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Your husband had been acting strange lately.
Not the typical mid-life crisis kind of strange. There was no new Ferrari parked in the garage, nor had Chris begun to dedicate his time to a niche hobby like roller skating. His behavior was much more... off-putting than those things would be. That was the only way you could think to describe it.
It all began at the beginning of this last Summer when he came home from a short mission. The trip spanned two weeks and took him up to a sparse, expansive piece of the Canadian wilderness. You weren't especially worried about him while he was gone. You were more upset about the fact that he was going to miss your wedding anniversary than anything else.
Your lack of concern didn't come from a place of callousness. Rather the opposite. You'd been an agent too. It was how you and Chris met. Before a stray bullet to your thigh knocked you out of commission, you had field assignments of your own. You knew that they were only made more stressful when you had someone at home you know worries about you.
So you never did. You trusted that he'd come back to you in one piece like he always does.
This time he did come back in one piece. Walked through the front door like usual with his bag slung across his back and his arms ready for you. You crossed the foyer and sprung yourself against his chest, your smaller arms wrapped around his bulky abdomen.
"I missed you, baby," he murmured, pecking your temple and engulfing you with his thick arms, "My beautiful wife of... how many years is it now?"
You rolled your eyes at the joke and tapped his arm. It was when you followed him back to your bedroom to put his stuff down that your eyes widened and caught on his forearm.
"Jesus! What happened to you?" you asked and took the limb in your hands.
Just below his elbow was a sizable bite. You could tell the type of injury from the crescent pattern of the cuts. If you had to guess, you'd say it probably came from a dog, but you'd never seen a canine with a jaw so large. The wounds were deep red, scabbed over by this point. The nearby skin glowed with the color of injury. You could tell whatever had got him, sunk its teeth in deep.
He looked down at the afflicted area and then back at you before shrugging. "It's nothing. You know how it goes. Those things can be rabid, but I'll heal up in a few days."
Your pupils continued to scan his flesh uncertainly. "I guess..." you conceded.
His statement was true. That wasn't your problem. Of course, you'd seen him with bites before. You'd even been bitten yourself on the job. But it never looked like this. So... gruesome. Upon looking closer, you could see tiny sprawls of plum-tinted veins accompanied by dark patches of discolored skin.
"They treated you, right? You're sure it's not infected?" you checked again.
"Honey, it's fine. C'mon, I know you missed me, but you don't gotta freak out about this," he dismissed in kind.
Despite his claims, he let you fuss over him. You were hesitant to even touch the markings, afraid of causing him pain or irritating the skin further.
He didn't seem to be hurting though. In his recovery, he never complained of aches or stings or throbs. Never held it closer to his body than normal or relied on his left arm to perform tasks. It did eventually heal. He was left with little white patches of scar tissue, but the other array of colors faded.
The only reason you had to believe that this incident triggered his change in behavior was that he began to act differently a few weeks later.
It started with his sleeping habits.
The Chris you knew slept the whole night through. Rested against your back, spooning you. His body heat radiated from him like a space heater for a solid eight hours every night. He'd wake up with his face nestled in the crook of your neck and plant a few kisses there before pulling away to get up and go about his morning routine.
But now he didn't even come to bed before you'd fallen asleep. His side of the mattress would be vacant when you woke up as well. At first it left you to question whether he'd been there at all. Now though, you're certain he's doing something else during the nocturnal hours. The only thing you couldn't figure out was what that other thing could be.
The next piece of this puzzle came in the way he started eating.
Since that mission, he seemed to have a craving for meat. Red meat. Burgers, steaks, whatever you had in the house. He wanted it all and in large portions. Not only that, but the way you cooked it didn't suit his tastes anymore. You sat across from him at the dinner table with wide eyes as he ate the food you'd prepared to his request. A steak so rare it looked like blood leaked from the raw slab out onto the plate.
Anytime you'd ask about any of this, he'd brush you off with a new excuse. He was just sleeping less now. He'd stayed up later playing a video game. He was waking up earlier to try a new running regime. The food thing was just something his friend told him about and he wanted to try. Supposed to build protein and lower your bmi or some bullshit.
That stuff you could have overlooked, but then he started to look different.
You wanted to blame his new diet for the sudden thickness with which his body hair grew. And perhaps his new workout schedule effected him as planned and could explain the way he was bulking up and nearly popping out of his shirts with gained muscle mass. You weren't so sure though.
If anything, you tried to pin this on your own mind. You were being paranoid. Life wasn't some horror movie. Monsters did exist, but you'd seen them already. They didn't look like this. Right?
And in his defense, not all the changes you'd noticed were bad. Your life in the bedroom had grown much more interesting since his return.
That day he came back, you figured it was his way of making up for your missed anniversary. He'd pounded into you for hours. Rutted into your poor little cunt till it was sore and puffy, struggling to take his thick shaft. What you would've believed to be an impossible amount of arousal coated your inner thighs and soaked the bed sheets beneath you by the time you were done. You knew he had stamina, but for those hours, Chris seemed like another animal entirely.
Every time since then had been similar. They didn't last as long as your reuniting session, but they were just as passionate. He was so much rougher than he'd ever been before. Typically, your husband was overly-cautious with you. Every move he made had his size and strength in mind when deciding the amount of force he'd use to manhandle your legs or snap his hips against your ass.
Now he fucked without a care in the world. His teeth scraped against your neck hard enough to mark. His fingertips left bruises accompanied by the scratches from his nails.
He also came inside you now every time without fail. Since you started taking the pill not long after the two of you started dating, that had always been his favorite place to release. But how he would do it lately... you didn't know any other word for it but primal. When he came, he buried himself inside you. Every inch of his cock filled the snug space between your walls. He growled as it shot out of him, rope after rope. He stuck to you like he wanted to make sure not a drop leaked out or went to waste.
So on that end of things, you didn't mind his shift in personality. It only became a problem when he started going out so often.
He told you a myriad of different places he went to or groups he hung out with, but you didn't believe him. You doubted Jill wanted to see him at ten p.m. on a Wednesday, and you struggled to accept Leon needed some form of help that took him eight hours of the night.
It was always dark out when he was gone, and then there would be certain days of the month that he didn't come back until well into the next morning. That was what drove you crazy. You'd never felt such distrust in your husband before. You always believed him to be faithful. You didn't worry about other women or being replaced or a number of other things your friends complained about with their spouses. You and Chris were a team.
But that vision shattered when you decided to test out the validity of his alibis one night. It hadn't been planned. You always thought loyalty tests were for insecure people, but you hoped that's all you were now. This was just a bout of insecurity, not anything to be truly worried about.
You saw Chris left his phone on the kitchen counter one night, and the idea just sprung into your head. As if the devil himself whispered the words into your ear, you typed out a message to Leon, the man he was supposedly hanging out with.
"Hey, Chris left his phone here. Will you let him know I'll just swing by to drop it off if he's gonna be with you for a while? If he'll be back soon, I can just wait. Thanks :)"
With a shaky thumb, you clicked the send button. You paced around your kitchen while waiting for the response. It didn't arrive instantly. Leon took around ten minutes to get back to you.
"Hey. Chris isn't with me tonight. I'm sorry."
Your legs came to a stop. You clutched both phones so tight that they were in danger of shattering. The ten minutes wasn't spent talking with your husband or doing whatever you thought they did together. It was probably Leon trying to decide if he should cover for him or be honest with you. At least he chose the latter.
You didn't send anything back to the D.S.O. agent. Instead, you went to bed, leaving Chris's phone on his bedside table. You curled up under your blankets. The emptiness of half the mattress caused you physical pain that night. Your eyes shut over the building gloss of tears.
That was a week ago.
Chris had still been going out every night and rotating in one of his friends' names as his unknowing accomplices.
Tonight, you decide that this is it. You're not going to be the sad little wife who's just happy she gets to keep the house while her husband goes out and plays with the other woman. You're done being fed lies and pretending you believe them. You're done being treated as disposable in your own marriage.
When he tells you he's leaving tonight, you say no. He's already been acting weird today, skittish and jumpy, constantly watching the clock. You aren't just going to sweep it under the rug this time. This conversation will get to the bottom of it.
You glare at him from where you're sitting on the couch, watching as confusion overtakes his features. Rarely are you ever firm with Chris. You know how to stand up for yourself, but he rarely gives you a reason to act any kind of strict.
"You're not leaving yet," you repeat.
His expression doesn't change. He stands at the beginning of the hallway to the front door, waiting for you to explain your sudden attitude. It's already getting late. The sky outside is pitch black except for the light of the full moon.
"Tell me where you're going," you demand.
"Out with Leon."
Your expression darkens. "Why are you lying to me?" you ask next.
He's got a phenomenal poker face because not a hint of doubt shows anywhere on his exterior. He doesn't look away, doesn't fidget. All he does is step closer to you, reentering the living room.
"Why would you think that?" he asks, voice calm.
"Because Leon told me you haven't been with him at all," you fire back and stand up. You bolster your proof with exaggeration, but you're confident enough that you're right.
Now a reaction does show on Chris. You can see his jaw clench and his gaze sharpen. This wasn't going to be as easy to talk his way out of as he thought.
"I really don't have time for this tonight," he says.
Your anger is getting ready to boil over into fury at his dismissal.
"Really? Because all I have anymore is time! You leave me here alone every single night! I feel like I barely see you anymore," you say, "I'm supposed to be your wife, but I feel like I'm the side piece at this point."
"You think I'm cheating on you?" he scoffs, disgusted by the suggestion alone.
"What else am I supposed to think?" you explode, raising your voice now, "You don't tell me anything! You just leave to who-fucking-knows where every single night and expect me to be fine with that? I'm not."
"Calm down," he says. His own voice grows firm. He glances down at the time on his watch. His pupils move quickly, looking almost antsy.
"Do you have somewhere else to be? Something more important than this conversation?" you ask incredulously.
"I told you I don't have time for this. We can talk tomorrow," he says. His words come out with more bite which just stokes the flames of your temper.
"No. You can just tell me now," you say and cross your arms, "If you leave without telling me anything, then maybe consider telling your girlfriend to prepare for you to move in with her soon!"
"Give me a fucking break! I am not cheating on you!" he snaps, letting his voice boom, "There is no girlfriend. There's no one else I'm going to!"
He looks more upset now. Some definite anxiety mixed in with his irritation. He looks like he just wants to get out. You wonder if it's the panic of you closing in on the truth or something else that's bothering him. It makes you soften your approach the smallest bit. You sigh.
"Just give me something then. Something that will give me some peace of mind," you reason. You'll accept a half answer at this point. All you want is some semblance of explanation as to why he's going out every night.
But all he does is stare at you. It brings your temper back up, the uncomfortable feeling rising between your lungs.
"Just one thing, Chris! One fucking thing."
"I can't." His voice is strained as if he's trying to keep calm.
"Why?" you ask, flinging your arms up in frustration.
"I just can't. We'll talk about it tomorrow," he says.
With that, he turns to leave. You stand there stunned. But the shock only lasts a moment.
"You're leaving because I'm right and you can't think of a lie so quick!" you shout at him.
He doesn't even look back at you. His steps thud down the hall to the exit of your home. You can't stand it. How could he do this to you? This isn't the man you married. That guy never would have treated you like this.
Before you can even think about it, you're dashing after him. As mad as you are, you can't just let him leave. You love him. Nothing in the world will hurt more than him leaving.
He's moving fast, determined to get out as swiftly as he can, but you're quick too. You'd spent years of your life chasing mutated creatures that could sprint on all fours. Catching up to your husband was nothing.
You reach out for his arm and grab him at his elbow. Your eyes widen at the intensity with which he reacts. He jerks away as if the touch burns.
"Stay away from me," he says. The words don't even sound like his voice. They come out so deep. Almost like a snarl.
Accusations of infidelity are forgotten at this point because all you can feel now is concern.
"Chris... are you alright?" you ask in a much softer voice than you'd been speaking with before.
You reach for him again, barely laying a hand on his shoulder. It's like the touch knocks him back. He nearly trips over his own feet, crashing against your front door but failing to get it open. His shoulders heave, muscles in his back convulsing. A light sheen of sweat breaks out across his forehead.
This time you figure it's best if you stay back. All you did was touch him, but he seems as if he's going to be ill. You stand a few feet away, watching him nervously. His arms come up to cover his face, which blocks your view and prevents you from guessing what's wrong.
"Honey?" you try again gently.
"Get away from me," he rasps, "Leave. Go far away before you can't."
You're back to being lost. You try to think of what this could be. Maybe PTSD? Was he having some sort of flashback? You had accidentally touched the bite.
"I'm not going to leave. You know you can trust me. I'm always here for you. I just want to understand," you coax.
"It's not you I don't trust," he says. He breaks down into a coughing fit and his back arches. It looks like he's trying to restrain himself.
"Just tell me what you need," you say quickly, determined to help him through this, "Anything. Do you need water? Do you need me to call someone?"
Truly, you're lost on possible solutions. This doesn't look like any common sickness you'd seen. It looks more like an infection someone would get in the field. And upon realizing that, panic strikes your heart.
You don't get the chance to voice any fear though because he speaks first.
"Just get out of here," he growls, "Everything you do makes it worse."
Your heart pounds in your ears. What could this be? Did he have some kind of virus and didn't tell you? Maybe his unit was treated with faulty drugs. What if he had lied about getting that bite looked at? Your mind swirls with all these thoughts, and your breathing speeds up to match their pace.
You step back a little, but you're still hesitant to go. Never leave a man behind. That'd been drilled into you since the day you enlisted. You couldn't just leave him to suffer or maybe die. Especially not this man, your man.
You're about to say something else. You take a deep breath and conjure some words of reassurance.
But it's too late.
By the time you look back at him, you see the hair on his arms coming in thicker. It sprouts out another inhumane inch. His nails rise a little bit. The panic inside you courses through your veins with more intensity.
"What's happening to you?" you choke out.
"I told you to go. I wanted to leave. But you told me to stay," he grunts, still trying to conceal his face.
You're stunned into silence, trying desperately to think of what to say. All that comes out are the same words, repeated with a deeper sense of urgency. "What's happening to you?"
He tries to respond, but a strained groan erupts from him.
His body spasms. The seams of his shirt split as his shoulders broaden and muscles puff out. You watch in horror as your husband seems to transform. And then he finally turns his face and looks into your eyes.
It's the stare of an animal looking at you.
Your hands fly to your mouth to muffle a cry you let out. For years, you thought you escaped your time as an agent mentally unscathed. Besides the occasional nightmare, you never dealt with flashbacks or survivor's guilt. Your damage was purely physical. The bullet to your leg had been it for you. But now, everything was rushing back. Every set of sharp, gnashing teeth. Every creature that lunged at you with its insides on the outside. Every person that should be dead stumbling towards you and trying to bite. All of them, running laps around your frayed mind.
The only thought you could conjure while looking at him was that one of those things was in your house.
You stumble backwards in terror, watching as he rises to his feet. He stands taller than normal. His tattered shirt falls away, his pants holding on by a thread. He's more hairy. His eyes look more intense.
"What are you?" you cry, hot tears beginning to roll down your cheeks.
His now-golden eyes continue to stare at you. The black slits his pupils had morphed into makes you nauseous. His chest is still heaving. It looks like he's resisting the urge to pounce on you.
"What's the matter? I thought you said we're in this together?" he growls.
"Chris!" you sob, "What is this? What did they do to you?"
"You know how it goes, baby," he manages to answer, "I got infected, and they don't know how to treat it yet."
"Why- why didn't you just tell me that?" you whimper, trembling violently.
"You think I wanted to see you looking at me like this? LIke I'm a goddamn monster."
"I'm sorry-" you say instantly, but he cuts you off. He's not interested in hearing that at the moment.
"I wouldn't cheat on you. I never would. I've been going out every night cause there's only two things that make this shit go away," he says, his words becoming more labored as he fights the urge to give into the infection.
"What are they?" you sniffle and wipe at your eyes.
"I go out every night to feed," he starts.
Another cry escapes you at the mere picture it puts in your head. There's no way in hell you're going to ask what - or rather who - he feeds on.
"But tonight, I can't because you didn't want me going out. So I guess we'll have to try the other thing," he rasps.
Your lip quivers violently. Why did he say we this time? You wait with baited breath to learn of your fate.
"You're gonna let me breed you," he says, eyes nearly burning two little holes into you with the heat in his gaze.
You feel like fainting at the idea. Your arms fall to your sides limply. Fear prickles up your spine and into your lungs. It feels like chains are wrapping around your torso, threatening to break your ribs. You could barely look at him like this. How were you supposed to...
"I- I don't know, Chris," you stammer out through tears.
"Well I do. We're gonna do this, or things are gonna get really ugly here," he says. It's a warning, not a threat, which makes it so much more real to you.
You're frozen again, unsure of what to do.
"I'll give you a head start. I need the chase," he says.
You stutter at first, unsure if you should take the opportunity to escape or try to reason with him some more. Though in the few seconds it takes you to contemplate this, it really looks like he's losing control, so you decide to take your chances running.
Whipping around, you bolt down the hall towards the back door. You'd have to leave that way since he was blocking the other point of exit. You plan your route in your head just like you used to during missions.
There's also always the alternate possibility of darting up the stairs and getting the gun from the bedroom, but you aren't sure if bullets work on him, let alone if you could bring yourself to use it. Even in this new form, you still love him. You don't want to lose him.
So instead you practically rip the backdoor off its hinges before prancing across the porch and into the yard. The air outside is cooler, bringing a chill over you as your feet pad through the soft grass below.
You're in the process of hopping over the fence when you hear the door crash open again. He's after you now.
Breaths leave you in harsh puffs. Your limbs go taut with the instinct to survive. Despite the laser focus of your mind, you still feel shrouded in fear. Where are you running to? What are you going to do when you get there?
You couldn't just run to a neighbor's house. Chris might tear through them like this, and you don't want anyone getting hurt. But there's nothing else. You don't live close enough to any place that could help. Whatever mutation he had would probably aid him in tracking you, so you doubted hiding was an option. He looks more than strong enough to scale a tree.
It doesn't seem like there's any way to escape, but you keep sprinting, hoping for a miracle.
You're fast, but you can still hear your husband barreling towards you from behind. You leap over a log in your way and twist around rocks. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the big chunk of wood go flying seconds later. Then you hear a whoosh in what you assume is him leaping the boulder.
A small whimper leaves you, but you still keep going. You run in a straight line to keep your speed up. Your eyes stay locked straight ahead. He hasn't caught you yet. You can do this.
But interrupting your internal pep talk, the muscles in your thigh seize up, and you shriek. You go toppling to the ground, hitting it with a hard thud. It knocks the wind out of you. Your fingers claw at the dirt as you gasp for air.
This is why you were taken out of the field after your injury. If this happened out there, you'd be seconds away from death.
Right now though, you don't die. In lieu of the force of mortality, your husband crashes on top of you. You scream when he knocks into you. His large arms wrap around your body as the two of you roll across the grass. The struggle ends with him on top, grinning down at you with sharp canines in view. His chest puffs with the exertion it took to get here.
When you catch sight of his face, you wail louder. His features are somehow more pronounced, and a pair of pointed ears have sprouted atop his head. This is worse than any nightmare you've had before. You thrash beneath him, smacking your fists against his chest and jabbing your knees into his sides.
None of your fighting affects him. He wrestles your arms into place with ease and gets your legs to stop with his own, handling you as if you're merely throwing a silly tantrum.
"My sweet little wife," he rasps as he brings his face down to nose at your neck. He groans, his hips bucking as he takes in a breath of your scent. "You tried so hard, but you knew you wouldn't win."
His hand snakes down to massage the cramping muscles in your thigh. He knows just how to soothe them. Even with the rougher quality of his skin and longer nails, his digits move like they did just after you got surgery. Must be muscle memory.
He coos at your tears, nuzzling them away. "Shh, shh, shh, little one," he hushes, "You're gonna be fine. There's no safer place for you than with me."
You keep turning your head away, not wanting to look at him like this.
"Keeping those pretty eyes closed won't save you," he says.
You whimper, now trying to squirm away from him. Like before, he simply wrangles you back into place. He holds you down with one forearm across your collarbone, making you feel doubly pathetic. You push at the limb, but it's of no use. It may as well have weighed 1000 pounds the way you're simply unable to move it.
His free hand comes down to your belly. His warm palm spreads out over it. He holds it there for a moment, feeling how your stomach moves with each breath you take. Then his fingers slice upwards. His nails tear through your thin shirt like scissors through wrapping paper.
You shiver as he yanks it free, leaving your upper-half nude to the night air. Instantly, his hands paw at your breasts. He gropes them, fingers digging into the plump flesh and squeezing them together. His mouth stays at your neck. He kisses the skin, but his movements are sloppy. He laps at your pulse point, heavy breaths fanning over the wet area.
Despite your fear, the touches still stir feelings of desire within your body. You moan softly as his canines scrape along your throat. He chuckles lowly at the sound.
"You smell even better when you're a little scared," he says.
Your pants are next to go. He shreds them into pieces, letting them fall off your figure onto the grass. You squeak at the sound of the denim tearing.
He grinds down on you harder. His hips roll with such force it feels like he's trying to meld you with the ground. The movements draw a longer whine out of you, which in turn sends a rush of arousal through him.
You feel his bulge filling out against your center. It seems larger than ever before. After all these years of marriage, you know what his cock feels like. You've committed every detail to memory, and right now isn't matching up. You wrap your arms tighter around his abdomen out of the instinct to seek comfort from him. He does the same with to you, keeping you flush against his large frame for a few moments.
But then he lets you go. He pulls back and pushes down the remnants of his pants, freeing his cock from its confines. Your eyes nearly pop out of your head at the sight of the engorged shaft. It's longer for sure, but it's so much fucking thicker. His balls look heavier too, hanging proudly beneath.
You don't get much time to examine it because he's back on you in an instant.
"You're gonna take it so well, baby," he mutters against your lips before capturing them in a kiss.
You mewl, overwhelmed by his body all over you and his tongue intruding into your mouth. Kissing back reluctantly, you feel his middle finger slot between your folds and press down. His sharp nail cuts a perfect slit in the damp fabric over your pussy. You shudder as now you can feel the air hitting your slick.
His cock soon interrupts that sensation as he slides it against your wetness. He rocks it up and down through your arousal. You're so hot there, between your thighs. He angles his hips downward and slides his length into you.
You gasp before gritting your teeth. Your fingers clump fistfuls of grass against your palms. He's so much bigger. It's always a stretch, but this feels like the first time all over again. You can't even squirm because his large hands keep a firm hold on your hips.
The new size also affects him. A deep groan rumbles in his chest, and he shoves his face into the crook of your neck. Inch by inch he fills you up completely. It's nearly unbearable by the time he bottoms out. Your lip wobbles and more tears stream down your cheeks freely. They blur your vision, but it doesn't matter much as your eyes flutter anyways.
He can feel the shake of you crying, smell the salt of your tears. Neither make him slow down or stop. He digs his fingers into the dough of your hips harder, keeping you steady as he ruts into you.
"My fuckin' mate. Could never want anyone else," he grunts. He fucks into you a few more times before nipping at your neck and then continuing. "You're ok, baby. You were made for this. Made to take me."
You shriek as a particular snap of his hips shoves the head of his cock right up against your cervix. Cries accompany your tears now. Loud sobs pour from your mouth in a deluge.
He lets you be noisy. The large grassy field behind your house provides the room for you to scream as loud as you need. No one would be bothering you out here. Even if they did, it's not like they could do anything to stop Chris.
Your walls spasm around the veiny shaft that pulls in and out of your drippy hole, desperate to acquiesce to the large intrusion. His rhythm is already so quick. He pistons into you like he's in a rush; like if you're not bred here and now, he won't survive, which isn't far off from the truth.
You feel hot breaths against your throat. They come out quicker than the knocks of his pelvis against your ass. Noises akin to growling scratch at the back of his throat but never fully erupt.
"It's too much!" you finally wail, hoping for some sort of reprieve.
None is granted to you though. More broken sobs explode into the night air, but his face stays planted against your neck just as his cock stays nestled in your cunt.
"It's not too much," he finally mutters after a few seconds, "You're gonna take it all, and then you're gonna take my seed. Gonna take my pups, and you're gonna look perfect doing it."
Your body involuntarily squirms at the notion. You and Chris had both come to the decision that kids weren't for you. With his work and the mileage on your body from your own, the two of you decided to forgo that part of the white-picket-fence fantasy.
Now he's breeding you with dedication you've never seen him give to another task. Sure he isn't himself, but you'd still be yourself if he knocked you up. With all your stresses lately about your marriage potentially falling apart, slip ups with your pills have been happening more often.
It's hard to think any of this though from the way he batters your insides and molds them to his will. Your thoughts fade away in favor of an empty haze where everything is about him. Everything feels soft and dreamy when you let go. You wonder if his mind feels like another version of this.
"That's it. Atta girl. You know you're meant to be a mama, huh?" he rasps as your body melts down into a puddle.
"Chris!" you gasp. Your legs try to wrap around his large waist, but they can't get a good hold with how fast he's moving.
"Keep crying for me, little one," he says.
And that you do. Your fingernails drag down the rippling muscles in his back as you whine and cry. The sensation doesn't affect him at all. There's no hint of pain on his face, not an inkling of discomfort. Arousal floods out of you and around his length as he just keeps going.
"Gonna get you so full. No way it won't take."
Your knees bat at his side, but not out of resistance this time. You just can't control the tremors that take over you. They make your legs seize up and flail.
"So cute..." he grunts, "Your little body working so hard to take it all. Just like it'll work hard at carrying my pups."
Finally, you lose control. You think you cum, but it's hard to tell because you don't come down afterward. Trapped in this never-ending high, your eyes roll back and your body goes limp. White fills your vision just as hot pleasure covers every inch of your skin. He yanks you closer now, humping into your pussy like you're nothing more than a toy for him to play with.
"Good girl. Let it all go. Nothing's better than this. Just doing what you're supposed to. My perfect breeding pet," he growls.
Despite the rest of your body flopping around in his arms, your pussy stays nice and tight. It helps get him there. Each stroke into your heat drags him closer to the edge. He can't stop until he reaches the peak.
When he finally does, he throws his head back and releases with a roar. His muscles tense, his hips moving with the natural desire to breed. He doesn't have to think about anything. His cum spills out of him and into you.
It keeps going for a long time. You're not sure if it's because you're so out of it, but it's the longest orgasm you've seen anyone have. You can feel globs of his seed spilling trying to spill out of you even though he hasn't pulled out.
One last burst shoots against your walls, but then something finally pulls you back to reality. The intense stretch of his knot swelling up. You cry out, eyes widening in panic. Your hands push at his chest haphazardly.
Like every time tonight though, he won't let you go. He holds you on the swollen base of his cock. At least now though, when he's not trapped in the fervor of primal lust, he has the decency to kiss away your tears and stroke your cheeks.
"It's ok, sweetheart. Not much longer. You did so good for me," he whispers before kissing your nose, "Sweet little baby. You took so much didn't you?"
You nod lazily, watery eyes looking to him for reassurance.
"Yes, you did," he coos, "You just have to let it take now, and then you'll be all done."
His body stays true to his word. You don't have the exact time, but it's not too much longer before his knot begins to deflate.
You're relieved when the burn of the stretch begins to recede and fade away. It allows for a hazy sleepiness to take over instead.
Everything fades away. Your eyes droop, turning your vision to black. Vaguely, you feel Chris picking you up and the faint bobbing of steps. You hear the door creak and shut. Then soon, you feel the softness of your mattress beneath you and your blankets draped above you.
The last thing you feel before you shut your eyes is the weight of his bulky arm curling around your body and the heat of his chest against your back.