tagNonConsent/ReluctanceMy Little Stalker

My Little Stalker


My Little Stalker

Author's Note: All characters appearing in this work are fictitious and are eighteen years of age or older. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Elizabeth peered through the binoculars into the property, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. This was the moment she had dreamed of. Elizabeth had been obsessed by this, by Him, for as long as she could remember.


She heard the sound of the gun cocking behind her and felt the end of the barrel pressing hard against the back of her head.

"Freeze! Don't move!" the security guard shouted.

Startled, Elizabeth dropped the binoculars to the ground.

"Put your hands in the air!" he screamed at her.

She stood there, frozen, paralyzed by fear, arms extended towards the darkening sky.

"Get down on the ground, face down, spread eagle," the guard yelled. "Now, goddammit!"

Elizabeth did as she was told.

She always did.


Elizabeth was trapped on the ground, his knee pressing down hard into the small of her back. The guard tightened a handcuff around Elizabeth's right wrist, pulled it back and pinned it under his knee. Then he grabbed her other wrist, brought it back and secured it with the other cuff.

The pudgy, middle-aged security guard stood up and spoke into the radio-mouthpiece attached to his upper chest. "Central, this is six-eighty-one. Copy?"

"Copy, six-eighty-one. Over," the dispatcher responded.

"I've got a three-thirty-seven at twelve-thirty-one Willowbrook Lane." The guard paused, looked Elizabeth over and continued, "Suspect is female, Caucasian, approximately five feet tall, medium build, with brown, shoulder-length hair. She's wearing a navy sweater, blue jeans and black sneakers. Advise on to how to proceed. Over."

"Six-eighty-one, standby while I contact the client. Over."


A few minutes later the dispatcher returned. "Six-eighty-one, client is in transit to the residence. ETA fifteen—that's one-five minutes. Transport the suspect to the front gate and wait for the client to arrive."

"Roger. Over and out."

The guard pulled Elizabeth up from the ground and threw her into the backseat of his blue-and-white Armor Security cruiser. They drove around to the front gate of the property as the last remnants of day lost their daily battle with the conquering forces of the night.

Elizabeth sat in the backseat of the car—waiting, wondering, worrying. This was not how this night was supposed to turn out. All she wanted to do was to see him in person, even if it was only at a distance and through a pair of binoculars. She never dreamed she would end up like this―handcuffed in the back of a patrol car like some common criminal.

Several minutes later, a pair of headlights pierced through the fog that had descended upon Willowbrook Lane. A brand new 1974, black S Class Mercedes emerged from the haze and pulled up to the front gates of the estate.

The guard got out of his car and walked up to the passenger side window of the Mercedes. Elizabeth craned her neck and tried to get a look into the car, but she couldn't see Him. Is that really Him in the car? she wondered. Her pulse quickened.

The security guard returned, started the Ford Crown Victoria Police Interceptor and followed the black Benz through the front gates of the estate and around the circular driveway, finally stopping at the front entrance to the mansion. Elizabeth watched the Mercedes continue on and disappear behind the side of the house.

The guard opened the rear door of the patrol car, pulled Elizabeth roughly from the back seat, and dragged her up the stone steps to the large, imposing double-doors of the mansion. After what seemed like an eternity, one of the doors swung open.

And there he was, larger than life—her dream, her desire, the reason for her being.

* *

Brock Steele was wearing a black silk kimono robe and was barefoot. Elizabeth stood in complete awe of Him. She had been infatuated by him since the first season of Suicide Squad came on the air. The popular TV actor was everything that Elizabeth dreamed of in a man―he was tall, charming, and ruggedly handsome with a smile that could melt a girl's heart.

Seeing him in person, He was everything she'd ever imagined Him to be and more, much more. Elizabeth wanted to speak but was dumbstruck. Her heart was racing in her chest, as butterflies fluttered and danced a frantic dance in her stomach.

"Come inside," Brock said in a deep baritone voice that sent chills up and down Elizabeth's spine. He escorted the two of them through the marble foyer and into the kitchen. Mr. Steele then turned to the guard and said, "So, what is this all about?"

"At approximately nineteen hundred hours, I was patrolling the alley that runs behind the estate when I noticed the suspect on your property," the guard said, pushing his thick-lensed glasses back up to the bridge of his nose and checking his notes.

"She was on the driveway at the back gate," he continued, "using a pair of binoculars to try and look into the windows of your residence. I approached the suspect in stealth mode, apprehended her, and detained her until your arrival."

"I see." Mr. Steele sighed and shook his head. "Unfortunately, this isn't the first time this has happened," he said to the guard. "In fact, it's become an all too frequent occurrence. What do you think we should do with her?"

"You can call the police and press charges if you want," the guard offered.

Police? Elizabeth heard the word and her heart stopped.

"Yes, that's what I always do, but it doesn't seem to do any good," Brock said. "They get a ticket and a fine. And a few days later they are back bothering me again. Is there anything else we can do?"

"Well, if you can show that she's a stalker and posed a threat to you, you can get a restraining order and she'd probably see some jail time."

"Please, no! I don't want to go to jail," Elizabeth pleaded. "I'm not a stalker, I swear. I—"

"Silence!" Brock demanded. "No one gave you permission to speak."

"How could we do that," Brock asked, returning His attention to the guard and glancing at the name tag pinned to his chest, "Officer Rob?"

"Well, we could search her and go through her belongings to see if she's carrying any weapons."

"I like your thinking, Rob," He said. "Undo one of her handcuffs."

Mr. Steele walked over to where Elizabeth was standing. She was staring down, looking at the floor when He approached her. He placed His hand under her chin and lifted her head up. "What's your name?"

"Elizabeth," she replied meekly.

"How old are you?"

"I'm eighteen."

"Remove your clothes, Elizabeth," He told her, "and hand them to Officer Rob."

"But—" she protested.

"But what?" He interrupted her. "Would you rather I call the police and have them do this to you?"


Elizabeth kicked off her sneakers, stripped down to her underwear, and gave her clothes to Officer Rob. She stood there before them, in her bra and white cotton panties, nervously trying to cover herself up with her hands.

"All the way," Brock demanded, "take off everything."

"I don't have any weapons, I swear."

"Do as I say. And you will not speak or make any noise again, unless you are spoken to, or told to. Do you understand?"


"Yes, what?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Good. Now do as you were told."

Elizabeth undid the clasp, releasing her large, full breasts from the confines of her bra, which she handed to the guard as she covered herself with her other arm. Embarrassed, she turned her back to them and peeled her damp panties down over her round ass, past her silky thighs, and down to her small feet, and stepped out of them.

She handed her panties to Officer Rob and quickly returned to the spot where she had been standing before. Elizabeth stood there—embarrassed and ashamed, with her back to them, hands crossed behind her vainly trying to cover herself from their view.

Officer Rob walked over to Elizabeth, grabbed the dangling end of the open handcuff and re-secured it around her other wrist. Then he grabbed her by her upper arm and escorted her over to the kitchen table, where he bent her over onto the table top. Using his foot, he spread her feet and legs apart.

No use trying to hide or cover up now, Elizabeth thought. There she was, bent over in front of the two of them, exposed and helpless—her ass and her pussy in plain view.

The guard knelt down behind Elizabeth, pulled the cheeks of her ass apart and inspected her with his flashlight. "She's clean," he informed Mr. Steele.

Then he went through her clothes. "Nothing here either, except for some Tic Tacs," he said, rattling the clear plastic container.

"What about her purse?" Brock asked.

"Um . . . Let's see," Rob said and began removing items from her handbag.

"Keys, wallet, binoculars . . . Oh! What do we have here?"

"What? What is it?" Brock asked.

"It's a map of the movie star homes, Mr. Steele," Rob said. "Your house is circled in red. I bet that's how she found out where you lived."

"I think you may be right, Rob," He said. "Excellent detective work."

"Thanks," the guard replied proudly.

"Anything else in there? Any guns or knives?"

"No, just a nail file and this," Rob said, pulling out a small, white vibrator from Elizabeth's purse and handing it to Him.

"Well, I don't know if the LAPD would consider this to be a dangerous weapon." Brock chuckled as He held it up to the light and looked it over.

"So, tell me, Elizabeth, what do you think we should do with you?" Brock asked. "Do you think I should follow Officer Rob's advice and call the police to press charges against you?"

"No, Sir. Please don't, Sir," she begged Him. "I'm not a criminal. I don't want to go to jail. I'll do anything you ask me to, anything."

"Well, I can't just let you go. You know that don't you?" Brock said.

"Yes, Sir."

"There has to be some sort of punishment for this, so that you learn what you did is wrong. You understand this, don't you?"

"Yes, Sir. I understand, Sir."

Brock pulled up a chair behind her and sat down. "Let me ask you something, Elizabeth. Why did you have this in your purse?" He asked, sliding the vibrator up and down against the sensitive, silky-soft skin of her inner-upper thighs."

"I was planning on using it, Sir," she admitted. "I was going to pleasure myself while I was watching you."

"You mean while you were spying on me," He corrected her, giving her a hard slap on her ass with the palm of His hand.

"Ow!" Elizabeth cried out.

Brock gave the other side of her butt a rough slap. "Do you like getting spanked, Elizabeth?"

"No, Sir."

"Good," He said, smacking her again. "I think you need to learn a little lesson about the difference between pleasure and pain."

Brock moved the vibe up a little higher and began using it to lightly stroke Elizabeth's dripping-wet pussy lips, occasionally rubbing it against her swollen little button.


He continued on in this way—getting Elizabeth worked up, and then stopping abruptly and spanking her.

Elizabeth tried hard to hide her arousal, but failed miserably. Every time Brock would start playing with her pussy again, she would begin whimpering through tightly pursed lips.

She was in heaven. Elizabeth couldn't believe He was doing this to her, it was beyond her wildest dreams. But at the same time, she felt embarrassed and humiliated that He was doing this to her in front of a total stranger. Would He do other things to me in front of him? she wondered.

"Six-eighty-one? Six-eighty-one? This is Central. Copy?" the guard's radio crackled.

"Copy Central. Over," Rob replied into the mouth piece.

"We've got a nine-twenty-seven in progress at twenty-seven oh-three Nightingale Court. How soon can you respond? Over."

"ETA twenty-four and one-third minutes. Over."

"Roger that. Contact again upon arrival. Over."

"Will do. Over and out.

Rob turned to Brock and said, "I'm sorry, Mr. Steele I gotta go. Here's my card. If you decide to press charges, have the police contact me for a statement."

"Oh, okay. But what about the handcuffs?"

"You better keep them on her until the police get here," Rob said. "She looks a little a psycho to me. She could be dangerous."

Elizabeth bristled at his comments but did not speak, well aware she was not allowed to.

"Here's the key." Rob removed it from the large retractable key ring that was attached to his belt and handed it to Him. "I can come back later and pick up the cuffs, if that's okay?"

"All right, I'll call you and arrange a time for you to pick them up."

"Okay," Rob said. "Mr. Steele, can I ask you one favor before I go?"

"Sure, what?"

"I've always been a big fan of yours. I was wondering if I could get a quick picture with you, it would mean a lot to me and the wife."

"Certainly," Brock said, "I don't mind accommodating my fans that are respectful and polite," He said, giving Elizabeth a disparaging look.

Rob walked up and put his arm around Mr. Steele's shoulder, like they were life long buddies, and snapped a picture with his Kodak Instamatic Pocket 60 camera that he held in his outstretched arm.

"Well, I gotta get going. Thanks a lot."

"You're welcome. Thank you, for all your help, Rob."

* * *

They were alone now, alone at last. Brock sat back down behind Elizabeth and continued on with the blissful torture, once again working her up to the brink of an orgasm with the vibe, then stopping abruptly and spanking her, teasing her, tormenting her.

"You want to cum don't you?" He asked her. "I can tell."

"Yes, Sir."


"You're not allowed to cum, until I tell you," He told her. "You understand that, don't you?"

"Yes, Sir," Elizabeth said, worrying that she didn't have enough self-control to obey His wishes.

But she needn't worry, Brock seemed to be able to read her body and sense her arousal. Maybe it was the way her whimpering grew louder and more frequent, or maybe it was the way the way her legs started to tremble when she was getting close, whatever it was, Brock could read her like a book.

He kept pushing her, nudging her to the edge of the cliff. Elizabeth could see what lay beyond and was dying to leap off, but she knew she wasn't allowed to. She kept hoping, praying, that each time would be the time, and He would let her go and allow her to take the plunge into the wonderful abyss.

But at each brink, Elizabeth was quickly pulled back to reality by a sharp slap to her bottom. Brock repeated this routine until Elizabeth's bottom was rosy red from the spanking.

"Okay, I think that's enough," He finally said. "I think it's time we put your little toy away.

That's it? Elizabeth thought. I came so far and risked so much—too much for it to end like this. She couldn't believe it. Is He finished? Is He going to make me leave now? she wondered. This can't be happening. It can't end like this. I was so close. She was devastated.

"But look what you've done to it, you naughty girl," He said, as He inspected the vibe. "It's dripping wet with your sex. We can't put it away like this, can we?"

Brock pulled Elizabeth from the table and sat her down on her knees in front of Him.

"You're going to have to clean it off before we put it away."

He placed the vibrator in front of her face. Elizabeth obediently opened her mouth and started to lick it.

"That's it," He said, shoving more of it into her mouth. "You like having things in your mouth, don't you, my little stalker?"

"Mmm hmm," she mumbled in the affirmative as He started to slowly work the vibe in and out of her pretty little mouth.

"Clean it all, the whole thing," Brock said, feeding more of it into her mouth. Elizabeth began to gag and choke a little, as the tip of the toy pushed against the back of her throat.

He pulled it out of her mouth and inspected it. "Well done. Good job my little pet," He said, patting her on the top of her head. Elizabeth looked up at him, smiling.

"It looks like you have a talented little mouth. What other things do you like to put in there?" He asked her.

"I like cock, Sir," Elizabeth said, grinning.

"Do you?"

"Yes, Sir," she said. "I like to give a man pleasure with my mouth,"

"Do you get turned on sucking on a man's cock?"

"Yes, Sir. It makes me really horny."

"Are you good at it?"

"I don't know, Sir," Elizabeth confessed. "I've only done it one time. I think I need more practice," she said, opening up her mouth wide, offering it to Him.

"Yes, I think you do, my little pet," Brock undid His robe and let it fall to the floor. "You know what they say, 'practice makes perfect'."

He stood there—naked in front of her. Elizabeth was kneeling down at His feet looking up at His towering frame. His lean-muscular body was amazing, she thought, especially for a man in his forties.

She was delighted to see that His beautiful cock was already hard for her. He brought the swollen head up to her eager mouth. She lunged forward to engulf it, but He pulled it back away from her, teasing her.

"Now, now, my pet," Brock said, "you're not the one that controls the action, I do.

"Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Okay, let's try this again. You are not allowed to move unless I tell you to," He instructed her. "And you're only allowed to do what I give you permission to do. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir."

He moved back close to her, His cock once again brushing against her lips. "Lick it," He commanded her. Elizabeth swirled her tongue around the swollen head, and Brock let out a contented sigh.

He grabbed the sides of her head. "Now suck it," He said, and began working her mouth back and forth on the end of His cock.

Elizabeth could hear Him breathing harder, could feel His cock throbbing in her mouth, and could taste the saltiness of His pre-cum as it leaked into her mouth.

"That's it, my pet. Your mouth belongs to me now. Let me see how much of it you can take," Brock said, forcing more of it into her. Elizabeth started to gag. He pulled out of her mouth and allowed her time to catch her breath.

"I'm sorry, Sir," she said, coughing and recovering her breath.

"It's okay, my pet," Brock reassured her. "It looks like we've got some work to do," He said, shoving His cock back into her mouth. "You'll be a good little cocksucker before I'm done with you."

Brock held her head still, firmly in His hands, and started pumping His cock into Elizabeth's hungry little mouth—face-fucking her. She could only take so much before she started choking and gagging again. When she did, He would stop, let her recover, and then continue on with His relentless assault.

Elizabeth looked up at Him through watery eyes, wondering how much longer it would be before He came. The only other time she had done this, the guy was as inexperienced as she was, and it didn't take long before he was exploding into her mouth. But this time was definitely different, Brock was taking His time, enjoying every precious minute of it.

Gradually, Brock increased the pace, faster and harder each time, giving Elizabeth as much as she could handle, then pulling out again. He repeated this routine until He was ready to cum, then He began fucking Elizabeth's sweet little throat. She started gagging again, but this time He didn't care. He only cared about one thing now—finishing.

And seconds later, He did, blasting load after load of His cum into her warm, welcoming mouth. He pulled out of her mouth when He was done cumming.

Elizabeth was kneeling before Him, panting, trying to recover her breath and savoring the taste of His pleasure. Without saying a word, He picked her up from the floor and returned her to her original position—face down on the kitchen table.

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