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

Granted, she was just walking inside her mansion to learn a nap, but there's a lot of history to get behind here. This guy has been stalking Danielle for approximately a class now, his whole lifetime ruined because of his hyper-obsession. Did he have an undiagnosed mental problem ? Probably, considering he threw away his wife, tyke, supporter, all of it just because he saw this dame at a coffee store ONCE. Afterwards he even talked to her a bit in the parking lot, some small talk, but that was it. He practically lived in his car now, just watching Danielle occasionally and jerking off to her when he'd pinch her defenseless via his intricate hidden cam electronic network all around her house. He even planned out a schedule for her :

530-600 : Wakeup and do all that forenoon prison term shit

615-645 : SHOWER ( ego promissory note : jerked meat off time ! )

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

1515-1830 : SHE'S vertebral column, nighttime poop ( bargain nutrient off her table, she'll never notice )

1845-1915 : SHOWER ( jerk off again )

1930- ? ? ? : picket TV, do do work stuff ( boring )

quietus is whenever : Stand by her windowpane and jerk off while staring at her sleepy face.

Has he raided her panty drawer before ? Hell yes, he's a certified"professional"now. Has he went inside her house while she was sleeping and watched her from there ? Uhhhh….YEAH ! Has she unknowingly eaten his cum from those massive containers of Greek yogurt she dusts off every work ? More than a cup by this point, he's sure. He knew her personal lifetime better than anyone, even her own family unit ; the dubious men she occasionally takes home at Nox, the nights where she cries herself to sleep, the ones where she binges on ice cream while watching nature documentary film ... but she always, and he means ALWAYS stop in physique. Gym five times a hebdomad for an hour or so, always comes back sweating heater and needing another exhibitor ( More time to masturbate to her ). Every piece of her docket planned out meticulously, plans A through Z of her day-after-day routine, so you can reckon the surprise when he woke up one day to count on out she was gone to"save the rainforest"or some shit like that. He frantically searched her theatre for her whereabouts, taking some time to jack up off into her sheets, checking every nook and cranny but she was nowhere to be found until a voice mail came in from one of her confrere mentioning the trips.

And what a fit he threw ! He would not be able to see her perfect consistency, the way the sunlight reflected off her bare flesh in the shower, the way her ass and knocker jiggled everytime she took a pace ... NONE of that for a month ! He stole some of her affair out of spite, smashed some on the ground then buried them underneath piles of folderol, called her many, many obscene names when he was absolutely sure no one was watching. Within the first calendar week he was going mad, a dog without a purpose, so to address. He contemplated if spirit was even worth living without Danielle anymore, and considered locking himself in her garage with a reasonably suicide banknote, turning on the engine and letting demise passing him via carbon monoxide. He was right there too, freshly-showered and cleaned to look good for Danielle and with a eminence on the dashboard, ready to turn the key then he stopped, seeing some old beakers covered in gossamer. For the future few calendar week he actually managed to get his introvert ass out into the darker recession of streetlife, talking with prostitutes and nickel-and-dime pushers alike until he got what he wanted. Finally, after spending whole daylight trying to not get killed by the local Dominican bunch, they recommended his face to a pill roller, as long as they got to use his car for some of their more questionable activities on request. This discredit pharmacist, essentially working as a freelancer drug Captain James Cook now, took one aspect at him, said something snide about"stalkers ”, but then whipped up a gram of powder, which he handed to him in a bantam plastic bag.

"Under ANY condition, DO NOT SNIFF THIS. motherfucker is airborne and snorting the entire affair'll toss off ya…"

The chemist droned on and on, but this was really only the first step in the stalker's architectural plan. The abridged version is that, during a video song with her home, he'll dump the non-lethal amount of gunpowder into the air circulation organisation, knocking her out flat within a few bit. He'll have a very short window to get inside her house and do whatever he wants to her while her family watches on-call ( muted of course, the last thing he wants to hear is her female parent's anguished cries ), 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 middle of an economic corner, this was essentially a one-way ticket to permanent homelessness. Now this plan does sound 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 stop at zero to see this revenge planned out.

rear in the exhibit, he waits a few min, his heart hammering and sweat beginning to run down his side like he ran a endurance contest carrying a 20 kilogram backpack. Fuck, it's getting hot and he feels spooky even before the actual deed ... fucking ! He considers calling off the whole thing, that little while 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 household. Thank God no one cares what happens on this stretch of road, as he quickly glances around and leaps over her fence to reach her humming AC unit and ventilating system political machine. Doesn't assist his spunk that it is hot as shtup, the raging summer on phonograph record for the past few years, and the sweat begins staining his back already. Hearing the sounds of her sweet voice chatting and laughing along to her house, he sits back and listens for a few moments, donning a balaclava so that her family will have no idea who he is. Heading over to the ventilation Irish bull, the stalker precariously empties just a patch of the powder into the palm of his gloved script, holding his hint as he moves his judder handwriting over to the air matter, dropping it inside without a endorse thought.

"count to thirty ... darn should function by then. Whatever you do, I don't want no links back to me…"

opposite to some hoi polloi's experiences with time, the 30 passes as quick as the guy could number and without sorrow he smashes the window by her backdoor with a brick. Ignoring the questions and shock from the video family, he reaches inside the shattered window and unlocks it, slipping inside and moving his way quickly to the"keep room ”, in which she's video calling her family on the sofa. Sure enough, the powder has dissipated and she lies completely passed out on the couch, wearing some plain jeans and a T-shirt that left much to the vision ... but he didn't need much to think, he's seen her naked hundreds of clip. Pressing the mute button on their TV, he has a naughty thought and writes his name on a nearby stick sheet of paper, showing it pull in as day to the folk. As soon as his intent becomes top, the kinsperson is cleared of their younger phallus, the men balling their fist, turning purple in fury as they shout muted threat of violence to the masked stalker. Some have their phones out, probably calling the police or something. Whatever the case, Danielle is finally his.

His back talk salivating like a starved dog when it sees a T-Bone steak, he reaches his violently shaking paw around her, caressing her supple bod for the for the first time time, leaving slimy trails of his own perspiration. She's always looked like a sleeping angel, someone too innocent for this man or the following. Whatever, the prowler is going to prove to her that life can get really to anyone really quickly. Flipping her upside down, in a minute he has ripped the rear of her blue jean in half, her embonpoint ass cheeks bursting out of the tear. He fumbles a bit with his own pants, having to silently castigate himself for having such frightful anxiety-shakes, but he nonetheless manages to get his pants bunched up around his ankles and his hard-on rising. Before he thrusts himself into her, he spreads her ass apart until her motherfucker is clearly visible, surrounded by a"starfish"of slightly darker flesh. He plays with the inner lining of her ass a bit, tracing his finger around and darting into his finger before withdrawing his fingerbreadth. He doesn't dare smell his finger and instead scratch the fragrance all over his cock, using his cock ( now"lubed up"with her nasty ass scent ) to slap any while of seeable build on her body, including her brass and weaponry. Now that he's actually doing it it seems really easy, like the homemade fleshlight he practiced on beforehand.

He lowers his look so that he's in business line with her asscrack, diving his natural language into her arse like Saddam's WMD are hidden in there ( excuse the alliteration ). Tastes a bit like shit, but whatever, he has been waiting for this moment for a year. At the Sami time he works his fingerbreadth deeper into her ass, burying his digit up to the knuckle in there. Yeah she's pretty dry, but he has always masturbated dry and there's no point in lubing up for her pleasure, what's even the tip. Spelling her epithet with his tongue as it licks her asshole, he spells her last epithet with his finger buried inside of her, a little fun incline activity before the principal event. He looks down and sees that he has actually come without even being cognisant, the small white puddle already staining the base. Not caring how sloppy he leaves the law-breaking scenery, it'll all be gone anyway, he uses his hand to cup nearly of it, using it to literally slap her in the aspect so hard that he's afraid it might heat her up. Other than a lilliputian, instinctive jerk, she settles back into nap and he relaxes his own asshole just a bit, cum seeping into her nostrils as she breathes in his life-giving substance. The sneak admires his handwork a bit before his shaft is back to full unfeelingness and he sticks it without a second persuasion 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 wrench himself back out. His first attempt actually hurts, cutting the tip of his penis off from oxygen. Looking around frantically, he is the luckiest guy on solid ground as a lowly ampule of olive oil sits on the nearby burnt umber tabular array. Leaning over, his sweaty chest touching her back, he grabs the ampoule and begins pouring it into her ass to let himself out. After initially seeming futile, he slowly starts to feel give and he allows himself to call in from her ass, art object of hoot from her home deepness clinging to his pecker. However, he stops from fully withdrawing himself, leaving just the head buried in her, and, giving himself a consequence to suspire, thrusts himself all the way back inside her. Thankfully, it's not so slopped this time and in a bit each knife thrust tone heavenly, her asshole having molded perfectly around his cock. He wishes this moment 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 bowel with no paying attention for her health, which is exactly what he's doing. Adding some twist in his poking, he makes sure enough to explore her deepness, eliciting a bit more pleasure for himself and grabbing her breast for a handhold through her shirt. Squeezing particularly hard, he tears her shirt in half so now she's completely naked except a twain of air-sleeve, her feet being lifted off the ground every prison term he thrusts. Sliding his prick completely into her ass, he occasionally takes it out to slap her brass, spraying shit flecks all over her face and cranny. By the tenth instant her whole 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 nation keeps the sneak satisfied. In guild to block up coming at this percentage point, he begins focusing on the random doodly-squat around her house : trying to count every ace piece of newspaper from her job that she has left on the kitchen table, the various draw up photos of her and her family, the pencils scattered about haphazardly side by side to her laptop. No topic what he does, he does stimulate to give into the primal urges eventually.

deciding to stay in her, he humps Danielle like a coney a few times, his rose hip bucking involuntarily into her. His vision blurred a bit by hallucinatory lead 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 offset rope deep into her ass. The rests of the R-2 cover her internally so deeply and thoroughly it would probably need surgical help to get rid of all of it ; she'll be shitting cum for awhile. However, he can't delight the minute much as he's pretty sure that sirens are coming, so he picks up Danielle ( which isn't too hard ) and carries her quiescence body back outside, laying her on the hard flat coat while he puts the final footprint of his architectural plan into motion, taking out a lowly bottle of clear fluid. This is the final gift from the discredited pill roller, what is essentially a container of homemade napalm. He walks into the business firm one last time, breathing in deeply the odour of the sex, waving one hold up teasing goodbye to her family and he pours the content of the feeding bottle out all around her kitchen, making sure to turn on the range. With a flick of a match, he makes sure to already sustain a incline showtime by the time he tosses it on the napalm, the whole room going up and belching grass. His optic watering from the waterlessness, he sweeps Danielle off her feet and runs out of the mansion, in which a small crowd is beginning to gather. For all they know, he's just a concerned neighbour who saved Danielle, you and I know the whole truth. Shrugging off the thanks and reassurances from the crowd, he runs up to a nearby ambulance, its siren screaming as he says a few words to the paramedical. Realistically, she'll just be fine, she just might bear walking issues for awhile. As the theatre goes up in a blaze and he drinks a bottle of piss, he sees her family's car outside. Giving one last look back at his pretty, unconscious Danielle, he makes a mad dah towards his car, the following few seconds being a blur as he speeds off, watching the din in his rear opinion mirror.

Good matter he still has the sleep of that drug pulverization when he feels a bit pissed off at Danielle, wherever she is .