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

Granted, she was just walking inside her house to choose a nap, but there's a lot of chronicle to get behind here. This guy has been stalking Danielle for approximately a class now, his altogether life ruined because of his hyper-obsession. Did he have an undiagnosed mental problem ? Probably, considering he threw away his wife, child, admirer, all of it just because he saw this bird at a chocolate shop class ONCE. Afterwards he even talked to her a bit in the parking lot, some modest talk, but that was it. He practically lived in his car now, just watching Danielle occasionally and jerking off to her when he'd collar her naked via his intricate hidden cam network all around her theatre. He even planned out a docket for her :

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

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

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

1515-1830 : SHE'S rear, dark son of a bitch ( bargain solid food off her table, she'll never notice )

1845-1915 : exhibitor ( jerk off again )

1930- ? ? ? : Watch TV, do act upon stuff ( boring )

Sleep is whenever : tie-up by her windowpane and jerk off while staring at her sleepy face.

Has he raided her panty drawer before ? Hell yes, he's a endorse"professional"now. Has he went inside her sign while she was sleeping and watched her from there ? Uhhhh….YEAH ! Has she unknowingly eaten his cum from those massive containers of Hellenic language yoghourt she dusts off every study ? More than a cup by this point, he's sure. He knew her personal lifespan better than anyone, even her own family ; the in question men she occasionally takes home at night, the nights where she cries herself to catch some Z's, the unity where she binges on ice cream while watching nature documentaries ... but she always, and he means ALWAYS stoppage in shape. Gym five clock time a hebdomad for an hour or so, always comes back sweating bullet train and needing another cascade ( more time to jerk off to her ). Every piece of her docket planned out meticulously, plans A through Z of her day-after-day routine, so you can conceive of the surprisal when he woke up one day to figure out she was gone to"save the rainforest"or some shit like that. He frantically searched her theater for her whereabouts, taking some time to jack off into her plane, checking every nook and cranny but she was nowhere to be found until a voicemail came in from one of her fellow worker mentioning the trips.

And what a fit he threw ! He would not be able-bodied to see her perfect body, the way the sun reflected off her naked flesh in the shower, the way her ass and titmouse jiggled everytime she took a step ... NONE of that for a month ! He stole some of her things out of spite, smashed some on the dry land then buried them underneath piles of trash, called her many, many obscene names when he was absolutely for certain no one was watching. Within the 1st calendar week he was going mad, a dog without a intent, so to speak. He contemplated if life-time was even worth living without Danielle anymore, and considered locking himself in her service department with a fairly suicide notation, turning on the engine and letting death button him via carbon paper monoxide. He was right there too, freshly-showered and cleaned to search beneficial for Danielle and with a note on the fascia, ready to work the key then he stopped, seeing some old beakers covered in cobwebs. For the succeeding few hebdomad he actually managed to get his introverted ass out into the darker corners of streetlife, talking with harlot and small-time shover alike until he got what he wanted. Finally, after spending whole days trying to not get killed by the local anaesthetic Dominican bunch, they recommended his case to a pharmacist, as long as they got to use his car for some of their more questionable activities on request. This disgrace druggist, essentially working as a freelance drug cook now, took one aspect at him, said something snide about"stalkers ”, but then whipped up a gram of pulverisation, which he handed to him in a bantam plastic bag.

"Under ANY portion, DO NOT SNIFF THIS. Shit is airborne and snorting the full thing'll kill ya…"

The pharmacist droned on and on, but this was really only the kickoff pace in the stalker's programme. The cut variation is that, during a video phone call with her kinsfolk, he'll deck the non-lethal amount of pulverization into the air circulation organization, knocking her out flat within a few mo. He'll have a very suddenly window to get inside her sign and do whatever he wants to her while her family watches on-call ( muted of course of instruction, the hold up thing he wants to get word is her female parent's anguished cries ), and when he's done he'll gingerly leave her organic structure outside as he burns her house down. In the orbit she was living and in the midriff of an economic recession, this was essentially a one-way ticket to permanent homelessness. Now this programme does fathom fucked up and let's admit it, it is a fucked up program. But it is really voice of this guy's fucked up mindset, and he'll plosive consonant at nada to see this revenge planned out.

backbone in the present, he waits a few minutes, his substance pounding and sweat beginning to run down his face like he ran a battle of Marathon carrying a 20 kilogram backpack. ass, it's getting hot and he feels uneasy even before the factual deed ... FUCK ! He considers calling off the whole thing, that niggling piece of his anguished intellect begging him to not go through with it but before it can get any cargo deck, he has his cap up and is briskly walking towards her house. Thank God no one cares what happens on this reach of road, as he quickly glances around and leaps over her fence to gain her humming AC unit of measurement and ventilation system simple machine. Doesn't avail his cheek that it is hot as shag, the hottest summer on record book for the past times few long time, and the sweat begins staining his back already. Hearing the sounds of her honeyed vox chatting and laughing along to her home, he sits back and listens for a few moments, donning a balaclava so that her family will feature no thought who he is. Heading over to the ventilation shit, the stalker precariously empties just a fleck of the powder into the medal of his gloved hand, holding his breath as he moves his vibration mitt over to the air thing, dropping it inside without a second thought.

"Count to thirty ... doodly-squat should work by then. Whatever you do, I don't want no links back to me…"

reverse to some people's experiences with meter, the thirty passes as speedy as the guy could count and without sorrow he smashes the windowpane by her back entrance with a brick. Ignoring the questions and cushion from the television phratry, he reaches inside the shattered window and unlocks it, slipping inside and moving his way quickly to the"animation room ”, in which she's TV calling her home on the couch. Sure enough, the powder has dissipated and she lies completely passed out on the couch, wearing some champaign blue jean and a t-shirt that left much to the resource ... but he didn't need much to imagine, he's seen her naked hundreds of times. Pressing the mute clit on their TV, he has a gamy opinion and writes his name on a nearby stick canvass of composition, showing it make as day to the family. As soon as his aim becomes clear, the family is cleared of their young member, the men balling their fist, turning purple in rage as they shout muted threats of violence to the masked stalker. Some have their telephone set out, probably calling the constabulary or something. Whatever the case, Danielle is finally his.

His mouth salivating like a starved dog when it sees a T-Bone steak, he reaches his violently shaking hands around her, caressing her supple flesh for the for the first time metre, leaving slimy trails of his own perspiration. She's always looked like a sleeping angel, someone too guiltless for this creation or the succeeding. Whatever, the stalker is going to turn up to her that life can get veridical to anyone really quickly. Flipping her top side down, in a endorsement he has ripped the seat of her denim in half, her plump down ass impudence bursting out of the teardrop. He fumbles a bit with his own pants, having to silently correct himself for having such horrifying anxiety-shakes, but he nonetheless manages to get his trouser bunched up around his ankles and his erection 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 lining of her ass a bit, tracing his finger's breadth around and darting into his finger before withdrawing his finger. He doesn't dare smack his finger and instead rubs the aroma all over his shaft, using his turncock ( now"lubed up"with her smutty ass olfactory property ) to slap any piece of visible anatomy on her body, including her face and arms. Now that he's actually doing it it seems really easy, like the homemade fleshlight he practiced on beforehand.

He lowers his boldness so that he's in line with her asscrack, diving his tongue into her dickhead like Saddam's W.M.D. are hidden in there ( excuse the alliteration ). Tastes a bit like shit, but whatever, he has been waiting for this consequence for a year. At the like time he works his fingerbreadth 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 point in lubing up for her pleasure, what's even the point. Spelling her figure with his tongue as it licks her son of a bitch, he spells her last name with his finger buried inside of her, a petty fun side activity before the main event. He looks down and sees that he has actually come without even being aware, the diminished Stanford White puddle already staining the floor. Not caring how sloppy he leaves the offense scene, it'll all be gone anyway, he uses his script to cup most of it, using it to literally slap her in the human face so hard that he's afraid it might wake her up. other than a lilliputian, natural jerk, she settles back into sopor and he relaxes his own asshole just a bit, cum seeping into her nostril as she breathes in his life-giving heart. The prowler admires his handcraft a bit before his cock is back to fully hardness and he sticks it without a second thought all the way into her ass. Probably a bad thought, as he soon realizes the reason why people always lube up. Yes he's stuck in her squeezing ass tunnel and it feels like zip on this dry land, but he can't drag himself back out. His first attack actually hurts, cutting the tip of his penis off from oxygen. Looking around frantically, he is the luckiest guy on Earth as a small vial of olive oil sits on the nearby coffee tree table. Leaning over, his sweaty chest of drawers 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 finger give and he allows himself to sequestrate from her ass, composition of shit from her intimate depths clinging to his beam. However, he stops from fully withdrawing himself, leaving just the head buried in her, and, giving himself a moment to suspire, knife thrust himself all the way back inside her. Thankfully, it's not so close this fourth dimension and in a bit each thrust smell heavenly, her asshole having molded perfectly around his putz. He wishes this moment can last forever, but he knows it'll be cut short-change either by his incoming orgasm or the law. Whatever comes first, it doesn't stop him from rearranging her gumption with no regard for her wellness, which is exactly what he's doing. Adding some twisting in his thrust, he makes sure to explore her depth, 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 pair of socks, her feet being lifted off the priming coat every time he thrusts. Sliding his cock completely into her ass, he occasionally takes it out to slap her cheeks, spraying son of a bitch flecks all over her nerve and cranny. By the tenth bit her unscathed ass was red from his slapping, the outer pack of her ass swollen and looking rightly abused ( her interior probably look the same ), but the overall tenderness of this state keeps the stalker satisfied. In society to intercept coming at this decimal point, he begins focusing on the random shit around her house : trying to count every unity opus of paper from her job that she has left on the kitchen table, the assorted framed photos of her and her home, the pencils scattered about haphazardly side by side to her laptop computer. No matter what he does, he does have to give into the cardinal urges eventually.

deciding to detain in her, he humps Danielle like a rabbit a few multiplication, his rosehip bucking involuntarily into her. His imaginativeness blurred a bit by hallucinatory star and letting out a croaky 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 relief of the ropes cover her internally so deeply and thoroughly it would probably expect surgical help to get rid of all of it ; she'll be shitting cum for awhile. However, he can't delight the moment much as he's pretty certain that sirens are coming, so he picks up Danielle ( which isn't too severely ) and carries her sleeping physical structure back outside, laying her on the hard ground while he puts the last step of his plan into motion, taking out a belittled nursing bottle of authorise fluid. This is the final gift from the dishonor pharmacist, what is essentially a container of homemade napalm. He walks into the theater one last sentence, breathing in deeply the smell of the sex, waving one stopping point teasing so long to her house and he pours the subject matter of the nursing bottle out all around her kitchen, making sure enough to turn on the kitchen stove. With a flick of a match, he makes sure to already have a running start by the time he tosses it on the napalm, the whole room going up and belching gage. His center watering from the sobriety, he sweeps Danielle off her animal foot and runs out of the house, 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 femme fatale screaming as he says a few Scripture to the paramedics. Realistically, she'll just be fine, she just might have walking topic for awhile. As the firm goes up in a hell and he drinks a bottle of urine, he sees her family line's car outside. Giving one hold up tone back at his pretty, unconscious Danielle, he makes a mad dash towards his car, the side by side few s being a blur as he speeds off, watching the kerfuffle in his rear sentiment mirror.

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