He is an innocent farm boy, a pale face no more than the age of twelve. His plump lips and rosy cheeks beckon to me, call out, yearning for me. Yum! His job is to guard the sheep at night, lucky me, my vision is clearer at night. I can see his every soft feature from the dirt on his collarbone all the way down to the rips in his dungarees, a delicious sight. Oh and the smell of his sweat trickling down his back and seeing his frail eyelids batter resisting sleep, was simply erotic.
Originally I had come to the field to eat the sheep, as any wolf would, but the moment I spotted him laying on his back in the grass beside the sheep, I was mesmerized. I was no longer hungry for sheep. After that I came back every night and watched him, the way he moved with such innocence and the way his hair ruffled in the breeze. Before I knew it I began fantasizing about him, picturing him bare lying against the grass, the wind caressing his flesh. Then it became serious. I started to picture myself beside him, closer and closer each time, until there was only one blade of grass between us.
Right now I am perched on a branch of a tree that overlooks the field inspecting him. His white neck tempts me to bite it, his graze on his left knee calls at me to lick it clean and his piercing blue eyes invite me to gobble him all up. He called "Dolly' to the closest sheep and stroked its ear, the sheep leans in lovingly. Jealousy raged through me, making me angry, hurt. Then I realized that I wanted, was for him to call my name, loudly, not some dumb sheep's that couldn't satisfy him the way I can. He kept stroking the ewe's ear, he was teasing me, taunting me, daring me and I would accept it. Such teasing needed a good "punishment".
Tonight he would wail wolf.
With two pounces I had reached him and in one swift move had pinned him to the ground, his eyes were filled with terror and shock, fine I would play along with this false pretense. A tear fell from his eye as I began to initiate the first part of my "punishment". I always thought he had the body of an actor and obviously the talent too. Since he decided to take the game up a notch I would raise the bar even further, I would play the meanest and most brutal character ever. The night went on and as the tears streamed down his face he refused to cry my name, he is ever so stubborn, until the moon rose directly ahead did his high voice pierce the silence:
I heard the village stir and slipped away into the night, leaving the boy bruised and with tears down his face; it was his fault he had insisted on playing this little game.
© Copyright 2016 Khaleesi. All rights reserved.
Short Story / Horror
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