Page 34 of For Fillies and Monsters

Triggered by who knows what, Gus’s hand snaps out, grabbing my thigh again in a punishing grip, this time nearly yanking me from the fence. I yelp, startled by the shift.

“Tell you what,boss. I might be a dirty old cowboy, but I am a gentleman through and through—more so than any man you’ve ever let fuck you. I won’t touch you until you beg me to, and even then, I might not. Because you’re myboss, and that would be terribly ungentlemanly. So, go run along and do whatever it isbossesdo, and try to keep any more mentions about my dick out of your annoyingly pouty mouth.” His hand lifts off my leg as if it were burning him, and not the other way around. He stomps toward the huddled calves, their bawling the only sound drowning out my thundering heart.

What the fuck did I just do?

TWELVE

STETSON

March 30th, 2024

I’m restless,the eerie silence of my room bordering on suffocating around me. My skin, covered in a sticky layer of sweat, clings to my sheets, and I groan. The last time I looked at the clock, the red numbers blinked one in the morning. Despite my earlier exhaustion, I have yet to close my eyes.

Right outside, in the small studio apartment built into the barn, lies the object of all my frustration. He hadn’t spared me a second glance all day, unless I was talking about work-related things, and never argued or disagreed again. He’d nod and stomp off to complete whatever task I asked of him. And as much as I appreciated the obedience, I hate how closed off he became. I needed the fighting and disagreements to stop, but I didn’twantthem to. And now I’m left with disappointment of my own making.

What is wrong with me?

The rational part of my brain knows this is the right move—the smart, professional one. But I’m irrationally disappointed by how easily he folded. I thought he was different, which is why he scared me.

“Ugh.” I slam my fists into the mattress, pinching my eyes closed painfully. “This is what you wanted, Stetson. For him to back off.”

Even as I say it, I know it’s a fucking lie.

I suck in a shaky breath. He might be hot as sin, and the monstrous man from the bar that has plagued my every fantasy of late, but he’s off limits. He’s made that abundantly clear.Or was that me?My brain is fucking jumble, and my skin is so hot I feel like I’m about to burst into flames.

I need to sleep. I can’t go two nights without sleeping or tomorrow I will likely die of heat and exhaustion. Right now, that doesn’t sound so bad. But I’m also not a quitter, and I refuse to fold that easily, even though it seems like everyone around me has no problem doing so.

I roll over, my hand snaking between my legs. If I can just get off, maybe I can sleep. I close my eyes, trying to think of anything buthim. I try to picture my stalker instead. What does he look like? What does he sound like or feel like? But Gus’s face blurs with any image I might conjure of the man; dark eyes and an evil smirk consuming every corner of my brain. I should fight off the images, but here in the darkness, the devil on my shoulder is the only one awake. He pushes me to imagine Gusasmy stalker,as my monster.

I’m panting, cum slick over my fingers and along the seam of my thighs. Picturing Gus standing over me in a mask, viciously taking my mouth with his cock as I’m anchored to the bed and completely at his mercy, is enough to push me to the edge. It’s so erotic; picturing him angry and full of hate, but unable to control his need for me. Taking me so violently, I know I’ll bear his bruises and cherish each one. I want to be marked by him, consumed by him.

I moan, the sound tearing through the still darkness. Myfingers circle my clit, pushing harder and harder, the circles becoming smaller and smaller. My legs tremble, and I bite my lip to keep from screaming. Gus’s face, mixing with the filthy memory of my monster, is the most erotic thing I’ve ever pictured. Him leaned over, panting with the exertion of taking my mouth, his hands painting my ass in angry red prints.

I cry out, unable to contain the sound. I refuse to say his name, my arousal-filled brain at least not a complete traitor. I push my finger inside my pussy, cum dripping around the intrusion. I’m so wet, and I know it’s Gus’s face that’s getting me there. It’s his hate that pushes me closer. It’s his words,“I won’t touch you until you beg me to, and even then I might not”,that make another wave of cum spill around my fingers.

I roll over onto my back, unfolding from my hidden position to bathe in the streams of moonlight. I don’t care if my stalker can see me.I want to be seen.I reach into the drawer by my bed and pull out my pink silicone dildo. I don’t need the vibrator tonight; I’m close enough. I just need something to fill me—something to fill me while I pretend it’s Gus.

I sit up on my elbows, pulling one knee to my chest, and drag the dildo over my aching center. It only takes a single swipe for it to be wet enough to push the bumpy dick into my heat. I can feel my walls pulling at the intrusion and I whimper. I pull out and push back in, this time harder and faster. My body shakes with the need to release, and I pump the piece faster.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Heat coils along my spine, and the release barrels toward me like a wave. I pump once more before tearing apart, a hoarse cry splitting through the night. I’m panting, my pussy milking at the dildo as wave after wave of my orgasm washes over me.

Gus’s face, his hair hanging around my head in an erotic curtain, continues to replay over in my mind. Imagining him likethis will have to be enough. No matter how badly I want more, I know it can never be more than this.

I’m still panting, shame replacing arousal. I hate that I just did that, especially while imagining Gus. He would never be my stalker or my monster. It’s not only the fact that he can’t stand me, andyou don’t stalk someone you can’t stand,but if it was him, I would know. I may not have fully seen my monster that night, but I saw enough. And I would be able to feel it.

Right?

My phone buzzes, and I can’t help but wonder if Dale went and got drunk without me. I wouldn’t blame her. It is a Sunday night, and from what I know of her job, she deserves to cut loose when she can.

UNKNOWN: Can’t sleep?

My heart thuds to a dramatic stop.

ME: Who is this?

UNKNOWN: I’ve already told you.

ME: I’m not doing this again. Who the fuck is this? I will call the cops.

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