SRU Killer
- 4 years ago
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Lady-killer free porn video
If you happen to enjoy my story, please don’t scroll away without letting me know about it. If you don’t enjoy it, criticize it freely without forgetting to pinpoint where I made mistakes and how you think they can be best resolved. Thank you in advance for your analysis!
*****
This morning isn’t cold in the slightest bit. My eyes slowly burst open and the first thing I discern is the brilliant drizzling of sunlight into my room. This doesn’t surprise me, considering that my bed is stationed right next to the window.
I stir out of sleep every morning to see glowing sunshine rays engulfing me. I enjoy this sighting and I am so insanely addicted to it! Ever since I was six, windows have always been my favorite spot to place my bed alongside. I’m now twenty-one, and up till now, I have not cast off this darling sin of mine. My mom used to frighten me that napping a sniffing away distance from the window was seriously dangerous, chiefly at night, as it made me vulnerable to witch spells and demoniac nightmares. She experimented with every prank imaginable, aiming to scare me into forsaking my alongside-window-sleeping addiction, but all her efforts ended up unsuccessful.
My fingers squash a worn toothbrush stuffed with bowed white bristles. I knock into Camilla the instant I push open our bathroom’s ever-screeching door. She is putting on boy shorts and a soiled denim vest and her shoulder has been lifted high to help her brace her Samsung Galaxy S10 Edge against her ear. I apologize quickly, ‘I am sorry, Camilla, I wasn’t expecting to find you here so early. Please forgive me. I am such a silly girl, you know?’
She removes her phone from her ear and she warns me in a velvety voice, ‘That is my boyfriend, Ian, whom I am talking to, and we are discussing no-laughing-matter affairs. It’s okay, it’s not your fault that we crashed into each other. If you don’t mind, I have an urgent conversation to devote myself to.’
I steadily reverse and I sneak a look at her before she has dropped out of sight. She giggles and heaves her head up, now holding the phone properly. I don’t know what she is laughing at. Ian must be an extremely humorous guy by all means conceivable. I shrug and cautiously slam the aluminum-framed door. It is now time to scrub my teeth and rinse my face before I switch into the kitchen and fix up a delicious breakfast.
Camilla is my room mate. We are both students at Andersen University, seated thirty minutes of walk away from Roosevelt Lane—where we presently rent a flat. I am studying Pharmacy, aiming for a Bachelor’s Degree, and I have ten months awaiting me to finalize my first year. Camilla boasts a six-year experience of dwelling in Anders. I have only been here for three months. She is a fourth year Medicine student whose leading intellect has excited her scholastic professors into awarding her one hundred per cent bursary until the day that she will complete her studies.
I am frying eggs inside our mini kitchen, purposing to spread them over smooth slices of bread, when she dashes in, dressed up exquisitely. She pulls up before me and rowdily wails, ‘Girlfriend, I have to go now. Ian is taking me out for a date and I absolutely don’t want to miss out another chance of whooping it up with him! I’m sorry, I will have to skip breakfast this morning. And I will be late for supper what’s more.’ My disquiet gaze follows her lips as they snake into a merry smile.
Her words first knife my ears, then they tear apart my blood vessels, and they ultimately cripple my heart. How can she miss out such an exceptional meal after all that effort and trouble that I have subjected myself to? She must show some bit of appreciation by sitting down here and relishing a munch or two of my yummy food before she presses on with that detestable appointment of hers! Once she accomplishes this, my swelling rage will soften, and I will also feel better. Anyway, it is now pointless to talk her into having breakfast with me. Camilla is a very stubborn woman who will not alter her reasoning without putting up a terribly aggressive fight.
‘Go ahead, Camilla. I don’t want you to be late. We will have breakfast together next time.’
She scoots toward me and sows a slow, enthusiastic kiss on my forehead. ‘Thank you, sweetheart. What would you like me to bring for you when I return home?’
‘Chocolate will definitely make my day.’
Her lips elongate into a wide grin, her cheeks puff up, and her eyelids flicker timidly. ‘I will see you again tonight,’ these are her last words. I can’t put up with this pretence any more! Tears spill out of my eyes the flash she shuts our entryway door. A minute later, her automobile thunders to life, and the tires reel into the remote distance with a prolonged squeal. I brace myself up and revert my attention toward cooking.
I am not accustomed to eat alone but I have no choice presently—do I? I cuddle up on the sofa and munch bread smothered with eggs. Leaks of steaming tea warm up my parched throat every now and then. I have a peculiar weakness for very hot tea. I do not swallow any tea that is not piping hot!
Just when I am done with eating and I am about to clean up the dishes, the doorbell tinkles, prompting me to check who has just stopped by. I glance at the entryway clock before I get rid of the undying knells. It is clearly 6.23, and I am not prepared to entertain any visitor today! I unbolt the door bit by bit. My eyes comb every living outdoor angle, longing to glimpse one or more breathing souls. The boulevard is as desolate as a wilderness. A truck rumbles away in the furthest distance, shrinking and shrinking until it eventually disappears.
I pace outside and search everywhere. I fail to spot anyone loitering within the confines of my mega courtyard. Did a ghost initiate that knock? I have never questioned the existence of ghosts, but I am now wondering what a dead man’s soul could scour for here at my door. I am about to go back inside when something catches my eye on the stairs beneath—a bouquet of fresh roses! I go down on my knees and pick up the exquisite flowers. I rub them against my nose and slowly breathe in. An appetite-inducing scent dips into my nostrils and aerates my lungs till they are wholly filled. Who has left these adorable roses here?
The minute I step back inside, the telephone begins to ring. I drop the flowers on a table and bolt toward it. ‘This is Alice speaking. Can I please know who I am talking to?’
‘I have called to find out if you have collected my flowers, young lady,’ a manly voice peals.
Fear prostrates me and I stand confused, attempting to correlate these two odd events that have lately occurred. At long last, I heal from my anxiety and then I declare, ‘I think that you have dialed a wrong number, sir. I don’t understand what you are talking about.’
‘Are you not Alice Nigel, woman?’
‘Yes, I am Alice, and I have no idea who I am talking to. Can you please disclose your name and your whereabouts?’
‘I don’t want to lose you, Alice. That is why I will not ever reveal my name or my location to you. I don’t have many words to say to you. Comb through those flowers and you will find a note that I have specifically composed for you. Farewell.’
Someone is determined to mess about with me. Who could it be? My tolerance level steadily winds down. I sift the flowers and detect the note. It is a small piece of white paper and on it is inscribed:
YOU ARE THE WOMAN OF MY DREAMS, ALICE. I’M NOT BRAVE ENOUGH TO APPROACH YOU BUT I CERTAINLY HAVE THE GUTS TO SEND YOU THESE CUTE ROSES. THEY SMELL AWFULLY SWEET JUST LIKE YOU AND THEY ARE AS EXCEEDINGLY BEAUTIFUL AS YOU ARE, YOURS DEVOTEDLY—THE MYSTERIOUS GUY WHO IS INFATUATED WITH YOU.
What does this really signify? I fail to understand a thing. If this guy has not just fled the sanitarium, then he obviously is predestined to settle there. I pick the telephone, shaking furiously, and t
hen I search the number that has recently contacted me. I cannot see the digits that it is made up of—expressing that it is a private number which I am unable to dial back. Damn it! What can I do to uncover this lunatic’s identity? I contemplate and contemplate, yet I do not find even one single logical solution to this problem.
My first class will commence at nine. I am neither prepared to show up late nor to skip it. I flee into the shower, where I undress myself and toss my clothes in the passageway. A spray of fizzing water plummets toward me. The constant rain licks my cringing skin, forcing me to shudder. Coolness swells throughout my flesh instantaneously, pursuing the speedy driblets wherever they happen to roll. The sprinkling sneaks in to my hair, brushing every single space and hideaway accessible until each strand of my pitch-black hair has prostrated itself. A sharp hiss ducks my clenched teeth and my eyelids fasten in chorus. This is truly delectable!
Roughly ten minutes later, my hand stretches to the tap and I twist it till it refuses to roll any further. The whizzing rainfall ceases at once. I budge into my bedroom and embark on clothes hunting. I analyze each and every attire marshaled inside my walk-in closet but I fail to determine what I should wear. Would a knee-long slip dress, toned with an army green fleece jacket, look awesome on me? No one has requested me to put in an appearance at a grand celebration. I have three classes, full stop, and each one ends in approximately two hours.
I do not succeed to dress myself up and to manage my time well simultaneously. I realize that plenty of minutes have been poorly exhausted. I collect my books inside my roomy clutch bag, and then I leave before I can forgetfully squander some additional time. Every slipping away second is extraordinarily invaluable. I will not authorize myself to blow further time. Three weeks ago, I had an appalling accident that wrecked my car beyond identification but miraculously left me alive in spite of a few alarming slits that I suffered. I am convinced that the Almighty loves me so much. I have no other illustration to give, clarifying how one could pull through such an unmerciful calamity. Thank heaven, I can still run and leap today. Even though my insurance company won’t be able to breathe new life into my motorcar, they are currently overseeing that I not only get remunerated, but that I also possess a brand new motor—at their expense. I can’t wait to have another car and to test its potential on the never-ending road!
For the moment, I travel to school on foot. It is not a bad idea, is it? These days I enjoy more exercise—which I wasn’t privileged with before. Camilla has preferred to omit all her pending classes this morning. If she was going to school, I would have happily joined her for a cozy ride inside her Ford Sonic. A chief genius that she is, she never frets about failing her tests and researches—which I every time do. I am not gifted intellectually like her, or else I would habitually skip most of my lectures. I am pitiable when it comes to learning on my own. Group studies and dialogues are my tower of strength.
I am still far away from the university when I draw near a gang of four men who are loitering the street aimlessly and inspecting every female that is moving past them. Indistinguishable tattoos grace their necks and cheeks. As I move closer, my vision snowballs and I am able to sight their tattoos with light distinctness. It is a cartoon of a black mamba crowing its unclosed mouth. Two cutting fangs smeared with droplets of mortal venom dangle menacingly, on a stretch of grass beneath sprawls this universally dreaded beast’s threadlike tail.
The men swerve their heads toward me all of a sudden. I stare away and seek to move past them as briskly as I can. The street is packed, purporting that swift movement is limited on my part. My safety is now questionable, my heart thuds uncontrollably the instant two overweight men surface frontwards. I race toward them, shoving my slender self between them, and I manage to slip away without confronting any restraint. It is too late, unfortunately. A straightened palm slaps my arm and ferociously pulls me backward. I have no further alternative besides turning around. I hope to sight one of those two furious men whom I have forced my way through. Astonishment catches me unprepared nevertheless. Flaunting a shorn head and flamboyant rings that pierce his nostrils and unsightly ears, a gigantic man emerges in front of me, clad in the dirtiest array.
‘Why are you holding my arm? Let go off me now,’ I spit, presuming that this will be sufficient to drive him away. His jagged nails slice into my flesh while he drags me toward his companions. I scratch his bare hand repeatedly but no harm is caused to him thanks to my infancy-learnt habit of gnawing my nails day in, day out. He solely smiles at me like I am rubbing him for mere fun and not to provoke his skin into irritating.
‘There is no escape for you, belle. You must stay cooperative and calm if you don’t want me to hurt you.’
I strive to free myself from his unfriendly grip. He doesn’t sympathize with me, his clutch relocates to my shoulder and it stiffens once more. My lips splinter and I employ all my energy toward loosing a clamorous sob. The pack gorges the atmosphere with loud rackets of laughter in an attempt to interrupt me from drawing the multitude’s attention. Before I can utterly grasp this chain of jumbled events, four sadistic men surround me and they deliriously caress me everywhere—on my bum, my thighs, my breasts, and my face. Damn them! What do they think that they are doing?
‘Stop it!’ I shriek, ‘Release me, you stinking beasts, or else I will scream.’
One of them wraps his hands around me and he bows a little in an endeavor to brush our lips together. I bear arms against him, propelled by a consuming desire to win, but I fail to subdue him just like a deer can never overpower a crocodile’s unrelenting grip. His hands tighten until they are as rigid as a rock. My hope turns its back on me. The issuing crowd never bothers to lend me an ear. It appears that I am doomed to get ravished here, in broad daylight, while everyone is unmovedly walking past and minding their own business! Who will come to my rescue?
The guest surfaces from nowhere like a guardian angel who has been sent to deliver me from my most perilous moment. His spread out palm vigorously slaps the hoodlum’s cheek, compelling him to quail at first and then to abandon me finally. Just as I am thinking out to flee, the stranger promptly snatches me and he cuddles me in his secure arms. I stare up and encounter his shimmering steel gray eyes. To what can I compare his graceful eyes? His are the most beautiful pair of eyes that I have ever seen! He is not only breathtakingly handsome but he is furthermore furnished with well-knit legs and athletic-modeled hands.
‘Are you okay, young lady?’ He questions me, not neglecting to dart a menacing glare at the withdrawing mobsters ahead.
‘I am okay, sir.’
He frees me instantaneously, and my appreciative gaze escorts him as he marches with undaunted courage toward the four disillusioned men. ‘If I ever see you near her again, consider yourselves dead.’
‘Very soon, you will regret having humiliated us like this, Christopher,’ the battered guy voices madly. He turns around with his allies and they unhesitatingly disappear into the unceasing crowd.
My hero, Chris, smiles auspiciously at me. ‘You don’t have to worry about anything now. You can go ahead with your journey. And please be very careful next time. If you run into these remorseless scoundrels another time, you must quickly sidetrack into a different route.’
‘I will be careful, I promise. Thank you for saving me.’
I spin around and thread my way through the buzzing mass. No matter how hard I try, I am finding it impossible to ignore everything that has just happened. Had no
t Chris intervened, I don’t know how I would have pulled through that living nightmare on my own. Being a very frail and emotional person, I sob there and then. I can’t let people see me like this. No matter how difficult it sounds: I must fortify myself and renounce my tears. My fingers gently flick my cheeks, expunging every little speck of wetness. I sniff in relief and contemplate to run—as I cannot stand to arrive late for my class.
I make it just in time. The lecturer ambles into the classroom a step ahead of me. I quietly take my seat, remove my notebook, and then I proceed to write down his theme. Today’s topic is about the history and significance of medicine. Mr. Bourne unearths the existing classes of medicine, as well as what constitutes each individual group. I love his discourse so far, I let all my mind concentrate, constantly reminding myself to stay awake so that I can sidestep missing out a point or two!
At the end of his speech, he hands over a simple exercise to us. He jots it down on the sleek-surfaced whiteboard using his blue marker pen and then he demands that every one of us present attempt it and that we furthermore deliver our finished work to our class supervisor, who will eventually present it to him for marking and assessment. We all do like we have been mandated to. In stillness, I sit on my chair, peacefully meditating the list of five questions one by one, and pondering about Chris at the same time. How can I erase him from my memory when he is my hero, my friend, and my protector?
Having now put the finishing touches to my assignment, I breathe out and lock my eyelids. A charming pair of gray sparkling eyes materialize before me. I am seeing Christopher again and again! He is now a cherished work of art that my brain cautiously preserves in its secret museum. I hope that what I am feeling right now isn’t love at first sight.
I eyeball in boredom as one lecturer pulls out of the classroom after another. The first subject intrigued to me, but the final two are just so unexciting! I don’t know if I am dull, or maybe it is the lecturers who are gifted with unsatisfactory methods of teaching. I continue begging God to axe my tribulation. This is just too much for me to endure!
My stomach unexpectedly moans with a vehement growl. Aha! Now I am convinced that starvation is the sole cause of my sterility and weariness. My stomach is so empty—I will have to swallow a whole blood-spattered chicken once I get home.
Rita—an auburn-haired girl with dark olive complexioned skin—sits adjacent to me. When classes are done with, she stands up and walks to me in a self-reliant fashion. I speedily straighten up and shake her hand. ‘From the look of things, you are really hungry. I have spent hours listening to the fiery roar of your stomach.’ A giggle slips away from her splintered lips. ‘I am inviting you for a snack at MacDonald’s. Will you please come with me?’
My efforts to overpower this shame that has suddenly possessed me fall flat. ‘I appreciate your kindly offer, Rita, but as you can see, I am now rushing home to prepare dinner. My room mate has travelled to North Carolina. She will return home any minute now and she will be very tired to perform any house chores.’
‘Don’t be stubborn, Alice. Day by day, I see you walking home after our classes end. I have a car and I am going to drive you there. It will only take us a couple of minutes before I drop you at your place.’
I no longer want to cling to stubbornness, and so I give in. The corners of Rita’s mouth curl up—forming a blest but quiet smile. I chuckle and she chuckles as well. Her hand straightens out to me. ‘Shall we get going, my dear friend, Alice?’
‘Yes! What are we still waiting for?’
My watch exhibits 4.52 PM. The sun glows a dazzling orange, enwreathed by a litter of shadowy clouds. This is no icy season, trust me, yet it is not difficult to misread the current spring’s gloom for winter’s approach. Rita and I stroll side by side carrying our handbags. Her considerate gaze has now zeroed in on my face. Ferocious wind scourges us, chucking lengthy twines of fine auburn hair into her face. She flicks the stray hairs back to their original place with a gentle swing of her hand and then she inquires, ‘Where do you come from, Alice? Are you an inhabitant of Anders, or maybe you are an immigrant here just like me?’
Jeannie
- 30.09.2020
- 30
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