Novel P. 12
* The jacking attacker had a nick name he liked to call himself. No one had ever jacked off on so many living bodies. No one had ever jacked off on so many dead bodies. And those were what he loved. Of all the jack offs, all the rapes, those were his favourite of all. The dead bod ones. So that’s what he was. The “Dead Bod Man”. The best fucker of dead bods ever. The “Dead Bod Man” had knocked Holden out cold. He had damn near killed him. In a heap, on the floor, he looked not like a champion writer, but a broken victim. There was no way that guy was moving for hours. The “Dead Bod Man” took down his pants, and started jacking very hard, just like he wanted to do if it was Fionae. He was squeezing his dick to the point where it bled, and jacking unbelievably hard. And then he came all over Holden’s face, and hair. He shot some first over Holden’s nice and eyes, and then over his hair, dangling above his forehead. The Great Writer, humbled, embarrassed, made nothing. He wasn’...
