Page 67 of Stalked to the Altar

“Thank you, sir. But I don’t need anything.” Roman blushed and ducked his head.

I clicked my tongue at him. “None of that. I need to get you clothes and a phone, at the least. How else will I be able to contact you?”

I didn’t give him a chance to respond to that. I simply left. He knew. He understood. And I wasn’t going to keep reminding him of his humble beginnings. Even at ten or eleven, he had his pride, and I needed to respect that. And he needed to see me as his boss, not his caregiver.

Night had settled across the town, so I went back to my room and put on a different outfit. One meant to impress. Before leaving, I checked to make sure I had my room key, phone, and watch. Not that anyone would contact me, but old habits die hard. I never knew if Roger would reach out, so I pocketed the burner phone as well.

The flashing lights of a hole in the wall lured me in with promises of cheap alcohol that could break up the boredom of banishment. I didn’t usually drink the cheap stuff, but in America, it was all cheap stuff, even when the price tag said other- wise. If it would help me get away from my troubles for a time, fuck it.

I picked a table all the way in the back corner so I could look over everyone in the bar. The women so far all looked the same. Dressed scantily, their assets on display, not leaving much to the imagination. It looked like any bar in Russia except the alcohol was crap and the music sucked. Nothing was appealing. I ordered an American beer for the hell of it. When in Rome, as they said...

It was worthless piss water, but I forced myself to drink it anyway. Then I looked around, hoping I’d gulped down enough shitty alcohol to make the women a little more attractive.

Nope.

Growing up, we were told to always search for women who could bear the strongest heir, for the betterment of the family. My father and dedushka instilled in us to look at the pelvis first. Americans had adopted the phrase “child-bearing hips”. This was something I understood. I looked for hips that were wider and could easily pass my heir, a strapping son who is bound to be stubborn, like me.

Next, I looked for breasts. This was not for the betterment of the family, but for my own fantasy. Not that women with smaller breasts were unattractive to me, but larger, natural breasts easily fed into my breeding kink. When I was fucking a woman from the back, and her tits grazed the bed sheets, hanging low as if filled with milk, I could imagine she was already swollen with my seed growing in her belly. I got off on it.

Great. Now I was sitting in this bar with my cock hard as a fucking rock.

There had to be someone in here that was worth a good fuck.

As if the universe heard my thought, the door to the bar opened again, and a woman stumbled inside. She was wet from the rain, but the beads of moisture gleamed off her dark skin like diamonds. Her jet black, wild curls haloed around her head, but it was her amazing hips that gained my attention.

Wide and, I bet, shallow. Just how I needed them. Her tits were large and swelled over the bit of delicious pudge on her belly. I could splooge in my pants just imagining her growing even thicker with my child. God, she was perfect.

Fuck, I needed to bed this woman. The more I looked at her, the more I wanted her.

She slumped over the bar, straining to be heard over the god-awful music, and ordered a drink. The bartender tried to engage her, but she wasn’t having it. I could see the exaggerated eye roll all the way from over here.

She’s waiting for me, it seems.

Like God was blessing this union, the light struck the side of her face, illuminating her. My goodness this woman was a fucking angel. She could kill a man with her looks. Wars would be forged, and I knew that any children of mine she’d be forced to have would be adorable.

Groaning, I stood, adjusted my hard cock, and swaggered up to her. The confidence of a true Pakhan flowed through my veins. Women never turned me away. Whatever I lacked in looks I made up with in power. And power was always sexy.

I noticed she had a faraway look in her eyes, lost in her memories. So, I spoke to the bartender.

“I don’t think she likes that drink, maybe she would like something else.”

The angel I was going to fuck blinked hard, bringing reality back into focus. Her pouty lips made me want to force my cock down her throat.

I knew then, without a doubt, she was meant to carry my child. I would breed her until we had a son, and then when our child turned twelve and needed to move into manhood, he would kill her, as was our way.

She had been chosen.

When I asked if the seat with her purse on it was taken, she moved the purse.

This was my in.

And whether she realized it or not, she was already mine.

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