Never Mince Words
The ring of truth cannot be denied. Don’t be deception’s bitch. Speak what’s on your mind and in your heart.
Immortal Ends
“Gimme back my arm,” Grove said in listless tones.
“I’m ot un wiss it et,” Mincer mumbled around a mouthful of mocha flesh.
Grove stared at the quadruped with flat eyes. The ragged stump of his left shoulder didn’t seem to phase the man much.
Mincer thrashed the limb back and forth again, incisors sawing deeper into the rubbery meat. Satisfied at his hold, he guided the length of arm toward his backside with a discomforting twist of his torso. He used the accompanying hand to scratch the no-lick zone on his ass with no small amount of zeal. Bits of caked shit leapt from the marionette dance of the slender fingers, furrowing the delicate region around his asshole until one of the digits lodged knuckle deep in the steamy orifice.
Age had not been kind to Mincer, and flexibility had never been one of his strongest suits. He relished the opportunity to manhandle these difficult to reach spots and languished perhaps a bit longer than he should have. A squelching pop signified the end of his ministrations, and he tossed the flaccid arm back toward Grove.
“Now I’m done with it,” he said with a pert tilt of the head, shaking his hind quarters in a final flourish.
Grove retrieved his limb and pressed the raw ends together with relative indifference, wiggling the arm a couple of times until the flesh began to knit back together. Moments later he was using the thumbnail to flick ass out from under his other fingernails.
“I’m hungry. What’s for dinner?” the man asked.
“Nothing, because you don’t eat,” Mincer replied with a roll of his eyes.
Immortality had taken its toll on Grove, and his mental faculties showed serious signs of decay over the last century.