Message-ID: <2793eli$9708100051@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/Year97/2793.txt> From: taria29c@aol.com (Taria29c) Subject: RP Ancient Taria: Cain and Abel Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Original-Message-Id: <19970808204400.QAA28553@ladder02.news.aol.com> CAIN AND ABEL by Taria ________________________ BLAM It was five years since I sold my soul. BLAM I'd been the comforting brother, as always. She came to me about something inconsequential, and then she lost her composure in a way no one ever imagined she could. "I can't take it any more," she cried. "Those women...those *whores*...and *him*...shit, he'd screw his own mother!" >From the lips of the fairy-tale Princess, the Angel, the words were shocking, foul somehow. There was an edge of hysteria there as well, and I stroked her peach-wrapped shoulder softly, unable to think of anything to say. "Oh, why couldn't *you* have been the one?" she whispered. I couldn't move. What that question stirred up was too deep and too dark to even acknowledge. My whole damn life I'd been asking Why him? Why not ME? And then she was crying in wracking sobs, and I knelt down to hold her, and then it was an embrace and her tear-streaked face tilted upwards and her lips sought mine... BLAM "So easy," she murmured, as we lay together. "It would be so easy to just get rid of him." I was startled, shocked, to put it mildly. I gazed at her, propped up on one arm beside me. Her impeccable dark hair was tousled, her careworn face authentically hers, not the one from the jar that everyone else saw in the magazines, on television. I ran my hand over her bare shoulder, moved to touch one blindingly white breast. "I'm serious. He's out of control. Parading that blonde bitch in front of me at that birthday thing"--this was not ordinary cursing, but a fallen Angel's profanity--"and it's affecting his job performance, too. She leaned in and locked my eyes in hers; I was a titmouse before a Queen Cobra. "It should be you, not him...you know it's true. Everything he has is rightfully yours. Everything..." She murmured. I listened. I demurred, denying the truth of her words. But still, I listened. BLAM She was right. It *was* easy. Through my Justice connections I got through to the Agency, and they set it up. No hidden assassination. No secret coup. Out in the open, in the most public setting imaginable. A lone gunman. A few shots, perhaps a single bullet. BLAM Over and over, the world relived the horror. At the funeral, she was all dignity and grace, still life of the grieving widow. I alone knew that it was a facade, the pose as flawless as the plan we had executed. That night we fucked. Fevered, raging, animal fucking. The world thought that the Pure Flower of Womanhood had intercourse, once only, to capture the seed that would be the Heir. But the night we killed my brother, we fucked. BLAM And now I'm close, so close. Here in California all will come to fruition-- BLAM Pain. Blood. Looming Death. No, not now... "Jack--" "Oh, Christ--Bobby sees his brother!" No. Not him. Jackie. Why? Why now? Why me? BLAM -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | \ <URL:http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/> .../assm/faq.html> /