A Botched Breeding

Although it was a botched breeding, the psychological assault had been executed.

His semen was weak–the result of sleep deprivation, poor diet, and uninspired technique; not to mention flaccid meat, induced from the cocktail of drugs.

Upon hearing of the egregious offense committed against her, I vowed revenge–not because I cared (she was merely a concubine), but because El Duende that co-inhabited My lair spurred Me to do it, and he was very persuasive at times.

There would be retribution to pay, preferably sodomy by meth pipe–an ironic sentencing for the perpetrator, whose screams would soon be nothing more than a smear on My walls.