Alfred Johnson was startled. He had been lost in the warmth of a daydream. At first glance, you would think he to be the kind of person that spends his waking hours walking the dim hallways of imagination lost in daydreams. His eyes were big and dull blue, always filled with water as if he could burst into tears at the slightest provocation. His hair was shaggy and brown, down to just above his eyes. His skin pale.

"Excuse me?" he mumbled more to himself and more out of habit and courtiessness to the young clerk than caring.

"I said will that be all for you today?" she asked him for second time; her tone now quite obviously annoyed. She was a semi-attractive young woman. She looked to be still in high school. Her breasts were so large as to make the buttons of her shirt strain tight against her chest. They were obviously fake. He eyed them in all their synthetic glory, salivating. Her nametag read 'Candy.'

He thinks to himself of the candy hidden in her pants.

It would make his day to take her cherry.

Anal or otherwise...

"Yes, thank you," he mumbled again, lost in a fantasy somewhere between stuffing his dick into her asshole and spraying his creamy white man-milk all over her chest. He imagined globules of his seed stick to those mammary glands. Suspended. Attached only to flesh. Hearing her soft moans in his ears. Loud and real.

His pants felt tighter.

He forked over the money in crumpled bills, grabbed his brown paper bad, and got the hell out of there. He walked as quickly as his legs would carry him without breaking into a jog.

He reaches his car. He fumbles in his pants for his keys and his fingers brush against his now throbbing hard dick. He grunts, extracts the keys and inserts the correct one into the designated slot on the car door. It hits home with a hard click. A quick turn and a yank upon the handle and he is within. Safe and in utter solitude in his vehicle.

Alfred thanks his lucky stars that it is rush hour and he had the clarity of mind to remember to park far away from the store this time.

His hands fly to his pants and he nearly rips apart the zipper in his haste, but then his cock is in his hand. He beats furiously for a few seconds, his face contorted to express a ferocious rage of seething hatred and his skin turns a deep shade of crimson, and then he stops. Now with purpose, he opens the glove compartment and extracts a half-used roll of duct tape. He tears off a large fragment and sticks the tip of it to the dashboard so that it hangs down. In ritualistic preparation. And now Alfred reaches his hand into the paper bag to grab his recent investment. It squirms for a second, finds nowhere to squirm away to, and settles down as he draws it forth into the open.

Two small black eyes glare back at him in the fading light.

He places the hampster onto his lap and it scurries around his dick, stopping to sniff it, and then places its forepaws on his stomach and peers up at him. The hampster's nose twitches once, twice, thrice, and then it gets back onto all fours. He licks at its paws and draws them up over its ears in self grooming. Now satisfied with its appearance, the hampster begins to pad around and explore it's new surroundings, its small button nose always twitching in an attempt to acquire information through smell.

But Alfred tires of its antics and picks it back up.

The tiny hampster walks around on his hand, staring back up at him every few seconds. It is either humbled by his intimidating presence of stature or else it is completely trusting of its new keeper.

Alfred grabs the hampster by its hind legs with one hand and picks up the strip of tape with the other. Carefully, and with perfection that comes through pracitce, wraps the hampster firmly but not tightly in the tape.

Its legs bound helplessly, all it can do now is squirm slightly and stare at its tyrannical oppressor. He grins. He emits a red aura of malevolence.

Quickly and with superb precision he grips the bound hampster in his dominant hand and thrusts the frightened rodent down forcefully onto his shaft.

It screeches in sheer pain once but doesn't go limp. Alfred's smile grows broad.

"A joyous day indeed, little one," he coos to the impaled hampster.

It wiggles about in a futile manner atop his dick, causing blood to gush from its destroyed anus and drip down his cock onto his pants. It squeals again, softer this time. Its eyes begin to dim. A squishing noise is the only sound after that to be heard within the car of Alfred Johnson.

Alfred takes advantage of this moment at the end of a creature's life cycle and grips it again in his hand and begins to fuck it.

Essentially he is masturbating with something around his dick. Like a furry, breathing condom.

The hampster's innards begin to fall from its gaping mouth onto his fist, and he fucks it faster. His dick is now fully engulfed in the fat little hampster, and he fucks it faster. It finally dies and he fucks it faster. His penis gets to the back of the hampster's mouth, its small teeth cutting slightly at his head, and he fucks it faster. The incisors cut a small slice out of his head, and he fucks it faster. He begins to wish he had at least stolen a condom to use, but this does not deter him from speeding up and fucking the shit out of the fat little hampster body.

His perserverance is admirable.

He moans and groans as the broken ribs of the hampster caress the sides of his dick from the inside, and as the spine presses up against the underside of his fuckstick. The hampsters little paws open and close as he slides in and out of it, and this goes not unnoticed by Alfred. It makes him harder. It makes him swell larger and reach climax faster.

Alfred grunts hard, looks down at his handywork, and begins his orgasm. The hampster's guts are now laying steaming on his pants. Half-digested food and feces from the guts begin to give off the pungent odor of the first stages of rot. His hand is stained in streaks with blood.

And the hampster's eyes, now white, are glaring back.

As he erupts, his dick pushes completely past the teeth of the rodent and out into the air-conditioned interior of the car. It splits the jaws with a small yet resounding crack and he sprays his load forcefully onto the steering wheel. The hampster bears the resemblance of a dragon spitting flame, only instead of scorching fire it is spitting the seed of the person that has defiled it, indeed caused, its final moments.

Alfred sits for a time, covered in spilled blood, hampster innards, and his out semen.

He wonders what it would be like if sperm could scream.

He would laugh.

He does laugh.

Alfred pulls the hampster off of his dick. It crumples in his hand now like a wet toilet paper tube. Supported only in structure and frame by the duct tape, it is prevented from turning into a ball of spent flesh.

He curses. The guts have begun to stain his trousers. His favorite pair, no less. He scoops the innards up into his hand and pushes open the car door. He stands and waddles over to a nearby trash can, his pants fall down around his ankles, and dumps the hampster and all its insides into a trash can.

He wipes his hands of the mess, though it has no effect of really cleaning the bleed from his hands. He really does this more in habit. As though he were dealing with dirt or sand.

Returning to his car, he grabs a fistful of napkins from the glove compartment, replacing the roll of tape as he does so. He scrubs furiously at the stain on his pants with a napkin, but to no avail. The khakis are stained with blood around his crotch region. He gives up hope of salvaging them and wipes the spunk from his steering wheel, and then the undried blood from his hands.

He deposits the dirtied napkins into the trash big as well. They fall down in a wet mess atop the carcass of the hampster.

A sharp pain seers through his dick and he looks down to notice for the first time where the hampster's teeth have cut into him. He curses again and hobbles over to the car.

He wipes carefully at the wound with a fresh napkin, but it continues to emit blood. Alfred tosses the napkins to the ground and reaches over to open the glove box. He draws forth from it the duct tape once more and rips off another peice.

Carefully and tightly he wraps it around the head of his penis. A temporary solution until he can find the time to stitch it shut later.

Alfred climbs into his car and starts his engine. As he does so, he puts his hand onto a large glob of spunk that he missed earlier. He swears, and eyes the offending substance as if it were a child caught doing something wrong. Then he brings his hand to his mouth and, with a darting frantic motion of the tongue, licks it clean. He allows the vehicle to warm up for a minute or so and then drives away.