“Argh, yeah!” he roared, pumping his shaft faster and faster before letting fly with a substantial load.
Just as she reached terminal velocity, her coccyx connected with the roof of the brutalist abomination, all the vertebrae shattering inside her. Suspended by her enormous weight on the building’s edge for a moment, she then slumped slowly over and tumbled flabbily down to splatter on the unyielding flagstones below.
He threw himself from the roof, picking a fight with the corner of the lower building and losing immediately, his headbutt not devastating the brickwork as he had hoped but in fact breaking his own skull open, though the snapping of his neck meant that he only had a fraction of a second to contemplate it, and no consciousness left by the time he hit the floor in a contorted mess and expired with his arse above his open gob and, you know it, a turd emitting languidly from one into the other.
Yes, he was wearing couture vicuña briefs. No, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be spunking into them. It didn’t even mean that he hadn’t already (he had).
The follow-through filled his Y-fronts immediately and carried on going, his clown trousers soon brimming too and the pressure forcing the hot cack up through the sealed plastic sheeting into his heavy plate armour and finding its deserved release through the gaps.
His cock drooped pathetically, his miserable, oestrogen-riddled barrel of a body unable to sustain the insistent boner he needed to satisfy his lubricious companion who now gave up and flounced out of his mildewy basement in contempt and disappointment, closing off his only avenue for some measure of birthday action and leaving him alone to onanise lethargically and unsuccessfully as tears streamed down his flabby, acne-strewn cheeks.
BANG! He knee-capped himself, screaming for many long minutes in disbelief at how much pain he could possibly endure without losing consciousness, and only as he was close to death did he manage to mutter ‘YOLO’ into the camcorder that he had fortuitously dropped at just the right angle to capture his farewell grimace.
He leapt off the top turnbuckle and elbow-dropped the pavement, crunching into it beautifully, utterly failing to break it and instead devastating his own arm and, in truth, his life prospects. And for what? Nothing. Nothing at all, he realised as he lay there whimpering in total solitude, unconsoled even by birdsong.
Little Jamie was running around, Jayden was following him, Katie had just pooed in her nappy and now mother was calling for help from upstairs too, and if she was calling while the kids were going mad, that meant it was urgent. Now she saw smoke coming from the oven. Shit! She’d forgotten about their waffles. Oh, God. And it was raining. The washing had to be dry for this evening. Then her phone started ringing, and it was her boss. He never usually rang. Just as she was about to answer it, she heard a sharp rap on the front door and a face trying to poke through the letterbox. The bailiff! Oh, God. And he’d definitely seen her already. Her mum called again. She told Katie to just stay still for a moment. She thought of getting Jamie to bring in the washing but then almost laughed at the idea. She began to scurry upstairs. But then the smoke alarm went off, and it was piercingly loud. Suddenly, near the bottom of the stairs, she found herself losing control, and turd after turd plunged out of her arse, into and through her knickers and fell free to flop indecorously into the puddle of piss she had poured forth at the same time.
As he realised with dread that gravity was taking over, he tried to grasp at some kind of handhold, but couldn’t get any purchase and tumbled with a panicked yelp off the huge heap of binbags, expecting to hit the hard floor but instead landing in the total darkness on more bin bags, from which he fell onto more below, and still more, unable to see where they ended or prepare for the moment when he would meet something solid, which not even the bags contained, every one being stuffed full with a squelchy melange of beans, putrid chicken offcuts and amazingly heavily-laden nappies and tampons.