The Stalker: Visit One, Day Three - Sex Stories

The Stalker: Visit One, Day Three

... so good, my lovely. So good. Come let’s sit on the bed.” Mike half carried her to the bed, and pulled her down onto his lap and started wiping her eyes. “What’s wrong? Shhhh, Can you stop crying and tell me what’s wrong?” Sally was an emotional wreck, the thoughts from the previous night just all came out in a jumble. “I-I-I don’t know why you are doing this I don’t want to be your toy, you are just going to kill me, so I don’t go to the police. You cannot keep me here forever I have to go to work tomorrow or people will wonder where I am, I have seen your face so you have to kill me.” Sally put her face in her hands and cried again. “I don’t want to die, not like this.” What she said did not seem to be in any particular order, and it was not even what she really wanted to say, but it was some of it. It was too hard to keep her thoughts straight when he kept changing things up on her. Mike took her hands from her face while talking to her. “Oh my sweet bitch, I am not going to kill you. I’m not. You really put a lot of thought into that didn’t you? No, no. You are far too valuable to kill, and much to pretty. I am doing all this so you know how to please me. That way you don’t get into trouble so much. It is just the beginning that is so hard, and I know it is because you have not had time to get to know my wants and desires, but you will learn. You are right you do have to go to work tomorrow and so do I, but we will talk about that later, let’s eat, okay?” Sally realized ...

... she was starving, and was a little reassured that he was not going to kill her, but the rest of it sounded very ominous. Mike grabbed Sally’s hand and led her to the kitchen. “Just stand out of my way and look pretty okay?” “Yes, Sir” “Good Girl, now do you want eggs and toast, french toast, pancakes or even oatmeal? I will make whatever you want.” “French toast, please, Sir.” Sally thought about running for the door but every time it seemed she really considered it, he would look at her, study her, question her with just his eyes, and she would drop her head every time, defeated. She watched as he cooked, and in a short time there was a plate of french toast he had the syrup and butter waiting on counter. “Come.” Sally came and he handed her the plate of food. “Do not drop it, put it at my place and come back for the butter and the syrup.” Sally walked to the table leaving Mike in the kitchen. Could she make it if she ran? She was trembling as she put the plate on the table. “Come, bitch!” the tone was a bit sharper as if he could read her thoughts. She came back at a trot, nervous that he could see through her. “You cannot escape. If you try you will be punished, understand? Mike held her chin in his hand and looked her in the eye while making her look him in the eye. “Do you understand, bitch?” “Yes, Sir. I do, I do.” How did he do that she wondered. How could he possibly know what she was thinking about. “Good. Grab the butter and syrup; I will get the silverware, and other ...