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", "description_bbcode_parsed": "a young assassin who grows to like killing due to trauma and her dog brutus ... you see where this is going. ", "writing": "STAY ON TARGET!\n\n\nIts a cold stormy night as my feral dog Brutus and I are on a steak-out. \nI was hired to assassinate some hot shot legal advisor. Usually I ask for ten-thousand as a down payment and have a month to prepare. This time as a down payment I was given sixty-thousand and another forty-thousand upon completion. \n\nSomeone wanted him dead and of course they came to me because I never miss my target. Plus I’m probably the youngest assassin and no one knows my identity. \n\nI made a fake profile, with a fake name, a fake species, a fake age, opened a fake bank account on the TOR traffic servers. \nOnline I’m known as Alisa Kitten-paws. A thirty-six-year-old divorcee that is six-foot-three, long blonde hair Lioness x tigress who was in prison for most of her life due to tax fraud. \n\nWhen in reality I’m a thirteen year old, four-foot-three, short dark hair, grey rabbit who goes by Silvia Soft. My real name is lost and Silvia is simply too cute to perceive as a threat. \n\nI sit in an abandoned hotel room almost in complete darkness. Waiting for the target to show their face. \nBrutus watches over me. Chewing on a bone I gave him to keep him preoccupied next to a subtle green light in front of his paws.\nAs I sit in the near darkness I contemplate how I got here. \nRemembering why I do this helps me focus and stay on target. \n\nIt all started the day my mother died. \nHer and my dad met in the Army. They were stationed together and one thing led to another. \nIt was rare for Rabbits like our kind to be stationed somewhere as we were just small and agile. Able to avoid and detect mines. \nThat was mom and dad’s job. They weren’t there to fight, just to protect their unit as sweepers. \n\nThough it wasn’t the war that killed her. \nIt was some drunk stallion that didn’t see her walk across the road while she was out grocery shopping at the mart around the corner from our house. \nDad was stationed overseas at the time and was forced to come home and leave the service. \n\nHe was never the same. \nTo take his mind off things he would often take me out to shooting ranges where he would shoot away his anger. \nAt one point I saw one of his hand guns and without asking I picked it up and fired it at a target. It nearly broke my wrist. \nDad was furious at me that I would even touch one of his weapons, let alone I could have hurt myself or accidentally shot myself. \n\nAll of that went away when he saw I hit the target dead centre. \n\nWhen my wrist was healed he took me out in the middle of nowhere and handed me his gun again. \nTeaching me how to hold it. Showing me the correct way to shoot. Advising me to breathe, line up the target in the sights, and pull the trigger. \nHe was amazed that all my shots were in rapid succession. That there was little kickback now that I knew what to expect. \nMore so at the fact I fired three bullets in three seconds. In those three seconds I hit all three targets. \n\nI mean, the targets were watermelons so it didn’t seem like such a huge deal to me. \nDad replaced the melons with bottles. \nThree shots, three seconds, three hits. \n\nHe said I was a natural. That it must have been in my genes. \nHe taught me so many different guns but the one weapon he saw I had the most potential in was a sniper rifle. \nAt nine years old I was planking targets at one-hundred yards using a custom built rifle he made for me. \nIt was only a bit taller than me, very lightweight, but the bullets were specially designed for my rifle alone. \nThey are called untraceable as there is no one who can make them nor identify them. No markings. No flaws. And took him more than a year to perfect. \n\nAs happy as we were, the more skilled I got the worse he became mentally. His mental health was declining and I was his distraction that was fading. \nHe noticed the older I was getting the more I reminded him of mom. \nUnknowingly he started to do my hair up like hers– a long triple-weaved pony-tail that would hang over my left shoulder. \nHe started to get clothes in my size that were exactly like mom’s. \n\nHe then started coming in to my room late at night. Every night. Drunk and crying. Telling me how much he missed me. Calling out my mom’s name. \nAt the start I fought him off until he kind of shook off the alcohol, leaving the room crying. \nBut eventually he started to overpower me. He would drug me. Making sure I was too weak to fight him. \n\nMy own father would spread my legs and push himself inside me. I used to think it was a dream. But I started to build up a resistance to the drugs over the months and quickly found it wasn’t a dream. My own father raped me. Calling me ‘Katherine’ as he pretended I was my mother back from the dead. I felt him fill me with his seed multiple times every night. Rubbing his wet meat over my body, over my lower and upper lips.\nIn the morning I always felt tainted. His dry seed all over my privates. In the shower I would scrub clean and cry. \nBut after a while the crying went from being cries of distress to cries of anger. \nI was becoming angry with him. The sight of him violating me each night would not leave my mind. \n\nIt drove me. It changed me. It corrupted me. His face became my targets. On each bottle, on each melon, on each target at the end of my scope. All I could see was his horrid face over me as he penetrated me. Violated me. \n\nOne day he was placing new targets for me to shoot. \nIt’s when I changed. \nI was nearing my tenth Christmas. Dad was down range changing out targets. \nSomething changed in me that day. I set up my rifle and I laid behind it. \nNo hesitation. No second thought. Just the sound of the wind and my own breathing that stopped only for a second to let off three quick rounds. \n\nI pick up my rifle and walked down range. Still no change in complexion or composure. \nI simply casually walked all the way to wear my dad was laying in the dirt screaming. \nBoth of his legs blown out at the knees and one through his right shoulder. \n\nHe looked up at me. Like he didn’t understand why I shot him. Confusion in his eyes as I stood over him. \nI didn’t say a word. I looked at him writhing in pain. \nI took the hunter’s knife out of his pocket, one he always loved to carry around, and I cut off his pants only to throw them aside. Moving them past his blown out knees would have been too much hassle. \n\nI kneeled down. His knife in my hand. I didn’t look at him nor hesitated. \nI put my fingers in his sheath. Grabbed his disgusting dick. Pulled on it until it was stretched out in to the open. Then took his own knife and sliced through his dick. Removing the weapon that tormented me for more than a year. \nAfter I grabbed his balls and did the same thing. \nI threw his severed pair and his disgusting severed dick at his face. No smile, no tears. No remorse. Then took my rifle, aimed it as his sobbing face, and pulled the trigger. \nAt this close of a range there wasn’t anything left of his head. \n\nI left him there. \nI left myself there. \nTook the designs and materials for new bullets and simply left to start a new life. \n\nFrom there it was pretty simple. Started taking small jobs. Cash in hand. \nWhen I was starving I would do the unthinkable down dark alleyways. Finding old drunk perverts who wanted to spend money for a quick good time. \nThough, often I never let them get that far. \nUsually they would be found later on that night or the next day with severed genitals and their wallets missing. \nSometimes I would only score about twenty-bucks. Others I would score a few hundred. It was always hit and miss. \n\nIt was in to my eleventh year when my own hormones were acting up. \nI thought it was memories with my dad tormenting me. Some days I had to let old drug men use me to completion just so I would get over the feelings and thoughts. \nMy old man’s parting gift made me more fucked in the head. \nThen those that would fill me with their seed eventually found a bullet in their head. \n\nIt just so happened that one time I took the life of a mob boss that was so hated that they offered a reward to the person who shot him. \nI got in contact via simple letters and set up a drop point. \n\nLittle me grabbed the cash and I noticed I was followed by both mobsters and law enforcement. Or perhaps just crooked cops. I never did find out. \nInstead I simply ran and vanished with more than six-grand in cash. I thought it was a lot of money. \n\nBut all it took was to go to an internet cafe, create a fake TOR profile that was untraceable. Then BAM. I was being offered money for hits left, right and centre. \n\nIn my twelfth year is when I found Brutus. He was still just a small puppy yet already as big as I was. \nHe was just a lost hungry feral dog. I took pity on him and he came up to me practically skin and bones with no home or owner. No tags. No chips. \nWho would have thought that just by feeding him, bathing him, and giving him a warm place to stay that he would have become my greatest companion. \n\nDoesn’t help that when I’m in heat he definitely smells it. \n\nHe cornered me one night when I was at my most vulnerable and I needed a hard pounding. \nMay have thought to have been wrong, but I was an assassin killing people. Sex with a dog didn’t seem any worse than that. \nThough it came close when I felt just how huge he got during sex. \nHe almost ripped me in two. \nHis hard meat stabbed me really deep as his slobbery breath was tucked in at the nape of my neck. \n\nFor a small pup he was still so very big. His knot swelled in me and I screamed so hard I had to grab a pillow just to muffle it. He and I stayed tied for almost a whole hour. My stomach hurt, as I’m sure his own dick hurt. He was whining as he tried to pull his knot out. Dragging me on the floor behind him. Making me whine in pain as well. \nIt was a relief for both of us when he knot finally had gone down enough for both of us to finally be separated as his dick fell out of me followed by a river of dog-cum. \n\nI stayed in the same position as his contents emptied from me. My crotch on fire and bleeding a bit from being over stretched. Yet, after only a few minutes, Brutus was back to pounding me again. I squealed as I wasn’t ready and he pushed against me. I wasn’t able to get away and my body wanted to move on its own towards him. As soon as he pushed back in my nether region was on fire and they just wanted more of him then ever before. He lasted longer with the pounding the second time yet he was even rougher. Biting my ear gently. Huffing and growling as I felt his whole rod swell up again and his knot formed and tied us together again. \n\nOnly this time he kept pushing in me. Trying to fuck me while being tied. Making me squeal and moan as his swollen knot was trying to be pushed even deeper inside me. \nSoon again he cocked his leg and turned opposite me. Tying me to him. Our asses and tails toward each other as I felt his dick spray my insides with his hot cum yet again. \nI was huffing as much as he was. Pushing myself on his swollen dick. I wanted him to keep pounding me. \n\nFor that whole night, he would knot me, we would be tied shorter and shorter lengths each time, a few moments of rest, and he would be back to pounding me again and again. \n\nWhen the sun came up he was remarkably tired yet his dick was still so hard. At this point I lat him lay there as I was now on top of him. Riding his belly and his cock. Feeling his front paws on my shoulders like as if he was holding me in his own way as his endlessly shooting rod filled me up more and more. I was so horny for him and his cock that the sun was fully in the sky when I finally had my fill. \n\nThe whole apartment in this abandoned apartment block smelt like his cum and my own juices. It made us both happy. \nAnd from that day on we were inseparable. \nSometimes I wonder if he is my pet or if I am his. Other times I don't look at him as a pet but rather a boyfriend, or a master. \n\nBut no matter what I still think back to my own father. And all that he put me through. There are days when Brutus’ forcefulness puts me on edge and I have to fight him off. Yet he has grown to understand me. Yet that hatefulness I have still remains and helps me keep focus. Brutus is merely here as a reminder there are better things to life and love is real. \n\nMany don’t condone it. Yet they would like the fact I kill people even less. We go everywhere together and over the next year he grew in size and I grew in reputation. \n\n\nWhich leads us to us staking out this building. I gave Brutus the bone as I needed to keep him distracted just long enough. \nI have a picture of my target– A young Lion. In his file is only certain details about his work life and some habits.\nI have been trying to case him for weeks. Following his schedule. Watching his every move. \nHe comes to this particular place once a month, always on a Wednesday, always at midnight. I have a hidden camera in the room where they always have sex. \nHim and some sheep-woman he keeps screwing. \nWell, correction, she screws him. \nShe ties him to some wooden cross where she whips his ass. Dawns a strap-on and penetrates him. After he ejaculates she pulls out needles and pushes them in to each his balls. Not sure how that would be enjoyable but he makes him erect just so she can pound his ass until he ejaculates again. \n\nI’m forced to watch this all night right up until she has him on the bed in reverse-cowgirl position. \nAt which point I aim through the blacked-out window and take the shot. \nOnly to quickly look on the camera and see that I was right on the money with a clean headshot. All while the woman continues to ride his corpse. \nWhen she realises it, she is going to need a lot of therapy. \n\nBut who am I to talk about therapy. After all. I got worked up by watching their perversion. \nIn the near darkness I strip off my pants, put on the gag with a muzzle attached and bend over for my man. \n\nHe didn’t need more of a hint than that. He was now double the size of me. His dick has doubled in size. His knot has doubled in size. \nIf it weren’t for having sex with him every week as he was growing, I would have never been able to take him like he is now. He has destroyed normal sex for me. His dick can be seen fucking my stomach as it bulges me out, and his knot grows so much it almost makes it look like I’m four months pregnant. \nHe even cums more volume and swells me up. His dick penetrates my womb and he expands my insides with his hot cum. \n\nHe fucks me three times longer than he used to. Making me cum, squirt and piss myself from all of her driving pressure. He explodes with fierceness as his rod drives in hard upon climax. His knot trembles as his large balls pulsate against my vaginal lips. \nI am definitely his bitch when it comes to breeding. I can’t get enough of him. He drives me absolutely wild. \n\nIn the darkness we mate and I occasional glance over at the sheep who continues to ride the lion corpse. She doesn’t even notice. All she cares about is his rigor mortis erection that is still filling her up I suppose. Unless she is in to necrophilia. \n\nEh. To each their own. I’m to busy with a dog dick buried in me to care. Moaning like a bitch in heat as he stabs me with his huge dick as his knot swells to the size of a small melon inside my preteen snatch. \n\nThis is the life. But no matter what. All I can care about are three things. \n\nWill I ever become pregnant to Brutus? \nI hope I get paid for this job!\nAnd ... Who’s next?! \n\nOh Brutus! I love you so much! Fuck me! Fill me! Don’t ever stop! I LOVE YOU! \n\nTalk about staying on target... When i stare down the length of his dick .... It almost looks like a bullseye. The best target for my hungry lips! \n", "writing_bbcode_parsed": "STAY ON TARGET!


Its a cold stormy night as my feral dog Brutus and I are on a steak-out.
I was hired to assassinate some hot shot legal advisor. Usually I ask for ten-thousand as a down payment and have a month to prepare. This time as a down payment I was given sixty-thousand and another forty-thousand upon completion.

Someone wanted him dead and of course they came to me because I never miss my target. Plus I’m probably the youngest assassin and no one knows my identity.

I made a fake profile, with a fake name, a fake species, a fake age, opened a fake bank account on the TOR traffic servers.
Online I’m known as Alisa Kitten-paws. A thirty-six-year-old divorcee that is six-foot-three, long blonde hair Lioness x tigress who was in prison for most of her life due to tax fraud.

When in reality I’m a thirteen year old, four-foot-three, short dark hair, grey rabbit who goes by Silvia Soft. My real name is lost and Silvia is simply too cute to perceive as a threat.

I sit in an abandoned hotel room almost in complete darkness. Waiting for the target to show their face.
Brutus watches over me. Chewing on a bone I gave him to keep him preoccupied next to a subtle green light in front of his paws.
As I sit in the near darkness I contemplate how I got here.
Remembering why I do this helps me focus and stay on target.

It all started the day my mother died.
Her and my dad met in the Army. They were stationed together and one thing led to another.
It was rare for Rabbits like our kind to be stationed somewhere as we were just small and agile. Able to avoid and detect mines.
That was mom and dad’s job. They weren’t there to fight, just to protect their unit as sweepers.

Though it wasn’t the war that killed her.
It was some drunk stallion that didn’t see her walk across the road while she was out grocery shopping at the mart around the corner from our house.
Dad was stationed overseas at the time and was forced to come home and leave the service.

He was never the same.
To take his mind off things he would often take me out to shooting ranges where he would shoot away his anger.
At one point I saw one of his hand guns and without asking I picked it up and fired it at a target. It nearly broke my wrist.
Dad was furious at me that I would even touch one of his weapons, let alone I could have hurt myself or accidentally shot myself.

All of that went away when he saw I hit the target dead centre.

When my wrist was healed he took me out in the middle of nowhere and handed me his gun again.
Teaching me how to hold it. Showing me the correct way to shoot. Advising me to breathe, line up the target in the sights, and pull the trigger.  
He was amazed that all my shots were in rapid succession. That there was little kickback now that I knew what to expect.
More so at the fact I fired three bullets in three seconds. In those three seconds I hit all three targets.

I mean, the targets were watermelons so it didn’t seem like such a huge deal to me.
Dad replaced the melons with bottles.
Three shots, three seconds, three hits.

He said I was a natural. That it must have been in my genes.
He taught me so many different guns but the one weapon he saw I had the most potential in was a sniper rifle.
At nine years old I was planking targets at one-hundred yards using a custom built rifle he made for me.
It was only a bit taller than me, very lightweight, but the bullets were specially designed for my rifle alone.
They are called untraceable as there is no one who can make them nor identify them. No markings. No flaws. And took him more than a year to perfect.

As happy as we were, the more skilled I got the worse he became mentally. His mental health was declining and I was his distraction that was fading.
He noticed the older I was getting the more I reminded him of mom.
Unknowingly he started to do my hair up like hers– a long triple-weaved pony-tail that would hang over my left shoulder.
He started to get clothes in my size that were exactly like mom’s.

He then started coming in to my room late at night. Every night. Drunk and crying. Telling me how much he missed me. Calling out my mom’s name.
At the start I fought him off until he kind of shook off the alcohol, leaving the room crying.
But eventually he started to overpower me. He would drug me. Making sure I was too weak to fight him.

My own father would spread my legs and push himself inside me. I used to think it was a dream. But I started to build up a resistance to the drugs over the months and quickly found it wasn’t a dream. My own father raped me. Calling me ‘Katherine’ as he pretended I was my mother back from the dead. I felt him fill me with his seed multiple times every night. Rubbing his wet meat over my body, over my lower and upper lips.
In the morning I always felt tainted. His dry seed all over my privates. In the shower I would scrub clean and cry.
But after a while the crying went from being cries of distress to cries of anger.
I was becoming angry with him. The sight of him violating me each night would not leave my mind.

It drove me. It changed me. It corrupted me. His face became my targets. On each bottle, on each melon, on each target at the end of my scope. All I could see was his horrid face over me as he penetrated me. Violated me.

One day he was placing new targets for me to shoot.
It’s when I changed.
I was nearing my tenth Christmas. Dad was down range changing out targets.
Something changed in me that day. I set up my rifle and I laid behind it.
No hesitation. No second thought. Just the sound of the wind and my own breathing that stopped only for a second to let off three quick rounds.

I pick up my rifle and walked down range. Still no change in complexion or composure.
I simply casually walked all the way to wear my dad was laying in the dirt screaming.
Both of his legs blown out at the knees and one through his right shoulder.

He looked up at me. Like he didn’t understand why I shot him. Confusion in his eyes as I stood over him.
I didn’t say a word. I looked at him writhing in pain.
I took the hunter’s knife out of his pocket, one he always loved to carry around, and I cut off his pants only to throw them aside. Moving them past his blown out knees would have been too much hassle.

I kneeled down. His knife in my hand. I didn’t look at him nor hesitated.
I put my fingers in his sheath. Grabbed his disgusting dick. Pulled on it until it was stretched out in to the open. Then took his own knife and sliced through his dick. Removing the weapon that tormented me for more than a year.
After I grabbed his balls and did the same thing.
I threw his severed pair and his disgusting severed dick at his face. No smile, no tears. No remorse. Then took my rifle, aimed it as his sobbing face, and pulled the trigger.
At this close of a range there wasn’t anything left of his head.

I left him there.
I left myself there.
Took the designs and materials for new bullets and simply left to start a new life.

From there it was pretty simple. Started taking small jobs. Cash in hand.
When I was starving I would do the unthinkable down dark alleyways. Finding old drunk perverts who wanted to spend money for a quick good time.
Though, often I never let them get that far.
Usually they would be found later on that night or the next day with severed genitals and their wallets missing.
Sometimes I would only score about twenty-bucks. Others I would score a few hundred. It was always hit and miss.

It was in to my eleventh year when my own hormones were acting up.
I thought it was memories with my dad tormenting me. Some days I had to let old drug men use me to completion just so I would get over the feelings and thoughts.
My old man’s parting gift made me more fucked in the head.
Then those that would fill me with their seed eventually found a bullet in their head.

It just so happened that one time I took the life of a mob boss that was so hated that they offered a reward to the person who shot him.
I got in contact via simple letters and set up a drop point.

Little me grabbed the cash and I noticed I was followed by both mobsters and law enforcement. Or perhaps just crooked cops. I never did find out.
Instead I simply ran and vanished with more than six-grand in cash. I thought it was a lot of money.

But all it took was to go to an internet cafe, create a fake TOR profile that was untraceable. Then BAM. I was being offered money for hits left, right and centre.

In my twelfth year is when I found Brutus. He was still just a small puppy yet already as big as I was.
He was just a lost hungry feral dog. I took pity on him and he came up to me practically skin and bones with no home or owner. No tags. No chips.
Who would have thought that just by feeding him, bathing him, and giving him a warm place to stay that he would have become my greatest companion.

Doesn’t help that when I’m in heat he definitely smells it.

He cornered me one night when I was at my most vulnerable and I needed a hard pounding.
May have thought to have been wrong, but I was an assassin killing people. Sex with a dog didn’t seem any worse than that.
Though it came close when I felt just how huge he got during sex.
He almost ripped me in two.
His hard meat stabbed me really deep as his slobbery breath was tucked in at the nape of my neck.

For a small pup he was still so very big. His knot swelled in me and I screamed so hard I had to grab a pillow just to muffle it. He and I stayed tied for almost a whole hour. My stomach hurt, as I’m sure his own dick hurt. He was whining as he tried to pull his knot out. Dragging me on the floor behind him. Making me whine in pain as well.
It was a relief for both of us when he knot finally had gone down enough for both of us to finally be separated as his dick fell out of me followed by a river of dog-cum.

I stayed in the same position as his contents emptied from me. My crotch on fire and bleeding a bit from being over stretched. Yet, after only a few minutes, Brutus was back to pounding me again. I squealed as I wasn’t ready and he pushed against me. I wasn’t able to get away and my body wanted to move on its own towards him. As soon as he pushed back in my nether region was on fire and they just wanted more of him then ever before. He lasted longer with the pounding the second time yet he was even rougher. Biting my ear gently. Huffing and growling as I felt his whole rod swell up again and his knot formed and tied us together again.

Only this time he kept pushing in me. Trying to fuck me while being tied. Making me squeal and moan as his swollen knot was trying to be pushed even deeper inside me.
Soon again he cocked his leg and turned opposite me. Tying me to him. Our asses and tails toward each other as I felt his dick spray my insides with his hot cum yet again.
I was huffing as much as he was. Pushing myself on his swollen dick. I wanted him to keep pounding me.

For that whole night, he would knot me, we would be tied shorter and shorter lengths each time, a few moments of rest, and he would be back to pounding me again and again.

When the sun came up he was remarkably tired yet his dick was still so hard. At this point I lat him lay there as I was now on top of him. Riding his belly and his cock. Feeling his front paws on my shoulders like as if he was holding me in his own way as his endlessly shooting rod filled me up more and more. I was so horny for him and his cock  that the sun was fully in the sky when I finally had my fill.

The whole apartment in this abandoned apartment block smelt like his cum and my own juices. It made us both happy.
And from that day on we were inseparable.
Sometimes I wonder if he is my pet or if I am his. Other times I don't look at him as a pet but rather a boyfriend, or a master.

But no matter what I still think back to my own father. And all that he put me through. There are days when Brutus’ forcefulness puts me on edge and I have to fight him off. Yet he has grown to understand me. Yet that hatefulness I have still remains and helps me keep focus. Brutus is merely here as a reminder there are better things to life and love is real.

Many don’t condone it. Yet they would like the fact I kill people even less. We go everywhere together and over the next year he grew in size and I grew in reputation.


Which leads us to us staking out this building. I gave Brutus the bone as I needed to keep him distracted just long enough.
I have a picture of my target– A young Lion. In his file is only certain details about his work life and some habits.
I have been trying to case him for weeks. Following his schedule. Watching his every move.
He comes to this particular place once a month, always on a Wednesday, always at midnight. I have a hidden camera in the room where they always have sex.
Him and some sheep-woman he keeps screwing.
Well, correction, she screws him.
She ties him to some wooden cross where she whips his ass. Dawns a strap-on and penetrates him. After he ejaculates she pulls out needles and pushes them in to each his balls. Not sure how that would be enjoyable but he makes him erect just so she can pound his ass until he ejaculates again.

I’m forced to watch this all night right up until she has him on the bed in reverse-cowgirl position.
At which point I aim through the blacked-out window and take the shot.
Only to quickly look on the camera and see that I was right on the money with a clean headshot. All while the woman continues to ride his corpse.
When she realises it, she is going to need a lot of therapy.

But who am I to talk about therapy. After all. I got worked up by watching their perversion.
In the near darkness I strip off my pants, put on the gag with a muzzle attached and bend over for my man.

He didn’t need more of a hint than that. He was now double the size of me. His dick has doubled in size. His knot has doubled in size.
If it weren’t for having sex with him every week as he was growing, I would have never been able to take him like he is now. He has destroyed normal sex for me. His dick can be seen fucking my stomach as it bulges me out, and his knot grows so much it almost makes it look like I’m four months pregnant.
He even cums more volume and swells me up. His dick penetrates my womb and he expands my insides with his hot cum.

He fucks me three times longer than he used to. Making me cum, squirt and piss myself from all of her driving pressure. He explodes with fierceness as his rod drives in hard upon climax. His knot trembles as his large balls pulsate against my vaginal lips.
I am definitely his bitch when it comes to breeding. I can’t get enough of him. He drives me absolutely wild.

In the darkness we mate and I occasional glance over at the sheep who continues to ride the lion corpse. She doesn’t even notice. All she cares about is his rigor mortis erection that is still filling her up I suppose. Unless she is in to necrophilia.

Eh. To each their own. I’m to busy with a dog dick buried in me to care. Moaning like a bitch in heat as he stabs me with his huge dick as his knot swells to the size of a small melon inside my preteen snatch.

This is the life. But no matter what. All I can care about are three things.

Will I ever become pregnant to Brutus?
I hope I get paid for this job!
And ... Who’s next?!

Oh Brutus! I love you so much! Fuck me! Fill me! Don’t ever stop! I LOVE YOU!

Talk about staying on target... When i stare down the length of his dick .... It almost looks like a bullseye. The best target for my hungry lips!
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