Killing Heather

Chapter 6

Another few days have passed, and I’ve been thoroughly enjoying the view granted by my voyeuristic little helpers that I had hidden strategically in her bedroom. The cameras I used are high quality, run off cellular data, and also capture audio as well.

I’ve never m*********d more in my life. My feeble attempts to shed the boiling desire that seems to perpetually nest in the soft fleshy sack hanging under my battered c**k became more and more desperate, and frustrating. My hand almost instinctively reaches beyond my belt when I think about my girl now. After all, she has to be asking for this right? She’s built herself up to become an object of obsession. What can I say. I’m obsessed.

The inside of my 93’ catfish Camaro was trashed with screenshots of private information, naked photos, and a backpack filled with supplies I’d been collecting in her honor.

I want to say her name, but I don’t want to waste the first time it leaves my lips. I want to say it to her.

She knows I exist now. Without a doubt in my mind, but I’m somewhat lost at what my next move should be.

I know what I want.

Her.

I want to feel the pleasure of her drowning wetness, and warmth wrapped around my s****l beacon. I want to feel the edges of her beautiful body grip around my painfully erect p***s. I need-

I begin to forcefully masturbate again. This time I remove my pants completely, ignoring that I’m sitting just down the road from her house on the side of the street in complete daylight. I grab the base of my bodies’ favorite weapon and squeezed with unnecessary force. I wince with the pain. My c**k is almost numb to the touch with how much use I’ve been getting out of these cameras.

It’s a quiet rich neighborhood. I comforted myself with the prospect of being uncatchable.

“I’m invincible.” I mutter to myself as the sickening feeling in my stomach is replaced with muted ecstasy. I rapidly stroke the stretched, and veiny spear my body had prepared for me to fight my feelings.

Thoughts of her washed over me, and I lose myself to the fantasy of using her body for my personal reasons. Imagining her forcibly sprawled on the mattress, I begin to sweat. Just the idea of her being unable to stop me as I laid soft kisses of worship along the lines of her skin give me more motivation than Physically fathomable.

The motions of friction between the calloused skin if my palms, and the chapped flesh of my c**k become dedicated to finished what I have begun. I wage war against myself. The sensations of pleasure quickly overpowered by the pain of my self inflicted injuries, and I’m forced to stop.

A single bead of infuriated semen oozes slowly from the head of my failure.

FUCK-

I slammed both of my clenched fists against the cold leather of the steering wheel. Now I’m angry.

I can’t make myself orgasm anymore.

That has to be over fifty times in the last few days.

Fuck this s**t. I’m not scared anymore.

She doesn’t know what I look like. She doesn’t know who I am.

Maybe I should change that.

I clutch the two dozen roses sitting in wait, fasten my pants, and step out of the car.

The sunlight is blinding.

With a gift in hand, and my best shirt on; I walk confidentially to the edge of her driveway. Taking a short pause to appreciate the work she puts into the outside of her home.

Well- soon, OUR home.

I trot my happy ass to the front door, and I find myself standing under the shade of an awning. Hanging plants with brightly blooming perennials compliment the soft white paint of the siding.

Without much thought or consideration I lift my fisted hand, and rap my knuckles against the study metal door that hid my girl from me.

The door swings open, and there she is.

I feel her eyes ripping holes through me.