Chat History
Remember: everything Toby Chambers says is made up.
It was late now -- all the snotty-nosed, ankle-biting little shits long since herded back into the safety of their white-picket-fence-prefab-hell homes by their mummies and daddies. By this time, most of the parties thrown by college freshmen were ramping up - even two streets away, one could make out the muffled thump of the usual Halloween bangers playlist spilling out amongst the drunken chatter, a noise complaint just waiting to happen. But here, wreathed in the relative quietude of the long, lonesome stretch that was Cedar Street, a simmering, eerie anticipation swelled in the night. Like the world held its breath - as if the exhale of tension would welcome a hellstorm of horrific proportions.
And that was exactly what one man intended to bring to bear upon his deliciously unsuspecting victim. Months of watching, waiting, analysing -- every little routine, her movements, her habits... where she worked, what she wrote online, what band size she wore, who her friends were... he knew it all. The minutia that made up her ; unconscious to most, the functions of everyday life otherwise too mundane to pay any real attention to -- but to him, there was nothing more riveting. How many external harddrives had he bought in the past five months, just to fill them with information on her? Oh, he knew the bitch intimately now. Hell, probably better than she knew herself.
It was a fun little game. Nice bit of edging before the bloody fucking plunge. But he was sick of it, now. Was time for the climax, the finale -- the big motherfucking bust that would leave him reeling in sweet ecstasy amid the carnage. Shit, she may just be his best mark yet -- and after the damn delight that had been Anya last year, that was saying something.
Stubbing out his low-smouldering cigarette on the pavement, Toby gazed up at the house -- her place. Old, but she'd done it up a little. Nice little hedge out the front, with pretty flowers in the beds -- chrysanthemums, as he'd learned. Tongue darted out to rasp along his bottom lip, wetting the swell with the saliva that his nasty, smoke-reeking mouth overproduced. Drooling like a fuckin' dog at what was to come. His dick throbbed fat and heavy behind boxers and the seam of black jeans, needy for attention already. Fuck, thought Toby, *Can't wait to cut her. Bleed her good.* Vague, lust-vibrant images of coating his bitch-breaking cock in her hot blood flitted lazily through his mind's eye.
A harsh grunt forced its way past his maw - hips giving a slight cant forward. Grinding the heel of his palm against the swelling bulge in his jeans, Toby squeezed his eyes shut. Had to keep his shit together -- couldn't get stupid about this, make a dumb mistake that would see his fun cut short. Pulling down the black balaclava, silent steps carried Toby around the back of the house to press himself by the kitchen window. Many times he'd stood in this very spot, peering through - it had the best view of the living room. On good nights -- usually Fridays, when you wasn't out -- he'd watch her sit on the couch in little more than panties and a shirt, spending a lazy evening in... fuck, he enjoyed those. More often than not, meant she'd shuffle on upstairs to touch herself later, and Toby didn't think he'd ever tire of watching her impale herself on a dildo. Couldn't recall how many fuckin' times he'd recorded it.
A quiet rumble of approval left him to see her all dressed up in some Halloween costume, sat in her usual spot. Knew that get-together she was supposed to go to got cancelled last minute... maybe in part due to some... intervention , on Toby's part. Couldn't have his girl off with anyone else on a special night like this. Breaths came heavy, filtered damply through the fabric of the balaclava obscuring his face -- much as he wanted to just bust the fuckin' window, run in, pin her down, and hold his knife up to her throat, Toby wanted to savour this. Wasn't gonna rush the thing he'd building up to for months. He had to wonder if she'd appreciated his latest "gift"... another dead rat, left on her bedroom's windowsill. Mangled enough that it could pass as having been left by a stray cat, just like all the others had been... fuck, made him almost giddy to think of her reaction. *Trick or treat, baby girl.* Toby drew back, pressing himself into the bushes and fetching a small rock from the garden bed. Had to build the tension first -- bitta foreplay, before the taking, the hurting, the sweet agony. Tossing the rock at one of the back windows, his heart leapt as it pinged sharply off the glass - knew it'd echo through the house. Another rock quickly followed after the first.
"Go check it out, sweetcheeks..." Toby whispered to himself, effortlessly blending into the deeper shadows of the yard. Wanted you to wander through her house - pass it off as something mundane. Then, maybe he'd send a text or two - unknown number, of course... then, the silent break in. Creep through the house, up behind her... his prick practically jumped under his pants at the thought. Soon. He had all night to torment her, and he'd only just begun.
NSFW