Delivery

The neighbourhood hummed, vibrant with the lively buzz of a community picnic across the street — laughter spilling like wine, clinking glasses, and the sounds of children at play weaving through the air. Maureen’s cottage, a cosy fairytale-like haven with lace curtains and flower-boxes, stood exposed, its open windows letting in a mild breeze together with the picnic’s clamour. It’s quaint appeal stood in stark contrast to the predator stalking its threshold. Jake casually parked his delivery van nearby, not worried about being noticed. He had done his homework and knew about Maureen thanks to studying obituaries. Maureen’s mine today. He scoped the cottage, noting Maureen alone inside, but ignored picnic-goers’ glances and the open windows, his recklessness surging. Grabbing an empty pizza box, he strode toward the unlocked door, nonchalantly returning a neighbour’s wave.

Inside Maureen’s cottage, a warm but fragile space unfolded — floral wallpaper, an antique upholstered armchair, a kitchen with tiles featuring intricate details, a photo of her late husband on the mantle casting a shadow of grief. Open windows let in sunlight and picnic noise — laughter, a guitar strumming. Maureen was widowed at 29 and not quite ready to mingle with the jovial crowd outside. She stood near the window, a slender figure with chestnut hair pinned loosely, soft blue eyes shadowed by mourning, wore a light summer dress that flowed delicately around her form, her hands embracing a teacup. Somewhat broken by her husband’s early death, she rebuilt her life within these walls, her cottage a sanctuary, her acknowledgment of the picnic a step toward reconnection. Her trust in the neighbourhood’s safety a much needed comfort. She hummed softly, rinsing the teacup, glancing out at the picnic with a wistful smile, unaware of Jake’s shadow approaching the threshold.

Jake slipped inside, the door creaking, startling Maureen. He smirked as he dropped the pizza box on the counter, the thud echoing. “Delivery,” he called, savouring Maureen’s startled flinch. The picnic noise kept filtering in, but he assumed the crowd’s distraction hid him. Maureen demanded he leave, her voice trembling but firm, but Jake merely laughed. A picnic-goer’s shout momentarily distracted Jake, annoying him — his self-control fraying, a minor disruption fuelling his agitation. Maureen backed against the counter, her eyes darting to a knife block barely out of reach. Jake’s smirk widened, acknowledging her contemplations.

He stepped up to her, pinned her body against the counter, and quickly placed a hand over her mouth.

“Scream and you’re dead meat, bitch.”

Her eyes betrayed sheer panic and he revelled in it, soaked in it, drank it up.

He took his hand from her mouth and started clawing at her sun dress, exposing her breasts by ripping a serious of fragile buttons apart. Her breasts were small and perky, not needing a bra. He massaged them roughly before hiking up her dress and exploring underneath it. She wasn’t wearing panties…

“Were you expecting someone, slut?” - Panic still dominating her mind, she shook her head “no” to hopefully calm him.

She whimpered when he began to finger fuck her soft folds, but her pussy soon betrayed her. He roughly turned her over towards the counter, pulled out his rock hard cock, lined it up, and thrust it inside her viciously. 

She screamed.

Jake withdrew and whipped her around in one fluid motion, grabbed her by the throat, hissing “I said you’re fucking dead meat, bitch!!” before he heard a sickening crunch.

That was it. There was no way back. His fury was only building further. With what was left of his rational mind, he tied her hands and closed the windows. She struggled to breathe, but he didn’t care.

“Bitch, you’ve fucked up my whole scheme! What the fuck??”

His fury blinded him. He repeatedly punched her face, knocking out her teeth. He pushed her to her knees and viciously fucked her injured throat to the sound of her gargling. He pushed his fingers into her eyes as he held her head, gouging them out so the last thing she would see is him plunging himself into her before cumming down her destroyed orifice. She pissed herself.

“Bitch, you fucking did this!!” He grabbed his knife and thrust it into her ears, causing a clear fluid to drain out. He was taking her life one sense at a time.

She was still alive.

He grabbed her broken body and placed her on the counter, spread her legs, and started eating her out while finger fucking her and pushing her towards a last orgasm.

He sunk his cock into her again fucking her while he worked on her clit.

She hit the climax shaking and squirting, her insides spasming around him. He didn’t know if that was an orgasm or a seizure, but he couldn’t care less. He stopped moving, letting her body massage his cock to the most intense orgasm he could imagine.

His lust for sex and power drove him to a high he could’ve only imagined.

He almost collapsed on top of her when the twitching stopped. She was dead.

He looked outside. The space was clearing. It wouldn’t be long before he could vanish into his van unseen.

He laid her corpse next to the bottom cabinets so it wouldn’t be seen from the windows or the door and gave the place a quick wipe-down.

As dusk approached and the neighbourhood got quiet, he locked the door behind himself, and left. The excitement was otherworldly.