This story is not mine, it was written for me about someone I know by a friendly stranger ;)
This bitch has been gone for damn near a 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 whole life ruined because of his hyper-obsession. Did he have an undiagnosed mental problem? Probably, considering he threw away his wife, kids, 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 catch her naked via his intricate hidden cam network all around her house. 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 (spend time fantasizing about her)
1515-1830: SHE’S BACK, nighttime shit (steal food off her table, she’ll never notice)
1845-1915: SHOWER (jerk off again)
1930-???: Watch TV, do work stuff (boring)
Sleep is whenever: Stand 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 “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 life better than anyone, even her own family; the dubious men she occasionally takes home at night, the nights where she cries herself to sleep, the ones where she binges on ice cream while watching nature documentaries...but she always, and he means ALWAYS stays in shape. Gym five times a week for an hour or so, always comes back sweating bullets and needing another shower (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 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 voicemail 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 body, the way the sunlight reflected off her naked flesh in the shower, the way her ass and tits 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 ground then buried them underneath piles of trash, called her many, many obscene names when he was absolutely sure 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 death release him via carbon monoxide. He was right there too, freshly-showered and cleaned to look good for Danielle and with a note on the dashboard, ready to turn the key then he stopped, seeing some old beakers covered in cobwebs. For the next few weeks he actually managed to get his introverted ass out into the darker corners of streetlife, talking with prostitutes and small-time pushers alike until he got what he wanted. Finally, after spending whole days trying to not get killed by the local Dominican gang, 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 disgraced pharmacist, essentially working as a freelance drug cook now, took one look 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 circumstances, DO NOT SNIFF THIS. Shit is airborne and snorting the entire thing’ll kill ya…”
The pharmacist droned on and on, but this was really only the first step in the stalker’s plan. The abridged version is that, during a video call with her family, he’ll dump the non-lethal amount of powder into the air circulation system, knocking her out flat within a few minutes. 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 mother’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 recession, 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 nothing to see this revenge planned out.
Back in the present, he waits a few minutes, his heart pounding and sweat beginning to run down his face like he ran a marathon carrying a 20 kilogram backpack. Fuck, it’s getting hot and he feels nervous even before the actual deed...FUCK! He considers calling off the whole thing, 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 stretch of road, as he quickly glances around and leaps over her fence to reach her humming AC unit and ventilation machines. Doesn’t help his nerves that it is hot as fuck, the hottest summer on 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 family, 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 shit, the stalker precariously empties just a speckle of the powder into the palm of his gloved hand, holding his breath as he moves his shaking hand over to the air thing, dropping it inside without a second thought.
“Count to thirty...shit should work by then. Whatever you do, I don’t want no links back to me…”
Contrary to some people’s experiences with time, the thirty passes as quick 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 family, he reaches inside the shattered window and unlocks it, slipping inside and moving his way quickly to the “living room”, in which she’s video calling her family on the couch. 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 imagination...but he didn’t need much to imagine, he’s seen her naked hundreds of times. 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 clear as day to the family. As soon as his intent becomes clear, 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 phones out, probably calling the police 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 first time, 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 real to anyone really quickly. Flipping her upside down, in a second 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 pants 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 around and darting into his finger before withdrawing his finger. He doesn’t dare smell his finger and instead rubs the scent all over his cock, using his cock (now “lubed up” with her nasty ass scent) to slap any piece of visible flesh 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 face so that he’s in line with her asscrack, diving his tongue into her asshole like Saddam’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 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 name with his tongue as it licks her asshole, he spells her last name with his finger buried inside of her, a little fun side activity 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 scene, 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, instinctive jerk, she settles back into sleep 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 cock is back to full hardness and he sticks it without a second 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 attempt 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 table. 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 feel give and he allows himself to withdraw from her ass, pieces of shit from her internal 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 tight this time and in a bit each thrust feels 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 guts with no regard for her health, which is exactly what he’s doing. Adding some twist in his thrust, he makes sure to explore 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 pair of socks, her feet being lifted off the ground every time he thrusts. Sliding his cock completely into her ass, he occasionally takes it out to slap her cheeks, spraying shit flecks all over her cheeks and crack. By the tenth minute her whole ass was red from his slapping, the outer ring of her ass swollen and looking rightly abused (her insides probably look the same), but the overall tenderness of this state keeps the stalker satisfied. In order to stop coming at this point, he begins focusing on the random shit around her house: trying to count every single piece of paper from her job that she has left on the kitchen table, the various framed 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 primal urges eventually.
Deciding to stay 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 rope deep into her ass. The rests of the ropes cover her internally so deeply and thoroughly it would probably require surgical 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 sirens are coming, so he picks up Danielle (which isn’t too hard) and carries her sleeping body back outside, 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 smell of the sex, waving one last teasing goodbye to her family 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 sure to already have a running start by the time he tosses it on the napalm, the whole room going up and belching smoke. His eyes 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 words to the paramedics. Realistically, she’ll just be fine, she just might have walking issues for awhile. As the house goes up in a blaze and he drinks a bottle of water, he sees her family’s car outside. Giving one last look 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 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.