Thread: Farewell, My Lovely (Quix & Xana) - Completed Story

RE Farewell, My Lovely Quix Xana Twenty minutes, thirty minutes the man sat in the Starbuck's, ordering another coffee, and he scrolled through the images of Lila Ross, then started again. His wandered over her body, and appraised it inch by inch, stopping to linger on the sight of her fingers buried in her dripping pussy before they returned to her face. The fingers of once reached out to trace her jaw line, and Mark pressed the pad of his thumb to her neck as he imagined the sensations as he closed his hand around it to cut off her airway, and her pussy clenched even tighter around his invading cock, would feel. Would she scream or cry, and beg him to stop when he released his grip? Would there be tears stream from her eyes, and would she drop to her knees when he was done, and plead for him to at least leave her alive? His erection throbbed more intensely, and the man squirmed in the booth as his gaze wandered to the clock at the top of the screen, and noted the time elapsed since he'd sent the message, and Mark's cheerful demeanour transformed in to a scowl. Fucking bitch, he hissed under his breath, as he'd began to think that, once again, she wouldn't respond. Although Mark worked for himself in a one-person office downtown, contracting his computer forensic expertise to private citizens and Law Enforcement Authorities, he still had appointments to keep, and couldn't remain there all day, however just as he slipped his wallet from his back pocket and rose from his seat, the cell buzzed, and he dropped back down. Who is this? What do you want? Did she truly not know? Mark didn't believe so, and he smiled in satisfaction as he rested his back against the booth cushions, and responded to her text. I'm an acquaintance of your husband, shall we say and as to what I want, I believe you're already aware of that. If not, you could ask Stephanie Davis if only the dead could speak. I want you. On your knees, eyes brimming with tears, and my cock shoved down your throat. However, that's in the future, as first I want you frightened, and looking over your shoulder, not sure who is friend or foe each time you step outside, or walk down the street, scared that every man you pass could be me your future rapist. Fear, Ms Ross, pure, unadulterated fear. And I'd also like for you to answer my question, how do you like to be fucked? Or better yet, show me. Ensure the living-room drapes are open tonight when your husband returns home, so that I can obtain a nice view. Do not even contemplate attempting to find me, as with high-powered binoculars I could be located anywhere within a ten block radius, or revealing our liaison to Tom. Disobey me at your own peril, because, be warned, if you do, these lovely images of you with your fingers in your cunt will be splashed all over the internet by morning, and your husband's superiors advised that he's disobeyed protocol and become a lone wolf. How do you think the great detective would handle a demotion and his wife's naked body displayed for the entire world to see? Would your marriage survive, Lila. Would Tom? Would you? Is he intelligent enough to capture me before we reach-end game or do you lack faith in the man you married, and you're prepared to jeopardise his entire career and happiness because you don't trust his capabilities? If the latter is the case, then maybe me bringing that to light is a favour to you both. Dubois scanned her message again before he continued. It was only short, but displayed no evidence of fear, and neither was it pleading, and he'd have expected nothing else from a forensic psychologist than a worthy adversary. It was why she, and Tom, had been chosen. Oh, and here's a clue, as I'm certain you'll be updating your profile after this conversation. Wear something nice, I'm a man with a penchant for lingerie . Message sent