Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/7792687.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Kid_vs._Kat_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Coop_Burtonburger/Mr._Kat
  Character:
      Mr._Kat, Coop_Burtonburger, Burt_Burtonberger, Millie_Burtonburger
  Additional Tags:
      beastiality, Master/Pet, Anal_Sex, Anal_Fingering, Anal_Play,
      Masturbation, Sleep_Sex, Rough_Sex
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-08-17 Words: 3300
****** Love Stains: A Sofa Story ******
by Avid_Moron_(Nevermore9)
Summary
     Mr. Kat's tired of sharing his sofa.
The cushion was permanently stained with an imprint of Coop's thirteen year old
butt, that, and an embarassing stain the boy had to hide away after he'd
spilled himself while watching a mature movie late one night. Personal bodily
fluids on something usually marked that something as yours. So why was Kat
curled up on the sofa every passing hour? Coop figured spite was a large
portion of the answer.
Ever since Coop fell in love with the new sofa, its comforting curves and
plushy fabric, he noticed sitting on it less and less. Mr. Kat made sure to
cling to the sofa like a hairball on the kitchen floor whenever anyone so much
as put an eye on it. Now it bore the scars of alien claws, sleepy scratches
from Mr. Kat's bedtime preparations. Spinning, extending his nails into the
polyurethane foam as if it were a ball of yarn, then spinning around once more
before lying down for a snooze: it was the same routine. Kat's new habits had
ruined what was once Coop's favorite time of the day.
Midnight. Red numbers spelling out twelve o'clock roused Coop's eyelids as they
drifted closer to closed. He patted the alarm clock next to him like an old
friend while he stretched himself out. The sofa had been cat-free since last
night, Coop took the oppurtunity to retake his terrority. If staying awake all
night was what it would take to keep Mr. Kat from his favorite sofa then he was
prepared for it.
Snacks filled the empty spaces between one armrest and the other- chips,
crackers, cakes, and enough soda to knee sleep in the groin before hacking a
loogie onto its broken body. Nested awkwardly in the middle of this was Coop
lounging in his underwear, because when no one was around relaxation took
precedence over decency. The television blurted unrelated phrases and shouts as
Coop flipped through channels, searching for the station with either the most
uncensored nudity or mindless violence, whichever came first.
Rapid gunfire blasting over wailing cries flooded the room as an action movie
took control of the television screen. Coop had found his station, and Mr. Kat
had never been more aroused. Blood oozing from a burst spore of bubbling puss
drew Kat out from his burrow beneath the sofa. Warring shadows, piercing each
other with scores of bullets, cha-cha slided across an evergrowing grin on Mr.
Kat's face. His tail decimated a line of dust bunnies while he inched nearer to
the light of the gore-bath ahead.
A femur crunched. Kat shuddered, imagining the shattered bone under his paw.
Smooth skin, delicate and naked, waiting to be unwrapped by the gentle incision
of metal. Skin like Cooper's. Like Cooper's?
It was the tickle of a tiny hair on Mr. Kat's scalp that coaxed the rest of his
slender belly into the welcoming darkness of the livingroom. His eyes flashed
to the dangling limb on the side of the sofa. The action movie faded into the
white noise of the background as Kat went on daydreaming with a sinister glint
in his bottomless eyes. What would Cooper's exposed leg look like peeled of its
flesh?
Kat mounted the cushion in a single leap. Immediately, a fizzy secretion soaked
his paw, and Coop's snoring breathed hot air on his backside. Pulling himself
free from a sticky cluster of popcorn, Mr. Kat batted away the leaking soda
bottle spreading its fructose gunk across his shoulder. Crinkled bags and empty
wrappers made a fuss with every movement. Something foreign distracted Kat from
the need to lick himself clean of the junk food groping him.
Tears from a child on the TV lured Mr. Kat's attention. He peered to the Coop
who had dozed off under the pressure of latenight exhaustion. Despite the ball
of snot inflating on the edge of Cooper's nose, and the stream of drool along
his bottom lip, he looked good enough to be a substitute for the crying boy.
Bizarrely, it was difficult to picture Cooper sobbing in the same helpless way
as the little boy on the screen, but Kat found he could satisfy himself by
merely enjoying the likeness between the two.
It was delicious. Grunts of a fight scene in the rain quickly superceded the
waves of sweet innocence from the boy on the TV, yet Kat couldn't stop
concentrating on those seasick whimpers in his mind. The feel of Coop's
underwear slid down Mr. Kat's purple backside. His pulse became fanatical, and
the scene of a skirmish for supremacy between a hero and a villain absorbed his
abyssal pupils entirely. Battle constantly on replay in Mr. Kat's memory,
emerging in his sadistically calculated fantasies. Pain became a delicacy in
the delicate moments of battle, giving, as well as recieving.
Sex blurred with violence. Cat claws unsheathed, the size of shark teeth,
itching to rend sweat covered skin, rabid for the experience of penetration.
Relief was found temporarily in a couch pillow. Squeezing it, manipulating the
pillow in twisting contortions that Coop would strain to mimic. His human body
would glisten, bend, and be drained like a moldy gutter of grease cleaned with
arsenic mouthwash. Mr. Kat couldn't be any harder.
Tearing fabric was like music played on rusted violins. Pillow intestines
curled around Kat's crooked paws in mangled up heaps while he savored the hump
of Cooper's dreaming arousal. The opposition of bodies, trying to fit together
with the resistance of incorrect puzzle pieces. It was heroin. Kat was drunk on
the chemicals coursing throughout his anatomy. The spines of Mr. Kat's
reproductive organ snagged on the sleeping boy's underwear, and the feline
rocked back and forth with the swelling of a coming climax.
On the TV, a bruised hero thrust his blade into the breast of his adversary.
Blood spurted, dripping down the camera lens. The villain's face was a
priceless artifact. Their jaw hung completely open, as if death had been such a
rapture that they couldn't help but cream themselves in the moment. Kat
related. His knees held all the balance of rattling tambourines, and the
grinding which had begun between his penis and the pair of underwear underneath
reminded him of a cactus on fine grain sandpaper. That rugged victory, however,
was the crowning cherry. It didn't fit Coop as well as the military man in the
action film; not that it mattered. Fear sprinkled scarcely on a dish was more
impactful than a punch of scotch. Fear made tasting a boy's pain quite
gratifying.
Mr. Kat ejaculated. The corners of his wolfish smile were pinned like bloodied
t-shirts on a serial killer's clothesline while his brain swam in a tsunami of
orgasm. Rubbing himself out until breaking point left Mr. Kat flat on his back.
If that was nirvana, then what could delving into the caverns of Cooper be? He
scarcely mulled it over.
Coop Burtonburger certainly had no idea what a hangover was like, but waking up
after his midnight junk fling, he had a pretty good idea. It was still early in
the morning, neither his father or sister were awake, as far as he could tell.
That probably gave him enough time to clean up the rat's nest he had left
behind and get dressed. Though, the task of rolling off the sofa was more
difficult than either of those. A breathing weight was snuggled in his lap, and
some form of crust caked his chest and his cheeks. Coop cracked open his eyes.
Horrified, he discovered his month old love stain visible on the sofa,
overlapped by a second patch of DNA that was in no way human.
In the bathroom, after scaring away a snoozing Mr. Kat from his stomach, Coop
scrubbed himself with a damp sponge. The residue on his skin made for a few
hefty minutes of dabbing and scraping, until finally most of it was
unrecognizable. As for the smell, that didn't disappear so easily. After a
shower and a half, Coop still reeked of a pungent acidity. At a loss, he snuck
some of his dad's overpowering deodorant, which only somewhat helped.
"What did that cat do to me?"
While changing in his room, Coop brooded over plausible schemes that Kat might
be plotting. He ruled out the bitter substance he awoke with as toxic waste,
since his flesh hadn't melted off yet, and decided it couldn't be slime from a
batch of alien eggs implanted in his throat, because he'd seen Mr. Kat's
hairless testes enough unfortunate times to know he's definitely not female.
Without any credibility towards those two theories, Coop was dry of ideas.
Nonetheless, as always, the boy decided to investigate Mr. Kat's twisted ways.
He pulled up his pants and bounded down the stairs, wondering if he might find
a clue or two on the sofa he had unwittingly shared with Kat last night.
However, his dad appeared to have beaten him to it. Burt Burtonburger stood in
the living room, holding up a defluffed pillow with a rigid look of
disappointment.
Coop reacted with his natural reflex. "I didn't do it!"
His father breathed a merciful sigh. The feline quality in the annihilation of
the furniture ornament was evident, so much so that Burt would find it a
discomfort to his identity as a parent if he pinned it solely on his son.
Luckily, another blemish of misbehavior was very un-catlike. "I suppose the
stain on the sofa was the cat too?"
Before Coop could raise a pinky finger in protest his disciplinarily devout dad
pointed him upstairs. Coincidently, the same upstairs was home to Mr. Kat's
morning scoutings and nighttime prowlings. On top of it all, it just so
happened that, like a salty crocodile slumbering beneath the surface of an
algae pond, the kitty was indulging his loathsome passion for sloth atop
Cooper's mattress. Yet, the feline had not the slightest idea that the subject
of his deathless hatred was enroute to discovering his dozing self.
The door flew open on its hinges and Mr. Kat's waxy ears perked up in alarm. In
the four steps it took Cooper to plop his flat butt onto his bed, Mr. Kat had
successfully tangled himself up in a swollen welt of yellow blanketry. Cooper's
weight fell over his bed like a toppled Colossus, and Kat, stealthily avoiding
detection, might've been squashed if he hadn't taken advantage of Coop's
distracted annoyance at his father and leapt far from sight.
Kat hit the carpet with the grace of a feather. For a moment he blinked
quizzically at the adolescent lying on the last remaining bed which welcomed
him, before scurrying to the rot eaten frame of the closet. There, within the
spider infested bowels of larvae feed, which could have been mistaken for a t-
shirt or three, and pants which were no more than moth breeders in pretend, Mr.
Kat felt betrayed. Millie had recently confined him to the floor, keeping
anything in her room remotely favored off-limits, Burt hung around with him as
often as a decayed leper, and now Coop spread his control to one of Mr. Kat's
final solaces.
On his bed, the boy sat as an unknowing target of Kat's choleric gaze. He
reached for a comic in his nightstand drawer, easing down the zipper on his
shorts. Between the pages of the Atomic Age horror magazine was a plethora of
unsettling turn ons for the hormone drowned, teenage brain. Included in the
circus of titillation was a blonde woman on page twenty-four who was trapped in
the deplorable situation of being held against her will by a monsterous rat
king, boring his bloodshot peepers into her exposed nipples while he gnashed
his dentures. This was Cooper's favorite page.
When Coop uncovered his erect genitalia, Mr. Kat concluded it was the most
oppurtune time to further the boy's punishment. Cautiously, Kat crept to the
bedroom door, keeping an ear trained on Cooper's puppy-like whines playing
their singsong notes. It was delectable, how pitiful the masturbating teen
sounded. Then suddenly a pair of hair-raising screams interrupted everything
like a celestial church choir as Mr. Kat threw the door open. On one hand was
Cooper, wailing in shock at his abrupt exposure, and on the other hand was
Millie, screeching so that the whole neighborhood trembled with an earache,
because she was seeing her brother in the most revolting of ways imaginable to
her fairly innocent imagination.
Shoveling Kat's litter box was to be penace for Coop, who labored in the
basement while his father drove his sister to a supposed girl's community
meeting, though he knew it was a lie. The discolored stone rooms, below the
main house, smelt of stale urine. Mr. Kat's litter box sat shamefully in the
corner, stinking of excrement. Inches from the heap of partly decomposed filth,
Coop gagged. A faint flavor of sunbaked fish snaked up Cooper's nostrils and
slithered over his tongue with the taste of musty perfume. Dwelling on the
infuriated yowls of his father managed to relieve Coop of the fetor.
Meanwhile, Mr. Kat bounded down the basement stairway with the clandestine
giddiness of a tossed slinky. The feline's translucent haws blinked across each
eye when he spied Cooper's rear wiggling with every scoop of litter the boy
shoveled into a trashbag. It wasn't hard to picture Cooper's butt as a painted
target. So, like a horny rattlesnake who's greased his belly, Kat squirmed
towards his prey.
It was the graze of velvety cat against Cooper's hip which made his skeleton
lurch out of alignment with his skin and other organs. After the child's heart
bumped his throat, Mr. Kat began to dribble a delicate trickle of piss onto
Cooper's hand. Lukewarm urine soaked his fingers like cooking oil, and formed a
yellow puddle upon the stone floor. Heated, the teen grit his face into a
wrathful contortion, but during the moment he opened his lips to curse, Kat
gracefully raised his tail and backed up his hindquarters. Kissing Cooper's
pallid mouth was Mr. Kat's dimple of an anus.
Coop gagged as his tongue snuck in to taste the vulgar flavors of Kat. Used
kitty litter, and dead lemon, splotched with arsenic spots, buzzed over the
boy's tastebuds. He choked down a secretion of hot bodily fluid. Grease, grime,
oils like bitter garlic juice, lubricated Cooper's pig pink tongue, filling his
empty stomach with painful, nauseous nausea. Mean Mr. Kat merely moved his rear
further into his target's face, catching the teen's knobby nose in the crook of
his cockatrice tail. The vomit laced saliva of Cooper's drooling lips coated
Kat's flesh with a savory warmth. It comforted his hairlessness like a roaring
fireplace on Christmas morning.
Drinking the scents of summer rubbish, the sour zing of salty crocodile tears,
Coop cursed up and down and sideways, telling himself he'd rather be within the
ass of a skunk than the stink of Kat. He finally was allowed to pop his tongue
out of his cat's pulsating anus when the ring loosened, as it puckered and
spread with the contractions of smooching lips. Coop's forehead hit the floor.
An elixir of spit mixed with fecal residue seeped from his traumatized mouth,
collecting in a tiny ocean beneath his sweating, smelling body.
Mr. Kat was unhappy. He spun towards the reeling Coop, desperately hacking up
his intestines onto the basement stone, hoping to empty himself of Kat. The
feline blinked, absorbing the picture of a broken teen in his aphotic pupils,
which made up his entire eyes. Just seeing Cooper try to barf the taste of him
back into his throat excited Kat more than his previous conquests. He had been
given melted trust, glazed with insecurity, fed virginity, swallowed globs and
gushes of his boss' most luscious stuff, while climbing to the tippy top of
corporate planetary invasion. He had sampled friends' fudge sauce, delved in
womanly pastries, oozing cat custard, and drowned himself in underdeveloped
jelly. There was not one delight he hadn't tried, scratches, claw marks,
candles, and under the table, but none as exciting as Cooper's fragile,
gelatinous human form. Kat could never get enough.
Nails, like tempered diamond, shredded the seat of Cooper's pants. Kat snapped
off the waistband of Coop's underwear, and pounced. Spines were the first thing
Cooper felt. Tiny needles, like the linings of a cactus or a pine, bit into the
spotless flesh of Cooper's innards. The reflex which made his anus squeeze down
around Kat's thorny erection didn't help to dull the sensation either. The
initial pain that brought fresh water to Coop's eyes only diminished, he was
embarrassed to admit to himself, after Mr. Kat began a steam engine type
movement of constant thrust and pull back. This momentum had the quality of
trimmed fingernails drawing shapes, instead of a rosebush stem craving
pictures; but despite the near gentility, Kat had Cooper shouting "Hey"s and
"Ho"s as if he was singing Blitzkrieg Bop.
Lithe, hairless skin cupped Cooper's buttocks while Kat's hips stuck to the boy
like loose glue, peppering his derrière with a dust of dandruff. Coop moved his
hand along his belly, past his penis, his testicles, and his perineum, until
his fingers touched the folds of Mr. Kat's warm pair of balls. He held them
tenderly, breathless at every sharp turn the feline's sensational endowment
took.
Satisfied with his plaything's newfound consent, or more correctly: sick
enjoyment, Mr. Kat teetered on the precipice of a grand climax. Cooper was
under his thumb, squirming beneath the weight of his unrefined passion. Their
bodies melded with the brilliance of a hot iron blade onto the handle of a
sword. Caucasian flesh was all that was on Kat's perverted mind. He counted the
itty bitty beauty marks dotting Cooper's spine, pricking each one with the tip
of a greedy claw as if he were an inquistor putting a witch to the test. Polka
dots of blood were drawn. Cooper munched on his bottom lip.
A sizeable "God," was extracted from Coop as gracefully as a wrung towel when
Mr. Kat poked the plushness of the teen's prostate gland. The alien abomination
of a pet snicked, he was the boy's god, and Kat demonstrated this by dipping
his talons into Cooper's ribcage. Yelping, Coop fell to his elbows. Mr. Kat
admired the view of his sex partner, the manner in which his ass wobbled, those
cheeks hugging his prick. If Kat had a deity in his culture he'd cry for mercy
too. But, the feline couldn't even meow in rapture before Cooper's pinky
inserted itself in his plump anus, still faintly wet. Coop didn't care that he
heard Roy Orbison's "Oh, Pretty Woman" on the radio upstairs, he buried his
little finger to the knuckle.
Mr. Kat yowled like only a cat can when the ring of his anorectal line choked
Cooper's digit. Velvet was the word the boy would use to describe Kat's rectum.
Wretching his spined phallus from its sheath of human meat, Kat drowned in
orgasm. It was his magnum opus. Coop cried out at the sharp tug of Kat's prick.
Coop's dad screamed "what the Hell," at what he witnessed coming down the
basement stairway.
Semen getting gummy in his hair, Cooper now had to provide at least a dozen
reasons to his dad on why he shouldn't disown him. And, from the look of
complete blissful transcendence on Mr. Kat's face as he melted over the floor,
he also had to simultaneously devise a way for the two to engage in further
extracurricular activities without getting caught. In the end, a firm spanking,
on Kat's part, and immediate sessions with a Freudian therapist were what
landed on Coop's plate by the following night.
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