I couldn't help myself after regularly seeing your soft womanly curves in the supermarket. Those wide hips, that narrow waist and those full breasts combined with the floaty dresses and carefree attitude, were too much for me to take.
You were oblivious to my presence every time you walked past and I would always try to drink in your sweet and simple perfume. So many nights fantasising about you, concocting wild scenarios so that you'd notice me and in the end it had to be direct action.
I gave you a slow puncture in the car park and then followed you home. After a mile or so you pulled over and judging it long enough that you'd accept my help but not too long that someone else could swoop in, I made my move.
Your smile when I pulled over was so sincere and genuine that it almost made my cold heart melt. Why couldn't this have been an organic situation? Why couldn't the stars have aligned like they do for everyone else?
My heart was pounding so hard and I almost backed out of my act until the casual disdain you gave me when I said I would take a look at the tyre and you immediately went onto your phone. No attempt to engage with me or apologise for disrupting my day. You were probably texting some hot stud on Tinder or IG that wouldn't rescue you in this situation.
I offered to give you a lift home so you could arrange the breakdown collection from your house and you agreed as the cold evening air began to pick up. You put your seat belt on and then retrieving it from my pocket, I quickly forced the rag over your nose and mouth. You struggled but after a few minutes you went limp.
I threw your phone in your car and sped off to my house. An hour later you woke in my bed. Stripped naked, arms tied to the headboard and tape over your mouth.
I took some annual leave and over the next week I worked on your gorgeous body.
All the parts that I'd fantasised about tasting were better than my imagination. Your big tits fuller and juicier, your skin immeasurably softer, your curves impossible to over touch.