5 Days to go
When he saw her the next day across the ground floor foyer he felt the urge to run towards her and finish the hunt. Caution restrained him, it was too soon. He knew she was the one but that did not mean that his success was certain, and failure had dire consequences. She was waiting for the lift with about a dozen others. Before he reached them she and they had packed into the car. When he was about three metres from the doors they began to close. Their eyes met and she smiled, her brown irises glinting with more than a friendly hello.
Impatiently he waited at the adjacent doors willing the illuminated numbers to descend faster. Then he could take his position and observe her in her tight skirt, shorter than yesterday, less professional, more provocative.
He watched her make regular trips to the water cooler all morning. By looking slightly to the left of his screen he could regard her without being too obvious. On her third trip the plastic cup she was carrying fell from her hand. She bent to retrieve it, carefully aligning herself so the split in the back of her tight skirt revealed the best view of her inner thigh, replete with a hint of stocking top.
His groin tingled and lunch seemed an eternity away. Then he would risk being bolder …
But lunch came and went without opportunity, doubling his frustration. An office emergency meant that he could only watch her from the glass confines of the meeting room as she headed out to the plaza in front of the office building.
That night he lay awake until the early hours, the muffled sound of traffic and distant trains carried through his open window on the damp air his only companions. When finally he drifted off into a fitful slumber he found himself prowling the city streets.
He was searching for something, his nose sniffed the air and erect ears listened all night for signs of his quarry. It knew it was being chased, its movements furtive it sought out the shadows. It threw swift glances over its shoulder, not wanting to fully comprehend its pursuer, fearful of staring the fiend in the eye.
He could smell its fear and fed from it. As he ran, he dropped to all fours, hoof and claw driving together with one goal, his phallus swung below him swollen and sensitive, the cold night air making it tingle.
The prey’s fear began to mingle with another aroma. She knew what was approaching and while she feared it she also lusted after her doom. He bounded faster, brushing aside a terrified police man. Shredding his chest with sabre like talons.
In an alley he cornered her, she was breathless and cowering. He rose to his hind legs, proud sex waving in front of him. His clawed hands grabbed her, lifting her up, his fetid breath bathing her sweet pure skin in hot, humid corruption. Then she was lowered onto his throbbing member, impaled, riven, taken as his
He woke in a pool of sweat, sheets wrapped around him like a shroud.
4 Days to go
Today they shared the same lift, so close he could have touched her, but a wall of suits barred his way. His lip curled in frustration as his jockeying for position on entering the lift came to nought.
She wore a trouser suit today, it was colder after all, but still a shame to cover her shapely legs. But it accentuated her ass nicely. At lunch his timing was impeccable, joining her at the lift before anyone else had left the desk. They were still alone when they entered. One of the office geeks shambled towards the open door, she reached for the control panel. “Damn, she’s holding it for him” he thought. But no, she pressed the close button and left their potential disturbance waiting for the next lift.
“Thank goodness!” she said, “He gives me the creeps.”
“I’m sorry but anyone over the age of fourteen whose sole topic of conversation is about the Xbox has to be avoided.” They both laughed.
“So … what are you having for lunch?” he asked.
“What would you suggest?”
“There’s a deli just round the back of the office. I’d highly recommend it. I’ll show you if you like.” He offered. She acquiesced.
They walked around the smaller, more friendly shops in the narrow street that lurked behind the office, eating their freshly made sandwiches. They sold everything, apparently, and were a refreshing contrast from the generic retailers at the front of the building. Small talk ensued between mouthfuls, it marked out time, postponed the moment.
He dived down a narrow alley that she would have walked straight past otherwise. “Shortcut”, he explained. The alley twisted to the left a few metres in, obscuring them from the shoppers on the arcade. He stopped and turned to face her, she almost collided with him.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Elizabeth, Liz. Sorry I assumed you knew.”
“I’m Bartholomew, Bart.” He grinned, “And don’t even think about making a joke because I’ve heard them all. Pleased to make your acquaintance Elizabeth.” He held out his hand and she took it. Slightly put out by the formality of the introduction.
She felt her hand held in a firm muscular palm. He didn’t let go. She began to feel alarmed. Alone with this powerful man, out of sight of the street, needles of panic pricked her scalp and neck. “What’s wrong?” he asked as she tried to withdraw her hand.
His left forearm pressed against her clavicles, pushing her against the yellow brick wall behind her. Her body arched and tensed. A cry dried to dust in her throat as he leant in towards her face. “Isn’t this what you’ve been thinking about?”.
She tried to say “No”, but her eyes betrayed her and the words never made it past her larynx. Trepidation mixed with the thrill of being pinned to the wall. She was acutely aware of a sudden humidity between her legs, accompanied by a comforting glow. She willed his hand to explore her flesh, to touch her skin which now burned for him. Her muscles relaxed, her whole body submitting to him.
With a knowing smile he released her. Elizabeth staggered slightly as she stepped away from the wall.
“We’d better get back, we’ll be late”, observed Bart. Mute and feeling uncharacteristically subservient Elizabeth followed him back to the office.
“Can I pick you up at eight tomorrow, for dinner? My treat.” It was phrased as a question but she had no choice in whether or not to accept the invitation.
3 Days to go
Bart took the day as leave. And spent it preparing for his dinner appointment with Elizabeth.
At the stroke eight he rapped three times on her door.
To be concluded.