Part 4: Fetish, love, lust?

Marco slammed the brakes and jumped out of the car.

“Selia!”

He gently grabbed her wrist — his breath shaky, eyes flickering with an unhidden worry.

“Why didn’t you read my messages? Why didn’t you pick up the phone?”

Selia turned around.

Surprised.

“Marco… why are you still here?”

His voice dropped.

“I know… you misunderstood things between me and Emily. But there’s nothing there. She’s just a friend.”

Selia gave a small smile, but her eyes were tired.

“Marc… I really don’t want drama. I’m just… exhausted. Let’s talk another time, okay?”

Marco nodded.

“You’re right. Emily did have feelings for me. I tried to be open to it. But eventually… I knew we weren’t right for each other. I told her — clearly — I just wanted to be friends. The rest… is out of my hands.”

Selia didn’t say anything.

A light breeze fluttered the hem of her wine-red dress.

Her high bun still held strong after a long night.

“Alright, Marc. Let’s talk tomorrow.”

A pause.

“But let me head back alone. I just want some time by myself. I’m an introvert… and I’ve used up all my social battery tonight.”

Marco stepped closer and hugged her — gentle, but firm.

He lowered his head, kissing the soft bun that still carried traces of her subtle perfume.

Selia exhaled and closed her eyes for a moment.

Strange. In his arms, she still felt safe… even if her heart was tangled in knots.

She returned the hug — then let go.

Marco kissed her cheek, his hand gently brushing her warm face. He leaned in, intending to kiss her lips.

Selia raised a hand, stopping him. Her lips curled into a faint smile tinged with melancholy.

“Next time… I’ll let you.”

She turned and walked briskly toward the bus stop.

Marco watched her until she boarded the bus, only then did he drive off.

She had no idea…

That from a dark corner not far away, a pair of eyes were locked on her.

Cold.

Sharp.

Unblinking.

Dave had been standing there the whole time — waiting.

He had tracked her since she left Marco’s place that morning.

And now… he had seen it all.

The hug.

The kiss.

The way she tilted her head to avoid Marco at the very end.

He swallowed hard. Jealous. Burning.

Marco? Who the hell was he?

Why did he get to touch her?

Why did he get to hold that hair…?

But Dave couldn’t act.

Not yet.

There were bigger things ahead.

And he had a plan.

The bus that night carried only a few passengers.

Dave wore a baseball cap, a face mask, and a hoodie. No one recognized him.

Least of all—Selia.

She stepped onto the bus and chose a window seat.

Dave followed silently, settling into the seat right behind her.

Selia put on her earphones and opened YouTube.

Streetlights flickered past the windows, casting soft, dreamlike streaks of light.

But in Dave’s eyes, the world shrank down to just one thing…

Her bun.

Big. Glossy. Round.

Illuminated under the dim fluorescent lights of the bus like a glowing black jewel.

To a hair fetishist, it wasn’t just a hairstyle—

It was a symbol.

A breast. A waistline. A biological obsession.

Dave remembered the school days —

Back when Selia’s hir reached the floor, always braided thick and tight.

How many nights had he fantasized about that braid wrapped around his cck…

Using it like a sacred rope — stronger, softer, more stimulating than any hand could ever be.

Her hir wasn’t as long now.

But it was shinier. Healthier.

Because now… she was a hair model.

That massive, perfect bun loosened suddenly —

Unraveled with grace, sliding down…

And landed right across his thigh

Selia noticed.

But didn’t care.

She assumed no one was behind her.

Just her hair falling over the seat.

Dave froze.

His breath hitched.

Time blurred.

One hand rose — slowly, like he was in a trance.

His fingers hovered. Shaking.

And then… he touched it.

Just the ends.

Just enough.

Jet-black. Cold silk.

He didn’t dare reach for the roots — not with her so close.

Didn’t know that hidden in those strands…

was still a faint trace of Marco’s finish.

Instead, he raised a few inches of that h*ir to his face.

And breathed it in.

Silent. Shaking. Addicted.

Shampoo.

Soft femininity.

The scent of Selia.

He slipped the end of her hair beneath his shirt—letting it brush against his stomach, his chest.

Every strand felt like it carried a current.

A shiver ran through him.

His cock throbbed in his pants. A thought flashed through his mind: “Hairjob… right here? With the goddess’s hair?”

His heart pounded fast, fingers slowly reaching for her hair — careful, precise, making sure she wouldn’t notice.

That hair — thick, heavy, dark as polished obsidian. And nestled within that cascading black, two tight braids framed the mass like the deliberate accents of a proud goddess.

They weren’t just a style — they were a symbol.

A crown on the head of a queen who had no idea she was ruling the mind of the man behind her.

Dave swallowed hard.

In his mind, every strand was a living ribbon. Soft — but commanding.

Each brush against his skin felt like a forbidden whisper.

He knew that sensation all too well: desire that only burns hotter when it hovers just out of reach.

“She doesn’t even know how cruel she’s being…” he thought, his palm trembling slightly, eyes still locked on every curve, every flowing wave of that exposed hair glowing under the dim bus lights.

He’d lost count of how many nights he’d imagined this hair…

But it had never felt this real.

And in that moment, he made a decision —

This wouldn’t be the last.

Quietly, he unbuttoned his pants, the zipper sliding down with a soft click. His cock sprang free, already hard and throbbing with anticipation.

Sweat beaded on his forehead as he reached forward, his fingers trembling as they closed around a few strands of her hair. He pulled them gently, holding them against the tip of his cock.

The sensation was electric—so soft, so delicate, yet so incredibly arousing. He groaned softly, his hips bucking involuntarily as he swept her hair back and forth across his sensitive skin.

”Fuck, Selia…”

He whispered, his voice barely audible over the hum of the bus engine.

He couldn’t help himself—he started stroking his c*ck with her hair, the silken strands sliding over his length in slow, deliberate strokes. His breath quickened, his eyes rolling back in pleasure as he imagined it was her hands, her mouth, her p*ssy. He had dreamed of this for so long, and now it was finally happening.

—————-

Dave had been endlessly scrolling through Selia’s Patreon, one hand always working furiously below the frame.

Her vids were a drug — each one more addicting than the last.

The first time he subscribed, he barely lasted minutes.

Her voice — low, sultry — moaning softly as she played with both her hair and her a$$.

“You like watching me, don’t you?” she purred into the cam.

That was all it took. He exploded, breath sharp, release splattered across the laptop screen.

But there was one clip he kept coming back to.

Selia danced, slow and teasing — her clevage front and center, npples barely hidden behind cascading black silk.

At one point, she rubbed her b00bs with that same thick, glossy hair, smiling like she knew exactly what she was doing.

Then, with a single toss, she let it all fall away…

Perfect. Bouncing. Too much for his sick little mind to handle.

He came again — harder, louder, needier.

The worst part?

This freak had another phone propped up, recording his own moment of climax.

He paused her frame right as her hands lifted those juicy mounds, tongue slightly out, mouth parted in that wicked moan.

And his mess… marked the screen right where he always imagined finishing — like a vow.

One day, he whispered to himself.

One day, it won’t just be a screen.

——————

And now, a real selia, and a real HAIRJOB in secret with her hair. At that moment, he was willing to trade everything to be able to suck the lewd t*ts that have teased him all that time, wanting to punish her naughty p*ssy as roughly as possible. Thinking of that, he would definitely have to fuck selia at least once in his life

But then she moved.

Dave froze, panic surging through him as Selia adjusted her position. She leaned forward, checking to see how close they were to her stop. His heart pounded in his chest, his cock still throbbing in his hand. He had to finish—and fast.

Frantically, he pulled out his phone with his free hand, hitting record as he continued to stroke himself with her hair.

The bus was dark, the other passengers too absorbed in their own worlds to notice what he was doing.

His movements became more erratic, his hand pumping faster as he felt his orgasm building. He was so close—just a little more, and he would

”Next stop!”

The driver’s voice crackled over the intercom, and Selia stood up, gathering her things, make the loose hair into a bun again. Dave’s eyes widened in panic.

He couldn’t let her see him like this. With a desperate groan, he shoved his cock back into his pants, zipping them up just in time.

He slumped back in his seat, trying to appear casual as she walked past him, her scent lingering in the air like a cruel tease.

Dave stepped off the bus after her, his body still thrumming with unfulfilled desire. The street was quiet, the soft glow of streetlights casting long shadows on the pavement. Selia walked ahead, her heels clicking softly against the concrete. He followed her, his eyes locked on her swaying hips, his cock aching with every step.

”Tonight,” he thought, his jaw tightening. ”Tonight, she’s mine.”

The hunger inside him was overwhelming, drowning out any rational thought. He didn’t care about the consequences anymore. All that mattered was the need to have her, to claim her, to make her his in every way possible.

———-

Selia stepped down, her hair still gathered high in a regal bun.

The night breeze drifted past, teasing a few loose strands across her cheek.

She didn’t notice the shadow behind her — another figure descending in silence.

Dave.

A cap pulled low, a mask covering half his face.

He kept his distance, his footsteps light as a phantom.

Though his lower belly ached, though the blood still thundered in his veins — he held himself back.

This wasn’t a moment for lust.

This was the moment… for the hunt

Selia walked slowly, idly playing with her phone.

One earbud still in, her shoulder moved gently to the rhythm of some soft lofi beat.

He saw everything — her back, her shoulders, and most of all —

that bun.

Thick. Heavy. Perfect.

It swayed softly with every step, gleaming like velvet under the streetlights —

a vivid, living symbol of temptation in the dark.

His heart pounded.

He remembered the feeling of her hair spilling over his lap…

Soft. Silky. Weighty. Scented.

The way he had pressed each strand against his chest, his belly — like the fingers of a goddess brushing against his skin.

He swallowed hard.

Fists clenched.

His mind was spinning with the image of that bun — coiled around his wrist, pressed to his face, sliding over the hardness in his pants that only Selia’s hair had ever touched.

Step by step, he quietly followed behind her.

His eyes never left her hair. Everything else blurred away. Only that bun remained sharp—like a beacon glowing in the dark.

He whispered silently in his mind:

“Your hair belongs to me. You’ve waited too long… you were born for me.”

——-

Selia stopped, searching for her keys in her purse. He stopped too. Just a few steps behind. No one around. No cameras. A narrow alleyway, quiet and still, with a breeze brushing past—cold, but not nearly as chilling… as the gaze locked onto her from behind.

She slid the key in, turned it gently. The door creaked open.

She had no idea…

That behind her was a monster in human skin—waiting…

…just for the right moment.

She pushed the door open, hand still on the knob… when a sudden gust of wind swept in from behind.

Selia shivered.

Not from the cold.

But from… instinct.

A strange sensation crawled down her spine — like someone’s eyes were glued to her. She turned around. Quickly.

No one.

Only a cat darting past the edge of the alley.

She smiled to herself, trying to shake it off. “I’m being paranoid,” she thought, then gently stepped inside and let the door close behind her. She didn’t lock it. She was planning to take the trash out after changing clothes.

But…

Dave had seen everything.

That brief moment before the door fully shut.

He slipped forward, his feet silent, skimming along the edge of the wall. His hand reached the door… catching it just before it clicked shut.

He breathed—lightly. Ears straining… listening to Selia’s footsteps inside.

Each step. Each heel tapping the floor. To him, it was like the heartbeat of prey.

She had no idea… she had just opened the door for something that should never have been let in.

Dave stepped inside, left the lights off, and pressed himself against the wall—hidden in the blind spot from the small courtyard.

His eyes followed…

Selia was in the kitchen.

Taking off her shoes.

Removing her earrings.

Running her fingers through her hair, preparing to undo the bun…

But she didn’t.

That bun… still intact — round, full, shiny, beautiful like a sacred offering waiting for its rightful owner.

He swallowed. His hand clenched.

Breath caught in his chest.

This was the moment he had imagined for years.

And tonight… maybe he wouldn’t need to imagine anymore.

Selia walked into her room, still unaware of the presence behind her.

She paused in front of the mirror, glancing at herself. Her face still flushed from wine and the fatigue of the reunion. She smiled softly — a gentle smile, but with a hint of vulnerability.

The warm kitchen light reflected off her bun, making it gleam like a jet-black jewel. A few loose strands framed her face, making her look like she had just stepped out of a fairytale.

Dave stayed hidden behind the divider.

He wasn’t even breathing.

That bun… had haunted his dreams for as long as he could remember.

Each section, each curl, each strand falling along her shoulder — all of it stabbed at his sanity like blades.

His hand trembled. He didn’t dare approach. Didn’t dare touch.

But… he couldn’t look away.

Selia turned, heading to the bedroom. The red dress still hugged her figure, untouched by time or movement. From behind, her hips, her waist, her long legs were outlined clearly under the dim amber light. With each step, the bun bounced ever so slightly — seductive, careless.

She stopped at the bed and began unfastening her corset.

Dave knew… if he didn’t act now, he would lose his chance.

But right at that moment…

Selia’s phone buzzed.

The ringtone made Dave freeze.

She bent down to pick it up. The screen lit up:

Marco calling…

She stared at it for a moment.

Didn’t answer

But… she smiled.

Just a name. A small flutter. One person — yet it softened her gaze that much.

Dave stood there. Watching. Feeling.

And for the first time that night, he stepped back.

Not out of fear.

But because, for the first time… he felt defeated.

Dave clenched his fists.

He knew — tonight wasn’t the time.

He wasn’t ready.

It was still too soon.

He needed Selia to be his.

But not in the cheap, brutish way others might try.

No.

He wanted her heart first — and only then… her body.

As a complete victory.

A plan was already forming in Dave’s mind — clear, deliberate.

He would reappear in Selia’s life like an old classmate, bumping into her by chance.

But he wouldn’t be the same Dave.

No — this would be the new Dave:

Polished.

Confident.

A lean, sculpted body from years of obsessive gym training.

A face groomed with surgical precision — a near-perfect B-list actor.

He would use charm, status, and “restraint” to close the distance.

He would slowly pull Selia away from Marco - planting quiet seeds of doubt, knowing exactly how to press on the invisible cracks inside a woman’s heart.

Especially a woman like Selia: strong yet sensitive, wild yet aching to be loved.

She would believe he had changed.

That he was no longer the shy boy in the back of the class, hiding behind a laptop.

Now, he was a CEO — a man who understood her, who saw her, who loved her hair with a ferocity no one else could ever match.

And when her guard finally softened…

…he would claim what he had always desired.

Legally.

Sweetly.

Willingly.

Because he knew:

If he forced it… if he was caught…

everything would collapse.

The headlines would be merciless:

“Tech CEO exposed as hair-obsessed freak?”

“Man builds entire empire just to feed a fetish?”

No.

He couldn’t let that happen.

He had to make her want him.

Make Selia walk into his arms of her own free will —

Undo her bun herself, and whisper:

“I belong to you.”

He swallowed hard.

Took a slow, deep breath

His eyes hadn’t left the wooden door — the last place he saw her before she disappeared inside.

At last, he stepped out from the hallway corner, turned back, and quietly pulled the front door shut.

No lock. No slam.

Just gently ajar — exactly how she had left it when she stepped out earlier.

No trace.

No suspicion.

Because he needed…

a next time.

The streetlamp caught the top of his head.

The wind brushed past.

Dave raised the collar of his coat, stuffed his hands into his pockets, and walked away down the empty street.

His shadow dissolved into the dark — but his mind was lit with fire.

Every step. Every strategy.

Every image of Selia from tonight playing on repeat…

And next time…

he wouldn’t return as a shadow.

He’d return as the man Selia would never see coming.

Dave stood still at the edge of the street, hands tucked deep in his coat pockets, eyes lost in some distant world.

The city remained aglow, traffic thinning…

But in his mind, Selia still lived — vivid, intoxicating, impossible to erase.

He knew —

He wouldn’t be sleeping tonight.

Thoughts of Selia, of her hair, of every strand he’d just glimpsed — spun through his brain like an addiction without cure.

Money? He had plenty.

Status? Already secured.

The only thing in this world he’d never possessed…

was her.

He pulled out his phone and scrolled through a list of long-haired women in his private “collection.”

This wasn’t new.

He’d done it before — chasing girls with similar hair, similar scent, similar softness, similar voices that echoed somewhere in memory.

Just to fill a few desperate, burning nights.

But none of them ever satisfied him.

Because only Selia…

was the real addiction.

He dialed.

His voice came out low, controlled.

— “Send a car. Now.”

The assistant replied promptly.

— “On it, boss. Drop me your location.”

— “I will. One more thing.

Call Rosie. I want to see her tonight.”

— “Rosie… the one with hip-length hair from last time?”

— “Yes. Thin, but she’ll do for tonight.”

He ended the call.

The night wind slipped through his expensive coat,

but inside, his mind burned with restraint.

For now, he’d settle for a temporary fix.

A substitute.

A blurry replica.

Because in his head…

there was still only Selia.