A Stripper Serial Killer Sociopath

A Stripper-Serial Killer-Sociopath-Neuroscientist

*The idea for this erotic story came about as an off-topic joke in a conversation, hence the ridiculous title.

*****

Chapter 1 - Strip Club

The club music thumped. With each hypnotic note of pounding bass, the patrons could feel their chests vibrate. Their hearts pounded with the music, some of them supplying blood to their stiff throbbing cocks. Cara worked the pole with her athletic body as though she were alone; she was unabashed, enjoying the feeling of the constant vibration. The loud bass-heavy music had no lyrics, unless you considered the catcalls of the patrons as substitute; it certainly did not stop them from throwing tips towards the stage. The strobe lights pulsed in rhythms, and with each flash revealed a glimpse of her stunning beauty. It was hard to see in the dim room with the flashing lights; her eyes, a steely mix of grey and green locked on to the current winner in front of her. Like most of the customers, he was an overweight, middle aged man who showed up with a group of buddies. He was tipping decently, more than average, but his drinks seemed to be slowing him down, instead of loosening him up.

Cara turned around, emphasizing her hip movements, and let her schoolgirl outfit do some of the work for her. The red and black plaid ultra miniskirt revealed her delicious thigh gap between her long slim legs wrapped in black fishnets, and enough of her firm, round, petite ass to make the man adjust himself in his seat, even though he had already been hard, his cock jumped with resurged interest, fighting his own intoxication. His fat neck bent around at odd angles and his head bobbed and weaved, trying to mimic her ass movements - he was obviously trying to get a better look at her crotch, currently barely covered by a black thong as silky and smooth as her legs. She could sense he was debating whether to keep trying to impress his friends with his tips, or keep to his budget, assessing his chances of getting a private dance. Maybe, if he was lucky, he could get this superb fuckdoll to give him more than a dance. He had been imagining fucking her in every position from the moment he saw her. He wanted to ram himself into her from behind and slap those sweet little cheeks red and raw, and then finish roughly down her throat when he couldn't take it anymore. He didn't care what her rules were, he would pretend to use a condom if he had to, but he was going to fuck this perfect little slut raw at some point. He was definitely going to cum in her raw. For now, he did his best pretending to be a gentleman abiding by the club rules. The bouncers were not as out of shape as he was, and they weren't alone yet.

She turned to face him, bending forward to give him a tantalizing view of her pert breasts underneath her flawlessly symmetrical jawline, and exposing the creamy smooth flesh of her neck. His slimy tongue, chubby like the rest of him, lolled to one side as his inebriated eyes slowly widened and locked on to her cleavage. A fresh rivulet of sweat poured down his temple. He was a real mouth breather, at least in the presence of this succubus. Leaning as close as the stage would allow, Cara suddenly smelled something foul. Gross, the guy, or maybe of his double digit IQ friends, had farted while adjusting his pants to make room for his cock. He was intoxicated enough that she wondered if he lost control of his asshole deliberately or accidentally.

Smoothly, quickly undulating backwards, away from his sewage cloud to get some fresh air from the AC vents above the stage, Cara allowed the slug to appreciate her toned abs, flexing as she writhed, while he inhaled his own brand. The slug said something, trying to speak to her, but he was easily drowned out by the music. She didn't care what he had to say. She was enjoying the dance, enthusiastically letting her performance play out. None of the drunken patrons could scream anything coherent over the music other than "WOO!" or "YEAH BABY!" They were all either focused on her lovely face, her breasts, or her ass. Cara went through the exit motions of her routine before slug could work himself up to shout whatever he was trying to offer. Whatever he had to offer, Cara was out of his purchase limit, and unlike the other girls, she wasn't doing this for the money...

Backstage, she changed and checked her phone just to see what time it is. Tonight had been a disappointment. Slim pickings. Not one suitable male for her next experiment. She needed someone more unspoiled - someone with a brain. Still, she had enough time to go to the university library to find a suitable one. She walked out without receiving her nightly pay.

The club manager saw her leaving, but couldn't tell her what to do; he learned quickly that she couldn't be negotiated with because he had no leverage over her. Compulsively, he adjusted his heavy watch, something he did whenever he was upset but didn't want to show it. Another girl would take over her shift, although she wouldn't earn as much. He tried to guess her motives, he normally didn't take any shit from anyone, but Vorian was oddly a doormat in Cara's presence. When she had first showed up a week ago, he assumed she was either looking for a rich husband or a college student just out to make some quick cash, but soon found out he was wrong on both accounts. She was neither dumb nor vulnerable. There was definitely something keenly predatory about her, but she wasn't after money or attention.

He had seen a lot of people come and go in this business, and he prided himself on being a pretty good read of people; someone that was weak or strong could usually be threatened or flattered in his experienced hands. During the initial interview, she had simply ignored his more probing questions, until he finally relented, following up and hiring her because her assets were too obvious. He was, after all, a businessman, here to make money. He knew Cara was money. Although most of the girls were somewhat jaded, Cara seemed to be detached. Despite her flawless beauty, Cara was, in his opinion, a weirdo who didn't seem to care about the money nor about getting fired. If he was being honest with himself, she scared him; he reassured himself he could control her if she really wanted to; she just wasn't a big problem yet.

Chapter 2 - Library

For the millionth time, Stanley sat up straighter in his seat, even though he knew he would somehow go back to slouching before he realized it. It was nearly 1 am. Alone on the third floor of the university library, he was having a hard time staying awake and the neuroscience finals were tomorrow. "Fuck me" he said to himself, slapping his palm to his forehead. It was becoming his mantra during this unproductive study session. He noticed that being half asleep had allowed his neglected cock to engorge a bit, and it was now distractingly rubbing against his pants and leg. "Oh good, just what I need", he thought, "I'm so glad I picked this month to stop masturbating". He had read online that if he stopped masturbating, it would give him more drive to achieve his goals, or just more confidence. Unfortunately, now that he was getting close to clearing week 2 of no masturbating, his cock seemed to have a mind of his own, and it was doing more distracting than driving. Miserably failing to finish studying, he felt like he was trying to drive a car straight, while his cock kept yanking the wheel in random directions. He watched it pulse in his sweat pants a bit as the tip started inching down his leg.

Distracted and frustrated, Stanley tried to justify why he couldn't just release himself and go back to being able to think about anything but sex. He closed his eyes for a second and visualized himself at his home computer. "In Taoist philosophy, a man's 'sperm energy' could be conserved to give him more power, and potentially everlasting life." Stanley recalled in his own mind. Mildly entertained, he continued in what he imagined would be a rich narrator's voice. "Of course, in Taoist philosophy, they also thought that drinking mercury would lead to everlasting life as well" he chastised himself. At this point, idiotic beginnings aside, it had become a contest of self-discipline and willpower. He felt if he could resist the urge to cum, forcing himself to study for his finals would be nothing by comparison. "Fuck me" he thought again. "Actually yeah... I wish some girl would." he replied to himself. He was beyond distracted.

As his erection grew, the movement caused his cock to rub against his leg, which caused his erection to grow even more - glancing around quickly to confirm he was still alone, he reached down with one hand to resettle his growing cock. He almost grunted in pleasure just from the quick adjustment, even feeling the pressure of his fingers on his shaft through his pants was almost too much, after 2 long weeks. He couldn't help but suck in his breath and forced himself to slowly exhale and take several more deep breaths. "Pussy pussy pussy FUCK! CUM!" his neglected testicles seemed to scream in his brain. He begged them to be quiet. He took several more full deep breaths, making sure to breathe slowly.

He recalled the longest he had ever gone without cumming was when he was on vacation in another country for a month. Normally he had to jack off almost every day just to function as normal person who didn't get random boners. Not exactly the best way to present oneself in public. On vacation, in the crowded hostels, far away from home, he felt too uncomfortable to release himself at first, even though he had plenty of opportunities to go to a bathroom for a quick jerk, or in a shower, he had simply suffered through it because "fuck it I'm in another country and I'll never see these people again." He had even, foolishly, hoped to get laid and have a foreign tryst with a beautiful girl. He had manned up enough to awkwardly hit on some women, feeling emboldened by his need, and even went out on a date with one, but he also had the terrible habit of ruining things when they were starting to go well. By the end of the month, he had been walking around with a nearly permanent erection and was enjoying the way it made him appreciate every girl that walked by. Debasing himself, he would get lost in sexual fantasy every time he saw a woman they looked even remotely fertile. He could usually hide his erections by sitting down or holding his backpack in front of his body. He simply told himself not to worry about it; he would never see most of these people again so whatever. "Ok" he said to himself, trying to judge his own behavior objectively, "so I'm a perverted freak".

He recalled fondly the end of the month and being back home to release himself. He had gone on a depraved porn binge, and edged himself for hours, letting his copious amounts of precum pool into a wet mess on his plastic office mat. Petite girl porn, big dick porn, cumshot compilations, thousands of pictures and more than a few videos, he would just slowly rub himself to it all, getting hard and soft again. It was all intensely fascinating now that his need was so great. He never wanted the immense pleasure to end.

Every time he would almost cum, he would stop, until finally he realized he had spent most of the day in his room jerking off to porn. He was opening more tabs in his browser than he was consuming and closing; his balls were actually physically aching for release and his abused dick was starting to get raw from the hours of stimulation. With more than 50 tabs open and waiting to be perused, he decided he was at his limit. He was going to finish now or be the first person to actually die of blue balls. Roughly, he finished, cupping his balls and death gripping the base of his shaft, forcing the base skin all the way up to the tip and back down again. Hours of edge-play had taken him from extremely sensitive back to his usual desensitized self. But now he was on the glorious edge again, and he thrust his hips forward as he fucked his own hand, pressing down hard around the base. The swollen penis head was purple and the shaft veins looked like they were ready to explode. His mind was starting to blank and retreat to a primal place; he looked down at the one massive vein in the middle of his cock; it was overworked but still going strong. The skin around the vein was stretched so hard it was shiny. This was it. He was ready to cum. Time seemed to freeze, or stretch to infinity, he wasn't sure which and had no brainpower left to care. He allowed himself to explode in the most powerful orgasm of his life. He couldn't remember if he screamed or not, as he lost his mind. "Ok no" he recalled with a guilty smile, "I definitely remember screaming". As though in a cartoon, his ejaculation shot across the room in firehose-like spurts and plastered the nearest wall with heavy slaps. His legs, normally strong, seemed to melt; his knees buckled. He completely missed the plastic office mat he had planned to cum on, but at this point he was lost in a realm of pure pleasure. Ejaculate just kept coming out in powerful heavy spurts, each one enough by itself to suffice a worthy normal tribute.

"Fuck me" he said to himself. Back in the library, he realized he had just spent another 5? minutes thinking about cumming. Mad at himself, he took a sharp breath and decided he would stand up and make a trip to the water fountain across the room; hopefully it would clear his head. At least he would stop slouching.

Chapter 3 - Predator Meets Prey

The automatic doors to the library split open and a blast of air conditioning swept back her light brown hair. Cara had changed into a light cotton floral print dress that hugged her perfect nubile body. The pink and red flower design of her dress crawled up across the white cotton, from her belly to her chest, where her nipples softly poked the light cotton. It was fine to walk around with no bra, her breasts were small, pert, and firm enough to support themselves, and nearly regardless of how she dressed, most guys couldn't approach her. Outside, on the streets, men were both intimidated and turned on by her. Usually, after the initial shock and stare, men would immediately would get this "out of my league" feeling and act confused or embarrassed by her sex appeal. The other half of the time, all they could do was stare, entranced, as the blood visibly drained from their brains. Their mouths wouldn't work at the same time. Wives would slap their husbands. Only the most brainlessly confident guys, too stupid to think of why it wouldn't work, would typically approach her. And that was the problem...

Stanley hobbled over to the drinking fountain, making what he considered to be tactically brilliant plans to hide his erection should he hear anyone coming up the stairs. "I'm like Sun Tzu and 'The Art of War' except my expertise is 'The Art of Hiding Boners'" he commended himself. "Yeah, fuck Neuroscience! I'll just write an epic book about hiding boners and become immortalized that way. That will be my contribution to the human race" Stanley mused. Thinking strategically, he already felt more focused and ready to really finish his studying. His erection was also quickly shriveling up as he realized Neuroscience was about to fuck him, in 8 hours by Professor Stile's exam, he had procrastinated too long in preparing for. He looked at the stairs and nearly jumped in shock when he saw a slim, brown haired figure rising up from the stairwell. "LOOK AWAY!" his brain screamed. Oddly, he hadn't heard anything, and the library steps were tile and typically echoed noisily in the large open space. Flustered, he quickly finished his drink, accidentally splashing a small amount of water on his shirt and pants, and spun around so any of his remaining erection could not be seen from the back. He walked briskly back to his chair and tried to replay the brief image of the girl he had seen in his mind. He had looked away so quickly all he could see was her bangs, but from the glimpse he had, he was certain she was attractive. "Just act cool" he told himself. "You are totally normal and cool. You're just a guy studying in the library" he continued. "In fact, you look really dedicated for being here this late, and not at all like the procrastinating moron you really are" he concluded.

Cara smiled. Her plan to check the 3^rd floor had worked. It was definitely possible to have an intimate 1-on-1 conversation here. She spotted the tall young man in sweat pants walking back to his study area, and approached him like a predator from behind. She instantly assessed her prey for weakness. All the signs of social ineptness were apparent in the way he dressed himself, the way he moved, and from the back she could see his thick black hair was mussed, as if he had just woken up. When she had first come up the stairs, the idiot's eyes had widened and he thought he could quickly look away before she noticed. "But at least he is tall" she thought. She was 5' 7" herself, but as she closed the distance she realized he was beyond her initial estimate of 6' 3"... he had to be at least 6' 5". As she finalized her assessment, her sharp pupils contracted within their grey-green irises, she looked intently at the vein on his right arm. She estimated her lab equipment could accommodate someone up to 6' 8", but he was cutting it close. He also seemed to be wearing running shoes. She caught up easily, silently, and waited for him to turn around and sit down.

"Oh!" Stanley jolted in surprise. While he had "coolly" and slowly turned around to sit back down, she was right in front of him, almost like she teleported there, or was a silent ghost. A ninja, maybe? Mouth hanging open, he went to casually complete his sitting motion but he was staring into those cold grey-green eyes, underneath the neatly trimmed bangs, and missed his seat. "Exquisite eyebrows... amazing face..." he thought in rapture. He was in the middle of analyzing her face when he sat down on the armrest of the chair, colliding with it in midair, expecting the seat cushion to be lower and to his left. His spine jolted from the impact, and he still could not stop staring into those eyes. "Shit." he realized, "I just missed the fucking chair didn't I? At least I didn't end up on the floor. Do I play this off, or act like I was trying to sit on the armrest?" his mind tried to race faster than the embarrassing reality.

"Studying neuroscience?" Cara asked.

"Uhhh... no-... neuro-... I mean yes." Stanley replied dumbly. Smooth. He stopped pretending; he decided nobody would be stupid enough to believe he was trying to sit on the armrest, and slid dejectedly into the chair cushion. Set in her delicate, pretty face, her sharp hawk-like eyes stripped him, and he felt that lying to this person would be difficult, if not impossible. "Fuck! I'm an idiot. And FUCK! This girl is hot" he thought, and then congratulated himself for realizing the obvious. But why was she talking to him?

"Don't worry, I'm not trying to sell you anything." Cara smiled warmly, answering the unspoken question written on his face. She paused, letting his eyes drink in her sensuous mouth and lips. Then she let her shoulders straighten, as if to adjust her backpack, knowing the motion would emphasize her neck and breasts.

"Uhhh... ok." he mumbled after a notable delay. He couldn't stop staring, but it was as if she could read his mind too and he had already failed the cool guy act by reenacting a Life Alert commercial while trying to sit down. "I've fallen and I can't get up!" the commercial voice played in his head, momentarily distracting him from her glare.

"Who's your professor?" Cara ventured. "I passed neuroscience last semester. Fun class. The best class, actually" she insisted.