That Pervert

After three years of marriage, I suddenly began to realize that my wife might have a low libido. One evening, my older neighbor, who was sympathetic, kindly invited me over. That night, I stumbled upon his wife in the middle of a passionate entanglement with another man through a crack in the door. The next day, my neighbor said to me, "Hey, Cyril, you know, Heather has always liked you."

I'm a special kind of courier. Instead of packages, I transport beautiful women. I drop them off at designated locations and pick them up afterward. Each round trip earns me a thousand dollars. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that my crush would climb into my car one day. What's more, she'd brought my sister along, saying they wanted to make some quick money together.

A while ago, my buddy Aaron Miller took me to a camping site, and that’s when I truly learned what camping was all about. I also discovered why so many men become obsessed with camping and can’t get enough of it. Inside each tent, there were stunning women, each one more beautiful than the last. There were the intellectual and graceful ones, the mature and seductive ones, the petite and delicate ones, and the quirky, fun ones—there was no type you couldn’t find there.

I applied for a popular online job as a personal chef. I thought I'd be cooking simple, home-style meals, but I quickly found myself trapped in a world of surprises. The food they were craving was me, served on a platter. The wealthy women were looking for excitement, torturing me night after night. But what they didn't realize was, the real thrill came when the dogs turned on each other.

After my breakup, my best friend encouraged me to join a cycling club. I quickly came to realize that this was no ordinary cycling group. To my shock, I stumbled upon my friend, caught up in a moment on her bike, doing something that went far beyond anything I'd anticipated. Surprisingly, instead of running away, a thrill of anticipation flickered within me. Because, truthfully… I'd been waiting for a moment like this for a long time.

I could always hear strange noises coming from the room next to me. A cacophony of people having intercourse. The noise kept me awake all night. But the strange thing was, he lives alone.

It's 11:30 pm. Home alone, I decide to order some takeout. When the map shows the delivery guy is zero miles away, I receive a call from him. I pick up, only to hear unsettling silence from the other end. I hang up, annoyed. The next moment, the guy texts me, "Sorry, I'm hearing-impaired and unable to speak. I called to notify you to pick up your food as soon as possible. I can't explain things over the phone, and I apologize for that." Then comes another text. "You must've been waiting for a long time. I've left your order at your door, so please pick it up as soon as you can." Just as I prepare to open the door, I see bars of live comments—reminiscent of livestream chats—floating right before my eyes. "Don't open the door! That dude isn't a delivery guy at all! He's a murderer!" "He called you to check if you're a woman living alone!" "Seriously, why are all thriller story protagonists always so dumb? The delivery guy is obviously suspicious, yet she still wants to open the door."

I was lying in bed, scrolling on my phone with my pregnant belly heavy in front of me, when a local news alert popped up. 'Wife killed in suburban murder case. Husband stabbed her to death after she refused intimacy during pregnancy.' I clicked it open, only to realize the article was dated for tomorrow. And the killer's name? My husband's. At first, I thought it was some sick prank or a glitch on the site. But then I saw the photo attached to the piece: our wedding picture. My face had been completely blurred out. The moment my heart seized, the bedroom door creaked open. My husband stood there, licking his lips, his smile so chilling it made my blood run cold. "Honey, I want you tonight."

“Sir, I beg you to let me go! Don’t touch me! No!” My voice broke into sobs. The stranger forced me into an uncomfortable position. I wanted to fight back, but he was too strong. Out of shame and confusion, I did everything I could to free myself from his grasp. However, the more I fought back, the more unsettled I became. Eventually, I lost my rationality.

As I lay limp in the man’s arms, my face flushed red. I could not help but let his oil-covered hands move over my body. “No… That tickles…” I whined and shuddered because the oil felt hot on my skin. His hands tightened around my thighs as he leaned in and whispered in my ears, “Be good, Claudia. Repeater students face a lot of pressure. Spread your legs. I’ll help you relieve your stress.”