Page 8 of Resurrect Me

I increase speed and rub my cock from the base to the head, spending extra time massaging the tip. If only I could feel Tacy’s wet cunt around it, one more time…I stroke faster and harder.

“Creepy turns you on. Gets your little pussy nice and wet. Doesn’t it, Princess?”

She types again, then answers with, “who is this? Seriously?”

I imagine slamming my hard cock into her tight little hole and stroke it harder and harder in rotating motion for another three minutes or so until…I explode and my cum shoots onto the steering wheel. It’s been months since I’ve had a release. I’d been saving it up for this exact moment. The closest I’ve felt to my beautiful horny wife since the day I died.

I take a deep breath, wipe the mess up with a napkin from my glove compartment, and decide to reply to my darling girl with: “All will be revealed in good time. Just save that pussy for me.”

Tacy

Great. My life is in fucking shambles. My husband’s dead. My kids are sad and confused. I’m working overtime just to pay the bills until Sol’s life insurance policy pays out. And now I have a fucking stalker. How did this even happen? I don’t talk to anyone except my co-workers, my patients, the kids’ teachers, my mother, and Declan. Would Declan…no. It couldn’t be him. He doesn’t know about my stalker kink. Does he? Did Sol tell him some of our darkest secrets when he was still alive? Theywere best friends, after all, and guys like to brag. Declan has been acting weird, coming by the house and putting the moves on me. Sadly, I have no physical attraction to him. So, the idea of Declan being my stalker doesn’t do much for me. Plus, Sol always said Declan was vanilla when it comes to sex. His last girlfriend, Alyssa Sampson, claimed they broke up because Declan got tired of her spending his money on lingerie and high heels. I mean, what guy in their right mind would get tired of his sexy, bombshell girlfriend wearing skimpy teddies and pumps around the house? Boring milk toast, that’s who. Declan Harvey, that’s who.

I review the text thread between me and this creepy guy and decide to delete the whole thing. I don’t need Cammy getting a hold of my phone and discovering it. And if he continues to text me, I’ll report it to the police. Because, while I used to give into my kinks with Sol, I don’t know who this person is. Or what he might do. Have you seen the documentary about people who are convicted stalkers? The stalking almost always starts out in an innocent friendship or partnership but turns malevolent. Most stalkers lose their shit and hurt their victims, sometimes even kill their victims, in the end. I can’t play stupid games and put my life in danger. Even if the idea of a stalker is somewhat titillating.

Chapter 7

Tacy

“Someone broke into my house!” I scream at the dispatcher. “There’s shit everywhere! I…I don’t know what to do. What do I do?”

Cammy, Ben, and I are standing on the sidewalk in front of the house. Our front door is wide open. We came home from school, walked in the front door, and noticed our house had been turned upside down. Papers scattered across the living room floor and down the hallway. The end table turned over. A lamp burst.

I ordered the kids outside and called the police. I don’t even know if the intruder is still in the house.

The lady on the other end assures me the police are on their way, after instructing me to get back in my vehicle and lock the doors until they show up. I screech to the kids to hop in the car, and I jump in too, locking the doors and turning the engine back on. Just in case we need to make a quick getaway.

My heart is thumping wildly, and my entire body is trembling. I’m terrified and my adrenaline is pumping, and I don’t know whether I want to cry, scream, or bolt back into the house and shoot the mother fucker who dares to intrude.

I glance at Cammy and Ben through the rearview mirror. Cammy’s openly sobbing, and Ben’s eyes are wide as bicycle wheels. He’s biting the nails of his left hand, while his right hand is clutching Cammy’s. They’re so sweet. Too sweet to be going through something this traumatic. Their father just died for Christ’s sake. Now we suffer a breaking and entering?

This must be the work of the stalker. I should have known better and reported it. Stupid of me.

A minute later, three police cars roll into the driveway, and another follows, parking in the street. Their lights are on as they all jump out of their vehicles, dash up the driveway, and enter my house with guns bared.

Seconds later, the four officers file out of the front door, and into my driveway. The Sheriff walks over to my car window and gives me a thumbs up. His gun is now in its holster, and there’s a look on his face as if everything is okay.

I roll down my window and turn off the car. Three other police cars pull up.

“Is he gone? Is the intruder gone?” I ask, a noticeable wobble in my voice. I gulp.

The Sheriff nods and smiles at me. “Yes, Ma’am. He’s gone. Can you step out the vehicle so we can talk?” He flicks his head at my kids in the back, indicating he wants to talk out of the children’s earshot.

“Sure,” I say and step into the driveway. I stare down at my hands, still quivering with fear.

I shut the car door and walk up the driveway, pausing beside my front porch next to the stocky Sheriff with light gray hair. There’s a damp chill in the air. The kind that swoops in right before a storm.

I pull my sweater tightly around me and face the Sheriff. Three other officers are close by; one is on his phone and the other two are talking low to one another. Too low for me to hear.

“Well, this is a strange situation, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I reply. “Who do you think it was?”

“I have no clue who broke into your house, Mrs. Rountree. But the fact that they did is concerning. On more than one level.”

“I know what you mean,” I say. “Do you think whoever did this had something to do with Sol’s death?”

The Sheriff scratches his whiskered chin, readjusts his belt, and sighs. Saving himself some time while he thinks of how to answer my question.

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