Stalkers: A Dark Romance Anthology

by Ally Vance

  I expect to hear him yell at me. Expect to see anger in his eyes. What I didn’t expect to see is his eyes locked on my now see-through top at the lace bra I’m wearing. The one I wouldn’t normally wear every day, but due to not having done my washing, I was stuck with the only clean bra I could find. It’s a set I wore last time I wanted to impress a guy. A tingle runs straight up my spine at the way he continues to stare brazenly at me. His face remaining stoic, but it is what I see in his eyes that gives everything away. A darkness that shadows his bright blues. I wanted to tear my eyes away from him. Run to the kitchenette to break the trance he seems to have gotten himself in, but I find myself locked in the same trance. It’s as if we’ve been frozen in place, unable to pull ourselves from each other. Professor Matthews is the one to break it, frowning and rushing to the kitchenette, collecting a rag and then pouring some water onto it from the water cooler.

  And then he does something unexpected. Something no person in his position should ever do, and no person in my position should ever allow someone like him to do. He places his hand on my stained top, moving delicately over it with pinched brows. All I can do is stare, because once again, I’m frozen to the spot, unable to stop what he’s doing, even though I know that he should. We’re both relieved of the situation when his hand brushes against my now erect nipple, and another tingle rushes up my spine and flows down my arms, and as quickly as the moment came, it disappears. Professor Matthews straightens up, face returning to stone as he drops the cloth and walks back to his desk.

  “We’re done for the day.” His tone is emotionless as he sits down.

  A heaviness sits in the air. I blink away the moment and collect my things, grateful to get away. It was dangerous. What just happened. It’s something that could get him fired and me… for me it’s the makings of the kind of personal feelings I shouldn’t be having.

  Chapter Three

  Ian

  Stupid. Fucking stupid. It never should have happened the way it played out. I could feel your eyes burrowing into my skull as you observed my unprofessionalism. The way you fixated on me staring at your breasts that sat perfect and perky in the bra you wore to my office. Was it intentional? Did you mean to wear it? Did it thrill you to know that I liked what I saw? No, like isn’t even apropos to describe how delightful it was to see how the fabric hugged your breasts, giving me a perfect outline of them underneath. The way my cock thickened at the flashes of images that flurried through my mind of you moaning beneath me as I took a delicate nipple into my mouth and sucked and nibbled. How you would grind your pussy against my erection as I teased you with my mouth.

  I could feel something in you, and that’s all I needed. A spark that lit the curiosity and arousal. It wasn’t a lot, but it was all the monster needed to smile its menacing smile and come forth from the shadows. I throw my head back onto my office chair, thinking about you. Would it please you to know that I am? Would it please you to know that my dick is achingly hard and the only release I need right now is something only you can give me? If I were to tell you that you make me want to throw away the man I am now and resurrect the man I was before just to have you, would you be flattered, or would you run away? Would you shun me for my actions and thoughts, or would you welcome and embrace them? If I were you, I would do the former. If I were you, I wouldn’t give me an inch. Because we all know what happens with monsters when you allow them to step a foot inside your home.

  They’ll ravage everything that exists until there’s nothing left but the dark, bleak emptiness of your soul…

  You should be smart about the position you’re in, Viola. You need to squash any little seedling of attraction that you have before the weed comes and ruins it forever. Of course, I don’t want you to. I want you all to myself. I want to be the man you want me to be and the man I know I can fight to be, but never will. Looking into the existence you call your real life through your social media accounts was the worst mistake I could have made. I knew it. He knew it. I didn’t care. This hunger to get to know you grew heavy inside my chest and if I hadn’t had fed Him what it wanted, it would have exploded. I pictured you as I fucked that girl that is similar to you. I’m pretty sure I even screamed out your name, but she didn’t even notice. She was too busy crying out and attempting to embed her nails into my back as I hammered into her like a crazy person. I don’t like that term. Crazy. Crazy is the pathetic man’s attempt at differentiating between who they have categorized as “normal.” The ones that go against the paradigms of socially acceptable behavior. However, for lack of a better word, I’m reduced to using it as a descriptor for myself. I am crazy. Crazy to let my perfect record bleed with the temptation you give me.

  I pick up my phone and open the dating app again, typing out a message to the girl I had sex with. Jessica is her name. It’s not as pretty as your name. She doesn’t have my body yearning for her touch that way yours does, but she’ll have to do, because what am I supposed to do when you refuse to leave my head, taunting me? It doesn’t take long for my phone to light up with a response. A smiley face thumbs-up emoji is all she sends. There is no passion for the written word anymore. Everyone’s too lazy to use English. No wonder so many people fail at it and others are losing their only grip on it. When you have this brand of texting culture, I’m not surprised to find people have become mindless.

  I collect my things and lock up my office. I’m the only one remaining in the building as I exit and make my way to the staff parking lot at the back of the university. It’s a nice night out. The heat of the day still lingering, not having yet dipped to a manageable degree, but I like it. Heat has never been an issue for me. The cold on the other hand is an entirely different story. I’m insufferable, as my students would attest. The chill pierces right into the marrow, leaving me in a constant state of cold. A few staff members nod and wave goodbye as they too make their way to their vehicles. I enter my car, pressing the start button, the engine comes to life and I shift it into gear. Jessica doesn’t live too far from the university. A fifteen-minute drive in good traffic. As I travel through semi-busy streets to her house, I think of you. Wonder what you are doing and thinking. Wishing your mind is exactly where mine is at. It’s bad that the thoughts have gone astray, but it can’t be helped. I arrive at her house and unbuckle my seat belt, exiting the car. Her house is nice. The standard picket white fence, perfectly manicured lawn with a couple of cheeky gnomes scattered in the garden. Roses and pansies in the garden beds that line the perimeter of the front porch. I knock on the door and wait for her to answer.

  It doesn’t take too long for her to open the front door in a silk nightgown. She looks beautiful and sexy and it stirs a similar sensation, like when my hand accidentally brushed against your hard nipple. I open the door and with a single finger; she gestures for me to come inside. I do as I’m told because if anything or anyone has the ability to tamper the feelings for you, it’s going to be her. An implicit order to follow her to her bedroom. When I enter, I don’t hold back. I grab a hold of her neck and slam her against the door and track the movement of her silk gown as it slips off her slender shoulders. Her hair sitting invitingly on her breasts. Completely naked underneath, I take the time to admire her. She’s how I imagine you to be. Is it wrong that I think of you when I’m with her. Is it wrong for me to live out my fantasies with her because I know things can never progress with us? In another world, things would be different. In another world, I could picture her to be someone that would be good for me. She’s kind and sweet and fierce and career driven. She’s a business woman and believes a man should be put in his place when he steps out of line. I don’t like submissive women. Submissive women feel weak and I’m left feeling powerless, which to most people, would be a wildly inaccurate train of thought. How does one feel powerless against someone they’re stronger than? Well, the test of true strength is against an opponent who is equal or stronger than you. Succeeding in a game of strength against someone or something weaker than you make
s you weak because you’re taking an easy win. I like women who put up a fight. Women who are willing to give as good as they can take. And I like them to be able to take a lot.

  Which leads me to wonder… will you be like that? Will you take control and push me into being the man you need me to be? I’d like to think so.

  I’m thrown back hard, and I grab onto the bed post. She hurriedly pulls my jacket off and unbuttons my dress shirt, throwing it off to the side before grappling at my belt buckle, unzipping, and yanking down my slacks and briefs. She smiles. Smiles at me and the sight of my erection. There’s no wasted time as she swallows my length with her mouth and I look down to see her eyes locked on mine as her lips suck me. You replace Jessica. Not physically, but in my mind. You replace her and I can only see you on your knees, so willing to please me. I fist her hair, taking over because I need to see my illusion of you gagging as I fuck your mouth with such ferocity. Take pleasure in seeing the tears that trickle from the corner of your eyes as you fight to keep up with my movements.

  As I feel my balls tighten, I release her, pulling her by her hair and forcing her to stand up. She never complains, because she too enjoys the fucked-up punishing ways with which we have sex. We’ve formed this strange bond, and as I said before; if I were any other man, we could be together. Because on paper we fit. In reality, we fit. But I don’t want someone that fits. I want you. You don’t fit with me. You’re the polar opposite to me. I would be too toxic for someone like you, but we would work, because it’s how it’s meant to be.

  Jessica looks at me with a shimmer in her eyes, forcing me down on the bed. “Lie back,” she says.

  Without taking my eyes off of her, I watch as she straddles my face and I taste the sweetness that is her. You come to view in my mind again, and just seeing the angelic way you look sitting on top of me has me eating her out with an intense hunger. With your mouth agape and hooded eyes, you moan with a need to reach your orgasm. You speed up, and just hearing the way you pant and moan has me wanting to give you what you need. I eat you the way you deserve. I eat you the way you want. It’s not too long before the taste of your arousal comes flooding into my mouth and I struggle to swallow every last drop as pain radiates from my skull. Jessica is a squirter, you see. Something I’ve never experienced before, but one I’m finding I like. The act is a beautiful way to show how good a man is. I would like you to be the same, but of course, it’s not going to make me want you any less. As long as I hear your sweet voice telling the world how much you enjoy me, it’s all I need.

  I switch our positions, propping her up on her knees and pushing her head down onto the bed. I don’t give her time to rest as I slam straight into her, pounding hard. I like how vocal she is. Love how she’s not afraid to cry out when she’s being fucked. I use her. Use her to fulfil my own needs. Use her to release this tension I’ve had since being with you earlier today. Visions of you have me emptying my load into her quickly. Not my finest or longest moment, but I’m not here to satisfy her, I’m here to satisfy me. I move slowly inside her a couple more times before pulling out.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  “Thank you,” she responds.

  I get dressed again and say goodbye, exiting her house and getting into my car, driving off. It may seem cruel to use her like this. It’s just below leaving some note on her dresser as I leave. There are no ill thoughts toward me. The next time I message her, she’ll be up for it again. This is our arrangement. And it works.

  Chapter Four

  Ian

  Why am I sitting here? Why am I parked outside of your house? The one you share with your housemate, Rose? Why can’t I leave well enough alone? Why is it that when I have sex with her, I can’t stop picturing you? And why isn’t she enough to sate these retched needs? From the shrouded darkness of my car, I watch as you move your way through the home. You have curtains, but for some reason, you refuse to use them at night. This aggravates me because once again, I find that you seem to hold no regard for your own security and safety.

  I found myself mindlessly driving over here after leaving Jessica’s house. It wasn’t hard to locate where you live. All I needed to do was find a tagged post on social media that had the location tagged as well, and that was the end of that. Based on your social media behavior, I gathered that would be something you would do. You and your friends need to behave more responsibly. This is utterly unacceptable.

  You’re not doing anything sexual, but the way your smile lights up your face and brightens up the kitchen has my dick twitching. You dance around as you flit from one area to the other, preparing dinner. I suspect your housemate isn’t home yet judging by the lack of a second person in the home and that your car is the only one in the driveway. I don’t know what you’re listening to, but I want to. I want to know what makes you so happy. I want to be the one that can paint that same expression on your face.

  The song must have changed, because now your eyes are closed, and you sway from side to side as you mix potatoes in a bowl. You’re having mashed potatoes and steak tonight. My fingers tap on the steering wheel. An itch that was created when you put your hair up into a messy bun. I want to get a closer look at you. Be able to watch you and notice every inch of you, but I can’t, so I stay hidden. When you’re done mixing, you take a plastic spoon and serve it up, taking the steaks with tongs and placing them down on the plate as well. You stand back and admire your work, and your smile grows bigger with a proud and triumphant glint in your eyes.

  My view of you is blocked by an oncoming car. They park next to yours and a jealous tingle moves through me at the thought of the newcomer being a male visitor and not your housemate. There was no male of interest on your social media accounts, however, I’ve already established that you’re not personable with your account. I breathe a sigh of relief when I see a feminine figure exit the vehicle and walk up the path to the front door. I don’t get to see her face clearly as she’s talking on the phone and hidden by the darkness of the night. She disappears into the home, and I return my attention back to you as you set the table for you and your housemate.

  Your slender figure comes into view and I sit frozen in fear that you have seen me as you look in my direction. My pulse pounds loudly in my head and I wait the excruciating seconds that seem to last for a lifetime. Eventually, you draw the curtains, taking away my viewing pleasure. Sinking into my seat, I let out a groan.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” I hiss out in anger at myself. That was close, and even though I made certain that I wouldn’t be seen by parking in between the streetlights, you still never know. Leaving would be the best choice to make, but I can’t bring myself to do it. The pull you have on me is excruciatingly strong, and I can fight it no longer. I remain seated, transfixed on the curtains on the off chance you will open them up again. I pray to the gods that you will, because I can’t go home right now. And even though I know I’ll see you in a couple of days, driving away is not an option.

  I sat waiting for what felt like hours. Watching eventually grew tiresome, and I resorted to reading a book on my phone. I’m not a fan of electronic reading devices, but I have acknowledged the usefulness of them. I have one because carrying a book around with me isn’t always suitable. And in times like this, I’m grateful I gave in. I’m halfway through the last chapter of the book, when out of the corner of my eye, I see a light shining from up high. I look up and see you, an absolute vision, walking across your room, taking off your jacket and hanging it up on a coat rack. I love that you don’t throw it over a chair or on the floor like most other people would. It shows respect and a sense of order and tidiness.

  Smartly, you close the curtains of your bedroom. However, with the light shining from the background, I can still make out your perfectly svelte frame. I watch with renewed vigor and enthusiasm. Gazing upon your silhouette as you remove your clothes, moving as if you are performing a dance. A dance made just for me. I feel my dick harden, and I’m thrown into a vision of you
in front of me, stripping for me, instead of me peering at you like some creep, which I’m not. With my head cocked to the side, on my seat, I look on as I watch you unzip the back of your dress. The way you lift your hair up to not get it caught in the zipper has my blood pumping. Looking around, I ensure there are no unsuspecting neighbors and undo my belt and pull the zipper down on my slacks, freeing my now raging hard cock. Gripping it firmly in my hand, I stroke myself as I picture your hand being the one to move up my shaft. It’s so vivid it’s like I can practically feel you.

  It wouldn’t usually take this little to get me going. I’m, for the most part, a hard man to please sexually in the bedroom. It takes the right kind of woman to have me acting this way. Have me thinking and feeling this way. You were never meant to be that right kind of woman for me, Viola. You were never meant to walk into my life. I was never meant to attach myself to you. I’m too goddamn smart for all this, yet here I am, jerking off as I watch your silhouette. The way you stand there in just your underwear. The way I want to burst in through your door and fuck you against your window so the world can see that you’re mine. They’ll know that I’ve chosen you and will mark you as mine in every way I can.

  I increase the speed of my hand and even though I had sex very recently, I’m about to burst like a teenage boy. This is why I crave you, Viola. This is why I need you and can’t think straight when I’m around you. This is why, in the end, we’ll be each other’s undoing. You’re way too dangerous for me. It’s as if you were sent here to punish me for my past indiscretions. Is this a test? Is this a test to see if I’ve lived up to my word, God? I should have been able to resist. I’ve been able to with so many others, but I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again and again, there’s something about you. I’m conflicted with what is morally right and lawful and what I want, and right now, what I want is winning. It’s winning as I pump myself harder when I see your arms go behind your back and you unclasp your bra. The way you turn and I can see the outline of your breasts. I haven’t fully seen them, and I already know how beautiful they are. Perfectly perky breasts that seem to call out to me. To touch, suck, bite, and kiss. To play with them so well that it makes you come from just that simple act.