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Viscous Nature - Chapter 19 - Burning Desire

Short story By: Dean Talbot
Erotica



This story contains extreme sexual content, delves into the feelings of love, lust, hatred and sinisterly evil fate, to lastly climax in an end worth waiting for, whereby each chapter will build upon the other and hopefully create that necessary emotional attachment.

Chapter 19 - The monstrous clash of thunder, the jolt of his should as though grabbed by a giant and flung from his feet, he rolls from the roof of the car with the sight of a man drawing near, a pistol in his hands, the muzzle smoking in his direction.


Submitted:Sep 8, 2012    Reads: 1,144    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   


Chapter 19 - Burning Desire

The moon with all of its awesome beauty sits high in the night sky, big as a volleyball held at arm's length with just a wisp of a cloud racing across its face. The landscape lighted such that any man or animal could see miles and still distinguish objects in the distance, it is a night of and for evil. It is not the blackness of those moonless nights that make men shake with fear that are to be shunned but the nights of the full moon where the wicked and malicious may see every detail of the agony they inflict on their victims and revel in it.

A puff of steam obscures the huge moon, a breath of coughed up air from hot lungs that spewed from a muzzle ranked with long bloody teeth exposed by skin drawn tight across an elongated snout, teeth of a carnivore that would stop a full grown lion on the hunt in its tracks. Eyes fierce and yellow as ripe lemons glare at that white orb shimmering above, the reflections causing red at the pupils' edges as they search the heavens. The wet black nose wrinkles at the night air, snorting in the cool autumn scents.

He stretches his body, chest close to the ground, arms and legs splayed out before and aft, his back arching to the ground as his head reaches for the sky, just as a wolf might when woken from a long sleep. Energy courses through his body as water to the turbine generators of a hydro plant when ramping up. He can feel the strength of ten men coursing in the muscles throughout his body, trembling with the urge to run. The love for life and all its sensations have his head reeling, a body high on all of nature's drugs.

The sound of the soft breeze is broken by a chorus of joyous voices, a man and a woman not far off. With the instinct of an animal hunted to near extinction, his body stiffens; a statue in the night, hoping to escape detection by eliminating the movement that might call attention to his location. With the caution of a cat in fear of discovery, his head turns slowly in the direction of the noise. A second set of voices mingling with the first reaches his ears again holding him frozen in place. The sound is like the music of birds singing and twittering in the trees, it is not the thought of his capture or death that has stopped him in his tracks but that of the hunt, always the hunt and all its pleasures that have him frozen in place. The element of surprise is a hunter's biggest advantage and millions of years have embedded this instinct in all those animals that rely on prey for sustenance.

The soft breeze changes direction and a familiar smell embraces the nerves of his nose, wrapping around the endings as though cuddling a long lost friend. Caution is almost thrown to the wind, he turns towards that tantalizing scent and he scours the area to find its source. His body begins to tense and spasm with a rush of glorious lust and rage at the neurotic intoxication that has grasped his mind, the scent of a woman's body in the peak of its monthly cycle, a woman craving for the seed of a man to wash her womanhood and lavish her with the joy that only mating can bring.

His body ready to spring into action, to run and snatch that which consumes his mind, he is again forced into hiding, the headlights of an oncoming vehicle flashing directly at him as it pulls into the parking lot that lay before him. It was just a moment of distraction and yet enough for the people that had exited the gas station to enter their trucks and close the doors. Uncertainty has him paralyzed as one vehicle roars to life, spitting and sputtering like an old rhino and the other shortly thereafter filling the air with the sound of a low rumbling earthquake. His mind aching with indecision has him step onto the hard concrete watching the red tail lights of both vehicles leaving him. Anger fills him, true and unruly, the kind that spurns a person on to do things that one would otherwise not consider, a wave of fire that can drive a man to his physical limits and the signals of bodily anguish ignored like the bite of a mosquito. He sprints across the parking lot, a bolt of brown lightning that elicits a bewildered scream from an unsuspecting woman filling the tank of her car. He will have his quarry, he knows where they are going, the witless words of both parties sending him to a known destination just as the flight path of a brooding bird might divulge the location of its nest.

Dashing along the highway dodging trees and brush, he follows the red lights of the trucks till they disappear from sight. The searing pain of his muscles only serves to fuel his anger more at being caught off guard, at losing the opportunity to make his kill. His efforts double and the land spills by him, the image of a lonely sign on an island between two streets in the middle of nowhere, a blazing black tree in its center shone brightly by the shine of two lights, a landmark and his destination.

He crosses the broad winding concrete snake divided by a rock wall as if he were shot from a canon, leaping the center wall like child jumping over a garden hose lying in well-trimmed grass. There were no lights save the shine of the moon illuminating his way; that sign growing ever larger in his mind until he was nearly run over by an oncoming car on that lonely road. The pavement was cool and even and he knew it was a straight line to that sign, he ran as fast as his body would carry him.

The car came careening out of a curve in the road, at first hidden by the tall trees it came cutting into the other lane as it raced through the night and clipped him as it flew past, a hit to his hips and thighs that cracked bones and tore tendons. At first stunned, he followed the vehicles path with his eyes, watched as it swerved this way and that to finally spin at high velocity completely turning as it flew into the ditch at the other side of road kicking up a cloud of dust that blocked all view.

On a normal night, a night where the evil within him would command his every move, he knew that the person driving that car would be a dead man, the blood and flesh of that poor bastard's body swelling his gut and nurturing the evils need for more. This night the evil has left him to his own, supporting his need, fueling his rage and hunger, rejoicing in the havoc it has set lose.

Turning to continue his hunt, he's pummeled to the ground by the pain of that crushing hit but soon writhed in agony as the wounds begin to heal, the twisted leg straightening, the tendons growing from bone and sinew to replace those that were damaged, the swelling of the leg from internal bleeding visibly reducing as the blood within seconds is reabsorbed into his flesh. A howl of searing pain and rage hammered at the night as he crawled on all fours dragging the limp limb behind him, returning his one track mind to the task at hand, finding that luscious cum soaked cunt that has so tormented his senses.

Strength slowly returning to his injured leg he rights himself shuffling forward on both feet to the trees at the road side, ever moving in the direction of that ghostly black tree on a white background, ripping branches from before his face and tearing saplings from the ground as he goes. It's not far now, the smell of burnt propane filling his nostrils. His shuffle becomes a jog, his jog the running of sprinter, the running turns to the long trot of a wolf closing in on its prey as he leans forward into the wind whistling past his ears and continues on all fours.

He's near, he can feel it in his bones. There are lights in the woods to his left and he darts into the shadowy world of the thick forest. He has been here before and not long ago, scavenging the trailers and garbage cans for food. It is a recreational park, something that his mind doesn't comprehend but knows to be cautious because of the humans that are strewn throughout the area. He would kill them all in blood lust but for the fact that in the commotion someone was bound to get away and raise an alarm. No, this is not good killing grounds where one might cleave through the abundance of prey because they are so spread out. It was a fleeting thought of a predatory animal as he leaned against a tree near an old beat up camper adorned with fading lamps made to look as beer cans.

His nose sweeps the air like a radar dish, back and forth trying to catch a familiar scent, something that might bring him to his quarry as he hugs a tree to help hide his form from sight but nothing is to be had. He slips back into the shadows and follows the open dirt roads, his body so close to the ground his knuckles nearly drag in the dirt like that of a chimp walking on two legs, ever his nose probing the air. He can smell the rancid stench of sweaty men that have not showered in days, the sweet scent of meat cooked over an open flame, the chemicals of the soaps and perfumes from freshly washed women. The barking of the dogs grows louder the further he delves into the park, feeling his presence more than smelling it. It seems there are more dogs than homes, he is furious at the thought that his whereabouts are known even if only by the dogs. A deep rolling grunt and the sight of his eyes upon them was enough to have them whimper and turn tail to hide.

Passing humble homes, campers and trailers on each side, he stops motionless at the sound of a man. The words were lost on his ears but the tone of that mans voice had been burned into his memory not an hour ago, one of the four from which he had been so drawn to, one of the four that had escaped him. Not fifty yards from him through thinning leaves he stands dimly lit in the trailers weak yellow entrance light.

A chorus of barking and howling erupts behind him, loud and shrill from the home across the street. With the ease of a big cat he glides into the shadows away from the rambling dogs and closer to his prey, circling the trailer, ever more downwind and careful to make no sound in the dormant underbrush, searching for that addictive scent that had his body on fire, all the while keeping his eyes on the man, the link to his prey.

A glistening, a steel sheen at the man's waist has him stop short, like a whipped dog when it sees the belt in its masters hands, he freezes. A man alone is like a fawn to a mountain lion, easy prey. A man with a fire stick is like a buck, armed and confident, still no match for the mountain lion but far more likely to create unwanted attention. The man turns and opens the door to his trailer, a small black and white dog nearly unseen in the darkness of the trees scrambles inside, ears laid back, sliding across the wooden floor inside in its flight from the night. The man enters his house of straw and closes the door behind, followed by the distinctive clicking of the lock.

He watches, still as statue as the man moves to the rear of his weekend home, his footsteps giving away his movement as much as his figure in the windows. With a thump that can only mean that the man has sat down, he begins to move once again, positioning his sensitive nostrils in the oncoming breeze that now carries the smell of a man, his dog and woman. There is no fear in this home, a fragrance all its own to his nose, an odor that if detected is such an invitation to kill, a feeling so overwhelming that he might forget all else. The aroma of his bitch is not on the wind and a seldom felt frustration races through him, an anger that he might yet again be denied.

It can't be, he was on the right trail, the sign of the black tree was of his prey, it was as real as the odor that had aroused him. He moves closer to the home of paper and Styrofoam, a home he will rip to shreds to find what he has come looking for.

The crack of twig below his feet has the lull in the baying of the dogs renewed, the harrowing wail of two bassets bellowing drowning out the barks of the others. Rage fills him, replacing the feeling of frustration now that he has given himself away. Animals can feel his presence, since the dawn of time and the fear, the infliction of pain and death on all that lived, the animals have developed a sixth sense for his kind and canines acquiring the best of them all.

He ducks under the shadow of the trailers overhanging hitch just the small dog pops up into the window of the trailers slide out, standing and the back of a couch, he could see it peering left and right and woofing in a low alarmed tone. Wary not to leave his prints in the sand at door or divulge his presence in the radiance of the trailers soft light, he creeps around the far side to round the back of the trailer where he looks through drawn curtains. The shifting shine of figures on a screen light the carpeted interior, the legs of two persons stretched out on the floor, they are within his grasp, the temptation to risk all out discovery at the moment being outweighed by the thought of the copper tasting blood running down his gullet.

The seconds it took for him to decide to rip the side of the trailer open the small dog jumps at the window, teeth flashing and barking as mad as if it had rabies. He stoops below the living room slide out grunting with a fit as he smacks his head in his rush to hide. The trailer goes silent but for the sound of metal on metal, the familiar sound a gun being locked and loaded, a sound easily distinguished above the blare of the neighboring hounds. He emits an involuntary snarl of disgust, low and guttural followed by another even louder as the lights of a vehicle can be seen coming down the dirt road. All goes silent with his audible admission of irritation, a sound the nearby dogs know to mean death is at hand.

Pressing his shoulders up against the underside of the slide out, he lightly rocks the trailer, a dismayed muffled cry of woman and shuffling of bodies within the reaction to the beginning of his game of cat and mouse. If he cannot find relief for the fire between his legs then he will satisfy his hunger for blood and destruction, just this once, just these two that have teased him from the object of his lust.

The shadows of the woods around him leap into action, fleeing this way and that as the light of that oncoming vehicle throws them into wild flight. Overcome by an evil driven madness at the continuing disruptions, he stands with an explosion of his thrusting legs rocking the trailer as if it were a boat in stormy waters. A growl of discontent rumbles onto the night air and he races towards this new annoyance at a speed unmatched by any animal known to the human race. Straight into the spot light he springs hitting the car broad side with such force that the nearly motionless car tilts on two wheels to spin into the ditch on the opposite side of the gravel road, the brute power of the impact smashing the drivers head through the window. Crazed and blood thirsty, he jumps to the roof of the automobile stooping to grip its hood, ripping it from its hinges as a cook might tear tin foil from its roll.

The monstrous clash of thunder, the jolt of his should as though grabbed by a giant and flung from his feet, he rolls from the roof of the car with the sight of a man drawing near, a pistol in his hands, the muzzle smoking in his direction. The rap of second round, the bullet whizzing past his ear is more than enough to send him over the edge, consumed by a frenzy where no thoughts come to light, he stands and bares down on this wimpy threat, hands flexing with the expectation of his next kill. Flinging himself over the front of the smashed car, the thick hair of body caught momentarily in the headlights of the smashed vehicle, he lands but yards from his next victim but is again met with lead just as he touches down, a reverberating roar of three nearly simultaneous shots from three sides that heave him from his feet, twisting his body such that he lands in the dirt road on his back in a puff of dust.

The night turns to day when the headlights of yet another vehicle approaches, the baying of blood hounds fill his ears mixed with the ringing of more shots being fired. The frenzy of the kill escapes his mind like a dead leaf blown from a tree in a strong wind to be replaced by the instinct of flight, to avoid capture at all costs. Taken completely by surprise by the oncoming horde, he hurls himself into the bordering woods and the cover of brush, the blood of his deeply cut temple grazed by a well-targeted bullet spills into his eyes. He crashes through the undergrowth at full speed often blundering into half seen trees but ever steadily pulling away from the now boiling noise of the stirred beehive he has left behind.





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