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ORESTES hurt you want you

" story of Orestes"

Story codes: MF snuff violent inc nc

By Orestes

orestes007@hotmail.com

ftp.asstr.org/pub/Authors/Orestes

***

This work is copyright (c) 2000 by Orestes. You may

download and keep copies for your personal use as long

as the author's byline and e-mail address and this

paragraph remain on the copies. Please do not post this

story to any web site without permission from the

author. All other rights reserved. No alteration of the

contents is permitted.

***

Some say I have a twisted mind. I'll grant, my

imagination explores some of the darker themes. Whether

this is a result of some family genetic trait, or of my

upbringing, I couldn't tell you. There's certainly

reason to suspect both in my story.

Over the years, I've even come across people who

fear me a little because they've heard rumours. Dark

rumours. I don't usually try to set them straight, but

I'll do it now; I've wrestled my personal demons, and

finally come to a peaceful place in my life. You might

not suspect it from my writings, but I'm actually a

gentle soul these days.

You probably don't know me. Not my real name,

certainly. But if there are those who read this and

recognize a part of the story, you may know of me.

Maybe you've never heard the story quite this way, and

if not, then I hope it is worth the reading.

Some people carry around conspiracy theories. They

believe that a small handful of individuals control the

political processes of the world. It sounds pretty x-

files, right ? The truth is out there, but they'll

never know it. They're wrapped in some fantasy of a

smoky conference room where seven white males decide

what scandal will break in any given week, or nudge

third world countries into revolution with a simple

phone call.

Reality is much more mundane. Those who control real

political power actually number in the dozens, if not

hundreds, and their control is much less than complete.

It's not like you receive a membership card one day in

the mail. For me, it was just a gradual realization

that most of my old school friends are federal judges,

politicians, or corporate CEO's, and that when I talk

to them at social gatherings, they never interrupt me

before I finish my thoughts.

And perhaps like lords of ancient city states, fate

can take a hand at any turn. Even the most influential

of men and women can fall so very easily, and by

unexpected means.

No one anticipated my father's fall, and his

influence was perhaps greater than my own, if only in

his willingness to take advantage of it. This I learned

second-hand. If this isn't too contradictory, I knew

him very well, but knew very little *about* him. The

man I knew as a father seemed kind and gentle, and

could carry the world on his shoulders.

He was killed when I was still a boy, and I had no

time to learn his faults. All I knew was that I loved

him.

Everything else, I learned from Ella.

Ella was older than me when father was killed. She

protected me from the rumours surrounding his death,

and convinced my mother to have me enrolled early in a

private school. When she wrote to me later, I learned

that my sister knew much more of the story than anyone

could guess.

' I love you so much that I have to tell you this, '

she would begin most letters, and then reveal a new

truth about our sordid family history. Yes, it all

stayed between the two of us, a family secret so dirty

that it could only exist in hand-written love-letters

that I kept under my bed with my pictures of Ella.

My father was away for a long time before that final

night of his life, when he returned to us. At the time,

I had no idea about his role in the world, but I knew

that it was a big deal when he came back from Hong

Kong. The phone wouldn't stop ringing, as friends and

associates called to welcome him back.

It was an economic mission, Ella later revealed to

me. In those days, the asian economies were booming,

taking a larger and larger share of the North American

economy. Their strength came from technology stolen

from the west, for the most part. My father could see

how easily these 'Asian Tigers' could damage his

interests. His response, as always, was aggressive.



He went overseas, to fight the battle on foreign

soil. This I learned later still, when I took over his

business dealings. Instead of competing with the

foreign corporations head on, my father brought the

fight into their corridors of power. Using every bit of

influence at his disposal, he bullied, manipulated and

cheated his way into some of the most successful

foreign corporations. Whatever the cost, my father was

determined to take the spoils of war from these foreign

shores.

One of the many costs were his marriage. No, there

was no divorce. My father never would have agreed. Nor

would my mother have asked, for that matter. But the

marriage was over nonetheless. Ella was there that

night that my mother had her miscarriage. The doctors

blamed it on stress.

My father didn't come home. He didn't even return

mother's messages. It was like he had already forgotten

the daughter who never was.

' When the tears finally stopped, there was only

coldness, ' wrote Ella. ' It's so hard for me to

remember the way she was before it happened. That's

when she was our mother. In those days, I remember

following her out to the garden, and putting on my

little gloves so that we could dig weeds together.

Everything about her was warmth and love. '

' After she lost the baby, I didn't follow her

anymore. I was just a young girl, but I think I

understood it even then. One day, she quietly took down

the pictures of our father from the hallway. I don't

think she could stand to look at him anymore. And

sometimes, when she looked at you, so much your

father's son, I could see a flash of coldness in her

eyes. That scared me. '

The letters didn't come all at once. Ella gave me a

little insight here. A little there. We both remembered

the night he came home, but I had no idea of the things

that came before.

' I love you so much that I have to tell you this, '

she wrote me on my fourteenth birthday. ' There was

another man in the house the night that father was

killed. '

When I read this, my hands began to shake. Somehow,

I had known this, but had always denied it to myself.

' He had been her lover for months before father

returned. I could sometimes see them together, when

mother was careless with her bedroom door. I would

stand in the darkness of the hallway for hours at a

time, watching as they had angry, passionate sex, and

then slept on opposite sides of the bed. '

' I wanted to tell you, Orestes, but I couldn't

bring myself to do it. You were so young. I felt like I

should shield you from knowing this. Maybe I was wrong.

I don't know. '

I could never bring myself to blame Ella. Through my

lonely years in school, she was my only family. I read

her letters and looked at her pictures in bed, and

dreamt that she was beside me, sleeping with her arm

around me, like we had as children.

The next part of the letter was crueller still.

' The day that father came home, you must remember

the excitement in the air. It was late in the evening,

and you were already in bed, when the phone calls

finally stopped. I was awake in my bed, too scared to

sleep. '

' I could hear them talking softly in the next room.

Her voice was sweet and seductive. She coaxed him into

bed, and then there was silence. I crept to my door,

unable to breath, and peaked out into the hallway. As I

did so, I saw her lover coming up the stairs. mother

greeted him through her doorway, and invited him in. '

As irrational as it may seem, as I read this, I

feared for Ella. What if she were seen ? My poor, sweet

Ella, only a child herself at the time... how could she

be witness to this ? I read on.

' When they were inside, I could no longer hold

myself back. I crept to the doorway of mother's room,

and from the darkness of the hallway, I saw father. He

was tied face up on the bed, with a pair of mother's

underwear pushed into his mouth, and held there by a

bra tied around the back of his head. "

" You thought that I would be true, did you ?, "

mother taunted. " After the rumours about you and

Cassandra ? After the way you abandoned your family ?

No, Aggie. I'm not that stupid. I've taken Jason as my

lover. He will, no doubt, replace you quite easily. "

' I swear it, Orestes, I didn't know what they were

planning. I was frozen there, at the door. I would give

anything to take that moment back. To sneak to a phone,

and dial the police. Anything. Instead, I watched. My

body trembled as I watched mother and Jason kissing

each other in front of father. "

' They did more than kiss. Like that had many

nights, while I watched from the hallway, they explored

each other's bodies. father was helpless to prevent it.

They teased him as they made love. mother took him into

her mouth to make him hard, only to taunt him for being

a cuckold. '

' In the meantime, Jason pushed into her from

behind, a sneer of superiority on his face. He was

enjoying this victory over his employer. He slapped

mother in the rear as he rode her, and mauled her

breasts roughly. The message was written in his body

language. " I've taken your wife, Aggie. She's mine

now. " '

' Finally, brother, he finished within her. mother

was still aroused, her nipples hard with excitement.

She climbed up onto the bed as her lover sat down in a

chair to watch. They exchanged glances, and smiled.

This would be their final victory. '

' father couldn't help but be aroused. She kept him

hard with her hand as she positioned her body above his

face. His chest heaved with effort as he breathed

through his nose. Slowly, she lowered herself onto his

face, her knees aside his chest, and facing her lover.

'

My hands were trembling as I read this part of the

letter. I set it down on my mattress, and paused to

catch my breath.

' It was the worst thing I've ever seen, Orestes.

She just had this smile on her face as she rubbed

herself, leaking over his face. Then she pressed her

weight downwards, covering his nose with her ass.

Father struggled against the ropes, his body jerking

with desperation. Then she pulled off of his face, and

let him breathe for a moment. '

' Twice more, she did this, while he moaned into the

panties that filled his mouth. Finally, she spoke to

him. '

" Would you like to breathe ? I'll take out the

panties, Aggie. All you have to do is lick me. "

' He shook his head in revulsion, Orestes. Our

father was a proud man. But after she brought herself

down on his face twice more, he finally nodded his

consent. '

" This is for the child you sacrificed, Aggie. You

didn't even think about her, did you ? Your little

battles were too important. I could never compete with

your hunger for power. It was always too seductive for

me to hold you against. Now I give you a taste of

something else, Aggie, and you'll lick it well if you

want to live. "

' Orestes - my brother, I don't tell you this to

hurt you. I want you to remember our father as a proud

man. I want you to remember the gentle dignity he had

when he would carry you to my bed at night, frightened

from a nightmare, and tuck us in together. I only tell

you this so that you will know the depth of her

cruelty.'

' He struggled to please her, his body shaking with

anger and revulsion. Jason watched from his chair,

pleased to see his employer drinking his seed from the

body of his own wife. mother teased father, keeping him

hard with her hand as he completed his revolting task.

'

' Then, with a cruelty I'll never be able to

describe, she filled his mouth with her orgasm, and

continued to press herself over his mouth and nose

until he was no longer shaking. Until he was no longer

anything. I hope you can give me the forgiveness I've

never been able to give myself. The image will stay

with me forever. '

Beautiful Ella. How can I tell you about the love I

felt for her at that moment ? So often, I had cried

because of my distance from home. My distance from her.

Now I knew the reason why she had kept me away. She

sheltered me, from hundreds of miles away, from my

mother's cruelty.

And despite the images of my father's death, this is

what angered me the most. That I should be separated

from her love this long, to protect me from the sins of

my mother. Beautiful Ella.

This letter took its place with the others, beneath

my mattress. It was different, though. The words

captured my mind. It was like a play without an ending.

It begged for attention.

It begged for anger. It was this anger that surfaced

when I read Hamlet in school. The play mocked me. It

was a play within a play within a story that could have

been written thousands of years earlier. It toyed with

my reality so cruelly.

" How could he be such a coward ? " I demanded of

the class, with a passion that no other student in the

room could muster for the words of the Danish prince. I

slammed the book closed, determined to not let his

weakness infect my soul.

Nothing could distract me. Some evenings, I would go

to town with my closest friend, Paul, who's family had

taken me in on weekends and holidays. He was like a

brother. We would make sport of the local girls,

sharing our prizes in the gardener's shed at the back

of his property.

Even then, when thrusting myself into the innocence

of a young girl who thought we had some sort of future

together, my mind was at home with Ella. I imagined the

feelings that coursed through her body as she watched

the brutal sex play of mother and her new husband. I

could almost feel the mixture of anger and arousal in

her heart.

When I finished, it was always the warmth of my

sister's embrace I craved for, instead of the

inexperienced squirming of some dumb girl I'd met at a

party.

Paul knew that something was wrong. He could see it

in the roughness and anger I gave to these girls in

return for their affection.

A true friend, he never turned away. He waited,

without an impatient word, for over a year. When I

finally showed him the letter, he could see the lust

for revenge in my eyes.

" I'll borrow a car for the weekend, " he told me.

"We can go together. "

Together in my alibi. In my cover story. In truth, I

couldn't be anything but alone in this. Even nature

seemed silent on the evening when I returned to my

home.

I cut the telephone line before I entered.

Ella saw me first. Her eyes went to mine, and then

dropped to the knife in my hand. If I had seen anything

other than excitement in her face, I would have turned

around. I would have walked away.

Instead, she stood in the door to her room, wearing

these wonderful cotton pyjamas that seemed like they

would have better fit the young girl I knew when I last

left this place than the woman she was now. She just

watched excited eyes as I entered my mother's room.

I don't know if she was watching through the doorway

when I killed them. If she was, she would have seen me

kill my step-father first. He gurgled his death through

the holes in his chest as I turned my wrath upon my

mother.

Her face was frozen. Maybe she was trying to scream,

but my eyes silenced her. I thrust into her belly with

a steady rhythm. Each time the blade tore into her, the

task became easier. With a final push, I twisted the

blade under her ribs, and she convulsed in a final

deadly dance.

" Ella, " I called out, and she was behind me. I

prayed silently that she would understand.

" It was an intruder. No one will know that you were

here. "

I took her to the floor with one violent motion. She

understood. There must be a struggle. She must be a

victim of this violence too. It would save both of us

from suspicion.

Ella bit her lip to control the pain as I held the

tip of the knife to her throat, just firmly enough to

draw blood.

She would be blameless in this, the victim of a

horrible crime. Beaten and raped by the same intruder

who broke into her home and killed her parents.

With one bloody hand, I stripped away the cotton top

to her pyjamas. I kissed her gently on the lips as I

roughly mauled her breasts. The bruises would show her

struggle. Her lips pulled at mine, hungry for the

comfort of her brother's gentle touch.

In another moment, I had torn away the little blue

pyjama shorts from her lean body. My sister was a woman

now, her sweet body revealed to me. I wished I could be

gentle with her, and hold her the way I had dreamt of

so often. Instead, I kept her in place with the weight

of my body as the blood from my clothing smeared across

her porcelain flesh.

I broke our kiss, and paused in this position, my

body poised above hers.

" You have to do it, Orestes, " her hot breath

delivered to my ear. " It's time. "

Her legs wrapped around me in encouragement as I

pushed myself into her. Even through the tightness of

the condom, I could feel her heat and wetness welcoming

me. I tried to keep my anger and my passion alive, and

give her the same roughness I had treated my earlier

conquests with. My love for her held me back.

Ella knew what I needed. She began to struggle now,

forcing me to fight to keep her in position.

The smell of death was in the air as our bodies

struggled against each other. There would be bruises on

her wrists. Her thighs.

" I should stop, " I whispered to her. "It's enough.

"

Her lips came to mine again, and her tongue pushed

into my mouth. I never intended to finish within her,

but now, with the blood of our mother hot on our lips,

I couldn't hold back my passion. She twisted and

whimpered beneath me as my body jerked violently

forward.

Just one more, and I'll quit, I told myself. One

more. One more. One more.

We were together at last, and in that moment of

orgasm, every lonely night away from my sister's arms

flew away from my memory.

" I'm sorry, " I told her. She smiled at me

breathlessly, savouring the feeling of her own climax.

In this horrible scene, we were finally together, and

no sort of guilt could remain between us.

*****

Paul and I had been out camping that weekend. It

wasn't until Monday that I heard the news. I flew home

for the funeral. No one questioned me there. Not yet.

It wasn't until a month later that I was visited by

a woman from the police.

And it's strange. I never thought anyone would know.

I lost that confidence when I looked in her eyes. She

seemed to know everything. Maybe it was just rumours

about my father's death, still lingering in the

corridors of power. The perfection of the crime fell

away before her gaze.

It wasn't anything she said, really. It was more the

way she looked at me.

Gods above, she knew.

Maybe it was just paranoia. At least, until I ran

away. Then the police really took an interest. There's

no use trying to explain to you the panic and the

madness that filled my soul as I fled everything I

knew. I ran to keep the rumours away from my ears.

I took drugs to kill the irony of it. In my panicked

flight, I exiled myself from the arms of my sister, who

I had fought so hard to be reunited with. The thought

that I might not see her again was killing me.

And I could tell you tales of my time on the street,

afraid at every turn that I would be found. I could

tell you about my brief contacts with Paul, who would

bring my letters to Ella. I could tell you about the

time I spent prostituting myself or money. But the

heart of this story remains with my crimes, and with

justice delayed.

It would be over a year before I was brought home,

after being found with a drug overdose in a church

parking lot in Los Angeles. I was convinced that I

would be held accountable for my mother's death.

Then I was set free, but not because I was innocent.

It was a negotiated justice, if there was any

justice at all.

" Listen here, Miss, " my lawyer told the D.A., in a

southern drawl that I later came to know he often used

for dramatic effect. " The fact that my client ran away

by no means makes your case. The poor boy was just

traumatized by the death of his only remaining parent.

"

The smartly dressed woman shook her head, but he

kept right on talking, not skipping a beat in his

expensive southern drawl.

" Whatever evidence you *think* you have is entirely

crap, my dear. Off the record, mind you, even if you

could place my client at the scene of the crime - which

I don't think you can - you'll never convict him of

spitting in a public place. Both you an I know the

circumstances surrounding his father's death have

been... shall we say... overlooked. "

" Wait a minute..." she tried to interrupt.

" Don't take offence, miss. I'm not trying to imply

that you intentionally overlooked the facts of the

case. Nonetheless, there is a lot of political pressure

brought to bear in a case with such a prominent family,

and I'll contend that justice was never served. "

" And if that's the case, and I can bring those

facts forward, there's not a jury in the land that

would convict my client. He's still a boy, for goodness

sake. "

The prosecutor finally forced in an argument of her

own. " Not necessarily. I could easily argue to have

him raised to adult court. Given the facts of the

crime..."

" And I would oppose the motion. Listen, miss, we

can sit her all day comparing notes about what strategy

we could use in court... and where the sympathies of

the jury would fall... but we both know it's a waste of

time. My client is no danger to anyone. "

" If justice was denied in the case of his father, I

ask you to trust me that justice has now been served.

Perhaps not by the fury of the law, but it's still

justice. This has to end somewhere. Let it end here. "

It happened as quickly as that. Through some sort of

plea agreement that I have no desire to understand, I

was set free from it all. In the years to follow, free

of the burden of drugs, and the fear of retribution,

I've tried to balance my life.

And your judgement is as good as mine about my

success.

I used to think there was a curse on me. Or on my

family. Or something. Like the fates were weaving my

life around me in a pattern that could only bring

despair.

If there ever was a curse, I know it's been lifted

now. I can feel it. That, above all, is something worth

writing about.

***

Comments can be forwarded to: orestes007@hotmail.com

All of my stories can be found at:

ftp.asstr.org/pub/Authors/Orestes