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Object of Obsession	By : Demona_Andariel Category: G through L > Halloween (All) > Halloween (All) Views: 1807 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own the Halloween movie series, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 10
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- 12
A woman’s laughter made Michael pause in his steps, bringing him out of his thoughts. His thoughts? He was getting picky. Too picky. Sizing people up, watching a little too closely to figure out who would be the best victim, the best kill so he wouldn’t get caught so early. There was always something or someone that stopped him. Some small minor inconvenience that his mind weighed too much of a problem.
He tapped his knife impatiently on his leg. If he didn’t find someone to kill soon, he wasn’t sure how he’d deal with it. Going back a second day without killing someone at least? He was Michael Myers. A serial killer without remorse. And he didn’t lament his kills. But he was starting to think about getting caught. Of being stopped. Him?!
The woman laughed again, then let out a loud moan. He tilted his head in the direction of her voice and headed towards it. He was in a fairly quiet neighborhood, the houses separated further apart, being closer to the woods and on a far more private road. It was one of the last streets he traveled before getting back home. If he went on his walk instead of driving her car.
A man’s voice made him pause. Two people. Michael easily found a good spot to watch the couple, while not being seen himself.
A woman was pushed up against the side of one of the houses. A man pressed himself against her as they both made out. Their hands roamed over each other's bodies. From his angle and theirs, it was impossible to see their faces. Not that he cared. Faces meant nothing in the long run.
Their lips were loud as they smacked them together with heavy kisses, while their voices were oddly silent, whispering sexy words to each other. The man chuckled, grinding his body against the woman’s, making her giggle. With another loud kiss, she slipped out from under him and grabbed his hand as she led him to the house. She turned, giving her lover a side-eyed needy glance.
Gretchen?
Before Michael could get a better look, her back was to him as she stepped into the house. The door shut with a loud slam behind the man. The house lights turned on, giving Michael a slight view. The couple weren’t wasting any time, quickly throwing off their clothing as they headed up the stairs and out of his vision.
No, it wasn’t her. She was still locked in his home. But, they would do.
Michael made his way to the back of the house. The private neighborhood made people feel as if they were safe enough to keep their doors unlocked. That is until they found out a serial killer was lurking about. But, breaking into houses was no big deal either. Just louder and brought more attention. He tested the backdoor and smirked. Unlocked. So, no one was worried about him yet.
He quietly opened the backdoor and stepped into the house. The couple were already moaning pretty loudly. It wasn’t her moan though.
Michael was good at being quiet. Good at not being seen until it was too late. His hand strengthened its grip on the handle of his blade, which hummed in anticipation as he headed upstairs. Their clothing led the way, not that he needed to know where to go.
The bedroom door, where the lovemaking was happening, was open. Stepping into the room he paused. The woman lay on the bed, body stretched out, legs apart, with her lover’s head in-between them. She played with her breasts, mewling, wiggling her body. Gretchen? No, not her voice, not her body. Yet, for some reason, his mind pictured Gretchen, with that Brandon between her legs. The woman’s eyes fluttered open for a moment. Then they landed on Michael.
“Ah! Who are you?” the woman shrieked as she scrambled back, accidentally kicking the man. She grabbed the sheets to quickly cover herself. The illusion of Gretchen broke as undeniable delicious fear filled the room. Kill-able.
The man rolled off the bed, eyes darting around searching for some kind of weapon. He was the only real “threat”. Michael attacked him. The man caught Michael’s wrist with both of his hands, doing his best to stop Michael from stabbing him.
“Georgia, go!” he screamed.
Michael fixed his cold hard stare at the woman. Don’t you fucking dare move.
She didn’t move, hands clutching the sheet of her bed tightly to her as she stared. Too terrified.
Michael twisted his wrist enough to dig the blade into the man’s arm, making him cry out. But he didn’t let go. The man stared back at the killer, eyes wide with fear and yet determined to protect his lover. Impressive.
A shot rang out, followed by an impact against his shoulder that caused Michael to stagger and take a few steps back. He looked at the bed for a moment. The woman shakily held a gun in her hands, aimed directly at Michael.
“Get out, motherfucker!” her voice quivered, her eyes wide. No, she wasn’t going to shoot him again.
Out of the corner of his eye, Michael saw her lover rush at him grabbing at his knife. Michael was faster slicing down across the man’s chest. The man cried out, surprised by the attack and injury. Before he could recover, Michael grabbed him, pulled, and twisted the man so that the man’s body was pressed against his own. Keeping his eyes on the woman Michael quickly sliced the man’s throat. The woman shrieked as her lover’s body dropped. He gasped for breath as his life’s blood slowly drained from his body.
Brandon… Brandon! Gretchen’s scream echoed in Michael’s mind.
The woman scurried off the bed as she tried to run out of the room, gun still in hand.
She dare?
She stood no chance against Michael’s long legs. He easily caught up to her, fingers grabbing her hair as he pulled her back. She shrieked. He readjusted his grip, wrapping his hand around her throat, and slammed her back against the door. The force made her lose her grip on the gun and it dropped to the ground with a loud clatter.
“Please, please no,” she begged.
The arm that he used to hold her stung. Bitch shot him. He wasn’t entirely sure how injured he was. But it wasn’t bad enough to affect his grasp. He cocked his head to one side, examining her. No, not Gretchen. Too pale. Although Gretchen had been pale when he first brought her to his home, she had regained some of her natural skin color which was a bit more tan than he expected. The woman was shorter than Gretchen and skinnier. And her eyes, blue, not hazel and so full of fear. No will to fight back, despite the fact that she shot him. His body didn't draw him to her. She wasn't interesting at all.
He picked the woman up by her throat, lifting her in the air. The door helped as he pressed her against it. She struggled, slamming her fist on his injured shoulder while grabbing his wrist with her other hand. Small jabs of pain shot through his body as she aimed at the wound her gun created. He glanced at his arm. It was just a graze. Barely even noteworthy. His grip tightened around her throat, making it impossible for her to really scream. She struggled to breathe. Her eyes read it. The acknowledgment that she was about to die.
She couldn’t see it, but he smirked.
His knife easily sliced through her, in-between her naked breasts. She yelped, squeezing her body up to try and protect herself as he pulled out the knife. He slammed it back in one more time, this time he hit her heart. Her eyes widened and her hand that kept hitting his shoulder stopped.
Her arms slipped down until they hung limp by her sides. He let her collapse onto the ground with a loud thud. Her hair covered her face. She wasn’t Gretchen.
Michael stared at the woman’s dead lover on the other side of the room. Again, no similarities to Gretchen’s ex-lover, but his brain kept bringing back those images: The one of her in the car, under her boyfriend. Gretchen was a virgin, which meant she was about to lose her virginity. Would this have been her life with that “man”? The dead woman wasn't Gretchen. But what if it was? She didn't know her place. He hadn't made it clear, he realized.
A rage and need boiled inside of him as he clenched his knife. She was his and no one else’s. Did she even understand that? Turning on his heels, he stormed back home.

“Gretchen.”
Gretchen’s head jerked up at the sound of her own name being murmured in her ear. She didn’t feel as if there was anyone in her room. Still, her heartbeat thumped loudly in her chest.
“Hello?”
She straightened her shoulders, eyes searching. She hadn’t slept much, despite her attempts to nap. Each time she tried she was awoken by a feeling of unease, not toward the basement, just something else. She needed to sleep, needed the rest. Michael would be back and he clearly was going to fuck her, and that sounded exhausting, to say the least.
“Freaking Michael having no clock and windows all boarded up,” she mumbled to herself as she stood up. How long had she been trying? She had no idea. She wasn’t sure what to do to occupy her mind. There wasn’t much she could do other than write in her notebook or sketch. And both options sounded too boring. If she was going to be stuck in the house she’d need more otherwise she was going to go crazy.
Can’t have you losing your mind. Her uncle’s voice followed by his light-hearted chuckle came unbidden to her mind.
Her stomach growled, reminding her she needed food. She made her way to the kitchen, grabbing the baked dish from the refrigerator and setting it on the stove top. Pots, pans, food to cook? Oh, gods, she was planning for a longer stay instead of escaping? She sighed. Well, she’d rather be able to cook her own food than have him murder and steal some for her.
She sat down at the table, eyes staring into space. Realistically, Michael wouldn’t stroll into a grocery store buy food, and bring it back. And he wouldn’t let her do that either. She’d run away from him. They both knew that.
“Gretchen.”
Her whole body stiffened as her heartbeat picked up again. Setting her fork down, she glanced around. That voice. It was male but it wasn’t Michael’s. He didn’t talk. Could he even talk? It was-
A tingle ran through her body forcing her to stand up. She was being watched.
“Michael?” she asked as she looked around. This wasn’t him. She wasn’t sure how she knew. She just know what his presence felt like and this wasn’t it. She glanced over in the direction of the basement. There was a connection to the basement, somehow. She didn’t like it. Could she convince Michael to maybe move? Her apartment wasn’t so bad. Sure it was in the middle of town, but it would get her away from that basement. And probably a higher chance of getting him caught.
She stood in the hallway, staring at the front door. The urge to run, to pull the door open and leave the house started to gain traction inside of her. Could she? Should she try?
Cold fingers brushed the back of her neck, making her whirl around as she pressed her hand protectively to her skin. Her eyes darted, searching for whoever had done that. No one. Nothing. And yet, something was there. Very close to her. Her breathing deepened as she waited. For what, she wasn’t quite sure.
It was gone. The house was empty again. Whatever it was seemed to have evaporated for whatever reason. Pressing her hand against the back of her neck again, she rolled her head and shoulders. Her whole body was tense. She needed a massager, or a massage chair, or even a warm bath. Something to get her body to relax. Something to release the tension that kept slowly building up. The stupid house was putting her on edge.
The door swung open with a force she didn’t expect, making her jump and partially turn.
“Um.” It was the only thing that came to her mind as she stared at Michael. For the briefest of moments, she felt relief that he was back. But then she saw his eyes. They blazed with an intensity she didn’t understand.
He threw the door back, allowing it to slam shut before he stormed over to her, long legs easily reaching her before she had time to react. Was it possible that he was even taller?
“Michael? You’re scaring me,” she said. Her nerves were already firing with unease. There was something about his eyes the look. Lust mixed with anger.
He grabbed her arm and spun her around slamming her against the wall. He pulled her shirt up. But with him pressing her against the wall, he couldn’t wiggle it off her.
“I’ll take it off, give me-” He didn’t give her a chance to do anything. A clear ripping sound rang in her ears as his blade tore through the fabric. He used his hands to rip the rest of her shirt apart. His fingers quickly unclasped her bra. He dropped his knife beside him on the wooden console table beside them. Clearly not even bothered or worried about her grabbing it to defend herself.
She couldn’t move, frozen in place as he pulled her back to his chest, running his hand down to her pants. His fingers slipped under the fabric, running along her bare skin. He didn’t even bother teasing her, slipping between her folds to immediately start rubbing her clit.
“Gods, Michael,” she said as she tried to move away. This was not the time. Her tattered shirt and loose bra annoyed her, making her quickly take them off. She yipped as he stuck a finger in her and then almost immediately a second.
“Don’t have to hurry.”
Just as quickly as he started touching her, he pulled his hand out and unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans, quickly lowering them down with her underwear.
She had read his eyes correctly earlier. He was going to fuck her the moment he got home. “Michael, wait, just give me a minute,” she said in desperation as she tried to think, turning her head to look at him. His movements, his eyes, he was angry at her. But, it wasn’t her fault they didn’t have sex yesterday. They could have. She wasn’t going to fight him. But he just left and went to bed.
He didn’t look at her, eyes clearly concentrating on something else.
One hand went back between her folds while the other unzipped his clothing. He kept a firm hold on her, keeping her against the wall.
“Michael, I-” She let out a little yip as he stuck two fingers in her without ceremony, yet again. She pushed forward onto the wall to get away from him, staring at the white paint. She wasn’t going to get through to him. She couldn’t stop him. Fuck, this was going to hurt.
He pulled his fingers out and then placed both hands on her hips bringing them back to him. The sound of him spitting widened her eyes. One hand left her hip and she tried to look behind her but he quickly pressed his other hand to her face, turning it to one side, covering her eye. No! She wasn’t ready, she couldn’t let him. “Wait, Michael, I’m not-”
He didn’t pause, pressing her head against the wall as he pushed his hips forward. Her breath escaped her lungs, making it impossible for her to cry out from the forceful penetration. He was still as big as ever. He didn’t wait for her to adjust, moving his cock in her barely slick walls.
Was he even enjoying himself? Her insides burned and she felt as if she were a virgin all over again as her cunt squeezed him tightly. But he made no complaints. His other hand wrapped around her belly, rearranging her body the way he wanted her to stand, mostly bent over with only the wall as support.
“Stop,” she whispered, pressing one hand behind her. The moment her hand touched his stomach he grabbed her wrist and twisted her arm up. She whimpered at the strain.
Fuck! Before she could get annoyed and angry at him, her brain switched modes. For some reason, the pull of her muscles on that arm turned her on. Turned her on? No, it just felt good.
He moved his hand off her head to run down her body to grab one of her breasts, roughly fondling it before he let her go.
She planted her free arm on the wall for something to hold onto as he rammed into her, rough and hard. Not seeming to care for her feelings or pleasure.
Her eyes focused on the ground. His desperate need, the force he was using, his own harsh breathing, it all sparked something in her brain. He wasn’t hurting her. At least, not in a traumatizing way as she initially thought.
Oh, gods. He was sliding into her easier. She went from being nearly as dry as the Sahara into a slick water slide in too short of a time. To her surprise, she realized she was mewling. She liked it. Her pussy muscles clenched in acknowledgment, recognition that his cock was indeed satisfying her. She moved her hips back to meet his.
He groaned. Digging one hand into her ass while the other tightened its grip on the arm he had trapped. The fingers on her free hand curled against the wall. Gods, she wished she could clench onto something.
She twisted her head to look back at him. She had to see his eyes, maybe get a hint of what he was thinking. Michael’s fingers dug into her hair grabbing a handful, he pulled, moving her head so that she couldn’t look at him. The strain from her roots added to the growing flame in her. Growing flame? Fuck!
“Aw, fuck,” she mewled. He’d been rough before, but this. It was as if he was staking his claim on her, making sure that she understood. And by the gods did she understand. She had no complaints. His hand let go of her wrist, letting that arm go free so he could use it to hold onto her ass for a moment.
No, she needed it. She needed that strain on her arm muscles. She moved her other arm behind her and reached for him again. Letting go of her hair, he grabbed her arm, pulling it up slightly.
“Fuck,” she moaned. He needed more hands. She wanted her hair pulled, her arms pinned behind her back, her ass squeezed and her clit rubbed. The thought of being tied up sprang to mind, eliminating the need for an extra set of hands. Her stomach flopped. What was she thinking? Her impending orgasm teased her. She was so close to coming. She wanted to… She needed to come.
His heavy breathing was accented with each purposeful, powerful thrust into her pussy. His cock was driving her delirious. Each connection of his pelvis to her ass, his skin against hers shot need for more in her body. Fuck me, her brain begged. Harder. Faster.
Ask him? She whimpered at the thought. This wasn’t what she wanted. What she ever imagined wanting. She was more of a romantic woman. Wasn’t she? Simple sweet sex with nothing too crazy.
She started to turn her head to look back at him, but he pulled her hair, forcing her to look up instead. His breathing, unhindered by his mask, was as rough and loud as her own. Unhindered. Her eyes widened.
His fingers tightened in her hair, pulling her back against him, while also keeping her back slightly arched. All she had to do was look up. All she had to do was look up and see his face. She put her hand around his wrist, closing her eyes instead. The possibility of her looking and him just stopping somehow hung in her head.
She didn’t want him to stop.
He wasn’t really hurting her. Firm as his grip was, it sent a delightful pain but pleasure from the pull. The feeling collected down in her core where the rest of her jumbled-up arousal seemed to bundle.
His movements slowed but didn’t stop. It might have been her imagination, but he felt stronger, more forceful with each slam into her. He let go of her arm, making her whimper, but his hand moved down to her clit. She moaned. His hot breath blew against her ear. So close.
Unfortunately, despite his roughness, his fingers moved at a horribly slow pace. Then he pressured her clit a little bit harder. Her vision lost focus as her body seized up. She was there at the precipice of her orgasm, but his cruel fingers slowed their movement yet again. He moved his hand in her hair, forcing her head to move slightly to one side, away from his face. If she just gave him a side-eyed glance.
“I need to come,” she moaned in desperation. She slipped her free hand down to touch her clit herself. Fuck him and his hand. But then she stopped as his grip on her hair tightened.
“Please,” she begged softly. “Please. Please. Please. I need to come!”
He leaned down. His head pressed against hers to breathe in her ear.
“Mine,” in a soft but firm whisper. His fingers pressured and rubbed her clit.
Shit. She lost it. Sounds that may have been a mixture of several different words smashed together fell out of her mouth. As her orgasm rushed through her. Her cunt spasmed around his cock as she came hard. He let her go, to place his hands on her ass, forcing her back to meet his thrusts. She somehow managed to put her hands on the wall to stabilize herself somewhat. Her strength was quickly waning as her orgasm released the tension her body had collected over the day.
His fingers dug into her skin in a bruising manner as he slammed into her with one hard final measure before he came in her. One hand quickly gripped her hair a little bit tighter for a moment. His free hand left her ass to wrap around her middle, pulling her up. If he hadn't, she would have collapsed onto the floor.
Their heavy breathing was slightly off sync. He bent his head down, pressing against her own, clearly collecting himself as she was. His hot breath hit the back of her head as he breathed her in. No mask. No mask!
He let her go just as quickly as he had touched her, pushing her into the wall a little bit too hard. Her legs wobbled, but she turned to look at him. He had in the space of a few seconds put his mask back on. He pulled up his coveralls to his waist as she pulled up her pants. Her shirt was a lost cause. Wrapping her arms around her breasts, she watched him. His bare broad chest moved deeply with his breathing. A wound on his shoulder leaked blood. Shot? It was clearly just a graze.
He met her gaze, his eyes far less angry but there was still some intensity in them.
She swallowed then nodded her head at him. Oh, she understood. She wasn’t quite sure she agreed with him. His? No one owned her. But for now, she would not fight him on the matter.
- 10
- 11
- 12
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Object of Obsession