I had been watching you for months. It started simple, as it always did: trailing behind as you made your way to and from work, learning what stores you shopped at, what bars you frequented. I learned everything there was to know about you when you weren't safe in home. Of course, I couldn't be satisfied with that for long. Soon, while you were off to do your chores at the same time you always did, I was breaking into your home. Basking in your perfume, pleasuring myself in your shower while smelling your clothes. Anything to feel just a little bit closer to you.
You had felt it. The unwanted eyes on you, the sense of dread and lack of security in your day-to-day. As if some malevolent force had entered your life, but you just couldn't put a finger on what it was. You would come home, and you swore everything would be just a little out of place. A bottle just a few inches from where you left it, your shower curtain opened just a little bit wider. Everyone insisted that you were bring paranoid; you lived in the safest part of town, and who could ever want to hurt a hair on your pretty little head? They called you crazy; told you you were being ridiculous. Eventually you started to believe it yourself.
I really should thank them. If they had taken you seriously, I would have had to abandon you.
Eventually gallivanting in your empty house wasn't enough either. I already knew when you fell asleep, knew which spots on your floor didn't creak. It was so simple to slip inside in the middle of the night, inch my way to your bedroom, and just watch. Watch you toss and turn in the night, as if your subconscious knew something was off, but couldn't do anything about it. As I grew braver, more comfortable seeing you at your most vulnerable, I got closer. Close enough to stroke your hair. To inhale your aroma. My breath tickled on your face, though not enough to rouse you from your slumber.
I had intended to keep watching you. For weeks, months. I didn't intend to become so obsessed, you have to believe me. But you were so beautiful, laying there. So innocent. So exposed. So... easy. The urge crept up on me, the need for more. It wasn't enough to just watch, just smell, or even the soft touches of your hair. I had to have more. I tried to fight it, to resist my impulses, but you had a way of bringing out the worst in me.
I shed my own clothes and crawled on top of you, our weight sinking the mattress as I let my body envelope yours. Your eyes shot open at the unexpected pressure. You went to scream, but my hand covered your mouth and only a pathetic, muffled sob could escape your lips. I used my greater strength to maneuver your head, opening your neck to me. My lips latched on, grasping at your skin, my tongue sending electricity down your body.
My hands trailed the rest of you; I had been watching you for so long, I knew your body well. I easily tore away the fragile fabric of your nightwear, embracing the warmth of your skin. My excitement could be felt pressed against you. I released your neck to look at you, and I saw it. The apprehension. The confusion. But most of all, the fear. Tears pooled in your eyes, and I couldn't stop myself from throbbing against you. I positioned myself at your entrance, your eyes growing wide as you understood what was about to happen. You struggled, futile as it was, your eyes pleading with me, begging me to stop. My hand moved from your mouth to your jaw, forcing your eyes to meet mine. You made one final appeal to whatever humanity I had. All I could do is shake my head. "I'm sorry, little one. But I just can't help it."
With that, I thrusted inside you, your body betraying your mind as you widened for me. You tried to move your head away, to imagine yourself anywhere else but here, but I wouldn't let you. My grip on your face was firm, and your attempts to close your eyes were met with a fist in your ribs. "Look at me, sweetheart." I insisted, "I want you to remember every detail of tonight."
And so you obeyed, afraid of how else I could hurt you if you didn't. I pounded into you mercilessly, like an animal. I had no regard for your feelings, nor for your comfort. What I was doing to you was something more primal, a carnal need that had been building in me the entire time I watched you finally being relieved. Your cunt was slick as an odd mixture of dread and arousal sent your head spinning. You didn't want to enjoy it, didn't want to give me the satisfaction, but the longer I claimed you the more you felt your mind slip away, and with it your resistance.
My own pleasure became too much to bear. I bottomed out inside of you, twitching as I emptied every ounce of frustration, lust, and desire directly into your womb. The warm sensation filling you sent you over the edge, and I felt you tighten around me, as if your body was doing everything it could to keep me inside you. But the moment couldn't last forever. I pulled myself free, rising from the bed and looking at down at you. Your chest rose with heavy breaths, your eyes barely open, exhaustion threatening to overtake you. I calmly got dressed as you laid there, nearly catatonic. I walked out the door, finally reaching some level of contentment.
I left that night, and you soon let your fatigue force you back to sleep. You woke up sticky, your bed drenched with sweat, unsure if last night was real. I watched you go about your day, as I always had; everything was exactly as it had been the last several months. No detours, no breakdowns; You didn't tell a soul what had happened. I wondered if the secrecy came from a sense of shame, or something else.
My answer came when I again approached your door that night, ready to once again bypass the lock, only to find it already open for me, as if it were an invitation. I could only smile to myself.
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