Wherein the Captain subjects cat women to forcible sex in the vagina, anus and mouth.
“Bend over, bend over goddamn it more you slut, I could smell your cunt from the next room, if you keep trying to fuck the internet we’ll see if your snatch can eat a mouse or not, the gaming kind with too many buttons.” He canes her upper thighs until there’s more red than white, her whimpers are a static background tone nobody would care about. “Did you think you could slut it around my house drinking milk and eating fish all day and not have to pay? Hips like yours mean you need fucking.”
He looks you over, with the turtleneck flaring at your bared arse, you’re a fucking cunt juice vaporiser in this dry weather. The only shaved part of your body is thrust up like an obscene bun splaying open roast beef and mustard. “You think you’d get off with petting like a cat girl? Cat girls go to primary school. Catwomen, catsluts like you are here to get fucked and hard.” He reams your arsehole with the tail plug you’ve worn since you took of your pants and then walked through the door hours ago. “Catwomen are for raping.”
Your belled collar jingles with each cane strike over your buttocks and cunt. You’re his fuck toy, you love it, it hurts you so. He feeds your mouth milk over and over all night petting your long spilling hair. His hands fondle your pert little ears, as pointed as your heaving tits, while a stream of flared cocked catboys from first year science rape your cunt in sequence. By morning you’re a pile of snot drool cum and juice. You purr, lick the jism from your cunt for breakfast, and sneak off for a nap in the sunshine on the carpet.
Location: Wherever she hiding from me.
Location: Making her choke on dick, with my mind.
