" 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
