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Dan is dreaming of being home from Iraq. Or is he?
Then, setting her mouth with a steely determination and bringing her body to its full height, she squared her shoulders back, confident. Eyes cold and fixated on his every movement. Silently watching, and doing some assessing of her own.
He looked like he was ready for a long day. Comfortable, determined, yet relaxed. She could tell from his manner that he thought he had hours, if not days, to feed his hunger. A hunger she could only guess at. A hunger that made her body course once again with a tremendous amount of fear... and something that felt oddly like excitement.
Her nipples were hardened peaks beneath her t-shirt, and she could feel the beginning tingling of something moist between her thighs. It was with that last realization that her body began to tremble and she knew she was in trouble. In more ways than one.
Her eyes took the briefest of moments to dart around the large expanse of black, praying that there might be someone, or something, waiting, watching in the shadows to help her. Her body shaking, green eyes riveted back to his when she heard the first of his footsteps start to approach.
Lurker carefully studied the situation unfolding before him. The image of this beautiful woman caused his heart to pound, his mind to race and had unleashed a rage of hormones throughout his body, the effects of which were evidenced by an ever-growing bulge in the crotch of his pants. He wanted this, in a bad way.
He began to take a few steps towards her. Something caused him to pause, an inconsistency in her actions. Somehow, this time really was different. Lurker's mind was a raging turmoil. He had to get himself composed. His worst fear was to display any outward sign of weakness or doubt.
Clearly, she was his for the taking, but that was not Lurker's game. He had long passed the point where any type of forced physical encounters interested him. His was not about taking control; rather his was about setting the stage in such a way that control was given to him.
Wanting his pause to seem intentional, he changed direction slightly and proceeded to a large rack of electronic equipment. He powered on the system and returned to his previous position.
As 'Puddle of Mudd' rang out in the background, Lurker resumed his studies. Kitten's face displayed a mixture of terror and rage, but her body betrayed her. Her sweat soaked shirt, now nearly transparent, gave him a perfect view of two very full breasts, topped by a pair of thick, erect and very obviously excited nipples. Her hips moved in a way that suggested anticipation deep within her womanhood, a natural response to the wetness and heat that he could only imagine was building inside. Yes, Kitten's body confirmed Lurker's suspicions.
He approached her, this time with confidence and authority in his step. He had to remember to control his breathing, to avoid the natural tendency to fall into rhythm with her irregular, gasping efforts. Starting to speak as the gap between their bodies narrowed, "There, there, it's okay my sweet little kitten. It's time to relax and go with the flow. You might not be willing to admit it, but listen to your body. You know that you want this to happen."
As the last words faded into the music, Lurker's powerful right hand surged forward and seized Kitten's still free left hand. Pushing the arm over her head and against the wall, he pressed his body against hers. He could now feel her every breath against his neck. In a raspy voice, he said, "You want this as bad as I do, you're just not yet willing to admit it."
Without warning, Kitten's right leg moved quickly. Instantly, the instep of Lurker's left foot began to burn. He realized that she had stomped on him with the long, spikish heel of her boot. Clenching his teeth in a desperate attempt to quell his emotions and pain, Lurker secured the wrist squirming in his grasp to the wall-mounted shackle.
Laughing to disguise his pain, he commented on her spirit.