Page 15 of Executing Malice
She’s always been quick to sleep. To fill the room with the quiet whisper of her breathing. Even years later, I recognize the moment it changes, and I know it’s safe to leave my hole.
I keep my shoes off as I descend the rolling ladder into the puddles of shadows stretching across the hallway. I leave it down in case I need to run up quickly. I haven’t in the last month but why mess with a good thing?
Despite every nerve in my body needing to go to her, to crawl into bed behind her and drag her into my chest, I slip into the bathroom instead to leave my second gift. Granted, she’s notgoing to know about it, but I will. Every morning when she takes a shower, every night when she puts on her lotions, I’ll know it’s me she’s massaging into all that beautiful skin.
Shivering with anticipation, I tug myself free, careful not to catch the row of piercings on my waistband.
The cool air kisses the column of steel balls beneath my shaft. They gleam along their perfectly aligned tracks, matching the crossed barbells speared through the fat, purple head. The sweet pressure has my breath coming out in a shallow huff. My cock pangs with the swelling. The sting of pain that only heightens the pleasure as I stroke.
The glide of metal against skin, the friction of beads sliding under my palm with every pass has me biting back a moan. It fills my head with images of filling Leila, stretching her pretty cunt to take every bar. Watching her struggle and buck as I slam home again and again, driving deeper until she’s screaming and thrashing.
I’m still caught in the lure of her web when I step over to the sink and the neat row of tubes and bottles tucked into one corner. Each one is placed in perfect order. I’ve watched her use them a hundred times and replace it in the exact same spot.
I reach for her jar of moisturizer. A glass pot with a white lid that comes undone easily with a few twists of my hand. The cream is thick and white. Nearly to the top but used enough to show a tiny decline. I know she bought it two weeks ago and usesit twice a day. Rubs it gently in circular motions across her soft cheeks and down the curve of her slender throat.
My hand moves with slow, deliberate strokes as I stare at the jar and imagine the scent of it on her skin as I bury my face into the arched column of her throat and drive my cock deep into her willing body. The sweet warmth of her would envelop me even as the skin beneath my lips vibrates with her throaty groan.
I love the sound of her climaxing. Love the way her body coils and her toes curl, and her shallow pants halt for just a second before expelling in a beautiful sob of release.
That phantom sound is enough to have me spilling between my fingers. Thick, hot ropes land inside the jar, desecrating the delicate cream. My essence absorbs into the satin mess, leaving only the lingering hints of salty seed that I blend with my finger before replacing it on the counter.
I reach for her body wash next.
It’s a lot of work, I get that, but it’s a sacrifice I am prepared to make if it means coating her with my scent. Sending her out into the world with my seed lathered into every soft inch of her. Like a dog in heat, I want to mark her so every other asshole knows she’s fucking taken.
The scent of vanilla and shea butter fills my nostrils as I pop open the cap and align the opening with the head of my cock. The plastic rim catches on my bars and tugs.
I briefly wonder if she’ll understand if I ever tell her why this is necessary. Would she be flattered and see it for what it is — my love letter to her? Or would she be appalled?
Maybe I won’t tell her. A gift doesn’t always need to be announced, after all.
I’m already sensitive, but it only takes closing my eyes and imagining her unloading a generous glob in her hands and running it across her tits ... down her belly ... between her legs to get me back in the game. To get blood swelling my cock.
I’ve had her pussy drenched with my cum, but the thought of her rubbing it between her lips herself...
I think I might make this a tradition. Even after we’re together. It’s a lot of work, but worth it for the knowledge that she’ll spend her day marked.
Granted, I might have to pace myself. Twenty-six isn’t old. I have loads of spunk — no pun intended — in me, but the second round without help takes longer than I’m willing to admit.
Nevertheless, I’m a man of my promise. I complete my mission with the fortitude of a soldier.
I cum in the bottle.
I drizzle my hard work with her body wash, shake out the last drop before screwing the lid back on and give it a light shake. Then, I set it back exactly where it was.
But wait. There’s more!
Not finished, I turn back to the sink with my abused cock still in hand like a skewered slug. It continues to pulse with mute aftershocks as I squeeze and coax the final bead of cum from between the magic cross and drag it along the bristles of her toothbrush.
“Perfect,” I breathe, proud of myself.
Satisfied with my work, I tuck myself back into the elastic band of my sweats, cast one last look around the room, and head for the bedroom.
It’s so still and silent as I step into her space and pause in the doorway. The only sound is her breathing, soft and rhythmic curling into the darkness. Her silhouette lies exactly how I last saw it in the monitors with the moonlight painting silver lines across the hills and valleys of her body.
She’s curled on her stomach beneath a thin sheet, one leg kicked free. The hem of her oversized T-shirt rides high on her hips and even in the shadows folding around her, I know her cunt is ready for me.
For a month, I have perfected the art of relearning every spot she likes to be touched. I have explored every sensitive nerve that makes her moan and leak. I have trained her, her body ... her cunt to expect bliss and release under my touch. Leila may not know I’m here, may not understand why I’m doing this, but her body does. It recognizes me and I know her.
