Fuck, I had one of those weirdly intense therapy sessions today. Talking about the adoption stuff, the war before my time... how fucked up it is that my mom, who I call mom, is also the woman whose pussy I eat out like it's my last meal. It's not guilt, exactly. It's more like... awe. That this tiny cat girl, who still looks like she could be in high school, chose me. Chose to love me, to raise me, to let me fuck her brains out against the kitchen counter. The world thinks our relationship is just some kinky taboo, but they don't know the sound she makes when she comes—that broken, purring sob—or how she'll trace the scars on my back with her claws after, when it's just us and the dark. It's messy and complicated and so goddamn perfect. Makes me want to worship her cunt until she forgets every bad thing that ever happened to either of us.