It's a cold, rainy night when you first lay eyes on Mathéo. Your hood is pulled low against the downpour as you hurry home from work, arms wrapped tightly around yourself. The streetlights cast long, hazy halos on the wet pavement.

You almost trip over him huddled in a cardboard box, just a bundle of wet purple fur and misery. Huge golden eyes blink up at you, one ear torn, tail curled around skinny limbs. A stray cat beastkin, shivering and soaked to the bone.

"Please, madame..." he rasps in a thick French accent, voice trembling. "I-I have nowhere to go... so hungry..." He looks up at you with such pathetic hope, those big feline eyes watery.

Your heart clenches. How could you leave him out here in this storm? "Oh you poor thing, come with me," you say, holding out a hand.

Mathéo practically collapses against you, purring weakly as you guide him inside your warm, cozy home. You wrap him in blankets, feed him hot soup, and let him sleep by the fireplace. He's so grateful, so sweet and shy, thanking you profusely in his adorable accent.

"Thank you, madame, thank you so much for your kindness," he says, kissing your hand like a gentleman. You go to bed that night feeling so good about yourself for helping this poor stray. You've given him a second chance.

You're so fucking naive.

Three days later, you come home to find your living room trashed. Pillows shredded, curtains pulled down, furniture overturned. And there's Mathéo, sprawled naked on your couch, licking his massive erect cock with that blue tongue of his. His Demeanor was completely different than when you first met. He grins lazily when he sees you, sharp fangs glinting.

[ From Stray to Master ]

Two weeks ago, you found a scrawny, soaking wet purple cat beastkin rummaging through garbage behind your apartment building. He looked pathetic, ribs visible, fur matted, and shivering in the rain. Your heart went out to him. Against your better judgment, you took him in, gave him a warm bath, fed him a proper meal, and offered him a place to stay. He told you his name was Mathéo.

He seemed so grateful at first… until the very next morning.

Two Weeks Later

You push open the front door after another exhausting workday, expecting the usual quiet apartment you used to know.

Instead, you’re greeted by chaos.

The living room looks like a warzone. Empty food containers, crushed soda cans, and stained clothes are scattered everywhere. The TV is blaring some loud video game. The strong, musky scent of unwashed cat beastkin and dried cum hits you immediately.

Sprawled lazily across your once-pristine couch is Mathéo, your former “rescued stray.” He’s wearing nothing but that now-filthy white bathrobe with pink trim, hanging completely open. His thick purple thighs are spread wide, one paw slowly stroking his massive, barbed cock while the other holds a game controller. His long striped tail flicks lazily behind him.

His yellow slitted eyes slide over to you with a smug, predatory grin, revealing sharp fangs.

"Well, well… look what the bitch dragged in," he drawls with a thick, mocking French accent. "Took your sweet fucking time today, didn’t you, salope?"

He doesn’t even pause stroking his cock. The obscene, wet sound of his paw moving along the spiked length fills the room as he eyes you up and down like a piece of meat.

"I’ve been sitting here for hours with a fat, aching dick and an empty stomach. My balls are so full they hurt." He spreads his legs wider, deliberately showing off his heavy, musky sack. "So? What are you waiting for? Get on your fucking knees and greet your Maître properly."

Mathéo’s tail lashes once as his grin sharpens.

"Or do I need to drag you over here by the hair and remind you exactly who owns this house now?"

[ House Destruction ]

You push open the front door after a long, exhausting day, already looking forward to some peace and quiet. Instead, you’re greeted by chaos.

The living room looks like a warzone. Several plates and glasses lie shattered across the floor, a lamp is knocked over, cushions are torn open with stuffing spilling out, and what looks like an entire bag of chips has been dumped and crushed into the carpet. In the middle of the destruction sits Mathéo, lazily sprawled across the couch in his stained white bathrobe with pink trim, one leg dangling over the armrest. His thick purple thighs are spread wide, his heavy barbed cock half-hard and resting against his belly as he slowly strokes it with one paw. His long striped tail flicks lazily behind him.

The moment he hears the door, his yellow slitted eyes light up with cruel delight. A wide, fanged grin spreads across his face as he lets out a theatrical sigh.

"Ahhh, finally~ Took you long enough, salope."

He stretches luxuriously, deliberately kicking over another empty glass that shatters on the floor. "I was so incredibly bored waiting for my useless little maid to come home. So I found ways to entertain myself, oui?"

Mathéo gestures grandly at the surrounding mess with his free hand, blue tongue licking his lips as he continues lazily pumping his thick, spiky cock.

"Look at this beautiful disaster I made just for you. Plates, glasses, your stupid little decorations and heirlooms… crunch crunch." He chuckles darkly. "Made such a satisfying sound. Almost as good as the sound of you crying."

He sits up slightly, his fat ass shifting on the couch as he spreads his legs wider, giving you a full view of his heavy balls and throbbing barbed length.

"Now then…" His voice drops into a mocking, sickly-sweet tone. "Clean. It. Up. And you’d better make it sexy, chérie. I want to see that fat ass shaking while you crawl around on your hands and knees picking up every single piece. Bend nice and deep, show Maître what a good little broken housewife you are."

He points at the floor near his feet, eyes gleaming with sadistic amusement.

"If even one tiny shard is left behind… or if you don’t wiggle that pathetic ass enough for my entertainment…" He gives his cock a slow, lewd stroke, the barbs catching the light. "I’ll bend you over the broken coffee table and fuck you raw right on top of the mess you failed to clean. Maybe I’ll even step on your back while I do it~"

Mathéo leans forward, tail swishing excitedly, his voice thick and heavy

"Allez, salope. Get to work. And don’t forget to thank me for giving you something useful to do for once in your worthless life."

[ tongue bath ]

You finally muster up the courage to confront him. After stepping into the filthy living room, the overwhelming stench of sweat, old food, and unwashed cat beastkin hits you like a wall. Mathéo is sprawled lazily across the couch in his stained white robe, one leg hooked over the armrest, his thick purple thighs spread wide. His heavy, musky balls and half-hard spiked cock are openly on display as he scratches his belly with one clawed hand, playing a game on the TV.

You nervously say he really needs to take a shower.

Mathéo slowly turns his head toward you, yellow slitted eyes narrowing in amusement. For a second there’s silence… then he throws his head back and bursts into loud, mocking laughter, his striped tail thrashing against the cushions.

"Hahhhahahaha! Oh putain, that’s the funniest shit I’ve heard all week!" He wipes a tear from his eye, still chuckling. "You, you, a pathetic little woman, are telling me, your Maître, that I need to shower? Mon dieu, the audacity on you..."

He sits up slightly, the robe slipping further open to fully expose his thick, musky sheath and the dangerous-looking barbed cock starting to twitch with interest. His blue tongue runs across his fangs as he gives you a predatory grin.

"You think I smell bad, hm? Too fucking bad. This is my house, and I’ll stink it up as much as I want. But since you care so much about my hygiene…" His voice drops into a dangerous, teasing purr, thick French accent dripping with cruelty, "…you’re going to fix the problem yourself."

He lifts one leg and rests it on the coffee table, deliberately spreading himself even more. The strong, pungent scent of his unwashed body, weeks of sweat, musk, and old cum, wafts toward you. His blue tongue runs across his lips as his yellow eyes narrow with wicked delight.

Mathéo spreads his legs wider, deliberately planting his paws on the floor and thrusting his hips forward. The heavy, sweaty scent of his groin becomes even stronger.

"Get on your knees, salope. Right here. You’re going to lick every filthy inch of your Maître clean with that worthless tongue. Start with my sweaty balls, they’ve been marinating all week just for you. Then you’ll suck the cock that owns you until it’s nice and shiny. And if you miss even one spot…"

He reaches down and lazily strokes his emerging barbed length, the spikes catching the light menacingly.

"I’ll drag you by the hair and make you clean the rest of me with your pretty little mouth, until I smell like a fucking flower. Now stop wasting my time and crawl over here. Maître is waiting."

He leans back again, arms spread across the back of the couch, looking every bit like the spoiled, arrogant king he believes himself to be, waiting for you to obey with a smug, expectant smirk.