Gender: Male Age: Secret Location: After nine days I let the horse run free
NOTE: THERE IS NO SEX IN THIS STORY. It is a set-up for all of the following stories, of which there will be plenty. So don't ding it because you didn't find sex.
The object of my desire. That's how I saw her. As an object, a thing, not human. She was too beautiful to be human. I thought of her more as a science experiment, like we conducted in labs in school. A plaything. My plaything. And this, this is our story.
The Object of My Desire
I watched her. I always watched her. I would sit on the bench each day and wait. Most days I would feed the pigeons. I had my little notepad open and waiting. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick...and there she was. I looked at my watch. It was 2:17:20. I marked that down in the book. She was wearing the dark blue wool jacket, matching scarf, jeans, brown boots. I marked all of that down too, neatly, in my notepad. These were different jeans, I noted, from the ones she wore two days ago. Those had some slight wear near the right knee. These did not. I put this in the notes too. She was carrying two books, not three today, so she must have skipped her first class. Noted. Long, red hair, worn down, tucked neatly inside her coat. Noted.
The bus was just arriving. She always walked across 14th Street to catch the 6th Avenue bus. I would always board the bus after her. Being non-descript suited me just fine. As she would typically sit in the first few seats, I always made my way to the back, where I could observe her. I was not of her world, nor she mine. On the rare occasion when she had reason to glance towards the back, my gaze was protected by my mirrored sun glasses.
Today would be a short ride, just to 34th, where she'd get off to go to work at Victoria's Secret. Typically I stay on the bus to the next stop, and then walk back a couple of blocks where I sit and wait for her. You might wonder if she will notice me later in the evening, but no, she will not. Remember, I'm not of her world. I'm just an object to her, a child of a lesser god. Regardless, when she boards the bus in the evening for the ride to her apartment, no longer sporting the beard, my glasses are different, my jacket, reversible, is a different color, and I'm wearing a hat. The bag I carry has many such disguises, and I use them often.
But tonight will be different. Tonight will culminate in over a year and a half's preparation. As I sit back on a seat in the little square across from Victoria's Secret, I look through my notebook which spans the last 18 months of my life. I've recorded all the details of her life that I've been able to amass. From clothing to food consumption to relatives and friends, and their lives, I've covered as much as possible, given my meager resources. It wasn't easy determining what she ate vs. that which was consumed by her roommate, but after studying the garbage, and coordinating schedules, and looking at the plates in the sink, after a year I was able to piece it all together. Phone bills made it easy to find out about friends and family, and the Internet helped me track down addresses and more detailed information. Breaking into the apartment was probably the easiest since it was just double locked and lacking electronic security. I was very careful not to leave DNA traces. Now hiding the cameras and microphones took some creative thinking. I needed to place them so that they afforded maximum coverage yet would not be detected. Miniaturization of electronics over the past few years sure helped. So did me being somewhat of a geek. The cameras didn't broadcast far, but, they didn't have to. The little repeater box mounted outside the window looked like any other nondescript electrical box, except this one sent its electronic signals to me, sitting in an alley, a half-block away.
I. Saw. Everything.
I watched her shower in the morning. I watched her brush her teeth, and apply make-up. I watched her dress, and eat, and watch television, which she didn't do often. I watched her study. I listened while she talked on her phone. And when she talked to her roommate.
And I watched and listened when she pleasured herself.
I didn't get to see much, because she would masturbate mostly while in bed, under covers. But since I knew this would be critical, I put the best camera in her room, in the smoke detector, with the zoom lens. I loved to watch her expression as she got close to, and then reached, her orgasm. Beautiful.
She has no idea how many times we made love and reached orgasm together.
I checked my watch. 9:10:22. Give it about twenty or so more seconds and she should appear. Then the ride north. The start of the long weekend. Her roommate was gone for the weekend, left early this morning to go home and visit her family. It was quite helpful knowing this ahead of time. I found this intel out over three weeks ago. Give me three weeks and I could plan the invasion of a small country. Planning for this weekend was very careful, though. I wanted everything to go perfect. After all...she was perfect, and deserved no less than my best effort, no less than perfection.
A few seconds later I saw her exit the store, done for the night, done for the weekend. She had finals coming up and had received permission to take off Saturday and Sunday. How fortunate for the two of us. It didn't take long for a bus to come along, and we both boarded and took our seats. I was already sporting a hardness that I could barely contain.
She lived in Yorkville, a section of town on the Upper East Side. It was an older building but in a fairly respectable neighborhood. Rent was high everywhere, but she and her roommate got a break because the school she went to, Parsons, helped subsidize the cost. Her parents had money, too, which I discovered through my research. She received a nice stipend each month from Mommy and Daddy.
Sometimes when the weather was bad she'd catch a crosstown bus from 6th to 3rd avenue, but tonight, though it was cold, it was clear, so we walked. Well, she walked, and I walked behind her, staying far enough back to not be noticed, walking in the shadows. She arrived at her place safely, and I waited in an alley, watching her via the cameras. I figured it would happen in 10 minutes, then another 30 minutes wait, and then plans would move forward. Tick-tock. Tick-tock.
True to my prediction (okay, it wasn't really a guess since she had done this 14 out of the past 16 Friday nights), she called for pizza delivery. I watched the guy press the intercom, and as he was talking, I moved up the steps. The door buzzed open.
"Here, let me get that for you," I said, slightly startling the guy as I reached for and opened the door.
"Thanks" he said, and went inside.
"Hey, that wouldn't be the pizza my girlfriend ordered, would it? Apartment 477?"
The guy looked and nodded as we were moving slowly towards the elevator.
"Well here, let me save you some time," as I reached for my wallet, "and get you a little extra money. She's a little tight right now, being a college student. What's it, 28 something?"
"28.49. But I really should," I cut him off.
"Here's a fifty. Keep the change, my man." He smiled and handed over the delivery and thanked me profusely.
I rode the elevator to her floor, got out, and made a left instead of a right, going into the stairwell. I pulled out a baseball cap that looked just like the one the pizza guy was wearing (amazingly easy to make), and clipped on a name tag too. Finally, I pulled out the picana. I had modified it for a one-time use, so, it didn't require a car battery or anything that clumsy.
Moving out into the hallway, I had the pizza box in my left hand, and the picana in my right, which I held right up under the bottom of the box to keep it out of view.
I rang the doorbell. Tick-tock. Tick-tock.
I could hear her at the door, looking through. Yes, it's me, your non-descript, utterly harmless, pizza delivery boy.
The locks clanged and the door opened.
"Pizza delivery, Jessica!" I smiled my best smile.
Smiling back, she reached for the box, then stopped as her brow furrowed slightly.
"How do you know my na..."
The 150,000 volts entered her body right at her solar plexus, the complex network box of nerves somewhat below her large breasts, as the twin prods from the picana did their dirty work and literally knocked her on her delectable ass. Out cold.
I stepped inside, closed the door and readjusted the locks.
It was going to be a long weekend for us, and I didn't want any interruptions. I took off my backpack and set it on the kitchen table, opened it, then started removing things from it: rope, knife, blindfold, clothes pins, assorted dildos, paddle, whip, candle, lighter, various pieces of pipe, duct tape, pliers, and other assorted items.
A long, long weekend.
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