Message-ID: <26441asstr$969552613@assm.asstr-mirror.org> From: "Sean Farragher" <seanfarragher@msn.com> X-Original-Message-ID: <NEBBKECCILIDDPJFHMPOCEJCCJAA.seanfarragher@msn.com> MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset="iso-8859-1" Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit X-Priority: 3 (Normal) X-MSMail-Priority: Normal Importance: Normal X-MimeOLE: Produced By Microsoft MimeOLE V5.50.4133.2400 Subject: {ASSM} TxM6 Novel Chapters 1-4 Kidnap and Captivity of Laurie Fallon Date: Thu, 21 Sep 2000 12:10:15 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org> Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: <URL:http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2000/26441> X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Moderator-ID: RuiJorge, IceAltar As promised First Publication of TxM6 Chapters 1-4 Comments appreciated. Sean Farragher seanfarragher@msn.com Also From TxM6 Hyperfiction http://www.txm6.com (updated 9/16/00) http://www.txm6.com/enfer (updated 9/17/00) http://www.txm6.com/lcfallon http://www.farragher.com (Poetry updated 9/20/00) TxM6 is entirely a work of fiction for adults only. Copyright (c) 2000 Sean Farragher. Chapters 1-4 of Novel TxM6: Genesis Murders Friday, April 10, 1992 TxM6 Chapter One: Laurie Fallon raised the intelligent alarm. Her whole being bore down double sharp notes peeling glass with her shriek. Just like the movies Laurie thought afterwards, remembering how Peter Lorre's character had murdered Myrna Loy in the never finished 1933 movie "Taxi Murders Express." The director Josef Von Sternberg had stopped production when Myrna Loy stand-in stunt double was strangled on the movie set. No one was ever charged with the crime although some suspected Lorre. It was another Hollywood murder that left scars for fifty-nine years. ABDUCTION: "The Struggle for Righteousness" 11:20 PM -- Friday, April 10, 1992 Outside the Gables Bar set almost on the curb the music inside blasted along River Road Edgewater, New Jersey almost to the Hudson River edge. It was an old not too fancy but popular bar that featured live rock music and Wednesday through Saturday night female and once a month Friday night male strippers. It was a pick up joint and a place for lovers. Six foot tall, seven months pregnant, twenty-six year old Laurie Fallon dressed in a modest too large dress walked slowly from the bar to her car swinging the keys. A one time exotic dancer and barmaid at the Gables, she often returned to chat with the affable owner Lilly and several of the regulars. Laurie was sad that night. Having fought with her man Henry who was now out of town, she didn't want to return to their empty apartment. Not even the swagger of the male strippers lifted her spirits. As she stood on the curb she looked back at the Gables as if she might return. Laurie hated being indecisive. Getting ready to cross to the other side, she waited for a lone truck to pass, and then stepped slowly between the parked cars to cross. Suddenly a strong young man wearing a black ski mask grabbed her from behind by her neck and mouth. Stalking her from the drab spaces between his van and the cab of a truck, he had missed her mouth with his gag. When she screamed, biting his fingers, he pulled back, almost frightened. Using that moment Laurie caught his face with her nails driving furrows from cheek to chest. His scream was pity by comparison to hers, but often those who are abused as children stammer when failure accompanies a crime. By her reaction Laurie captured the man's ski mask pulling it quickly over his head while suffering his kicks and shrieking curses. Falling down against the curb between the street and the parked cars, she scraped her knees and elbows, and her easy dress twisted by her legs, split wide, rode up exposing her neatly trimmed and shaved auburn pubic hair. Pushing the wool mask between her legs, Laurie hid it there. As the short but solid man beat and kicked her with his boot, she refused to release it. Turning her back to the man, twisting her body, leaning into the curb, protecting the child she carried from the blows, Laurie drove that fetid disguise deeply against her bare sex. As the earthquake continued inside, outside the man had stopped wondering what he could do next now that the gag and ether were discarded. In that second pause, Laurie reached for his balls. Holding them in her palm, she squeezed and in the next instant bent over, he caught her mouth square with his boot. On impact Laurie released him. Kicking her endlessly in the back, grit under her nails, the man's blood on her mouth, Laurie realized how much she wanted to live to save her child. At that turn in the battle, she submitted wondering why no one had helped her. Losing the fight, Laurie's belly seven months fat with child stopped her short of escape. She fell back short of victory breathless, sabotaged by a gentler instinct. Quickly, taping arms, legs, and mouth he gathered the almost unconscious woman into his dirty white van. Leaving quickly, the man later identified as one of the infamous "Genesis Killers" did not notice that his ski mask had dropped from between Laurie's legs to the street. THE DIRTY WHITE VAN Inside the van, bound and gagged, Laurie could not watch the neon lights of the Gables exotic dance club shimmer in yellow and blue slivers against the cloud of the river and New York City's skyline. Just before man pulled out into the traffic, a dazzled movie clouded her eyes: captured by rough tape, she refused to concede. Laurie did remember that she had screamed silently "No" as he shot her full of shit to make her ass collapse. He didn't hear, "don't hurt her." As ends are often not righteous, Laurie slept. Not dead, living in transition for the next ten months, Laurie suspended her life within an odd assortment of dreams and neurotic fixations conjured to keep her sane. Later, when Laurie looked again at that two- minute skirmish, she marveled at the failed strength she had struck into the earth. No meager Joan of Arc burned at the stake - Laurie Fallon would survive. NEXT MORNING At 0932, Edgewater police reported that an eyewitness had come forward, known only as Rose, to describe that crime outside the Gables the previous night. Without that account no one would have immediately known Laurie was missing. TxM6 Chapter Two Saturday, April 11, 1992, 18:03:41 Yesterday, Antonio Corvino abducted Laurie Catherine Fallon, seven months pregnant. Abel Wrote: "Nothing terrible was expected. No spring fireworks, sky jinx, portends in gray occurred. No signs-truly, but the deadly thrust of Laurie's hips full pregnant, lascivious mouth painted red against the concrete floor left my heart beating faster. My sister Lilith became very wet watching the girl's performance. I could tell. When Lilith opens her mouth and spreads her legs when she observes, there is a slight tension in the air. You know that moment before lightning strikes. At the end before I got into the girl's face, her fists were pushing deep into her own belly, leaning over, watching pain carve its own demon in the black painted cement of the garage floor. I knew no matter how hard I tried to clean her stain off the floor, it would remain as part of the shout of pain made fact in the atoms of silica, magnesium, calcium, oxygen and hydrogen. No one would ever break the bonds. Blood stains leaked from the mouth as spittle are cruel that way." Abel claims justification. He says she enticed had seduced him. How absurd. He says his stalking compares to the feeding frenzy of the white shark. Meanwhile, Lilith, at home, the dutiful housewife salivates imagining the tit and the blood spectacle when the woman was taken. Later that night, at about 2 AM on the 11th of April Laurie dumped without ceremony on the hidden garage floor at 1090 River Road, Edgewater, NJ slithered out of the tarp that bound her inside. First her head appeared. Her arms reached out. Tied, her arms bound banged against several empty boxes thrown near the garbage can. As she moved, and Lilith and Abel observed, commenting on her inability to move well, Laurie freed her mouth from the gag and screamed again. Lilith calmly walked over to the frightened woman and kicked her full in the cunt with boot telling Laurie the next kick will hit the child. Doubled up in pain, Laurie held back, shook uncontrollably clutching her sex. As she shrieked silently on the cement, Lilith leaned on her body picking on it like a huge bird, her talons and beak snapping at tits, cunt, ass and especially her pregnant belly. Laurie, blindfolded, felt it all, and as she squirmed, crying out once, twice, and then silent when Abel tired of the suffering. It made him uncomfortable. He shot Laurie up with just enough morphine for her body weight plus a bit for being an ex drug addict. Abel always researched the medical history of his victims. Had full medical charts stolen from her Dr's office? Lilith annoyed at Abel for putting Laurie to sleep screamed at her brother. "This one you will not let go as that blond Parker bitch last year. They will find us this time if you are that fucken stupid. "Don't get attached to her. As soon as she delivers, I will slowly suffocate the bitch and you help. Until then, have your fun, as I will. Don't cross me, I can kill you just as easily as anyone." End Day One: "Captivity of Laurie Fallon" FIVE YEARS EARLIER TxM6 Chapter Three Gargoyles: The Herrig Estate Journal of Henry Whitman Friday April 17, 1987 HENRY WHITMAN Henry Ezra Whitman, 49 years old, bespectacled with an easy smile and cleft chin, understood acceptance and rejection. A tall, muscular and artistic man, he labored for 70 to 80 hours a week driving a taxi for Hudson Street Cab Fleets. In the remainder of his daily life, he wrote poetry, loved his many children, and madly drove his life beyond the memory of limitations. Isn't that what we all do? TAXI YARD: 6 AM: Before Henry left the taxi yard, he clipped his watch to the sun visor, stepped back out of the cab, and inspected it for spare, jack, tire iron, dents, dings and cum stains on the back seat. Adjusting the mirrors, then looking back at the rows of yellow and beige cabs lined up evenly almost as if a ruler had been used on both sides of the narrow parking spaces, Henry pulled straight back, breaking clear. Riding the circles of the steering wheel, he begat his day with the clean taste of burnt coffee and a change box, maps and one stale buttered roll. On the floor in a cloth bag, Henry carried a camera, tape recorder, two books of poetry, a novel and a notebook for those scribbled images digested on the taxi stand and saved for some distant other day when things are better. At 6:04 AM Henry passed the taxi stand on his way to the time call. Smiling at his the long faces of the drivers, he passed them knowing he would be there on the stand tomorrow wondering how much the driver had paid off the dispatcher for that morning time call. Don't have to be there until 8:00. Take the easy way to make sure. Morristown, NJ is about an hour from Fort Lee. Anything can happen on Friday. Henry decided not to stop at the diner for an egg and bacon sandwich. Driving one handed, he ate the stale buttered roll that tasted like taxi. Henry usually left Fort Lee by the back roads to avoid the terror of morning traffic around the GW Bridge. Falling down Central Blvd. in Palisade Park, he turned left on Broad and right at Route 46, and not surprised that broken down Route #46 had the same bumps as it did in 1929 when it opened. Looking at his watch side ways and at the merging traffic, Henry relaxed. Today, that congestion, for some reason, wasn't that bad. Taking Route #80 west off 46, Henry intending to get off 80 and back on 46 before I-287 traffic stopped up like traffic outside the Meadowlands after the Jet's. Forty minutes early, Henry pulled up to the gate of the Herrig Estate. One solitary guard stepped out to meet him at the checkpoint. Raising his hands in a grand gesture the guard frowned when Henry intentionally stopped just before the closed gate almost touching it. Annoyed, Henry thought, what if I had just ran this son of a bitch mother fucking border guard down. Sometimes, when driving in New York City, He imagined losing the brakes and then plowing into fifty pedestrians at the cross walk. Just a flight of misery can make the inanimate move, Henry often said. Driving a fucken cab plays havoc with your head. Henry never fully reasonable or predictable was, however, peaceful. Worn down from Nam, He did create the unthinkable, but why he make fun of fear and the unexpected seemed contrary to his past. Why Henry mocked death and suffering as empty complaint can be best understood if you understood why a man who had earned a doctorate in Irish studies drove a cab for sixty hours a week. Every taxi drivers hoards his mysteries. Henry's was public. In 1986, just a year before, Henry had been caught fucking an eighteen-year-old college freshman. Not so bad you say. She was 18 after all. She was also his student, and she claimed when caught that although she loved him, she had fucked him for good grades. Henry simply said she had earned it by her writing. Read it. No one really cared why he did it, Henry knew he would pay for his weakness and stupidity. Stupid for getting caught, he always said. Weak because she wasn't worth it. No body will believe, he said, I did it partially because I liked her poems. Despite the lunacy of sex, war and the failure of profit in a cab, Hudson Street taxi drivers generally respected Henry. Elected President of the union one year, Henry lost that post the next when he won the union held lottery and kept the prize. Some members claimed he had fixed it. He had not. The charge was never proven, but Henry lost his free ride job as union President. Henry was that good man except when in one of his moods. As a combat medic in Vietnam for fourteen months, Henry knew death. "I stuck it, I cleaned it, and I bagged death almost every day," he said. Looking at the guard talking on the phone presumably to the fare, Henry hoped he had not made this fucked up trip for nothing. Using the double speak of cab drivers, Henry thought, Shit I will wait. I don't really care how long it takes. I am here on time. Even if they cancelled, I would get paid, but at the same time he was pissed and complained every few minutes hitting the steering wheel but not hitting the horn. Using this blank time, Henry filled himself with these flights of insanity. As they were sometimes violent, Henry called them "walkabouts." What has kept me sane Henry thought as he waited? Certainly not this fucked up job. I know. It's my equal desire to be left alone and involved with what ever shit is happening. Perhaps giving evil and goodness the same space in headlines kept you in balance. When has thinking mayhem ever hurt anyone? If I only imagine murder or harm, that is enough. Being pissed off is fine. Losing your life for anger, or doing hard time taking it up the ass just isn't worth the pain. At stop, stalled, immediately in front of the gate of the Herrig Estate, almost at zero time, suddenly the gatekeeper leaned too far into Henry's driver side window to tell him he could go inside to the front door. "About two miles," he said, "as the crow flies." "Get the fuck out of here, your breath stinks," Henry rolling up the window mocked the old man half laughing, and then waved him off. The stout retired cop had no sense of humor. He mumbled to Henry that he had to wait. No shit, Henry laughed back and pulled through the gate that suddenly banged down too soon into the rear deck of Henry's taxi. Henry didn't stop right away. THE PROMISED LAND As Henry looked back at the guard stand, after feeling the thud of the gate, he almost stopped. Shit, if that fucker dented the deck, I will get shit. Looking back, he finally stopped, paused and then moved forward. Knowing he would arrive too early, and not sure what the guard had set up with his fares, Henry crept along the road as a peaceful horse and rider might as he searched for easy ground. Yes, they might be out early, and I could save some time, he thought. Yes, they might be annoyed that I arrived early. In any case the tip could be fucked up. No, I do not, Henry concluded, want to leave this place yet. Gathered it all in breathing the scent of rare flowers and happy insects, Henry knew he must spend five minutes outside without any steel or refracted mirror. He needed to just drink some clean water from a pond and not suck it up from a bathroom faucet in a gas station. Henry laughed at that last thought. Who says that fucken water is clean. See the Headlines now. Poet Cab Driver dies after drinking water from sylvan pools. Living within the plastic taxi, pines crossed and the images flickered. Henry marched back to the late 1940s English movies of Alfred Hitchcock. Rebecca and Notorious were the fare that made you think and want to fuck almost at once. These movies unlike the Herrig mansion seemed a misplaced metaphor that passion for wealth and dark sexual obsession. If I walked inside too long, Henry laughed, I might discover the year 1887. It could just as easily been 2088. Inside anything, you never seem to understand all of it at once. What did I expect? Should I have imagined foxes running after hounds? Might be wonderful if I could make what I do in these next few moments last longer than good sex or a bad movie. Far beyond the gate, Henry rode for what seemed like miles without change. Turning around, he backtracked. Everything old inside the foliage seemed new again. Realizing he was lost in variegated greens, he stepped out of the cab, amazed that he could get lost on a road without turns. Sitting there beside his cab, Henry looked the American tourist. Sucking on long grass and rubbing his stocking feet, Henry's head high up in the air asked for more, and that didn't include the rain that started to fall. Jumping up, running back to the cab, that is why I allow extra time, he thought. Swallowed by the formal landscape and the complexity of the curves, Henry knew he had entered a forbidden zone and that adventure might be more of a challenge than any call. Not having been to the Herrig estate, Henry amazed by the sensation, returned to his first day in Vietnam. Why does this place remind me of death? Why do I think of myself falling under the thunder of horses? There is that gasp of fraud I felt in Nam. Something here is also a lie. When I jumped off the transport plane, dropping easily on to the tarmac, I thought I was already dead. Knowing that lead heat, Henry felt the rot within death before dying. Perhaps if I die, I will not die, he told one SGT who laughed at the medic philosopher as Henry was called. Opposite I know, but that could be the way out of becoming another blind statistic Some wag started calling Henry Plato until Henry smacked the fuck alongside the head and they rumbled in the usual fist up your ass army kick em in the balls street fight. Fear never stopped Henry. He stepped into it. Death is that moment when you have no thought. You are there pissing and moaning and in the next breath you are spit stains and a hand full of paperwork sent back to Headquarters. Riding easy, slow, Henry felt his bowels wretch. He knew the Herrig estate was like a showgirl whore. Too beautiful and not cheap; you cannot imagine fucking her, but at that moment sucking your cock, you have your fingers wrapped around a tit. As nothing was perfect, when you wake up, you have no mind. You realize the bitch had slipped you a Mickey and you didn't have a pot to piss in. That's the way of fucking beautiful women. Call it the cost of getting laid. This funny farm, Henry rolled his eyes, catching as much as he could, was magnificent. This landscape is a great broad. She is just too fucken beautiful. Imagine a glorious green private wilderness just off a major Interstate Highway where every square foot had been planned. Each tree and shrub, each weed had been bought, nurtured and stroked. What an obsession. It had to be mad and dangerous. Turing the wheel like an intricate circle decomposed, Henry rode the "peaceful loops" inside towards the main house like a captured serpent thrown into a large fish tank. He felt every eye measure his slither. He wandered into the landscaped spiral highway step-by-step drunk on multiple colors of green and red, umber and sienna. UNTESTED DOMAIN Henry drove slowly into questionable domains. This forest hidden from two major suburban highways drove him slower. Captured by the unkempt foliage, Henry smiled at that improbable irony. Imagine living in a world so peaceful? Would it ever become ordinary? Answering himself, he thought. It is good that we have islands like this to set us apart from the tedium of watching the enfolding and revival all in one long playing record. What if, Henry thought, magical fountains, sprites, and fairies emerged from beneath the grass carpets. Alice in wonderland would be tame. Just like Lewis Carroll, Henry understood that this place like Alice's was not of this world. I do not feel invited and yet I have absolute privacy. Why am I not lonely here? GARGOYLES Driving up to the stables set back from the road, Henry memorized the carved wood gargoyles that decorated the window frames. Henry saved the images. I want those subtle textures that make light into film and words for display. Henry shivered. Death lurks out about that tree line there, and pointed it out to himself, where he felt the danger In this place of mind, Henry accepted that he might never know more about it what he would experience in the next few minutes. I don't want to leave before I have one chance to at least know it from the inside. I don't want to be a cab driver here. I don't want to serve these folks and their palace guard. I want to live here and keep it all for myself inside this fortress. The year is 1887 not 1987. I can't write this down, Henry thought. I would have to stop the cab. Would I reverse the spell if I stopped even for a moment? Henry reasoned that he could never understand this place from the outside. Pulling his tape recorder out of his bag, flipping it on, tape always at ready, Henry wrote his mind on the audio tape. He recorded his life there, and later when he suffered more, he replayed it keeping his mind full and lean and perfectly perverse. Henry accepted the Herrig Estate phenomenon left him full and expectant. But of what? Something important would happen here. Later, when that turned out to be true, he was even more incredulous and amazed. Yes, I want a cascade of trumpets and a flourish of drums as I enter. Henry smiled and started to sing the Stars Spangle Banner in full voice laughing at the way the ground and horizon waved him unsteady. Under his breath, in his thoughts, he said to himself, please sacred father, let me live again what I feel right now. Just like Vietnam, Henry thought, I am lost and found in the same instant. Suddenly jerking the cab easily around three- construction backhoes, avoiding them as the expert driver. I never step in shit like this, Henry thought as moved in slow motion down the driveway. He knew he was moving faster, but he saw the spectacle of this call in all its parts at once and almost stopped thinking, if that were possible. Yes, I know I was fucken lucky. I would tell anyone that. This is how I get through my life, he said finally, turning away to run home to the winding stairs of Coole and Yeats, driving his mind deeper into the Herrig maze he would rediscovered with his Darwinian and pagan architect not the origin of the species but rather a future tense imperfect passion for indescribable disorder, incest and abuse. How did Henry know any of this before it happened? He did. There are no other explanations. Accept that one, Henry did. What is anyone's origin after all, Henry thought. How is this seemingly perfect order, disorder or stew for robins and their vermin? Taxi drivers are great with the canned lines, yes sir, Henry laughed as he continued to drive down the rich man's driveway expecting to find some old couple arguing about a diseased heart monitor that would need its batteries changed. He wondered as he counted the number of cars outside the garage, maybe there is a party here, no probably all four of those cars belong to them. Hope they are not stiffs, Henry thought finally, coming back full circle to settle down for the millennium wait. Stopping the cab fifty feet from the main gate, Henry took one look back to watch for magical tree lines and claymores in the boughs of maples and oaks. If the fare had noticed him lurking, they might think he was having trouble with the cab and call the company. Henry moved forward and lurked closer to the LZ. Henry always said he never cared what people thought about him. He decided just before pulling up to the front door of the main house that he liked being there in itself and didn't want to be a taxi driver with little control over when he could leave and where and how far he could travel. Finally, when Henry moved up, took his place at the front door, Henry thought, this place is uncorrupted, authentic, and not something fake. It also did not fit any model of the world outside. Yes, it is not a collection of objects but form and force compressed into one scheme with multiple plots and infinite varieties of color and value. Like Matisse, Henry recalled, the impossible in art that which is before and after the mark on the margin that was an accident and not fully intended. Am I always at the accidents of creation, Henry asked? I sure know how death tastes. Copper blood and Iron masks wrap around my forearm while I fought off death and lost too many rounds by default. The man was already dead but I was too stupid to know the difference. There are degrees to death. Knowing them all is sometimes too difficult for one person to decipher. Sometimes, it takes two. In 1987, Henry was alone. He was mad and alone. Today, could change that. It could and then perhaps not. Genius may be the chance recognition of that accident. When we select a word or a hue and place it in a frame and note its combinations and layers, perhaps that is like the selection of people in our lives. We never know who we will find inside where we dream touching the edges of where we were before and how it will be later. Henry did not know he would meet his old friend Laurie Fallon. She was the reason Henry got the call. She had requested him. She also knew that he thought she was much too young and had avoided her in the past. When she came out of the Herrig estate, Henry was startled by her presence. The land bewitched him. That was what it was. Laurie lost no time and gathered him into her care. It was five years before she would be kidnapped by Abel. It took her five years to convince Henry that she was flesh and bones and not fully a miracle. Henry called Laurie God at times, said she spoke in tongues. When they were both stoned, he would call out to Laurie, call her Christ Tina, say she was the fourth daughter of God and then refuse to name the other three when Laurie challenged him. Henry loved Laurie's poetry. He would teach her what all the others had missed. Standing next to her, out of time, Henry's hand reached up for what he was missing. Laurie is not here, he will say. No man felt more alone when Henry learned she was missing five years later. TxM6: Chapter Four Abel and Lilith Half brother and sister, Maria Corvino seven years older than Antonio had always dominated her younger brother. The incestuous pair had slept with their mother Victoria in the same bed from Antonio's infancy. In 1986, one year before Antonio left to study medicine in England, Victoria married Maria and Antonio in a secret rite. While Abel was gone, once a year, Maria and her mother enticed men and one woman to their bed. After sex with mother and daughter, the man or woman was murdered while he or she slept. No one ever missed them. All the male victims were empty souls without roots or address. The lone woman had been a runaway teenager Maria had befriended. When the girl got pregnant Maria murdered her jealous that after a self induced abortion she could not have a child herself. In 1989, Antonio returned from the UK without winning a diploma. Victoria knew she was dying of cancer and had summoned her son home. Once there, Antonio promised his mother he would start a family with his sister. Maria had recently had an operation to open up her one remaining tube. Just ordinary folks Victoria made Maria promise to always protect her brother. Victoria insisted that Antonio promise to obey his sister. With Antonio present, Maria murdered her mother while she slept. They buried her in a crypt under the Palisades. After her mother's death, Antonio and Maria took the names Abel and Lilith. In January 1990 Abel kidnap his first pregnant woman. He brought her home to his sister as a bound captive. After the woman gave birth, Lilith butchered the mother and set all but one of the children free. Eleven women had died before Laurie abducted by Abel in 1992 had turned the tables on Lilith, murdering the Genesis killer, and setting Lilith's child by Abel free. The man, Antonio, self-named Abel, an almost doctor of some malignant Faustian will, knew how to drug her. In June Laurie's daughter Molly would be part of the spoils that he and his sister Lilith schemed to free. Lilith believed that once the mother was dead, the child was safe. She told Abel that story when he was nineteen. When Abel was nine, she sucked his cock. When he was twelve she fucked him while their mother shouted out suggestions for positions having taken her own turn. Years later, fucking, rocking back and forth, Abel held his dear half sister, seven year older, upon his unfit young prick that reached into her sex. While he fucked, Abel imagined their children gathered about him. Lilith, on a different page, imagined the mothers tortured and mutilated and the children invisible. Within minutes after the attack, Abel drove the fan to "the Factory," as he and Lilith called it. Married by their own mother the genesis pair wallowed in their extravagant cave. Lilith's great grandfather had erected it in 1929 with blue stones he had carved from the Palisades. This was three years before the George Washington Bridge opened to traffic. The edifice, hide out, holding pen, had been further adapted to protect another maniac relative paranoid delusions of a nuclear blast derived from a 1960s Dr. Strange Love charm. Abel's Uncle surrendered to the hysteria until being arrested for the lewd fondling of children the Bradford family tree had unfurled. The Uncle, one of Victoria's lovers had left it to his favorite niece when he was murdered in prison. Dug into the palisades, ventilated and provisioned, Able and his sister took over the building after their mother's murder. No one could have possibly imagined the quiet house and blue stones held life in contempt. No one could imagine that the place of death was well within sight of a police station barely a football field down the road. Fifteen murders were committed there and no one suspected the crypt behind the house set into the palisades held the hearts and sexual parts of the victims pickled like old Lenin in the Kremlin. Inside the far end of the cave, deep inside the factory, Able and Lilith spent their minds plotting the death of women and freedom for the children using their masks and totems to preserve their self centered "paradise." As the great prince and queen of prurience, they filled septic tanks with moldy green body parts that their pain and anger had surveyed. -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> | | FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Archive: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository | |<http://www.asstr-mirror.org>, an entity supported entirely by donations. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+