It was in the way she seemed to be unaware that the fourth button had popped open on her dull grey cardigan, the lush curve revealed as she fussily laid out her groceries for check out, the way she sucked on her little finger as she waited nervously, her cheeks molded by the force of her habit, giving the man, sneaking glances at her, ideas. He had put his phone back in his pocket , content to seem to be vacantly staring at nothing as he waited, while he greedily observed the way her body moved. Maybe it was just that it was midnight, that witching hour when everyone seems attractive enough.
No. It was more than that. You couldn’t put your finger on it, one moment she was just one of the many soccer moms doing weekend groceries, frumpy, tired, boring, and suddenly she was this sensuous siren, with plump generous breasts, tiny waist, and a heart shaped butt he was having trouble taking his eyes off as she dropped yet another thing and bent over to pick it up right in front of him. Her skirt was just tight enough that he could see the movement of firm cheeks as she shifted her weight, the material rustling suggestively.
He didn’t realize she was one of the moms who had been chatting on the edge of the field where his son had demonstrated his abysmal soccer skills. That boy had no competitive streak!! Anyway, Why would he look at the has-been mothers when a group of teen cheerleaders were practicing near by, their skirts distractingly short.
She moved back without warning and bumped into him, her warm body coming into full contact with his, and she jumped and whirled around and he could see the hint of nipples that the shirt and cardigan could barely contain. She muttered apologies, looking up at him, and maybe it was just the fact that it was midnight that made him lower his guard, but he let his aching need show as he looked back at her.
She paused for a moment, caught by the hunger in his eyes, and jerked when the grocery clerk called out. She paid for her groceries and walked away, but was still loading up her car when he walked out. He walked slowly, knowing she probably had a husband back home, who probably had no idea what to do with her, while he had to back to the guest room because the kids were snuggled with his wife on their bed.
Just as he reached near her, she bent over to retrieve some spilled fruit and her skirt rode up to reveal creamy thighs and he felt weak and slowed down. She found the orange she was looking for and turned around and leaned against the open trunk of her minivan, her sweater now open to show deep cleavage. She looked straight at him and there was no way he could mistake the look she gave him.
She drove them to a deserted parking lot of a small, out of the way, regional park and they tumbled out, kissing passionately, hands moving frantically to touch bare skin. He hadn’t known he was still capable of this mindless lust, he knew he had to possess her, this tiny grey plump soccer mom, or he would burn up and die, he just knew it. And she seemed to miraculously know just how he wanted to be touched, kissed, caressed. She brought him to the edge and retreated as he lay helplessly on a picnic table sheltered by a tree on the far edge of the trail. She teased and excited him, and his mind grew foggy with need, and only she would do to bring fulfillment.
And at that moment, she plunged a syringe into the soft area just behind his ear, just as he felt himself clench and shudder, she slid the plunger expertly so the entire 5 cc of morpheostone instantly hit his brain. From then even as she felt his release, he began to slip away, the poison seeping into the connection between his forebrain and midbrain. She expertly twisted the needle off, and sealed both needle and syringe to be discarded in the morning at the hospital where her friend worked.
She dressed quickly and set herself to rights, aware of his desperate eyes. Once ready, she turned and looked at him, satisfied with the creeping apathy in his face. He would be able to live, but he would need help. He needed to learn that lesson, when he had screamed at his son for missing a goal at soccer. She guided him to sit up and walk with gentle pushes, and he compliantly accompanied her to her car, obediently getting dropped off when Karlie answered the bell. He would always follow directions now, she had made sure of that. He would never feel the urge to yell at his son or be impatient with the coach. So all in all, pretty decent results.
Now she needed to get home to prepare a healthy breakfast for her family. One problem had been solved, she would take care of the guy at the service station tomorrow, he really shouldn’t be allowed in public with such poor manners. And she had found the flavor of yoghurt for which her daughter had been requesting. It had been a good night.
©alka
