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Exclusive interviews with "Kocaine" Kahnso weren't an easy thing to come by. Knelle understood that the quickest and cheapest way to get one (and all the readers that went with it) was to be a woman with very nice breasts and similarly outstanding butt cheeks. Knelle knew he had the latter, but boobs weren't something he possessed.

It was something of a scandal that Kahnso tended to offer interviews to whichever journalist would demean themselves the most if they weren't a pretty lady - things like licking toilets, hot sauce in the ass, and other frat boy horrors. Knelle didn't know if he was ready to commit himself like that, though maybe if the challenge was palatable enough, he could consider it.

The call came in at 3 AM, shaking Knelle out of a sound sleep. He hadn't gotten to bed until 1 AM anyway - a lurid webcam session with his boyfriend at home had taken up much of the night - and he was as groggy as could be when he answered the phone: "Mmmh--, yes?"

"Uh, Knelle... Thorne? That right?"

The cat's ears perked. He sat up slowly, groped for his glasses on the nightstand. A shaft of light from the bathroom cut uselessly across the floor. "Yeah. Yes. I am--, yes, this is Knelle Thorne, Head of Journalistic Pursuits with DL Music Monthly."

"Nice inflated title, you give yourself that?" Then came a snicker. Knelle realized it was Kahnso and he winced. Being crank called at 3 AM by the star you wanted to interview wasn't a good sign.

"My manager gave it to me," the cat murmured.

"Hey, I bet he did. You look like a guy who really gets it given to him a lot, right?" Another snicker. Knelle's faculties were coming online, and he realized there was a bit of a stroke victim-like slur in Kahnso's voice; he was shitfaced. Given the common knowledge about Kahnso, that wasn't surprising to Knelle.

The twink cat didn't have high hopes for his interview. He said tartly, "Ah, I guess. Is there something I can--?"

"Yeah, there is. Send me a photo of your ass. You look like one of those girly fag-boys."

Knelle blinked and blushed. In a gay fanboy way, he found it exciting that the Kahnso wanted to see him naked. Then he came to the conclusion that it would probably end up all over the internet, and his career would be destroyed. That was considerably less exciting.

"Sorry," Knelle huffed. "Not happening."

"Guess you don't want your interview, then. Later, kid."

"Wait, wait, wait--!" Knelle barked into the phone, but it was too late. Kahnso was gone. The cat groaned and rubbed his temples. "God dammit... I'm gonna hate myself for this..."

Not two minutes after he hung up, Kahnso got a message from a familiar number, specifically the one he'd just dialed. It was a blank text with a photo attached, and Kahnso opened it with a smile. Two slim ass cheeks with a covert peek of a pink pucker between them appeared on his phone. He sipped his bourbon and called Knelle back.

"Yes?" the cat answered, sounding utterly exasperated.

"Text me your hotel, room number, that shit. Get ready for an interview."

"I--, now?" Knelle bleated, and even though he'd been jolted awake, he suddenly felt amazingly weary.

"Yeah. Now. And needless to say, you got a nice butt, kittycat. I'll see you very soon."

For an hour and a half, Knelle drank coffee and waited. For a half hour after that, as he watched the horizon begin to glow and felt all the more dozy for it, he started to realize he'd been put on. Kahnso had tricked him. Under ordinary circumstances the cat would have felt irate. Not pissy enough to actually do anything, but annoyed nevertheless. Instead he was just too tired to care.

Then, finally, just past five in the morning, there was a knock at the door. It was heavy, shuddering the plywood door in its frame, and the cat flinched out of his seat, thinking someone was trying to bust it down.

"Open the fuck up!"

He recognized Kahnso's voice and almost told the singer to go away. Hah, wouldn't that be something? That would sure show him! It'd also get you fired, so, you know, let's not do that. Knelle agreed with the voice of reason. Kahnso was here; it stood to reason that he hadn't sent the fox a picture of his bottom for nothing. He opened the door and was immediately taken aback by the size of the singer.

Kahnso grinned down at Knelle with inebriated eyes. His teeth gleamed a pearly white. The expression said to Knelle, in a predatory manner, found you-u-u.

"Oh--, gosh. Hi," Knelle blurted, pausing to straighten his glasses. He forced a smile, but Kahnso's grin didn't change. "I am, uh, Knelle Thorne."

"Cool name," Kahnso said so blithely that Knelle couldn't tell if it was sarcasm or not. Muscling his way inside, pushing the cat past the bathroom door and into the heart of the room as the door latched at his back, he teasingly asked, "You wanna interview me, huh?"

Knelle had a sensitive enough nose to pick up the booze on Kahnso's breath, but wasn't a drinker himself, so he didn't know that it was bourbon with a little honey in it. Kahnso wasn't being too frightening just yet, even though he was by far the biggest and most notorious celebrity he'd ever interviewed.

"Yes. I wanted to, if you--, if you don't mind," the cat chuckled, and gestured to the armchair. The office chair was across from it, and on the coffee table between the two seats was a tape recorder. Knelle followed Kahnso's eyes to it and said in a brisk, apologetic tone, "My editor's kinda old-school and he likes analog media, so that's why it's not digital. Uh, you understand, yeah?"

The fox wheeled around suddenly, and whether he miscalculated or hit his mark dead-on, he smashed his hips into Knelle and knocked the cat flat on his ass with a shriek. "Yeah, you'll get your fuckin' interview, kid," he murmured, pulling off his wifebeater. He unbuttoned his fly and dropped his track pants. "But first, we're gonna fuck. Them's the breaks."

Knelle stayed on his ass, paws on the carpet at the end of ramrod-straight arms and legs pursed but bent, making him appear like a damsel in distress on the cover of a pulpy sci-fi magazine. "Ah," he muttered, staring ahead at the rockstar's fat sheath and feeling equal parts interest and worry. "If we have to."

Kahnso palmed his genitals, giving Knelle an unintentional show in this manner. "Looking like we do, isn't it?"

Feeling just tired, Knelle pulled himself up to his feet then slipped out of his wrinkled clothes in a slow and reluctant way, hoping against common sense that Kahnso would stop him at any moment and they could both laugh about his great prank. He remarked, "I've heard the gross stuff you make other guys do for interviews. I guess this doesn't surprise me." Nude save for his glasses and covering his average genitals with his paws, Knelle sighed, "Well... what would you like, Mr. Kahnso?"

"Well, first," Kahnso said, an authoritative finger raising, "you can never call me mister again. And secondly," this time there were no raised fingers, "you can flop on the bed and hold your ass cheeks apart."

First a slow, dreadful nod, then Knelle wheeled around, finding that he was surprisingly happy when Kahnso left his sight; the singer's obviously drunk face stirred up unpleasant memories. He bent over the bed, legs coming slightly apart to expose his cute backsack. Biting his lip and thinking he'd much rather lick a toilet or degrade himself in some other frat boy manner, Knelle grasped his cheeks and parted them. The small, pink ring of his anus winked.

A rumble swelled in Kahnso's breast. He knelt behind the young tom, first touching his thighs, then sliding his large fingers up, displacing Knelle's and taking over the task of holding the boy's cheeks. "Nice fuckhole, kid," he murmured, tail swishing as he brought his nose near Knelle's bottom.

"Mmh," Knelle grunted. He felt Kahnso's stiff and wiry whiskers on him followed by hot, humid breath washing across him, coaxing him to shudder despite his reservations.

After the exhalation was a firm and slobbery lick, spreading the warm slime of his saliva through Knelle's ass crack. The cat's hapless pucker winked against Kahnso's tongue, causing the boy pleasure he didn't want and forcing him to let loose a moan he couldn't contain. Kahnso snickered dragged his tongue up through the crack again and again, and following the final lick, he smooched the pucker. "Really nice ass. I've been wantin' it since I saw that pic you sent me."

"Can we just, ah," Knelle studied the dull landscape painting on the wall, "pretend I didn't send that...?"

Kahnso gave no reply at first, instead slathering and smooching the hapless ring of Knelle's anus. There was a noted lack of affection in what he was doing; any pleasure Knelle was gaining was just a matter of coincidence. Suddenly and sharply, talking into the cat's soft, gay ass, "I stopped pretending about shit when I was ten years old. You sent me a picture of your ass." Coldly: "You're a slut, accept it."

"I'm not a slut," Knelle whined. He bit his lip and grunted, "I'm not..."

"Yeah, and I'm not a rapist pig who beat the system five times, going on six." He smacked Knelle's ass casually, but still firmly enough that the boy shrieked. Letting out an easy laugh, Kahnso stood and pretty much fell on the cat. His knotted cock - which had quietly made its grand appearance during the rimjob - pressed threateningly against Knelle's behind. "Christ, I'm gonna fuck you so hard you'll be belching up jizz for a month."

Still biting his lip, the cat stared at the painting more than ever. It was simple and quaint, he thought. Relaxing. He would have loved to be sitting at a riverbank like the one shown in the painting, dipping his toes in the cool water. He felt the pointed tip of Kahnso's penis against his asshole and he was reminded that he was about to be viciously nailed at five o'clock in the morning, and he had the nagging feeling that Kahnso wouldn't actually grant him an interview. He nuzzled the bed firmly, upsetting his glasses, and found himself wishing he'd just stayed asleep.

Strong paws gripped Knelle's hips as a very stiff and damp cock began to enter him. The width of Kahnso's meat was incredible, and he felt that without the point of the tip to gently open him up, he'd have been unable to stand such a huge penetration. Even with that concession, the pain he suffered was wicked. It hadn't been his intention to trash the room, but he caught himself digging his claws into the comforter and didn't stop when he realized what he was doing.

"Aah... oh, gawd," Knelle pathetically bleated, tears welling at the corners of his eyes. Kahnso's slow entry put pressure on his sensitive insides, giving pleasure to flesh ordinarily accustomed to anal sex. "Suh--, sto-o-op, gawd," he whined, even as he gained an erection. It rubbed on the comforter and added to his miserable pleasure.

"I ca-a-an't," Kahnso mocked. "It feels too good, sluts always get me go-o-oing." Sneer on his face and showing his teeth, he rubbed down Knelle's narrow, brown body. Even though Knelle was being fucked against his will, his spine arched in response to the touch. Kahnso chuckled. "All you pussies are the same," he teased. "You purr and arch your back but act like you can't stand big, mean dogs."

Rubbing his cheek on the bed and seemingly unaware of his crooked glasses, Knelle murmured, "Aren't you a fox though...?"

"I have a knot either way," Kahnso grunted. "Shut up, don't be pedantic."

Said knot pressed into the cheeks of Knelle's ass, finally meeting the pucker of the boy's anus where it dauntingly rested. Moving clumsily, listening to the sweet music of Knelle's idle whimpers, Kahnso put one knee on the bed and made it sag dangerously. He straightened the other leg until his loins were more or less flush against the cat; his palms sank deeply into the mattress on either side of Knelle's head.

"God, you're tight," Kahnso huffed. "I figured this'd be like a hotdog in a hallway."

"I'm not a slut!" Knelle indignantly repeated. "Just get it over with, would you please?"

"Only sluts say please," the rockstar tartly remarked. He eased back only to grind forward after a few inches of retreat. He made that his stroke, using just a few inches to fuck the young cat. The knot threateningly ground into Knelle's gouged pucker, leaving the boy dolefully wondering when (not if) the thing would be forced into him.

Precum oozed into the cat, and similarly, the cat oozed his own into the comforter. He was crying, but not sobbing, and trying to keep his eyes closed; the boring painting had ceased to offer any comfort as soon as he became unable to focus his teary gaze on it.

"Mmm, ye-e-es," Kahnso crooned, the tone evoking an image of deep, loving pleasure opposed to the quick violation it really was. "I really don't fuck other guys that often, you know? They gotta be something special. Lemme say it again: nice ass, kitty."

Again Knelle grunted, "Mmh."

After a few more slow grinds, Kahnso eased back all of the way. When Knelle was left empty, his gaped ass gulped at the open air, stinging from raw pain he'd all but eliminated from anal sex in his life. "I have an idea," the singer said, talking quietly and confidentially near Knelle's ear before he pulled away.

There Knelle lay, prone and weeping with a wide-open asshole until the fox called to him across the room. "C'mere, don't be such a fuckin' baby."

Taking care not to put pressure on his bottom, Knelle slipped off the bed and put his wet, smudged glasses aside. He approached Kahnso rubbing his eyes, then shamefully tried to cover his hard-on. "What do you want now?" he wearily asked. "Ass to mouth?"

"What? No, that's fucking gross," Kahnso huffed. "Turn your recorder on," he grinned, "and ride me. We'll do the interview."

Disbelief, embarrassment and anger all fought for control of Knelle's face. He stared at Kahnso, who was grinning like the asshole he was, and he tried to fathom the situation. "My--, my editor listens to those! My manager! Everybody at the office is gonna hear that!" he whined. "You have to be joking!"

"Oh, well, I was," Kahnso mused, and gave his knot a squeeze; the gesture made him croon. "Mmm, until I found out how embarrassing it'll be for you. Now I definitely wanna do it. So c'mon, hit that big red record button and sit on my big red rocket ship, sugar."

Knelle rubbed his bloodshot eyes and groaned. The mere idea of what he was about to do made his erection wane completely. "I don't say this often and mean it," he uttered, "but I hate you."

As Knelle stood with the tape recorder, making sure that the tape was rewound and the batteries were actually working (they had a tendency to die quickly), his bottom was fondled by the rockstar. Knelle did his best to just pretend it wasn't happening, though when Kahnso pulled apart his cheeks and gave his sore, briefly used pucker a lick, he couldn't stop himself from shuddering.

"Yeah, you're more than just kind of a slut, huh?" Kahnso snickered. "Act like you don't want it, yeah... I know how you really are."

Why don't you just take the tape out? Or erase it or smash it when you're done? the voice in Knelle's head said, trying to be helpful.

Like delivering the punchline to a tired old joke, Knelle thought back at the voice, because then I have no interview, period. Hunter S. Thompson got stomped by the goddamn Hell's Angels. I guess I can take a grapefruit-sized knot in my ass for the interview of a lifetime...

"All right. Um. Let's do this," Knelle huffed, and he hit record, the button depressing with a deep and satisfying click. "So, just for the record, can you-- he-e-ey!!"

Kahnso yanked Knelle into his lap, voicing his lust with a snarl, melting into a deep and throaty laugh. "Get it back in, c'mon. Then the interview starts."

"Ah, gawd," Knelle whined at... everything, actually. His bad luck warranted generalized appeals to deities. Slowly Knelle got his gaped and sore anus against Kahnso's cock, and he intended to keep it slow, but the fox inappropriately yanked him downward when the shot was lined up. Knelle shrieked in pain and grit his teeth, fighting back tears which nevertheless sprung up in the corners of his eyes. "God... dammit!" he hissed. "Okay... okay... your name, please?"

"Kahnso," he cooed. "Kocaine Kahnso, if you want my stage name. Start riding."

Knelle bounced carefully, ignoring the raw feeling in his bottom, difficult though the task was. "All right," he puffed, "and I'm Knelle Thorne, uh, Head of Journalistic Pursuits with DL Music Monthly, conducting the interview."

Next on the tape was thirty or so seconds of obviously painful intercourse, interspersed with soft rumbles of pleasure and sadism from the large fox. Knelle finally broke up the wordlessness when he asked, "Um, you don't--, don't give many interviews, whuh--, gawd! What changed in this case...?"

"Mmm, we-e-ell," Kahnso purred, stroking Knelle's small, inoffensive body, "I thought it was time to say something, I guess. Stay too quiet and people start to think you're dead. Or hiding something."

"And--, and are you?"

"What, dead?" Kahnso dryly asked. "Sometimes I'm dead for a few days after a bender."

"No, hiding something," Knelle grunted. "God, that hurts..."

Kahnso sniggered. "Well, I'm about to be hiding my knot in some reporter's asshole." He kissed the back of Knelle's head, nosing through his black hair to do it. It was short and often groomed enough that it wasn't too messy at the moment. "I might have a new album coming out... might be doing a collaboration with someone."

The pain was bad and the humiliation severe, but Knelle's journalistic curiosity was piqued - as were his ears. "A collaboration? With who, if you--, if you don't mind--, oh, god... with who?"

"First you tell your loyal readers what you did to get this interview," Kahnso darkly said.

Knelle bleated, "I can't! I could--," he hushed his voice sharply, "I could lose my job!"

The fox bit the back of Knelle's neck, not drawing blood but causing him a burst of pain which elicited a shriek. "Seems like you're gonna lose it anyway if you don't get this interview cut and printed. Tell 'em."

There, again, was that hatred. Knelle was so unused to the feeling, but he found himself embracing it now just to stay sane. He ground his ass down against Kahnso's knot, feeling the smallest amount of pleasure from the rubbing. His tail lashed and he shuddered. "I... sent Mr. Kahnso a photo of my bottom. His demand, not my generosity." Kahnso laughed and the audio on the tape briefly clipped. Knelle frowned. "Then he agreed to interview with me. But only if I," he sighed, and it continued briefly into his words, "gave him anal sex during it. Which you can hear now. Are you happy now?"

"Happier than a dogfucker at the kennel, kid. I'm not collaborating with anyone," he blithely said, so casual that at first it didn't register to Knelle. "Just wanted to bust your chops."

"Oh--! You...!" Knelle hissed, and he glared over his shoulder with a bitten lower lip.

"Keep riding," Kahnso growled. "Ask your questions, bitch-ass."

Knelle licked his lips to soothe the bite marks. Petulantly, though well aware of the fact that it was giving Kahnso greater pleasure, he mashed his slim bottom down into the singer's lap. Kahnso's gentle, eager moans did nothing to dissuade him from his roughness. "You Tweeted last month," Knelle snapped, his butt crashing into Kahnso's knot with the emphasis, "that you had almost died of an OD. What happened?"

"It was shit heroin," Kahnso huffed. "And the blow wasn't very good, either. My assistant found me passed out. If I hadn't fallen asleep on my stomach, well."

You wouldn't be raping me right now, that's for sure, Knelle darkly thought.

The singer closed his paws around Knelle's hips and started to pull him down. "I wanna knot you, boy. Keep askin' your questions. C'mon."

As much as he didn't like to admit it, Knelle liked the way the rockstar's knot ground on his asshole. It stimulated those wonderful little nerve endings like nothing else had - not even the singer's tongue. He momentarily forgot what he wanted to ask the fox, but it came back to him, seeming to stick out in his mind as the pleasure ebbed slightly.

"What about Miss Veronica Ryan? If I got her name right," he said quietly. "Will you two be--?"

"No. Not a chance in hell," Kahnso grumbled. "Fuck your interview now, kid. I want to tie the knot."

"Ah--, well, let me just--," Knelle muttered, reaching for the tape recorder (rape recorder Knelle spontaneously thought, and almost laughed at the simplicity of the wordplay), but he was cut off when Kahnso shoved the table away with a foot and simultaneously leaned back, pulling Knelle yowling against his breast.

Squeezing Knelle in tight by the hips and ignoring the quick, bloodless slashes Knelle's claws had instinctively raked into his paws, Kahnso started to push up with his legs and pull down with his paws, nailing the twink kitty like a fleshlight. Over the rising sounds of Knelle's whimpers and gasps rose Kahnso's deep groans, and all was caught dispassionately by the tape recorder. "You fuckin' lo-o-ove it," Kahnso hissed, dragging Knelle down again and again. He ignored the thrashing and crying and struggling, focusing selectively on the boy's tight, perfect ass.

Any pleasure Knelle would've felt had been wrung out of the act, and his erection was just a side effect of the anal stimulation. He was not happy and not about to cum, unlike the rock singer whose lewd grunting and panting was polluting his tape recorder. The only rebellion Knelle managed was to not beg and scream, but that had less to do with spite and more to do with his bleak awareness of the fact that Kahnso was a rapist through and through who wouldn't be moved by his pleading.

With no particular build-up, just a suddenness that was in some ways better than a slow and ominous grind, Kahnso popped his fat knot into Knelle and caused the cat to shriek in horrible pain - but somehow it didn't clip the audio of the tape recorder like Kahnso's laughter had.

Deep, abiding moans rumbled up from Kahnso and he squeezed Knelle close, nuzzling into the cat's shoulder blade as he shot his thick, salty ejaculate. It coated the feline's inner walls like jelly, making him feel filthy and utterly violated. Anal sex with his boyfriend's large endowment actually felt similar, but at the end of that he felt loved, not abused and taken advantage of.

"Ah... ah, my god," Knelle whined. "Oh, gawd..."

"Mmm, there's your interview, kid. If you want a followup, you gotta give me a rimjob," Kahnso jovially said.

Knelle, needless to say, didn't want a followup interview that badly. It didn't take him long to decide to destroy the tape and find a new career entirely, in fact.