Nick angled himself behind a bookshelf in such a way that he could watch Katie through the small gap between the tops of the books on one shelf and the bottom of the metal shelf above them.

It wasn't the first time he had done something like this. Nor the second. In fact, he had lost count of how many times he'd done it in just this semester, let alone in total. Nick didn't enjoy very many things in life, but the few things he did enjoy, he enjoyed about as thoroughly as possible, and this was one of them.

Katie turned her beautiful head of thick, glossy black hair, and chatted animatedly with the girl sitting beside her. Her face shared a striking resemblance to Kristin Kreuk from her teenage days on the show “Smallville”, a show he found to be almost unbearably shitty, but had still occasionally watched in order to stare at Lana Lang. Katie was even a bit prettier, as her DNA hadn't been polluted by any of the caucasian garbage-genes that Kristen Kreuk had suffered from. He wasn't even sure what the other girl's name was, nor did he really care. That girl was merely a 5.5/10 on Nick's internal scale of beauty-evaluation, which he calculated coldly and automatically in his head, almost subconsciously, and which determined how he perceived and acted in regards to his female classmates. Katie, on the other hand, was a solid 9.5. Up until a few months ago, he had deemed her to be more of a mid to mid-high 8, but upon recently re-examining her very closely in a class in which she sat diagonally across from him, he noticed that her curves had filled out even more over the past summer, and the lines of her face had matured slightly in a way that made her even more attractive than she already had been. And just like that, she had gone from being #7 on his list of girls to stalk, to numero uno.

“So are you going to Mike's party tomorrow?”, Katie's voice tended to carry a bit more sharply than most other girls', which was juxtaposed against her delicate physical appearance. When coupled with Nick's excellent hearing ability, he could make out each and every word she spoke, even from the spot at which he was perched nearly 40 feet away.

The other girl said “Yeah... I think …::muffled blah blah muffled blah::”. Her voice was the rough opposite of Katie's, and even Nick's phenomenal hearing couldn't make out all of her words. This didn't bother him much though, as the only tidbit he was particularly focused on was what Katie would be up to the next day, on Friday, after school. He intended on stalking her and spying on her. So long as she never saw him do it. That was the key for Nick. In all other respects, he was a relatively “powerless” sort of boy. At 17 years of age, while most of his male classmates were already near their full height standing around 5'11 on average, Nick was closer to 5'8, and had a weak looking, skinny 140-something pound frame. He was also cursed with a penis which, although measuring out at a normal 6 inches in length when erect, was shriveled to barely even a pathetic 2 inches when flaccid. “A grower, not a shower” he had heard this penis-type referred to in the past. This frustrated him immensely, because he realized that although girls would not laugh at him and humiliate him if they realized his dick was the same size as 90% of the other guys in his class when erect, he would probably never get a chance to show them his penis in that format, as they would probably just laugh at his tiny flaccid penis and walk out of the room before giving him the opportunity to show them what he was actually working with. In the few times he had ever attempted to approach a girl to ask her out on a date in the past, he had always envisioned this scene playing out in his head, the girl pointing at his tiny, shriveled, flaccid dick, and then giggling and running out of the room to go whisper about it to all the other girls at some drunken high school house party. He could just see it happening, as clear as day, and so he always ended up deciding that he just couldn't take that risk. Nick was not the type of guy who did well with even the slightest forms of humiliation, let alone something like that.

In other respects however, he was not ugly by any means. His face was handsome, with sharp, intelligent-looking features, but gave off a slightly creepy vibe of lacking emotion and warmth. He also had a frighteningly explosive temper, which seemed to flip on with the suddenness of a light switch. On one occasion, upon losing his patience with a certain English teacher when she insisted that he vocalize his thoughts on the poem she had just read to the class, for a third straight time, even after he had repeatedly said “No”, he stood up with a murderous expression twisted across his face, and threw his desk violently across the room, sending it smashing against the bottom of the dry erase board, snapping the marker-holder ledge off of it, clanking it to the floor, while he screamed “SHUT THE FUCK UP, YOU STUPID CUNT!!!”. The room had gone so quiet that the clanking and rattling of the metal railing seemed to echo for excruciatingly awkward eons of time, everyone's eyes glued between Nick and the teacher, who stood wordlessly staring at each other for a few seconds. Before the teacher could figure out what to do, or say, Nick walked out of the room, his face already having snapped back to its usual cold, creepy form. He didn't return to school for the remainder of that week.

When he had finally come back the following Monday, it was immediately clear to him that he had further solidified his position within the “creepy guy that we will never talk to” ranks, as far as the females were concerned.

Frustrated by the finality of his situation, even if it was by his own doing, he decided that he would force the situation, by extracting his sexual needs on his own solo terms, without even bothering to let his partners in on the fact that they were a part of whatever it was he was up to.

For starters, he had decided that he would spy on all the girls he deemed to be the prettiest in his school. He would listen in on their conversations to figure out where and when they would be, after school, or on the weekends, and then exploit this information to the fullest, in his fucked up ways.

And so, alas, this brings us back to his perch in the school library, where he was listening in on Katie Chen's conversation with her friend.

Katie checked the time on her iphone and then hurried to shove her books and things into her backpack and zip it closed. “Okay, I'll see you tomorrow” she said to the girl next to her, and walked quickly out of the library just as the bell began to ring. He waited for a few seconds, and then followed behind, from a distance. He hadn't been planning on following her home today, since he had intended on instead finding out who's house party she would be going on Friday night and stalking her telescopically from across the street in that environment, as was his usual modus operandi. He preferred that method, since he could “kill multiple birds with one stone” so to speak, in that there were usually dozens of girls from his high school at these parties, and they generally also happened to be some of the best looking of the class. But he just couldn't help himself. He felt abnormally horny today, even by his standards. So, he paced himself a consistent 100 feet behind her as she made her way across the entire campus and then watched her as she shuffled through her designer purse for her car keys and got into her brand new silver Audi. She didn't immediately start the engine though. Instead she sat there, motionless, her head cocked downwards at an awkward angle which he knew to interpret as her scanning through her most recent text messages from all the various popular kids she constantly interacted with. Meanwhile, Nick slinked off into his own car, conveniently but not particularly coincidentally parked halfway down the street from hers. He waited a minute or two, and then he heard her engine burble on and the nose of her car veer out into the road as she began to drive off. He waited till she had just rounded the first bend up ahead, and then turned his car onto the road and followed in suit.

He already knew where she lived, as he had followed her home a few times by now, so he slowed down and parked almost a half block away, watching as her car turned onto the elegant driveway in front of her home, the edges of her neatly trimmed lawn lining its edges with a consistent 1 centimeter gap the whole way along its length, at the end of which her father's spare Porsche GT3 (his “weekend car” as he referred to it) was parked in the garage: its door now sliding open slowly with an electronic whirring noise. From his angle diagonally across the street, he could see that neither her mother's Mercedes CL600, nor her father's weekday car, a BMW 7 series, were in their respective empty spots in the garage, and he determined as such that nobody else was home. He also mentally checked off the fact that the housekeeper normally came on Mondays and Wednesdays (today was Thursday).

Nick waited for Katie to enter her house and close the door behind her, and then he reached over to the footspace in front of the passenger seat of his car, and pulled a long-lensed telescopic monoscope from a duffel bag. He pointed it at the bay window that bubbled out from the corner of her living room, which was conveniently positioned in such a way that he could see partway down two different hallways inside her house, and even more conveniently, the base of the staircase that lead to her upstairs bedroom. He watched as she peeled her top off and began unbuckling the back of her bra as she approached the staircase, and then watched as the bottoms of her legs disappeared up the staircase and out of view. He had cased her house enough times to know that her bedroom window looked out upon the lawn on the other side of the house. She would not be able to see him if he approached from the west. And so he did.

He pulled out a small lockpicking tool, which he had become proficient with, having practiced on numerous old locks scavenged from the local junkyard whilst cooped up in his lonely bedroom in years prior. After a few small clicks and a slight twist of the device, the lock slid open, and he turned the door knob and silently let himself in. She had a nice house. Everything inside was of the highest quality, and up to date. Brand new top of the line oven, stove, refrigerator, and dishwasher in the kitchen. Brand new top of the line washer and dryer. Brand new top of the line 60 inch LED hdtv in the family room. Expensive, black, glassy-surfaced tables and furniture spread out across the spacious interiors of the various rooms of the bottom floor of the house. He glanced over it with a mild appreciation, but hardly any jealousy or greed flickered across his cold, dark eyes. Instead, his mind was currently focused on something he considered far more valuable and enviable. Katie's body.

He felt thankful for the sweltering heat wave that had blown through town the past few days as he crept slowly and silently up the staircase. He knew most of Katie's quirks by now, and one of her biggest ones was that she absolutely hated to sweat. In this type of weather usually preferred to strip herself of all clothing other than a thin, see-through pair of panties, and lie topless on her back, on her luxurious queen sized bed, and browse expensive shoes and handbags on her ipad, the bottom edge of which she rested lightly against the bare skin on her stomach.

The powerful central air conditioning system fluttered on, and this muffled most of the quieter creaks and small sounds from being audible to Katie's ears. Nick took advantage of this, and slowly crept closer and closer to her bedroom door. He wasn't wearing his shoes, and his socks made very little noise on the hardwood floor as he inched still closer. The floorboards didn't even creak much at all, as even the floors had been re-done very recently, just like nearly everything else in her entire beautiful, expensive, modern home. Her bed was positioned in such a way that she was facing her bedroom window when she was propped up on her back leaning against the headboard. The door of her bedroom was diagonally behind her, giving Nick a sort of over-the-shoulder view of her body, as she lay there, topless, on her bed, her breasts rising and falling ever so slightly with each of her soft, relaxed breaths as she flicked through different color options of a particular designer bag on her ipad.

Her breasts weren't enormous by any means, but they were a little larger than what would have been deemed to be “perfectly proportioned” for her body size in the supermodel fashion world, at a full C cup (he had looked through her bra collection on a previous break-in a few weeks earlier when she wasn't home). They were shaped absolutely perfectly though, much to his satisfaction, as this was always his biggest concern when it came to breasts. It was almost as if all the mental notes he had made to himself over the years while sifting through thousands of pictures of topless supermodels on various tumblr photo archives had been magically documented, sent back via a time machine, and then taken into careful consideration by the helices of Katie's DNA when her parents had fucked 17 years and 9 months ago during one particularly fateful thunderstorm, all of those nearly imperceptible imperfections his discerning eyes had noticed whilst pixel-peeping on the internet had been corrected and perfected in Katie's body as her development came to a tantalizing completion this semester. The sides of her thin waist curved outwards like an hourglass as his eyes slid down her midline towards her hips. Her legs were crossed, one leg lying straight, flat against the bed, the other cocked above it, bent at the knee, the outer edge of that leg's ankle touching the outer side of the other leg's calf. He could see the blackness of her thin, ever so precisely trimmed, two inch long landing strip of pubic hair pointing from the top of her vaginal slit towards an imaginary target between her tits, like an arrow, beneath the mostly see-through fabric of the top of her panties, as she arched her body up against the headboard. He wondered what it might feel like to trace his finger slowly across that landing strip, and then up her abdomen, straight along the midline, all the way up to her breasts, at which point he assumed he would feel the soft, perfectly smooth inner sides of her breasts as they brushed softly against the skin on the sides of his index finger, perhaps moistening it with a few small drops of sweat that had dripped into her cleavage as a result of this week's record heatwave, finally dragging his finger up past the cleavage, up her neck, over the curve of her chin, and into her mouth and then watch her face carefully to see what her reaction would be to the taste of her own body.

As Nick's penis finished erecting itself at this most recent thought, he stared at Katie's body through the tiny gap of her nearly-closed bedroom door, and he contemplated to himself how he would never actually get to find out just exactly what that would feel like. Not via any polite, socially acceptable method anyway. And as this realization thudded through his brain with the solid kind of sureness of a prison door slamming shut, he felt all the pent up frustrations of all his previous spy sessions boiling up within him, churning and churning like a kaleidoscope of hopelessly wasted boners and blue balls, flashes and glimpses of various dimly illuminated perky high school breasts bouncing and wobbling in bedroom windows of the houses of all the popular kids of his high school, of which he had spent countless hours peeking through from across the street with the several thousand millimeters of focal length that his high end telescopes offered him. He had watched so many of them getting their fuck on. Cindy. Annie. Julie. Wendy. Christy. Tiffany. And every other hot girl in his class with a name ending in “y” or “ie” you could think of. He'd watched them all as they drunkenly fucked their respective Brocks, Bretts, Brads, and Bruces, whos six packs rippled muscularly with each thrust as the girls bounced away in their trendy cowgirl sex positions that they had apparently all shared trade secrets about with one another in the school bathrooms during those lengthy-but-mostly-forgotten gaps between high school parties that the boring, old, flabby adults; teachers, counselors, principals, parents, and coaches referred to as “school days”, encumbering these barely restrained hotties in a thin veil of “dignity”, or whatever it was that boring, flabby adults were obsessing over these days while they desperately pretended not to be counting down the hours to their daily masturbation rituals, the spank banks of which that year's prom queen would make her regular cycles through, as surely as the sun would rise every morning.

His thoughts began to melt together, spinning faster and faster, burning hotter and hotter, his hand squeezing tighter and tighter around his now beet-red penis.

He barged loudly into the room, slamming the door wide open, one hand still gripped around his dick.

Katie shrieked in surprise and stumbled to her feet on top of her bed, shakily leaning her back against the corner of the walls of her bedroom, holding her ipad out like some sort of ridiculous excuse for a club, defensively. “W-w-WHAT THE FUCK!?!?!?” “n-NICK!??? W-WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?!?!?”
Nick explained to her that he wanted to know what it might feel like to drag his index finger across her landing stip, up across the midline of her torso, and then plunge his finger into her mouth, and watch her facial expression while he did so.

But Katie was too freaked out to hear a word of what he said, she just stood there, shaking, and squeaking and shrieking in little fits of horror, brandishing her ipad.

Nick realized that he probably wasn't going to get anywhere with mere verbal explanations, as Katie seemed to be in a rather nervous state of affairs as she stood there, shaking and screaming on her bed, so he pulled a hypodermic syringe out of his pocket with the hand that wasn't wrapped around his penis, and threw it hard, the way a person might throw a dart at a dart board in a pub, right at Katie's torso. He nearly missed her completely, but as she jerkily recoiled, her own motion ended up putting her left shoulder right into its path, and it slammed into it with an ever so slight “fwick”, the plunger sliding partway down from the momentum of the impact, injecting a few cc's of a powerful horse tranquilizer into her bloodstream. She let out a few more whimpers, each one a bit quieter and more faded than the previous, as she staggered back and forth on her bed, finally crashing down with one final thud, her beautiful, firm breasts bouncing wildly left and right a couple of times as her body flopped back-first onto the mattress, and then they too were still.

***CONTINUED BELOW***

fuck that's long

well i know what i'm doing the next time i get really really bored at work

50 Shades of Rape?

Lol True

How long it take you to write that?

this one was ok. but youre right; the other one sounds a lot better.

 

Originally Posted by Hughes4

this one was ok. but youre right; the other one sounds a lot better.

Yea. I also got impatient cuz I wanted to try out doing a soundtrack-story where I put a youtube link right in the middle of the story, the idea being that you click on it and have it playing in the background while you read the sex scene, lol. Not sure if that actually worked or not, but for some reason it seemed like a good idea at the time.

typo obv

lol

 

Originally Posted by bfactor

The first draft (which is the story in the OP), was really fast. Basically however long it takes to write 5,000 words divided by about 100 words a minute. So, about an hour I guess, with spell check and whatnot.

seriously?????? wtf, it takes me 2-3 hour to just write 1000 words if I know exactly what I am trying to argue.

 

Originally Posted by TMLMS13

seriously?????? wtf, it takes me 2-3 hour to just write 1000 words if I know exactly what I am trying to argue.

It depends if I already know ahead of time what I'm planning on writing. If I do, then I can usually just write it out without stopping much other than just once in a while to re-word a sentence that came out wrong. If I start changing plans midway through or am not sure about a part that is coming up ahead, then obv it takes wayyyy longer, since I have to keep rewriting shit and putting in new paragraphs after thinking to decide what to do. That's why, like I said, the second version was taking wayyyyy longer, even though it was about the same length, that one was taking a whole entire day by comparison, and I didn't even end up finishing it.

 

Originally Posted by brodog

what a long storey

is that your first non-MM thread post?

no mention of the words "floppity tits"??? C+

where the fuck is part 3? my dick isnt going to stay hard forever (what?)

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