Page 51 of Marked By Feral Monsters
"Okie dokie. There's nothing else you need to do, so just go home, try to relax, and he'll come to you. Your window is two weeks."
"Do I... I mean, I know it's what I signed up for, but will he give me any warning or heads up that he's on his way?"
The woman smiles warmly, clasping her hands on the desk between us, and leans in. "Ms. Claire, part of your request, and the experience, is the surprise element. The fear factor, if you will. He can inform you when he's on his way if that's something you need, but I think it'll take away from the experience. Don't worry. Trust us. We have an excellent rating. You've read all the testimonials. Our monsters have worked with many humans,and we're pairing you with our most prized minotaur. He'll take good care of you."
I blush at her last statement, the wordminotaursending a buzzing vibration through me, all the way down to my clit, and she winks like she already knows how I'm feeling.
Of course I chose a minotaur.
Ever since I saw my first—when I was a little girl, and I tripped and fell, and this massive, hulking, horned beast gently lifted me up off the ground, then pulled a lollipop from his pocket before sauntering away without a word—my standards for men have been impossibly high, and I can finally admit to myself, it's because none of them have ever lived up to the idea of being with a minotaur.
The one I chose had an intimidating profile picture. A massive monster, with wide grey horns curling out of his temples, the head of a snarling bull. With the body of a man, he had thick thighs, an expansive chest, and the bulging arms of a warrior. He was holding a log in the picture, and in the next shot, the trunk swung over his shoulder, showing off his enormous strength.
For a second, I wanted to laugh at the headshots, like he was auditioning for some survivalist reality show. But the longer I looked, the more I acknowledged the sheer power in his body—there was nothing funny about that. He could kill me in an instant.
And that was what I was looking for. The more I looked through the list of offerings, the more my body responded to the idea of being scared. Being taken, to have my control stripped away by a beast so big and terrifying, I had no choice but to take what he gave. Consensual non-consent, they call it.
I felt ashamed of wanting it, of even thinking it. But this is the most alive I've felt in years. As wild as this feels, I want this.
Ineedthis.
The Monster Fulfillment Center offices are warm and comforting. A human woman runs the front desk, and she didn't flinch or make me feel like my requests were too out there. Maybe they weren't. It didn't matter to her, and that's all that I needed to feel at ease.
So, I signed the paperwork and after that, I made my way home, anxiously awaiting my fantasies to come to life. Because of my request, I had no idea when the minotaur—Zair was his name—would come to me, and though it was frustrating, the not-knowing, the waiting, that was part of the excitement.
The rest of the week was fairly normal. At first, I felt reinvigorated at work. I ignored all the snide comments from employees. I threw myself into contracts and accounts, and for the first time in a while, didn't feel like I was drowning. Each night, I laid awake, and when he didn't show, I closed my eyes, masturbated, coming briefly, and tried not to feel too disappointed it wasn't with him.
Nuk became Zair. He had a face now. A big body, with thick arms and a wide chest. I dreamt of the forest, living off-grid in a cabin, Zair's weird lumberjack headshot seeping into my subconscious.
On Thursday, I spent the whole day so lost in the fantasy of not just taking a minotaur, but having one—at home, waiting for me, cooking with me—that I drafted an email to my accountant asking if I had enough money to buy a small condo in the mountains, as a kind of getaway retreat home.
Only half of me admitted it could be a fuck-pad. The sad part is, it was harder to admit to the other half of me—that I wanted it, hoping for a future I'd likely never get. An actual getaway, with a real minotaur who might want to spend that much time with me.
Each night Zair didn't show got harder. After a week and a half, I started to feel like my excitement was being strippedaway, little by little. The minutes blurred into hours, into days. And when the following Friday night, nearing the end of our two-week time window, came and went, my disappointment felt visceral. I thought for sure he'd come by now, giving me a full weekend of recovery for whatever he had in store.
Saturday, same thing.
On Sunday morning, I wake alone, just like every other day. I get out of bed, work out in the building's gym, shower, make breakfast. All the while, that anxious feeling slithers through my veins. I'm restless. Needy.
Horny and wet and empty.
And so fucking empty and sad.
Work used to be the thing that fulfilled me. What do I do if that no longer fills up my soul? If my relentless pursuit of success, years of sacrifice, amount to nothing?
My beautiful, empty apartment, once a refuge, feels more and more like a cage. By Sunday afternoon, sitting at the breakfast bar, looking out the window, the sun shining down, neighbors coming and going on the street below, I debate calling the center in the morning to cancel. The waiting was becoming unbearable. It hasn't quite been two weeks, sure, but I've stayed up so late every night listening for sounds of Zair that I'm barely sleeping. I'm tired, wired, and functioning worse than ever.Lonelierthan ever.
Deciding I can't just sit around my apartment any longer, I get dressed and go for a long walk. It takes all of my willpower to skip the toy store, knowing another vibrator wouldn't give me what I needed. I hit the market instead, forcing myself to buy vegetables and locally sourced meat so I can cook myself a proper meal for once.
Rounding the corner by the root vegetables, not paying attention, I startle, nearly stumbling straight into an orc couple. I don't know how I almost missed them. They're both near eightfeet tall, with round shoulders and mossy green skin, each of their lumbering steps shaking the ground. They hold hands, and their voices, while deep, are a soft, rumbling cadence I can't quite make out as they lean their small round heads into one another. They look… romantic.
The humans give them a wide berth. The orcs, like minotaurs and most monsters, tower over the humans. Their green skin and long tusks only amplify the differences between our species. Meanwhile, my horny ass just wants to follow them home and ask if I can watch them fuck.
I feel like a crazy person, standing there in my leggings, tasteful cardigan and tote bag, picturing the giant monster pounding into his partner. I throw a carrot into my bag and turn around, quickly scurrying in the opposite direction, feeling my cheeks burning and hoping they can't smell the wetness between my legs with their heightened senses. Hopefully, they didn't feel like I was running away from them due to prejudice. If anything, I saved that poor orc couple from my inappropriate ogling.
Standing in the checkout aisle, I shift my weight from foot to foot, the fluorescent lights humming overhead, when a strange feeling pricks at me, making the hairs on the back of my neck rise. I look up, and a dark flash outside the window catches my attention.
When I get outside, the feeling lingers, but there's nothing there. Just cars zipping past and people living their lives.
