22. Augustus
TWENTY-TWO
AUGUSTUS
February 21st, 2021
My palms twitch, and I hold my breath to avoid making any noise. She cannot know I’m here—not that she ever does, but this time is different.
This time I’m a week late; a week past her birthday and our normal night of binging shitty TV and eating a tub of coffee ice cream—her inside on her bed, typically, me in the shadows just beyond her window. After an unsatisfying, yet relaxing frisk with her vibrator, she goes to sleep, and I go to get my commemorative tattoo—the mark in my flesh, to match the mark on my heart. Another year come and gone; another year closer to our beginning.
It’s our thing. Has been since I found her.
I smile, tracing the inked flesh of my leg. It is an unconventional gift; I know that. But my fucked up little filly will love it. When she gets over… all the other stuff.
But this year I’m a week late—the first time in seven years—and there is no TV, no tub of coffee ice cream, but there is a very real, very skinny, shaggy-haired boy sitting on her bed.
I gnash my teeth together, the clank of the small white bones loud in my impossibly silent head. I rub my palm on the seam of my jeans; the only reminder I can’t storm into her house. Not yet. She’s not ready—and wouldn’t accept me because, regardless of how much kinky shit she likes, falling in love with her stalker is not on the short list of her fantasies. But it will be, I’ll make sure of it. And when her mind is as fucked up as mine, I’ll introduce the good guy Augustus and make her fall in love with him first, saving the monster for after she’s too deep, too far gone to run.
Is it fucked up? Is it manipulative?
Only if she doesn’t want it. And my little filly wants it. I just have to make her admit it to herself.
I don’t mind waiting for her. It’s the most delicious kind of torture. What I do mind, though, is watching another man walk into my woman’s house. I’ve watched her fuck other men, but never during her birthday— over our special time together .
Everything is all fucked up because I’m late. I’ve let myself down—I’ve let her down. And now I will pay the price.
I watch the skinny, shaggy black-haired boy she pulled into her doorway twenty minutes ago through the glass of her bedroom window. It’s almost completely dark now, and I’m grateful; inching closer to the sill, I slide the glass back a fraction, the darkness swallowing the movement. I need to hear what they’re saying—how she talks to him. The boy’s face is all angular lines, his eyes a dull brown, the dark tattoos on his arms reminding me faintly of my brother’s. He looks like a tool.
And from the raised voices within the house, he sounds like one, too.
I’ll never let anything truly bad happen to her, not if I can help it. But I’m not willing to blow my cover, not yet. My little filly is strong and fierce, more so than she gives herself credit for. She’d hate me if I stepped in, even if she knew me, knew I was here for her. Because Stetson fights her own battles, and she likes it that way.
“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 actual freak . 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 a boy, 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 with me.
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 like him hurt 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’s spindly 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.