This squawk has been gone for red cent 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 take 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 solid lifespan ruined because of his hyper-obsession. Did he have an undiagnosed mental problem ? Probably, considering he threw away his married woman, tiddler, friends, all of it just because he saw this chick at a coffee shop 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 apprehension her naked via his intricate hidden cam network all around her house. He even planned out a agenda for her :

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

615-645 : SHOWER ( ego line : jerk off time ! )

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

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

1845-1915 : SHOWER ( jerk off again )

1930- ? ? ? : Watch TV, do work material ( boring )

nap is whenever : stall by her window and buck off while staring at her sleepy face.

Has he raided her panty drawer before ? snake pit yes, he's a certified"pro"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 monolithic containers of Greek yoghourt she dusts off every employment ? More than a cup by this point in time, he's sure. He knew her personal aliveness better than anyone, even her own kinsperson ; the dubious men she occasionally takes home at night, the nights where she cries herself to sleep, the one where she binges on ice pick while watching nature documentaries ... but she always, and he means ALWAYS stays in shape. Gym five times a week for an hr or so, always comes back sweating bullet train and needing another exhibitor ( Sir Thomas More time to masturbate to her ). Every piece of her schedule planned out meticulously, plans A through Z of her daily routine, so you can imagine the surprise 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 star sign for her whereabouts, taking some fourth dimension to jacklight off into her tack, checking every nook and chap but she was nowhere to be found until a voicemail came in from one of her colleague mentioning the trips.

And what a fit he threw ! He would not be capable to see her perfective tense body, the way the sun reflected off her bare form in the shower, the way her ass and titty jiggled everytime she took a stride ... NONE of that for a month ! He stole some of her things out of spite, smashed some on the priming then buried them underneath plenty of trash, called her many, many obscene names when he was absolutely trusted no one was watching. Within the first week he was going mad, a dog without a purpose, so to speak. He contemplated if life was even worth living without Danielle anymore, and considered locking himself in her garage with a pretty suicide note, turning on the engine and letting decease departure him via atomic number 6 monoxide. He was right there too, freshly-showered and cleaned to attend ripe for Danielle and with a line on the dashboard, ready to work the key then he stopped, seeing some old beakers covered in cobwebs. For the future few weeks he actually managed to get his introverted ass out into the darker turning point of streetlife, talking with harlot and small-time zori alike until he got what he wanted. Finally, after spending whole days trying to not get killed by the local Dominican bunch, they recommended his display case to a chemist, as long as they got to use his car for some of their more confutative activities on request. This disgraced pharmacist, essentially working as a freelancer drug cook now, took one looking at him, said something snide about"sneak ”, but then whipped up a gram of powder, which he handed to him in a tiny plastic bag.

"Under ANY circumstances, DO NOT snuff THIS. Shit is airborne and snorting the entire thing'll kill ya…"

The pharmacist droned on and on, but this was really only the showtime step in the stalker's plan. The abridged version is that, during a telecasting call option with her family, he'll plunge the non-lethal amount of powder into the air circulation scheme, knocking her out flat within a few mo. He'll have a very short window to get inside her house and do whatever he wants to her while her kin watches on-call ( muted of course of action, the last affair he wants to hear is her female parent's anguished cries ), and when he's done he'll gingerly leave her eubstance outside as he burns her house down. In the surface area she was living and in the middle of an economical niche, this was essentially a one-way ticket to permanent homelessness. Now this design does fathom fucked up and let's admit it, it is a fucked up plan. But it is really instance of this guy's fucked up mindset, and he'll stop at nothing to see this revenge planned out.

backbone in the face, he waits a few proceedings, his pith hammer and sweat beginning to run down his facial expression like he ran a endurance contest carrying a 20 kilogram rucksack. Fuck, it's getting hot and he feels spooky even before the existent deed ... FUCK ! He considers calling off the whole affair, that little piece of his tortured mind 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 house. Thank God no one cares what happens on this stint of road, as he quickly glances around and leaps over her fencing to reach her humming AC unit and public discussion car. Doesn't help his heart that it is hot as screwing, the blistering summer on record for the past few years, and the swither begins staining his back already. Hearing the strait of her cherubic vocalism chatting and laughing along to her class, he sits back and listens for a few moment, donning a balaclava so that her family will accept no idea who he is. Heading over to the ventilation shit, the prowler precariously empties just a fleck of the powder into the palm of his gloved hand, holding his breather as he moves his shaking hand over to the air thing, dropping it inside without a mo thought.

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

Contrary to some people's experiences with time, the thirty passes as quick as the guy could bet and without sorrow he smashes the window by her backdoor with a brick. Ignoring the question and stupor from the telecasting family, he reaches inside the shattered window and unlocks it, slipping inside and moving his way quickly to the"living elbow room ”, in which she's TV calling her family on the couch. trusted enough, the powder has dissipated and she lies completely passed out on the lounge, wearing some champaign dungaree and a t-shirt that left much to the imagery ... but he didn't need much to conceive of, he's seen her raw hundreds of clip. Pressing the mute button on their TV, he has a naughty persuasion and writes his public figure on a nearby stick flat solid of newspaper publisher, showing it clear as day to the kinsfolk. As soon as his intent becomes cleared, the category is cleared of their young extremity, the men balling their clenched fist, turning purpleness in furore as they shout muted scourge of violence to the masked stalker. Some have their sound out, probably calling the constabulary or something. Whatever the instance, Danielle is finally his.

His mouth salivating like a starved dog when it sees a T-Bone steak, he reaches his violently shaking manus around her, caressing her supple flesh for the first gear meter, leaving slimy track of his own perspiration. She's always looked like a sleeping Angel Falls, someone too innocent for this mankind or the succeeding. Whatever, the stalker is going to shew to her that living can get real to anyone really quickly. Flipping her top down, in a second he has ripped the butt of her jeans in half, her plump out ass face bursting out of the tear. He fumbles a bit with his own gasp, having to silently chastise himself for having such horrifying 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 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 itch the fragrance all over his cock, using his cock ( now"lubed up"with her nasty ass aroma ) to slap any patch of visible flesh on her body, including her face and blazon. Now that he's actually doing it it seems really easily, like the homemade fleshlight he practiced on beforehand.

He lowers his typeface so that he's in line with her asscrack, diving his natural language into her mother fucker like Hussein's WMDs 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 Same time 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 percentage point in lubing up for her delight, what's even the point. Spelling her figure with his tongue as it licks her asshole, he spells her net figure with his finger buried inside of her, a little fun incline natural action before the principal event. He looks down and sees that he has actually come without even being aware, the small White River puddle already staining the floor. Not caring how boggy he leaves the crime scene, it'll all be gone anyway, he uses his paw to cup most of it, using it to literally slap her in the face so hard that he's afraid it might arouse her up. Other than a diminutive, natural tug, she settles back into slumber and he relaxes his own asshole 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 pecker is back to full hardness and he sticks it without a second base thought all the way into her ass. Probably a bad idea, 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 pull himself back out. His first off attempt actually hurts, cutting the tip of his penis off from O. Looking around frantically, he is the luckiest guy on terra firma as a small vial of European olive tree oil sits on the nearby coffee tabular array. Leaning over, his sweaty chest 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 find open and he allows himself to withdraw from her ass, part of turd from her intragroup profoundness clinging to his shaft. However, he stops from fully withdrawing himself, leaving just the head buried in her, and, giving himself a minute to breathe, thrusts himself all the way back inside her. Thankfully, it's not so close this time and in a bit each thrust tactile property heavenly, her asshole having molded perfectly around his turncock. He wishes this moment can last forever, but he knows it'll be cut little either by his incoming orgasm or the law. Whatever comes first, it doesn't stop him from rearranging her moxie with no regard for her wellness, which is exactly what he's doing. Adding some winding in his thrust, he makes indisputable to research her profoundness, eliciting a bit more delight for himself and grabbing her nipple for a handhold through her shirt. Squeezing particularly hard, he tears her shirt in half so now she's completely naked except a duet of socks, her feet being lifted off the ground every clock time he thrusts. Sliding his dick completely into her ass, he occasionally takes it out to slap her cheeks, spraying diddlyshit scrap all over her cheeks and tornado. By the tenth min her hale 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 philia of this state keeps the stalker satisfied. In order of magnitude to stop coming at this point, he begins focusing on the random asshole around her sign of the zodiac : trying to count every single spell of report from her job that she has left on the kitchen tabular array, the various redact photos of her and her family, the pencils scattered about haphazardly adjacent to her laptop. No matter what he does, he does give birth to give into the primal impulse eventually.

Deciding to persist in her, he humps Danielle like a coney a few multiplication, his hips bucking involuntarily into her. His vision blurred a bit by hallucinatory hotshot 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 low rope deep into her ass. The quietus of the ropes cover her internally so deeply and thoroughly it would probably expect surgical helper 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 siren are coming, so he picks up Danielle ( which isn't too hard ) and carries her sleeping body back away, laying her on the hard ground while he puts the final step of his plan into motion, taking out a small bottle of clear fluid. This is the final gift from the disgraced pharmacist, what is essentially a container of homemade napalm. He walks into the house one last time, breathing in deeply the olfactory property of the sex, waving one survive teasing good day to her mob 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 certain to already make a die hard start by the time he tosses it on the napalm, the entirely elbow room going up and belching smoke. His eyes watering from the dispassionateness, he sweeps Danielle off her base and runs out of the business firm, in which a small crowd is beginning to gather. For all they know, he's just a concern 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 femme fatale screaming as he says a few password to the paramedics. Realistically, she'll just be finely, she just might suffer walking yield for awhile. As the house goes up in a glare and he drinks a bottle of water, he sees her household's car outside. Giving one last tone back at his pretty, unconscious Danielle, he makes a mad dash towards his car, the next few irregular being a fuzz as he speeds off, watching the disruption in his rear view mirror.

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