Page 83 of For Fillies and Monsters

Staring at his face, the spit and cum clinging to his chin, I want to fall to my knees and kiss him, claim him back.

“I asked you a fucking question. Do you hate me now?”

I glare down at him, my eyes filled with more hate than I’ve ever felt in my life.

Hate for myself and everyone who has ever gotten between me and this moment—this man—himself included. How long have I been robbed of his touch? How long have the shadows hid his true face?

I don’t know how or why I got here, but there’s no turning back. There’s no other ending for me than with him. He is it—he just has to stop hiding.

“Yes,” I hiss around the panties. He smiles wickedly at me. I’m terrified of the monster between my thighs—terrified he will stop and leave me more empty than I’ve ever felt—terrified of his power over me.

“What have I said about lying?” he growls. I open my mouth to mumble something, anything, but then his ruthless fingers slam into my pussy, causing my eyes to roll back into my skull. He sucks my clit between his lips, rolling the bundle, and I scream, the sound barely muffled.

I don’t care, let them fucking hear me.

His fingers sink into me, faster and harder with each thrust, the motion causing wet, sloppy noises to fill the shadowy space around us. It’s filthy and lewd; maybe tomorrow I’ll feel embarrassed.

But right now? I will die if he stops.

His body quivers with the effort of his attack, his teeth barred in an angry snarl, his dark curls swaying with each pump of his arm.

“Come, Little Filly. Break for me.”

It’s all I hear before the orgasm rips through me, shattering my body, mind, and soul. I fall and fall, stars erupting behind my eyelids, dancing and exploding in time to my pulsing pussy. It is the most violent orgasm I’ve ever had, all-consuming, like the monster between my legs.

As I come down from the brutal high, Gus continues to lap at my clit, humming in approval, sending another shorter, softer orgasm rippling through my body.

“Fuck, you’re such a good, dirty girl.” My pussy milks at his fingers, and I feel barely satiated. I want him buried so far inside of me it rips me in two, so full that I’ll never be totally empty again. Panting, my legs quivering, my body covered in a layer of sweat, I open my eyes. Gus stares up at me, his shoulders heaving, face covered in my surrender. It is the most euphoric sight I’ve ever seen, causing my heart to pinch painfully.

What have I done?The better question is, what will I do to do it again?

Someone clears their throat, and I yelp. Gus, standing in a fluid motion, covers my body with his own.

“Sorry guys. I just… I have to pee now.” Dale’s voice is full of teasing, and I sag in relief—it’s only Dale. She closes the porta-potty door. “So hot, though. ‘Bout fucking time.”

I giggle and look up at Gus’s face, his eyes devouring mine. I can see the yearning and hunger there, and for the first time, it doesn’t scare me. I want this monster, and he wants me. Holding my breath, I continue to stare, unable to pull myself away.

And it’s that realization that has me finally accepting that I know I will do anything,anything,to do it again.

Starting with showing the monster I’m not afraid of what lies beneath the mask.

THIRTY-SIX

STETSON

June 5th, 2024

Gus refuses tolook anywhere but my permanently scarlet face, the stain of embarrassment I now wear in his presence a daily fixture. Feeling like I might burst into flames if he continues to rake his dark coals over my skin, I turn in my saddle to face him, and scowl.

Unfortunately for me, he doesn’t seem the least bit intimidated. And that only irritates me more.

“What the fuck are you looking at?” It’s the hundredth time I’ve asked since we ran into each other in the barn this morning—me trying to escape before he was up, him trying to catch me before I could escape. He had won.

Now we’re bumping along, me on Winston, him on Boots, drowning in the loudest silence known to man. And he just keeps staring at me.

I’m going to fucking lose it.

Gus looks away, shifting his weight, the saddle creaking, and Boots huffs with the altering position. Horses are perceptive creatures, especially to physical cues, and even emotional ones, and I’ve never hoped more for a horse to be able to read my mind. Then maybe Boots will buck him off.

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