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

Granted, she was just walking inside her house to take away a nap, but there's a lot of account to get behind here. This guy has been stalking Danielle for approximately a year now, his totally life ruined because of his hyper-obsession. Did he induce an undiagnosed mental problem ? Probably, considering he threw away his wife, fry, ally, all of it just because he saw this chick 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 catch her raw via his intricate hidden cam network all around her theatre. He even planned out a schedule for her :

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

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

700-1500 : Worktime ( pass clip fantasizing about her )

1515-1830 : SHE'S BACK, dark shit ( slip food off her table, she'll never notice )

1845-1915 : SHOWER ( jerk off again )

1930- ? ? ? : lookout man TV, do work stuff and nonsense ( boring )

Sleep is whenever : standstill by her window and twitch off while staring at her sleepy face.

Has he raided her panty drawer before ? netherworld yes, he's a certifiable"professional"now. Has he went inside her planetary house while she was sleeping and watched her from there ? Uhhhh….YEAH ! Has she unknowingly eaten his cum from those monumental containers of Greek yogurt she dusts off every employment ? more than than a cup by this point, he's sure. He knew her personal life better than anyone, even her own family ; the dubitable men she occasionally takes family at Nox, the nighttime where she cries herself to sleep, the ones where she binges on ice cream while watching nature docudrama ... but she always, and he means ALWAYS arrest in shape. Gym five times a week for an hour or so, always comes back sweating smoke and needing another exhibitor ( More fourth dimension to masturbate to her ). Every piece of her schedule planned out meticulously, plans A through Z of her casual routine, so you can think the surprisal when he woke up one day to image out she was gone to"write the rainforest"or some shit like that. He frantically searched her house for her whereabouts, taking some time to jack 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 colleagues mentioning the trips.

And what a fit he threw ! He would not be able to see her perfect physical structure, the way the sunshine reflected off her naked form in the exhibitioner, the way her ass and mammilla jiggled everytime she took a pace ... NONE of that for a month ! He stole some of her things out of spite, smashed some on the footing then buried them underneath oodles of trash, called her many, many obscene names when he was absolutely sure no one was watching. Within the low week he was going mad, a dog without a purpose, so to talk. He contemplated if aliveness was even worth living without Danielle anymore, and considered locking himself in her garage with a pretty self-destruction note, turning on the engine and letting demise tone ending him via carbon monoxide. He was right there too, freshly-showered and cleaned to look soundly for Danielle and with a note on the splashboard, 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 introverted ass out into the darker corners of streetlife, talking with fancy woman and small-time pushers alike until he got what he wanted. Finally, after spending unharmed twenty-four hour period trying to not get killed by the local Dominican gang, they recommended his grammatical case to a pharmacist, as long as they got to use his car for some of their more confutable activities on request. This disgraced apothecary, essentially working as a freelance drug Cook now, took one expression at him, said something snide about"stalkers ”, but then whipped up a gram of powder, which he handed to him in a tiny plastic bag.

"Under ANY portion, DO NOT sniff THIS. Shit is airborne and snorting the intact thing'll obliterate ya…"

The pharmacist droned on and on, but this was really only the first stride in the stalker's architectural plan. The contract adaptation is that, during a video shout with her family, he'll dump the non-lethal amount of money of powder into the air circulation system, knocking her out matt within a few minutes. He'll have a very shortly windowpane to get inside her house and do whatever he wants to her while her family watches on-call ( muted of form, the last thing he wants to take heed is her mother's anguished vociferation ), and when he's done he'll gingerly leave her body outside as he burns her theatre down. In the region she was living and in the middle of an economic receding, this was essentially a one-way just the 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 occlusive at cipher to see this revenge planned out.

Back in the exhibit, he waits a few second, his heart pounding and sudor beginning to run down his cheek like he ran a marathon carrying a 20 kilogram backpack. piece of ass, it's getting hot and he feels aflutter even before the actual deed ... shtup ! He considers calling off the unhurt matter, that lilliputian piece of his tortured mind begging him to not go through with it but before it can get any clutches, he has his hood up and is briskly walking towards her firm. Thank God no one cares what happens on this reach of road, as he quickly glances around and leaps over her fencing to get through her humming AC unit and ventilation system car. Doesn't supporter his face that it is hot as shtup, the hottest summer on record for the retiring few days, and the sweat begins staining his cover already. Hearing the sounds of her perfumed voice chatting and laughing along to her family, he sits back and listens for a few consequence, donning a balaclava so that her family will sustain no theme who he is. Heading over to the ventilation shit, the stalker precariously empties just a maculation of the powder into the ribbon of his gloved hand, holding his breather as he moves his vibration bridge player over to the air matter, dropping it inside without a indorsement thought.

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

Contrary to some multitude's experiences with time, the 30 passes as fast as the guy could count and without regret he smashes the window by her backdoor with a brick. Ignoring the questions and shock from the video class, he reaches inside the tattered window and unlocks it, slipping inside and moving his way quickly to the"living room ”, in which she's TV calling her kinsfolk on the couch. indisputable enough, the powder has dissipated and she lies completely passed out on the couch, wearing some champaign dungaree and a t-shirt that left much to the imagination ... but he didn't need much to imagine, he's seen her naked one C of times. Pressing the mute button on their TV, he has a naughty thought and writes his epithet on a nearby adhere rag of newspaper, showing it top as day to the kinfolk. As soon as his intent becomes clear, the family is cleared of their unseasoned phallus, the men balling their clenched fist, turning purple in madness as they shout muted menace of violence to the masked prowler. Some have their phones out, probably calling the law 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 script around her, caressing her supple flesh for the first clock time, leaving wretched trails of his own perspiration. She's always looked like a sleeping angel, individual too innocent for this world or the next. Whatever, the stalker is going to try out to her that life can get real to anyone really quickly. Flipping her top down, in a second base he has ripped the seat of her jeans in half, her plump ass cheeks bursting out of the tear. 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 knickers 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 chassis. He plays with the privileged lining of her ass a bit, tracing his digit around and darting into his digit before withdrawing his finger. He doesn't dare smell his finger and instead scratch the scent all over his hammer, using his dick ( now"lubed up"with her filthy ass scent ) to slap any piece of visible figure on her body, including her case and weaponry. Now that he's actually doing it it seems really loose, like the homemade fleshlight he practiced on beforehand.

He lowers his look so that he's in wrinkle with her asscrack, diving his clapper into her dickhead like Husain's WMDs are hidden in there ( excuse the alliteration ). Tastes a bit like bastard, but whatever, he has been waiting for this moment for a yr. At the Same metre he works his digit deeper into her ass, burying his finger 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 gens with his tongue as it licks her asshole, he spells her terminal name with his finger buried inside of her, a little fun side bodily process before the main event. He looks down and sees that he has actually come without even being aware, the small white puddle already staining the floor. Not caring how sloppy he leaves the crime panorama, it'll all be gone anyway, he uses his hand to cup most of it, using it to literally slap her in the face so hard that he's afraid it might wake her up. Other than a tiny, natural jerk, she settles back into slumber and he unbend his own dickhead just a bit, cum seeping into her nostrils as she breathes in his life-giving substance. The stalker admires his handiwork a bit before his cock is back to full hardness and he sticks it without a indorse thought all the way into her ass. Probably a bad idea, as he soon realizes the reason why multitude always lube up. Yes he's stuck in her squeezing ass tunnel and it feels like nothing on this Earth, but he can't twist himself back out. His first attempt actually hurts, cutting the tip of his phallus off from oxygen. Looking around frantically, he is the luckiest guy on Earth as a small ampoule of olive oil sits on the nearby java table. Leaning over, his sweaty chest touching her back, he grabs the phial and begins pouring it into her ass to let himself out. After initially seeming futile, he slowly starts to feel spring and he allows himself to withdraw from her ass, pieces of shit from her national depths clinging to his shaft. However, he stops from fully withdrawing himself, leaving just the head buried in her, and, giving himself a moment to breathe, thrusts himself all the way back inside her. Thankfully, it's not so rigorous this time and in a bit each drive feels heavenly, her bastard having molded perfectly around his cock. He wishes this second can last forever, but he knows it'll be cut shortstop 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 twist in his knife thrust, he makes certain to explore her profundity, eliciting a bit more pleasure for himself and grabbing her tit 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 metrical foot being lifted off the ground every time he thrusts. Sliding his rooster completely into her ass, he occasionally takes it out to slap her impudence, spraying diddly-squat patch all over her nerve and crack. By the tenth minute her whole ass was red from his slapping, the outer tintinnabulation of her ass swollen and looking rightly abused ( her insides probably look the like ), but the overall tenderness of this state keeps the prowler satisfied. In order to stop coming at this pointedness, he begins focusing on the random shit around her house : trying to consider every individual piece of paper from her job that she has left on the kitchen table, the various put photos of her and her family, the pencils scattered about haphazardly succeeding to her laptop. No issue what he does, he does have to give into the primal urge eventually.

Deciding to bide in her, he humps Danielle like a rabbit a few times, his hips bucking involuntarily into her. His vision blurred a bit by hallucinatory stars 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 Mexican valium deep into her ass. The residue of the forget me drug cover her internally so deeply and thoroughly it would probably require surgical assistance to get rid of all of it ; she'll be shitting cum for awhile. However, he can't savour the moment much as he's pretty sure enough that sirens are coming, so he picks up Danielle ( which isn't too difficult ) and carries her sleeping body back outside, laying her on the hard terra firma while he puts the final stride of his programme into apparent movement, taking out a small feeding bottle of clear fluid. This is the final gift from the shamed pharmacist, what is essentially a container of homemade napalm. He walks into the house one last clip, breathing in deeply the smelling of the sex, waving one finis teasing goodbye to her kinfolk and he pours the contents of the bottle out all around her kitchen, making sure to turn on the stove. With a flick of a match, he makes certainly to already throw a take to the woods start by the time he tosses it on the napalm, the whole way going up and belching smoke. His centre watering from the dryness, he sweeps Danielle off her feet and runs out of the house, in which a small crowd is beginning to gather. For all they know, he's just a concerned neighbor 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 sirens screaming as he says a few word of honor to the paramedics. Realistically, she'll just be all right, she just might feature walking exit for awhile. As the house goes up in a brilliance and he drinks a bottle of water, he sees her fellowship's car outside. Giving one last looking back at his pretty, unconscious Danielle, he makes a mad dash towards his car, the next few seconds being a blur as he speeds off, watching the commotion in his rear aspect mirror.

trade good matter he still has the repose of that drug powder when he feels a bit pissed off at Danielle, wherever she is .