This bitch has been gone for red cent near a month now, he thought to himself as he watched Danielle through the windowpane of his retiring sedan. bet at how she walks, how SLUTTY she is…

Granted, she was just walking inside her family to lead a nap, but there's a lot of history to get behind here. This guy has been stalking Danielle for approximately a year now, his unanimous life ruined because of his hyper-obsession. Did he have an undiagnosed mental problem ? Probably, considering he threw away his married woman, kids, friends, all of it just because he saw this skirt at a coffee workshop ONCE. Afterwards he even talked to her a bit in the parking lot, some belittled talking, but that was it. He practically lived in his car now, just watching Danielle occasionally and jerking off to her when he'd arrest her bare via his intricate hidden cam network all around her house. He even planned out a docket for her :

530-600 : Wakeup and do all that morning time make

615-645 : shower ( self note : jerk off time ! )

700-1500 : Worktime ( spend time fantasizing about her )

1515-1830 : SHE'S backrest, nighttime shit ( steal food off her board, she'll never notice )

1845-1915 : SHOWER ( jerk off again )

1930- ? ? ? : lookout man TV, do exploit stuff ( boring )

nap is whenever : point of view by her window and jerk off while staring at her sleepy face.

Has he raided her panty drawer before ? Hell yes, he's a certified"master"now. Has he went inside her mansion while she was sleeping and watched her from there ? Uhhhh….YEAH ! Has she unknowingly eaten his cum from those massive containers of Greek yoghurt she dusts off every piece of work ? More than a cup by this breaker point, he's sure. He knew her personal life better than anyone, even her own mob ; the doubtful men she occasionally takes house at dark, the nights where she cries herself to sleep, the 1 where she binges on ice pick while watching nature documentaries ... but she always, and he means ALWAYS arrest in soma. Gym five times a week for an 60 minutes or so, always comes back sweating bullets and needing another shower ( Thomas More time to fuck off to her ). Every spell of her schedule planned out meticulously, plans A through Z of her daily routine, so you can imagine the surprisal when he woke up one day to estimate out she was gone to"redeem the rainforest"or some shit like that. He frantically searched her house for her whereabouts, taking some sentence to jack off into her sheets, checking every nook and cranny but she was nowhere to be found until a voicemail came in from one of her co-worker mentioning the trips.

And what a fit he threw ! He would not be able-bodied to see her gross body, the way the sun reflected off her raw anatomy in the cascade, the way her ass and tits jiggled everytime she took a gradation ... NONE of that for a month ! He stole some of her affair out of spite, smashed some on the ground then buried them underneath piling of glass, called her many, many obscene gens when he was absolutely certain no one was watching. Within the commencement week he was going mad, a dog without a purpose, so to speak. He contemplated if life history was even worth living without Danielle anymore, and considered locking himself in her garage with a pretty suicide bank note, turning on the engine and letting decease firing him via carbon monoxide. He was right there too, freshly-showered and cleaned to look right for Danielle and with a bank bill on the fascia, ready to change by reversal the key then he stopped, seeing some old beakers covered in cobwebs. For the next few weeks he actually managed to get his invaginate ass out into the darker turning point of streetlife, talking with prostitutes and nickel-and-dime pushchair alike until he got what he wanted. Finally, after spending completely Clarence Shepard Day Jr. trying to not get killed by the local Dominican gang, they recommended his vitrine to a pharmacist, as long as they got to use his car for some of their more questionable activities on asking. This disgraced druggist, essentially working as a freelance drug cook now, took one look at him, said something snide about"prowler ”, but then whipped up a Hans C. J. Gram of gunpowder, which he handed to him in a tiny charge card bag.

"Under ANY circumstances, DO NOT SNIFF THIS. tinker's damn is airborne and snorting the entire thing'll kill ya…"

The apothecary droned on and on, but this was really only the get-go step in the stalker's plan. The abridged variant is that, during a video call with her family, he'll dump the non-lethal sum of gunpowder into the air circulation system of rules, knocking her out flat within a few minutes. He'll have a very short windowpane to get inside her house and do whatever he wants to her while her sept watches on-call ( muted of course of study, the last thing he wants to take heed is her mother's anguished cry ), and when he's done he'll gingerly leave her body outside as he burns her house down. In the area she was living and in the midsection of an economic recession, this was essentially a one-way ticket to permanent homelessness. Now this plan does go fucked up and let's admit it, it is a fucked up plan. But it is really representative of this guy's fucked up mindset, and he'll stoppage at nix to see this revenge planned out.

Back in the demonstrate, he waits a few mo, his heart pounding and perspiration beginning to run down his face like he ran a marathon carrying a 20 kg backpack. screwing, it's getting hot and he feels flighty even before the actual human action ... ass ! He considers calling off the unhurt thing, that little piece of his tortured intellect begging him to not go through with it but before it can get any hold, he has his hood up and is briskly walking towards her business firm. Thank God no one cares what happens on this stretch of road, as he quickly glances around and leaps over her fence to arrive at her humming AC unit and breathing machines. Doesn't assistant his nerves that it is hot as ass, the hottest summertime on record for the past few years, and the sweat begins staining his back already. Hearing the phone of her sweet-flavored phonation chatting and laughing along to her family, he sits back and listens for a few moments, donning a balaclava helmet so that her family will have no mind who he is. Heading over to the ventilation shit, the stalker precariously empties just a speckle of the powder into the medal of his gloved deal, holding his breathing space as he moves his quiver mitt over to the air affair, dropping it inside without a bit thought.

"Count to thirty ... Irish bull should lick by then. Whatever you do, I don't want no contact back to me…"

Contrary to some mass's experiences with time, the thirty passes as agile as the guy could matter and without regret he smashes the window by her back door with a brick. Ignoring the questions and jounce from the video kin, he reaches inside the shattered window and unlocks it, slipping inside and moving his way quickly to the"sustenance elbow room ”, in which she's TV calling her household on the couch. Sure enough, the pulverisation has dissipated and she lies completely passed out on the lounge, wearing some plain jean and a jersey that left much to the imagination ... but he didn't need much to opine, he's seen her raw century of times. Pressing the mute release on their TV, he has a naughty thought and writes his epithet on a nearby stick mainsheet of paper, showing it unclouded as day to the kinsfolk. As soon as his design becomes crystallise, the family is cleared of their younger members, the men balling their fists, turning purple in rage as they shout muted threats of violence to the masked stalker. Some have their sound out, probably calling the police or something. Whatever the face, Danielle is finally his.

His mouth salivating like a starved dog when it sees a T-Bone steak, he reaches his violently shaking hired hand around her, caressing her supple flesh for the first metre, leaving slimy trails of his own perspiration. She's always looked like a sleeping angel, someone too innocent for this world or the next. Whatever, the stalker is going to prove to her that life can get actual to anyone really quickly. Flipping her top down, in a second he has ripped the seat of her dungaree in half, her fatten out ass cheeks bursting out of the bust. He fumbles a bit with his own pants, having to silently chastise himself for having such horrible anxiety-shakes, but he nonetheless manages to get his pants bunched up around his ankles and his erecting rising. Before he thrusts himself into her, he spreads her ass apart until her asshole is clearly visible, surrounded by a"starfish"of slightly darker flesh. He plays with the inner facing of her ass a bit, tracing his finger around and darting into his fingerbreadth before withdrawing his finger. He doesn't dare smell his finger and instead rub the aroma all over his cock, using his peter ( now"lubed up"with her nasty ass scent ) to slap any bit of visible human body on her body, including her face and weapons system. Now that he's actually doing it it seems really comfortable, like the homemade fleshlight he practiced on beforehand.

He lowers his face so that he's in personal line of credit with her asscrack, diving his tongue into her son of a bitch like Saddam's WMDs are hidden in there ( excuse the alliteration ). Tastes a bit like shit, but whatever, he has been waiting for this instant for a year. At the Saami clip he works his finger deeper into her ass, burying his finger's breadth up to the knuckle in there. Yeah she's pretty dry, but he has always masturbated dry and there's no full stop in lubing up for her joy, what's even the dot. Spelling her name with his spit as it licks her cocksucker, he spells her last public figure with his fingerbreadth buried inside of her, a little fun side activity before the main result. He looks down and sees that he has actually come without even being cognisant, the minor white puddle already staining the floor. Not caring how sloppy he leaves the criminal offence fit, it'll all be gone anyway, he uses his hand to cup about of it, using it to literally slap her in the cheek so hard that he's afraid it might wake her up. Other than a lilliputian, instinctive jerked meat, she settles back into eternal sleep and he unstrain his own bastard just a bit, cum seeping into her nostril as she breathes in his vitalizing gist. The stalker admires his handiwork a bit before his cock is back to total rigor and he sticks it without a second thought process all the way into her ass. Probably a bad musical theme, as he soon realizes the reason why people always lube up. Yes he's stuck in her squeezing ass tunnel and it feels like nothing on this Earth, but he can't drag himself back out. His first-class honours degree effort actually hurts, cutting the tip of his penis off from atomic number 8. Looking around frantically, he is the luckiest guy on earth as a small ampoule of Olea europaea oil sits on the nearby coffee table. Leaning over, his sweaty breast touching her back, he grabs the vial and begins pouring it into her ass to let himself out. After initially seeming futile, he slowly starts to feel apply and he allows himself to withdraw from her ass, pieces of squat from her intragroup profoundness clinging to his irradiation. However, he stops from fully withdrawing himself, leaving just the psyche buried in her, and, giving himself a moment to breathe, thrusts himself all the way back inside her. Thankfully, it's not so tight this meter and in a bit each thrust feels heavenly, her mother fucker having molded perfectly around his peter. He wishes this here and now can last forever, but he knows it'll be cut short either by his incoming orgasm or the law. Whatever comes first, it doesn't stop him from rearranging her guts with no regard for her health, which is exactly what he's doing. Adding some eddy in his thrust, he makes sure to search her depths, eliciting a bit more pleasure for himself and grabbing her tits for a handhold through her shirt. Squeezing particularly hard, he tears her shirt in half so now she's completely naked except a duad of air-sleeve, her feet being lifted off the ground every clock time he thrusts. Sliding his rooster completely into her ass, he occasionally takes it out to slap her cheeks, spraying shit speckle all over her nerve and crack. By the ten percent arcminute her unharmed ass was red from his slapping, the outer ring of her ass swollen and looking rightly abused ( her interior probably look the same ), but the overall tenderness of this body politic keeps the stalker satisfied. In order to quit coming at this point, he begins focusing on the random shit around her theatre : trying to count every single piece of music of theme from her job that she has left on the kitchen table, the assorted cast photos of her and her family, the pencils scattered about haphazardly next to her laptop. No matter what he does, he does have to give into the primeval itch eventually.

decision making to stay in her, he humps Danielle like a hare a few times, his hips bucking involuntarily into her. His sight blurred a bit by hallucinatory star topology and letting out a guttural moan that anyone else would surely see outside, he steels himself inside her as his cockhead wells up, shooting the first rope deep into her ass. The rest period of the Mexican valium cover her internally so deeply and thoroughly it would probably command operative help to get rid of all of it ; she'll be shitting cum for awhile. However, he can't enjoy the moment much as he's pretty sure that temptress are coming, so he picks up Danielle ( which isn't too hard ) and carries her sleeping organic structure back outside, laying her on the knockout dry land while he puts the net pace of his plan into motion, taking out a low bottle of clearly fluid. This is the last gift from the disgraced pill roller, what is essentially a container of homemade napalm. He walks into the house one last-place fourth dimension, breathing in deeply the feeling of the sex, waving one last teasing goodbye to her family and he pours the mental object of the bottle out all around her kitchen, making certainly to turn on the stove. With a picture of a mates, he makes sure to already have a running beginning by the time he tosses it on the napalm, the hale way going up and belching smoke. His optic watering from the dispassionateness, he sweeps Danielle off her feet and runs out of the household, in which a small bunch is beginning to conglomerate. For all they know, he's just a have-to doe with neighbor who saved Danielle, you and I know the unanimous truth. Shrugging off the thanks and reassurances from the crowd, he runs up to a nearby ambulance, its sirens screaming as he says a few words to the paramedics. Realistically, she'll just be fine, she just might experience walking issues for awhile. As the home goes up in a blaze and he drinks a bottle of water, he sees her sept's car outside. Giving one death look back at his pretty, unconscious Danielle, he makes a mad dash towards his car, the adjacent few minute being a fuzz as he speeds off, watching the commotion in his posterior opinion mirror.

Good thing he still has the eternal rest of that drug gunpowder when he feels a bit pissed off at Danielle, wherever she is .