You wake bolt upright, gasping. There is no particular dream you can recall, no alarm you heard -- it's more as if your body is now so packed with pent-up nervous energy that it spontaneously blasts you right out of your sleep.
You check your clock. It is exactly 3:00 AM. You recall one peculiar horror movie claiming that 3 AM was the hour of the devil, chosen in mockery of the Trinity. A little more useful to you is a memory from some science fiction show, claiming that from 3 to 4 AM was the hour of the wolf, a time of turmoil, of births -- and deaths.
Whatever is going on, you get up, drink some water, splash some on yourself -- and notice your erection.
This is getting to be a compulsion, you think. That tryst with Sandra, then Mrs. Hearst and then Mrs. Rothschild -- and you still want more. Your words to Mrs. Rothschild reverberate in your head, about how many more ovaries are waiting to getting fertilized by you.
You throw clothes on and reason to yourself that you're just going out for reconnaissance, nothing more. You promised Ingrid a hot surprise date, and you really should be concentrating on that -- but you will just get this out of the way.
You drive up close to the Wu place. The lights are on. You check the file. Her husband is away most weekends, including this one, and she has erratic sleep patterns, getting up at all hours. Did you subconsciously remember that, and did that spur you to new action?
You try to control your breathing, and before you know it, without any conscious decision getting made, you get all your gear. Coat, mask, knife -- all systems go.
She has left a side door open. You quietly go up to her large bedroom and see her sitting before a mirror in a bathrobe, having just showered. She is actually making herself up -- but for what? Is she officially waking up for the day?
No matter. She catches you in the mirror for only a split second before you put the blade to her neck and say "I will be your rapist this morning. Have you taken your fertility medication?"
"Oh yes!" she replies, eager to please.
You guide her to the bed, then notice her fiddling around under her robe. "What are you doing?"
"I'm ... removing my panties ... "
"We've got to follow protocol." You slash at her robe, then her bra and her panties, and it occurs to you that while she is not at all the "titsicle" type of your most eager fantasies, she not only has a decent bosom for a petite frame but her ass is full but somehow not fat, possessing a taut meatiness you would expect to find more in black women. You find yourself simply desiring her.
No, you growl inwardly, shoving her up against a wall and thrusting into her from behind. She is much too accommodating, at least for her role, but you're not going to argue about that, and in mere minutes you pulse and blast into her.
And yet ... as she turns to you, her eyes and smile grateful, you find yourself desiring her all over again, and suddenly you have a condom on and you're nailing her once more right there on the bed. You so want to kiss and slobber her nicely bouncing tits ... but ... saliva. Nowadays, saliva is as much a giveaway as fingerprints or gloves, which is part of your rule against kissing. Perhaps some other day, you muse to yourself.
Yet those bouncing tits entice you so much that after she has had some good sharp wheezing orgasms thrusting her pelvis hard against yours, you slip the condom off and titfuck her. "Take it in your mouth," you advise her.
She eagerly sucks you off. What the hell is wrong with me? you wonder. Sucked off by two women in a single night!
You can't get away from her fast enough. You glance back to see her with a very kind expression, as if wondering, Who was that masked vigilante? You rush right back out and drive off. The sun is still not up, and there aren't even any joggers or dog-walkers out yet.
What has just happened? It was all so quick, so seamless, as if you now have this routine under some kind of automatic pilot. By the time you get home, all you can do is grab a hot shower, then fall into a deep nap. |