Wednesday, July 8, 2009

Purgatory Sex twins

Jane Callan
Purgatory Sex Twins

She wanted to go upstairs. I walked with her up the long flight of stairs when I reached the last step I stopped.
“I can’t go with you any further.”
She fixed her large dark eyes on me for a moment than she turned and lifted one foot but mid step she paused and turned back towards me.
“I am not sure if I want to go upstairs. I am not sure that there is an upstairs.” Her voice was thin and tear filled.
I said nothing. What could I say?
We walked back down the long flight of stairs, she tried to speak but her voice caught in her throat. There was nothing she could say to me I had not thought before. I knew that when we got to the bottom of the stairs that she would began to pontificate about what might be upstairs. I knew she would want me to walk her to the top of the stairs again. I would want to tell her NO! But I knew I would -I would take her small cold hand in mine and lead her to the top of the stairs . And again when we reached the final step I would have to tell her that I could go no further. She is afraid to go alone. I killed her because she was killing me. I killed my twin.
I beat her to death with a shovel. If you have never swung a shovel over your head again and again and listened to the flat sound of it coming into contact with vulnerable weak flesh you have missed out.
I killed her in the kitchen, there was so much blood I lost my footing and fell next her dieing body. My perfect twin, as she lay dieing I kissed her. I ripped her thin, blood soaked blouse. Buttons exploded into the heavy air saturated with the scent of her blood. She raised her hand to my face and smiled. I wound my self around her and sucked on her bloody tits, I kissed her neck the salty taste of blood sent an erotic charge through me. I pulled the rest of her clothing off and held her I had never loved her more than when she was my murder victim. She spread her legs for me and I thrust myself inside her I could feel her dieing.
“Thank you, I was tired of making decisions, but what will we do about the person upstairs?” “It isn’t fair the way we were created- there could never be another man for me, and I ruined you for other women. I could never make my mind up, now I will not have to think so much.” Her last words in this life were filled with peace.
Blood from the inside of her was leaking out of her mouth, she spurted and spat a I covered her mouth with mine and drank it in. I loved my sister so much.
Why had we been born male and female in two bodies? Life was a living hell for us. She was dead now. I held her and wept. Her body was still warm, and blood poured out from her. The kitchen floor was a sea of blood. While she was still warm and wet from blood I had sex her with her again. I rolled her over and fucked her in the ass, but it was not the same with out her screaming, it would not be the same with out the struggle. What had I done?
I went into the bathroom and took a shower. I watched the pink colored water flow down the drain, I wept, it was my sisters blood running down the drain. My body convulsed thinking of her cold and still in a rapidly congealing pool of blood. I loved her. I loved her as much as I hated myself. And for that there could be no measure. She could not live with out me. I could not live with her without succumbing to my most disgusting sexual desires.
We tried to live apart. We tried to be normal, in the three years we lived in different parts of the country she overdosed twice on sleeping pills and slashed her wrists. Each time at the final moment when death had come for her she had called an ambulance, she could not make up her mind, she wasn’t sure, even when she was dieing she could feel me, even now the absence of her heart beat within me was unbearably hollow. That was what no one understood. That we could feel each others heart beats, feel each others pains, if she banged her wrist on the side of the table pain shot through my wrist. When she was angry at me and feeling neglected, she would stab herself, pull her hair, if she suspected I was with a women she would squeeze the lips of her pussy making it difficult for me to maintain my erection, if I managed to and to cum she would feel it she would feel what I would feel and I would feel the special brand of rejection and self-hatred that only women have made all there own. Other times she would masturbate when she knew I was at work, I would feel the build- feel the straining of my mussels She would take a long time to climax, it was agony. I would call her and tell her to finish herself off.
“Please, please just finish!” I would beg her.
“Talk to me, tell me about the first time when you fucked me, describe what it felt like, tell me how tight it was -describe how it hurt me”. The desperation in her voice repelled me, but I would do it I would tell her how it was, then she would cum and the line would go dead. We were so connected that when I fucked her for the first time I could feel her pain. I could feel the pain of a young girl losing her virginity and the gratification of a rapist. What delightfully sadistic agony too feel both sensations at once!
Are folks died and we inherited the house and money I moved in with her. We did not have to work, plenty of doe. We were alone together in the house day in and out, I could see no point in trying to lead a normal life, after three years away from her I knew that it was no use. A few times when we had been apart she had taken men to bed with her, she went out of her way to debase herself, I could feel her pain I could feel the emptiness such encounters left inside her. I had raped her when we were children and no other sexual experience could match that memory, so I gave in. I gave in and began living with her. We slept in the same bed we avoided people- we liked to pretend that this was love.
I grew bored I could not enjoy sex with out hurting her. I could feel her pain, and it hurt like hell but she could feel my excitement and when I came she came in response. The only problem was that each time I had to go further to get aroused.
First I held her down, soon that was not enough I had to tie her down. That held me for a long while, over a year. There is something really exciting about watching thin bruised wrists strain against ropes. There is something intoxicating about genuine cries of pain of humiliation. I would cover her mouth with one hand and lean against her throat with my arm I would watch her eyes bulge. See her face drain of blood. Then she would be still and fix those dark eyes on me she was feeling what I was feeling disgust and sexual gratification. This was enough for awhile. Her favorite part was afterwards when I would bathe her, satisfaction would invade her as I gingerly lay her in the water, I could feel her I could feel love the love she felt for me and I loved her then. I would scrub every inch of her. Often while I was scrubbing between her legs with hot water she would cum, which in turn would make me cum. These were are salad days.
Two years passed before I truly began to hate her. She could feel my hate. I felt the hopeless feeling, the despair she felt I knew I had to kill her- every waking moment was agony for her. Hate is the wrong word for what I felt for her. There isn’t a word deep enough to describe what I felt for her, everything she felt I felt. Everything I felt she felt. It was too much sensation. She felt my hatered and repulsion for her. She felt the hatred and repulsion I felt for myself. Her capacity for love and hate went much deeper than mine.
What created us? I had done research on other twins I could not find evidence of anything even approaching the physical and emotional connection we shared- we were truly one person in two separate bodies.
The incest continued becoming more and more depraved. One afternoon I convinced her to let the dog fuck her. I could feel her self hatred I could feel the erotic charge of ultimate humiliation, the sensation was so powerful that for a fraction of a second we were both able to feel what the dog was feeling, we could hear with a dogs ears we could feel her the way the dog did. The canines primitive thrusting was a new high, but it was also the final low. I had to pour water on them to separate them she was bleeding, I kicked the dog. Then I fell on top of her she was screaming. I could feel how raw she was I could feel everything, the current of self-hatred her lungs taking in air to scream. Her throat was raw her pussy was raw, and she would not stop screaming, the neighbors might call the police.
I drug her by the hair into the kitchen, she lay on the floor it was as if she was possessed she was trying to speak but the words were guttural, demonic primitive . She tried to stand pulling herself up on the counter smearing blood everywhere. I could not look at her. For the first time in my life I could not feel her. I could not know her. But I was the cause of this. I created this so it was my job to put it out of its misery.
I went outside to get a shovel, it did not occur to me to use a knife somewhere between the house and the garden shed the idea of sodomizing her with the handle of the shovel sent a charge through me and I could feel her again I could feel her cringe, I could feel that intoxicating current of self-hatred and sexual arousal. In my mind I spoke to her I comforted her, I was able to soothe her fear.
“It will be over soon, I promise”
And I could feel a warm feeling, comfort- she was comforted.
After I had killed her and made love to her, I felt freer I was no longer weighted down by an extra set of emotions. When the night came I still had not cleaned up the mess in the kitchen, rather than cook dinner I ordered a pizza. Then I went down to my locale watering hole and I drank and drank, I could not feel the double feeling of getting two people drunk, and behind my eyes was the image of my twin sister. I wanted her so bad and for the first time it dawned on me that I would never ever have her again.
When I got back home I fell onto the couch and slept but my dreams were only my own. I woke with the dawn and went to the garden shed I grabbed a bottle of ant poison and swallowed as much as I could. For a fraction of a second I could feel her. I went back to the house sat on the couch and drank the rest of the poison. A pain so intense seized me and I could feel her feeling my pain.
“I am coming I told her I am on my way.” I told her
I was standing with her at the bottom of a stair case; we were together, again in death. We mounted the marble staircase, it was a long flight of stairs, and we held hands when we got to the top she paused.
“I don’t know if I want to go upstairs after all.” She whispered.
We never discussed it but we both understood that I would not be able to ascend the stair case with her; if she went upstairs she would leave me behind for good. We would be apart forever more. I killed her and myself I would never be allowed upstairs.
“Let’s go down one more time, ok?”

“Ok.” I said and we went back down the stairs.
Perhaps eons of time have already passed, perhaps mere hours, how can I know?
Even in death we are not free of one another- until she goes upstairs we will never be free but neither of us is willing to part. So up and down the stairs we go. Up and down the stairs for all eternity.