Thread: A Swift Beauty Meets a Slow Beast {darkest_fate&DeRe}

Some way back from the beach, two shadows stood amid the flickering light of the jungle. They were watching the elegant figure on the sands surrounded by the camera gear, as she remained oblivious to their voyeurism. Each maintained the stillness of a watchful predator completely at home in their environment. Together they were as much a part of the jungle as the dead-eyed lizards crawling over the rocks or the gaudy parrots leering overhead. The larger of the two was a burly man, his barrel chest and trunk limbs straining his old white cotton suit now a malaised yellow through years of sweat. A battered panama hat and restitched pair of canvas shoes gave him almost the aspect of a caricature, like a Charles Laughton character from a seedy old noir. To a casual observer his ruffled appearance and distracted air made him seem like a dotty schoolmaster who had lost his students. But these affectations were deliberately contrived to disarm, and the true character of the man within was that of a practiced torturer and gleeful sadist. Certainly, Dr Anton Prospero's face wasn't about to win him any admirers. His bloated, ranine features resembled a bilious frog an image not improved by glassy round eyes that seemed to take in everything at once, and an unsettling habit of continually wetting his needle-thin lips. Nor was his saggy middle-aged physique impressive in any way, although he possessed an immense innate strength. But behind these flabby clay flaws was a brilliant mind, cold and clear as a diamond, which knew no boundaries of morals or ethics and insisted solely on his quest to perfect the human form. For twenty-five years he had been one of the premier plastic surgeons in Europe, until he was forced to flee Europe after an outrage saw him made a hunted man. Having being slighted by a rival physician, he abducted the man's daughter a stunning beauty to whom her father was devoted and turned her into a veritable medusa through a horrific, irreparable operation. Abandoning his name of Moreau, he fled to a long-secured blothole and adopted the handle of Shakespeare's island-dwelling magician in a narcissistic touch of irony. Now unrestrained from the petty minds and backward peasants who had previously hindered his work, he began to truly bend the limits of species and race. The second figure now crouching beside him was the result of these inhuman experiments. At a casual glance it seemed like a stocky small man in a very badly made monkey suit But further examination revealed the twisted entity was like some stunted, Neanderthal dwarf, carpeted in a mat of thick black hair. His flat nose, square head and ferocious facial hair all seemed to disappear alongside his black shining eyes, which burned with an animal intensity. A set of short, powerful limbs were like sinewy cords and his compact frame seethed with a constant furious energy. Around his waist he wore a rudimentary fur girdle, which did little to suppress the obvious bulge of his prodigious member. As the breeze shifted his nose twitched, tasting Taylor's youthful, sweaty body in the air and he pawed the dirt with a guttural moan. Easy, Caliban. Easy, my son, said Prospero in a flat distracted tone. He was watching Taylor through a digital telescope, reveling in the sight of her lithe figure in the barely-there costume. Mon Dieu, Botticelli never dreamed of a Venus like this washing up on a white sand beach, he said with a sigh that was almost nostalgic. He ran the lens across her body like the practiced hands of a lover, taking every chance to savour her beautiful young physique. Languidly he drank in the sight of her bronze toned legs the way her calves tapered out of the boots into her firm dancer's thighs. His eyes rode up to her high, firm ass, its gym-shaped contours perfectly accented in the cursory thong. Her drum-tight, sweat dappled chest and elegant waist shone in the sun, but the delicious promise of her two ripe, round breasts remained barely suppressed by the cavegirl bra. Finally he gazed at length on her aristocratic features, her bright pink lips pouting with arrogant impatience. Through the scope he could she her sapphire eyes blinking bright and troubled as the sea. Miss Swift, it's time for your close-up, he said with a soft chuckle. Pocketing the telescope he drew out his control device, a digital phone used to control the equipment on the beach. Flicking through the various functions he activated them all and began the recording. Then taking Caliban's hand as gently as someone would a child's, he intoned with mock formality Come, my little friend! We've kept our lovely guest waiting long enough. Your big moment in the limelight awaits! Together, they walked casually down onto the beach towards Taylor.