She trembled in the shower as the scalding hot water cascaded down her body. She sobbed uncontrollably, barely able to catch her breath. She would have to burn her clothes. She wanted the water to burn away her sins, the night, and her memory of it. Except it wouldn’t. Nothing ever would.

It has started about a week ago. Steve had been hungry, as he got occasionally. He had a temper, a primal animal in him that had to be fed. She’d been his cunt for years, through good and bad, the scariest times and the best. He was glorious, terrifying, kind, and sadistic. And she was good in every way that mattered to him.

She had met him fresh out of high school as she had started college. Innocent, ignorant, and useless. He had shown her that. It has taken time, but he had slowly excised everything in her life that displeased him until she was perfect. She knew, because he had told her so.

She had fallen in love instantly, but society didn’t approve of men like him. They didn’t understand how he saw her flaws and how best to correct them. She said stupid things, had stupid thoughts, and was always getting dates and times confused. He showed her just how fucking stupid she was. And when she was stupid, he had to hurt her. He had to correct her failings. Her friends didn’t understand that the bruises were from love. That they were given with care.

They wanted her to leave him, leave the one person who loved and understood her more than anyone else in the world. And she was supposed to be the crazy one? No, one by one, she cut them out of her life, even her closest friends and family. None of them understood. Only he did. And she loved him more than anything in the world. And when he asked her to drop out, she did. Because she needed him to understand that she would do anything for him.

And she knew deep down he needed her just as much. She knew how society hurt him, how much of his true self he had to hide. Wolves weren’t accepted in polite society anymore. So when he needed to vent, she took it. When a random urge poured through him, she was his canvas. Painted in reds, blacks, blues, tattoos, and even branded. Her commitment to the only thing that mattered was written all over her body.

She stayed inside mainly because marriage was a construct of society. She didn’t need their validation. She didn’t need society’s approval, he explained. She only needed to be there for him and she made sure she was. Mind, body, and soul. Even when the mind was concussed, the body bloodied, the soul gone, already his. The only thing that mattered was the moment and him.

And his friends. And his friends of friends. And people he owed money to. Whatever he wanted, she made sure he got it. Or they got her or took it from her. He had shown that she was too stupid to succeed, just a failure waiting to happen. No one else cared enough to tell her the truth but him. No one else cared enough to give her something she could be good for.

He got her tubes tied as he didn’t want kids and he explained someone like her couldn’t be a good mom anyway. She was too stupid, too selfish, and always getting things wrong. It was better this way. And she agreed. It took her time to get used to each new depravity, but she loved him and would do anything for him. When she hesitated, like with filming her with the dogs, he would just sit there, almost crying.

“I thought you were the one. I thought you truly loved and accepted me. I can’t believe I was wrong,” he would say to her.

And then she realized how selfish she was, that she was so fucking stupid, taking him for granted and making him feel like that. What the fuck was wrong with her? Deep down, because he had explained it so many times to her as she flinched and cried, she knew no one else would ever love her. Not like him. He was her world and she loved him. She would do anything for him.

And she did. On camera, off, she learned the taste of piss and shit, what a donkey punch was, and what being choked out was like. If they wanted a skewer through her tits, a fist in her ass, or a bat in her cunt, they got it. Because she loved him. She would do anything for him.

So when he started bringing new girls home, bar sluts, she would clean their cunts after. He liked that. He got tight cunts and fresh women, and she cleaned up their messes. She even sometimes played with them.

When things got too intense for the drunk college girls with bright eyes she once had, she held them for him. They didn’t understand his gifts or how he was making them better. They were even stupider than she was, some of them. So she helped hold them down as they screamed until his choking stopped them, threw a few punches to their pretty young faces, and forced some pills down their throats. And then, they would drop them off in an alley after. They would be confused, barely able to remember the night before. She pitied them. They would never be better like she had become. They would waste their lives trying to be something they weren’t. They weren’t lucky like her. They would never be loved as much as she was.