If I had to reveal the person I hated above all others I wouldn’t hesitate to name Amor. I mean, look at her, sitting there with that smug smile on her smug face. She’s staring with intent at a straight-laced man who, without cause or plausible explanation, is about to bump into one hellcat of a woman.
Coffee splashes everywhere, tables are overturned, and the whole café falls into a state of cautious expectation. But, as I could have predicted, the sparks go up and what should have been a bloody showdown turns into a ruddy-cheeked, awkward flirtation. The gloat practically glows from within Amor. The reek of satisfaction that rolls off her sets fire to the bile these mismatched sweethearts have coaxed to my throat.
You wouldn’t think Amor and I were sisters. We look nothing alike, we think differently, behave differently. We’re the polar opposite of one another in every way imaginable, and everybody knows it. Of course, she’s the one that people revere. She’s the one they’re relentlessly on the lookout for. Some of them spend a disproportionate amount of their lives seeking her out. Others think they’ve found her when what they’ve really found is little more than a pale imitation. An ‘it-was-good-while-it-lasted’ falsehood which results not in despair but in a renewed effort to discover her.
But me? Not many people look for me. Sure, some naturally gravitate towards me, and others wilfully choose to venerate me, but not even the blackest of those souls are immune to the wiles of my sister.
Take these two here. He’s a giver. Charitable, generous, caring. He would give you his last penny if he heard your belly rumble, he’d take the shirt off his back and hand it over if you as much as shivered in his presence. Babies, kittens and grandmas all adore him. He’s one of Amor’s.
But the woman, with her malignant personality and her aversion to civility, is one of mine. Yet she who embraces violence, she who clashes with pretty much every single person she meets, is twirling a lock of hair around her finger and giving this angel of a man a…I can barely bring myself to say it…a coy look.
Sick, sick, sick!
Maybe I should stick my oar in. That would wipe the smile off Amor’s face, wouldn’t it? Ooh, instead of taking back what’s already mine I could flip the guy’s switch! Make him renounce my sister’s influence and snip this blossoming romance right in the bud. That would piss on her bonfire and no mistake. What fun that would be.
Dammit, maybe not today. I’m going to have to learn to plot less and act faster. They’ve already parted ways – after exchanging numbers and sickening hugs – and it’ll be no fun to destroy Amor’s newest creation if she can’t see its collapse unfolding before her eyes. I’ll wait a bit. Maybe until the night before their wedding. One of my favourite ways to end something as good as this is to have the bride – sometimes even the groom – fuck the best man.
For now, I’ll have to keep my eye on Amor because she’s a slippery one. See! No sooner do I say that is she flitting across the café and vanishing. Where the hell is she off to? I don’t really want to follow her because my guts probably won’t let me swallow any more of her toxic joy, but I’m too curious to stay here. Wherever she’s going she sure is in a hurry to get there. I don’t know why. She’ll only be sprinkling happiness on some unsuspecting schmo who’s either stuck in a lift with the woman of his dreams or rear-ending the truck that belongs to the guy he’s destined to spend the rest of his life with, just like last week.
Oh, it’s not it’s…wait a minute, I know these two! Amor did her thing at a festival last year and this pair of morons had tripped over each other in a muddy field. They’re both hers, and what a shining example of her work they are. Holding hands in public, chaste kisses before work in the morning, all-consuming ones before bed at night. Their connection bleeds from them, staining the air around them, making the unfortunate people in their vicinity catch what Amor calls ‘the bug’.
God, look at her watching over them like a mother watches over her children. She’s so proud of them, so pleased with herself for…hold on, where’s she going now? Usually, her visits to this couple are as lingering as their kisses. But this visit is as fleeting as they get.
I’m not even tempted to follow her. She pissed me off tonight, taking one of mine and converting her. No, I’m going to stay right here and work a little of that old black magic myself. Amor might well have woven a perfect tapestry for this pair, but all I have to do is tug on a few threads here, one or two there, and then…
Wow, Willow, the muddy puddle girl has got some right hook on her! Eric doesn’t know what hit him, or why it hit him. All he knows is he’s wearing the spaghetti they just spent an hour making, the front door is slamming, and Willow has deserted him.
It’s a shame he can’t hear me chuckling because the absolute glee in it would shatter him, which would be hilarious, in my opinion. I could sit here and watch his heart harden as he tries to work out what he did to upset his girl, but something tells me that she would be a better one to follow. Stuck in here with him, the worst I’ll be able to do is deepen his melancholy, but out there with her, I can do what I do best. Out there I can corrupt.
As excited as I am about stirring up some mischief, I have to admit that I’m almost tempted to give up on the idea. Hitching a ride in a solo car journey is so incredibly boring. Willow’s taste in music is dire, all this hearts and flowers bullshit is giving me hives. But the bar she swings to a stop in front of is much more to my liking. A proper dive with a broken-bulbed sign clattering against the wall outside, and a dozen broken hearts throbbing out their pain inside. So many of mine come here to drown their sorrows and kill their livers, I’m going to feel right at home.
Ah, the fates are smiling on me tonight. Willow is at the bar, ordering a drink not by name but by strength. And two tables left of the jukebox is the charitable man and the hellion from the café. What a coincidence. What a blessing. It’s too tempting, I can’t not. With the gentlest tug of a heartstring, I set events in motion that will ruffle Amor’s feathers for sure.
Willow is still smacking her lips after downing her drink as she breezes through the exit. Simon and Vivian are holding hands, following her out of the door, crunching across the carpark and slipping into Vivian’s van. In goes Willow, off come their clothes, and fifteen minutes away, back down the road behind me, Eric is getting into his car to come find his woman.
Fifteen minutes to kill. I might as well watch.
Man, Simon has one hell of a big dick. And is he loving that stud in Vivian’s tongue or what?! By rights, he should be scared of her and terrified of the sudden change in his usually virtuous behaviour, but he’s too busy pulling Willow’s cunt to his mouth to care.
That’s my boy! Go on, get your tongue right in there. She likes having her small lips flicked around like that and sucking on her clit does all kinds of good things for her. I hope Simon appreciates the noises Willow is making for him. Her little grunts are sexy, the way she swings her hips to rub her cunt on his face makes me want to touch myself.
And I will, soon, but not yet. Not until Eric gets here and the real entertainment begins.
Twelve more minutes.
I could watch these two girls kissing all night. Vivian’s a biter. She proves that to Willow when Simon pushes his ass off the pentagram printed blanket on the van’s floor and thrusts into her. The tip of his cock hits something sensitive and her reaction is to bite down on Willow’s bottom lip. Let there be blood, let there be blood… yes, there it is! Dripping down Willow’s chin, down Vivian’s chin, onto their tits.
No, not yet. Instead of letting my fingers slither between my lips I just pat my mound. Yes, watching them shimmy their shoulders to make their nipples bat against each other is hot, but not as hot as Eric’s meltdown is going to be. Poor cuckolded dear.
Vivian’s pierced nipples catch the light as they duel with Willow’s blood tinged ones. Fuck, that’s seriously making my cunt throb. I could join in if I wanted to. Slip into one of their bodies and see through their eyes. Know what they know. Feel what they feel.
If I let myself be Vivian I could feel Simon’s cock hammering against my core. The deep ache that goes hand-in-hand with the building of tension always delights me. His balls are slapping off Vivian’s ass, off his own thighs, his dick is sawing in and out of her so fast it’s almost a blur. I recall the last time I let myself be Vivian, take a moment to relish the memory. She comes hard, that girl.
On the other hand, if I let myself be Simon I could discover what it’s like to be so very well endowed. I’ve wielded dicks before, many times, but never one so heavy it droops almost to his knees even when it’s at its hardest. Oh, to feel Vivian’s cunt from such a vastly different point of view would be something! Does she feel as snug to him as she does to herself? Does she feel as wet as she thinks, does she squeeze has hard as she believes?
If I did let myself be Simon for a while I’d find out how Willow tastes, too. I’ve been Eric before, just to tease Amor, but while he fucks like a demon I was never around to experience him eating Willow’s cunt. I bet she’ll taste sweet. She’ll be sticky with a sweetness spiked with the supposed incorruptible goodness that comes of being so recently touched by my sister. I can’t help but laugh. As a concept, incorruptible is a whole load of bullshit. My influence is proof of that.
People passing by the van know exactly what’s going on inside. Even if the door wasn’t open and the women weren’t moaning around each other’s tongues, the rocking and the creaking of strained suspension would be a dead giveaway.
It would be negligent of me to not send a little of my wickedness in their direction, right? Thanks to a whispered suggestion to look into the van as he passes, Martin who owns the station wagon parked two spaces down will butt fuck the babysitter when he gets home. His poor wife will wail when she catches him bending the pretty blonde over the garden fence, but their neighbour’s rugby playing son will make her feel better in the morning. Much to his husband’s distress.
I’m giddy with excitement right now. Affairs will happen, bonds will break, fights will spill out of doors and into streets where they’ll affect others. Come lunchtime tomorrow, all of these people who adored each other five minutes ago will loathe one another. This clusterfuck of railroaded relationships is what I feed on. The wanton destruction of my sister’s good deeds makes my clit hard and ripe for the rubbing.
And now the fun is really going to begin because guess who just spotted Willow’s car. Yes, Eric is here, and he’s just in time to see his honeybun on her knees, taking Simon’s cock in her ass and tugging on Vivian’s pussy piercings with her teeth.
Come on, sweet, betrayed boy, do your worst. Ball those fists for me, baby. Screw up that pretty face, approach that fucking van with bitterness in your heart and vengeance in your fists. He can hear Willow moaning. He knows she’s being fucked. It’s messing with his head, I can see it. Let it out, show them your rage!
I can’t stop bouncing, can’t stop clapping and rattling my feet against the floor. Eric is standing mere feet away from me, watching, breathing so hard his nostrils look like they’re about to let loose billows of smoke. Get angry, Eric. Get in the van.
Simon sees him. What will you do, Simon? How will you respond, Eric? They’d better make it good.
The fucking has slowed. Now they’ve stopped. They’re all looking from one to the other, each wondering who will make the first move and who it is they’ll lunge at. Good man, Eric! He’s up in the van, and from my vantage point – which is wherever I choose to fucking stand – I can see everything.
Wait, what’s this nonsense?
No! No, this isn’t what’s supposed to happen. Fists are supposed to fly, there should be blood-curdling screams, sobbing, sirens. Eric should be going batshit crazy in that van because that’s what I want him to do. But he isn’t.
Good grief why is he pulling his jeans off?! Why is Willow coaxing Vivian to the back of the van? They’re practically in my lap, furiously rubbing each other’s cunts. I mean, that would usually be fine by me, but they’re not supposed to be enjoying this still. They’re not supposed to be watching Simon do the downward fucking dog so that he can present his asshole to Eric.
Eric doesn’t even do men for crying out loud. Willow has a broader spectrum of what she finds attractive but Eric, and Simon, come to think of it, neither of them are…neither of them were…but they fucking well are now.
I will never stop stamping my feet over this. I’m not even going to watch Simon’s expression as Eric gives him his first ever ass licking. Nope, I refuse to see the reach around, refuse to see Eric shaking his own cock, refuse to hear and feel the eruption of orgasms that precede the next round of vigorous multi-partner fucking. Their enthusiasm has killed my arousal and now it’s killing me.
How did this happen? I did everything in the exact same way as I always do it, there’s no reason it should have went sideways to this extent. They should despise each other now, but no, they’re all one big happy family.
It’s getting warm in here. And bright. And my little corner of the van is far too crowded all of a sudden. Oh God, this is all I need. I will not afford my sister one iota of attention, I don’t care how many times she hip bumps me to get me to look at her. My scowl will stay firmly in place and I will figure out how these fuckers have ended up happier than they were before my failed intervention.
“Don’t pout, Odio.”
Don’t pout my ass, doesn’t she understand how devastating all of this is? How can she not? We’re opposites, so given how thrilled she is, it should be clear to her that I’m utterly broken. How does she do it? How can she take my malice, my ill intent, my natural, potent poison and turn it into something…into something…I can’t even say it, I refuse to!
“Beautiful?” she suggests, unhelpful as always. “I don’t know why you even try, Odio. You know what they say about me. I conquer all.”
They do say that about her. They say it the world over. Though they don’t care for me as they do her, they don’t shy away from talking about me, either.
“And you know what they say about me,” I snigger. “Despite your best efforts to get rid of me, I prevail. Don’t think I won’t try again, Amor, because I will. I’ll do it over and over until the end of time because I hate you for what you are.”
“And I will forever allow you to try because I love you for what you are.”
The van finally stills. It becomes so full of Amor’s warmth and light I can barely stand it. But even as my scowl deepens her smile widens, and animosity swells anew in my heart. No, my sister and I will never stop colliding in this eternal battle between my nature and hers. It doesn’t matter that neither of us can ever hope to win.
