[play .mp3]
back to christmas

by Miracle Jones

I liked shocking new conquests with my supernaturally capacious kickstand when I was in my twenties, but when I entered early middle age, I got tired of tenderfoot paramours reversing themselves during the unholy unboxing. Porn is a goddamn lie: in the real world, a giant unexpected cock can instantly turn escalating passion into overwhelming anxiety.

I didn’t blame the women, of course. Since I was so short and slender, women interested in fucking me weren’t usually expecting to cram a family size shampoo bottle up their Jack ‘n’ Danny. Not everyone wants something that big cement-mixing their guts as a surprise, and fair enough! But there’s never a good time on a date to be like: “no really, I’ve got a terrifying prehistoric mastodon cock…you sure you want to do this?” So much of civilization is built around protecting men from insecurity that we don’t have accurate signaling procedures for supererogatory virility and so women seeking immoderate penetration are often forced to use height and aggressiveness as false indicia, ultimately leading to cascading disappointments and unshattered asses. 

So I decided I wanted to make sure that people were enthusiastic / warned about my improbable heavy-swinging centaur-situation before even getting to that point. But then there were the corresponding unknowns in this equation: the only people who were out there specifically looking for gargantuan penis were often socially unpleasant, so if you were truly committed to dilating dainty reservoirs with your large hard-on collider, your only way forward was to make hateful shitheads into a fetish, which was more challenging to operationalize than you might think.

So after making a bunch of “big dick seeking size queens and couples” profiles and pestering “everyone in my area” with no success, I mostly gave up on finding connections via the internet and resigned myself to a lifetime of apologizing to new conquests for my irresponsible amount of magic wand. Cock-based internet sexual solicitation was surely more trouble than it was worth and it always followed the same depressing pattern: first came a slew of misspelled messages from illiterate dudes getting off on the most boring kink of all, unpreventable online harassment. Then came the deeply racist couples leading the parade of ghosts, unbelievers, and bots. Finally, you were just left with all the influencers collecting followers and they were more interested in tats, piercings, and leverage than any mere chanticleer, no matter how statistically deviant. 

What I am saying is that real messages from real women were as rare as rocking horse crap. So that’s why I thought the message from “Evanjellicles” was spam and why I almost deleted it. The subject line certainly felt like it came from some digital golem: “Howdy Sir, and Praise Jesus for Your Massive Cock.” 

In fact, the subject line was so weird that I clicked on it just to satisfy some cold inner loathing about where robots had sorted me these days. Maybe an algorithm had finally figured out what was wrong with me and I could now melt fully into the apocalypse, letting the singularity burnish smooth every jagged crevice in my accursed personality. I clicked on the link, ready for a jolt of clarifying ego pain. But no, by god’s hooks! This couple was real.

The woman was in her mid-forties, with a tight body and very white teeth. She was tiny with almost no tits, but she wore ropes and collars well and I knew from experience that it was often the tiniest women who were my inverse physically—the push nut to my carriage bolt, the blanket to my pig, the pillow to my scream. I also knew that tiny women were often exclusively pursued by large quiet men with disappointing dicks who liked the way that small women flattered their bigness, despite any genital misalignment. I felt an affinity for my fellow elves trapped in these infelicitous alliances. There weren’t many positions that were comfortable for these clashing couples on account of the limits of physics and the cruelty of gravity. Two tiny people, however, could slide around together like angry rats, contorting themselves into more friction-friendly positions with the suppleness of horny bendy-straws. Maybe tall men just lacked real bodily awareness, in the same way that dinosaurs needed an extra brain just for their tails. 

Anyway, the dude in the profile looked benign and lame—ruddy and bespectacled, with a bit of a gut. I had to give them credit, this couple proudly displayed all their ill omens—all their stormy petrels and spilled salt shakers. For instance, both Evanjellicles wore crosses in all of their photos. This was clearly horrible, but it had always been a major yet furtive childhood dream of mine to orgasm on a cross swinging proudly between a Christian fundamentalist’s tits. So far this had been an unfulfilled fantasy because it did nothing for me if the woman in question was only pretending, and where would I ever find a real frothing zealot in my normal social circles? Yet I could get hard instantly just imagining a strand of semen stretching from a dangling crucifix to the red-lipsticked mouth of a blank-eyed Protestant fanatic, cum dripping like alien snot all the way from penetrated ingress to defiled lavalier.

In service to this childhood dream, I decided that I shouldn’t be so judgmental about this couple. They were on the same sex site as me looking for the same efficient thrills. So what if these churchies liked to flaunt their faith while waggling their genitals? That didn’t mean they didn’t also want their rocks tumbled. I quickly updated my profile, adding “religious desecration” to my list of fetishes.

There were other memes attached to this profile that I did find more unsettling. One just said “Submissive to the CONSTITUTION” in Gothic serif font. Another showed a cartoon of a woman on her knees in front of what looked like Jefferson, Washington, and Madison. Washington’s dick was obscured by the back of the woman’s head while she jacked off the other two presidents. “Founding Daddies” said the caption below the cartoon in block caps. It was provocative in a bad way but I also thought it was pretty funny.

The odiousness of these memes was balanced against one picture of the woman on all fours wearing purple cat ears and lapping from a bowl beneath a long mahogany conference table. There were several secret dicks peeking into the frame. She was wearing a bejeweled collar and arching her slender shoulders in a way that I found darkly twitterpating. This one image was so alluring that I decided that I was willing to step into this couple’s alley and at least let them make me an offer on their hot goods. 

I clicked on the actual message and discovered that it was shorter than the subject line. “Why PeterRabbit?” was all they had written me, referring to my avatar name.

I answered them immediately: “Flopsy, Mopsy, Cottontail. All descriptive names. All names that describe rabbit physical endowments, right? And then… Peter. So you have to assume that this tiny bunny has a cock like a first prize Imperator carrot. Can I tit fuck you while you speak in tongues and then cum on your cross?”

I pressed send, expecting nothing. The trick to sex websites is that you should be excruciatingly honest and then also expect nothing at all ever in return. You should treat them like a form of therapy, a place to train yourself to ask for exactly what you want but also never to feel entitled to it.

However, like the rapidly answered prayers of the manifestly elect, the Evanjellicles wrote me back immediately.

“Ha, funny,” they said. “Are you doing anything tomorrow?  We want you to fuck her. Also we want to film it for our site. No cumming on the cross, but everything else is fair game, if you’re willing to follow some strict ground rules.”

I had become so accustomed to no one ever getting in touch that I had no plan for a second move. In-person conquest was as familiar to me as my own smell: witty banter, compliments, lots of probing questions, making out, sharing a cab, and then surprise!  But I didn’t really know what to do with people who already knew what turned me on or what I had to offer.  

I decided to play it safe and just stick in one warm wet finger. 

“Would y’all be up for a quick call first?” I asked. “Just to make sure that you’re actually a couple and that you’re actually both down for this, especially if you want to film me. Lots of scammers and asshole dudes out there.”

“Absolutely,” they wrote me back instantly, sending me a link. “How about right now?” I admired their energy, their directness, their rabbity verve. I washed my face, checked my hair, and changed shirts. “Sure!” I wrote back. “Joining the call!” Then I clicked the link.

I kept my screen dark at first, just in case I was about to stumble onto a coven of giggling teenagers pranking me from some prep school study carrel. But the same people from the photos were sitting on a couch blinking at me—an older couple who looked like they were sharing a secret joke together. I wanted to be part of this joke. They both had black hair and pale blue eyes and there was something vaguely conservative about the droop of their jowls. They didn’t look fully-cooked. Many conservative people have this somewhat mutant twist to their faces, as if sculpted in a hurry from melting clay. But this didn’t make them any less attractive to me. God had labored on their stout hearts and firm shanks instead of refining their faces. Who was I to deny them the pleasure of my expert cruelty?

“Hey there,” I said, turning on my screen so they could see me. “Nice to meet you fine folks.”

“Hey there, PeterRabbit,” said the man. “I’m Tomjefferson and this is Manpleaser. Those are our Jellicle names.”

“Like from Cats?” I asked.

“We love Cats,” purred Manpleaser.

I was in the presence of true perverts. I was astonished by the totality of their rebellion against normative aesthetics.

“Amazing,” I said, at a loss for words.

“Your cock rules,” said Manpleaser, causing both Evanjellicles to break out laughing. I laughed too.

“Thank you,” I said. “Sorry to be paranoid and make y’all Zoom like this. But honestly y’all immediately seem like nice people to me, just looking at you right now. I’d be happy to meet up whenever works.”

“He’s made his Jellicle choice!” said Manpleaser.

“It’s smart to be skeptical,” said Tomjefferson. “A lot of fakers on this site. People flake out left and right. It’s good to establish trust early.”

“Can we see it?” asked Manpleaser. We all knew what she was talking about, but her request was a bit too eager and felt vaguely insulting. However, she immediately realized that she was dehumanizing me without erotic grace and so she raised her palms up to the screen to hide her face, laughing at her own flagrant awfulness. Tomjefferson turned his head away, as if he was too overcome with fremdschämen to even look at me. 

“Your expression!” she said.

“Ha, it’s fine.”

“It doesn’t have to be HARD,” she said. “We just want to make sure it’s the same one from your pictures.” 

“You can absolutely see it,” I said, admiring the dead-inside spiritual parsimony of the conservative ethos. I stood up and unzipped my jeans, watching myself on the Zoom screen, watching the eyes of the Evanjellicles shift from admiring themselves to actually looking at me. Tomjefferson leaned backward in his chair as Manpleaser leaned forward. I pulled my pants down and pushed my underwear to the side and showed them my tube of corpse-pale pizza dough. It dangled festively below the treeline of my unkempt pubes, hanging down past my gristly balls to my alabaster mid-thigh. 

I let them have a nice long gawk and then I zipped my pants back up. In the frame, my striated and veiny cock was replaced by the crinkles of my smiling face. 

“Fantastic,” said Tomjefferson. “Biggest one so far. Can’t wait to see it up close!”

“Jesus on the mainline!” agreed Manpleaser. “Getting a bit flushed. So you’re free tomorrow?” 

“I’m free in the evening, yes ma’am,” I said. “Where would you guys want to meet?”

“Could you just come over to our place?” said Tomjefferson. “It’s more convenient for us that way.  We’re already set up here. We could split a motel somewhere, buttttt…”

“Nah, your place is fine,” I said. “By set up, you mean filming? Because I’m definitely down for that.”

“Outstanding,” said Tomjefferson. “We’ll explain more tomorrow in person. I’ll put our address in the chat.”

Manpleaser flopped out one of her demitasse tits and squeezed her nipple at me. She stuck her fingers in her mouth and sucked on them. Tomjefferson swiveled to look at her. She flashed her husband with both tea lights.

 “You bony little slut!” said Tomjefferson, laughing.

“Bye now!” said Manpleaser, waving at me. Tomjefferson reached forward and then their box went dark. The Zoom session was over.


Manpleaser answered the door wearing pink cat ears and a sheer pink robe. Maybe the robe was white and it just looked pink because it was so transparent. Her dark nipples were visible beneath the fabric, but I was much more enamored by the promise in her enormous leering grin. She stepped aside to let me enter their Pueblo Deco ranch house. As I moved past her and through the zone of her bodily chemical radiation, I felt the gentle tug of her animal heat. She checked me out from my head to my boots. She seemed to like what she saw.

Tomjefferson was sitting in a lumpy chair in the living room, wearing a modal t-shirt that said “Jellicle Ministries.” He was also wearing cat ears, though his cat ears were grey, thicker, and more tufted—more like a lynx’s ears than the ears of a housecat. I scanned through their profile again in my brain: he was a cuck, but he wasn’t into bi stuff (supposedly). She was as subby as you wanted her to be: a real-life Squeaky Fromme or Betty Boop.

“Here’s the man we ordered,” said Tomjefferson, standing up to shake my proffered hand. He was already filming with his phone. He leaned in tight, and I clicked my heels together and swept the ground with one arm, bowing, making an elaborate pantomime in the tradition of Restoration raillery.  My lord, I am arrived to provide your goodwife with carnival release. But only in your honor, my lord.

As soon as Manpleaser shut the front door, she slipped out of her robe. Now she wore nothing but those cat ears and an ostentatious silver cross. This cross was even bigger than the one from her photos. It dangled between the pouts of her two stiff nips like the roundel painted on the side of a Spitfire. She was wearing this giant cross to taunt me. Surely frosting this crucifix wasn’t really off the table. I wanted to coat it in santorum and paste it to her forehead.

“Peter, just so you know, it’s been very hard to find cool dudes to play with lately,” said Tomjefferson. “So we need to know right away: are you a cool dude?”

“I’m a very cool dude,” I said into the camera.

“That’s good, because we’ve got something special we want to try tonight,” he said. “But first, we all need to know: have you accepted Jesus Christ as your lord and savior and are you willing to renounce the lies of liberalism, the lies of Satan himself, and the lies of globalist perverts everywhere?”

I laughed. “Oh yeah, big time.”

But Tomjefferson didn’t laugh with me. He was deadly serious. He extended his phone toward me, jogging it back and forth like a no-no finger. 

“This is important,” he said. “Before we do anything, we need to know that you’ve accepted Jesus Christ into your heart. That’s kinda what this is all about, really.”

My jaw dropped. He was fully in earnest. I was being ambushed and it was all on video. Treachery! Deceit! False pretenses! Entrapment! This wasn’t about plunging the clogged pipes of the repressed gentry: this was about religious recruitment. To catch a sinner! Catfished for Jesus!

I should have expected this. Hardcore sex and hardcore Christianity were partitioned specifically to avoid any contamination, despite how much they depended on each other. But I was still shocked by the flagrantness of their inhospitality and the boldness of their lies. How was I supposed to renounce liberalism in this setting? What was more liberal than fucking a dude’s wife in front of him while they both pretended to be cats? It was basically the definition of socialism. If I hadn’t been so perplexed, I would have just said “yeah, sure, I got saved in second grade” but my wide-open mouth and my hypertensive eyes were answer enough for Tomjefferson. He didn’t seem angry or cheated, however. He merely smiled, his Invisalign-shielded teeth gleaming. 

“So the answer is no?” he asked.

“Tomjefferson, you aren’t being very submissive right now,” I said haltingly, my mouth dry. “All of our roles are very confusing all of a sudden.”

“We’ve got a pool in the backyard where we can dunk you if you’ve got the balls,” he said. “Come on, I’ll show you the font! Honestly, we didn’t expect you to be saved—dudes like you never are—so we’ve got everything set up already. I hope you aren’t afraid to get wet?”

“I’m wet already,” purred Manpleaser, mugging for the camera. This was a weird joke if they were trying to publicly shame me for concupiscence on the Christian internet. Was sex still happening? Did they have some kind of salvation fetish?

“What do you mean ‘dudes like me’?” I asked. “You mean dudes that you lure into your home by deliberately misrepresenting your appetites?”

“I mean your huge uncut cock,” he said with a little wink. He filmed himself making a “wow” face.

He slid open the glass door behind the kitchen. I looked at Manpleaser. In fact, I now stared unapologetically at her red mouth and proud tits. I refused to submit to the flail of the cross. She primped and flexed, utterly unburdened by Christian shame. I wanted her very badly right then as sadistic revenge for their swindle. She smirked at me and fingered her crucifix like it was a swollen clit. I liked the tendons of her jaw and I liked how firm and stringy her thighs and ass were. She was mechanically built to pull semen out of dicks with pneumatic force. She was an oil derrick meant for extracting jackpot gushers and I wasn’t about to miss out on terrorizing her tight body just because of my bigotry against Protestants. I could turn my bigotry into sexual rage. But did this mean that I would have to commit total sacrilege and perjure myself existentially?  Maybe it was the only surefire way to build up the animosity I needed to make them truly pay for their affront to civilized lechery.

“Let’s get you saved, hon,” she said. “And then we can celebrate! You’re going to feel amazing once the holy spirit starts grooving in your soul.”

Tomjefferson kept the camera tight on my face. He could sense the drama in my sex-driven calculations. Manpleaser put her hand on my chest and then slid it down to the rim of my pants. She smelled earthy and warm, like blood and sweet tea. She dug deeper and put her hand around the base of my cock and practically dragged me outside by my awakening erection. 

So some definition of sex was still part of this deal. I relaxed a bit. We were still in familiar territory. This was all part of some occluded, already-in-progress private psychodynamic. Were my own needs here really so different? Perhaps they were even complimentary. I wanted to despoil false virtue. They wanted to sanitize hard-won corruption. It was a power struggle that could only end one way, if I was able to maintain the clarity of my perversion. I was in their house, but they were in my garden.

“We run a very special ministry here,” said Tomjefferson. “I guess you didn’t look at our subscription page?”

Manpleaser squeezed and released the base of my cock while Tomjefferson affixed the phone into a tripod that was pointing at their tiny backyard pool. The pool was sunken and full of leaves, but tastefully small. There were steps on both sides and a rostrum in the middle.

“I figured I’d be meeting you so I didn’t bother stalking you,” I said. “Listen, you guys still want to fuck, right? Because I don’t appreciate being tricked. If we aren’t going to eff, then I need to scram right now.”

In response, Manpleaser only jacked me off harder.

“For my own self-esteem,” I said.

Manpleaser used two hands now, watching me with her mouth and eyes wide open as if I was a bulging toad spinning in the microwave.

“Honestly, you both seem like fucking hustlers to me,” I muttered, but without much fight.

 “Sex is truly a big part of what we offer here,” said Tomjefferson. “Really and truly.”

“It’s a huge part of it,” said Manpleaser, staring into my pants. “Tremendous.”

“Guys like you—sex is probably all you think about,” said Tomjefferson. “You probably don’t think much about eternity.”

“I never think about eternity,” I said.

“Never?” he asked. “Not even once?”

He swiveled the tripod to capture my expression as I presumably thought about eternity for the first time in my life. His wife was furiously stress-balling my cock, squeezing and releasing it like a blood-pressure cuff. We were a perfectly stable tableau vivant. My cock was hard enough now that it was grazing my own belly button. Tomjefferson switched the camera off and walked over to us. He was breathing heavy. He looked right at my waist; could not meet my eye.

“Great entrance,” he said. “That was all one take, from when you walked in the door all the way until you called us con artists but then admitted you were a lost little lamb. Manpleaser, you looked real good in close-up, baby. You always do. Now we’ll just set up for the baptism.”

Manpleaser pulled her hand out of my pants and leaned into me, pulling my face toward hers. We kissed. She was surprisingly tender, as if she were trying to convey higher emotions than mere lust. Thankfully, this Agape-forward seduction did not blunt my sadism-fueled erection.

“So you want to baptize me?” I asked. “But then you still want to fuck?”

“All night long, baby,” she said.

“And how do I know you aren’t still playing puppeteer with my manful feelings?”

Manpleaser patted my crotch and then slipped over to the side of the pool. She splashed into it, flouncing while letting her arms float. She got behind the podium, dipped her hair in the water, and then tied her hair into a tight wet ponytail.

“So if you’d checked out our subscription page you’d have discovered that we’ve got a really neat thing going on here,” said Tomjefferson, suddenly standing right next to me, now speaking folksily and in a less grandiose register, but with his eyes still on my dick. “We’ve got a little internet show for subscribers where we showcase our faith and our family life for half of each episode—discussing the challenges of a modern married Christian couple and how we help each other stay sexually exciting despite all the temptations of the secular world. We go on goofy adventures. Our real friends and our real family make cameos. And then during the second half of the show, we usually save some sinner like you that we’ve picked up via the internet. Then comes the fun part: we cut right to Manpleaser fucking their brains out as the first physical blessing of the healed flesh. Sometimes we do scenes with other Christian swingers. Sometimes we even host an anonymous pastor who wears a mask or something. A lotta folks in the community absolutely love what we do, even if they cast aspersions in public. If you’re gonna look at porn anyway, isn’t it better if it comes from people you can trust—people with your same values?”

“And how does Cats fit into all this?” I asked.

“We love Cats!” shouted Manpleaser from the pool, laughing. “Cats, cock, freedom, and Jesus!”

“You’ve seen Cats, right?” asked Tomjefferson. 

“Sure,” I said. “Everybody’s seen Cats.”

“Exactly,” said Tomjefferson. “It’s something simple and good that everyone can enjoy. It’s a little bit raunchy, but the message of Cats is all about forgiveness and glory. Mercy. Giving yourself up to a higher power. Old Deutoronomy lifts Grizzabella up to the Heaviside Layer to sit side by side with baby Jesus until the end of time. That’s a story that speaks to all people, to all ages.”

“I don’t remember that part,” I said.

“Plus the music is incredible,” said Manpleaser. “MEEEEEMMMMORRRRRY…”

“And the Jellicle Cats are super hot,” said Tomjefferson. “We love the way they move. Their flexibility. Their poise.”

“Are you guys trying to baptize me as a Christian or as a Cat?” I asked, genuinely perplexed.

“The world of Christian pornography—truly Christian pornography—is brand new, so we’re still experimenting, still trying to find our niche,” said Tomjefferson. “We want to make porn that is so spiritually powerful that when you’re done jacking off, all you can think about is your empty soul. We want people to realize that you can have both: incredible sex and also a relationship with Jesus. Now, you must know that there’s a lot of overlap between musical theater, porn addicts, and Jesus freaks. It’s just solid marketing to combine ‘em all. And since you aren’t baptized yet, we are going to be able to get a glorious high rez shot of you going under and receiving the holy ghost for the very first time, getting christened with your new Jellicle name. It’s more powerful than anal, more raw than your first triple bukkake. Maybe we’re guilty of eroticizing salvation, but you should see our numbers: we’re making people WANT the fire of god. Maybe salvation is just inherently sexy!”

“God is love, baby,” said Manpleaser, blowing a kiss. “People want to know you’re one of them before they see you fuck. Especially if you’ve got a big ol’ dick.”

“So when you said you wanted me to be okay with making movies, you meant the porno of me getting baptized,” I said. 

“Not just getting baptized,” said Tomjefferson. “That’s just the first part. But yes, we’ll put your baptism in slow motion. The water will cascade down your hair and across your chest as you dunk down and it will glisten like beads of dew on a spiderweb when you come up. You’re going to love watching it later. But then we’ll do whatever you want, just like we said. You’ll belong to Jesus so everything we do together afterward will be sanctified.”

“If I do this, it’ll only be for the sex,” I said. “Just so you know.”

“Only you and Jesus will ever know for sure what happens in your secret heart,” said Manpleaser.

“And if I decide to let you guys baptize me now, jizzing on that cross later is part of the deal?”

Manpleaser’s face twisted. Her eyes went wild and her smile became a sneer. Her transfiguration only lasted for a moment, however. She blinked rapidly until her bright blue eyes were clear and happy again.

“Listen, if you want, you can come right in my face,” offered Tomjefferson putting his hand on my bicep and squeezing it a little. “I’m an ordained minister. But leave the cross alone, okay?”

“It’s not the same,” I lamented.

“I know you think we’re uptight,” said Tomjefferson. “But just because we’re Christians doesn’t mean we can’t make good porn.”

“I’m just feeling a little exploited here,” I said.

“Brother, believe me, nobody ever regrets saving their souls so they can fuck my wife six ways to Sunday.  But get any kind of subversiveness or devil-worship out of your head, okay? That’s not what this is all about. We need you to be respectful about our beliefs if we’re going to let you dominate us.”

“Your beliefs,” I said. “Cats, cock, freedom, and Jesus.”

“And human dignity,” he said. “Honest, plain-dealing country values.”

“Do you have cats?” I asked. “Real cats? I haven’t seen any.”

“We’re both allergic,” he said. “But we’re definitely cat people.”

Tomjefferson handed me a handwritten sheet of paper. At the top it said DADDY CAT / KITTEN BITCH. There were hearts dotted over each of the i’s. The rest of the list was a chronicle of profanity:


Pussy, Gash, Slash, Cunt, Clunge, Snatch, Twat, Quim
Ass, Shitcunt, Crack
Fuck, Rape
Fucking, Raping
Clit, Cherry
Cock, Dick, Penis, Fuckstick, Meatstick
Slut, Fuckpig, Whore
Tits, Pigtits


Jesus, Mary, Joseph
Jesus Christ
Holy shit, holy fuck, holy hell, etc.
Go to hell, Zwounds, by faith, by God, by gum
Bleeding, Bloody

“She’s going to call you Daddy Cat or just daddy and she wants you to call her Kitten Bitch or just bitch,” said Tomjefferson. “Are you okay with that?”

 “So this is a vocab sheet for acceptable sexual cursing?”

“Manpleaser used to be a middle school English teacher at Achieve Christian Academy,” said Tomjefferson. “Words are very important to her. This is the vocabulary that she prefers. Now, son, if you deploy these foolproof power words, you’ll make her very excited and that’ll be good for you. And what’s good for you is good for the internet, good for our numbers, good for Jesus.”

“Trying not to say the ‘g’ word might make me a bit self-conscious. It mostly just slips out, honestly, if things are going right.”

“She’s a kitty cat in heat and you’re a cool dude,” said Tomjefferson. “You’re going to do just fine with her, I can already tell. If you’ve got to be careful with your speech, maybe you’ll be careful not to forget that we’re real people here, not just cartoons. Did you ever think about that? Maybe we know a little bit more about consent and communication than you think.”

This stung. I nodded, folding the vocab sheet up and putting it in my pocket.

“Are you ready to get saved now, hon?” Manpleaser asked me from the pool.

Tomjefferson waited by the camera. I looked at him plaintively and he gave me a thumb’s up. 

“I’m down for whatever,” I said. “Y’all go on and save my soul, my sweet fuckpig whores.”


“I’m the cat who loves being wet,” said Manpleaser, hands on her hips, a big grin plastered across her face. She loomed above me in the water. 

“Cross your arms and hold your nose,” Manpleaser stage whispered to me. I did as she said.

She reached out one arm to support my upper back and she put her other hand on my stomach. She caressed my abs with the tips of her fingers. I leaned on her arm for support and she cradled me gently in the water, standing one step above me.

“Are you ready?” she asked. “I’m going to dip you.”

“Ready as your sweet little quim,” I said, her vocab sheet still fresh in my mind.

“PeterRabbit,” she said, over-enunciating, so full of unctuous enthusiasm that I started to get hard again in her arms, despite the coldness of the pool water. “Do you renounce the world, the flesh, Macavity, and the devil? Is your Jellicle soul ready to be lifted up to the Heaviside layer for all eternity?”

“Bitch, absolutely,” I said.

“Then I baptize you PeterRabbit in the name of the Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost,” she said. She dunked me backward, holding me down by my shoulders just beneath the surface of the water. She put her other hand on my chest to keep me from bobbing up. I blew out bubbles while she said something else, but I couldn’t hear her. I watched the fading evening sunlight playing on her shining face and her glistening breasts. I was feeling restrained, furious, and horny. Finally, after what felt like a full minute where she could have been saying anything—any fine print terms and conditions—I felt pressure on my shoulders and she lifted me up out of the water. I splashed to regain my balance and took in a big gulp of air. I broke away from her and rubbed water out of my eyes and slicked back my hair.

“Rise, PeterRabbit, and join the community of Jellicle saints, unified in one apostolic Christ,” she said behind me.

I felt a hand on my shoulder. I pivoted to find her smiling at me, on my level now, her face right below mine. She nestled into me and I grabbed her, bending her down this time and kissing her with as much pagan passion as I could muster. 

“Yes,” she said. “Yes to whatever you want.”

Under the water, my hand crept up her thigh and then I plunged two fingers right into her pussy, making her gasp. I kissed away her moan, pulling her closer, hand on her neck, my fingers drifting to her asshole.

I let her breathe.

“Oh YES, Daddy Cat,” she yelled.

“Incredible scene!” Tomjefferson shouted from the side of the pool. He felt far away. Spayed and neutered. Meaningless. “Why don’t y’all come dry off so we can get started?”


“So, like we said, we want to do something special tonight,” said Tomjefferson, handing me the cup of coffee I had requested—the world’s most practical and effective aphrodisiac. “You honestly do have the biggest cock we’ve ever seen. That’s why we’re letting you get away with being such a goon.”

“As long as it means destroying you both for what you’ve just done to me,” I said in a kidding tone.

They laughed.

“But of course that’s what you really want,” I said. “And why should I give you that?”

They blinked at me.

“So the special thing we’d like to do tonight is play the entire Cats studio album while we fuck,” said Tomjefferson. “We’ve been saying we would do it ever since we started. We’re a nonprofit, so I think we can get away with borrowing the rights as fair use. Especially if we divide the whole thing up into very short clips. Listen, Peter, we’ve always wanted to do this, and you’re the perfect opportunity. You do actually seem pretty hip.”

“Wait a minute,” I said. “You’re a nonprofit porn site?”

“We’re a ministry,” said Tomjefferson. “With sacraments. I’ve got a day job working for a tech company that is trying to make personal protection drones that look like zoo animals. We call them security familiars. But we almost make enough money streaming porn that soon I’ll be able to quit doing that job altogether. Couldn’t come fast enough. The only part I still like at my job is modeling the movement of the animals. We do them two by two, like Noah’s ark, girl familiars and boy familiars. In fact, it was while I was doing some motion capture while pretending to be a leopard that I realized something very deep about my personal relationship to those big core carnivores.”

He looked into the distance. Manpleaser looked contemptuous but resigned. I didn’t ask.

“We’ve got a board for the nonprofit and everything,” said Manpleaser. “We’ve got a chairman of the board. The Reverend Orval Lee Mooney. Not his Jellicle name.”

“One time she fucked the entire board for an episode,” said Tomjefferson. “The entire board! It got like a million hits.”

I remembered the picture of her lapping up semen from that bowl under a conference table.

“Jellicles can and Jellicles do,” said Manpleaser.

“There’s cameras all over the house, so you can just do your thing,” said Tomjefferson. “I’ll film the close-ups. We’ve got speakers in every room. The whole house is wired up, really.”

“I’m going to get dressed up for you,” said Manpleaser. “Do you know the songs?”

“I can fuck to anything,” I said, draining my coffee. “Honestly, the more unpleasant the better.”


While the overture played, both Tomjefferson and Manpleaser knelt down in front of me with their chins on their chests. I could hear them muttering. They were praying. 

I was used to being totally in charge when it came to sex but here they were invoking a competing higher power right to my face. This should have been insulting, but I let them pray, imagining what I would do to them once they were finished tattling to the divine. I put my hands on their heads. As I touched them, they both flinched and looked up at me but they didn’t stop their wheedling.

I gently ran my hand down Manpleaser’s cheek and then squeezed it. This caused her to pray a little louder so that I could actually hear what she was saying over the music.

“…and please help us all to be safe. And help us to enjoy ourselves. And make sure that everyone has the experience they need in order to get to where they want to go. Amen.”

She stopped praying before Tomjefferson did. I was glad that I had at least successfully distracted her, but he would not be swerved. I let him pray. I ran my hand along the back of Manpleaser’s neck, pulling her toward me, unbalancing her so that she had to grab my legs. I roughly shoved my hand down the front of her pink party dress. The new dress matched her newly-applied pink lipstick. I cupped her breast, twisting her nipple in a way that made her sit up straight and shine at me.

Tomjefferson’s voice caught in mid-sentence.

I pushed Manpleaser’s dress down over her shoulders, stretching out the neck, exposing her body all the way down to her navel. Tomjefferson resumed praying, more loudly and fervently this time. Manpleaser’s hair was very black and her neck was very white. I slapped her tits gently, just to get some color in them. I slapped her face a little harder, testing her, seeing how she would respond. Seeing how Tomjefferson would respond. He straightened his spine, leaning slightly away from me. I wondered if his jealous lord god was fortifying him for the travails to come.

I reached down and put my hand on his cock, tracing the contours of his erection in his slacks. He squirmed away from me, but I pressed down on his shoulder, keeping him kneeling. Yep. He was getting hard. He liked it.

“Amen,” said Tomjefferson finally.


The overture stopped and the music soared. The harmonies were distracting, but the sonic exuberance signaled a change in tempo and intensity.

The typical stations of the hetero cross were: blowjob, cunnilingus, missionary, doggy, cowgirl grinding until female orgasm, doggy de novo, and then male orgasm, usually sprayed onto a partner’s back or face. But I didn’t want to have this kind of ritual corporate Amazon Prime sex to the Cats soundtrack. Jellicle cats deserved Jellicle clatterdevengeance: radical carousal twixt wind and water.

“What an aggressive tune,” I said. “This music is so cloying.”

“Is it distracting to you?” asked Manpleaser.

“Will you dance for us Tomjefferson?” I asked, not interested in answering her obvious question. I wanted to inflict deep physical humiliation on both of them as soon as I could. It was the only recompense possible for my recent (possibly permanent) spiritual violation. 

“What?” he asked. “You want me to dance?”

“Yeah, show us your best dance moves.”

Manpleaser laughed.  Tomjefferson grinned and started to swing his hips. He moved his arms in halfhearted semicircles, gyrating pathetically to the beat. 

“Sing along,” I said. “Don’t you know the words? Don’t you love this song?”

Tomjefferson didn’t need much prodding. Of course he knew all the words. He danced in place, looking fucking ridiculous and getting rather red in the face with the exertion. I stuck my hand down Manpleaser’s panties from behind and gently probed the rim of her asshole while she watched her husband degrade himself. I massaged her asshole with the slightest pressure, like gently clicking the trackball of a mouse. She rocked against my hand, clearly wanting me to go deeper.


I stuck my ring finger all the way into her asshole as she slid back against me past the second knuckle. Tomjefferson sat down on the floor, realizing we weren’t paying attention to him anymore. He watched us with his pinky in his mouth.

As the new song started, Manpleaser turned to face me, popping my finger out of her ass.  She traced the outline of my dick in my boxer shorts, rubbing it until it throbbed, until it twitched beneath her fingers. It poked out of the bottom of my shorts, straining against the cotton, running along the back of my thigh. Her caress was gentle and reverent. She smiled at me: my number one turn-on. There's nothing better than a woman grinning at you beatifically no matter what you do to her. The best is when you spit in her face and instead of flinching with disgust, she laughs like a child in the rain. I received Manpleaser’s saintly smile as a challenge. I wanted to rattle this healthy grin into reappraisal—to do something innovatively cruel to make it twist or falter.

“Make the bed please,” I said to her. “I don’t like the sheets sprawling everywhere untucked.”

She gave me an ironic eye-roll. But her smile indeed disappeared. She did as she was told, stripping the sheets and replacing them, turning the act of housekeeping into a burlesque, bending at the hip and spreading her legs as she tucked and creased.

“Do it to the music please,” I said as misogynistically as possible.

I smacked her ass when she strutted by me. She bent over and spread her legs wider and I cupped her pussy, spreading it open between middle and ring finger, seeing how wet she was so far. Pretty wet.

She snapped the comforter clean as I held her down, smoothing it out perfectly across the crisp sheets. 

“Reach all the way across and grab the other edge,” I said. She dutifully sprawled across the freshly made bed, her hands like a clock pointing to the stroke of three. The bed was now in order. This genuinely made me feel better. I spread her legs wider. I took a knee and flicked her asshole with my tongue. Then I spanked her—heavily and systematically along to the ending beats of the song. It didn’t take long to make her asscheeks bright red but not actually bruised. Now I swept the sheets off the bed, wrapping her up in them and pushing her to the ground, tangling her in the comforter and the topsheet.

“What the fuck,” she said, her eyes flicking to her husband. 

“Fall down go boom,” said Tomjefferson, in a state of total glassy-eyed bliss.

“Do it again, kitten bitch,” I said. “Tomjefferson, get up off your ass and help her.”


As they worked, I decided it was time to get my dick out. After all, my superlative penis was my ticket to their bedroom. I didn’t want to piss them off too much by being too coy or withholding. Plus, at this point, they needed to be reminded of why they were ceding their wills to me. So I pulled down my shorts and my cock snapped up and hit my abs like a sprung mousetrap. 

Manpleaser stopped what she was doing. She looked at me like she was staring off a cliff’s edge into a vast and fertile valley after a long trek across the great plains in a covered wagon where too many sacrifices had been made.

“Down,” I said. “Get down for it.”

She lowered herself to the ground and walked over to me on her hands and knees. When she was close enough, she reached for my cock and I slapped her hands away. I squeezed her mouth, giving her a fish face. Her eyes went wide. 

“Do it with your teeny pigtits, bitch,” I said. “Don’t use your fingers or your mouth.”

“Yes, Daddy Cat.”

Her eyes glazed over with the dizzy joy of being the victim of pointless cruelty. She barely had any buds at all, so titfucking her would depend entirely on the electricity in her nipples. I was excited to see what she would do. She pushed her breasts together and rubbed them against the tip of my plum. This made me harder, bulging past the circumference of my foreskin, the head of my cock swollen like a water balloon.

They couldn’t see each other, but she and Tomjefferson were making the exact same facial expression. Just two prosperous melty-faced Christians with the same savage hog-hunger for purple pitchfork.

“You’re both drooling,” I said. I held out my hands to them. “Give me some spit.”

They spat in my hands, one after the other. I rubbed the spit in Manpleaser’s face.

“More,” I said. “Do it right this time.”

I used their next contributions to lubricate my shaft, sliding my foreskin up and down, showing them the giant vein underneath.


“We don’t want you to use a condom,” Tomjefferson blurted out abruptly. “Are you okay with that? Most guys are.”

“You sure about that?” I looked at Manpleaser. She grinned and nodded.

“One of our things,” said Manpleaser. 

“We’re very much against birth control,” said Tomjefferson. “We’re totally clean, if you’re worried about diseases. We get tested once a week.”

“Could I see your papers then?”

“Right now?”

I nodded. Tomjefferson scrambled away, clearly surprised that I wanted to check his math. Manpleaser and I had an emotional moment alone together. She gently tasted my cock for the first time, prettily making bitch faces at me, letting me know without words that she understood that her husband was ridiculous and that we would probably have more fun without him. He wasn’t gone long before he returned with two glossy print-outs from the local crisis center.

“Okay, so you were clean on Tuesday,” I said, looking over the documents as Manpleaser throat-fucked my shaft, propping herself up on her little fists. “But aren’t you worried about me? I haven’t been tested in months.”

“Not particularly,” said Tomjefferson. “God will protect us.”

“Manpleaser?” I said. “Are you absolutely sure you’re okay with this? I’m not crazy about knocking you up.”

“Mmmm-hmmm,” she said without taking a breath.

“No chance of babies with her, sadly,” said Tomjefferson. “She isn’t able to conceive. But the upside is that we can always go raw, just like the Bible says to do.”

“I love it,” said Manpleaser, taking the tiniest break and flicking my balls with her sharp little tongue. 

“It’s very important to our ministry that even our extramarital sex is consecrated to the lord, no matter how dirty,” said Tomjefferson. “All sex—even with a Jellicle Jezebel—must have the chance to lead to procreation. And you never know: the Bible is full of miracles.”

“Again, I’m not really interested in being that kind of daddy,” I said, frowning.
“We’ll take care of everything if it comes to that,” said Tomjefferson. “You can send a birthday present once a year.”

I must have looked like I was about to throw up, because they both laughed at me.

“The look on your face!” said Manpleaser, licking the very tip of my penis like she was smoothing out the edge of a dripping ice cream cone. “Seriously, don’t worry about it. Motherhood just isn’t my gift. Tomjefferson loves me anyway.”

“It’s the curse of Abraham,” said Tomjefferson. “The curse of Rebecca. But if the website keeps getting good traffic and if we pick up some real advertisers, maybe someday we’ll be able to afford a surrogate…”

He trailed off.

“Maybe,” said Manpleaser noncommittally. It was clear that this was an unresolved, continuing argument.

“Listen, I’ve never gotten anybody pregnant before,” I said. “So maybe we’re both barren desert foxes, spitting dust, our DNA clutches like ancient desiccant packets in musty old antique drawers.”

She looked at me briefly like she wanted to murder me. I was getting used to this look. And then she turned around, rolled over, and spread her pussy wide open from behind. She craned her neck, smacked her ass, and meowed.


I shoved Tomjefferson’s face into her pussy to get it wet for me. I found him physically revolting, but I loved shoving something so old and ugly into something so organically beautiful. It was like buffing a gleaming new pair of Justin ropers with a dirty old rag.

“Be careful,” she said seriously. “Go slow.”

“Just relax,” I said, enjoying the anxiety this provoked.

I was careful and I did go slow. She couldn’t take me from behind for long so I flipped her over on her side and fucked her in slow motion, doing just as much damage sliding out as sliding in. She yelped with each thrust and seemed to tense up tighter, coiling more pleasure into her bowels. I flicked her clit with a finger. It was as rock hard and slick as an oily Zippo flint wheel.

“Aren’t you going to jack off?” I asked Tomjefferson.

He knelt beside her and played with himself while I pushed her face into the mattress. I wasn’t able to get very deep before her whole body was wracked with contractions from new pain. I burrowed into her relentlessly despite how much she tried to squeeze away, trying to establish a new baseline for what she could handle.

Tomjefferson couldn’t last, watching his wife writhe like that. I saw that he was about to come, so I rudely shoved Manpleaser’s face under his dick like turning a garden hose on a dog. His jizz was clear and viscous. I smeared it all over her face and then I rolled her over and let her ride me. She was already close to the edge. She quickly found the right seat in the saddle and ground hard on my pelvic bone, riding me high, finally able to breathe again. Able to scream. And scream and scream and scream and scream.


“Good job,” I said, sliding her off my sopping cock. “But now I’ve got to take a slash.”

I kissed Manpleaser and she shut her eyes and put her hands on her cheeks. 

“You should use the guest bathroom in the hall,” said Tomjefferson grinning. “It’s for guests like you.”

I gave him a thumb’s up as if I knew what the fuck he was talking about. 

“You’ll see,” he said obnoxiously.

When I entered the guest bathroom, I could tell that something was strange, but it took me a moment to realize that it was the toilet itself. The bowl went much deeper than a normal toilet, meaning the water inside was about six inches lower. On the top of the tank, “Masculine Toilet” was written in all caps. I looked up the words on my phone, instantly finding the brand. 

The actual website for the product was very patriotic, as if somehow tough, god-fearing military-types were more predisposed to have big dicks than other men (this had not been my experience in locker rooms so far). The idea behind the “masculine toilet” was certainly not bad: the deeper bowl kept the tip of one’s pecker from dipping into shit water when unloosening one’s bowels. I sat down experimentally to see if it actually worked. There was definitely something comforting about knowing that my dick was not grazing the top of the toilet water like it usually did. This was how other men lived every day. I got off the toilet, got down on my hands and knees, and sniffed the water. The toilet was immaculately clean and smelled vaguely like lemons. If this toilet had ever been used at all, someone was cleaning it regularly, cleaning it with care and precision.

I could understand why Tomjefferson and Manpleaser wouldn’t want the big-dicked guys that they were rotating into their home not to have their rods glazed with toilet water. I could also imagine Tomjefferson using the bathroom every so often and luxuriating in his feelings of inadequacy. As far as I could tell, his thumbtack wouldn’t even dangle.

I closed the toilet lid, stood on it, and pissed into the sink. While I pissed, I took out my vocab sheet and tried to commit to memory some of the more fanciful terms for pussy that Manpleaser had included. I wanted to give my Evanjellicles the most satisfying experience possible. I wanted them to invite me back. I wanted them to introduce me to the guest pastors and to the other Christian swingers in their community. I wanted to be a deacon in their sleazy scam church. I wanted to play Christ at their Easter Pageant. Was their process working?  Were they converting me?


“Tomjefferson, that bathroom is incredible, but I really did a number on that masculine toilet in there. I must be very relaxed in your beautiful home.”

“No sweat,” he said. “We’ve got a lady who comes twice a week.”

“That’s not good enough,” I said, putting my hand on the back of his neck and bringing his face close to mine. His eyes went wide and then dead with submissive pleasure. “I want you to go in there and clean that toilet until it is utterly spotless. I want to be able to see my face in the side of the tank. I want the whole toilet to sparkle like a Jeep in a Superbowl commercial.”

“Okay,” he said. “Shouldn’t be a problem, Daddy Cat. I’m just here to be helpful.”

He slipped out of the room. We heard him banging around in the hall closet, looking for cleaning supplies. We heard him clomp down the hall and enter the bathroom. We heard him flush once and then flush again.

“Let’s go see how Tomjefferson is doing,” I told Manpleaser. “Do you think he’s ever cleaned a toilet before?”

She smiled wanly at me but she got up off the bed.

“Bad kitty,” I said. “Why aren’t you on your hands and knees? Have you been possessed by a demon? Is that why you walk upright now?”

She got down on her knees, clearly excited by my coldly calculated “unpredictable” ups and downs. 

“Show me how you flick your tail back and forth,” I said.

“I don’t think cats do it consciously,” she said. “It kinda just reacts to their mood.”

I reached down and hooked my finger into her asshole while I simultaneously raised her head, lifting her up by her throat. She froze, becoming perfectly still. Her neck flushed and her pupils dilated before reducing to pinpricks. I couldn’t tell if she really liked this attention or if she was merely just pretending to like it for my benefit, which was a form of information control that I despised. Only pushing things further would reveal the truth.

“Flick that tail,” I said. “Show me how you are unconsciously feeling.”

She moved her asshole against my index finger, slipping and sliding as I gently probed the corona of her anus. 

“Come on kitty, let’s go for a walk.” I pushed her forward by sticking my finger in deeper and then steering her with pressure from my cupped hand. She crawled across the bedroom floor on her hands and knees, looking over her shoulder at me to see if I was enjoying her performance. Her cat ears fell off but I retrieved them for her, putting them into place.

“This way,” I said, sliding my finger around in order to steer her to the left, toward the guest bathroom.


“What do you think?” I asked Manpleaser. “Did he do a good job cleaning?”

They both crouched at my feet as I examined the toilet. They inspected it with me, blinking at the gleaming white curves and plains. I flushed the “masculine toilet” a few times, just to get rid of any poisonous cleaning chemicals that might still be clinging to the surface of the water. Once the water came in clear and bubble-free, I snapped my fingers at them. They sat up on their haunches, fully at attention. Manpleaser licked her wrist hammily and cleaned behind her ear. She licked my arm. It was an embarrassing gesture and I had to look away from her.

“So you’re cats, huh?” I said. “Well, somebody left the lid up on this toilet. Cats drink out of the toilet when that happens.”

Tomjefferson looked at me with real pain. He leaned over and put his head in the bowl, sticking out his tongue.

“No,” I said, grabbing him by the hair and pulling him away. “Not you. Bad Tomjefferson!”

I pointed to Manpleaser. 

“Her,” I said. “So I hope you did a good job cleaning.”

Manpleaser smiled at me and crouched beside the toilet bowl.  Her husband looked at her with real shame and terror. There was no way for him to know that I hadn’t actually just taken a huge shit in this bowl. He knew that his extremely sloppy amateur cleaning job was the only thing standing in the way of his wife slurping up my splashes of coffee egesta. 

She didn’t seem to mind. She stuck her head in the bowl greedily and lapped up the toilet water, making thirsty sounds while Tomjefferson turned bright red and actually stood up, pacing. I liked his panic so much that I didn’t even tell him to get back on the floor.  

“Yummy yummy,” said Manpleaser eventually, toilet water running down her face. She crawled over to me and rubbed against my leg.

“Kiss your wife,” I said to Tomjefferson.

He got down on the floor and eagerly did as I instructed, sitting cross-legged and making out with her on the shag-carpet toilet cozy. Sharing the toilet water that was dripping down her face seemed to make him feel better. 


Back in the bedroom, we finally got down to real Christian business. This song finally had an actual beat and you could actually fuck to it.

“Meow for me, bitch,” I said, spreading her open. “Meow for me every time I rape your little clunge.”

“Yes Daddy,” she said. She looked over at her husband. He was jacking off so hard that I couldn’t actually see his hand or his dick. His entire crotch area was just a meaty blur. His jaw was hanging open and his eyes were wide and excited, like a kid blissed out to forbidden cartoons after too much breakfast cereal.

“Mother of pearl,” she said as I thrust in more deeply, pushing her face into the bed. And then she remembered my commands: “MEOW,” she yelled, looking back over her shoulder to let me know she wasn’t deliberately disobeying. I smiled thinly. Making her meow was as much of a breathing exercise to make this easier for her as it was an act of control. I pulled all the way out. I grabbed her thighs and then I slowly re-entered her, the tip of my middle finger grazing her clit as I plunged deeper. The water drying on her chest and chin smelled like lemon-fresh Lysol.

“Meowwwww,” she groaned. I moved in and out slowly, getting her used to the size. I could tell she liked it, but she was still tense, doing risk/reward calculations about what my cock was doing to her innards: how sore she would be later versus what she was actually getting out of this. I needed to break her brain and make her stop worrying or else she would never relax enough for me to get as deep as I wanted.


“Inhale that dick up your pussy, bitch—stuff your belly to the brim,” I said as politely as possible.

“Yes, Daddy,” said Manpleaser. There was nothing hotter than an older woman possessed by the spirit of her younger self, doing everything in her power to revert to an earlier, Edenic state of obedience fueled by artless, uninhibited hunger. She gyrated back and forth on the root of my cock, like a dog trying to wipe its ass on the lawn.

“Meow, meow, meow, MEOW…”

I reached around to her neck and rubbed her cross between my fingers. She sneered, pulling it out of my hands, and I grabbed her hips hard enough to leave marks on her fair skin. I slid my hands upward to her throat again. I forced her down harder on my dick to keep her from trying to figure out what I wanted from her. What I wanted from her was to have nothing but a dial-tone in her brain.

“Harder, bitch,” I shouted. We slapped each other with our bodies like beefy butchers tenderizing steaks.

I imagined the shockwaves from my dick ratcheting through her body and shooting up her spine, scrambling her thoughts, targeting whatever highly-developed prefrontal area was responsible for religious ecstasy. I wanted to make her speak in tongues as a result of orgasmic aphasia. I wanted to displace the entirety of her belief system by repatriating her pussy with vacuum-packed total penis.

“Unnnnh,” she said. The bulb of my cock throbbed. I was starting to feel more pleasure on the backstroke than on the forward thrust, which meant I was nearing orgasm. My whole penis was skinned and inflamed: an open wound ready to bleed.

“Yes bitch,” I said. “Feel it in your teeth. Feel it in your lungs. Feel it in the back of your…goblin…throat.”

She heard the “goddamn” I didn’t quite say. She shut her eyes and threw her head back.

“Fuck yes,” she said. “Fuck yes! MEOW!”

I hated this relentless positivity. It made me fuck her harder, bouncing her up off the bed in a way that made Tomjefferson stand up protectively.

“Sit your ass down, you fat sack of shit,” I said, immediately regretting it. 

Was this too far? I felt horrifyingly embarrassed for a moment—the same way I felt when I accidentally misgendered someone. The volcano in my cock receded. But no, he seemed fine. Everything was fine. He sat down with his thick hands in his wide lap, just happy that I remembered he was there at all. I had lost the thread of my orgasm, however. There were too many socially-complicated etiquette-based distractions in this marital bed.


We reached a higher plateau but not a satisfying peak. I slid up Manpleaser’s body and kissed her athletically, luxuriating in the warm bruise of her mouth. I grabbed the balls of her feet and squeezed them as I pushed her to the center of the bed to make room for myself, dropping down to stuff my tongue into her snatch.

“You like that, little kitten bitch?”

“Yes Daddy,” she said

“Your pussy is so sore and tender now,” I said. “Did I beat you up?”

Her only response to this was to grind herself against my chin like she was juicing an orange. I stuck my tongue into her as deep as I could, tapering the tip into a point and then swirling it around her sizzling rock-hard battery terminal. I sealed off her clit with my bottom lip, maneuvering it so that it was under my tongue. I gnawed at the leaking coracle, using my palate to stiffen and milk it.

“Meowwww,” she moaned.

“No bitch,” I said, breaking the seal but sticking my index finger into her as a placeholder, like a thumb into a paperback. “Be absolutely quiet and enjoy this.”

The song sputtered and unwound, reaching its dumb conclusion.


We were well into “Memory” before she finally came again. She squeezed my head with her knees and pushed me away from her vagina violently, squirming higher on the bedframe while whooping and shuddering. I peered clinically into her face but her eyes were wild and glassy, not registering cause and effect. I rubbed pussy juice into her face. She lapped it up robotically.

Sweet saccharine songs were sexually enraging to me, possibly for the same reasons as sweet saccharine religious beliefs. The cruelty of my eroticism did not seek to eradicate or shunt aside feelings of intimacy, love, or limerence: instead it wanted to enfold these higher feelings into the most degrading sexual acts possible, making these acts even more transgressive by virtue of making them emotionally confusing.

As the song soared, I spat on Manpleaser from above, loving the look of shock this provoked. I reached down and daubed the tips of my fingers in more pussy juice and mixed it with my own saliva that was now dripping down her cheek. She pursed her lips and leaned into my hand, closing her eyes, loving it. Saliva is an orgasm that is totally in our control. It is endless warm jizz—infinite cumshots—a kiss from a distance, a kiss from the heavens.

I thought about spitting on her cross, but I was satisfied enough by seeing the saliva drip down the chain. Manpleaser didn’t notice. She was too exhausted and happy. 

I always had a hard time coming the first time I met new people, but I wasn’t ready yet to give up. To create the feeling of overwhelming sensation, I needed to bend a woman over into a position that rubbed my exposed foreskin in just the right way. The friction created by the nerves on the underside of the foreskin rubbing against the nerves in my cock’s bulb was unbearably strong, but this friction was hard to attain except by burying my cock deep inside a woman and forcing her into the exact right angle, which was most systematically achieved with her ass in the air and her head down, ideally with something in her mouth to keep her from distracting me. I also needed pressure on my balls. It was hard to achieve this rigor with a stranger, especially once they had already come a few times. I basically needed to dehumanize them completely, which was difficult when I was still curious about them.

But I had to keep trying. I didn’t want to leave this place angry and unfulfilled.

“I’m not done with you,” I told her.

I pushed Manpleaser over and scooted her forward until she was correctly situated. I squished her head into the mattress and dug my knees in beneath her, bearing down on her while also twisting her arm. Entering her from this angle was like slowly rolling a tight sock onto a twisted ankle. I pumped harder and harder until I hit the sweet spot for me, and then I put my hand around her throat to hold her there. She bleated like a lost calf.

As a result of the protective sheath that kept my pants from rubbing my glans dead, the tip of my penis was easily the most sensitive piece of my body, a CIA microphone picking up the softest clandestine messages being tapped out inside her. I could feel her diaphragm vibrating from her shrieks. My cock was an internal organ push-popped into her cervix; a knife made of nerve endings, blistering as it stabbed. I swelled up inside her, getting even bigger once I was buried deep enough to dissociate. My cock made a perfect seal as we massaged each other with our viscera, peeling each other open.

I pushed her down harder and then I felt something that I had felt before inside many other women but which I wasn’t expecting to feel inside Manpleaser at all. I laughed out loud. Evidently grody old secular humanism was hiding deep down inside this chiliastic fanatic after all.

The tip of my penis rubbed against the threads of an intrauterine grappling hook, birth control that had been surgically inserted into the deepest labyrinths of her reproductive system. Was she hiding this secret birth control from her husband? Surely he didn’t know. He certainly wasn’t getting this deep when they fucked. Did they still fuck? I laughed again and kept thrusting. She whipped around and looked at me. She must have been able to feel the tiny plastic ‘t” being jostled inside her.

I mouthed the words “IUD” at her. Her eyes went wide. Then she narrowed her brow, sizzling me with that same murderous look as before: angry lust mixed with desperate malice. I thought about pulling out, but she rocked against me even harder, spreading her own ass with her hands and snarling as she slammed her coccyx into my stomach.

“Hypocrisy is the tribute that vice pays to virtue,” I muttered inaudibly, riding the wave.

“Is that all you’ve got?” she asked. “Aren’t you ever going to really fuck me?”


“Do your fans know?” I whispered in her ear. “I’ll never tell. Only…”


“You know what I want,” I said.

She grunted as I brutalized her. I could tell she liked feeling so overwhelmed, so outfoxed, so defeated. I finally had real leverage here and it was so much more exciting than playing pretend. Our new dynamic was cheap, tawdry, and real. Maybe she wouldn’t like the feeling soon—after we were done, after reality reasserted itself. But we both finally knew that I was actually in control now. My only real competition was Jesus Christ. I reached around and fingered her cross again. She didn’t stop me this time.

“Fine,” she whispered. “Go ahead.”

“Really?” I said, pumping harder, my balls sucking so snug against my prostate that they might as well have been inside out.

“I want you to do it,” she said louder. She took the dangling cross from me, stilling it, and then relaxed her fingers, letting it rest in the palm of her hand. 

 “This cross belonged to my grandmother,” she whispered between strokes. “It was the only thing she left me when she died. She was a volunteer substitute teacher at one of the first integrated high schools in the state.”

What a glorious detail! I pulled out of her (she yelped) and positioned her so that she was kneeling right in front of me. I took the cross back from her, cupping it in my left hand while I masturbated with my right. Her husband was looking at me with dawning disbelief.

“What’re you doing?” Tomjefferson asked.

“I want him to do it,” she said. “It won’t make him happy.”

“Keep talking, bitch,” I said. 

“The kingdom of god isn’t here on earth,” she said sexily. “It will never be open to a person like you.”

“Unnnh,” I said, squeezing my asscheecks together and rocking forward. My load sprayed out in a thick drizzle, splashing first into her open mouth and then landing on the cross in my hand as I repositioned to aim the next squirt. My come dripped from her chin down onto her chest. I closed my hand around my own hot semen, cocooning the sticky load around the crucifix like it was a piece of coal that I was trying to squeeze into a diamond. Jizz ran down the length of the chain as I continued to spurt. I opened my hand again and let more semen flow through my fingers onto the silver crossbars.

I snickered. The disjunct between how overwhelmed I was moments before and how suddenly empty I felt was wildly funny to me. With each spasm, the hot come in my hand was less erotic or interesting. It was only a nuisance. I held the cross close to her mouth. She licked the come off the cross like a baby piggy with a milk bottle. 

I let the crucifix drop back down between her breasts.

“Did you enjoy that?” she asked.

“Did you?” I asked her, smirking.

“You always get what you want, don’t you?” she said. “You seem like the type.”

“Hardly ever,” I said. “So I really try to enjoy it when it happens.”

“There won’t be any pride like yours in the lord’s kingdom,” she said. “No preening, no vanity, no games, no low cunning.”

“I think you’re wrong there,” I said. I held out my hand to Tomjefferson. He licked my fingers, his red-rimmed eyes utterly fixated on the cross I had just despoiled. 

“In fact, I think you’re more than wrong,” I said. “You’re heretical, maybe. To your own faith.”

I pointed to the speakers that were playing the final song of the album. We listened to the final words from Old Deuteronomy in silence. When the invocation was over, I stood up, looking for my pants and underwear.

 “Won’t there be plenty of pride and preening in heaven?” I asked. “Won’t it be full of cats?”

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(c) Miracle Jones 2021