Briohny Doyle

Oil Spill

 

Janet was waiting, alone at the Oil Spill. Piecing together the events of her afternoon.

She had been going about her usual militant business and was just about to start internal solidarity time when she had fielded a very interesting phone call. It was an anonymous call. Definitely a man, with a husky, almost familiar sounding voice. He had known her name.

“Janet” he said, “I have something you want.”

“Who is this?” she demanded.

“A friend,” snarled the voice. “I know what you want to do and I want to help you.”

Janet had considered hanging up the phone. The last thing she needed was some creepy old stalker wanking over her from the bushes. But there was something intriguing about the voice. Something powerful.

“How are you going to help me?”

He had laughed then. A low, ironic chuckle.

“It is better for you that I don’t tell you over the phone. Meet me at the Oil Spill in two hours.”

“How do I know you’re not a psycho? How do I know you really want to help me?”

“You know.” laughed the voice “I want to play you a composition, some say its beauty would fell buildings.”

The dial tone sounded. He had hung up.

There was something in that riddle. Janet had been tossing it over in her head for the last two hours. He knew all right. He knew about the bomb.

Janet sipped her beer thoughtfully.

In the shadows, Satan sat, concealed from view. Biding his time. He was never early for an appointment. He licked his lips lasciviously as he eyed his militant mistress. He drew back deeply on his cigarillo, 30 mg of tar oozed into his lungs. The simple pleasure of a death brand cigarillo pleased Satan immensely. Which dead man had said it? A woman is a woman, but a good cigar is a smoke.

He butted out. Smoothed his pointed beard and strode over to the bitter beauty on the opposite side of the bar.

Janet suddenly felt cold. It was as though the wall behind her had opened out on to the Arctic Sea. She shifted nervously in her chair. Maybe I should go home, she thought.

A sudden touch on her shoulder made her jump. She spun around and was face to face with the lead singer of Corporation Satan.

“It was you!” she gasped.

“Of course, my dear. Who did you expect?”

“Oh … ” she stammered. “I don’t know.”

Looking straight at his eyes like that made her blush. They were dark, almost black. For the first time in her life, Janet had nothing to say. Her hands shook uncontrollably until she had to sit on them. This man took her breath away. He looked so strong, so fierce, so … Anarchic!

Satan chuckled with raspy indulgence. The lady was less bold when caught without chemical supports. He lit another cigarette and puffed thick smoke rings across the table. He was going to savor every moment of this.

“So, Janet. Do you know now, why you’re here?”

“You were going to give me something,” she said shakily.

“In good time, my dear, in good time. So, are you still leading your army?” Satan drawled. He liked hearing about her minions; it would be good practice for her if all went according to his plan.

“Yeah. Lucre Kill Army is doing well actually. I mean, I really have to take control to get us going sometimes … ”

“Of course you do,” Satan coughed.

After a pause he said: “You are a very powerful, very beautiful woman, Janet.”

He was looking straight at her. Staring at her as though his view penetrated all of her, not just her eyes but her whole body. Like a cat, with a mouse, thought Satan to himself.

Janet slapped herself to her senses. This man, this, albeit beautiful, strong man was hitting on her.

“Fuck you!” she spat, with as much sincerity as she could muster “I am not your fucking plaything.”

Satan smiled. She was strong, and powerful, nobody ever spoke to the devil like that. Satan’s trousers stirred. This was why he wanted her. This obnoxious bitch was trying to blow him off. Nothing is sexier than rejection.

“I apologise,” murmured Satan “ I don’t mean to make you feel this way, it’s just, I’m in awe of you.”

“So you fucking should be! I am a powerful woman and I don’t need anyone except myself, so whatever ‘help’ you were going to give me you can just shove it up your arse. I don’t need you. I am a strong independent woman, whole in her own autonomy … ”

Satan was just staring at her. Janet felt herself being drawn up over his strong chin, riding the ridges of his face towards the consuming black whirlpools. A hot tingle danced between her thighs.

“Janet,” he said “You must realise, I see all those things in you. But there is nothing wrong with desire. Nothing derogatory about wanting someone. Be honest about what you want.”

Janet’s face flushed. She knew what she wanted. She had always known.

“I want to be the queen of the utopian state”

“You know you will be,” Satan conceded. “What else do you want?”

“I want them all to know who I am.”

“Yes,” he said. “Of course you do. Do you want them to fear you, too?”

Janet felt as though she were in a trance.

“Not to fear me,” she murmured, “to love me.”

“They do love you Janet. But what is love without fear? Fear of being alone and without leadership. Fear of being unfulfilled. Fear of dying.”

“Yes. Fear.”

“Love is not like you Janet, love is not independent, it is not autonomous. Love is not exclusive in a utopian state,” Satan paraphrased.

“Yes,” murmured Janet

“Desire is pure, Janet. Want is Autonomous. Do you really know what you want Janet?”

Janet snapped out of her trance. She looked directly into Satan’s eyes, without fear or intimidation.

“Of course I do,” she said, smiling, “and I’ll get it.”

Satan smiled. He reached across the table and took her hand.

“Many great things will come to you.”

The touch sent a pulse of electricity coursing through her. It swam through her veins, waking up senses like a ball hitting targets in a pinball machine. Hit all seven targets to win the jackpot. Each hair on her body stood to attention. The pulse raced from one target to the next. Flippers flipped. Lights lit up. Now how does it go? Envy. Ping! Sloth. Ping! Get that one on the ramp! Avarice. Ping! Ping! Let’s go for a high score! Wrath. Pride. Ping! Come on Janet, you can do it. Play to win with the seventh deadly sin … Lust!

Janet took the hand of Satan and floated across the floor.

He pushed her against the stained wall of a cubicle and kissed her hard. He kissed her with Avarice. He kissed her with Pride. There is nothing, the Devil excels at more than sin.

Sin slipping in and out of Janet’s mouth. Sin moving it’s rough hands up and down her body. Nibbling at her nipples. Flicking at her clitoris. Sin, firm and demanding opening her up and pinning her to the hard wall of a cubicle at the Oil Spill.

Now the sin belonged to her, too, and with the sin she bucked and swayed, arching back and pelvis. Set alight with flame.

Janet felt herself sinking into the earth. She rode further beneath the surface. Her body swam and convulsed in torrents of sticky moisture. Beneath the surface she climbed mountains of ecstasy and looked down at the view. The terrible view. She drew her breath and screamed.

“Come on baby, we’re not fucking for world peace now!”

Sex with Satan is seldom nice. Sex with Satan is dirty. Gritty. Rude.

Satan held her over the side of the mountain so she thought she might fall. She gripped to him with everything she had.

Greed. Fire. Flash. Flood.

Things blow up all the time, Janet. We live through hundreds of explosions every day. Buildings will fall and then you’ll be queen. You can see everything from this perspective.

Rock. Swing. Thrust. Grind. Grip. Buildings will fall …

Satan whipped his mistress against the wall. Sliding into her. Out of her. Rings on nipples and foreskin and labia chinked against each other in a chaotic symphony.

Janet looked up over the hot, red body of Satan. She saw the glowing droplets of sweat and sex cascading over his skin. She saw the dark whirlpools of his eyes and the shells of souls that swam within them. She fucked Satan hard and she saw everything. Death, depression, sorrows, exultation. O! The agony and the ecstasy! O! The pain, the pleasure! The needless suffering! The suffering need! But most of all the power, the glorious power!

Janet was nailed to the wall by power. Bucked bareback by power. Thrown and jolted and caught again. She embraced it as she tightened and released and let the power consume her, spiral around her, charge her with pulse after pulse after fucking pulse. Ping! Ping! Ping! Bonus game … Here we go!

Sexy, Sticky Satan Spasms Spermily in Synchronicity with his Salty Slut. How many times can you say that without getting tongue-tied? Ain’t nothing like a post-coital tongue teaser.

Janet’s muscles grew fuzzy and quiet. Her body slumped against the vomit stained cubicle. Satan leered down at her.

“Was it good for you baby?”

Janet returned to the warehouse late that afternoon. She returned as princess of the underworld, bow-legged, raw, flushed and clutching a luminous green vial of an explosive from hell.

 

© 2002 by Briohny Doyle and gangan books australia