Page 4 of Stalking Christmas

“I... I have to go shower, or I’ll be late,” I stammer, as I place my empty cup in the sink and rush out of the kitchen to getready, without meeting Daisy’s eyes. Damnit, now I need a quick cold shower before I head to the diner. I rush into the bathroom, locking the door, and turn on the hot water, with the images still playing in my mind. The vision of large, veiny hands grabbing onto my hips and forcing me to stay still, as a hard, thick cock pounds into my pussy without mercy, causes a throaty moan to escape my lips. A faceless man using me in any way he desires, while I am forced to take it, and have all my holes filled with his cum. He would call me his slut, and a whore, and tell me how he was going to fill me up and rip me apart. Fuck, now for sure, I have to make myself cum before I leave the house.

As I strip off my pajamas, I get a good look at myself in the mirror above the sink. My eyes are wide, my dark pupils blown, and a pink flush is rising across my cheeks, neck, and chest. I look like I’m high on lust, the thought makes me want to giggle at how insane I am. Shit, who needs porn? I get off on my own imagination. My nipples stand erect, painfully waiting for someone to suck and play with them, even though there is no way that will happen unless it’s my own touch. I slide my hand down my neck, using my fingers to grip and tighten on the column, as I picture rougher, longer digits committing the act instead of mine. My core clenches, spasming and reminding me that I’m so empty. I need something to fill me up, but I have no desire to trek back into my room to get my B.O.B.

My gaze lands on my roller brush on the counter, and I bite down on my lip as I contemplate the thick, round wooden handle. After a peek at the door to ensure I engaged the lock, I wrap my fingers around the cool handle and slowly allow it to trail down my chest, encircling first my right nipple and then my left, causing a shiver to race up my spine, before I push it down my abdomen, and use it to apply subtle pressure to my throbbing clit. I run the cool surface through my drenched pussy lips, coating it in my slick moisture before bringing it back upto my clit, and tapping lightly against the throbbing surface. Fuck, it feels good, but I need more. I need the sensation to be harder, rougher. I push the end of the handle to my tight hole, pressing just the tip inside of me before pulling it back out, as a moan escapes my lips. My head tips back with pleasure, my loose auburn hair cascading down my back, the sensation of the silky tendrils against my hot flesh adding another level of stimulation.

I push the handle further inside of myself, thrusting forcefully and quickly, until it’s buried as deep as it can go. My wetness coats its surface, and I’m forced to wrap my hand around the bristles to keep it from sliding back out. The bite of their hard, prickly surface on my fingers and palm makes me want to feel it slapping against my wet pussy lips. I need a slice of pain with my pleasure, to experience all the sensations wrapped into one. I drive the bristles against my swollen flesh, the bite of pain ripping another moan from my lips, and forcing me to bite down hard on the inside of my cheek to contain it. My rhythm picks up, thrusting roughly and urgently inside of my cunt, as a shiver causes my limbs to tighten, and a blast of heat starts at the nape of my neck and makes its way down my limbs. My legs shake as the orgasm rises, causing me to have to grasp onto the sink with my other hand, and keep myself upright.

My mind conjures up a large man in shadowed darkness, his face hidden behind an ominous mask, covered in blood, with huge, menacing fangs. Only his hazel eyes are visible, and filled with molten heat. His large hand circles my throat, stopping all my air from flowing into my lungs, while his other hand clutches a sharp blade at my breast, and nicks my soft, creamy skin over and over, and rivulets of blood slide down my hot flesh. His cock pounds into my pussy at a punishing tempo, not trying to pleasure me, but instead to punish me for being a disobedient brat. The sound of skin slapping against skin, and his manly, gruff, grunts fill the air. “Come for me, whore,” he demandsnear my face, as he drives himself hard one last time inside of my throbbing pussy, and my orgasm explodes over me, in wave after incredible wave of euphoria. I cum, soaking the hairbrush, my fingers, and the sides of my thighs, my breaths coming too quickly, as I try desperately to gulp in air and calm my racing heart.

An incessant pounding on the bathroom door brings me back to my reality, and with a grimace, I pull the hairbrush handle from inside of my sensitive pussy, and then throw it in the sink. The water is still running in the shower, and it is no doubt cold now that I’ve lost myself for so long. Fuck, I drag my hands down my face, my musky smell reaching my nostrils. I reach forward and shut off the water, annoyance filling me at how I just allowed the fantasy to overwhelm me.

“What?” I yell through the door, as I stare at my flushed appearance in the mirror.

“You better get out here now! Toothless just vomited up parts of your comforter that he decided to chew on! Oh, Jesus, not my shoes, Toothless!” Daisy screams, and I hear her footsteps rushing away from the door, and my dog barking like a psycho.

I turn on the sink and wash my hands and the brush, looking longingly at the reflection of the shower in the mirror, and knowing that I no longer have time to take a shower before I have to leave for the diner. I stare at my appearance, and I don’t like what I glimpse.Get it together, Chrissy. You don’t have time for shadowed men and great fucks, you have to worry about keeping yourself alive.

I push away from the sink, wrap my ratty, old robe tightly around myself, and prepare to fight a massive cane corso over the last blanket I had left. How did my life get here? This certainly wasn’t where I thought I would be at twenty-seven.

“CHRISSY! He’s got my shoe in his mouth! Come get him!” Daisy’s high-pitched scream almost shatters my eardrums, as Irace out of the bathroom door and forget all about my shadowed man.

Chapter 5

Santa

After rifling through their dirty recycling bins before I escaped undetected last night, which was not exactly one of my finest moments, I managed to grab items with Chrissy’s full name, and that of her roommate, on them before I gave up on my night of stalking, and returned home, filled with frustration that I didn’t get to satisfy my craving for her death at my hands.

I’ve barely slept more than three hours, the anticipation and excitement of a new hunt, and capturing my delectable prey, keeping me wired. I tap along my keyboard at rapid speed, doing a deep dive into everything Chrissy Cranbrook. My eyes focus onthe information appearing, and painting a less-than-inspiring picture of the woman who caught my unhinged interest, by getting me thrown out of the bar.

She’s twenty-seven, according to her driver’s license, and a Boston native. She spent most of her formative years being shuffled from one house to another in the foster care system. A brief mention of her mother, in a sealed document I hacked, provided information on her one and only parent, who seems to have taken her own life when Chrissy was three years old. Despite what must have been a challenging youth, she excelled academically and in sports, and seemed to stay out of trouble.Go figure, with a mouth on her like she has, I’m surprised.Her multiple achievements materialize before my eager eyes, and they all appear to end with her high school graduation. The bitch even won a national spelling competition in the eighth grade, and was homecoming queen two years in a row. Why didn’t she go on to college? I can’t imagine a school not wanting to accept her, based on her grades alone, and give her a free ride.

More and more questions arise in my mind at the puzzle before me. I check her bank account records next, and observe that she’s almost constantly in the red, despite seeing two different paycheck sources being deposited. Her credit cards are all maxed out, and she doesn’t seem to be using them to buy frivolous things for herself. Instead, I see payments for mundane things like her phone bill, groceries, and pet store charges. A recent charge for a thousand-dollar vet clinic catches my eye. That must be for the damn beast that could have eaten me last night.

Her social media accounts are nothing but pictures of her, her roommate, and a huge black dog who has to outweigh her by more than fifty pounds, yet she treats it like a baby. Nothing indicates that she has a significant other, or many friends aside from the one named Daisy. She has videos and pictures ofdifferent park settings, all within the city and all featuring her hellhound.This chick is boring as fuck, and I would be doing her a kindness, ending her existence.

A few more clicks of my fingers bring up any possible interactions with law enforcement. More boring shit, years ago, she got a few speeding tickets and one drunken, disorderly citation at nineteen. I keep looking; there has to be more on this woman, something I can use to lure her to me, wrap my chains around her neck, and rip her beating heart out of her chest. My cravings for destruction and mayhem are rising to unmanageable levels. Soon, I will lose control, and then it will be a bloodbath.

What’s this?The police have a sealed file? I break open the file with no issues, my skills unmatched for their flimsy attempts at keeping me out, and my eyebrows rise to my hairline. It seemsMiss Perfecthad battery and assault charges against her when she was seventeen. She did community service instead of time, for assaulting her ex-boyfriend with a crowbar, after he attacked and beat her and her best friend, and tried to rape them.Interesting.The pictures of the condition she left him in make me feel all warm and tingly inside, or as close to that as possible, since I usually feel nothing at all. It seems there’s rage buried under all that creamy skin.Delicious, I can’t wait to experience it, and mar its perfection.

I quickly take note of his name and current address, so I can pay him a visit and release my current frustrations on him. Not because I give a shit what he did to Chrissy. I don’t have the capacity for most human emotions, having been diagnosed years ago with antisocial personality disorder. The broad spectrum of petty things, like remorse or kindness, don’t interest or move me. My sociopathic and psychopathic tendencies usually lead me to focus only on satisfying my own needs. Right now, I need to see blood splattered across various walls, and hear thescreams of someone begging me for their worthless life. The fact that Mark Fisherville hurt Chrissy once upon a time means nothing to me. He’s a means to assuage my fury at losing my prey last night.

I take note of the time on my computer screen. I wonder if she’s working at the diner listed as her other source of employment right now. My cock jerks in my sweatpants at the thought of seeing her. It could be amusing to have her serve me, without realizing that I’m the same guy from last night. There is no way she would be able to correlate me with the male she had thrown out of the bar without the Santa costume. I wonder if I could charm her, make her fall for me, and then use that as a way to get her alone. I could drug her and take her to my cabin, far from the bustle of the city, and do whatever I want to her.

Fuck, now I’m hard, as I picture her tied naked and spread eagle against the rough, wooden St. Andrews cross I made. Her body would be covered in lashes from my leather whip, and bite marks from my teeth. She would look so beautiful with tears sliding down that perfect face. Her mouth filled with one of my ball gags, and a collar around her throat, restricting her airflow. All that creamy alabaster skin just waiting for my wicked ministrations, and that rich, soft, auburn hair wrapped around my fist, as I force her neck to arch for me.

My phone vibrates on the desk next to me as I palm my aching, hard cock, the images flooding my brain causing me intense pleasure. It stops and starts again, the annoying person pissing me off, and breaking my concentration on my depraved daydream. I wonder if her cunt is as pretty as her face, and if she’ll scream and plead for her life, while I fuck her pussy with my cock, while shoving one of my blades in her ass. “What?” I shout, as I place the call on speaker and pull my cock out, fisting it, and giving it deep, hard strokes.

“Is that any way to greet your father, Nicholas?” A deep, annoyed, cultured voice questions. “I’m positive your mother is rolling in her grave, thanks to your deplorable manners.”

I squeeze the pierced tip of my engorged cock firmly, swallowing a moan, and yank on one of my testicles, the hit of pain making my cock even harder. “Pretty sure she’s also rolling in there after watching the rotating line of young whores you continuously stick your cock into,Dad. You know, the ones young enough to be your daughter or granddaughter.“ I bite down hard on my bottom lip, the taste of blood adding further enticement to my aroused state as I pick up speed, my fingers tightening around the metal piercings in my shaft, as I stroke myself rapidly toward completion.

“You don’t get to judge me, boy.” His bitterness makes the corners of my lips quirk upwards, fuck, I love winding him up. The truth is I couldn’t care less who he sticks his dick inside of. “No, only the taxpayers whose money you spend, so your whores spread their legs wide for you can judge you, but they don’t, do they? ‘Cause I make sure to wipe clean all your sins before they can get wind of them.” A grunt leaves my lips as I cum all over my hand and lap, the warm sticky fluid giving me momentary relief from all my aggravation, at having to deal with this asshole. I raise my fingers to my mouth and lick them clean, the salty, bitter taste of my cum hitting my tongue, and making me want to explode all over again. The truth is, if I could contort my body so I could suck my own cock, I’d probably never leave the damn house again. Alas, I can’t, so I need my victims to help slake my thirst.

“I have something I need you to take care of. Where are you now? I’ll send your brother to you.” I wipe the remaining cum on my pants and shake my head in vexation. This asshole only calls me when he gets himself buried in shit. Otherwise, he’s happy to ignore his oldest son just fine. “I’m heading out in a bit.Whatever it is will have to wait, something else already has my attention.”

“Table it, Nicholas, whatever it is, it’s not important. Christmas is in four days, I can’t have this shit spilling into the news,” he argues, and I can hear the fear he’s trying to hide in his tone.

“What did you do?” I get up, grab my phone, and head towards the bathroom to shower. I wonder if I can make him beg me for my help. It might make me feel better, even if I know nothing he does is ever sincere. If I’m a psychopath, it’s because he was my example and role model growing up. A huge, frustrated sigh sounds down the line, and I hear the distinct sound of his office door slamming. Shit, this must be really bad if he’s actually in his office, and not out schmoozing with lobbyists and fucking prostitutes. “Your idiot brother was involved in a hit-and-run last night. He was driving high as a kite on coke, and a hooker was giving him a blow job, when it happened.”

---