Massive Retard Dong
Mrs. Awaited the next thrust, laying on her back in the bed as the massive strange dick rammed deeper into her.
“Choo-choo!” he said as he thrust.
“Aw yeah! FUCK yeah!” Mrs. responded.
“I’mma choo-choo in’a tunnel!” he said.
“You’re goddamn right you are!” Mrs. said as she grunted in ecstasy.
Had she been paying attention to anything but the fourteen inches of idiotic dong slamming into her, she might have heard her husband’s car pull in the garage, the front door slam shut, the footsteps coming up the stairs, the out loud complaint of, “You didn’t sweep today either, huh, you lazy bitch?” and the turning of her bedroom doorknob.
(Note from author, at this point while writing the story I received a phone call from a crying person informing me that my grandfather just died. I immediately continued writing this)
The door opened, and in walked Mr. in his sweat stained suit and tie. He stood, looking at the googly eyed, drooling imbecile that was mounted on top of his wife. They both blinked as they looked at each other.
“I’mma choo-choo!” ‘tardy said.
Mr. stared at him in disbelief, then looked down to his wife.
“Um, yeah….he’s a choo-choo. Hi hon.” she said and gave him a meek, guilty half smile.
Mr. blinked once more, then in a flurry of motion he jumped onto the bed, swinging a wild flailing punch into train boy’s left eye, then a knee to his chest, knocking him off his wife, off the bed, and onto the floor. Mr. jumped on top of him, sinking his knees into choo-choo boy’s shoulders, pinning his arms down, as he unloaded a tornado of punches into his dopey face.
Now bloody, still smiling, Mr. grabbed train boy by the neck, pulling him up as he stood, shaking him so that his oversized retarded head rattled like a bobble head. “What do you got to say now, motherfucker?” Mr. growled as he squeezed tighter.
“Ugh…” train boy grunted in pain. “Choo…choo…” he struggled to say, as his blood dripped out of his mouth.
“Oh yeah? Well can trains fly, huh asswipe?” Mr. growled in fury, as he dragged the boy over to the bedroom window, flung it open and tossed the poor ‘tard out.
“choo…CHOO!” Mr. and Mrs. heard him scream as he flew downwards, followed by a wet and boney splat as his head collided with the concrete driveway, cracking open and scattering what scant brains he had.
Mr. turned and glared at his wife with accusing, furious eyes.
“So…how was work?” Mrs. asked, sheepishly smiling.
“You fucking…” Mr. growled, shaking his head in fury. “…How could you?”
“Aw, come on hon, I mean…I just met him at the park, and he liked talking about petting zoos and coloring books and I thought that was sweet,” she said.
“Oh my god…” Mr. said, closing his eyes and rubbing his temples.
“And it’s like, I saw that thing just bouncing around in his pants the whole time…and I dunno, I just couldn’t help myself!”
“What…what thing?” Mr.’s eyes snapped open.
“You didn’t see it? I mean, that fucking mong was packing at least fourteen inches, probably more!” she said, her eyes becoming wide and she held up her hands as if measuring a fish to give him a general idea of the size.
“Really?” He said and blinked. He turned around and looked out the window, down at the body now laying in his driveway, the pool of blood forming around its crushed retarded head, and the prominent fourteen inch erection still strongly protruding from its crotch.
“Jesus,” he said.
“Yeah, I mean, sorry hon but I can’t just pass on something like that!” Mrs. said. “I mean, and I thought real hard about this too, but I don’t think it’s considered cheating if it’s with a retard!”
He pulled his head out of the window, reluctantly ripping his fascinated gaze from the magnificent retard dick in his driveway, and looked back to her. “Huh,” he grunted, mulling her reasoning over in his head.
“I mean, he was basically just a dick with a tiny little brain attached to it. Like, it’s not cheating if it’s with a dildo, and I bet you most dildos have a smarter brain working them than he had! So come on…don’t be mad!” she pleaded.
“What uh, what was all that about choo-choos?” he asked.
“Oh that, well that’s how I had to explain it to get any sort of a decent hump out of his dumb ass,” she said.
“Hmm,” Mr. grunted, as he looked back out the window at Dumbo’s giant erect dick which was finally starting to deflate as the blood drained out of his crushed head. “You think umm…umm…well….I guess it’s a shame he’s dead now cause like…” he said.
“Well, I mean, we could find another one, I did a little research online, most of them are supposed to have big retarded dorks like that,” she said. “Why, what are you thinking?”
“Umm, well, I was just like thinking….I dunno, I mean…it’s…it’s not gay if it’s with a retard, right?” he asked.
“Oh, no way! Totally not!” she said.
“And uh….we can kill the next one too, right?” he asked.
“Oh no problem, yeah! I mean I don’t think it’s even murder if it’s a retard either!”
“And uh…let’s get Chinese too,” he said.
“You want a Chinese retard?” she cocked her head in confusion and asked.
“No! Chinese food! How the hell do you expect to find a hung Chinese retard? You dumb bitch!” he said.
“See…now this is exactly what the therapist is always talking about. I’m working with you here, I’m negotiating, I’m actualizing your needs, and you are always downgrading my worth!” she started up with the dumb bullshit she learned in therapy.
“Ok whatever, shut up!” he cut her off. We’ll talk about it later, let’s just go fuck and kill another retard then get Chinese food, before it gets dark!”
“Ok hon,” she smiled. “Oh, you want to see if we can find one named Chu?”
He glared at her.
“Aw come on, that was funny! Ok screw it, let’s just get going,” she said and off they went. K, whatever, done, finit, enfin, I got to go to a goddamn nursing home and look at a dead old man now, later.