𝐓𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏

"TEARS AND OBSESSIONS".

He remembered the day their paths crossed for the very first time. He wondered what was on her mind, as he watched her shimmering eyes contemplating the forniture of her class, learning every detail of the aisles she would have grown to like and the way she nervously chewed on her lower lip, when a random, talkative student introduced herself to her. She was just a child back then. Yet, she was the most intriguing girl his eyes had ever had the pleasure to land on.

He cursed himself in disgust at the dirty remarks his mind suggested him, whenever they accidentally locked eyes. He was her professor, she was just a kid expecting nothing more than lectures and grades from him. Douma restrained himself for years. It was a tormenting struggle against the urgent need of ripping her clothes apart and devouring every inch of her body and his now bending morals.

He had never considered himself a saint. God, he was far away from being a good-hearted person. He was sure about one thing, though: a fallen angel was certainly going to drag him straight to Hell. While he keened to touch her, to own her, he was still conscious about the consequences he would have been forced to face. Still, he was not a monster. There was nothing he could do. He could not brush his fingers on her soft cheeks. But he attentively watched her grow up, though. He studied her body blossoming year by year into the perfectly shaped one of a grown woman, of a eighteen-years-old girl he could easily seduce.

It was not a crime craving a student about to leave for college, was it?

Oh, he had lost the count of the amount of sleepless nights he had spent thinking about her. She had driven him mad. Her scent, flinging around him when she passed by his desk, totally unaware of what she was doing to him, had become his favorite scent. His mouth watered every single time he thought about her straddling his waist and asking him to pleasure her. He would have done everything for her, just to hear her mewling under his touch.

He had kept an eye on her and he felt so ashamed of having overheard her conversations, but still it was okay checking on his little lamb. She was beautiful, but apparently she played 'the hard to get'. He could not deny the delightful feeling of relief rushing through his veins as she told her friends about how her dates were a complete disaster and she did not quite like any of the boys who had asked her out.

When he walked home that day, having heard about her confession, a single thought lingered in his mind: as long as her heart was still unclaimed, her body was pure as well.

«What kind of a pervert am I?» he asked himself, running his slender fingers through his silky silver hair. She had become his obsession. Sleeping around with other women did not quite felt right. The orgasms he reached with them could not be compared to the bliss he felt when he climaxed touching himself on her. She had robbed him of his sanity. His only intent was depriving her of the most intimate and precious thing a girl could give to a man: her virginity.

Days and months passed by and none of them went on without him thinking about her and how she had, unknowingly, messed up his life with a simple 'Good morning, sir'. She was breathtaking. Her uniform suited her and her long braids aroused some kind of feelings in his heart. His eyes trailed down her body, examining her curves and the way her skirt swayed as she made her way to her seat. There was no coming back from it. How could loving her be such a sin?

Along with overhearing her conversations, spying on her and trying to figure out more informations about her, Douma realized that he needed something close to her, something that belonged to her to inhale her scent in the middle of the night, when she was fast asleep in her bed, or something she liked. This is when he decided to steal some items and random stuff from her.