There’s a sex shop a few blocks over.
I told her I had a surprise for her when she came over tonight.
Earlier today I bought her a tail and a pair of cat ears.
The ears were black. The tail matched except for a white spot on the tip of it.
They were laying on a platter next to a bottle of honey whiskey and two glasses.
The honey whiskey was to loosen her up enough so I could slip the Tail in her asshole.

Clip on those ears, and I have my cat girl waifu.
Strip you down, you’re my pet.
Listen to your master.
Knock everything off the table so I can fuck you on it.

There’s a knock on my door.
I take off my sweatpants over my socks and slippers.
She looks me in the eyes for only a second
Then she glances down at my erection.
“What the fuck?”
I grab her and hurry inside shutting the door behind her.
“I have a surprise for you, kitty.”
I take her by the hand and lead her through the living room and into my bedroom.
I lay down on my bed, open the bottle of whiskey, and pour it onto my stomach.
“Drink up.”
The liquor starts to reach my messy pubic hair.
She lowers her head down and laps it up with her tongue.

    On my body I feel her tongue
So in her body, I fill with cum
She purrs, her pussy purrs
Shooting my kitty with hot bolts

I grab her face and kiss her.
My mouth gets hot, she tastes like liquor.
I pull away from her and grab the bottle again.
I’ve poured half the bottle down her throat by now.
It is time.
Rolling her over onto her knees and elbow.
Her ass gesticulates in front of me.
I grab the tail and plop the metal end into my mouth.
One finger.
      Two fingers.
She is stretched and ready.
The tail slides into her ass with little resistance.
I have my little neko-girl, very kawaii.

Dreams come true, anime is real!
A neko-girl to pet, a neko-girl to fuck
The only thing she needs to be perfect
Is a huge, hefty cock

A Beautiful Day in Quarantine

Day 8 of Social Distancing—
Time has lost all meaning, what’s the point in leaving my house?
The life of a hikikomori calls me with its siren’s song.
Wake up, get stoned, masturbate, drink coffee, try to write, eat, binge a show/play video games for hours, get drunk, smoke more weed, eat, try to write again, masturbate, drink coffee, stare at the ceiling while listening to Japanese fusion jazz from the 80s until I pass out. Fan-fucking-tastic.
Personally, I was happy to be taking a break from my shitty bartending gig while they closed until it was all clear. But God it’s so awfully dull.

Each day I notice through my window blinds, less people outside wandering the streets of my small Appalachian town. I find it so easy to forget that we’re a few days into spring already. The town feels even quieter than usual but there are still some about. The first confirmed case of COVID-19 in the county was announced yesterday, a 70-year OB/GYN—likely soon to be the first death in the county as well. Wouldn’t be surprised if he inadvertently infected more than a few of his patients, I’m sure. And the babies! Think of all the babies he delivered this week! This is going to spread quickly now. So many boomers who deny the danger of the illness will likely regret it soon. Good riddance!

Distant murmurs,
Scattered sparrows warbling, and
The soft breeze of spring
Form an vernal ambiance as my lachrymose heart dawdles in nostalgia.
Not sure if now was the best time to quit, but cigarettes my body craves, just as my heart craves the taste of her lips and her wayward vibes.
I gave in and stood outside my door and smoked a cigarette
Empty streets
Finally some goddamn peace and quiet!
A beautiful day in quarantine.

Thinking of You

Some guys think of their muses as queens,
They’d do whatever they say
Stomp on me! Crush my balls! Can I cum?
Fucking SIMPS.
When I’m thinking of you,
You’re my whore
I don’t let your tired eyes fool me,
I know exactly what you want and how exactly you fucking want it.
Do what you’re told, be a good girl for me, now be bad. Scream, moan, and cry. Now shut the fuck up while I put my fist in your mouth.
Gag on my fat cock while I fuck your pretty face.
Back that ass up while I pull your hair.
Beg for my hot bolts, my supple seed, to fill you
Load after load
Till you’re dripping
I don’t give two shits if you cum, and if you don’t you’ll just beg at my feet for more.
I’m the fucking king
And you know I’m the fucking king.
My legs clench and
A few minutes later I realize
That I’m still holding my limp shaft.

Eye Down the Barrel

Right next to me
Each night
I sleep next to my loaded 9mm
Tucked ever gently in my nightstand,
At the ready for any unwelcome guest
When I’m alone it feels like it’s the only guest I have to keep me company. When the existential dread and loneliness permeates my being its cold body is all I have to hold. The option to rid myself of my eternal pain warms me up as it caresses my temple and then looks me dead in the eye, down it’s endless barrel.
Locked and cocked.
Maybe it’s better that instead
Each night
I sleep next to my unloaded 9mm

Brick and Mortar Cunt

She is a brick and mortar cunt,
Heavy garters over bulging thighs.
It takes more than just a stick of dynamite
To rock this whore’s foundation.

I am thermite!
Hitting hard! Precise! In all the right places.
I sink into her foundation.
She collapses into me.
A coordinated

The dust settles
No more echoes of an explosion
Just soft panting and barely audible moans
Her juices!
      Ever flowing!
Bursting pipes of ever flowing juices.

I am the flood.
Crushing deep.
A pasture beneath her breaking dam.
Suffocating in her deluge of juices.
She puts her hand on my head.
A drowning disaster.

I wash her away.
What remains is sopping rubble.
Ready for my molding.
And another spin on my pottery wheel.

The Baker

Cakes, confections, patisserie
Marzipan for my ham
Souffles every day
Both of us get our way
Your clothes start shrinking
Your rolls start stinking
My sweaty pig is mine alone
Cookies, pastries, mascarpone
Gravy-filled baster
Pumping in hot, meaty juices
Into her ripe, plump turkey
I peel away her light meat
To reveal that juicy, oleogustus dark meat
Prying her mouth open
With my thumbs
I fill her throat, her stomach
She balloons
From my salty and umami batter
Rare—but well done.