He's sweating, enough so that his hair is damp. You can see a bead of it trickling between his nipples. Even despite the muscle packed tightly in his chest, you can see a vague shadow of ribs as he gasps for breath. His fists are clenched at his sides.

He's straddling you directly atop your hips. It's so close. It's so hard that it's standing almost parallel with his abdomen. It's flushed and thicker than it was before. Something glistens in his pubic hair and you realise that it's probably semen. Yes. You can see a trail of it on the underside of his penis.

Has he come already?

The sight of him barely keeping control stimulates you like you've never felt before. You're so moist now the insides of your thighs are sticky. Your breasts are heaving as hard as his chest is heaving.

He bares his teeth, revealing those Godforsaken canines, but this time you don't feel so much fear as excitement.

You suck in a breath, then shriek as he reaches over and tears the sheet knotted around your body completely apart. He rips it all the way down, shifting his thighs to reveal all of your body. He smooths his hand over your abdomen, then grabs your hips.

'I can't wait,' he says, licking his lips. 'I want you now.'

'Now,' you echo, fisting your hands in the sheets. 'Do it. I'm ready.'

What did you just say?! Do something! It's going to hurt. It's going to hurt! But you don't care; you want him inside you. How can it hurt when you're feeling this way?

He pulls away, leaving you free to open your thighs. There, he kneels between your legs, and you gasp as he traces a finger up your slit. You're on fire! You've never burned like this before. He looks at you, as though questioning whether you're ready.

'I'm ready,' you gasp. 'Please, oh God, I'm ready!'

You gasp again as he pushes his fingers into you. They glide in easily. It's unusual; you've never been able to have sex without lubricant and even then it was uncomfortable. This is something different.

Something unexpected.

You will know pleasure because your body was always meant for mine.

You shiver. Maybe he's right. Maybe he's right about everything!

He withdraws his fingers to add a third finger, then a fourth. You moan. 'You're growing larger,' he says in a thick, slow voice. 'Your insides are changing even faster than your outsides.'

He withdraws his fingers again, and next you feel something different—you know what it is. It's hot and hard and makes your whole body explode with sensation as it brushes against your opening.

Stop! Stop him! Don't do it!

He presses it against you, then pushes in slightly. You gasp. He snarls. Seizing your thighs, he pulls you towards him so you're sliding along his immense shaft. He's so smooth and hard. It makes the blood throb in your hips.

He's big. Huge. You can feel yourself yawning open to accommodate him. Wider and wider. It feels good. It feels great. You gasp. He grunts. The tendons in his neck are so taut they're bulging outwards. His eyes are on fire. He pushes in a little further, and suddenly the pleasant burn vanishes. You hiss at a sting. No. Stop. It hurts! He's too big! Arching your neck, you claw at the sheets.

'Stop!' You grit your teeth. 'It hurts!'

He stops but doesn't pull out, breathless, needful. His eyes are still blazing.

'Take it OUT!' For a dreadful, agonising few moments you think he won't. You think he'll keep going. That he'll rip you apart.

And it's all you deserve, snarls a voice at the back of your mind. What did you expect?

Whore. Slut.

Monster's slut.

But to your relief, he pulls out of you and your body instantly relaxes, though you're breathing heavily and your heart is racing.

'I told you. I told you!' you gasp.

The mattress creaks and dips as he climbs out of bed. Gripping at your groin, you roll onto your side and curl into a ball.

'I'm sorry,' he says. 'I thought you had transformed enough.'

'Don't you get it? You're wrong. I'm nothing like you!' Why are you so angry? Are you angry at him? Or are you angry at yourself? What's the difference? You grasp at your leg at a sudden cramp. 'Goddamnit! I just want to go home.'

'Enough with home,' he snaps. 'You're here where you belong.'

You grab at your head at the pounding in your temples. His drug hasn't worked. 'Go fuck yourself.'

For several moments you hear nothing, you see nothing, you know nothing, squeezing your eyes shut as you focus on your ever-worsening migraine. It doesn't last long. At the sound of an ear-splitting smash, you snap your eyes open. You sit up. He's thrown a small table against the wall. It's shattered into pieces. Standing in the middle of the room, he's clenching and unclenching his fists. The big muscles in his chest balloon outward as he struggles for breath.

He gazes at the broken remains of the table, then turns and glares at you. You can see the sheen of sweat on him. His massive shaft is still semi-erect and glistens with your mucus. It sways like a log between his legs as he moves over to pick up another piece of furniture—some kind of stand. He throws that against the wall. Next he turns around, picks up a large, ornate candlestick and throws it against the wall too. Every time he tosses something, you instinctively duck, though he doesn't throw anything at you.

Throwing back his head, he gives a roar. The big tendons in his neck are bulging. His eyes have lit up; they almost seem to glow like yellow moons in the darkness. Not only can you see his rage, you can feel it. You can feel it in the air, against your skin, in your chest. You feel it the way you can feel it inside yourself.

You're panting the way he's panting, your hands clawed into the mattress. Your head is pounding; your legs are aching. 'Stop throwing things!'

He ignores you. With a snarl, he shakes his head like a bull. He's starting to appear more animal than man now. His canines are bared; his nose is scrunched up like he's about to attack. He turns to pick up another object. A huge book. It looks ancient, valuable. Your eyes widen. Not on your watch!

Leaping from the bed, you rush over with such an inhuman scream you can hardly believe your ears. And you're so quick. Before you know it, before he has a chance to throw it, you're at his side, trying to yank it from his grip. 'Leave it alone!' Even to your own ears, you sound ridiculous.

It's just a book. Protect yourself!

Caught by surprise, he releases it. It's so heavy you stagger and almost drop it but somehow manage to fumble it onto the couch.

'What the hell is wrong with you?!' You shove him. Your rage is boiling over. All rational thought seems to have fled. What are you doing? Are you crazy?! Stop pushing him! Though every cell in your body is screaming for you to stop, you can't.

Nothing seems able to stop you.