In His Mom's Basement There Lived A Young Troll Named Morris Magill

Morris fended off her attempts to bite him. A single well-placed slap knocked her dentures loose and sent them flying. They clattered out of sight in the darkness of the basement. She still numbly clawed at him, but could get no purchase on the heavy rain slicker. She had been dead two days.

Morris struggled with her off-balance, but managed to topple her onto the work bench. He fired the nailgun repeatedly into her hands and forearms. The fingers twitched like a galvanized frog. She could only weakly move her legs, kicking up from where they hung off the end of the bench. He tied them with efficient knots to the supports of the bench itself.

She moaned. It almost sounded like his name. Her bloody night gown hung in tatters and he ripped the rest of it away. He was nude after he let the slicker fall to the floor. Morris struggled for purchase against the smooth concrete of the basement floor and the height of the work bench, but he finally entered her. After a few frantic thrusts, he came, spurting thick ropey semen into her gray pubic hair as he fell backwards.

From the floor he stared at her vulva, already torn from his exertions. Morris felt himself begin to stiffen once more. He smiled. His mother would never turn him down again.