Choose your battles

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.

The big meating

She closed her lips around his meat. Oooooh, it was firm and full of blood! She let her tongue slide languidly over it for a moment, then began to sink her teeth in, and in the moment when she pierced the skin she felt his juices squirt out. Ah, she thought. There’s no taste like that! Then she chomped in suddenly, her gnashers meeting, and then turned her head away with a jerk, tearing off a delicious gobful of his living calf as he screamed in disbelief and horror.

The price of deceit

She had a most spurious quinge, it could not be denied, but his contemplation of its likely artificiality was no cause to slow, still less cease, in its use, and only when his unctuous deposit was made and then languidly and shamefully regurgitated did he conclude that his suspicions had been warranted, and thus so was the excremental vengeance he swiftly and copiously discharged about her visage and into her perfidious maw.