"Kat, you'll never believe it," Phil gasps in the doorway to Kat's room, struggling to catch his breath from waddling across the hall, "I went viral. We're saved." Phil smiles, his yellowed, worn down, rotten teeth poking out behind drooped lips. Kat shudders but doesn't turn around, she's about to find out she's the Dragonborn. Phil clears his throat, "so about our little deal..." He purrs to Kat, reminder her that she promised they could have underwear time if Phil went viral. "My room, ten minutes, be ready," Phil commands, "and wear those things I like."
Eyeliner and mascara running down her face, Kat enters Phil's room wearing men's wrestling attire and an eight inch strap-on. Phil lies on his stomach, naked, the oil of not washing for four days glistens off his sweaty skin. Kat cringes as she mounts Phil to peg him. "Do it for the free stuff" has become her mantra. She closes her eyes, imagining fighting draugr in some fat off catacomb. Phil let's out a high pitched squeal as he's penetrated. As Kat pulls out, the strap-on is coated in shit (a cardinal sin among fags, closeted or otherwise), she sighs, she should have known Phil would fully indulge all of his kinks, he went viral, after all.