Invasion (6 page)

“Burn me!
Burn me!
”

The scream that melts my eardrums is one of suffering and agony, and my high is lost. I’m cutting the footage by jabbing my thumb at every button on the remote until I finally hit stop.

Silence fills the room, thick with my guilt, rife with her shame and torment, and yet …

Why? Does she dig that shit? Or does
he
dig that shit?

I’m still craving a hit of genuine pussy, the real thing, and know even if Mark’s secondhand clothing is a tad tight for my staunch frame, I’m going out.

I need to burn a bitch.

I need her to open her cunt and let me in.

Like a nursery rhyme.

Little pig, little pig.

I need to hear you squeal like butchered swine.

These walls suddenly feel too tight, trapping me. I need to get out of this seclusion.

Before I know it my furtive feet are moving with secrecy over the frozen ground, while snowflakes twirl an ethereal shield in the unforgiving yuletide night.

There’s a reason I’m here. I need more.

Humping Carly’s goddamn night cream has exfoliated the grime of perversion which makes up part of who I am; the David who remains a mystery to all.

As I turn sharply down a quaint alley lined with parking lights, images of Carly are burning in my mind … literally, and I realize I’m leaving the methodical and calm self at ‘home’.

With each stride I am mystically guided to another place deemed crucial for my journey; sacrifice for an unknowing one, a respite for me. I’m afraid opening the door of orgasmic pleasure, along with the incredible fascination with Carly, has resurrected a kernel of my enigma.

I’m a psychopath. Some may cringe at such a revelation, I can only smile at the thought as my mind is set on violently getting my dick into something wet.

Settling behind a charming coffee shop a few long roads from picturesque Americana I stare ahead while my hot breath fogs, thawing my nose with every exhalation. My hands are tucked snug into Mark’s too-tight designer jeans, which I want to burn.

I study the brick building, the vintage steel lamps above illuminating the hand-painted sign;
The Coffeehouse
. Amber glows from within, the lights sparkle as a man walks out waving to the pretty twenty-something brunette left inside as she wipes the crumbs and clears the coffee cups off the tables.

Quickly I do another visual sweep, noting the lack of ccv surveillance, no traffic lights with hidden road violation cams, no telltale red LEDs burning in neighboring stores to capture an infrared rendition of my malefaction.

My focus lingers inside, zooming ahead to study her every move. She seems exasperated, huffing and sighing as her perky tits push up in the air when she takes a moment to stretch her aching back.

Without conscious thought I’ve mentally advanced with the stealth of a mercenary in enemy territory, my hands on her ribs as tight as clingfilm like the pretty black top she wears, forcing her to me.

I will give you a reason to hurt, sweet tits
.

My erection is throbbing in my jeans, but something is holding me back. My heartbeat slows, my lungs stop expanding. The transfer of oxygen is essential, but I am not average. I feel like I can be lost in this twilight zone of time for hours, without the life-saving gaseous exchange keeping the internal organs of my body alive.

Precision and senselessness cloak me, tempting me in an absurdly parallel manner. Fate is nothing but an afterthought as the beautiful girl opens her mouth to yawn, exposing pink lips that would wrap around my cock with nubile perfection.

She walks over to the neon OPEN sign, turning it off and disappearing into the abyss that lurks in the hallway off the main café lobby.

No! I can’t lose her. I need this more than I need to start breathing again!

The lights flicker off, the sparkle lighting the old-fashioned space dims gradually, leaving the lone building free to be captivated by the eternal slumber of the incubi soon to come. I am a man who is determined to find a way.

My muscles have memory. My hands and feet recall who I was. I glide through concealing darkness, nimble and lithe, ready to inflict my unforgiving ways on the girl with a warm core and fear in her eyes. It’s a conundrum though, how I am able to commit such atrocities while still reeling with unease after witnessing what that fuckbag, Mark, did to Carly. My brain doesn’t give a fuck about what makes sense. This is what I crave.

I accept it without question, because sweet tits may very well be bigger than this all. Temptation is urging me forward, sucking me out of the lethe quicksand.

My stride masters the glacial pavement to the adjoining parking lot. One car stands sentry like an abandoned suit of armor. One woman waits to go home, but she won’t. She will come with me.

My hearing is alert, primed for the slightest sign of activity emerging from the café.

Click. Creak.

I crouch down beside the passenger door, huddling to compact my frame. My senses are all equally capable, but right now I close my eyes and rely solely on my ears. The crunch of the pebbles against the pavement echoes, it gets louder as she advances. I discern jingles; her keys. Her shallow inhalations are uneven. She’s nervous too. Girls like her always are.

Her parents probably warned her about the bogeyman. This causes me to smile, because she is about to meet him. The chiming of her phone makes her stop. She reaches for it while her fingers rub against the wool of her purse. She’s cold. Snap.

She buttons up her coat to the top. Flick. I can hear her lips wrapping around the shaft of her death stick, her skin sticking to the paper when she sucks cancerous smoke to the depths of her lungs.

“Fuck off,” she spits into her phone, hanging up and typing frantically.

She’s a feisty one. This will be fun.

She unlocks her car, central locking a rapturous sound as all four doors simultaneously grant me access, the clanking of the keys has me counting seconds in my head until the unobservant girl meets my shadow. Her door slams shut and I move, silently flipping the passenger door open before she throws the car into reverse or hits lockdown on the entry points.

The interior smells like vanilla and smoke, and I inhale to ensure the olfactory nerve in my nose remembers this second, sending the necessary information to my brain. Time halts as her mouth droops agape, our gazes intersecting in the rear-view mirror.

I tilt my head, contemplating if I should give her my words or not, but decide to remain silent. Silence is always more intimidating. My visage will be enough for her nightmares, even if she was to suffer the disease of time lost like I do. Moments like this can never be forgotten no matter how much time wanes. Now I’m giving Fate the middle finger as I mentally grab my dick and prepare for plunder.

My fingers, so limber and strong, reach instinctively through the frostbitten air until they connect with tender skin. I squeeze the pressure point running from her neck to her collarbone, applying force to her vagus nerve until she slumps unconscious.

Initially her arms flail, but it’s moot. Not even a fourth of my strength is being utilized right now. The slaps over my forearms are sloppy and quickly cease with blood deprivation to the brain. Her arms flop flaccid at both sides.

It’s simple biology. The second you apply a blockage to the vagus nerve she experiences weakness, extreme cold, then unconsciousness. It causes the heart to drastically slow and her blood pressure drops to critically low. Even stress can have this effect.

I ease up gently, then check her pulse, wondering how much time I have before she regains awareness. I only know I need to get back to a warm place to fuck her. Usually a faint will only last for a few minutes, which means time is crucial, and keeping her head elevated so it takes longer to get blood to her brain is paramount.

Grabbing the keys from the floorboard I move her over the console to the passenger side, keeping her upright with the safety belt, then enter the driver’s door to initiate the trek back to the basement. Only this time I won’t be hiding. My presence is known to my victim; soon I will brand her with my desperation.

Minutes later I pull into the drive behind the house that looks so unviolated by the scoundrels of society. Beneath the quilt of shame and tears lies a very unhappy woman and a man jacking jizz into her night cream. I was careful before, noting her rhythm, the caliber in each of her steps, but my patience is gone as I enter the womb of Carly’s home.

With a still limp body hanging over my shoulder I lock the door behind me with a deafening click when I twist the deadbolt and head down to the basement.

The chill of the air is thick as residual warmth remains elusive. I check the girl’s pulse for the tenth time in minutes. Weak and thready, but still extant.

I head over to the wood burning stove, stoking it meticulously like I did to discard the irrelevant would-be intruder. He burnt fast, too fast. It’s kinda weird. After the coals agitate to life I take a second to admire the show, my gaze tracing the ever changing dance of orange and white heat.

Rage and need engulf my psyche. Envisaging who I have become, I wish I felt remorse. Instead I am fulfilled, an old itch at the bottom of my soul is finally given relief. Using the wrought iron poker I hijacked from the lounge I manipulate the blaze, watching as the inferno roars with renewed vigor.

Marginally I turn my head when the fire crackles Morse code to me; deadly, intently. This is my moment as the lull of time atrophies, and I am certain that my heart stutters in collusion. It’s a sign from the so-called celestial beings of the universe.

Leaving the poker in the embers I watch as my wrath builds heavy in the cocoon deep in the underbelly of the made-up heaven Carly assembled above. There is something primitive about iron turning incandescent with heat. The blaze casts an effulgent aura into my subterranean crypt, like a rainbow after rain its radiance is deceptive.

I peel the stupid T-shirt away after stripping off the flannel button up, popping the fly free from these douche-bag jeans, and get naked to let mother-fire bathe me with the baptism of heat; absolving me of the sins I am soon to commit. I open my arms, lifting them up to that fucking made-up god everyone prays to when they are out of options. I don’t pray. I have no mercy. I am content. Every decision defines me, remorse is not my forte.

My mouth opens, the taste of salt assaults my palate as my sweat permeates the air, infusing through it. My calloused fingers rub down my etched stomach until my dick fills my hold. I hiss between clenched teeth, stroking it as I step closer to the fire - to the window of hell. I want to shout to the universe that I am who I am, unashamed, unapologetic, and a warrior without mercy.

I haven’t indulged myself to turn and look at the slut I plucked. When I do, it’s game over. I can’t promise I can control myself when my craving for the taste of a real woman consumes me, intoxicating reason.

Fuck it.

My feet, naked and bare on the concrete, skim the grit until they reach her. I am feral. I am brutal and make no apologies for the urgency driving me, uncaring to be soft, to trace and memorize curves.

This encounter isn’t about affection. It’s about self-discovery and satisfaction. Yielding needs and embracing them, fucked and all. Pouncing on the prone femme the savage within breaks free. My focus traces the handprints sculpted to her wan neck, evidence of the rough introduction to our adventure.

She starts to stir, but I am Hearse, I have a plan for everything.
The line between poor and destitute r
esides in your reaction to hardship. Do you wait for fate to favor you, or do you take what you need because boundaries are manmade abominations? An insult to the autonomy which should’ve been your birthright.

I don’t wait for anything. Seize fate and choke her until you get what you want. What you need.

I need this.

Silence will save you

Memories will burn you

T
he reality of my years lived come back to life, striking her through the face to stifle her moan. It isn’t enough to leave me satisfied as the heavy scent of burning wood drifts into my nares.

She gurgles, attempting to twist her head to her midsection but I stop her, pulling her silky brown hair back until it threatens to break her neck. My mouth salivates, hungry and set to lap up every ounce of fright she has to offer. My unclothed legs straddle her as my aching cock pushes into her taut stomach, precum glistening the preordained sigil of possession on shadowed skin, her womb clenching underneath me as I undress her soul with my nefarious violation.

Her uneven breaths, short and still supplying her body with a pointless life, move while her breasts tease me. Perfect round mounds of soft skin and beaded buds await my lips and teeth, to show her what disgrace and beauty are all about. She groans a little and I tug back further, threatening asphyxiation with more tension. I can end her in one swift movement.

My hands are toxic, with the capacity to snap her neck, crushing her windpipe and terminating her life.
Me, David Hearse. I can do that
. The realization liberates as my cock aches with need. I gyrate my pelvis into her belly, goosebumps rising over her skin with each hilt of my hips as the cotton of her shirt is a forgotten barrier.

I bend down, my lips steady as I prepare to speak.

“
Silence will save you.”

The smell of saltwater is rife as my gaze appreciates the stream of fear running down her cheek. I open my mouth, releasing some of the tension on her neck, and lick her tears away. She’s shuddering as horror cascades over her once mediocre evening. I will make it go away. I am David, god’s first chosen king, I can do anything.

“
Silence will save you,” I repeat, it’s a mantra, taking her earlobe between my teeth and biting down.

She shrieks, flexing up against me, filling my vacuous niches with the plump warmth of woman. I free her hair as my fingers trace over her neck and down to her shirt.

I shove her top up over her face so she can pretend this is all just a dream. Her body is lax in surrender under my touch and I inhale, her scent is overwhelmingly erotic as the sweetness that will soon bathe my senses torments me. Pushing her white lace bra up, her breasts flop free; her pink nipples are hard and shimmying with labored breaths. She’s crying, I can tell. The sound of her tears falling is minute, but ever present in my ears.

My lips cannot promise pleasantness as I begin suckling on her pebbled protrusion, nursing it with curiosity.
More
.
I need more
. I want to peel away her skin and live inside her. I have the absolute obligation to pry her hips apart so far that they break, until my cock makes her cunt rip to her ass.

Gentle is not who I am.

I bite down, relishing a metallic tang while my hands simultaneously squeeze her tits. She whimpers a suffering keen, still fighting low blood pressure and ambient weakness. Dread advances victimization, limbs and fight torpid with terror. I lose my shit, leaving her tit to punch her in the face, my knuckles throb with the aftermath of her pain.

“
Silence!” I am stern.

I don’t know why I know quiet is paramount, like I’ve known that silence can save your life in enemy territory, hide your position, let surprise be your ally. If she is silent surely she can live, but to struggle against my will is fatal. I have no compassion for weakness. Cooperate, simple.

I return to her jeans, popping the fly and yanking them off as I inspect the glorious little hole I will soon annihilate. Futile, she tries to hold her knees together. I am strong and she is weak. Her pink cotton panties are wet, a spot of blood between them tells me she is on her rag.

“
Please,” she musters.

“
Do you want to be spared?” My answer is curt as I slide her panties off.

She doesn’t answer. I am beginning to think she wants to die.

Again, she tries uselessly to hold her legs together. I’ve had enough of this shit. I place my knee on hers, forcing her to open up to me and show me her sacrificial snatch. A short white string saturated in blood dangles from her tight hole and I can’t resist a laugh. I wasn’t picturing this, but part of me finds this both amusing and hot as fuck. There is something truly carnal about blood, no matter where it comes from.

Employing my fingers I tug, pulling her tampon free, hesitating before tossing it aside. It’s a catalyst for change, a harbinger of ghosts. The scent of hemoglobin assaults my vacuous mind, resurrecting a gun discharging next to my ear, deafening me, the night spiraling with dizzy lunacy, a flash of memory accosting my vision when I look through the veil to my past, seeing a listening device on a window latch, knowing I will die for a woman, a woman I serve.

Hang on. Back the fuck up. I work for a
woman
? Would die for her? Were we banging? I don’t die for a snatch I don’t get to smoke.

In the distance a bomb detonates and I’m shunted into an MRAP (mine-resistant ambush protected vehicle), a man bleeding next to me in desert camo, his face unrecognizable under the deluge of blood from his head wound, another RPG hitting and connecting, forcing the MRAP into a roll, my hand frozen tightly on the M231 FPW assault rifle in my grip while the world eddies in endless somersaults, rolling us over an IED.

BOOM!

The recollection flees as fast as it arrived and I expand my nostrils and lungs with her smell, closing my eyes as two fingers fill her constrictive cunt. Wet and warm. I want to pry her apart and stay for a while. Two isn’t enough and becomes three, menstrual blood bathing my fingers as I fuck her. I need her inside me. I need me inside her. One flesh, until death do us part. Not mine, hers. Death isn’t in my itinerary.

“
See how good it feels to experience such desecration? Your bleeding cunt likes it too.”

She cries, lowly like a foreign cradlesong that is magic to my ears. Utilizing my other hand I massage her clit as I finger-fuck her, watching her once shallow breaths become potent with erotic surrender. I will take her where she doesn’t want to be. I will make her feel what she doesn’t want to face, because repugnance and perversion are a stunning entity when embraced.

Faster and faster I manipulate the sensitive nerves. Her breathing halts when her fingers grip the concrete floor. My hearing is always attentive as a crunch of shattering nail pierces my drums and she screams, grasping onto her fingers as orgasmic bliss glazes her. Her body quakes while lucidity is evicted, her bleeding digits from her peeled back nails leave a trail of crimson over her belly.
Still, this isn’t enough
.

Extracting my hand I slam my cock inside her, relishing the friction, the temperature, the connection to my primeval self. Squeezing my eyes shut I move inside her as fast as my hips will allow, uncaring of consequences.

Panic is an incredible thing, especially when you are aware that you are able to execute such threats. But my actions are harsh as I try to reach her womb, her heart, every goddamn internal organ she has. Her warmth fills me up and makes me feel superhuman.
Yes! Take it! Take it all!

Gurgles muffle below me. I can feel myself close, so near to an outlet from the infiltration that I have come to admire. This slut will be reduced to nothing more than a crutch in my story, the epitome for how weak humanity truly is.

“
No –,” she tries.

I mash my grip over her mouth, the cotton between her plump lips, and my hand dazes me into antipathy further as my cock volcanoes into her magnificent pussy. I could spend my years like this, with a little lover all to myself, but I fear what kind of monster I would become. Something tells me that rationality holds witness to part of my brain. I release my hand from her mouth, careful not to kill her because I still intend to spare her life.

“
You sick fuck,” she pants, bidding my heavy weight off her.

I pull her shirt away from her eyes, furrowing my brows as I pout my lips.
“
It isn’t me who is sick. Blame Fate, she reared her ugly head, darling. Fate is who you should be angry with.”

I stand, smeared with hormonal blood, walking over to the wood furnace to remove the iron poker. I will let her keep her life but a lesson still needs to be learned. Humans make decisions, but Fate, the evil bitch who decides when people need to learn from their mistakes has taken the reins this night.

With the wooden handle grasped tightly, the fire-hot heat hovers over me but I stay at a safe enough distance. Beauty is soon to be gone and marring will be the result. This little lady will never forget me. I told her to be silent, maybe next time someone issues a command she
’
ll fucking listen to her commander in chief.

When a man holds your life in his hands the only right answer is
yes sir
, or a kiss, or a mouth open and on my cock, not argument, not insult. Terminally stupid is this sweet tits.

She sees me, eyes wide with tears and horror, trying to scoot back on her bare ass, leaving a trail of blood and semen; evidence of our once rapturous encounter. I smile, holding the brand tighter as she whimpers, gripping her knees together with panic and obvious pain.

“
Silence will save you.” It’s like teaching a toddler, you have to repeat yourself over and over to get the message through.

Annoyed I lash out with the glowing poker, striking her across the face, watching when her head ricochets off the concrete. She is supine and at my mercy. A little fight seemed fun, but not for what I have planned.

With her body completely at my clemency I spread her legs with my feet and watch as my hot cum drips slowly from her desecrated twat, the mixture of blood and jizz creating a delicate shade of pink.

Using my free hand I hold her clit tense, tweezering the sensitive cluster of nerves, and push the white-hot end to the vaginal lips, sealing with a singe, burning her tampon tunnel closed until I reach her asshole, contemplating for a brief moment cauterizing that shut too, but deter. For now, this will suffice.

The aroma of burning skin makes my heart thud faster in my chest. Adrenaline courses through my veins as I take the tethers from Fate, leaving a lasting imprint on this life. Sweat, burnt cunt, and blood, makes for a primal combination I will never forget.

She shrieks so loud I
’
m partly tempted to seal her lips with the cauterizing iron. In Sparta she
’
d have been sold to enemy territory because no matter how hard your labor pains a woman does not scream. I warrior never gives the enemy the satisfaction of the upper hand, never disclose your location. The rebellion to my command for silence incites rage within my serenity. I was happy with an orgasm, but that pretty cunt is mine, so I shut it because no one else gets my property. I don
’
t share.

Yeah, maybe I
’
m a selfish prick, but at least I know my strengths. I prop the poker back inside the furnace and get dressed, taking a moment to cover the unconscious girl whose pulse still flutters.

Done with her I carry her up the stairs and outside, putting her in her back seat and grabbing the cigarettes she threw in her purse. Lighting one while driving back to the café, I smile as my fingers still smell like her rag, briefly wondering how long I can go without washing them.

Throughout the journey my senses are on high alert, instinctively sweeping the streets with vigilant awareness, looking for cameras, for pedestrians, for witnesses, for hunters. I
’
m thorough, I know this too.

When I arrive the parking lot is still vacant, which pleases me. Reaching to the back seat I rest my hand on her silky throat, a tender moment, a silent thanks, but my bliss swiftly morphs to ire. God damn. There
’
s no pulse! Not a fucking thing.

Instinct kicks in and I’m out of the car in a New York moment, opening the doors, worrying about my cum locked inside her. I could sweep the car of DNA evidence, but if I
’
ve ever been arrested and entered into the CODIS system they’ll know I
’
m here, they
’
ll know I did this.