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Becoming

copyright 2003, by Natasha Von Lecter

Disclaimer:    These characters were created by Thomas Harris.  They are used herein without permission, but in the spirit of admiration and respect.  No infringement of copyright is intended, and no profit, of any kind, is made by the creator, maintainer or contributors to this site.

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He is coming for me. I know it in the length of my bones and the dark recesses of my mind. In crowds, I see him. In solitude, I shiver because I cannot…and still suspect he is there. The screams are gone, but the whispers that take their place are a thousand times more piercing. I wake, wet with sweat. Wet with fear. Wet with desire. He has unhinged my gate. I would run if I knew which direction to follow.

My sense of smell has evolved. The odor of unwashed bodies plagues me. In fast food chains I smell urine on the hands of the cashier and turn away in revulsion. Sitting in my sterile living room, I can smell the rotting leaves decaying in my drainpipes. I am changing.

My skin bristles at denim. I seek out fabrics that glide sensuously over my flesh. I cloak myself in dark colors, and neutrals…in ebony, in cream, in emerald green. Simple lines, flowing drapes. I dress to suit his tastes, which I have adopted as my own. I am Mina’s sister. I feel a quickening in my veins, and I know what it is to love that which can transform or destroy me. I am unraveling.

I sleep less. I run at night. I court danger. I leave myself vulnerable. He is watching me. He is waiting. He must be. He is not finished with me. We have a score to settle. I have a debt to pay. My soul screams for the change to make restitution. I would beg for the chance to bare my throat to the mercy of his teeth. I ache to run with him. I am becoming.

I could bear his hatred, but his indifference would undo me. He is coming for me. He is coming for me. He has to be.




~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~




This first change I notice, is her scent. The smell of oiled steel has fled, and in its place, the heady aroma of woman clings to her creamy flesh. Yards away, it is intoxicating. Any closer, and I fear losing myself in a moment of heat. She is maturing, ripening, the coral of her lips beckoning my teeth like a Georgia peach. I long to devour her. I wait. I am fascinated by what she is becoming.

Her eyes, once so bright with ambition, have altered. The light that fills them now is the far-off glow of hunger. The preternatural gaze of the hunter. She is searching for me, in every face, in every crowd. I duck behind a newsstand as she whirls. I am close enough see the gooseflesh that rises along the shapely curve of her neck. Her nostrils flare, seeking my scent. The image sends me into paroxysms of joy. A sweet ache wrenches my chest as I contemplate her nature. She is becoming my perfect mate.

Dusk. The last vestiges of twilight race off over the curve of the world, darkness baying fast on its heels. She draws the front door closed behind her, failing to lock it shut. Fear is no longer her constant companion. She recognizes the danger that wells up inside of her, the predatory instinct. She sets off on a jog, her lean muscles flexing as they pound the oil-slick pavement. She enthralls me. How can I forgo the chance to run with her?

She accelerates when she hits the compacted earth of the jogging trail. Moonlight stabs through the jagged limbs of ancient pines, casting exquisite shadows over the curves of her fine physique. I keep pace behind her, sensing her urgency. The fierce perfume radiating off her raises my heart rate higher than I can ever recall. She is my bitch in heat. I can smell her need. I give chase.

With a silent burst of speed, I am on her. My shoulder lands square against her, and we go down hard. My fingernails dig into the moist earth, leaving a musky trail across her white cheek. I feel her writhe beneath me, her legs thrusting up futily, her arms grapple towards me. It is exhilarating to mount her. I feel her struggle die away as she gazes up, meeting my eyes for the first time this night. Their depths offer me a thousand views into her soul, desire keeping time beside sorrow, anger, excitement and primal rage.

In an instant, she strikes, the moonlight glinting off the ivory of her teeth. The metallic tang of my own blood pools faintly at the tip of my tongue. My eyes flutter back as I savor the taste of this new woman. I growl deep in the back of my throat as I contemplate the delicious ways she will find to surprise me.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~




In the moment before he makes contact, I can sense him. I shift imperceptibly, but he catches me off balance, his full weight hurtling down atop me, momentum driving my back into the firm packed moistness of the earth. My teeth clink shut with the force of his attack. I wince. He will not be gentle with me. My gratitude knows no bounds.

Above me, the twin crimson orbs gaze down, afire with unspoken demands. My body struggles beneath his implausible strength, while my heart hammers against the cage of my ribs. I quiet…the sound of the forest competes only with the harsh rasp of his breath. The timbre of his growl enflames me. I strike, tasting the rich taste of his blood against my teeth. He stiffens, and I flush as I feel him swell against the soft exposure of my belly. His smile is tinged with both desire and surprise. To tire him means certain death. Surprise him, and he will reward me with a life beyond the realms of my most wild imagining.

My face is smeared with mud, and sweat runs off me in rivulets. The subtle trace of his scarlet blood stains my lips. I have never been more beautiful. I throw back my head, the moonlight illuminating my slender white throat. Surrender. His fierce lips find the pulse at the juncture just below my ear, and I feel his teeth on me. My flesh protests as he leaves a trail of small, weeping crescents down my neck. The groan that rushes past my lips has never escaped me before. His nose presses to my throat, and my skin bristles as he inhales with ardor. I flood my thighs with desire. I am awash with animal need. He knows my base desire, and grinds his hips into my pinned flesh. I ache to rut with him, like an animal in the dirt. His claimed bitch. I weep with joy as his teeth rake my shoulder.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~




I can hardly keep from thrusting her thighs apart and riding her hard into the ground. I recall the odor of the Venice sewers, formaldehyde, the rotting flesh of leaves in a drain.

I distance myself, even as I feel myself growing against her wanton flesh. In the bright filter of the moon glow, her upturned throat is erotic beyond belief. I allow myself just a taste, my jaw muscles clenching as I struggle to just break the skin. I could crush her larynx and feast on the sweet juices weeping from the cricoid cartilage. I could consume her. Instead, I raise just a hair’s breath higher and gaze down at her. I have never seen, nor imagined her in such a state. Earth clings to her cheek, and her auburn tendrils lie flaccid in the mud. Her forehead is creased intensely, and beads of sweat cling to the almost invisible down on her face. My Clarice is presenting. She is glorious in such a state of disgrace.

Her keening brings me rushing back into my own, and I am once more possessed by the desire to drive into her hard and fast. In a flash, I’ve captured both her wrists and yanked them over her head. They sink into the mud deliciously. Caught. Pinned. The smell of her pheromones is heady. It would be so easy. Just one flick of the Harpy, and I’d be inside her. She cries out as I sink my teeth into the soft moon of her ear lobe. I hiss into her ear.

“You’d like me to take you right here in the dirt like an animal, wouldn’t you?”

My words have the calculate effect. I can feel a ripple of pleasure slice through her body. I do believe she has started without me.

In the space of a second, I have gained my feet. Shock registers on her features as she lays unmoving on the trail. I lick my lips. It is pleasant to have her at my feet. Shock is quickly transmuted into fear. She is afraid I will turn and leave her wallowing in the shame of her desire, walk away and deny her her place at my side. How could I be so cruel? I am a benevolent sadist.

I extend my hand to her. She tenders back her own. They clasp. I draw her up. Her breath forms a trembling cloud in the chilled air. Caked with dirt, and mud and sweat, she is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. I offer her my arm.

“Stroll with me, Clarice”.

There is no halt in her step as she takes my arm and allows me to guide her through the moonlight. We stare straight ahead. I can sense her yearning to quicken the pace, but she holds herself in check, falling into time beside my stately walk. Good girl. I smile at the change in her. She has come so far. I will reward her.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~




His pace is maddeningly slow, at yet before it seems possible I am back at my door. He relinquishes my arm, opening the door for me, and closing it behind. He makes no move for the light switch. He travels comfortably through the dark. He knows the way. He has been here before.

He moves slowly, but deliberately. He reclaims my hand and draws me up the stairs. I follow him docilely as he leads me to my room. Inside, I am acutely aware that he is looking at me, and I raise my eyes to his. In this gaze I see both determination and tenderness. Love and lust. The drive to tear down, and the desire to build up again. I see enough emotions to keep us dancing for a lifetime. A Monster, and a Gentleman. A wild man, and the epitome of control. A predator, and a mate. My breath hitches in my throat.

He guides me to my restroom, and backs me inside.

“Make yourself presentable.”

I blink as he shuts the door on me. In the outside reaches of my consciousness, a voice is screaming. I cannot make out the words, but the meaning is clear. The man on the other side of my door is capable of destroying my body with the flick of a wrist. I silence the voice. He has freed my mind. There is no greater gift he could have given me. Whatever the price he desires, I am prepared to offer it freely.

The sting of hot water sears into the rents in my flesh. I savor the pain that dragging my fingers across his marks produces. I wear them like a badge of honor. Mud and grit and dirt flee down the drain, replaced by the subtle scent of almonds and honey. I work the lather through my hair, and rinse clean.

Stepping from the shower, I towel the moisture for my soft supple skin, comb the tangles from my hair, and don my half robe. The off white linen is plain, but clean. I inhale deeply, and steady myself before I turn the knob and join him.

The first thing I notice are the candles. Perched on the edges of dressing table and nightstand, the soft glow bathes the room in gentle illumination. He sits in the armchair beside my bed, and the sight of him at home in my room is unbelievably erotic. For the thousandth time this night I feel moisture beading between my thighs. Through some extrasensory perception, he knows it too. I can feel his chuckle reverberating through the still air of the room.

I am unsure if I should approach him. Seeking guidance, I gaze into his eyes. I see understanding washing over him, and he speaks.

“Walk to my chair. Face me.”

I do as instructed. It is oddly fulfilling to obey. His eyes roam over the lines of my body, slowly, appreciatively. He takes his time, and I feel savored, like a fine wine.

“Turn around.”

I find focus in the flickering flame of a candle placed before me in the nightstand. I fight the urge to whirl back and face him. I feel him rise and approach. The thin layer of air between us is supercharged. I am almost convinced I can feel the ions bouncing off my back. In a heartbeat he has thrust open my robe and I strangle a scream as he grabs me hard between the legs. My legs go limp, but his grip only tightens. His maddening voice rasps in my ear.

“Keep your legs under you.”

I struggle to comply with his command. I quell the urge to thrust hard against his fingers. The warm. Moist air escaping his lungs stirs the hair on my neck. A finger plays infuriating with the swollen nodes of my flesh.

“Do you know why, Clarice, I refrained from taking you on the jogging trail?

I hiss as an unexpected finger thrusts inside me. This first penetration sends fireworks exploding in vivid colors behind my eyes. He gives me a little tug.

“Make an effort to answer now.”

I bite my lips, calming my swirling thoughts. I make an attempt to choke out an answer, but I fail.

“Perhaps you need a little room to think more clearly.”

He begins to withdraw, and I gasp out an answer. I can feel his laughter echoing in the finger he graciously slips back inside.

“Because it would have been humiliating.”

“There is humiliation that harms, Clarice, and there is humiliation that hones. Humiliation that strips away the illusions we drape about ourselves, and reveals the true self below. I’d say you had a taste of that earlier this evening. It’s a decent guess. But wrong. Try again.”

How can I think clearly, pinned between his fingers and the erect flesh at the curve of my ass?

“Because it was below you.”

He smiles and his rough tongue licks the wounds along my neck. I can feel them tear open and start to bleed into his mouth.

“Oh no, Clarice. On the contrary. I think it would be magnificent to rut with you in your feral state.”

A second finger finds it’s way into me, and I ache to be filled with more.

“You’re getting warmer though. Would you like me to tell you?”

I gasp as I start to shutter.

“Yes!”

In a flash, his hand is gone, and it is only his grasp on my shoulder that keeps me from falling forward.

“Remove your robe.”

It flutters from my shoulders and pools at my feet.

“Lie down on the bed.”

I lay on the coverlet, and he joins me. Propped up on his elbow, he looks down into my eyes, deadly serious. I understand that he is about to share with me something very important. He is going to reveal that keen insight into my soul that makes me look at the truth, unflinching. Involuntarily, I shudder.

“I didn’t fuck you on the jogging trail, Clarice, because it would have been too easy.”

I blink. I can’t take my eyes off him.

“Imagine that I did fuck you, down there in the dirt and the mud. You come, I come. It’s over in a matter of minutes. Then what? I slip back into the night, and you run home. You shower so much dirt and seed off you. You go to bed. And when you wake in the morning, what will you think had occurred in the night?”

I feel the truth in his words, and turn my gaze away. He gently but firmly takes me by the chin and claims my eyes once more.

“You surely hadn’t consensually offered yourself to a madman to fuck on the ground in the great outdoors. Did I rape you, do you think? No…You wouldn’t have stood for that. You’d fight to the death rather than be taken against your will. So. Neither of those scenarios will do. Perhaps you fell, then. Injured yourself and passed out. Had a disturbing, if somewhat erotic dream about an old acquaintance then woke and jogged home with a haunting suspicion that you missed something. You’d avoid that jogging trail, and find another. Clarice you’d be amazed at the vivid fantasies the mind can create when the truth is just too terrifying.”

A tear escapes my eye, and my chest clenches as I hear it all so plainly from his lips. He leans in close, tongue flicking over my cheek to taste the salty emblem of my sorrow.

“But it’s a much different story here, Clarice, in the sanctuary of your own home.”

He has brought me back to my territory. He has put me in a position of strength.

“I have no interest in taking advantage of you, Clarice. Surrender means nothing if it grows out of a position of Weakness. And everything if it comes from a position of strength.”

I choke back a sob. I have never felt so naked. I have never felt so admired. I managed to croak out a whisper.

“Thank you for protecting me from myself. For leading me to my strength.”

He leans in, and then his mouth has claimed mine. I feel the throbbing building in me once again, and the now familiar rush of desire as I feel him move against me. I am pinned. I am trapped. I am free. He pulls his mouth away from mine, and in his eyes, a mixture of excitement and devious glee.

“You’re quite welcome, Clarice. I’m sure you’ll find a way to thank me."

FIN

copyright 2003, by Natasha Von Lecter

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