body had long craved for.

He climbed onto the bed and parted her legs, gazing at her bushy treasure. Positioning himself between her thighs he pointed the tip of his hardness at her entrance and pushed. She groaned with pain at the invasion of her deepest privacy, her swollen vulva collapsing around his shaft to generate exquisite friction. It was her first time, but she had lubed so well that he claimed her without much effort and sank into her sloppy cavern to the hilt.

Their mouths were locked in a passionate embrace while his pelvis rocked back and forth. He made sure that she didn't feel the inadequacy of her disability. Rotating his hips, he touched every nerve inside her love tunnel and rode her to an explosive climax. The orgasmic convulsions of her core on his manhood tipped him over the precipice. Moaning his pleasure, he began to spill inside her womb, the tight clutch of her vaginal muscles milking him dry.

They spent the night in bed exploring each other. It was early morning when he fell asleep on her breasts. She touched the soiled bedsheets and saw the results of their opaque spends on her fingers; her virginal blood mixed with his semen. She knew it was that time of the month. The thought brought a smile to her lips. Though not intended, but perhaps, she had nipped her relatives' nefarious plans. She knew that secretly they rejoiced at her plight and all of them coveted the vast fortune her father had left her.

It was the beginning of a tender love affair. Veronica and Vir became man and wife in a simple church ceremony to the utter dismay of all her relatives' who refused to acknowledge the wedding with a servant boy. By the grace of God, the two lovers survived the Blitz. Nine months later, Veronica produced the heiress to her vast family fortune, putting paid to all her relations' wicked ambitions. The servant boy proved a devoted husband, loving and caring for his much older bride for the rest of his life.

Word Count: 1892