The Beast

What a woman wants, a woman gets. And Creed was the gift that kept on giving. They hated him, called him a monster. A rapist. A Serial killer. An Assassin.

They liked to look down their noses at him. Liked to tell little kids horror stories about him. He was the boogie man that climbs into your house at night, and steals your toys. He eats your pet, takes your wife, and fucks her in front you.

Hide your children, hide your mate. Hide the dog. HE likes to play a deadlier version of hide-and-go-seek.

He could smell their fear, inhaled the scent like fresh roses. It tickled his nose, clung to the back of his throat like a long drag on a thick Cuban cigar. It drove him wild, that scent. It went straight to his head and made his cock hard.

Fear.

THAT was his aphrodisiac. And no matter how much they may be "scared" of him, when the lights went dark, and no one was watching, they ALWAYS found their way to his bed.

But Creed wasn't the type to kiss and tell. Instead, he fucked and fought. And if walls could talk, they'd be in the middle of an orgasm.