Chapter 23 – Lust for Flesh
He had run, blundered and half blind until the sound of men and dogs were long past, already only a wisp of a memory as the night air embraced his body like a long lost friend. The wounds that were inflicted upon him had healed almost immediately though painfully. Feeling as invigorated as a new born child he tears the clots that masked his eyes from his face and leapt forward. There was no destination, no target or chase, his bounty always came to him even when vengeance wasn’t on his mind. He would have his blood, there was no denying that craving that burned from within him, that all knowing voice that would come to him as a whisper sending him on the trail that would eventually bear down on the next soul he would send to hell.
Bursting through the under growth and emerging from a dark tree line he slowed his pace to crouch at the edge of a rocky crag, his arms pressed up against a boulder such that he could oversee the valley before him, he howls. A forest of trees to his rear, the rolling hills of beautiful northern Michigan below him and the wide open sky black as ink except for that pulsating orb of ivory that so smiles upon him above, he is exhilarated. Freedom again his, he stretches forward and lifts his head and roars his hatred for all to hear and the night went silent.
His lust for the flesh of a woman has been taken from him to be replaced by the fervor of the hunt, the thirst for blood and mayhem, the wanting of death and it isn’t long before he is treated to the sight of the lights of a lone vehicle off in the distance tracing its way slowly between trees. A huff of hot moist air bursts from his lungs, anticipation warping his body with the unconscious tensing of his muscles.
As if shot from a sling shot he races to the left along the ragged edge of the cliff until he spots a slope that would allow for a quick descent where without a second thought he lunges down. The incline was such that a mountain goat would have looked twice before climbing even in the direst of situations yet he took it at full speed, crashing onto the rocks below with the weight of a bull dozer to throw himself at the next outcropping, catching ledges with finger nails turned to talons where he would swing himself with the grace of an oversized chimp to the next. Such was his pace that the crashing of the rocks dislodged by his descent were left behind finally crashing into the wilderness below after he was already long gone.
He sped through the woods like a charging rhinoceros with no heed to stealth. Those lights were far off and he felt more than he knew that time was running short. Soon his loving moon would sink below the hills and his strength and appetite would leave him and it instilled anxiousness into him that was akin to a man feeling the fingers of hell wrap around his throat as he lay on his death bed, time was of the essence.
There were no civilized roads here only the remnants of logging trails used by heavy machinery rough and uneven that occasionally had to be crossed. It was at one of these junctures that he surprised a deer, a full grown buck in its prime, a prize that he normally would never let escape. The sight of it so enticed his appetite for the hunt it stopped him in his tracks, the fierce gaze of his yellow eyes tracing the immense rack and proud posture this wild living animal presented him. He felt the tug at his soul, that symbiont force that drives his need for blood being torn as it sees one of its oldest prey in all its beauty, that heart pounding deafeningly to the tune of fear at his presence beckoning him to the chase. And yet the thought of the human or humans in that lonesome vehicle, a prize that has over time become much more precious to him, the cries for mercy and the wails of death easily tenfold the value of the buck. The millennia of hunting natures beasts was inbreed, a need that at one time could not be deterred or repressed,… until man came into the light of this world. Man, whom had grown to know no fear, their brains calculating their actions and knowing the meaning of death. Man, whose soul which does not return to mother nature once in his grip of death but stays with him, his trophy as he bests even the mightiest of their kind.
With a defiant snort the buck bolts into the woods at the side of the dirt road eliciting an instinctive jump from him in the direction of the fleeing animal. It was at this moment that the wind at his back wafted a familiar scent at him, a scent that both him and his little voice agree is much more interesting than the mere deer that had caught his attention. It wasn’t the smell of an animal but that of a car, he knew without a single conscious thought, it was one of those vehicles that he had chased all night. Like a shark that has smelled blood in the water, one particle in a million, he made his way in the direction of that provoking aroma, in and out of the perfumed wind as he closes in.
The scent stronger, his hunt mode kicks in, stealthily he moves taking care to not break a twig and holding to the deeper shadows of the trees. His target moves slowly into sight between the branches of dormant trees, the outline of a truck shaded in deep purple and the hood yet dark red parked next to another colder car. The pickup is warm but has been standing for a while, all details that register with him but not consciously, the only thing that has his attention is once again fixed upon, the smell of that woman, the sweet pungent odor of her slippery cunt assailing his every sense. Easing up to the vehicle he slides his nose over the edge of an open window pulling in her scent as a woman might inhale the essence of a rose in full blossom. She is near and so is a boy man, a simple kill, an appetizer that will put his bitch in a trance of fear when he is done with him, he can taste her terror already.
The metallic sound of a dropped drum falls on his ears, quiet and distant, a telltale sign of the next direction he must take. Moving with the determination of a cat looking at its kill, he slithers forward with his stomach to the ground, dodging the roots and loose rocks along this worn trail. He can smell the house before he sees it, a rank old thing billowing the musty spoor of mold and decay his way. So overwhelming is the smell that it nearly blocks the fragrance of the bitch he most desires. Like a torpedo sent to sink a ship he moves in undeterred crawling up next to the crumbling shed then slipping around the side of the house avoiding the light coming from the one window that splayed across the ground between the buildings where it framed the nearest trees.
Familiar sounds come to his ears, the cries and moans, the whispers and groans, the smack and slosh of bodies in the heat of passionate intercourse. Inherent arousal brews within him, a true awaking of the beast. This is what it lived for, this is what every atom of its existence now yearned. To use this body that he calls his, feel its desire for the flesh, sense its need to spread its seed and rape the object of his desire. Take from that whore the very thing she would freely give another and feast upon her flesh then torment her soul.
The rhythmic slapping of skin on skin and the smell human bodily fluids, both male and female, attack him from an opened window drawing him closer. The squeal of a pig in pain and fright erupts from that room from which a faint light emits. Many a pig he has slain in his time and their screams are nearly as sweet as those of the humans that he has taken but his mind cannot place a pig in what he knows to be the shelter of a human. Baffled, his head slides up and with one eye he observes over the edge of the screened window a scene that might have brought back pleasant memories had it been any other night. Two men and a woman
© Copyright 2021 Dean Talbot. All rights reserved.
Short Story / Erotica
Short Story / Erotica
Short Story / Erotica