tagNonConsent/ReluctanceWe've Been Watching You

We've Been Watching You


I apologize now for those who do not like this story. It is much harder to write the thoughts and visions in my mind. This is the first part of this story. I am unaware of how many parts it will have.

Dark clouds ominously filled the sky and I knew that the rain would continue for a third straight day. My husband Kenny was gone for the week on a business trip, our daughter was away for a two week horseback riding camp run by my sister, and I was home taking a two week vacation from my landscaping job. My vacation had been quite tiresome to start, consisting of mainly watching television or visiting with nearby friends. I was planning on spending time in the yard tending to my flower beds and garden, sun bathing, going to the beach with my best friend Janice; simple and enjoyable to me, but the weather opposed non-compliantly.

The first crash of thunder startled me and soon the rain was beating down. One in the afternoon looked like seven in the evening. I was nearly compelled to take a nap, but as I was watching television, a commercial for the Maritime Museum in Beaufort ran. It was the last thing the television would broadcast today before the power went out.

The museum did not seem particularly exciting, but I had never been there and it would be something to do. I tired to reach Janice on her cell to see if she would like to join me, but I was unable to reach her. I decided I would make the hour and a half drive myself anyway.

I was lounging around panty and braless in my pajamas and moved to the bedroom to change. I fumbled through my drawers finding my dotted navy lace-trim thong and bra set. I stripped from my pajamas and stood naked in front of the body mirror gazing at my petite frame. I noticed my mild tan was fading and was hoping for some sun soon. I slipped into my thong and protected my 34 B breasts with the bra. I stepped into my dark washed Aphrodite boot cut jeans that fit low on my waist and straight through my hips and thighs and pulled them over my maturing but cute little bottom. For a top, I chose a cotton long sleeved jewel neckline tee, with raw edge styling. I accessorized with a wide black shevron lace belt and earrings. Before heading out, I put on simple makeup, brushed through my hair, and laced up my 3 inch micro suede ankle boots.

As the garage door opened, I looked out watching the rain drops splash against the blacktop and saw the mail lady about to pull up to my mailbox. I opened my umbrella and quickly made my way out to meet the delivery.

The woman was older and rough looking. She had a cheerful appeal to her and we quickly chatted about the miserable weather lately. She mentioned the forecast was more optimistic tomorrow, calling for high 80's and sun. I responded with enjoyment and wished her a good day before she drove off.

I sat in the car, quickly skimming through the junk mail and bills as a love red envelope with no return address fell into my lap. I sat the other mail in the passenger seat as it held no interest to me now. The envelope was addresses to me and I thought to myself how sweet Ken was to be sending me something while he was away.

I opened the envelope and pulled the enclosed letter out of its restricted confines. The letter briefly read:

Rebecca, Meet at the Overlook Cabin of Rock Creek Cabins in Bryson City at 5:00 p.m. on June 30th. The letter was signed with a large yellow smiley face sticker. Also in the envelope were directions and a map of the surrounding cabins in the Smoky Mountains. The route was highlighted and the location of the cabin was circled.

"Tomorrow," I questioned? Had Kenny planned this out? Did he tell me he would be gone for the week well aware that he would only be away for three days? I smiled as I started the car, thinking of the last romantic weekend Ken had treated me to at this same location. The cabin was different, but I knew of Rock Creek Cabins and knew I had a three hour drive ahead of me tomorrow.

I pulled out of the driveway, noticing no lights were on in houses for miles. I pulled onto the expressway and headed east towards Beaufort. The rain fall was steadily declining the farther I headed east and I was comfortably singing along with the music as I proceeded.

For reasons I cannot explain I looked into the rearview and fear had suddenly rushed through my body. A silver 1980 F-150 4x4, obviously raised with a lift kit, was speeding close behind me. The repeated flashing of its lights reflected off of my rearview mirror and the hounding of its annoying horn chilled the back of my neck. My hands tensed around the steering wheel and I peered into the rearview repeatedly, slowly reducing my speed. The truck tailgated me, backed off, and tailgated again so close I could only see the flashing headlights in the rearview.

This happened over and over for what seemed an eternity. When the truck backed off, I tried to get a view of the driver through the rearview, but the front window was jet black. I couldn't see a thing. The truck approached again almost hitting my bumper. My right hand shook in nervousness while I blindly searched my purse for my cell phone. I found it and unfolded it open to dial 911 not knowing how much longer this harassment would last. Just at that moment the truck sped up beside me and past me with a sustained echo blasting from the horn.

I watched as the truck flashed by me. Covered in mud, its windows were tinted jet black and the license plate paint was flaked off and covered in mud, making it impossible to read. The truck proceeded and disappeared into the distance. I discharged a breath of relief and closed my phone. The horror of the event passed and soon I was trying to sing along with radio with aftershocks of the event still rattling my knees.

An exit sign for the museum eventually stood along the edge of the road and I followed it, along with signs on the local highways directing drivers to its location. I entered the parking of the facility and skimmed the rows for an open spot. I noticed the muddy truck standing higher than other vehicles along the edge of the parking and my mind struggled between decisions of proceeding or heading back home. For some reason, I rationalized I would be safe here in a public place and found a parking space far away from the eerie vehicle. Besides, even if the driver of the truck was in the museum, the chances of him or her knowing who I was would be unlikely. I took the happening of the freeway occurrence as a chance event of harassment.

I composed myself as I got out of my Durango and walked towards the entrance. No one was outside of the facility and I entered. The commercial advertised free admission, but I brought a small amount of cash for a possible souvenir. Ken had just been sailing with a recent business client and seemed to enjoy it. Perhaps I would find something interesting.

I entered the heart of the museum which contained a cluster of about 15 people being informed by the guide of the museum's displays. Further ahead was another group with a guide as well. I joined the closest group and listened as the guide provided the group with details and answered questions. I looked around and gazed ahead towards the next group. A tall man with short brown hair was slowly drifting away from the group settling at a particular display, reading the informational plaque.

Our group proceeded and I looked over at the man. The voice of our guide and the stampede of footsteps caught the man's attention and he turned to look. He scanned the faces of the people and when his eyes fell upon me, the sight of the man produced anxiety in me. I only looked at him for a short moment, but his stare, behind deep set eyes encircled with darkness was distressful. His beard was gruesome hanging from his chin at least six inches and his clothing was old and appeared dirty.

I turned my head and followed the group. I felt as if he continued to stare at me and my head turned involuntarily. He was intently watching me with his creepy eyes and I found myself tightly wrapping my arms around my body, trying to cover up my sexuality. I walked slowly behind the group trying to keep my bottom from sexily rocking, but my jeans fit tightly against my shape and the boots only added to the appeal of my legs and backside.

I turned my head around again, having no control over my actions and noticed the man walking away and exiting the building. His leaving was reassuring and calmness gathered around me. I was able to listen freely and enjoy the museum. The guide ended and I went to the gift shop, but I found nothing. Not finding anything didn't bother me. I was just happy to get out of the house for a while.

I exited the museum and the sun was breaking through cloud cover. I inspected the parking lot and did not see the truck that had terrified me. Was that man the driver of the truck? Many people had exited before I did, so I could not be positive. I had an awful feeling though that I had encountered the person responsible for the earlier harassment. The drive home was beautiful as the sun dropped below the horizon. Nothing strange or alarming occurred and I had finally forgotten about the event until I arrived home and jumped in the shower.

Visions of the truck speeding close behind me with flashing lights, the echo of the horn, and the man's fearsome face flashed behind my closed eyes as I rinsed the shampoo out of my hair. I shook the images of my memory out of my head, replacing them with peaceful imaginative thoughts about going to the cabin tomorrow as I continued my shower shaving my legs and pubic region carefully.

Out of normal routine, I dried and covered my skin in lotion. My skin reflected with a glisten standing nude in front of the mirror as I brushed and blew my hair dry. I admired my body almost narcissistically one last minute before slipping into nothing but my solid fig colored charmeuse x-back gown. I promised myself that I would get a good night sleep, wake up early to straighten my hair, and radiate with beauty for Kenny tomorrow.

I fell asleep peacefully only to be woken by a horrific dream:

I walked to the mailbox to gather the day's mail. As I pulled the door down the sun reflected off of it in a flickering fashion, reminiscent of the headlights in my rearview. As I reached into the mailbox, a sustained tone of a truck horn echoed above me. I turned my head to the sky to see a commercial airliner descending rapidly, its engines burning balls of fire. A quarter of a mile from my home, the plane crashed into an empty field. Suddenly I stood one hundred yards from the wreckage. I could smell the burning bodies and heard cries of pain. I fell to my knees crying, helpless to the needs of those who could possibly still be alive. My hands covered my face and my head fell in despair. I began to feel the heat of fire coming closer to me. I lifted my head and removed my hands from my face to see a burning body standing over me. As I looked closer, reaching out my hand to help, I could see the terrifying face of my potential harasser. He reached down to strangle me. The burning flesh of his hands gripped my throat and I woke up.

My alarm clock seemed to bellow music as I lay there nearly paralyzed, my heart fiercely pounding. My arms were unusually heavy reaching to turn the alarm off. The music stopped and I took deep breaths calming myself from the episode of unconscious horror. When I became more relaxed, I got out of bed and started a pot of coffee. I snacked on a blueberry muffin and sipped coffee watching the weather channel. The forecast predicted clear skies and a high of 87 degrees.

The beautiful weather created the perfect opportunity to wear my stretch hot lips sundress. The dress was colorful and fun with a gathered bodice, white binding trim and straps, a criss cross low cut back, and thigh high front slit. My pair of 5 3/4" high heel slide sandals with white leather and tan sawdust platforms and heels would go great with the dress.

I finished my coffee and muffin and turned off the television. I turned on the radio and grabbed my flat iron to straighten my hair. I sat in the living room losing myself in the music as I work on the tedious task of straightening my hair. When I finished, I called Janice to tell her about what had happened yesterday. She answered and as the conversation proceeded, she commented on how horrible that had to have been. I also told her about the love red envelope and she agreed Ken must have been up to something. As she usually does, she called me a lucky bitch. This made me smile and she wished me a good time and to be careful. Shortly after, we said our goodbyes and hung up.

Some time had passed and it was shortly after one o'clock in the afternoon. Knowing I would have to leave soon, I picked out a hot pink mesh fabric thong with lip prints to match my funky little hot lips sundress that did not need a bra, and put on my heeled sandals. I did my makeup provocatively and found white hoop earrings and matching bracelets and put them on as well. My sleek dark hair hung past my shoulders and I flipped it to one side looking at myself one last time before heading out. As I promised myself, I felt like I radiated with beauty. I put together a couple outfits, sexy pajamas, and grabbed my makeup bag expecting to stay for the remainder of the week and into the weekend, and packed them. I kept the lipstick out for touch up purposes. I gathered my keys and the love red envelope with its contents and headed out.

Initially the drive was tiring and a bore. Somehow I kept myself enthused listening to the radio and select CD's. I was quite a muggy day and even with the air conditioning I had to pull my dress up just below my panties. The lightly tanned skin of my legs was kept warm from the sun shining through the driver side window.

As I entered Bryson City, my heart started to flutter in excitement. I looked down at my svelte legs and ran my left hand down my left leg, keeping my right foot on the gas and my right hand on the wheel. My leg was still smooth and soft despite shaving the night before. I quickly looked into the rearview, checking my makeup. Everything was fine except my lipstick, which was probably fading from licking my lips and drinking from a bottle of water. I could touch up my lips when I reached the cabin.

Soon I was making my way up the mountain. Ascending through the twists and turns with my windows down listening to the sounds of wildlife, I occasionally had to pretend yawns to clear my ears which were beginning to plug from the change in altitude. With the sun radiating through the treetops and the scent of untouched nature satisfying my senses, I could feel a slight wetness gathering between my legs. My heart was still fluttering and arousal was capturing my body. It had been nearly a week since Ken had been inside of me. I longed for the friction of my tight vaginal walls gripping around his penetrating stiff rod.

I passed a number of beautiful cabins as I climbed the elevation of the mountain. I wanted each one to be the cabin of my destination. I was overly anxious and ready to begin the solitude and relaxation with Kenny. Finally, I had reached the cabin. I took a deep breath, my chest expanding, allowing me to notice that even my little 34 B breasts looked large in this dress. It fit nicely snug around my waist and bottom. I looked down at my chest and smiled at the ample cleavage exposed between my modest titties.

I pulled up the steep drive of the cabin and parked. I was surprised to find no vehicle at the summit of the drive, but I put up the windows and turned off the ignition. I reached for the lipstick and touched up my lips. I pushed my dress down, smoothed it out, and stepped out of my vehicle. I raised my arms above my head with a tiptoe stretch and exhaled. I left my belongings inside the vehicle and started my way up the number of steps leading to the door of the cabin.

Reaching the top of the steps I followed the wrap around deck to the door. On the door was a note:

Its open Rebecca, come on in.

I twisted the knob and pushed the door open. The scent of potpourri filled the cabin. I looked around admiring the spaciousness and hardwood floors, closing the door behind me. I immediately walked to the main living area with French doors leading to the deck. The view was majestically beautiful. It seemed this cabin was near the highest elevation of the Smoky Mountains. I opened the French doors and moved out onto the deck. I turned my head spotting the hot tub. Where was Ken though, I thought to myself?

I enjoyed the view for a moment and went back inside, hoping to find a note at the kitchen counter. Ken always leaves me notes at the kitchen counter before leaving for work. As I walked back in, I found it strange that the cabin had numerous framed pictures around. It wasn't just that the cabin had pictures, but that all the pictures were of petite woman, smiling as if it was the happiest day of their lives.

A crash at the front door startled me and I jumped, knocking one of the pictures to the floor, breaking the glass covering. While picking up the pieces of glass surrounding the frame, I noticed more pictures behind the one being showcased. I dropped the pieces of shattered glass I had picked up and looked at the pictures. My heart sank in fear.

The first picture revealed the same women crying, mascara running and lipstick smeared. In the second picture she was standing with the same tearful face, her hair held by someone from behind, her arms tied behind her back, and ripped panties fallen and resting above her knees.

My heart pounded in fear and I chose to not continue looking at the pictures. I left the mess on the floor and made my way to the front door. I wanted to leave, but the door was jammed. I could not open it. Tears began to fill my eyes, but I held them back momentarily slowly making my way around the cabin. I reached for another picture and opened the frame from the back. The picture was horrifying as this woman was crying and being forced to perform sexual favors. The tears began to fall from my eyes and I darted for the French doors.

I stopped in my tracks, paralyzed by the vision of two men standing at the French doors. I did not recognize the men, but sensed the danger. I slowly stepped back and crashed into the warmth of a body behind me. Before I could turn, a hand wrapped around my waist and a hand covered my mouth, containing the shrill of my scream.

"My name is Franklin Rogers. We've been watching you Rebecca," the man's voice said from behind me.

Tears fell from my eyes. Hopelessness filled my emotions as the hand released the pressure from my mouth. I didn't scream knowing it would be futile. My heart still beat in fear and tears trickled down my cheeks.

"We've been watching you for a longtime," he said again raising pictures to my field of view.

The first picture didn't spark my memory initially, but I soon remembered that day last summer at the beach with Ken and our daughter. I was smiling looking out to the water watching Ken play with our daughter. An entire year, I thought to myself? What did these people want?

The second pictured shown to me was from yesterday. I was carefully examining the parking lot of the Maritime Museum getting out of my Durango. Tears flowed from my eyes and pouting left my mouth. The man's hand around my waist centered on my belly and slid down, rubbing over my pubic mound and across the tops of my thighs. His hand centered again just below my crotch and tightened on the material of my dress. He slowly raised my dress above my pierced belly button, exposing my hot pink lip print thong and smoothly shaven legs. His free hand wrapped around me holding my dress up. I pouted more as I looked out the French doors, the two men still standing there, peeping at my uncovered flesh.

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by1984slut1984© 6 comments/ 68923 views/ 12 favorites

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