Page 70 of For Fillies and Monsters

My hoodie is hot and constricting around me, curls falling over the edges of the mask, but I can’t stop pounding. The way her pussy clenches around my cock with each thrust, and the sound of my flesh abusing hers—hard and angry—will be imprinted on my demented soul forever. As I pull out, and then watch as her pussy sucks me back in, my cock glistening in the shadowy light, the heat of release tingles at the base of my back for a second time, pulling my balls tighter. I can’t come, not yet. I want this to last—I want to stay seated inside of her pussy until I die.

Her voice breaks through my trance. “Fuck. I-I can’t take any more. Please. Please, stop.”

I pound harder—I can’t stop. I will use her the way no one ever has, filling her the way no one ever will. She is mine, and I am hers; I will do whatever it takes to show her that. I will even hurt her, to free her from the jail she has trapped herself in, in the name of being ‘good’ or ‘right’. I am the monster she fears in the dark—the one that is her exact copy—and I will show her what happens when she releases that monster.

“You’re going to come around my cock in ten seconds or I’m going to pull out of you and leave you more empty than you’ve ever felt. Do you understand me? You like being used. You like being fucked like a slut. Take it, baby, or I will take everything away.”

She tenses beneath me, her moans husky and faster now.

She’s so fucking close, the fear pushing her higher.

“Ten.” I slam harder into her, her ass bouncing with erotic ripples against my hips. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever witnessed. “Nine, eight.” Pushing her further, I let a stream of spit fall from my mouth, glistening as it lands in the crevice of her ass cheeks. I smear the liquid with my thumb, rubbing small circles around the puckered hole of her ass.

I’ve always been an ass man, and Stetson’s ass is Olympic quality.

“Six.” I push my thumb through the first tight ring of her hole, and she moans, writhing against my intrusion.

“Oh, God. Please, don’t. I’ve never—” Her words are cut off as I shamelessly push my thumb farther inside of her ass, forcing it beyond the tight ring of muscles, to the hilt. She screams again, and it’s music to my ears.

“I know. Now, where was I? Five,” I growl, pounding harder into her, my thumb working in tandem with my cock. Her body quakes beneath me, beads of sweat glistening on her skin.

The combination of pain and pleasure push Stetson quickly to the precipice, just like I knew they would, her body stilling as another scream tears from her hoarse throat. Her pussy quivers and clamps down on my cock as wave after wave of release washes through her.

“That’s a good girl,” I growl, spitting between her cheeks again, my thumb and dick still making their rough intrusions.

“Please, please don’t stop. Fuck, don’t stop!” She screams it over and over, the convulsions of her orgasm ripping through her. She doesn’t have to worry about me stopping—I’ll never stop punishing her. Claiming her. Destroying her.

May 10th, 2024

I take a shaky breath, the memory so vivid I can still picture her wet cunt clamping around me. I stand and head back down the stairs to my room. I made her admit it then, and I will again.

Stetson has become the center of my universe, and because of that, every decision, every moral choice, revolves around her and how it will affect her life. Not the world around her. Not the other people in it.Stetson.Stetson is my judge, jury, andexecutioner, and I will gladly create whatever world she needs—I’ll be the villain who gets the girl.

I don’t care what I have to do.

THIRTY-ONE

STETSON

May 18th, 2024

I mashthe red disconnect button on the phone, ending the third nasty voicemail from Craig just this week. Each voicemail gets more threatening. It’s obvious he hates me, regardless of the shared blood between us—but rather because of it. He wants my ranch, and I’m growing more afraid of just how far he will go to get it.

Since Gus’s arrest, and then dropped charges—which I still don’t know how—my status as an outcast and degenerate has only escalated. If I was hated before, now I’m enemy number one. Part of that I attribute to my affiliation with Gus, part of that I attribute to being a ‘yuppy’ from Colorado, and part of that, I am sure, is coming from the discontent Craig is stirring among the townsfolk who already despise me.

How he was readily accepted as an outsider, I don’t know.

Probably because he has a penis.

I can’t win this fight, not on my own, anyway, and my will power to try is quickly running out more each day. Which is why I’m meeting Dale today to figure out what my options might be. I need money—that’s really what it boils down to. If I can fix up the property and show the town that I do, in fact,have the best intentions for this place, maybe they will help me run Craig off. And as much as I hate kissing ass, I can’t afford lawyers, nor do I want to waste valuable money on them, so winning the people is my only chance.

I park my truck in front of the little restaurant and flip down my visor, taking in my tired expression. I’m run down; the bags under my eyes can be seen from miles away. Between trying to hide from Gus, constantly looking over my shoulder for when my stalker will pop up next, outsmarting Craig, and running a falling apart ranch, I have no shits left to invest in how I look. My hair is pulled back into a messy half-up, half-down do, with the ends curled. I attempted makeup to hide the bags, but it came out heavier than a normal day, with dark lining my eyelids and shimmering red gloss on my plump lips. Smudging the corner of my mouth with a finger, I smack my lips together with a pop.

This is as good as it’s going to get.

I walk into the grimy restaurant, holding my head high, determined to look more confident than I feel.Fake it until you make it, baby.A loud whistle cuts through the crowded room, drawing multiple sets of eyes in my direction—some disapproving, some appreciative,all unwanted. I glance around the room, looking for the owner of the whistle, quickly spotting Dale’s tan face and impossibly white teeth beaming back at me. Her hair is down in long soft curls sweeping the ground as she sits.

She looks like the country version of Rapunzel.

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