Something Better

July 22, 2009

This story was originally written for the Eka's Portal Writer's Group for August of 2009 with the theme of “A Matter of Trust.” It contains F/M soft vore with implied digestion and references to scat. It also includes an optional “elimination epilogue” which contains detailed elimination. Enjoy, and please leave comments. Remember: Fate smiles upon the generous.

By TBD

Brittany was a lister. There was no problem so complex or situation so nuanced that it couldn't be solved by a simple list of pros and cons. So much so that she had found it a task to keep all of the list items straight in her head, so many of them now worked their way on to the post-it notes that covered her bedroom desk, the headings written in bold sharpie marker with two neat columns below.

New Hairstyle? Pros and cons. She ended up keeping the bangs. It gave her look a timeless charm, she felt.

Contacts? Pros and cons. She actually did go ahead and get contacts, but had a difficult time saying goodbye to her black plastic-rimmed glasses. Again, part of that timeless charm she imagined for herself.

Art school? Pros and cons. Not now with money being what it was. Another year or three working at the library and she'd be able to follow her dreams with a clearer financial conscience.

The longest, most convoluted list of all was the one that she didn't keep for fear that it would be found: The Pros and Cons of Living with Andrea.

It kept down the cost of living. Pro.

Being twenty-five and having the goal of continuing education should have made this the only item on the list that mattered. While they were fast approaching the age where living together as twin sisters would no longer be cute, having mom and dad taking care of a good chunk of the rent was certainly welcome and only a little shameful.

It meant a lack of privacy. Con.

Brittany was one interrupted movie, one late night rude awakening away from snapping. She could hide the body, she thought. She already had a mental list of places, which she found a little concerning.

It meant always having a companion. Pro.

Shopping outings didn't need to be made alone (and who knew her body better than her twin sister?) There was always someone there to dance with and cry to. She never had to go to the movies alone, never had to ask for a table for one, and always had a cohort for late night adventures.

It meant twice as much. Con.

Twice as much laundry, twice as much cooking, twice as much cleaning, twice as much garbage. Brittany did all of it, despite what the meticulously kept “chore calendar” on the refrigerator said. The chore calendar was the third such system they had devised and Brittany had long ago resigned herself to a life of near servitude. If Andie hadn't changed in twenty-five years, she was going to change now.

It meant cute guys. Pro.

Where did she find them? There quite simply had to be a finite number of attractive men in the city, but Andrea seemed to have the uncanny ability to produce a cabal of new studs every available weekend. They weren't the brightest, though, with the way they followed Andrea around like sheep. Or lemmings. Lemmings would probably be more appropriate considering their ultimate fate.

It meant always, always being the twin sister. Con.

In all honesty, it really didn't matter to Brittany how many cute boys were being paraded through the apartment; their reception to her was always going to be the same. The same “you two are sisters?!” that they had heard since puberty. Brittany didn't think of herself as being any less attractive than her twin sister, but Andrea's (dyed) blonde hair and flamboyant personality made it so that booky, brunette Brittany always got second billing. In the eyes of the world, Andrea would always be the original and Brittany the offshoot, twin copy; and not a single one of those well-groomed, vacuous men was ever going to go for Brittany. Besides, it's not like they were going to be around for very long after meeting Andrea anyways.

No matter how long the list went on, Brittany couldn't make up her mind as to whether or not she really liked living with Andie. In the end, it probably didn't make any difference if she liked it or not; it wasn't like she was going to work up the nerve to move out. And she certainly didn't have the money for it. Brittany sighed, not so much frustrated with Andrea, but frustrated with how her options seemed constricted. She liked choices and hated limitations.

She looked at the magnetic calendar on the front of the refrigerator. In addition to the chores listed (all of which she had completed that morning) was the simple name “Dan.” Andrea's date for tonight. The calendar was meant for the girls' use only; partially because “Dan” might not appreciate being sandwiched between “Mike” and “Jeff? Joe?” and partially because of its code. Dan's name was written out in full, which meant that tonight was a preliminary date. On Thursday of next week, Reed's name had been abbreviated to his initials “RC” with an arrow pointed down. This meant that while Reed thought Thursday was a routine third date, he had already been scheduled to go “down the hatch.” Brittany was not going to miss Reed. She opened the refrigerator and pulled out an empty milk carton. Her sigh was more tense this time as she put the carton in the overflowing trash, tied up the bag and took it downstairs on her way out to the store.

* * * * *

At 9:23, Brittany's phone buzzed with a new text message from her sister, interrupting yet another perfectly good, small budget, elitist art film. “gonna b late” the text read, “entertain alex till i get there? thx!” It took a feat of strength to keep Brittany's eyes from rolling, but somehow she managed to accomplish it. After all, she'd at least used the right kind of “there” this time; there was some small comfort to be taken in that.

“It's Dan tonight.” Brittany replied, although she swore that next time she was going to let her make the mistake, “Don't worry—I've got it.” The next several texts in the exchange dealt with determining when Alex's night on the schedule was. Brittany assured her that there was no Alex.

She doubted that there was anyone else in the city who served as the secretary for her twin sister's sex/vore life; keeping track of which date was on which night, what name went with what face and who was due up for a date with the abyss of Andrea's digestive system. It's not that she minded—and she certainly didn't feel sorry for these lemming men, meeting a fate they so richly deserved—she simply wondered why she seemingly put more effort in to the running of this operation than Andie did. Brittany turned off the TV. The movie would have to wait for another night.

Getting herself ready to entertain probably meant changing out of sleeping pants, she decided. Besides, if word got back to Andrea about the sleeping pants it would only reignite their great debate as to whether or not 9:30 on a Wednesday night was an acceptable time for sleeping pants. Brittany retreated to her bedroom and slipped back in to her jeans from earlier in the day. After looking in the mirror, she also decided to ditch the t-shirt from a local band in favor of a more presentable top. As much as she didn't care what Dan thought of her, she didn't want to come off as the unkempt twin sister. She took a final look in the mirror as she heard the knock at the front door. She wasn't going to bother with the slight waviness in her dark brown hair. She did like how the new color was turning out, though.

Brittany's expectations of Andrea's dates were so horrendously low that it only took small things to impress her. For instance, Dan waited after knocking once, rather than continuously beating on the door: a good sign. He also didn't have some goofy special knock that he did: an even better sign. She used these small victories as reason enough to smile politely as she opened the door.

“Hey.” Dan returned the smile. He was tallish and trim, but well built. He wore a black v-neck t-shirt under a zippered track jacket. His sandy hair was clean cut but groomed to show some personality and thick-rimmed black glasses framed his kind-of-square face. Brittany quietly debated it before deciding the glasses were more early Elvis Costello inspired than Buddy Holly inspired. Over his shoulder was a canvas shoulder bag. Brittany actually thought he pulled it off quite well, but made a mental note to tease Andrea later about her date's purse.

“Hey.” Brittany said warmly. “Andrea's running a bit late, but you can come in.” She stood aside, ushering him into the loft apartment and letting the door close behind them. “I'm Brittany.” She added, extending her hand.

“Dan.” He confirmed. He took her hand and made prolonged eye contact, which was at first a little uncomfortable, until his next sentence explained it. “Wow, you two could be twins.” Brittany laughed. He might be a little dim, but at least it was a nice change from the stream of guys telling her that there was “no way” they could be related.

“We are.” She corrected him, still smiling. She slowly guided him further in to the main room of the apartment. The sitting area was sparsely decorated; simple curtains on the windows and a few framed posters on the brick walls, but Brittany preferred the iconic, partan look of unfinished brick and hardwood floors. It screamed “city loft apartment;” it was true to itself and there was something she appreciated about that. She sat down on one couch as he sat down on another.

“It's the nose and eyes.” He explained. “Even with the different hair, the nose and eyes give it away.” Brittany nodded, not really having much to add. “Although with the eyebrows, I'm guessing that yours is the original hair color?”

“Yup.” Brittany said with a smirk. It was good to be thought of as “the original” as opposed to “the twin” for once, even if it did mean the white lie of claiming that her hair color was completely natural. Hers was closer at least. Dan was refreshing—maybe Andie would be good enough to let him live for a couple of weeks. The two made small talk sitting on opposite couches as the minutes ticked by without any sign of Andrea.

“Who plays?” Dan asked, nodding his head towards the bass guitar propped against the couch Brittany was seated on. She chuckled.

“No one, yet.” She picked the electric guitar up and passed it over to Dan for closer inspection. “I'm working at it, but I'm useless on that.”

“Fretless.” He commented simply, looking at the quasi-exotic instrument in front of him. He lifted it up and down, as though he were trying to determine something about it, but Brittany had no idea what.

“It's something different.” She said with a modest shrug.

“It's killer.” He said, returning the guitar. “Too bad you can't play it.” Dan gave a wry smile with the backhanded insult.

“Hey!” Brittany squealed. “I can play guitar just fine.” Was she flirting with one of Andrea's dates? That would be a first. “Come on, I'll show you.” She stood up and gestured him towards her bedroom.

Brittany pulled the case out from under her shamefully unmade queen bed. She attempted to save face by throwing the burgundy duvet over the whole thing, but it just made it look like a shamefully unmade queen bed with a burgundy duvet thrown over it. She sighed, but uncased the guitar to quickly change the focus. She was able to feign modesty as she unveiled her pristine eight-string acoustic guitar.

“Eight strings?” Dan stood, markedly unimpressed. “Fretless bass? Do you just have some moral objection to normal instruments?” He was tougher to impress than she had imagined.

“Uh, yes I do.” Brittany sniped back plainly. “It goes like this; normal is boring and I'm awesome.” She tried to give a cute, faux-precious smile. It was not a look that she was used to, but she felt she pulled it off rather well. Dan chuckled anyway, partially as a courtesy, but legitimately charmed. Brittany played a few chords to the song she had most recently mastered: a trendy indie band's rearrangement of a postwar classic.

“Very nice choice.” Dan complimented, able to identify the song, artist and original artist after only a few chords. Brittany melted a little bit—while she took pride in listening to “underground” music and largely looked down on popular taste, it was strangely satisfying to meet someone who liked what she did. She wanted to return the compliment of taste, but instead she just kind of smiled dumbly. She continued to play while Dan eyed her bookshelf.

“Don't make fun of me, I'm a huge book nerd.” She preemptively protested. He snickered, dismissing all of the jokes he had already been working on in his head.

“I can tell.” He said, thumbing the spines of some of her thicker, leather-bound books. “Alcantara, O'Shea, Sufhi, Lo Tsu… it's like the freakin' United Nations of 17^th Century literature.” Brittany laughed as she put the guitar to the side as Dan took a book off the shelf. “Duc de Maurice?” He asked, reading the name of the spine.

“17^th Century Parisian playwright.” Brittany said, giving a tilt of her glasses. It was moments like this that she knew she'd made the right choice in keeping them—they helped to boost her librarian credentials. “He's not as commonly read as the others.”

“I know who he is.” Dan snapped back, “I was just questioning your choice.”

“How dare you!” Brittany mocked indignation.

“Seriously, you're reading this shit when his best work was clearly L'Amour Imaginaire.” Reaching in to his canvas man purse, Dan retrieved a copy of the “superior work,” bookmarked and dog-eared.

“Fancy.” Britt whistled as he dropped the bag to the floor and joined her in sitting on the unmade bed. The two argued the merits of French literature for a good twenty-five minutes. The conversation was so refreshing that she didn't even bother to correct either of his egregious pronunciation errors. When she next looked up, the time had already passed to 9:03.

It was then that Brittany, the great lister, the great debater of pros and cons, encountered a moral issue she had somehow never faced before: one of Andrea's dates who deserved better than to be used for three dates before becoming a meal. All of Andrea's other boy toys always struck her as being so completely empty; they lived such trite lives that Brittany somehow imagined that even if they knew their impending fate they wouldn't really care. But a reader and a music lover? Dan had merit and value and character; he deserved something better than being reduced to one of her sister's bowel movements. (As gross as it was to think about, Brittany was certainly well acquainted with what happened to Andrea's dates—after all, she did clean both of their bathrooms.)

Warning Him, Brittany quickly headed the post-it note in her mind and got started on the lists. Pros. It would clear her conscience that she wouldn't be sending Dan to meet his death at his sister's hands. He was a seeming decent guy, the type that Brittany might even like for her own. Cons. Risking Andrea's anger was the first con that came to Brittany's mind, but she knew that her sister would get over it. Tomorrow was a new night with a new guy on the calendar. The only other drawback that Brittany could think of is that even if she warned him, it might be too late; Andrea would be home any moment and Dan might be as good as gone. Still, it was worth the chance.

“Dan, I've got to be honest with you.” She began, her tone suddenly very serious. “You've put yourself in danger by coming here tonight.” Dan didn't say anything, but his facial response told her all that she needed to know. He was not at all confused. He understood perfectly already, and was very, very concerned. “My sister, as much as I love her, is a first degree maneater.”

“And she's going after me?” Dan asked, looking at the door and the third story window. Brittany could tell he was checking escape routes. She kept herself from smiling at his frantic look, wanting to be as helpful and understanding as she could.

“You might have until next Tuesday,” she said, trying to remember what the calendar on the refrigerator had said, “there's a couple of guys lined up before you.” This was the first thing that surprised Dan. While he realized that Andrea was a good looking, sexy girl, he somehow imagined that their dating was going to be exclusive.

“Well, you've got to help me out of this.” He pleaded. “I mean, you enjoyed talking to me, we were becoming friends…”

“Don't worry about it.” Brittany said; putting her index finger on his shoulder as though she had a magic touch that could quell this sudden anxiety. “Trust me.” She whispered. Strangely enough, either her magic finger or her whispered reassurance did seem to calm Dan. It was a momentary effect that was completely negated by the sound of Andrea entering the front door.

“Hello?” Andrea called out, her voice echoing off the high ceilings and barren walls of the main room. Brittany tried to calm Dan, easier said than done when she was beginning to freak out herself, and silently pointed for him to hide in her bathroom. Dan looked skeptical—he'd seen this stunt in movies and it never seemed to work out well—but he obeyed. He snuck into Brittany's bathroom, closed the door behind him and hid behind the shower curtain.

“Hey” Brittany called back to her sister, standing cautiously at the open door to her room. She simultaneously sought to block entrance and look casual.

“Hey, where's Dan?” Andrea asked, slinging her handbag down on a couch. As always it matched her outfit impeccably, although Brittany was pretty sure that those were her pants she was wearing.

“He still hasn't shown up.” Brittany said with a fake tone of surprise. She couldn't be too enthusiastic in her acting otherwise Andrea would grow suspicious. After all, when's the last time that Brittany had shown any interest in one of her sister's dates?

“God, that sucks!” Andie moaned, slinging herself down on the couch in a manner eerily similar to the flung handbag. Even her movements matched her accessories, Brittany noted. “I am so stressed and I was ready to just take it out on some guy.” Brittany hoped that she was talking loudly enough that Dan could here it all in the bathroom.

“I thought this was just a first date?” Brittany said, tilting her head towards the calendar.

“Yeah, but I just need to let some guy have it tonight.” She grieved. “Really torture him, let him know what's coming.” Brittany nodded, hoping that she would continue and get specific—it would only help her case with Dan. Andrea, of course, obliged. “Make him rub himself down with oil and spices first, like I did to that one guy.” Brittany nodded again, remembering (although, mostly remembering the pool of oil she mopped up the next morning) “Or make him clean my toilet first before I send him to it.” Andrea laughed at her own idea.

“Eww, Andie, that's gross.” Brittany protested, mostly to make sure that Dan heard her opposition.

“Aw, come on, Britt, that'd be classic! Make him do all of that work, knowing that he was going to be what ruined it the next morning!” Andie slapped her knee before reaching for her handbag. “Fuck it, I'm calling this guy.”

Now Brittany really hoped Dan could hear what was going on in the main room. He certainly could, and had the presence of mind to silence his cell phone before the call came.

“Hey Danny, it's me.” She said cutely to his voicemail, smirking at Brittany the whole time. “I've been sitting here all night thinking about you and I just wanted to know if you were going to come and play. Call me.” She hung up. “Fuckin' turd. God, I'll have to wait until tomorrow.”

“Tragic.” Brittany muttered under her breath as Andrea retreated to her own bedroom, probably to exchange text messages with future prey and fall asleep watching late night comedy. The bonds of sisterhood almost made Brittany feel sorry for her, almost made her want to turn Dan over to her. But she knew what would happen to him then and couldn't shake the feeling that this boy deserved something better.

* * * * *

“You can come out now.” Brittany said, opening the bathroom door, feeling kind of silly talking to the shower curtain. Several minutes had passed and, knowing her sister as she did, Britt was sure that she had retired for the evening. Dan pulled the earth-toned shower curtain aside and carefully stepped out of the bathtub.

“It's a nice bathroom.” He commented, trying to be funny in light of the situation. He pointed to the incense and scented candles and looked around at the relaxing, mellow brown paint.

“Thanks.” Brittany smiled. “It's my little spa.”

“Fancy.” Dan whistled as Brittany gestured him back in to the bedroom. The two then stood, realizing the sort of awkward predicament.

“Were you, uh, able to hear everyth—“ Brittany began to inquire.

“Yeah.” Dan said firmly. He had caught every last bit of Andie's commentary. “I really don't know how to thank you,” he thought to reach out for her hands, but decided against it, resulting in an uncomfortable looking sway. “Seriously, without you, I would have been…” Dan didn't know how to finish the sentence. Brittany made a flushing sound, to which they were both able to laugh only a little. “Thank you.” He said, moving towards her and taking her in a friendly hug.

They held in the hug longer than friendship would normally suggest. Brittany leaned back a little bit and looked straight up at Dan, allowing their eyes to meet. “I told you you could trust me.” She said plainly.

“You saved me.” Dan said, choking up a little with emotion, now that he found himself staring into the grey eyes of his savior-- the same grey eyes of his would be predator—the only difference being the glasses that protected Brittany's delicate, caring gaze.

“I don't know about all that…” she said with what Dan assumed to be a seductive faux-modesty. Brittany nuzzled her face in Dan's chest, before standing up on her tiptoes to take a playful nibble at his earlobe. He froze. Had he lost romance with one twin to find it with another?

“I just thought you deserved something better.” Brittany whispered in his ear. Dan turned his head to kiss her on the lips, but found that her lips were already parted. Her lips were parted and ready for him, but for more than a kiss. He had turned his face over to her widening maw.

Predatory animals have certain traits built into their genetics. Identical twins share identical genetic codes, and while developed traits like tastes and preferences can change, if one twin is born with a killer instinct, the other certainly possesses it as well. Tigers cannot change their stripes—the twin of a sinister maneater is, cunning appearances aside, also a sinister maneater.

Dan never stood a chance, something that he only realized as he tried in vain to dislodge his head from Brittany's humid throat. He wouldn't make it easy, but he was far out of his league. While he saw each major body part as another opportunity to slow her assault and reclaim his freedom, to Brittany they were only benchmarks. The wide shoulders, the flailing arms, the strong hips… all of these were simply milestones on her inexorable march to total victory.

Dan tried to speak, and when he could not speak, he tried to scream. His efforts were futile, though, as a combination of saliva and bodily fluids filled his mouth, rendering all attempts at sounds nothing more that a gurgle that was absorbed by the fleshy walls of Brittany's digestive tract. Other than these gurgles, the only other sound the world would hear from him, Brittany thought, would be the grumbling of her tummy as it stripped him of his nutrients and churned him in to waste.

Brittany imagined what his words of protest would have been if he could have gotten them out. Would he have begged? Would he have bargained? Probably not. He probably would have been more accusatory.

You said I could trust you!

Well, she didn't lie to him. She warned him that her twin sister was a maneater. She just chose to overlook the fact that she was willing to indulge herself from time to time too. And what a treat he was.

You said I deserved something better!

For the first time in almost as long as she could remember, Brittany made a sexy purring noise as she laid down on her bed and caressed her bulge. Her tastes were more discriminating than her sister's. She didn't care for the constant stream of lemming boys on their way to their digestive grave—that struck her as greedy and gluttonous. She preferred the occasional indulgence. Ending the life of an educated, tasteful man was like enjoying a fine wine. It was like exotic instruments, foreign literature and trendy indie bands.

“You deserved better than to become my sister's waste,” she cooed. “You're going to be something better.” She certainly thought herself a more desirable predator, anyway. She ran her tongue over her moist lips and gave a sultry wink Dan would never see. “Trust me.”

* * * * *

Below is an elimination epilogue. It is completely auxiliary to the story and can be skipped.

* * * * *

After a satisfying slumber, Brittany struck a match and lit the incense stick, fanning the flame to the appropriate smolder and letting its fragrant aromas fill her bathroom. After last night's passion, this was the time for calm. The eye of the storm: the time after digestion and before the action to come. She dug through the canvas shoulder bag that had been left in a heap on her floor and pulled out the book, the five-act play by the Duc de Maurice. It would make for a good midmorning read.

“Oh God, is that the incense I smell?” Andrea called out from the next room.

“Why? It smells nice.” Brittany protested.

“You only burn that stuff when you're about to take a nasty freakin' dump!” Andie yelled. Brittany shrunk. She hoped that Andrea didn't come in to see her shameful gorged gut and put together that she had stolen last night's date. “You usually only do it when you're taking a boyshit, so whatever's going on in there has to be foul.” “Boyshit” was the phrase the sisters had coined for the byproducts created by digested date. Nothing, Andie would attest, was better than taking a boyshit. Brittany pretended to be sickened and offended, but Andie took her blushing to be a sign of agreement. Andrea liked to brag about her conquests, but for Brittany it was private and personal. She wasn't a serial maneater in the same way as her sister and certainly didn't broadcast her feats.

That didn't mean that she didn't enjoy it.

Brittany lit a few candles and closed the bathroom door, locking it, leaving herself with peace, privacy and the porcelain. The bare, milky white flesh of her rear felt good touching the cold seat as she opened the book to page one.

The tranquility was sublime, but like all peace it was only temporary. When her bowels finally loosened (somewhere around page 22,) it was with a wet and violent splurt, creating a sound much like a motorboat choking and bubbling in an effort to start underwater. She took her eyes off of the page and contorted her face, squirting out a similar product, creating a similar sound. So maybe the grumbling of her stomach last night wasn't the last thing that the world would hear from Dan.

The movement continued more easily, although the pleasant aroma of the incense had been compromised at the very least. Around page 40 she decided that she needed her first flush. Pages 35-38 were torn out of the book and put to good use before being thrown into the cesspool of Dan. Brittany wouldn't admit it (not that she would talk about any of this publically,) but she did admire her handiwork before the first flush. It was formless, but not liquid, almost as though a coppery-colored mud had been poured down one side of the bowl. She would reach the second flush on page 76. And the third on page 111. The play was still an act away from its climax when Brittany began Dan's denouement.

Eliminating the last of Dan's remains required straining and effort on Brittany's part. It was like drinking a milkshake, where the last few sips require extra work. The remains came out now not in splurts and logs, but in tiny, light-brown pellets. At last, all that was left of Dan was a series of three quick, dry, farts. The incense stick burned down to its final ember and Brittany closed the book and set it to the side. A good read, she thought, but it lost a little steam at the end. A fitting tribute for a good guy who reached a messy end. At least she'd made good on her promise: this was much better than anything Andrea would have made out of him. Flush number four marked Dan's departure as Brittany redid her pants and extinguished the candles.

“Almost two hours and four flushes,” Andrea smirked as Brittany, book tucked under her arm, returned to the main room of the apartment, “damn, sis, that's rank.”

Brittany blushed—but did not brag.