6 comments/ 10361 views/ 2 favorites Stalk By: Recidiva I felt a tingle of sensation across the back of my neck, the hair rising there and then a spark of something like cold dancing across my breasts like lightning that tightened my nipples as well. I was being stalked. Again. He was around here somewhere, I could feel him. He wasn't your common predator. He wasn't out for the meat of the body, he was after everything. Body, sure, why not. Mind, soul and heart too. No fun if you miss something. He'd have to know he could chew my entire being up like gum and blow a bubble out of me. I'm his prey and that's the way it goes. In the great circle of life, Simba, the predator always becomes prey, those are the rules of the game. But at least they get their predatoring in first. Prey just get to hide and get et. We're not the top of the food chain, we should get over the idea that we are. We're all gonna be worm food some day, and virus and bacteria munch on us all day long. We're prey to each other, we're prey to anything that can get close enough to take a bite. Might as well get yourself some teeth and have a taste of what it's all about. I prey on the predators. I stalk muggers, rapists, you name it. I throw out fear and timidity into the ether, it's like hanging a steak on my ass to bring out the dogs, like bleeding into water to bring sharks. Predators are not that difficult to overcome, all you have to do is surprise them once. I'm a walking trap, perfect bait and perfect hook. Then I own their ass. I've castrated men and watched them bleed out. I've fed on the pain of the paingivers for a long time, I'm one of them. Turning a corner, there was blood. Lots of it. Handwriting. "Come out and play. You know I miss you." Fuck. More blood. "Murder, rape, pride and vengeance. Four sins for the price of one." Quadruple fuck. Who punctuates in blood? A tearing sensation starts at the base of my spine and travels up my nerves at jackhammer speed. Rage, pain, fear, bloodlust from the copper tang in the air, all wrapping around my spinal cord like the caduceus. Kundalini fire and snakes rise until glass starts to shatter in the windows above. My eyes lose focus and with it goes my balance. I hit the brick wall hard and slid into the filth along the alley floor. Shattered glass digs into skin. My nose was bleeding, my ear was bleeding. I wiped the blood along the sleeve of my jacket and watched the slick black-in-the-moonlight stuff sink into the fabric dispassionately. Pretty. "I do have a temper, don't I?" I started to giggle, and then it slowly turned into something different. I curled up with my arms wrapped around myself on the alley floor and cried in blurred racking sobs. He was watching. I deserved it, and it was coming. This was just the slow click…click…click of the roller coaster starting to go up. I fucking hate roller coasters. Footsteps. I didn't even bother moving. Only flicked a little blood his way off a wave in his general direction. "Why don't you go beat up some girl scouts or something and leave me alone." "Girl scouts are my 2:00 appointment." I laughed. Not a happy laugh, but you get what you get. "You've got style. I'm sorry. I'm very sorry. I am. I don't know how to fix it. I can't be more sorry. I don't know what more to be sorry about, I'm that sorry. What was with the blood? That's a lot of blood. It's melodramatic." "I had to get your attention. I've been watching you. It was just too much of a temptation. Far be it from me to allow a prison term to go uncelebrated. I have a gift for you." "You shouldn't have." "I haven't yet…but I will." He dragged me up from the alley and pressed me against the wall, his fingertips hard, biting into my chin so he could see my eyes. My head slammed back against the brick and I winced, my lip splitting from the force. "You look so helpless. I almost buy it." He says with a mock sympathetic voice. My lashes flutter and I spit blood out. "Well, I don't know, you just swept me off my feet, I've never felt this way about a man befo-" My head slammed back again and I winced. "Ow." He watched me and let his eyes drift down to the trickle of blood. With a smile his grip shifted and my hands were pinioned in the glass and grit lining the bricks. His mouth dipped to lick the blood from my lips and then to nibble on them, nuzzling at my throat and whispering in my ear. "There's my girl. You taste good. Try this one." Vertigo and panic, my strength, my life, my thoughts went rushing the wrong way. My knees started to tremble and gave. If he hadn't been holding me, I would have fallen to my knees. Muscles stripped of strength, neurons stripped of pathways and connections, emotions stripped of context and I was spinning, collapsing in on myself like a star that has lost its last atom of stability and becomes nothing but gravity, crashing in on itself. Everything that was me just wasn't mine any more. It was his. He was pulling everything out of me and he drank it all down slowly. Easy. This was easy for him. I'm so easy for him. Quadruple fuck on a crutch. "Okay, that's a good one, I didn't see that coming." He smiled and his eyes burned into mine while my head did the wobbly thing. He looked pleased. He looked…stronger. He looked…more. I was weaker, I was less. Heat and power poured off him in waves and my only warmth was what he granted me because I had none of my own any more. He smiles and his face lights up in admiration. I'm at my weakest and he still wants more. "Damn. You're beautiful when you're completely helpless, terrified and confused." He kissed me hard and I bit at his lips. At this point not to hurt him, that was only a byproduct. I needed to taste him. He drew back and shifted his weight to slightly less than crushing force. He smiled again and tilted his head, then bit his own lip and smeared the blood with feather light strokes along my split skin, warm and wet over my lips and stinging my tongue. His hands slide up my arms and his body supports mine against the wall. His hands travel up my arms until he hits sleeves, then he growls. Clothes rip cleanly until there's only skin. His hands slide over my arms, my shoulders, to cup my face in his hands as he bends his head. He feeds me just enough blood, just a few drops, to be sure I know what he tastes like. I was ravenous and I couldn't get enough of him. I'd gone so cold. My hands clawed at him, his clothes, but he stopped me easily. He only allows me to get my hands under his shirt, to pull it from his pants. There's broken glass on my hands and it's digging into my palms and through his skin. He laughs and says "Harder." He releases his cock from his pants and shoves me back against the wall, driving deep inside me with a hard invasive thrust. My eyes roll back into my head and he secures my legs around his waist so they're locked behind him and my weight is supported. He leans forward and nuzzles my throat gently, but gentle isn't what I want and I'm bucking against him. He holds me there against the wall, not moving. All I can feel is his throbbing heat and my own need clawing at me from the other side. He leans forward and laughs softly and my spine melts. "Do you belong to me?" He asks. Panic and ego rise up and I'm pinned but still defiant. I can't bring myself to say the word, so I shake my head from side to side in a desperate "No." He nods and says "Okay, we'll do this your way." He takes my glass-embedded hands and crosses them over my breasts, twisting them and tearing skin. "This is what you have to offer yourself. This is all you have to give yourself. This is how you feel." My eyes close and even panic and ego has given way to pain. Bleeding warmth on my hands and his withdrawal and judgment have broken me and all I feel is shards. My mouth reaches toward his but I'm restrained and my head falls back on the brick. I open my eyes and stare into his and say between ragged breaths "Ask me again." He looks dubious and I know I have to say more. "Please." He takes one of my hands and lifts his shirt, placing my palm on his own chest and leaning into my touch. "Give it to me. I can take it, can you?" His eyes hold mine and his heat and throbbing pulse gets harder, more demanding. My body clenches around him hard and I shudder from the pleasure and pain. He says softly "Do you belong to me?" I won't close my eyes, I can't. All I say is a sincere "Yes." That was the right answer. His eyes flare with possession and triumph and his hands come up under my ass, kneading and supporting me, driving me back onto the wall hard, helpless and resplendent. No more thought is possible, only the sensation of being fucked hard by a hard man against a hard wall, pain and force and passion with each intense stroke and drive. His strength and power overreach all my bounds and I'm overwhelmed completely, lost. With his final predatory thrust I scream against his throat and bite at him, shaking, sweat and blood mingling, his strength still holding except for an occasional quiver of his straining thighs, until even they relax and I'm cradled against him. He kisses the top of my head and this moment is the most perfect of all moments. His hands drew together below my chin and he stares, then steps back and withdraws every inch of support, every mote of warmth, until he has only one finger below my chin and he holds me there with his gaze. My eyes can't focus and he's illustrating again what I am without him. Cold, cold, cold… He said softly "The blood on the wall, the blood that you taste…it's mine. There's no extra victim here, love. Just us." He withdrew his gaze, his will and his hand. I slump and he catches me. I am positioned against his chest by his hands and I hear the beating of his heart. With each moment he gives me back something to replace what he took. There's a shift and I'm oblivious, but my skin is covered with the warmth of his coat that he places gently around my shoulders and adjusts with attention to every detail. He slips away from me and I'm left standing, cold, shivering, my eyes closed, tears and blood mingling on my lips. I'm hunched inside a black leather jacket that is my new home. The shoulders are too wide and the sleeves are too long and I never want to take it off. And then he was gone. Some parts of me collapse even further, not having something that strong to lean on, push against, hold me up…sick. That's the final sick that I want to tear out at the roots. I miss him when he's gone. Slow footsteps tapped away to a rhythm I knew, but I couldn't recognize at first. Then I start to laugh, just as devastating as the crying had been. On the wind drifts the whistled tune of "Let's Misbehave." I can't help being me, any more than a knife can help being sharp and cutting when pressed against flesh. I may stumble in the dark, but there's no doubt it's my dark. Anything that bumps gets bumped back. But right now I've been changed. This is new. This is sick. This is taking the strength I have and turning me into a vine that can only grow along the paths he allows. Someone has a sense of humor. I'm the newest guinea pig in the new, fun, expanding world of soul art. Gosh…you shouldn't have. This isn't evolution. This is a T-Rex grafting the wings of a pterodactyl on its back. Hey, maybe I'll get to fly. Those were my wings that just got ripped off. I braced myself against the wall and stood back up. So much for melodrama and dying in an alley. That would be too easy. To home and one of those owie, wincing showers that involve foreheads on cool tile and lots of steam. Time for some guidance, some company. Someone to talk to. I get all cotton comfy (this is a different thing entirely than silk comfy) and lie down in bed. This is my meditation, my phone line, my access. Time to talk to me when I'm not me. Time to go swimming in the ocean of what's out there to catch. Throw the bait and see who comes. It's not always nice, but it is always informative. I get over the feeling of being schizophrenic by saying firmly to myself "schizophrenics are sick because their voices DON'T talk to each other." This is anything from a way to pass the time to a way to learn profound things I didn't know I knew until I ask. I close my eyes and there's really no preparation, just something more like a ringing of a bell, sacred space or profane space, doesn't really matter. Just space for new ideas. I think "Okay. That sucked. Someone talk to me." Whispers and shapes and fleeting rearrangement floods my mind. It's dark, it's always dark in my head. I don't see pictures. I feel. I think words and concepts, but it's not external, it's only a welcoming of other points from which to view. Show me what you see. I hear a soft chanting voice "Someone's got a boyfriend, someone's got a boyfriend." I emote displeasure. "Cute. No, that sucked. Really. There are hickey marks from how bad that sucked." Lifting of emotion into a mental smile "You had fun. You miss him." Immediately my shoulders tense, but I'm not stupid enough to lie to myself in this place here, I get mocked. I get in enough trouble being stupid just telling my own selfish version of the truth that I know better than to make that mistake AND compound it with lies. Attempts to cover my own ass gets said anatomy whupped. They're smarter than me and they will make me pay. I'm rewarded for honesty in this space. The only place where I've found this to be consistently true. My shoulders relax and the drama drains out of me. "I do. Am I sick?" Immediate answer. "Yes" in a serious but teasing voice. "How sick?" I ask. Everything spins for a moment and I'm in a different place than where the question started. "You're not so much sick as stupid." I scowl. "I'm not stupid." Quicksilver certain laughter. "Na…na…na…naaaa…naaaaa…naaaa…Can you say…blind spot?" My lips twist and my teeth bite the inside of my mouth softly. "You're not going to give me a hint, are you?" More laughter. "Do we ever give hints? Okay, okay…how's this one…" there is a rising of the wind and a great storm, melodrama in large purple swathes "Til Birnam forest come to Dunsinane…" there's a crashing of lightning and then a packing up of props. The stage manager remains asking for a review. "How about that? That's a prophecy for you." I grab a handful of thought and toss it in the Stage Manager's face. "It sucked. Meanie." He smiles and flows back into nothing, not balding or smoking anymore. "You know we're too smart to be prophets. You want to try to see the future, you do it." He steps back into the shadows. I take a deep breath and expand…out…out…out…not too far, just far enough. Start somewhere and end somewhere, too far and it's meaningless, too short and it's not meaningful enough. Not that way. That way. I flow out along time and framework, possibilities, choices and what would be the most interesting. I squint and wince and the bottom drops out of my capacity to comprehend and I'm in free fall. But it's good. This is new air I'm falling through. I'm in new altitudes and there are all sorts of challenges. It hurts. It's going to be fine. This is art. Play it out. I take a deep breath and smile. "It's gonna suck and it's gonna be okay." I hear soft clapping and then all faces, thoughts and meaning is gone and there is only me. Not separate from my voices, but full, whole and happy. Countless soft kisses and unspoken murmurs of love and reminders of how connected I am to all things address my brow, hands pass over my heart and I am healed. Sieves pass through my mind and strain out all that could cause me to do myself harm. I drift in Nirvana in good company, myself. "Thank you" I whisper aloud before I fall asleep. I hear a ripple of soft laughter and the mental equivalent of having my hair ruffled. "De nada, Chica." The phone rings and I wake up, rub my eyes and check the caller ID. Unknown Name. Oh, what the hell. I pick up the phone yawning. "Yes?" "What are you wearing, bitch?" I shrug and lift the sheets. "Cotton comfy stuff. That's a totally different thing than silk comfy stuff, by the way. Have we met?" There's a slight pause. "Don't fuck with me, I'll come to your house and I will tear you up." I yawn again. "Cool. Do you have a pen? Here's my address. Wait…first thing, it's embarrassing, but I do have to ask first. Are you a GOOD rapist? I mean, a really GOOD one? How big are you and how long will you last? Bring Gatorade. Bring a towel. My orgasms take a very long time and I have yet to find a rapist that really understands me. I've been disappointed before. Do you have a heart condition? Do you like to cuddle? I don't. When you're done you're just going to have to leave." Complete stall on the other side. The guy's trying to turn the key and he can't get the motor going. I start to smile. "No, really. Can I call you? What's your number? I have silk, I promise. It tears easy. You don't sound very committed. Do you have…you know…a problem?" The tone in his voice changes. "You are one fucked up bitch." My voice sounds sad. "I know. I'm so LONELY." He hangs up. I shrug and hang up too. Amateur. Sometimes I'm afraid that all I'm doing is churning out better predators. The guys that can keep up with that are dangerous and I'm only sharpening them. Oh well. I make breakfast and check my email. Phone rings again. Unknown Name. I answer. "Yeeees?" Same guy. "You know, I've been thinking. That rape thing, it was out of line. I'm sorry, ma'am." "Not a problem. Thanks for the call, it was fun. Take it easy, man." He's stunned. "O…okay. Um…can I call you?" I shrug. "Sure." I hang up. I think about my chosen life's path briefly, but there's really nothing new to me today. I just think that if I were Jesus, I would have loved to give Pontius Pilate a brain hemorrhage or at least hemorrhoids. Until I figure out why Jesus could have but didn't, I'm missing a part of my puzzle. Some days I think that Jesus did and that Pilate spent the rest of his days uncomfortable on his stone throne. Those days I'm a Christian. I may be sick, but dammit, it's my sickness. I might as well enjoy it. If other people don't like it, they'll burn me in town square if they catch me. Big if. If God doesn't like it, then let me know. I distinctly hear God laugh at some of my ideas. I think God thinks I'm amusing. But then, there could just be an echo in my brain. I beat up emotional and physical vampires as a hobby. I know the predator mind. I know the violence, the hunger, the rush. I know it so well, that I consider myself to be a sufficient judge. If not dispassionate, at least informed. This seems to be my path. The dark, twisted paths of the mind as well as the dark, twisted path in the parks that set me up as bait. But I'm a ringer. Ain't no bell rung louder. By the time I finish with these guys, everything they own, inside and out, is bleeding and will scar. There's a story of Odin and Loki…as father and son they'd walk the earth and encounter mortals. They'd be poor beggars and they'd judge mortals they met and Loki would find fodder for his chaos. If you were mean to Loki and Odin…woe betide your crops. If you were a good host, you'd get a little present. Poor Jesus goes around being nice and he gets tacked up. Loki is the God of Chaos and he finds artistic prey. If I'm ever on a cross, I'm going to EARN it. The sound of my footsteps echoes those of Odin or Loki knocking on your door, looking hungry and frail. It depends completely on you whether or not this moment leads to your crops failing or you finding gold in your cabbage patch. I can just get inside people. Sometimes that is great. Sometimes that is horrible. Lust is lust, rooted in the body, blossoming in the mind. I understand desire. I understand heat. I know where it lives. Stalk You really should feel sorry for these guys. Here they are just trying to have some fun and get a rush out of provoking fear from someone and feeding on that. I have an understanding of how energy flows in a body. Take the energy of thoughts, I don't have to read them, but I can drain them or amplify them. I can blow thought patterns like fuses. I can reach in and…twist. Put me among humans and…well, I can have fun. I feel like an older sister who looks at my younger brothers and I can't bear to watch them destroy themselves or others. So I try, in my way, to teach them. I feel too close to the damage to just let it happen. I know what I need. Breakfast. My cotton comfies can pass for public attire, so I just head out in search of food I don't have to make myself. The best kind. I put on his leather coat. My life is probably an elaborate hoax just so that I can reach the moment of what it feels like to put my arms through this coat and bask. If this is true, I decide life is worth it. He was waiting in the hallway. I close the door as if I don't see him, wondering if he'll make a move. When he doesn't I sigh and turn to face him. "What is this, enlightenment by tantrum?" He smiles and walks toward me. "Haven't you ever heard of Tantrum Yoga? I tried Tantric, but it hurt my back." He held out a hand. "Dance with me." I smiled at his tone of voice. "Do you ever say please?" His smile widened also "Only if you're very, very skilled, and I'm incapacitated." I started to laugh and reached up to grasp his hand. He pulled me to him with a strength and grace that made the bottom of my stomach fall out. Free fall. "There's no music." I observed. He snorted "Who needs music? This is dancing. We only need a beat." "There's no beat." He took my hand and put it on his heart. "Yes there is. A very strong one. Perfect for dancing." I looked at him, felt his heart under my palm, and I started to cry. "I miss you. I'm so sorry. I miss you." He held me and kept rocking back and forth to the beat of his heart. "I miss you too. You're babbling. You know I'm always with you. Shut up and dance." He tipped up my chin and then held my face in his hands. He smiled gently. "I said dance, not cry." I felt a wobbly smile escape. "Well, maybe it's just 'cause you didn't say please. I'm not skilled enough, and you're not incapacitated by me." He laughed then. "Not incapacitated? No fishing for compliments. You know just how much you incapacitate me and you also know that you are skilled." "I'm skilled?" "You're skilled." "I'm very skilled?" "You're very skilled." "I'm very, very skilled?" He hesitated dramatically and I stepped on his foot. He winced dramatically. "Okay, you're very, very skilled." "I'm very, very, ve-" He looked exasperated and just said "Please shut up. Listen to the beat. Step on my foot again and you'll lose a toe." So we danced. He sighs. "You really don't know. You're so stupid. If you weren't so stupid this would be easier." I snuggle "So I've been told." "Wench." "Asshole." "Let's get something to eat. My coat looks good on you." We walk hand in tingly, crackly hand to a diner. Two folks sitting down to eat. Nothing out of the ordinary. He's got sunglasses on and I reach to take them off. "Hate those." His hand shoots out and he grabs mine. "No touching the glasses." I shrug. "Okay, but I'm not talking to you until they're off." He shrugs back. "You don't have to talk. It's nice to know the code. I'm never taking these suckers off now." I stick out my tongue and all I hear is the solid "chunk" of his teeth biting together. We look at our menus. He swears "It's too dark in here, I can't see." The sunglasses come off. I start to whistle innocently. I stare at him. "You're so handsome." He smiles and goes back to the looking for his breakfast choices. "Flattery will get you everything on the menu." "All at once?" "Bite by bite." I sigh. "Why are you here?" He looks me in the eye. "Because you're an idiot." "Oh. I try." "You succeed." My voice gets smaller. "What am I an idiot about? Please don't make me bleed." He relents. "No blood. Eggs. Time for ordering." I look up. "Where's the waitress?" It was a trap. "No, time for ordering you." My eyebrows raise. "You can try, I'm not very good at listening." His head shakes slowly. "Not that kind of order. This one happens whether you hear it or not." I scowl. His voice is sharp. "You know those morons you talk to? The ones that you cut on and cut on, they're bleeding out into the emotional water, they're dead but they don't know it? But you do? You're the moron. I'm the knife. Listen or bleed to death." My voice is very small. "Okay." "Okay WHAT." "Okay, I'll have eggs." "Wench." "I can't help it if you're so easy to set up." His foot met mine under the table and we both just sorta smiled and went back to calmly reading our menus. Peace. After breakfast he smiled, paid the bill, and walked away. Even took his glasses. Didn't leave anything behind this time except for the emptiness I felt when he was gone. I went through my day and went on being human. Watched some TV, ate some ice cream, fell asleep on the couch. I heard soft whisperings in my sleep, but I always do. Someone's always trying to tell me something, get me to pay attention, entertain me. I don't wake until I'm being lifted in his arms and I stretch and put my arms around his neck, starting to nibble there. He smiles. I growl. Soft growl. Baby tiger kitten growl. He says this softly. "One rule. No words from you. Nod your head if you understand." I nod into his neck and I'm silent. He sets me on my feet and removes my clothes with care and reverence. His hands pass over my body like ghosts, leaving a chill where they pass. I resist the urge to cover my body from the cold, because I just want to belong to him, belong with him. I hope my body pleases him He closes his eyes as if he's memorized me. "You're so beautiful. This is the only thing I know I can do for you." He lifts me in his arms again and lays me down on my bed, his eyes never leaving mine, and I'm hypnotized. Only when his head bends to kiss a part of my body that arches up to meet his lips do I close my eyes and give myself to him, give him my body, draw from him what he wants me to take. His hands slide up the outsides of my thighs and draw my knees up to rest on either side of his chest, open and waiting beneath him. His slide into my body was a yielding from both of us, a conquest of both of us, giving and taking and I couldn't get enough of him. He gave me all his strength, all his heat, all his love with his eyes, his hands, his force and restraint. An eternal blur of skin and shivers and moans. He took my mind from me, where I was overburdened, and gave me back a clean slate, a beloved woman, a forgiven temptress and a criminal granted clemency. He was my judge and my jury and he took all my sins into himself and showed me love that didn't have to bleed, a life that didn't have to revel in pain. He showed me what we could be together and it was perfection again, of a different sort, a different breed. My eyes opened to a new world that I could explore, a new way to be. I was breathless and helpless as a baby. He draws back and whispers "I love you." He smiles down into my dazed eyes and his humor casts a line through his tenderness. He shakes me gently and says "Say it." My softest, most reverent whisper. "I love you." And then he was gone. Really gone. Nobody to hold me up, nobody to push against, nobody to fear, nobody to hide from or run to. Just me. And…more. I was more. I didn't know what it was, but I was more and I didn't know myself. My body knew what to do, but I was clueless, and I had to learn to keep my mouth shut and just live this. Through this time whispers in my sleep guided me, helped me keep going. Muscles ached, blood, pain and tears flowed through me, and a child was born. I looked into his eyes and I saw. I saw. I stared for a good long time with tears running down my face, but what mother doesn't do that? It's normal. It's the way of things. It's horrible, it's wrenching, it's beautiful. He's so small. He's so helpless. He's newly born. He doesn't know anything. He can't be taught, he'll only learn what he wants to. He's stupid like his mommy. But he can be protected. I could protect him. I could understand him. I could shelter him in my arms and smile. I could be terrified at the truths he doesn't know, wonder how he's going to grow up. I look down at his little face and he's blowing bubbles. I smile. His eyes are crossed. I smile more. There are no words. I belong to him. Stalked Joey Hammond sat in a dark corner of the bar, unobserved and reclusive. A glass of straight Jack Daniels stood in front of him his throat still warm and tingling from his last sup. The blue grey smoke from his third Marlboro of the hour curled in wisps about his head and hung in the stale, motionless air. He breathed in the smells and aromas of the bar not visited for nearly a year. Familiar smells. And he watched the woman. Familiar smells. Familiar faces. He hadn't expected to see her in the bar and, despite his yearlong absence, she appeared not to have changed much. He was certain that he had. The unexpected sighting of Mary Hammond had thrown his plan out of skew. The drink had been by way of Dutch courage and, after his period of absence, he had to admit that it tasted good. But the plan had been for just the one shot of alcohol before a slow, thoughtful walk to the house that he shared with his wife. He had rehearsed the introduction speech a thousand times in his mind and was almost pleased with it. It was designed to be delivered to Mary in the comfort of their home, but now, with her sitting just the other side of the bar, the words that jostled for correct order in his mind seemed not to fit the occasion. How could he profess his love for her in a bar? And how, when it was her duty to wait for him, could she be sitting there, laughing and smiling sweetly with another man! Joey studied his wife's companion. Tall. Dark. Young. Younger than himself. He took another sip from the glass and felt the burning alcohol mix with the acidic bile that was rising from the pit of his stomach. Mary looked happy and this made Joey Hammond feel all the worse. How could she betray him this way, and with such a flagrant disregard for their marriage? The cigarette had burned down so far that he could feel the heat singe his yellowed fingers. He stubbed it out quickly in the overflowing ashtray and immediately lit another, inhaling deeply as if the smoke could obliterate his feelings of incensed jealousy. He continued to watch the couple as they finished their drinks. Thoughts and ideas rushed through Joey's head and, for a moment, his mood lightened as he realised that the tryst that he was witness to might be completely innocent. But this feeling was purely temporary as he watched his wife lean over and plant a loving kiss on the young stranger's lips. A red mist descended over Joey's mind and the anger began to build. He stood – still unobserved – and was about to cross the bar, fists at the ready. But Mary and her companion were suddenly leaving. Their glasses drained, purses and keys were collected from the table as they walked, casual and oblivious to his presence, towards the door. Joey knew that he should think before acting – this oversight had landed him in trouble before – but in this situation a quick decision was called for. He would follow them. The walk was not far and took the opposite route to that of Joey's home. He kept a safe distance behind the couple. They held hands, obliterating any possibility of innocence, in Joey's mind, and laughed and joked frequently. Their light-hearted chatter drifted on the light breeze back to Joey and incensed him. Haunted him. The couple turned the corner of the street and, for a moment, Joey lost sight of them. He hurried – not running but a sort of hasty scamper – to the corner and peered round. Although the air was still warm and humid, the evening was drawing in. The light fading fast as the gloom of night began to descend. Joey hated the night. Hated the dark. Mary and the young man had stopped in the street outside a small, compact one-storey house. It was a nondescript sort of place; white painted boards and small rectangular windows. The type of house that lined the streets of towns all over the country. As Mary and her companion – lover? – entered the house, Joey spotted a side gate. The latch was old and creaked a little but, apart from this noise, he was able to slip silently into the rear garden area. The sodium street lamp cast dark shadows around a grassed area that looked untended and a little wild and caused Joey to shiver slightly. The trees and bushes looked just as unkempt and proliferated throughout the garden. He quickly found a dense area that afforded him a view directly into the bedroom window. Joey watched again as Mary – or "The Bitch", as he had now dubbed her – and her young man entered the bedroom. Mary looked tanned and healthy – healthier than Joey did, at least. His year away had done nothing for his physique. She wore a simple pair of denim shorts, – a little too short, Joey thought – a white halter top and sandals. Her long, blonde hair, longer than he had remembered it, fell in curls about her shoulders and cascaded halfway down her back. Immediately the couple were inside the usually private room, the young, handsome man took Joey's wife in his arms. They kissed deeply and Joey watched them as their tongues entwined and probed. There was heat there; that was plainly apparent, and as the embrace continued it became obvious to Joey that the two would not simply be getting into bed and falling asleep. As if reading his mind, Mary unhooked the button at the waistband of her shorts, kicked off her sandals and shimmied the denim down her long, slender legs. She wore a pretty pair of blue panties and Joey could see his archrival eying her body with lustful anticipation. The young man seemed quite at home and smiled at Mary as he pulled her to him again. His hands gripped the hem of her halter-top and eased the tight garment up and over her breasts. Joey gasped from his uncomfortable position as he realised the "The Bitch" hadn't even bothered to wear a bra. Joey looked on as the young man began to maul the pert, round orbs of Mary's breasts. Her face seemed a picture of joy and contentment as she allowed him to roll the stiffening nipples between his fingers and Joey caught the little squeal of lustful joy as the man's fingers then stroked gently over the fabric of her panties between her legs. Mary's lover quickly shed his jeans and Joey gasped again. The bulge in his shorts looked impressive. No, more than impressive, Joey thought. Huge! Mary helped him off with his shirt and the couple tumbled back onto the bed laughing in their state of near nakedness. Joey wanted to act. He wanted to dash into the fray like a gladiator. He wanted to save the damsel in distress. But there was no damsel in distress, no one in distress at all, he realised angrily. "The Bitch" was a more than willing participant in this adulterous scene. Joey still wanted to slake his thirst for revenge but, strangely, something held him back. It was as if something was making him powerless to do anything but watch. As both Mary and her lover shed the last vestiges of their clothes, Joey could see that his first, reluctant impressions of the young man were correct. His muscles bulged in all the right places and his almost perfect physique seemed to compliment Mary perfectly. But the man's biceps were not what Joey – or Mary – were presently concerned with. The protrusion of manly flesh that stood firm and proud from his groin was indeed enormous. For a second Joey smiled as the proportions looked faintly comedic in relation to the rest of his body, but this, almost pleasant feeling was quickly doused as he saw the way that Mary looked at her lovers cock. Her expression said it all: lust; greed; hunger. Now on her hands and knees on the bed, Mary crawled towards her lover and, in particular, that part of his body that she so clearly craved. Joey looked on as her fingers curled slowly around the throbbing shaft and guided it towards her mouth. It looked to him far too large to fit between her lips. But "The Bitch" had other ideas. Her mouth opened so impossibly wide that Joey thought her jaw might dislocate. Slowly she took him inside her mouth. There was a smile on the young man's face as he looked down at Mary. His fingers gently pulled her head towards him as he eased another inch of inflamed meat between her lips. Joey realised that his wife was finding it hard not to gag on her lovers hardness but that she was clearly trying to get as much of his enormous appendage inside her mouth as she possibly could. Joey watched the young man slowly rock his hips back and forth. His eyes were closed, lost in the sensuous emotions that were overwhelming him. He seemed content to have no more than a third of his shaft in Mary's mouth and was building up a steady rhythm. Joey moved closer to the window. He was apprehensive about being observed by the occupants therein, but his need to see more – and possibly hear – was greater than the fear of being apprehended. With his nose almost pressed up against the pane he was happy that his view would be uninterrupted. "Oh baby! I want you inside me now!" Joey was delighted. He had been correct in his assumption that moving closer would provide him with auditory stimulus as well as visual. His wife's pleadings were faint but clearly discernable. The young man seemed more than pleased with Mary's suggestion and, extricating himself somewhat reluctantly from her mouth, pulled her down onto the bed with him. Joey looked on as "The Bitch" turned on her side and opened her legs wide. Her lover, his hard cock still throbbing and twitching but now with a sheen of saliva over the top third, crawled up behind her and pulled her leg up and back over his body. This operation pulled Mary's clean shaven pussy wide open and put her moist labia in a direct line with his cock. Joey wanted to close his eyes as the young man began to ease his big tool into Mary's pussy. He was jealous as hell – and angry – but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the spectacle he was witnessing. He could feel the strange pressure of his own erection and used his hand to press on the front of his grimy jeans to adjust himself into a more comfortable position. The minutes passed slowly as Joey watched his wife and the stranger as they coupled. He could see that Mary's pussy was stretched to the limit as she took more and more of the turgid meat that was being fed her. The room was full of moans and sighs that assaulted Joey's senses until he felt he could take no more. His own cock ached painfully and was in dire need of relief. He unzipped silently and withdrew the solid but small member. Masturbation seemed to be the obvious solution. As Joey stroked his shaft slowly he could hear his wife's moaning increasing in pitch until it became almost a wail. She was cumming and cumming hard. "The Bitch!" thought Joey as he caressed his balls. "The Bitch is cumming with another man's cock in her cunt!" "You want my cum, baby?" Joey's strangled thoughts were quickly returned to the window as he heard Mary's lover speak for the first time. His voice was deep and resonant and a wicked smile swept over his face. He had withdrawn his glistening telephone pole from Mary's body and was slowly stroking the length; keeping himself on the edge. If Mary did answer then Joey didn't hear her. Any vocal sound that she might have made was lost as her lover once again introduced the head of his mighty weapon into her mouth. But this time he was not as slow and gentle as he was before. This time he was close to climax and was urging Mary to swallow as much of his swollen weapon as she could. Joey gripped his own cock hard in his hand as he heard the orgasmic groan of his rival. His face was pressed up against the window and he jerked himself hard and fast as he watched the young man empty the contents of his balls onto Mary's sweet face and between her pert breasts. He seemed to keep cumming and cumming; great wads of sperm pooled in the valley of Mary's cleavage and splashed her face. Joey bit his tongue. If he hadn't he was sure that he would have cried out. There were bells going off in his head as the semen spurted from the tip of his penis and splashed the wall. As he drew breath the bells were still there – bells or sirens? Joey's cock still hung limp from his fly when he felt the familiar hand of law enforcement grip his collar. He turned and looked up pathetically into the uniformed face and knew that he was returning to jail. "But my wife….The Bitch…" he stammered. Neighbours were beginning to open doors and wander out onto the pavement, intrigued as to what was going on. Joey could hear the words being uttered in disgusted, middle class tones: "Pervert." "Peeping-Tom." "Appalling in this neighbourhood!" "But she's my wife!" Joey repeated, wailing pitifully as if in some way he might make a defence. Suddenly, as he felt the cold bite of metallic handcuffs close around his wrists, Mary and her lover were standing in front of him. "Oh my God! Joey!" Mary cried. Her hand was in front of her mouth and her words were muffled. "Do you know this man?" The uniformed policeman asked incredulously. "Yes…I mean…I did. Joey and I were married. For about a week! But that was nearly five years ago. He had a breakdown. I thought that he was in Belmonte Hospital. I haven't seen him since we were divorced over four years ago." As he was ushered into the back of yet another squad car, Joey was smiling. A wild, manically insane grin. In his confused, tortured mind he now recalled the stark walls of the hospital wards; the shock treatment; the smell of urine and depression. He remembered the last hearing he received; the suits saying that he would be there for another five years, and he remembered his escape and the feeling of freedom. But there would be other opportunities, he thought, other escapes. Nothing could ever keep him from his Mary. Stalked He watched her walk up the path to her door. He checked his watch. She always got home at 6:30, no matter what. He liked that she had a routine; order in her schedule...the rest of her life was messy. She was behind on her rent. She had a decent job, preschool teacher, but that didn't pay much. But damn if she didn't do it for him. He first noticed her while he was golfing. She lived across the street from the public course. He always teed off at 6:30; she always came home at 6:30. It hadn't even felt weird when he started. He could tell himself he was just golfing and she happened to live across the street. But then he started driving by her place on weekends. He easily identified the black Honda as hers, she stayed in most weekends, she liked to drink red wine, and he could have been mistaken, but he swore he smelled weed once or twice outside her window. Just like that he was "stalking" her. He still didn't think it was official stalking. He was not the stalker type. He was good looking and he new it; maybe not Brad Pitt, but definitely as good as Ben Affleck. He was tall and strong looking, with dark brown hair. He wore it short and neat, hide the beginnings of gray. He was a 39 year old financial planner with an ex-wife and an aging dad. He was not the kind of guy to stalk girls; especially this girl. She looked nothing like the type of girl he dated. He preferred tall, super thin brunettes around his own age that worked in mindless professions like publicity or casting and looked like they could and would eventually turn into soccer moms. She was a 20-something preschool teacher with short, curly, black hair and skin the color of burnt sienna. She was tall and lean looking, by no means fat, but she only went jogging about once a week. Her hips looked soft and her B-cup breasts inviting. He had never touched hair like that before and he imagined rubbing it between his fingers. He knew her name only because he had nonchalantly gone through her mailbox one night. She never took her mail in on time even though her box was not the kind that locked. Tiffany Andrews. Tiffany had the ability to make him very angry. Like the time she had gone on a date down the street from her house. Not only was she on a date and that infuriated him, but she was dumb enough to let a stranger come so near to her home. Or the time she had worn the 3inch heels and shorts to meet up with her friend Ella, a bad influence he decided, and did not come home until 2am. What had almost set him over the edge was when she had come outside in her bikini top and jeans and a guy in a truck had whistled at her and she had SMILED and WAVED. He had to grip the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. Even just thinking about these things mad his mouth set in a grim line and temperature boil. He snapped out of his daze when he saw her come back out. She had changed out of her jeans and t-shirt into a pair of tight grey sweats and a white tank top. She held a bag of trash in her hands as she headed for the dumpster. He didn't know what made this time different. Maybe it was because he spent that time reminiscing about how angry she made him. He didn't know, but he jumped up locked his Beamer and ran into her house. He was greeted by a black cat that purred and rubbed his leg as he hid behind the couch. "Go Emmy," he commanded the cat, who in return left and went back to eating as she always did. He heard Tiffany's footsteps. The slap of her flip-flops on the hard wood floor. She sat down with a sigh on her couch. He knew what he wanted to do with her. He wanted to teach her about making him angry. Punish every inch of her. He heard her pick her feet up onto the couch and she turned her back to the T.V. He stood quietly and looked at her. She was nestled up on her couch, eyes closed and her knees pulled into her chest. The sweatpants couldn't keep up with the position and a peek of her ass and yellow thong showed. She wasn't wearing a bra, he could tell; under her practically see through the white top. Her hair was out and flowing around her beautiful face. She took a deep breath. Jesus, she didn't even feel him there: such an innocent. He came around the couch quickly and pounced. She probably wanted to scream, but his hand was over her mouth before she knew it. Her eyes met his. Her doe eyes were open wide and filled with fear. He sat astride her pinning her wrists to one side with one of his large tan hands. "Shhh. It's okay Tiffany." She tried to talk to him, but all he heard were mumbles. Her eyes flew to the table where her cell sat and then to Emmy who sat up a little and then continued to eat. He saw the disappointment in her eyes. She probably thought deep down her cat would know if she were in danger. He smirked. Something about her naïveté drove him crazy and made him want to smack it out of her. "Listen carefully, girl. You are going to do exactly as I say and you are not going to scream," she shook her head no, "Yes, yes you are. You know why? If you don't I'm going to hurt you and I'm going to hurt sweet Emmy over there." Her eyes filled with fear when he mentioned her cat. He didn't know if it was because he had threatened it, or because he had called it by its name. Tiffany nodded her head. He slowly removed his hand. He heard her whimper a little. "Oh, save your moans baby," he ran his hand over her breasts. He felt his cock get harder. He was actually touching her. He stood up pulling her with him. He yanked her toward the bedroom door and shut it behind them. He didn't want that damn cat interrupting him. He pushed her onto the bed. He noticed she had tears in her eyes. He didn't like to make her cry, but he had to teach her a lesson. He took his clothes off. He saw Tiffany taking in his muscular physique. "What do you want?" Her voice was soft. He had overheard her on the phone a few times, but he had never heard her speak directly. "Isn't it obvious?" He took two purposeful strides toward her and pushed her hands over her head. He used his tie to tie her hands together and then to the headboard. He felt her catch her breath. "Tiffany, why do you do such dumb things?" He rubbed her hair and took a few strands between his fingers. "What things?" She caught a sob as she spoke. He gave her a knowing look, "You know as well as I do that you make stupid choices. The night you went to that bar alone. Or the time you wore the little white bikini top." He felt his voice rising. Her eyes were better than he imagined. Full of fear and something else, lust? Tiffany was stunned. This just could not be real. Was this man going to kill her? He looked normal enough, even familiar. She had definitely seen those blue eyes before. It was on a jog. He had been walking to his car and caught her eye. She had smiled a little, she thought he was handsome. She twisted against his tie and tried to get free. He started to move against her. His hands were rubbing up her body. "You feel so good," he breathed. Tiffany stopped trying to move. She was stuck. She felt the tears on her cheeks. She felt scared and...guilty. She had fantasized about a stranger coming into her home and taking her roughly. It was her go to fantasy. She liked imagining being taking and ravished and forced to come. She had never cum with a guy before. Now, here it was, like she has used 'The Secret,' or something. She felt herself getting wet and felt even guiltier. He stood up quickly and moved away from her. She wondered if he was having second thoughts. He left her bedroom. He came back a minute later, a knife in his hand. She gasped. "Shh, honey, just shh." He took the knife and cut through her clothes. He'd rather cut them off than risk untying her. He had come this far, he was definitely fucking her. He cut through her tank top and panties and took a moment to take her in. He felt like he would cum just from looking at her. "Fuck," he let his hand rub her tits pausing on a nipple and pulling it roughly. She gasped. He stopped and looked into her eyes. Did she enjoy that? He pulled again. Her tears were still flowing, but she was into this, he could tell. "Please," she begged. "Please what Tiffany? I'm going to punish you. Slap your ass, slap your pussy, fuck you hard and then I'm going to leave and you are not going to tell anyone." Tiffany nodded in agreement, "I won't tell, please don't hurt me." "I can't promise I won't hurt you, but I can promise I'm not going to kill you. I want to come back for more of this." He leaned forward and took a nipple into his mouth. He sucked hard and flicked it with his tongue. He felt himself moan. He let his other hand grab her pussy holding it hard. He started to move his fingers up and down her slit. She moaned and he pushed past her pussy lips to her core. "I am going to fuck the shit out of you Tiffany," he sighed into her tit. She sobbed a little, but he heard some of the moans. She was so turned on by him, but she knew this was wrong. He pushed his fingers inside of her and almost came when he felt her hot wet center. He shifted his weight so he could fuck her with his fingers harder. He let his thumb brush her clit and she gasped. He let go of the nipple that had been firmly cushioned in his mouth. He looked into her eyes and kissed her hard on the mouth. His hand kept working as he felt her getting wetter and wetter. She moaned and he flicked her clit harder, faster. "Come on baby," he whispered into her ear and licked her earlobe. Tiffany couldn't believe it. She felt so hot, so wet, so turned on. She only felt this way when she was alone with Herb, her purple vibrator. She felt full as his fingers pounded into her. "Turn over," he said it more to himself than to her. He flipped her over, causing her writs to twist over her head. He reinserted his fingers and let his palm hit her ass as he finger fucked her from behind. She tried to sit up and look back at him, but he pushed her down holding her down, fucking her. "Fuck Tiffany, you are so fucking wet." With that Tiffany felt her stomach flip flop and she shut her eyes tight as she came on his hand. "Oh yeah, baby," He leaned down and let his tongue take the place of his finger. He held her ass with both of his hands and fucked her with his tongue. He started off slowly, tasting her, but then he let loose and moved his tongue in and out of her quickly. Tiffany had never felt an orgasm this intense and long. She realized she was having more than one and he wasn't stopping. His mouth felt cold and wet on her pussy. She lay her head to the side unable to get up as his tongue ravished her pussy. He sat up and glanced down at her chocolate ass. He was so hard. He let his cock brush against her ass and felt her stiffen. "Please don't," her voice was soft. His hand came down on her ass hard. She gasped and he knew that she hadn't expected that. He let his other hand come down on the other cheek. He watched her ass jiggle. She tried to sit up and he used his body weight to hold her down. "Don't fucking move Tiffany. You're going to remember this Tiffany. You're going to be sure not to wear those damn shorts to the store." Tiffany moaned. He wasn't sure if it was pleasure or pain. He let his anger loose now. He began to spank her ass in earnest now. He used his body to get better leverage on the girl. He grunted with each slap and then used his other hand to grab her ass hard. He had lost control. He knew it. He spread Tiffany's legs wider so he could see her pussy. His hand came down hard between her legs and the girl tried to squirm away from him. He felt a smile spread across his lips. He slapped her pussy again. "Stop, please," Tiffany gasped. She needed him to stop touching her. Her body was buzzing from how good this felt and how bad it all was. When he stopped spanking her pussy, she thought maybe it was over. He was still. She felt his weight leave her bed. She couldn't turn to see what he was doing. Then suddenly, he grabbed her hips and forced his cock inside of her. Tiffany gasped as she felt him deep inside her. "Fuck." He breathed. He started to pound her pussy hard and fast. Tiffany could barely breath and she felt him plunging in and out of her. "I'm fucking you Tiffany, oh god, yeah," He pumped her deeper with every word. Tiffany put her face down on the bed and bit into the sheet. She felt her legs shaking and knew he was holding all of her weight. He took advantage of this and began to move her body on his cock. "I'm so close. I want to see your pretty face when I come inside you." With that he pulled out of her and turned her back over. She took in his muscular chest and arms and his penetrating eyes. He looked wild and like he had lost control. He smiled a wicked smile at her as he pushed back inside her with a grunt. "Oh my god," Tiffany gasped as she felt him deep inside her. His hands moved up her body, pausing for a moment on her tits. He let one hand slide up around her neck and squeezed a little. Tiffany tingled when she felt the pressure he was putting on her neck. He was so close to hurting her, but for some reason that made her more turned on. His eyes locked on hers as he took his pleasure from her pussy. He pounded into her. It didn't matter that her legs weren't wrapped around him. They lay straight down at his sides, but that only made her feel tighter. He felt his balls slapping against her. "You want my come pretty girl." He breathed into her ear. She shook her head and he laughed as he came hard inside her. He lay still on top of her. She could feel his heart beating against her chest. "I'm going to leave now, but I'm always watching you. I can have you when I want you Tiffany." He felt her stiff nod against his shoulder. He untied his tie and got dressed slowly as she lay there on her side without moving. * Tiffany shut her laptop and smiled to herself. Who writes stuff life this? She laughed at herself and grabbed her keys. She left work earlier than usual to write. Now she was on her way to drinks with friends. As she neared her car she saw him. She checked her watch, 6:30 on the dot. He hit the ball with a whack. Then as if he felt her staring, he turned around and glanced at her. He smiled a little and she blushed. If he only knew.