Duplicity Ch. 01

Now, I’m not overly fond of violence. Nor am I very strong. I was, more or less unarmed, and was completely unaware of how many people were in the alley.

I didn’t hesitate.

The sight that greeted me was of a woman being bent over a crate that had been thrown back there. Her slacks and panties were down around her ankles, and the man behind her was undoing his pants. In front of her, a man had just pulled a hard penis out of her mouth, and was spraying her face with his cum. She was crying.

I smashed my guitar, my precious traveling companion, over the head of the man behind her. He hit the ground, hard. The man in front of her finished spraying his cum all over her face, and was rather disappointed, when he opened his eyes, to find a long length of wood stuck in his chest. My guitar had fortuitously shattered into rather stabbable (I know that isn’t a word, but you get what I’m saying) pieces, and I had made haste to make use of my good fortune. In my rage, I didn’t realize that I may have accidentally killed a man.

I had, however. As the rage left me, I quickly let go of my end of the wood shard, letting the man fall to the dirty ground. The woman stood up and looked me over. She hadn’t wiped her face off yet, and some of the cum was dripping onto her shirt.

I silently handed her a handkerchief, and she nodded her thanks, wiping herself off. Then she tried to hand the handkerchief back. “Errrr…you can keep it,” I said. I didn’t particularly want to touch the cum-stained rag again. She nodded and threw it in a nearby trash can.

“You saved my life,” she stated. Her voice made me smile. Even as low as she had to be feeling, it was almost musical. I slowly took in her features, and found that she was also gorgeous. A flowing mane of red hair, with piercing green eyes, and an extremely aristocratic face. She was easily one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen.

I summoned a smile from the part of my mind that wasn’t dazed at the atrocity I had just committed, and said, “I couldn’t very well leave you like that.”

She cocked her head to one side. “Many would have.”

I nodded, knowing this to be true, but was unable to come up with any sort of witty rejoinder. My mind was only partially aware of what was going on.

It came as something of a shock when she reached out and slapped me, once, hard across my cheek. “Ow,” I cried out. “What the hell was that for? That stung.” I was a little pissed off. I had just saved her. Hey, wait…I was thinking again! “Nevermind,” I said. “Thanks.”

She smiled, now, too, and it lit up her face. “It was little compared to what you did,” she told me.

Just then, I saw a flashing light on the walls of the alley, and a police cruiser pulled up. “Shit,” I cried out, remembering that I had just committed murder.

She put a serious face back on, and looked me in the eyes. “Let me handle this,” she said.

She pulled out her wallet and let the approaching police officers come to us. They officers noticed the dead body and the dazed one, and noticed the shards of guitar. They had seen me playing earlier; they knew whose guitar that was.

One of the officers, Jeff, shook his head as he walked towards me, handcuffs out. I could tell he was about to cuff me and read me my rights, but the woman in the alley interrupted.

She touched the officer’s chest and flashed him something from her wallet. “This man,” she said, kicking the still-living body, “should be charged with assaulting a federal agent.” She followed up and said, “This man,” kicking me (and it hurt, too), “should be given a god damned medal. As it is, you will take care of the two bodies here. We will leave, and I will get back to you tomorrow.”

The officers let us go.

We reached a hotel, and found we were both staying at the same one. We went up to her room for drinks.

As I sat there, sipping a Pepsi (I don’t drink alcohol. My parents were killed by a drunk driver, and I’ve never been able to stomach it), I said, “Sooooo…you’re a federal agent.” I had meant to work up to that, but it just came out.

She nodded, however, unsurprised by the question. “FBI,” she informed me. “My name is Megan Simms.” She didn’t go into detail as to why she was in Chicago at the time, and I didn’t ask.

So, we stayed up and talked. She talked to me about all the places she had visited (more than me, surprisingly, but we had a lot of fun comparing notes on all the different places our travels had taken us), and I talked to her about Elizabeth and our upcoming wedding.

Her reaction to my description of the second phone call was surprising. “Don’t marry her,” she advised. “She’s a bitch, and you seem like a nice guy.”

I was a little stunned by this. “Why do you say that?” I asked. She just shook her head.

“Here’s my home number,” she said, handing it to me. “Give me a call sometime, if you need any help with anything.”

I smiled and gave her my own number, and invited her to the wedding. She just smiled cryptically, and more than a bit sadly, and declined.

I went back to my room, three floors up, and fell fast asleep, ready to get on the plane home the next morning.

I called her parents the next day, before I went home. They just kept laughing at me. And here I had thought Elizabeth had won them over.

I hung up after I realized that I probably wouldn’t get a coherent word from either of them.

So, an hour later, I stood outside my house. Staring at it, smiling. Looking up in a window, I could see Elizabeth taking her shirt off. She was probably preparing for an early night in bed. I could see the glow of our big screen TV behind her. She was probably watching a movie in bed, I had thought. She would be so thrilled when I came up to the bedroom with a big bowl of popcorn.

I entered the house as silently as possible, wanting to surprise her. As I was making the popcorn, I could hear a few faint moans coming down through the ceiling. Was she watching a porno? I didn’t take her for the type, but I couldn’t be positive.

Anyways, popcorn made, I made my way stealthily up the stairs. Thankfully, they didn’t creak (I had been sneaking up and down these stairs since I could walk. I knew every creaky spot on them). I reached her room, and began to nudge open the door.

Holy fuck. No no no no no no no. No.

Elizabeth was on all fours, on MY bed. Her raven black hair was being tossed around as she moaned and groaned, shaking in orgasmic delight. My brother, Tod, was behind her, humping away. He pushed himself into her, fast and hard. I could hear as his hips connected with her tight ass, as his cock filled her, repeatedly, as full as she could be.

No.

I dropped the popcorn bowl when I heard Tod cry out, “I’m cumming inside of you!” and Elizabeth answer, “Yes, yes, he’ll never know the difference! You’re brothers! Fill me!”

The shattering glass on the ground distracted them both from the seed that was rapidly filling Elizabeth’s womb. Elizabeth stared at me in horror. “No,” she began to moan. Tod just laughed. “Well, little brother, it looks like I win again,” he said, as his seed filled my fiancée.

Elizabeth was crying, now. “Please, don’t leave. I can explain!” She tried to get up, but Tod held them together, wanting to get all his potent seed in to her. “Please!” she cried.

I was already gone. I grabbed my traveling bag and a new guitar, and left without looking back.

I knew Tod wouldn’t marry her. He never married his whores, and that’s all they were to him. Once he tired of them, or they got pregnant, he left them. They generally got pregnant first, as Tod refused to use protection.

It all crystallized for me, at that moment. The phone call, the panting, the cries of “Yes!” She had been deceiving me, deliberately, for quite some time, and had intended to continue doing so after the wedding.

I saw now why Megan didn’t think I should marry Elizabeth. It seems that everyone but me had had doubts about her love and loyalty.

How could I have been so blind? I don’t know. Were there signs there, before the phone call, that I just hadn’t been able to pick up on?

I don’t know. I hit the streets that night without looking back. Most of the possessions in the house were Elizabeth’s anyways, so I didn’t mind leaving it to her. I sold it to her, actually, for a hundred thousand dollars.

So, besides the family fortune, I now had the money from my house. I was rich, and I had no commitments to tie me down. What was I to do?

I took up my guitar, and began walking. Slowly, as I strummed and walked, my dark mood began to lighten up. I began to whistle as I played, and soon, there wasn’t a sad thought in my head.