Page 18 of Claimed By My Stalker

Carrie nods in response and then thinks about it for a moment. “Safe word?” she asks, as I rip off her silk shirt to reveal her perky tits.

“What do you want it to be?”

She thinks about it and says, “Orange”

“Why Orange?” I ask with a laugh.

“It’s a color that makes me feel… you know, safe.”

I straddle her on the bench and squeeze her breasts lightly, then I clamp my lips around her nipple and swirl my tongue around it. I lick her breasts down to her navel, tasting her salty skin. Unsatisfied, I move further down to her pussy. I could smell her arousal through her panties, driving me crazy. Hooking my fingers in her underwear I ripped them off and kissed her swollen lips. Her thighs tighten around my head each time, I press my tongue into her glistening pussy, and I feel her muscles clamp around my tongue as I edge further in. My mouth and mustache are coated in her juices. I begin to lap at her eagerly, swallowing the streams of her arousal.

“Oh God, Oh my God!” she cries.

Her eyes roll back and her body twitches as a leg-shaking orgasm washes over her. She arches her back and lets out a guttural scream. I unhook her and Carrie lies limp on the torture bench with her mouth open, staring blankly at the ceiling.

I strip myself down, raise her recovering body so that her ass is angled upwards, then swirl my tongue around her puckered hole. Carrie jumps, startled. We exchange looks, mine is hungry and mischievous, and hers is one of a little uncertainty.

"Let's do it," she says.

I walk over to a drawer and take out a bottle of olive oil.

“What’s that?” She inquires.

“It’s not lube, but it will work just fine.”

I grip her waist and pour a generous amount of the oil over her forbidden hole and let it drip down her ass. I hear Carrie hold her breath.

“You should breathe, it’s easier that way.”

I edge my cock into her ass slowly and carefully, the oil makes it easier to slide it in, no friction, and barely any resistance. The tip slides in, so I push until the thickest part of my girth is in. I can hear her breathing increase the farther in I go. Half of my length is lodged in Carrie’s tight ass, and the feeling is already indescribable. I fear I won’t last the next two minutes. I begin with a slow steady rhythm until an insatiable lust consumes me.

I raise her bubble ass up and strike it at intervals as I fuck her roughly. Carrie covers her mouth with her hand to conceal her screams. I reach for her torn silk panties and stuff them in her mouth to contain her cries, they turn to muffled screams soon after. The sound of her ass cheeks slapping against me fills the room, and I continue to slam into her.

I try to conceal how vocal I'm becoming but I can't help my moans and groans. I'm not in control of my body, I have no control whatsoever. I’m overwhelmed with how tightly her forbidden hole grips me, how snug it feels. Her sphincter tightens up around me, I groan aloud and give a final thrust as I begin to empty my balls inside her.

I draw her head closer and take the stuffed panties out of her mouth. Carrie lets out a loud gasp for air. We stay silent, nothing can be heard in the room except the sound of our panting breaths. The torture room suddenly doesn’t look the same anymore.

6

Carrie

The story of my stalker started in Virginia back home in the U.S., I've felt like I have been followed and watched my whole life. Perhaps that is an overstatement but it started when I was in high school. A seventeen-year-old naïve girl, oblivious to the world around her. I was old enough to know I was being stalked and most likely in danger.

As for my stalker, I have just never found out who, I received anonymous presents on my birthday and on valentine’s day since I turned eighteen. My parents didn’t think it was a big deal.

“You have a secret admirer Carrie, you should be glad,” my mother would say.

I had gone to the police every year to report this anonymous stalker, they investigated once when a female cop told everyone she thought I was telling the truth. I never saw the female cop again, the next time I asked about her whereabouts, I was told she was transferred to another city. The cops found nothing and in all my subsequent visits I was labeled as crazy.

This person knows every tiny detail about me, it used to fuel my panic even more. I had to leave and get away from that life, even if it meant changing my name and identity.

I glance at the left wing of the topmost floor and recall Enzo telling me it's out of bounds to me, Enzo isn't here this time to stop me, and neither is the big man himself because he has some urgent things to attend to this morning.

I find Carlo's lounge empty but squeaky clean, nothing dangerous or sensitive in sight. This bedroom is pretty much the same as his private lounge. As I make to leave, I notice a door that leads further somewhere, and my curiosity takes the better of me.

I open the door of what appears to be a private study, again it’s one of the most boring and mundane ones I have ever seen, but just when I’m about to give up on this rabbit hole I see another door.

I almost change my mind about this particular door, but I surge forward giving it just a light shove. My intention is to peep in and turn around putting an end to my quest in Carlo's forbidden place. This place is nothing like the other parts I have been to, there’s a cluster of pictures on the wall, and below that is a medium-sized wooden box filled to the brim. One of the pictures looks familiar. I make to close the door but change my mind.

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