Margaret has transformed from a mousy little housewife and a helpless captive into a dangerous attacker. She has not forgotten as much as she pretends to, or at least her body hasn’t. When she wants to, she is capable of incredible physical agility. But she is out of practice, and she is not as quick as she needs to be. As soon as she begins to move, I turn toward her with an outstretched hand, grasp her and wrestle her over my thighs.
My palm meets her rear with sharp, short strokes. I must be careful not to seriously harm her. My strength is incredible compared to the limited capacity of her human form, but she needs to feel this punishment more sharply and intensely than any before.
She yowls helplessly. I do not think that she meant to attack. The doctor's treatment triggered something inside her and now she is acting without sense or reason. She is an animal, and she must be tamed like one.
“Tusk! Please!”
“You’re not innocent, Margaret!” I tell her. I thought it would be better to keep her in the dark, but we cannot live in the dark.
“I know!”
I pause for a moment. “You know?”
“I’ve always known," she whimpers softly. “But I made myself forget. The drugs you gave me didn’t unlock any memories. They just made it easier to tell you what I’d been doing. But I had to, Tusk. He used to beat me. And not like this. He didn’t discipline me. He didn’t try to keep order for others. He just wanted money. I hated him. I hated him more than I ever knew it was possible to hate.”
I smooth my palm over her upturned cheeks. I like having her like this, but I know she has experienced pain of many different kinds in her life, and I wonder from time to time if I am no different a tyrant than her Mark was.
“Why did you stop?” Her voice is small.
“Stop what?”
“Spanking me.”
“I wonder if you have not hurt enough, Margaret. I wonder if your life has not been full enough of tyrannical males.”
“You’re nothing like him. You want me. For me. You did more for me in the first two minutes of knowing me than anybody ever has. My friends, my family, they all told me how lucky I was to have Mark, what a good guy he was, and what a wonderful life we had. When I tried to tell them otherwise, they’d change the subject. You were in my home for thirty seconds and you saw what he was. I owe you my life, Tusk. And I’ll take what you have to give me. Always.”
So, I spank her until her cheeks are a satisfyingly deep red, enjoying her plaintive cries and her animal growls. They speak to both parts of her, the refined and repressed housewife and the little beast beneath. It is not only aggression which lurks behind her veneer. It is also her most carnal urges. With every slap, I see her sex grow wetter. She is visibly weeping with the liquid of human desire. I have to admit, I find this aspect of humanity very appealing. She is able to come into heat and express desire without a word at almost any given moment.
I cannot hold back my desire any longer. I catch her by the throat and plunge my cock inside her. She is soaked for me, her pussy gripping my large rod with an eagerness which makes me feel as though I have thrust myself into the center of all being. This human woman with all her secrets and all her traumas is the hot, wet apex of my personal experience.
She orgasms in that rough, desperate way of hers. She cums like a little beast, so eager and so greedy. I feel her sex gripping me with desperation as she milks every bit of seed from me. I am trapped inside her, carried along on the current of her need. I surrender to her orgasmic will, pumping her full of my most potent fluids, finding myself hoping that by some miracle a spark of life takes inside her. I want this woman. I want her as more than a captive or prisoner. I want her in my life forever. I want her as my mate.
“I need you to know something.”
“What?" She pants with sexual exhaustion. She is so beautiful in these moments, where she is entirely in thrall to her desires, and mine.
“I love you."
"What?" She stares at me in disbelief. “You just… you must… you know I know. You know what I am. Injections or no injections.”
“I love you, Margaret,” I repeat the simple truth. She is right. We do not need drugs, and the time for lies is past.
“But I am the tool of evil. I have done things I deserve to die for."