Catgirl Abuse: On the Farm (F/F kill, MMM/F gangbang/impalement)
There's a catgirl after the chickens again, and Farmer Zeke knows just how to deal with the nasty little sluts.
A new, frontier setting for my little set of catgirl abuse universes, my favorite story of which is The Rape of a Catgirl City.
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On the Farm
“Dad!”
Marcus Gallaway clomped into the house in the heavy work boots that had been a gift for his first birthday as an adult.
“Mom says there’s another one of ‘em snooping around the chickens.”
Zeke Gallaway grunted and stood up from the desk where he’d been tallying his farm’s production.
“It’s gotta be the one that killed Trace Parker,” Marcus continued.
Zeke sighed. The oldest Parker girl had been found a few days ago with her throat torn out, partially eaten. He’d been wondering what got her since then – a coyote, or a wolf wandering back into the old range its kind had been evicted from years ago?
Trace had been pretty, too. He’d been eying her as a potential concubine, or maybe a starter wife for Marcus.
“Can’t be helped,” he said. “Damned waste.”
He might have been talking about Trace Parker, or the loss of time this errand would take, or both.
“Get the gear, boy.” He caught himself, smiled, and shook his head. “Get the gear, Marcus, I mean to say.”
Marcus grinned back at him, turned, and ran for the barn. He had never participated directly in a trapping, he’d been too young, and his blood was running hot.
A few hours later, out in the bushes near the Gallaway chicken coop, big green eyes glowed in reflected light.
Zizzi was on the prowl. She had never been in this part of the country before, but she had found the hunting fine. She’d broken into a smokehouse and gorged herself on the drying meat that hung from the rafters, saving it before it lost all of its marvelous juiciness. She’d taken a few chickens from an unprotected farm, a lamb from the pasture.
She preened in the bushes, licking her furry paws, rubbing her long feline ears, tracing her tongue along her fangs. She was a handsome creature, strong and agile, a wild beast almost six feet tall with a lashing tail and hungry eyes, deadly claws and sharp, sharp killer’s teeth.
Zizzi had scouted this farm the night before. She’d still been gorged on meat and blood from the pretty human girl she’d eaten the day before. She had found the blonde skinny dipping in a pond, crept up, and stolen away her clothes. When the girl noticed the theft, she called out in mock anger, assuming some playmate had pulled a prank on her.
When the girl had risen from the pool, water dripping from her generous breasts and broad hips, and walked far enough for Zizzi to be unafraid of falling into the water in her spring, the catgirl had struck. Like lightning she pounced, driving the girl to the ground, her jaws already fastened to the smooth neck and digging in to sever the pulsing jugular.
Trace Parker was dead in mere minutes, and Zizzi had taken her time, toying with the lovely body as she gulped down raw and bloody mouthfuls of womanflesh.
She liked chickens, but her favorite food was the juicy, delicious meat of human women. Eating humans tended to arouse too much rancor in the survivors, so she usually controlled herself, or exited the vicinity immediately after a kill, but the memory of the fat chickens that strutted around the Gallaway farm called to her.
She would make one more strike, and then move on. Raising her head, she sniffed the air, and her eyes shot wide open. Her pupils dilated. The hair on the back of her neck bristled, then lay flat as a low, husky yowling came from her mouth.
Something smelled good.
Her feet seemed to swing out in front of her without conscious volition, as if the scent was dragging her along, stumbling and purring. Her vision swam at the edges as, stealth forgotten, she floated along, away from the chickens, away from the farm, into a great clearing in the woods.
In the center of the clearing there was a wooden plate with a few large handfuls of some dried herb on it. Zizzi took a deep breath through her nose, gave a little shriek of pleasure, and leaped for the plate. She shoved her muzzle into the pile, drinking in its scent, nuzzling it, feeling her cunt begin to moisten and drip down her trembling thighs.
This stuff was awesome.
She purred and mewled, taking in great snuffling breaths, not noticing or caring about the hands she felt on her wrists, on her ankles. Gentle touches, a few clicks and ratcheting sounds that barely registered on her totally absorbed consciousness.
Then a cool metal cage was buckled around her head, and a booted foot kicked the plate away. With a great splash someone emptied a bucket of cold water over her head.
Zizzi screamed, blinked, and looked down.
She was wearing a muzzle, she could see the wires of it. She had seen these on captured catgirls before, but she was much too fast and clever and fierce to be captured.
There were tight bags of heavy leather, multi-layered and tough, buckled to each hand and foot, roughly conforming to her paws. These were familiar, too, from slower or stupider catgirls who had been taken captive by the humans.
Her wrists were tied together, as were her ankles, and there was a rope loosely knotted around her neck.
Through the catnip-induced haze – the smell was still tickling her nostrils, making her dizzy and horny and distracted – Zizzi slowly came to realize that she was surrounded by three tall, stern human men, in the confining cloth garments they liked to wear for some reason.
Words in their stupid language floated around, but despite her partial fluency, none of it seemed to piece together into comprehensible sentences.
“She looks confused,” Marcus said, breathing hard. He wiped his palms on his denim overalls.
Zeke nodded. “She’ll be pretty well out of it for a while,” he said. “And look here.”
Zizzi hissed angrily as the biggest human put his hand between her thighs and rubbed the web of his thumb over her pussy, but her hiss died in a yelp as her hips jerked forward to press herself against the intrusive touch.
“She’s a hot one,” the third man said, approvingly. Zeke looked over at him.
“Wet,” he agreed. “You bring the shovel, Charlie?”
The farmhand nodded. “I’ll get digging.”
Zeke looked over at Marcus and laughed at the erection tenting the young man’s overalls.
“You want first go at it, son?”
Marcus swallowed drily. “S-sure,” he said, unbuckling the straps of his overalls. A thought occurred to him.
“Does Mom know about this? And Amy and Annie?”
He couldn’t imagine his mother, Zeke’s first wife, not being aware of these goings-on – she’d almost certainly made the leather paw-bags. But the concubines might or might not know. They weren’t so sharp as his mother.
“Of course,” Zeke said. “I used to bring your mother out here for them sometimes, but I had to stop. And it would be a blow to her pride for me to bring Amy and Annie out here and not her.”
“She just got too darn mean with them.” He gave a tolerant smile. “You know how womenfolk are.”
Marcus nodded. He did not know ‘how womenfolk are,’ particularly, but he was glad to be learning.
Zeke clicked his tongue. “Jealous, you know.”
Ahhh, that made sense. If a woman could be jealous of her fellow wives and concubines, and he’d seen how Annie looked at his mom sometimes, how much more would it rankle to see her man rutting something that wasn’t even human?
“Don’t worry, you can’t break her more than she’s gonna be broken when we’re done,” Zeke said.
Marcus pulled his overalls down around his narrow hips and grabbed Zizzi’s tail with his left hand, pulling her hips up.
She wanted to resist, she wanted to fight, but her claws were making no headway against the thick leather, and there was a burning in her belly and something deep inside her that told her to stick her ass in the air, to get some relief from the heat in her pussy.
And Zizzi obeyed, and looked back at the human boy, and made a pitiful Mrrrow? sound.
And Marcus pulled his hard human cock out of his overalls, and the smell of it washed over Zizzi and almost cut through the catnip – sweat and salt and musk. She realized she was presenting herself, tensing first one leg and then the next to make her hindparts shift left and right, but the competing scents in her nostrils were driving her crazy for it.
He prodded clumsily at her, and just as his cheeks started to burn with embarrassment, his cockhead slotted between her pussy lips, and he pushed forward.
“Oh, fuck,” he moaned as half his length slid into the most amazing hot tight buttery wetness he had ever imagined. “Oh my God, she’s… fuck!”
Zeke laughed. “I remember my first, too,” he said.
Zizzi was in catgirl heaven, yowling and purring as Marcus’s fat human cock plowed in and out of her with enthusiastic but arhythmic strokes. She didn’t care, she was far too high on catnip and pheromones to be picky about how she was being fucked – the important thing was that there was a big fat dick sawing in and out of her cunt and she liked it.
“It’s really hitting her hard,” Charlie said, slapping earth off his hands. “We’re all set.”
Marcus was plowing his squealing little cocksleeve frantically, feeling her clench and pulse around him.
“Oh, fuck, I can’t… God damn, I’m…”
His grunt of release joined with Zizzi’s pleased mewing as he shot a healthy serving of young human jizz into her needy womb.
“Oh, shit,” he sighed. “Oh, wow.”
“You’ve got quite the mouth on you,” Zeke said, and Marcus blushed scarlet.
“Sorry, Dad,” he said sheepishly, but Zeke just shook his head.
“Don’t worry about it, it’s only natural. You should hear your mother in bed, she’d make a sailor cover his ears.”
Zeke stood, stepped behind Zizzi, and slapped her lean, well-muscled bottom hard. “Ass up!” he ordered, and she obeyed like a well-trained whore.
The big farmer unzipped, and thrust inside her without ceremony.
While Marcus’s youthful enthusiasm and size had been delightful, Zeke was even bigger, and he took the catgirl with powerful thrusts that made her eyes bulge and her teeth clack together. He was all business, fast and violent, and as he fucked her he looped his arms up under her knees and hoisted her into the air, his hands gripping the back of her neck.
The world was spinning around the bound catgirl. There was just enough slack in the rope binding her ankles together to allow her legs to spread enough to allow this rough treatment, but she couldn’t spare a thought for that.
She was busy being used as a kitty-cat sex toy by the burly human who was currently driving her insane by way of her hard-fucked little pussy.
Screams, moans, yowling wails, shrieks of dizzying pleasure filled the clearing, and Zeke was certain his wife and concubines could hear them from the house. He expected a look or two on his return, but it was only right that a man should be able to have a little fun from time to time, and he knew his women would understand in the morning – especially if he was attentive to their own needs.
Zizzi’s eyes rolled back in her head as she rode a series of orgasms like bucking broncos. She clenched her teeth, making strange gurgling noises, as Zeke growled in her ear and slammed himself home as hard as he could, his sticky white cum squirting up into her inner channels.
With a nod of satisfaction, he dropped her on the ground. She barely noticed Charlie rolling her over onto her back and climbing between her thighs.
“How many have you done like this?” Marcus said, looking over to the preparations Charlie had made – a small cylindrical hole dug into the earth, into which a long broomhandle had been inserted, its tip hacked into a crude but sharp point.
“Oh… Say two a year, maybe a little more since we started farming this plot,” Zeke said. “And that’s been since right around when you were born. Thirty or forty or so?”
Marcus nodded. As Zizzi revived from her hard use at Zeke’s hands, she began to speak up again, mewling in time with his thrusts.
“I like the noises she makes,” Marcus said.
“They’re all like that. Women make some pretty nice noises too, you know.”
“Yeah. I, um… I used to fool around with Trace a little. Just hands, you know.”
“So you’ll enjoy the next part.”
Marcus nodded. “Yep. She was just a woman, but even so.”
Zeke nodded too, feeling he had dodged a bullet. If he had carried out his half-formed notion of bringing Trace into concubinage, the consequences for his domestic peace could have been dire.
“Guess it’s time we start finding you a wife.”
They both heard Charlie’s moan as he emptied his balls in the exhausted catgirl.
“Alright, let’s do her,” Zeke said, standing. “Get her left leg.”
Marcus obeyed, and with Charlie holding her wrists tight, and Zeke on the right leg, they carried her over to the stake.
“Her thighs are trembling,” Marcus said.
“Just like a real woman who’s been proper fucked,” Zeke said. “These things are fun to use sometimes, but there’s nothing like a real woman, son.”
Zizzi didn’t know what was happening. She was swimming in a happy sea of sex hormones, her womb swimming in hot fresh cum. The first warning she had that something very bad was about to happen to her was the feeling of strong human hands lifting her high, spreading her thighs.
Then there was a poke at her pussy lips, a readjustment of her position, and Charlie put his hands on her shoulders and shoved her down, and within seconds a sharp wooden spike was buried two feet deep in her abdomen, and blood was squirting from her hard-used little pussy.
She shrieked again, then, and thrashed, and kicked as hard as she could with her legs held and tied, but the men were implacable. Another shove, and the stake ripped further in. She could feel its awful length all through her, it was in her belly, running up through her guts, her stomach, it was in one of her lungs.
Bloody pink froth burst from her lips, spattering out through the muzzle.
She could feel the stake next to her throbbing, pounding heart.
Her eyes wide with a strange horror, she looked down and saw a little bulge in her chest, just below her left shoulder.
Marcus and Zeke pulled down on her thighs, and that little bulge poked out a little more, then the tip of the bloody stake burst through as the humans dragged her down until her ass was pancaked out on the ground of the clearing.
Zizzi bubbled and twitched. Her toes and fingers curled inside their protective leather pouches.
And her head lolled back, and she died.
“That was crazy,” Marcus said, breathing hard.
“Has to be done,” Charlie said, and Zeke nodded agreement.
“We’ll leave her out here,” the farmer said. “Most other carnivores don’t much like these things, not even to eat. Can’t blame ‘em. I tried once, but they’re stringy and gamy. They don’t hold a candle to good girlmeat, or even chicken.”
Marcus untied and unbuckled the gear – muzzle, paw-bags, and all. He couldn’t resist taking a few minutes to stroke Zizzi’s face, to lift her slack lips to see the deadly sharp teeth that had ripped out the throat of the pretty girl he used to fool around with.
“Now you’re just meat,” he said, and he might have been talking about the catgirl, or Trace, or both.
“Don’t pay her too much mind, son,” Zeke said. “There’ll be more.”
And he might have been talking about the catgirl, or Trace, or both.
Posted Aug 2, 2025, 11:29 PM UTC