I knew she would be my next victim the moment that I saw her. I had never come to that conclusion so quickly in the past. I like to follow a potential victim, see where she lives, how she lives, and what she does, before making a final decision. But when I saw her I knew.

I was at the grocery store. I hate the grocery store. I rarely go there, full of food with preservatives and chemicals, insecticides and poisons, coloring and dyes, food that feels like it's taking my life as it squirms through my gut. But I needed some fresh fruit and the fresh market was closed that day.

So, I was picking through the strawberries, trying to find some that didn't have mold on them when she walked past me. At first I just smelled her, a waft of perfume overpowering the stench of decay, not a lot of perfume, just a touch. I turned my head to the side as she passed by me, pushing her cart in front of her. My eyes traveled up her body, her fresh white tennis shoes, bare ankles, no socks, her naturally tanned legs, long and firm, tight denim cut-off shorts clinging to her butt, strands of thread dangling against her tanned thighs, curvaceous hips, round buttocks, a hint of midriff below her halter top that didn't quite reach the top of her shorts, the shirt clinging to her body tightly, firm breasts, long, tanned arms, her dark hair pulled back exposing her sensuously long neck, her face beautiful with more than a hint of Mediterranean.

She looked like she had just been home cleaning or working in a garden before bustling off to the grocery store. I forced myself to not stare at her, not wanting to be too obvious, so I continued to peruse the ghastly strawberries, watching her out of the corner of my eye. I watched her bend over a bin of cantaloupes, picking a melon up, squeezing it, inspecting it, her lean body bending over to dig further into the bin.

"Momma," a child yelled and ran up to her. The boy was about nine, had light skin and was chubby, nothing like his mother, so I assumed he took after his father.

"What?" she said, standing back up to drop a melon into her cart.

"Amy is eating candy from the bins?" the boy said, a grin on his face that showed he was very pleased to rat out his sister.

The woman looked in my direction as another child ran behind me, almost bumping into me.

"Amy! Don't run in the store! You almost hit that man," she said, turning from her daughter who had reached the cart to glance towards me.

I looked back at her face, a face that seemed so young for a woman of her age, probably somewhere in her mid-thirties, no wrinkles or lines on her face, fresh, full lips, soft cheeks, deep, brown eyes, beautiful, black hair swept behind her.

"I didn't do it, momma," the daughter whined. The daughter seemed to be about twelve, tall for her age with olive skin, dark hair, and already developing breasts, becoming an attractive woman like her mother.

"Yes, you did. I saw you eat it," the boy said.

"I did not!" the girl said and took a step towards her brother as if to slap him.

"Hey!" the woman yelled and grabbed the girl's hand and pulled her towards her. "Don't hit your brother. If you can't behave you'll have to sit in the child's seat like a baby."

I couldn't help but smile at that. The girl wouldn't fit in the seat, and I pictured the girl being stuffed into the cart seat, screaming and crying, wrestling against her mother as she shoved her into the seat, pulling her legs through the metal leg holes, tearing her legs apart, the metal scraping across her skin, bleeding and crying. I chuckled to myself.

"But I didn't do it," the girl whimpered as if she were about to cry.

"I don't care, but both of you need to behave. Or neither of you get to pick out your cereal. I'll just buy Grape-Nuts for both of you."

That seemed to work. Neither kid said anything, just stared at each other hatefully, and stood by the cart, waiting for their mother to turn away to make a face at the other.

The woman looked back at me, the frown slipping from her face quickly like she was uncomfortable with using such an expression, and smiled at me, trying to look regretful, overwhelmed and tired, but only looking more beautiful, even innocent.

"I'm sorry," she said. "Kids. What can you do?"

"Kill them. Abort the little parasites before they're even born," was the first thing that came to my mind, but instead I said, "Just love them for being so... naÔve," and thought that too cold, and added, "Or just leave them at home with the babysitter." I smiled, trying to make a joke of it.

"Don't I wish," she said, the smile so natural across her face, and then turned away to continue her shopping.

I watched her for a second, admiring the line of the back of her neck, and then turned away at an attempt to continue my shopping, but I knew I wouldn't be buying anything from this diseased store. I'd rather go hungry for the evening.

Still, I dropped things in my cart, not paying attention to what it was I grabbed, as I followed her through the store, trying to keep my distance, not wanting to alert her to my presence, but she was too distracted by her bickering children to notice me even if I had come up behind her to take a bite from her shoulder, enticingly smooth and soft, the lights glimmering off her skin, and I could imagine sinking my teeth into that skin, tasting her perfume on my tongue, her skin warm, her blood pouring into my throat, my arms holding her writhing body against me.

I shook my head, clearing the erotic image from my mind, and saw that she was gone. I hurried down the aisle, past the contaminated pasta sauces and metal-laden canned meats. I turned into the next aisle and came to a quick halt as I almost ran into her female child, who was standing in the middle of the aisle, staring greedily at a box of fortified, sweetened, and poisoned cereal.

"Amy! Get out of the man's way," the woman said.

The little girl glanced up at me and then moved to the side.

"I'm sorry. You should just go ahead of us so we'll get out of your way," she said, that smile still on her lips, as she tucked some misplaced hairs behind her ear.

"That's all right. It's my fault. I suppose I'm in too much of a hurry," I said, and offered her my smile, letting it show in my eyes.

Her smile grew bigger and her eyes dropped for a second, a bit embarrassed, playful, slightly attracted to me, but uncomfortable with flirting. I noticed the wedding ring on her finger, a large diamond, glassy, too dark, a bit cloudy, a large, but low-quality diamond, obviously from a husband with no class or refinement, but had yet somehow been able to marry her. I nodded to her and walked past her, pushing my cart ahead of me, giving her a warm grin as I eyed her body up close, keeping my eyes on her eyes, but seeing her body, her deep cleavage, the lovely dark crevice between her breasts, disappearing into her halter top, her nipples poking through, the curve from her shoulder to her neck, and then I turned away, not wanting to raise her suspicion, leaving her to argue with her griping children about which horrid cereal they should poison their bodies with.

I wanted to circle around, get behind her again, to watch her, wanting to study her more, engrain her in my mind, but I didn't want to risk it. I had already interacted with her more than was necessary. I left my cart by a freezer full of rancid meat and left the store. I got into my car and moved to a parking space near the front, so I could watch her leave the store and then follow her home.

As I sat in my car, my eyes on the automatic doors, I started to wonder why I was so fascinated with this woman. It wasn't just her beauty. The others had all been beautiful. Each had struck me in her own different way, igniting some dormant passion inside me, awakening those urges, primal and raw. But with this woman it had been like a thunderbolt. And as I had watched her walking through the grocery store, minding her children, inspecting the foods on the shelves, seeming so ordinary, my passion seemed to treble, seeing that she didn't even know the power that she possessed. She was oblivious, walking through her life as an angel among the squalid rabble, and I could see the glares of those around her, the women glancing at her, noting her clothes, her body, scorn on their faces, envy turning into disgust, and it didn't touch her. She seemed impervious, drifting through the world like a beautiful phantom, touching everything, but remaining untouchable.

Finally, she emerged from the store, her purse hanging from her shoulder, crushed between her arm and her breast, her long legs flexing erotically. She grabbed a hand of each child as she crossed the parking lot, a bag boy following behind her with the cart. I saw the boy staring at her, content to stay behind her, his eyes locked on her ass, a lustful grin on his face. I saw myself stepping from the car, the long knife I kept under my seat held in my hand, plunging that knife into his neck, cutting through, tearing muscles, hands gripping his hair to yank his head back, blood spurting onto my face, wet and warm, drinking it down, and then wrapping my mouth around the wound as he fell to the ground. I sighed deeply and realized that the blade was actually in my hand. I dropped it to the floor. It wasn't his fault. She didn't know the effect she had. She didn't see it. But still to see his eyes devouring her, seeing the thoughts writhing through his demented, little brain, I wanted to kill him. He could never have her. He was a useless little worm.

They went to a minivan in the aisle across from me and I watched through several parked cars as the boy put the bags in the van. She got her children inside and buckled in with minimum fuss. After the boy was finished she gave him a dollar. He thanked her and brazenly ogled her as she got into the van, before walking back to the store, whistling. I considered backing out quickly and running him over, but decided against it. I needed to follow her and the boy was just a distraction.

I stayed well enough behind her to keep my eyes on the minivan, but not so close that she would easily be able to tell I was following her. I had tailed many women before so I knew how to do it. I met most of my lovers this way, seeing her in a public place, feeling that something, that connection, like she was offering herself to me, and then I followed her home. Upon seeing where the woman lived I would decide if she was worth it or not. Sometimes I would watch her for a few days, perhaps a few weeks, before deciding. I had no desire to waste my energies on those that were unworthy. But with this one I had already decided. It disturbed me slightly that I had made up my mind so quickly, allowing desire to overwhelm reason, but some things defy logic.

I followed her for several miles, traffic thinning as she drove further from the shopping centers. Eventually she entered an older neighborhood development with nice, large homes on spacious lots. I was surprised. I had expected her to turn into one of the newer developments, but I had misjudged her. A rarity for me. I noted the address of the house she turned into and circled back to make sure she really went into the house and wasn't just visiting. I saw her gathering the groceries from the back, and the children running up the walk with book bags slung over their shoulders. I wanted to pull to the side of the road to watch, but knew that would look suspicious in this neighborhood. I would have to come back later. I would have to plan.

My cock was stiff and hard in my pants as I drove home, but I refused to touch it. I never satisfy myself in that way. It is low and demeaning. It's the type of thing I expected that bag boy was probably doing at that very minute, sitting on a toilet in a stall at that grocery store, his pants down around his ankles, stroking it, imagining her walking into his stall, pushing those tight shorts down her long legs, straddling him, impaling herself on him. The little bastard. I drove by the store quickly, wanting to go into that bathroom and shove his head into the toilet until he drowned. But I had to get home, eat a quick dinner, plan, and drive back.

I got lucky that night. The sun was starting to set and as I drove down the street to her house I saw her walking across the road. I slowed down to watch her remove the mail from the neighbor's mailbox and pickup the newspaper lying in the driveway. Her neighbors across the road were not home, probably on vacation, and she was picking up their mail and paper for them while they were gone. She walked back across the road after I passed her house with the mail and paper in her hands. She was wearing what she had earlier, her skin seeming even lovelier and darker in the waning light.

I left my car at a small park in the neighborhood and walked through some woods to approach the neighbor's house from the backyard. The sun had set and the yard was dark, so I was able to make my way to the back of the house without worrying about being spotted. A small kitchen window over the sink was unlocked and I was able to boost myself through it with some effort.

I had five days until Sunday, the day I figured the family would return and in that time I learned everything about her I needed to know. Her name was Susan Nicollo Evans, and her husband's name was Owen Evans, as printed on their mail.

I saw her carry the kids to school each weekday morning and bring them back in the afternoon, sometimes with shopping bags. In the early evenings I watched her come across the road, devouring her with my eyes, watching the subtleties of her body, moving sinuously, always wearing shorts that exposed the full length of her firm, tanned legs, a shirt that was tight, wrapping around the curves of her breasts, bare stomach and lower back. I wanted to drag her into the house to ravage her, but I refused, holding onto that rage and lust, feeding on it.

I saw her husband briefly. He did not come home until Saturday morning, four days after I took up my temporary residence. He drove up in a new Mercedes and carried a suitcase, a bag for hanging clothes, and a briefcase. He left again Sunday night with the same luggage. She stood on the front step, watching him leave, her arms folded under her chest. She seemed so sad, almost pitiful, watching him leave, but then turned away before he had finished backing out of the driveway. Obviously her husband being away from home was not unusual. He probably came home on the weekends just to keep the illusion of a family, and of course to fuck his beautiful wife, before taking off again to more important things.

I watched the neighborhood and noticed how dead it was. Most people worked. When she was out working in her yard, few cars drove by, few people walked by on the sidewalks. I wanted to walk up to her house, peer in through the windows to see how she lived, but didn't dare. I didn't want to be seen before I was ready. And I was almost ready.

I left the house that Sunday after her husband left. I came back the next day, just after nine in the morning as she would be just getting back from dropping the kids off, people would be at work, and it would be daylight, the most unexpected time for my visit, the most appropriate time.

I walked up her driveway casually. It was a bright day, warm, but not too hot. I was wearing a light sports coat, a nice blue, button down shirt, khakis, comfortable leather shoes. I didn't look at all threatening. That was by design.

I carried a clipboard in my hand with several sheets of paper, printed with rows and columns with forged signatures. I looked from side to side, making sure no one was around. I didn't want to be spotted. Most people would think it was foolish to do this during the day. But I always preferred to do it in the day. I didn't want to hide in the dark, skulking, hiding, cowardly. What I did deserved to be done in the light of the day.

I pushed the doorbell and waited. I rotated on my heel, offering the door my profile, and glanced into the road, looking for people, cars, eyes behind curtains, but trying to look casual.

The door opened and I turned to face her, a warm smile on my lips. She looked at me from the other side of the screen door and smiled before opening it as well.

"Hello, ma'am," I said. "My name is Michael Farling and I'm with the Lakewood Park Preservation Society. How are you doing today?"

"I'm fine," she said.

She took a step out of the door and onto the porch. She was very trusting. This was the type of neighborhood where bad things didn't happen, where you didn't have to talk to a person through a crack in the door held by the security chain, where you could step on the porch and talk to a stranger.

"Good. It's a lovely day. The perfect day for spending at a park, wouldn't you say?" I said, looking into her eyes.

"Yes, it is," she said, looking back at me.

I hoped she didn't recognize me from the store. I knew it was very likely she'd recognize me. I'm rather distinctive. I have deep, blue eyes that women have said are striking and beautiful. In fact I've learned how to stand just right to let the light shine off the blue. I also wear blue shirts to bring them out more. I'm big, but not huge, with bulky muscle that I try to hide inside of my clothes so I don't look too intimidating.

"Indeed it is. And that's why I'm here to bother you on this fine morning. Perhaps you've heard about the city's plan to develop a shopping center where the Lakewood Park now stands?" I said.

"No. I hadn't heard about that," she said, and I could tell she was interested. I knew she would be. I had seen her take her kids there.

"Oh, yes. The city plans to tear down that beautiful park that all of the families around here enjoy. And have paid for, let me remind you. Just to build another shopping center where the citizens don't even want it. So, I'm collecting signatures from people to stop that from happening. I was hoping that you might want to offer your signature as well."

I held out the clipboard to her. She looked down, finally breaking eye contact, and giving me a chance to admire her. She was wearing a halter top with no bra underneath and tight, white shorts that exposed the entire length of her legs. Her feet were bare, her toes nicely pedicured. My eyes traveled down her body and back up. I shifted from one foot to another as I felt my cock starting to grow. I glanced behind me quickly, making sure no one was around.

"Well. I guess I could sign this. You just need the signature, nothing else?" she said and looked back at me, my eyes already turned to her face, the smile back on my lips.

"Yes, ma'am, that is all I need. Here's a pen." I pulled a pen from my shirt pocket and offered it to her.

She took it and the clipboard from me. She started to sign her name and then stopped. She scribbled with the pen, her breasts shaking nicely. The pen wasn't writing.

"I think your pen is dry," she said, looking up at me.

"It is?" I said, letting my eyes show concern. "I guess I've already gotten a lot of signatures with that pen. But I need a lot more." I patted my body down, looking for a pen, touching each pocket. "I don't have another on me."

"Well, that's all right. I have one," she said.

"That would be very helpful," I said.

"I'll just find one and be right back."

She turned and went into the house, letting the screen door close, but leaving the front door open. I looked behind me quickly again, searching the street, saw nobody, then opened the screen door and entered her house. I closed the screen door quietly and then closed the front door as well. I stood by the door, waiting, glancing around me to get an idea of the house's layout.

She walked back and seemed mildly startled to see me standing in her house, but kept walking towards me with the clipboard and a pen in her hand.

"This one's good. I've already signed and you can keep the pen," she said, and offered them both to me, now wanting to get me out of her house.

"That won't be necessary, ma'am," I said, feeling the anticipation rise high in my gut, swirling inside of me, feeling my face twist into a sneer. "You've got everything I want," I growled and then punched her hard in the stomach. The punch had the desired effect, knocking her breath out, stunning her, and she crumpled to the floor, the clipboard and pen sliding across the foyer.

I sighed deeply. The punch had felt good. I stood over her, watching her trying to breathe, her body heaving with the effort. I reached behind me and locked the door, still watching her. Then, I pulled the handcuffs out of my pocket. I grabbed her hands and pulled them behind her back, pushing her onto her stomach. I dropped my knee into her lower back, pinning her down, making it harder for her to breathe, as I attached the handcuffs to her wrists, pushing them tight against her skin so she wouldn't be able to slip out of them.

She started to kick her legs as she realized what was happening, trying to squirm away, and I could hear her gasping louder, trying to scream. I flipped her over onto her back and pushed my foot into her stomach as I stood over her and pulled a thin roll of duct tape out of my jacket. I dropped my butt down onto her stomach, my knees on either side of her, pushing the air out of her lungs again. Her face went a bright red, her neck strained, as she gasped for her breath. I bent over her and stared down into her face, watching that beautiful face contort as she struggled to breathe, fear in her eyes, and I leaned down and kissed her cheek softly.

"Calm down, Susan, and you'll be able to breathe," I whispered into her ear.

As I pressed my face closer to her, I smelled her, her perfume, her shampoo, her soap, so clean and fresh. I kissed her neck and lust writhed through my gut, hot lust, her warm flesh, her beating pulse. Her body bucked underneath me. I sat up, pulled a precut strip of tape off of the roll and pressed it across her mouth.

I stood up and looked down at her as she struggled to breathe, her legs kicking weakly, her arms straining as she pulled on the handcuffs. She flipped onto her side and started to squirm away.

"Where you going to go, Susan?" I said, stepping towards her.

She huffed, breathing hard through her nose, as she pulled her legs under her, and then pushed away, her hands pulled tight against the handcuffs, trying to pull out of them.

I shook my head, stuffed the tape back into a pocket, and reached down to grab her under an arm. I lifted her up and dragged her into the family room. I had studied the layout of the house earlier. The living room and dining room were off of the foyer that led to the family room in the center of the house with the bedrooms, kitchen, and back porch off of it. I dropped her on the carpet in the family room and looked at the room with the glass door leading out to the covered porch, but with no other windows. There was a television, stereo, surround sound, a couch, chair, coffee table, and a brick fireplace.

She mumbled incomprehensibly through the tape and I looked down at her as she tried to pull herself up to a sitting position. I crouched down beside her and brushed the hair off of her face.

"You're very beautiful." I said and smiled. "But you probably know that, don't you?"

I stood up and looked down at her as she twisted her head up to look at me, squinting, her mouth working behind the tape, mumbling pleas and curses.

"Don't go anywhere, okay?" I said and walked over to the stereo.

I looked through the CDs, seeing the usual stuff, new age and pop, watery, saccharin music. I found a CD labeled Classical Masterpieces, saw Bach, Tchaikovsky, and Beethoven listed on the back, and put it into the player. I turned up the volume and the music blasted out startingly loud. I turned the volume down some, wanting it loud enough to drain out noise inside the house, but not so people on the sidewalks could hear it.

I turned back to her and she was sitting up with her back pressed against the wall and her legs curled under her. She looked so fresh, young, innocent, and helpless.

"Nice house, Susan. What's hubby do to pay for all of this?" I motioned towards the television and stereo equipment. "Whatever it is he does it keeps him away from here a lot, huh?" I walked over to her and crouched down to look her in the eyes. "He's an idiot. I would never leave a woman like you home alone like he does." I reached out and touched the back of my hand to her cheek. She turned her head away from my hand. I smiled. "How are we going to be friends if you act like that?" I smacked her on the cheek, making her body twitch. She glared back at me, her eyes slanted, hating me. I grabbed her chin in my hand tightly. "You listen to me and you listen good," I said, keeping my voice flat and calm. She glared back at me, scared but bold. "You're mine right now. As far as you're concerned I'm everything. If you're nice I'll treat you nice. If you're not I'll treat you bad." I reached into my jacket and pulled out my knife, a 12-inch long knife with a serated edge, meant more for cutting then stabbing. I twisted the knife to the side letting it reflect the light back into her eyes as she stared at it, fear bleeding back into her eyes. "And when I treat you bad you're going to hurt."

I jerked her head to the side, forcing her to look into my eyes, and I held her gaze, letting her see that I would cut her, it wouldn't be anything to me, and I pressed the side of the knife against her face, letting her feel the cold steel, and she whimpered, her eyes filled with tears, as she tried to pull away. I forced her head up as I slid the broad side of the knife down her cheek, letting the point scrape lightly over her chin and down her bare neck, hearing her breath forced harshly in and out of her nose, her neck straining, the blade sliding down to her shirt, over her breast, across her nipple, down under the swell of the breast to her stomach. I looked back up at her, at the long line of her neck, stretched out as I forced her head up and I leaned in to kiss her neck, feeling her skin warm and soft against my lips and I could feel the stirring in my gut like a raging wind twisting inside of me, turning knots in my stomach, radiating a tingling wave across my skin. And I needed her. I needed to be inside of her.

I slipped my hand down her chin and grabbed her throat. I yanked her to her feet as I stood up and pinned her against the wall, knocking the back of her head against the wall. I pressed my body against her, the knife trapped between us, and I kissed her neck, becoming frantic with desire, sucking on her neck, her shoulder, her skin driving me mad with lust, and I jammed my body against her, pushing my pelvis between her legs, and she was whimpering quietly as she drew harsh breaths, trying to breathe with my hand grasping her throat tightly. I felt my cock rock hard in my pants and I was grinding against her, feeling her body trapped between the wall and my body, her breasts pressing against my chest, and the lust was like a rage that I couldn't satisfy soon enough.

I pulled away from her slightly and slid the knife inside of her shorts. Her whole body became rigid as she felt the steel blade against her and I tore the knife through the thin shorts, cutting easily down along one leg, and then I pulled the knife out quickly and yanked the shorts down her other leg. Quickly, I stuffed the knife back into my jacket and opened my pants, pushing them and my underwear down to my knees, my cock popping out, sticking out thick and long, painfully hard, curved up towards her.

I pressed my body against her and she struggled against me as my hand slid between us, groping at her pussy. I pressed my fingers into her throat and felt her pulse beating fast and hard, her face red, her eyes wide with fear and pain, her nostrils flared as she sucked in air. I dug my fingers into her pussy and spread it open as I led my cock into her. I felt my cock head between her pussy lips and pushed in hard. She squealed weakly as I started shoving it into her, dry and tight, beating her body against the wall.

I slid my hand away from her cunt as my cock sunk into her and pushed her thigh to the side to force my body between her legs. I thrust into her and it slid in further. I took my hand away from her throat and pulled her shirt up, exposing her breasts. I ran my hand over them and then pressed my chest against her breasts as I dropped my hand down to her thigh. I lifted her feet off of the ground and my hands slid down her thighs to grip her butt, pulling her against me, wrapping her legs around me, and I thrust into her harder, forcing it into her deeper, her constricted cunt resisting me with every push, and I pressed my body against her, wanting to feel her around me, her thighs around my waist, her breasts against my chest, and I dug my feet into the ground, my knees jammed against the wall, as I shoved into her, almost inside of her entirely now, grunting loudly, my face buried in her hair, her skin on my lips, running my tongue over her neck, behind her ear, and then my pelvis was against her, our pubic hair entwined, and I was inside of her completely.