Stop the rot

She clawed at his back in rage, expecting to draw a little blood at most but instead yanking out a large chunk of rotting flesh. As he span to look at her and retaliate, his right leg came free at the hip joint and he fell, his head making a muffled thump on the floor and rolling away as blood seeped lazily from his neck out onto the shit-smeared linoleum.


The moment she strutted confidently into the room, all eyes were on her, a phenomenon which she seemed to be accustomed to, although somewhat less expected was the peal of orgasmic groans and the ubiquity of the shiny patches that soon developed on the front of all the men’s trousers, caused by spunk soaking the fabric and rising to the surface.