Page 55 of For Fillies and Monsters

“Trevor, I don’t need this. You said you wanted to fuck. You said you were willing to try what I liked.” Stetson’s voice is laced with frustration, and I shift so I can see where she stands in the frame of her bedroom doorway. She’s wearing a t-shirt and black underwear; they already started but got caught up in some kind of argument.

Poor Little Filly.

I bite my knuckle to keep from growling.

“I like it freaky. But you are an actualfreak. I’m not going to tie you up. How will you suck my dick, then?” His high-pitched, whiny voice grates on my every nerve.

He is very clearly aboy, just as I expected. A man not only knows it isn’t always about getting your dick sucked, but if your woman really wants to be tied up, and you want your dick sucked, there are about a million and one ways to do it. Sure, you have to display some creativity and patience, but it’s fucking worth it. Especially with a girl like Stetson.

Trevor—stupid fucking douche name—doesn’t know what to do with a woman like her. And it fucking shows.

“You’re kidding?” she hisses.

I duck my head below her cracked window sill to keep from laughing or screaming, or a combination of both. I love Stetson. I’m obsessed with her and everything she does, but she has horrible taste in men. At least, until I come for her.

I smile into the darkness. Nah, I’m as horrible as they come.

“Fuck no. I want you. But not if I’m not getting anything out of it. Why can’t you just be normal? We can do it like normal fucking people.” Trevor, boy-man douchebag, whines, and I roll my eyes.

“Get out.” Stetson’s voice fades as she makes her way through the house to the front door. I lean back up, trying to hear more.

“What about the birthday sex I was promised?” the boy’s voice screeches through the house.

“It was my fucking birthday, you prick.” And then she slams the door.

Stetson storms back into her room, her silver eyes sparkling. She stomps her foot, the action causing her ass to recoil, and I groan quietly. I can’t wait to take her from the back and watch that magnificent ass recoil from my touch. I can’t wait to sink my fingers, my teeth, my cock into that soft, creamy flesh of hers.

She loves the bedroom kinky, her partner even kinkier. Most girls, especially those who have been through what she has, would shy away from dominance in the bedroom. They would lock themselves away, fragile and breakable—and fuck, I don’t blame them—but not Stetson. My little filly likes all the dark, deprived, filthy things. She loves dominance and degradation but isn’t willing to admit it.

Not aloud, anyway, and definitely not to someone who might care about her. But she will when she’s with the right man. When she’s withme.

I watch her slide into a pair of loose-fitting shorts and slump to the floor, leaning against her bed. The light in her room is bright now, the darkness inky and solid around me, making watching her like watching a fish in a bowl; my own private show, just the way tonight is supposed to be.

Except now she leans over, her head falling in her hands, and starts to cry. I can tell they aren’t sad tears, but angry ones. She punches at the floor over and over, a hoarse scream tearing from her throat. As much as I’m glad no one is sticking their cock in my girl tonight, I hate that she is hurt. That someone likehimhurt her.

He won’t fucking get away with it.

Shuffling back, I gingerly close the window,locking my girl safely back inside. I slide along the wall, the shadows wrapped firmly around me, and turn to stride down the sidewalk.

I normally only stay one night with my girl, but this birthday deserves two nights. Tomorrow I will go get my yearly tattoo, her silhouette with sexy little devil horns, and then sit with her all night. Comfort her, listen to her, watch her favorite shows, and let her tell me all about her newest job, wishes, and adventures. That is, from outside her window, like I always do.

But tonight… Tonight, I’m going to give her a second gift—a reminder that we don’t take shit from anyone.

I prowl down the sidewalk,Trevor’sspindly figure only feet ahead of mine, as he stomps along like a kid throwing a tantrum.Fucking pathetic.

Cracking my knuckles, the taunt skin already itching with the need to smash repeatedly into flesh, I pick up my pace, gaining on him quickly. With dark curls pressed around my eyes and hood pulled over my face, the moon beating down on my back, I look like a reaper. I won’t kill him—I only care about respect and making sure everyone Stetson meets gives her the proper amount.

With his back only inches from me now, I see his muscles tense and hear his rapid breathing. He knows I’m here, and he’s scared.Good.I laugh, breaking the silence, and the building tension, causing him to whip around. And then I swing.

I love giving my little filly gifts.

TWENTY-THREE

AUGUSTUS

April 26th, 2024

Not once inmy life have I been called a sane or rational man. Hell, I rode horses that wanted to kill me for a living, lived thirty-four years with a man who seemed to want to plot my death every single day, and have been obsessed over the same woman for tenlongyears.

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