Furgo the Vile
Furgo isn't afraid, he's been through this too many times. He's made this long and exciting journey on countless occasions. He places one foot before the other and propels his bulk higher up the stairs with every step. The floorboard creaks as he nears the top and his heart skips a beat. The adrenaline courses through his veins. He feels alive.
He pauses and scans the corridor, he waits and listens with baited breath. A droplet of water falls and pierces the silence, a dog barks in the distance, a woman moans softly in the heat of passion. Furgo adjusts his collar, the urge within grows with every passing second. He licks his lips and pushes on, slowly but steadily towards his target. The feint odour of perfume assails his nostrils from the open doorway. This is too easy.
His keen eyes see a lithe female form writhing alone on the bed, she doesn't notice him, they never do until it's too late. She groans, obviously close to climax, he snickers softly to himself elated by the coming event. He approaches the corner of the bed, noting its exquisite workmanship, billowing veil and finely carved oaken surface. He doesn't care, he doesn't pay attention to human sentimentalities. He's self centred, he has one aim.
Furgo steps over her soiled panties and climbs onto the bed. She still hasn't seen him. It doesn't matter, she'll know soon enough. He lightly brushes the side of her leg and gets in position. Furgo arches his back, lifts his head and takes the biggest shit he's ever done right there on the sheets!
Then he's gone, away into the night.