What He Needs
I couldn’t stop thinking about her. Her eyes. Her skin. The way her body felt against mine. It was disconcerting, how I couldn’t get her out of my head.
My morning run was the time I used to quiet my mind, to block out all the noise of the city and the world and my own obsessive thoughts.
But she kept creeping in.
And I couldn’t stop it.
I ran faster, trying to escape her, but it was no use. My thoughts drifted to last night, how those men were looking at her in the club as I led her to the basement. They’d been salivating over her breasts and that gorgeous round ass of hers, and she’d had no idea. I’d wanted to fuck her right there, right in front of them, to show them that she was mine. But I was too protective of her for that. I didn’t even like that they got to see her in her sexy little dress. The thought of them looking at her body made me boil with jealousy.
She was so curvy that no matter what she was wearing, she was going to become the fantasy of every man she crossed paths with. I was going to have to set some rules about how she could dress in public. I couldn’t stop men from staring at her completely, but I could certainly make it more difficult.
My dick twitched as I remembered how she was afraid she wasn’t enough for me. The fact that she was worried about this already, after just one session at the club, made my cock hard. I couldn’t wait to explore her body, to push her, to tie her, to spank her, to fuck her and take her in every way she could even dream possible.
I picked up my pace, trying to channel my sexual energy into something physical, but it didn’t even take the edge off.
When I got back to my apartment, she was lying in my bed, her hair spread in a halo on the pillow. Her face was peaceful, the covers in a tangle around her body. She’d slept naked, and it took every ounce of self-control I had not to pull the covers off her, push her legs up and bury my face in her tight little cunt. Her pussy was soft and smooth and tasted like honey.
She’d been asking questions last night, about why I needed the things I needed. I wanted to let her in, wanted to give her the answers she so desperately wanted.
I was beginning to realize that I would do anything to keep her close to me, to make sure I could have her near me whenever I wanted. And if that involved letting her in, I would have to find a way to do that.
My heart pulsed faster in my chest, as much at the sight of her long shapely legs and pouty little lips as the fact that I might have to let my walls down.
The thought itself was a threat, terrifying in its intensity.
If I let her in, what would happen? I asked myself.
She might not understand.
She might leave.
She might get scared.
She might see you for what you really are.
A monster.
Someone who shouldn’t be loved.
She’ll leave you.
Just like you deserve.
Charlotte
Strangulation was a horrible way to die. The victim was aware of everything that was happening until their very last breath. There was usually a struggle as they clawed and fought and raged against their attacker until finally they were pulled down into the abyss of unconsciousness.
I’d read about it back when I wanted to be a doctor, when I would spend hours in the public library, forcing myself to read study after study about the ways people could die. I learned about how people would stop eating as they got closer to death, how they would become more and more tired, about how you should never say something around a dying person that you didn’t want them to hear, since hearing was the last of the senses to go. I forced myself to learn all about death, because I was terrified of dying.
And it had worked, at least a little, to calm my fear.
But when I saw Katie’s body lying there on the ground, her body covered in leaves, her face calm, her lips blue, I almost threw up. I dry heaved into the bushes, thankful that Professor Worthington couldn’t see me. He was over on the other side of the trees, talking to a police officer.
We were right off the jogging path in the park, and it was that weird time of morning where the early birds, the people who got up at five, six, seven, even eight or nine, had finished their runs. It was also unseasonably cold, and so it was relatively quiet for a Sunday morning. But there were still people walking on the path, and I ran over to one of the police officers who’d blocked off the area with yellow police tape.
“You should cover her body,” I said. “She can’t just be… she shouldn’t just be visible like that.”
I was surprised I’d been allowed to get as close as I had. This was an active crime scene, and the police were supposed to be taking every precaution necessary to make sure it wasn’t compromised. I’d read about things like that happening in my case studies, police letting crime scenes become a trampled-on mess, so that no one could trust the evidence that had been collected. I’d thought those were the exception, but now I was beginning to realize how easily it could happen.
My morning run was the time I used to quiet my mind, to block out all the noise of the city and the world and my own obsessive thoughts.
But she kept creeping in.
And I couldn’t stop it.
I ran faster, trying to escape her, but it was no use. My thoughts drifted to last night, how those men were looking at her in the club as I led her to the basement. They’d been salivating over her breasts and that gorgeous round ass of hers, and she’d had no idea. I’d wanted to fuck her right there, right in front of them, to show them that she was mine. But I was too protective of her for that. I didn’t even like that they got to see her in her sexy little dress. The thought of them looking at her body made me boil with jealousy.
She was so curvy that no matter what she was wearing, she was going to become the fantasy of every man she crossed paths with. I was going to have to set some rules about how she could dress in public. I couldn’t stop men from staring at her completely, but I could certainly make it more difficult.
My dick twitched as I remembered how she was afraid she wasn’t enough for me. The fact that she was worried about this already, after just one session at the club, made my cock hard. I couldn’t wait to explore her body, to push her, to tie her, to spank her, to fuck her and take her in every way she could even dream possible.
I picked up my pace, trying to channel my sexual energy into something physical, but it didn’t even take the edge off.
When I got back to my apartment, she was lying in my bed, her hair spread in a halo on the pillow. Her face was peaceful, the covers in a tangle around her body. She’d slept naked, and it took every ounce of self-control I had not to pull the covers off her, push her legs up and bury my face in her tight little cunt. Her pussy was soft and smooth and tasted like honey.
She’d been asking questions last night, about why I needed the things I needed. I wanted to let her in, wanted to give her the answers she so desperately wanted.
I was beginning to realize that I would do anything to keep her close to me, to make sure I could have her near me whenever I wanted. And if that involved letting her in, I would have to find a way to do that.
My heart pulsed faster in my chest, as much at the sight of her long shapely legs and pouty little lips as the fact that I might have to let my walls down.
The thought itself was a threat, terrifying in its intensity.
If I let her in, what would happen? I asked myself.
She might not understand.
She might leave.
She might get scared.
She might see you for what you really are.
A monster.
Someone who shouldn’t be loved.
She’ll leave you.
Just like you deserve.
Charlotte
Strangulation was a horrible way to die. The victim was aware of everything that was happening until their very last breath. There was usually a struggle as they clawed and fought and raged against their attacker until finally they were pulled down into the abyss of unconsciousness.
I’d read about it back when I wanted to be a doctor, when I would spend hours in the public library, forcing myself to read study after study about the ways people could die. I learned about how people would stop eating as they got closer to death, how they would become more and more tired, about how you should never say something around a dying person that you didn’t want them to hear, since hearing was the last of the senses to go. I forced myself to learn all about death, because I was terrified of dying.
And it had worked, at least a little, to calm my fear.
But when I saw Katie’s body lying there on the ground, her body covered in leaves, her face calm, her lips blue, I almost threw up. I dry heaved into the bushes, thankful that Professor Worthington couldn’t see me. He was over on the other side of the trees, talking to a police officer.
We were right off the jogging path in the park, and it was that weird time of morning where the early birds, the people who got up at five, six, seven, even eight or nine, had finished their runs. It was also unseasonably cold, and so it was relatively quiet for a Sunday morning. But there were still people walking on the path, and I ran over to one of the police officers who’d blocked off the area with yellow police tape.
“You should cover her body,” I said. “She can’t just be… she shouldn’t just be visible like that.”
I was surprised I’d been allowed to get as close as I had. This was an active crime scene, and the police were supposed to be taking every precaution necessary to make sure it wasn’t compromised. I’d read about things like that happening in my case studies, police letting crime scenes become a trampled-on mess, so that no one could trust the evidence that had been collected. I’d thought those were the exception, but now I was beginning to realize how easily it could happen.