He turned away from the lovely pink-red dahlias, put down his secateurs, picked up his old copy of Greyfriars Bobby and sat back in his deck chair, taking a sip of Tizer and settling in for a good read, though he knew in this heat that it might turn into a nap. As he began the fourth page, a titanium fist suddenly smashed into his face with monstrous force. He thought he felt his skull fracture and sag inwards, but he had no time to be sure as the fist smashed in again and again and kept on coming with robotic relentlessness, quickly pounding its way through the entire front of his skull and into his brain, through that too and all the way out of the back of his head.
She had done the work, and now she was reaping the enormous, bulbous rewards, a huge truncheon pummelling her grateful quinge and soon unloading a hot volley of sperm-rich cream for her to cogitate upon as her benefactor buttoned up and strutted off to finish his game of Atmosfear.
“¡Me encantan tus grandes aldabas, puta putrefacta!” Rugió mientras accidentalmente dejaba la parte delantera de sus pantalones mojada y brillante con jugo de esperma caliente.
Was that chunder he smelt? Ah, yes! And, in fact, it was his, and he had fallen asleep in it. Oh, rock’n’roll, eh? What a lau-hoooarghh! Ah, some more. Well, better to get it o-pppfffrrrbbbbsplsplsplppp. Ooh, a hot, wet fart-cum-turd. He hadn’t meant to do that. Well, he had, but not in the front garden and definitely not with an audience and surrounded by several news crews.