With his grip, his words, and with each thrust he took possession of her.

He was making her his own, shaping her, hollowing her out to remove any vestiges of inhibition and resistance. He wanted to break her, and then remake her. Once she was cleansed he would fill her with himself so that she was owned. Claimed.

She could feel it happening, but couldn’t stop it. She didn’t want to stop it. The more she sank into him the more she let go. And each time she let go a little more, he moved deeper into her taking up the space.

Like a boa constrictor whose coils tighten a little more each time the victim takes a breath, he takes more and more possession of her with each small step she takes to deeper depravity. And she wants to keep taking the next step.

She was nearly there. Soon, he knew, he would own her completely. He was making a slave.