Chapter Text
Emily's POV...
Concealed in her grave beneath the old-oak-tree, Emily, The Corpse Bride watched the handsome young man through the eyes of the little-blue-white-butterfly (her spy and one of her familiars, the others being the ravens) that he was now drawing as he sat on a small-white-tombstone.
(The stone belonged to her father, Henry Merrimack, who'd died of a broken heart and had been buried there to be close to his daughter. Since Emily refused to have her body dug up and moved as she didn't want to take any chances.)
Her left hand and arm, now all smooth-shiny-ivory-bone stuck out of a hole in the grave, in hopes that someone would propose to her.
Her own big-black-long-lashed-eyes followed the movement of his big-pale-long-fingered-hands as they swept across the paper. He's so talented, I wish he'd draw me!
She imagined herself posing nude on her beautiful-little coffin-shaped-bed as he drew her and after each drawing was done...making love!
I could be his beautiful French girl! The muse of all his artworks!! I know he would draw me perfectly!!
And with those long fingers...I bet he could reach deep inside me! Those thoughts would've made her blush...if she'd still been capable of that. He's not wearing a wedding-ring, that's a good sign! Maybe he'll be the one to propose to me!
"Please try to stay still, little one!" the man said with a low-deep-sexy-laugh.
His voice was low-smooth-and-silky and it made Emily's blue-core throb with desire. Her eyes rubbed across his slender body and she couldn't help imagining what he looked like without all his fine clothes. I wish our bodies could be entwined!
Not a detail escaped her. His skin is so prefect...I wonder what it feels and tastes like?! His black hair looks so soft...I'd love to run my fingers through it! Ooh...I could just drown in his chocolate eyes! Emily's eyes flicked down below his trim waist. Hmm...I wonder what his...?
“Oh, bugger!” the boy cursed as the pen slipped from his hand and landed on the leaf-covered-ground.
"He’s so cute and clumsy!" Emily sighed dreamily as she watched him picked up his pen and put the finishing-touches on his drawing. I hope he marries me!
As the man packed up his stuff and left (after which the butterfly flew away) Emily felt the strangest sensation. It was as if there was a magnet in the pit of her stomach, pulling her toward a piece of iron.
“I need to follow him! I need to see where he lives!!!” she cried. Withdrawing her hand, she balled up her fist and gave the ceiling three deep pounds that sounded like an earthquake.
The leafy-earth cracked open like an egg, flooding the space with a strong gust of cool wind! Emily shot her right-blue-skinned-arm out of the hole and dug the nails of her long-delicate-fingers into the hard ground like a tiger's-claw!
She slowly and gracefully rose from her grave, amid the snapping of roots and stepping out of the hole, started to follow him in a trance, the root-tangled-train of her dress dragging behind her.
It was now late-autumn, the sun had set and the slivery-blue-moonlight danced on the fallen-leaves. But Emily surprisingly took no notice of that, solely focused on her beloved crush.
Once they exited the woods, Emily watched him cross the gray-stone-bridge and enter the village of Somberville, her still heart fluttering like crazy.
As soon as he was out of sight, she began to cross the bridge herself. At first, it was fine...until she reached the other side and tried to step off.
All of a sudden, she was thrown backwards off the bridge by an invisible-force! She landed hard on her small-thick-voluptuous-buttocks with a grunt and a loud thump, the force of which caused her bony-right-leg to snap off.
If Emily'd been alive, her cheeks would've been blazing red with embarrassment and her ass would've been throbbing. With a sigh, she grabbed her leg, pulled herself up and snapped it back on, which made the bones and joints crack loudly.
Thankfully, no one had been around to see or hear her blunder, not even The Town-Crier. But that was of little comfort to poor Emily, who realized with a sinking feeling in her stomach that she wouldn't be able to enter the village.
Forlornly, she brushed the dirt and leaves off her dress, then teleported back to Purgatory or as it was more commonly known, The Land of the Dead in a swirl of black ravens with her small-delicate-hands pressed up against her chest, just above her large-round-C-cup-breasts.
Emily walked quickly to her ramshackle-flat, which was on the opposite end of the square not too far away from the monument of the horse, her white-heels clicking on the hard ground and the long-flowing-tattered-train of her gown dragging behind her.
Once there, she went straight to her bedroom. It was made of gray-stone: rather small and cluttered with old junk, the ceiling in shambles; but it was also cozy-quiet-and-dimly-lit.
Very lived-in and homey. An old-door, made of splintering-red-wood sat in one corner atop two gray-stone-steps.(It lead to the living-room.)An old-rusted-watering-can sat to the right of the steps. The air was bittersweet with the scents of dried-flowers-rust-velvet-and-old-wood.
Emily pulled off her blue-and-white-gossamer-veil and flung it onto an old bike that stood near the entrance, not caring what happened to it at all.
Normally, she kept it up in her dressing-room with her flowers; but she was far too tired and harrowed up in her feelings to bother tonight. She also usually took a bath and washed her hair after each shift, but she just didn't have the energy for it tonight.
She collapsed on her beautiful-little coffin-shaped-bed, feeling frustrated-confused-stressed-and-scared.
The bed was carved from dark-brown-oak, the backboard cleverly made from a broken-off-coffin-lid and had a curved-oak-headboard, who's left side was decorated with a swirly-metal-pattern.
It was cushioned with a patchy-red-taffeta-mattress and a matching-velour-throw-pillow that was only slightly-worn-and-dirt-stained. It was set against a dilapidated-wall that was decorated with a black-lantern that glowed with a yellow-light and positioned on a cracked-stone-catafalque.
What if I never see him again?! The thought hardened Emily's stomach and made her want to cry. But she bit the inside of her cheek and fought back the urge, swallowing down the bitter lump that was forming in her throat.
It wasn't that she was worried about looking weak; she'd always been taught that crying wasn't a weakness. She was scared that if she let herself cry, then she'd never be able to stop and would fully sink into depression with no hope of ever getting out. "I really need some stress-relief!"
Emily gracefully drew her legs up on the bed and laid on her back, her skirt elegantly draped over the side. Her blue-skinned-hand dipped inside her lacey-low-cut-velvet-bodice to cup one perfect-ample-melon.
While her boney hand crept between the wide slit of her pleated-ivory-velvet-skirt. For about five minutes, she tried to pleasure herself, but it didn't work.
No matter how hard she pinched her nipples or how roughly she played with her pip, she just couldn't reach orgasm. "Bugger, it's no use!" Emily finally yelled in frustration.
"It's already bad enough that I seem to be the only one who can still get aroused, as well as feel in general and am in pain all the time because of it!" she blustered to herself, her eyes glowing with tears.
"But apparently I can't even get any relief from that pain anymore!!! This was never a problem when I was ALIVE!!! GOD, I HATE BEING DEAD!!!" she wailed. She sat up, grabbed her pillow and flung it across the room.
Emily then flopped back down onto the mattress as two big tears rolled down her blue cheeks. Just then, a tiny-strangely-accented-voice caught her attention.
"Hey, Emmy! What's wrong?! I can hear you screaming from the dressing-room!"
Emily sat up again and looked at her best friend/surrogate-father, a cute-little-lime-green-maggot with bucked-teeth, large-clownish-pink-lips, a sunken-skull-like-nose and huge-purple-lidded-raven-eyes, complete with little-dark-brows.
"You know I was sleeping, right?!" Maggot flicked his head up, frowning at her.
"Sorry, I'm just frustrated!" Emily sniffled, drying her eyes with the hem of her mother's dress.
Maggot's frown softened as he squirmed over to the bed, which he then climbed up on. "What about this time?" he asked a bit more gently, wiggling up her bony arm to sit on her shoulder.
Suddenly poked-up, Emily dropped her eyes into her lap and remained silent, feeling her stomach dip.
"Cat got your tongue?" Maggot joked, setting into the thick-royal-blue-waves that cascaded over Emily's slim shoulders.
"If I tell you, you're just going to laugh at me." Emily mumbled, fiddling with the saltwater-pearls and powder-blue-lace on her cream-sweetheart-bodice. Her best friend had always loved to tease and embarrass her.
"I won’t, you always share your secrets with me and Widow. Come on, tell me!"
Emily hated to admit it, but Maggot wasn't wrong. In these past four years, the slug had become a surrogate-father to her, after all. He deserved to know what she'd been going through, no matter how outlandish it might sound.
With a reluctant start, she caved. "I can't seem to have an orgasm." she answered quickly, her stomach a tangle of knots as she waited for him to laugh.
But he didn't, instead, he showed concern. "Ah, I see. And how long has this been going on for?"
"A week."
"A week?! You've been having this problem for a whole week and never said anything?!"
"Because I thought you would just use it to tease me...like you always do. It's peculiar. I was fine last week, but now I can't seem to climax anymore! It's driving me mad!" Emily sulked, swinging her long-mismatched-legs over the side of the bed and leaning against the dark-oak-backboard.
Normal POV...
"Well, I got nothing! Maybe you need advice from another girl." Peering up at the shambles of the ceiling, the worm bellowed, "OY, WIDOW, GET YOUR ARSE DOWN HERE!"
"I'm right here, you don't have to yell or be rude about it for that matter!" came Black-Widow-Spider's sweet-motherly-voice as she descended from her web.
She was tiny and covered in glossy-blueish-black-fur with a bright-red-hourglass on the middle of her back and eight-long-slender-legs.
She had six-almond-shaped-ebony-eyes, each one laced in long-curly-dark-lashes and a small-scarlet-mouth decorated with four-little-pearl-white-fangs.
"Emmy's got a problem." Maggot stated as he pointed his tail and Emily nodded.(Emmy was their special pet name for her.)
"I see." Black-Widow came to rest on her little-girl's-other-shoulder. "What's the matter, angel?" she asked kindly.
Emily took an empty breath. "I can't seem to finish anymore while having one off the wrist." she confessed to her other best friend/surrogate-mother, nervously twisting a cerulean curl around her finger.
"This has been going on for a whole week and she just decided to tell me now!" Maggot chimed in, making the girl roll her eyes. "And I figured you could help since you've had TONS of husbands!"
Widow paused, almost repulsed, her stomach turning at basely being called a whore. Still, she bent her two-front-legs into a shrug. "Well, that is true." She turned and fixed her six, long-lashed black eyes on Emily. "What have you been trying, sweetheart?"
"The usual." The girl pointed above the slit of her dress. "It's always worked."
"Well, have you tried doing it naked, I've heard that can help?"
"Yes, I tried that and it didn't work!"
"Well, have you tried using those erotic-books of yours?" Widow asked.
"Yes, that's one of the first things I tried...wait a minute...you know about those?!" Emily panicked. She'd gotten the books from Elder Gutknecht.
"Yes, of course I do! And I know that you keep a stack of them hidden under your bed."
"Well, how'd you find out?!"
"Because I'm the one who does the cleaning around here, remember?"
"Oh, yes, that's right!"
Widow took one look at Emily's beautiful, blue-tinted face and patted her cheek gently. "Oh, sweetie, don't be embarrassed...I'm not judging you! Down-here...you can do whatever you want!"
"Hey, how far in have you been pushing your fingers?" Maggot asked casually, breaking up the mother/daughter moment.
"Maggot!" Widow gasped, shocked and quite frankly mortified that he would ask such a thing to a lady.
"What?! I'm just trying to help," he retorted defensively, throwing up his tail in surrender.
"You shouldn't ask a lady something so vulgar!" Widow scolded, tenderly caressing Emily's beautiful hair with one of her eight legs. "Especially when that lady is your daughter!"
"No, Widow, he's got a point. I've been going as far as I can with the barrier." Emily replied; though truth be told, his question had embarrassed her as well.
"Well, there's your problem! You've got to push all the way in!" Maggot exclaimed.
How would he know that?! He doesn't even have hands! Emily speculated. But quickly decided that she didn't want to know the answer; this whole situation was humiliating enough as is.
"And take my own virginity?! Of course not! I'm saving myself for my true love!" she stated, grasping her left hand. Oh, how she longed to feel the pressure of a gold ring again.
It was times like these when Emily appreciated how this father deviated greatly from the one Upstairs. Maggot could joke about these kinds of topics, rather than shunning the notion entirely.
"Our daughter certainly is a romantic," Widow commented with a hint of pride.
Emily smiled, only a little.
"Yes, she is. But now I'm out of ideas." Maggot said.
"Then leave and let me talk to her, girl to girl." Widow said firmly.
Maggot started backward. "What?! You're kicking me out?!"
"Yes. You haven't been helping, and it's like you said, I have experience than you in this regard," Widow remarked sternly.
This really should have been blatant to that slug. "Is this what you want too, Emmy?" he asked, craning his head to find her expression.
Emily bit her full pink lip. She didn't want to hurt his feelings, but he had been making her feel uncomfortable, and she really needed this problem solved. "Well, you say you're out of ideas and you want to sleep, so yes. I think you should," she answered gingerly.
"Good point," Maggot said, cheering up. Apparently Emily's convincing was just what he needed. "Alright, then, good night." And kissing her icy blue cheek, he hopped off her shoulder, onto the bed and squirmed away.
"Now have you been feeling stressed lately, dearie?" Widow asked gently, only after she made sure that Maggot had left.
Emily checked also. He'd wiggled through a crack in the old red door to sleep in the living-room. (That's where the door lead to.) "Actually...yes, I have!" she replied, her stomach suddenly churning.
"What about?"
"About my vow. I feel like I'm stuck in a loop. Every day, I sit in my grave and wait for a ring...nothing! I watch him and wait...and nothing! He's never asked for my hand and I'm beginning to think he never will, Widow!
I thought that letting go of my family and just focusing on my vow would make things easier...but it hasn't! And then, there's everything that happened tonight and in the past year!"
Emily paused to tell Widow everything that happened Upstairs as a crack started to form in her façade. "...I've tried to be patient, but I'm sick of waiting! I'm sick of being in pain!
And most of all, I'm sick of being dead! And now on top of all that, I can't even get any relief anymore!" Her bottom lip trembled, tears welling into her eyes again.
"Well, there's your answer, love! You're too stressed, no wonder you can't orgasm." Smelling salt and sadness, Widow looked up and saw crystal droplets gliding over Emily's cheeks.
She frowned, hating to see her baby upset. "Don't cry, darling, we figured it out...all you have to do now is relax." she reassured her, swiping at her tears.
"How am I supposed to do that?!" Emily whimpered, reaching up and wiping her eyes.
The spider propelled herself to the left shoulder. "Easy," she said, landing, relieved that Emily had stopped crying. "Use that romantic imagination of yours. "This boy you've been watching...do you desire him?"
"Oh, yes, more then anything!" Emily squealed.
"Good! Tell me about him!"
"He's young. Around eighteen, same age as me. Tall, thin, thick-black-hair, large-brown-eyes. Smooth-perfect-ivory-skin and the nicest-dimpled-smile."
Widow smiled through her pearly fangs. "He sounds handsome."
"Yes, very handsome. He also seems nice, shy, clumsy, that's for certain...and sweet. He's always coming into the woods to catch butterflies, sketch, or just walk around," Emily explained dreamily.
At last, the girl was getting somewhere. "What's his name?" Widow asked, getting excited.
Emily's beaming smile faded and her long-dark-brows drew downward. "That, I don't know. He's always alone and never talks much." Her lips set into a pout and she gave a petulant sigh.
"Well, it doesn't matter. You've got enough, now all you have to do is imagine him. Pretend it's his hands touching you instead of yours, pretend he's your true love. Oh and take off your clothes before you do it, it'll be even better without all that thick-velvet in the way." Widow said.
"Are you sure that's going to work?"
"I don't see why not. And besides, what other choice do you have?"
"Good point. Alright, I'll try. Good night and thank you for your help."
"Of course, dear, good night." And kissing her cheek, Widow left too, joining Maggot in the living room.
Emily's POV...
Pulling her tresses over one shoulder, Emily stood up and after retrieving the pillow, unfastened the pearl-buttons lining the middle of her back down to her tiny-twenty-four-inch-waist.
She gave a little shake of her big-curvaceous-hips and the dress fell in a pool of blue-and-white around her slender ankles.
She stepped out of it and kicked it off the cracked stone catafalque which her bed sat on. She was completely bare under the dress. When she died, she'd been wearing a pair of white-silk-panties, but they'd long rotted away.
She hadn't worn a corset; not just because Barkis had told her it would make things easier for him on their wedding night, but also because she was against them.
Of course, she'd thought he meant with undressing her, but now she knew it had only made it easer for him to stab her in the right ribs and pierce her lung. Her stomach roiled violently and bile rose in her throat, remembering how she'd almost given that monster her virginity.
Swallowing hard and pushing away those morbid thoughts, Emily kicked off her white-pointy-tipped-kitten-heeled-pumps, pulled off her lovely-tattered-fingerless-gloves and laid back down, her prefect-pear-shaped-figure now on full display.
Settling back against the pillow, she closed her blue-shadowed eyes, moved her heavy hair behind her shoulders, then ran her fingers over her forehead.
When she made contact with the bruise...the bitter memory of Barkis hitting her with the rock flitted through her mind--before she pushed it away and instead imagined the boy's thin-dimpled-gray-lips kissing her.
Emily touched every part of her heart-shaped face, still picturing him kissing her. She then softly stroked her fingers over her swan-like neck, tiny-mismatched-shoulders, throat and delicate-collarbones. The soothing motion made her tense muscles relax.
She paused to pinch the ultra-sensitive patches of rot that freckled her right cheek, right collarbone and in the hollow below her collarbones, a little mewl sounding from her throat. Then she ghosted over the smooth cool skin of her chest and the flat-baby-soft-planes of her stomach.
Emily cupped one full breast, which felt like rose-petals against her fingers and squeezed lightly, the cold-blue-nipple hardening under her touch. She gently pinched, a guttural-moan sobbing from her throat as she gnawed on her lips with her pearly little teeth.
She became rougher when she switched breasts and she felt a chilly wetness pooling between her thick, curvy thighs.
Her boney hand slipped between her ballerina-like legs to stroke the silken skin of her thighs, dance in the royal-blue curls that covered her mound and slide into her tight quim, envisioning those artist fingers.
This time the feeling was different: her long fingers slicked over her labia and flicked over her hard, swollen pip, making her groan pleasurably as her other hand still massaged her breasts.
Emily imagined her lips being kissed, a hot tongue tangling with her cold one. Her fingers increased speed and pressure and though she was careful not to breech her hymen, they scissored now and hit her sweet spot, making her convulse.
How she longed to feel warm smooth skin pressed against her cold skin, to hear a heartbeat again, to feel and taste sweat again. Emily gave her blue-berry a hard pinch and shuddered; her muscles tensed again, but this time, she knew it was in the onset of an orgasm.
She pinched her other nipple as well as her throbbing pip. Once she imagined her nipples being sucked, a hot penis breaking her flower and filling her completely--that was all it took!
Cold drops spilled down her cheeks as a wave of bliss washed over her. Her little toes curled and her head fell back on the pillow. Her eyes rolled back in her head and the right one popped out, landing in her lap. When the orgasm was finished, she realized that her eye was missing.
"Damn, I hate when that happens. Oh, well, at least no one saw!" Emily picked it up and popped it back in her head, too happy to be embarrassed, then sucked off her fingers, tasting salt, musk and honey.
It'd been a small orgasm, but it was better then nothing; at this point she couldn't afford to be picky. She yawned loudly, tired out from all the chaos and sex; plus the stress had given her nightmares that troubled her sleep.
So without even bothering to put her clothes back on, she turned onto her side, closed her eyes again and for the first time in a week, fell into a deep peaceful sleep.
