Page 11 of The Vipers and Their Venom

The woman on the screen of my cell phone is carrying a letter in her mouth as she crawls to her boss and lover. This film always gets me hard. I fucking love it. If I could find a woman like her, I’d be complete.

Maybe I’d even be able to have a relationship, instead of the messed up games I end up in every time.

I stroke my cock and smear some of the pre-cum around my length, pumping lazily. Deciding this isn’t rough enough to get me off, I turn the movie off and find some porn. The images play out on my cell, and I stroke myself harder.

I’m taking a risk, doing this out in the woods, but no one ever comes here. The path to get to my private little oasis is steep, and overgrown with brambles and nettles, and rocky underneath. I know exactly where to step to avoid breaking my leg. Others don’t. I’d hear someone coming way before they’d see me.

The sun hits my eyelids as I close my eyes and lie back. The moans and cries from the porn fill my mind, but, instead of the girl on the video, it’s now some random, faceless woman with big tits I’m torturing.

In the fantasy, her tits are bound and there are clamps on her nipples. I fucking love women with curves and fat nipples. Shehad big ones, the woman who took away any innocence I ever had, and they’ve been a bit of a fetish of mine since.

I picture myself licking them over the clamp and the woman is begging me to take the clamps off, but I laugh at her and call her names, and as I do, she starts to cry.

I work myself faster, my breath coming in short huffs.

In my imagination, her tears fall onto my cock, wet and hot. Pleasure condenses in my balls, and I grit my teeth, reaching for my climax. My orgasm takes over, a jet of semen shooting up through my cock. I grunt as I come, releasing creamy ribbons across the ground. The orgasm is quick, a relief of tension, but not amazing. Not like it would be if my fantasy were real.

Not the way they were with her. Ever since those first few fucked up encounters, I’ve been chasing the same high and never found it.

As my breathing returns to normal, I zip myself away and lie back. For a while, I just float, half awake, half dreaming, and loving the silence. The fucking noise of the college gets too much for me sometimes, and I need to slip away.

Sometimes I take my small easel with me and paint, other times I lie here and read, or jerk off like today. When the weather is good, these woods are my escape. I prefer to paint where no one can see me. While I make no secret of me loving the finer things in life—expensive clothes, good wine, and food—I’m also aware that enjoying the arts doesn’t do much for the ‘don’t fuck with me’ image it’s important I convey.

My phone beeps, and I pick it up to see it’s just a weather alert for storms tomorrow.

I open my photo app and flick through my paintings. Mostly, they are landscapes, but there are a few portraits, including one of a naked woman. She was an actress in a film I watched, and she was beautiful. It was some artsy French film fromthe seventies, and I can’t even recall her name, but I took a screenshot of her nude scene and then painted her.

I like the Pre-Raphaelite style, and that’s how I painted her. It’s odd that there’s such a romantic feel to my art, and yet in every other way I’m a jaded, depraved fucker.

I move my watch strap down slightly and glance at the two words hidden beneath, tattooed on the inside of my wrist.HOT DEEDS.

They make me smile, reminding me that I belong to something bigger than me.

The Vipers.

My brother wears an identical watch, but beneath the strap, he has a variation on the words.

The air is a little cooler now as the cloud cover increases. It feels as if it might rain soon. I should get back, but maybe I’ll lie here and get soaked. Sometimes I wish I could be someone else. Just fucking walk out of my body and leave my skinsuit and my past, while I’m reborn, like a butterfly out of a chrysalis. I get so fucking bored of myself sometimes.

Maybe that’s why I wear the clothes I do and put on the life of the party persona. Deep down, it’s not who I am. If my outer-self reflected my inner-self, I’d be nothing but a dark shadow, sucking in all the light around it.

Instead, I was genetically blessed, and it means I can hide my darkness well. People are so easily fooled by surface beauty.

For a hunter like me, it makes finding new prey so much easier.

I glance back at my phone and realize I need to head back. Standing, I shake the grass and leaves from my silk shirt and dark jeans. I run my fingers through my hair, pocket my phone, and start to trek through the dense bracken.

Time to return to Verona Falls and assume my persona once more. As I approach the edge of the woods, I stand and stare up at the building for a moment.

It looms over the landscape, huge and imposing. It’s as if it’s telling the natural world around it not to mistake it for any other building. This place is screaming that it isn’t mere bricks and mortar; it is history and tradition. It is ghosts, and secrets, and lies.

It is danger.

7

LEX

That lecture was boring as fuck.

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