"Thiiiiis is the best they could bring to fight The Beeeeeffalo?" Your opponent flexes. Oh yes, you've heard of this guy: The Beeffalo. A bodybuilder turned wrestler with too much testosterone and not enough acting lessons. This guy has more cheese than a rat convention. He's already grating on your nerves. "This little biiiitty baby pony? Look at his scrawny muscles!"
He flexed his giant biceps in front of you, growling as he did. He turned around, strutting and hooting. You HAD to take this guy down a notch. Several notches. All the notches on the side of your cock, in fact. He's getting hilted, balls deep.
"Look at his hairless chin!" Said Beef. A blatant lie, you shaved this morning with a shard of glass.
"And his dress! He's probably wearing it because he's embarrassed about his itsy bitsy teeny tiny-"
Oh he wouldn't dare-
"DICKLETTE! That's right! A dick-ette! A dick lite! I could hardly call that glorified clit a cock."
That was it. Mock your face, mock your muscles, mock your wife your children your entire family line and you wouldn't bat an eyelash, but you never, NEVER talk trash about the Stud With No Name's Cock!
Faster than he could blink, you flicked up your left hand and used the right to steady it, holding your hand like it was a revolver. You shouted, "BANG!"
Beef was startled, but not by your sudden exclamation. He was shocked by the fact that your three foot fuckstick leaped to attention on command and fired off a white hot gob of seed goo straight into his face. He cried out and fell backwards, rolling around until he was on his belly. You followed up behind while he was trying to clear his vision and grabbed a hold of his fat, tanned cheeks.
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