Slam 'n' Scram

Reader discretion is adviced, this story contain graphic content depicting violence and rape which may not be suitable to all readers. This is a fictional story and do not portray real events or real persons.

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Author's Note: This story can be read as a standalone, though its main character is pulled from a previous story called "Slam 'n' Scram."

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The New Priscilla Pumpernickel

Kingsfordland, Tennessee, 1937

“Look at ol’ Priscilla Pumpernickel dressed so fuckin’ purdy in her pink lace,” woofed Ralph Waldo Donavon, a jolly redhead redneck with girth, pulling proudly on the straps of his dirty overalls.

It was a crude sight to behold. Both utterly disgusting as it was cock-throbbing arousing, standing back there in those dark mountainous woods by the fleeting moonlight. There was a small measure of me that wanted to turn away from this horrific scene, sensing something much worse was on the bend. The part I was driven by, keeping my feet firmly planted on the Tennessee soil with this scandalous curiosity gnawing away at me, wanted to look on the finale of our plan.

“Whee-wee Priscilla Pumpernickel sho’ is a purr-dy doll, yes sir,” lulled David Oliver, a gargantuan black man with a gruff reddish-brown beard using his crumpled southern drawl to refer to the local tramp that was strangled to death by a hefty wad of his half-brother Albert’s sweet mulatto jizz.

The four other guys standing about continued to laugh heartedly surrounded this odd being slowly coming to with a pair of hairy arms tied behind their back.

“F-U-fuckin’ purdy I tell you!” David declared once more, stomping his large heavy boot on the captive’s platinum blond wig creating another round of hard mirth among the bearish men. “Yes sir, f-u-fuckin’ purdy!”

The months leading up to this final showdown had been a longtime coming between our quiet mountain town of Kingsfordland Tennessee and the defects from the premier Irish and Italian families that once littered New England.

By then, around the mid- to late 40s, it wasn’t all that uncommon for a disgraced mobster to sidestep through the Great Appalachians on his way down to Florida. Back then, it was believe to be the most intelligent way for them stay out of dodge of their starch-stuffed colleagues twiddling their thumbs along various checkpoints along the Eastern Seaboard to whack them off. It was suspected that if they were lucky enough to sneak by without notice that they might be lucky enough to hop a boat over to Cuba to make it with Havana girls or over to the Bahamas to start life anew.

When these ruffians first started trickling in a few decades earlier, we were very leery of these outsiders being small town folks like we were. In particular, these smooth-talking city slickers with their gravely accents who thought they were superior to us. While we remained a unified group not so fond of change, some of the rebellious womenfolk were dazzled by their gun-blazing bravado and their wild style of dress that often made our Sunday’s best look like Thursday night’s slops. We were outraged when the widespread rumors suggested that some of the boys in neighboring towns were being forced to raise the abandoned offspring of these men as their own pride. After the dust settled, we found that none of them meant us any harm. And from there we decided to let bygones be bygones and be done with it.

Of course, that was before the scrawny little Italian shitface named Lollo Aurelie came kicking up dirt through the dusty streets of Kingsfordland bloody and bruised on that blazing Tuesday afternoon.

We should’ve known then that the goddamn son of a bitch was up to no good, lying to us that he tripped trying to outrun a big ol’ grizzly bear. Looking at his ruined dapper suit, Tully suggested that somebody elsewhere in the mountains roughed up the boy since dress clothes weren’t usually made to frolic in the woods. Seeing that we were a hospitable bunch, some of the locals took to cleaning him up and looking after him like he was our native son.

Unlike others that were than eager to knock off the dust and get going, the five-foot-eight beanpole began planting roots. Renting a room near town and getting a job at the post office because he could read and write and use one of those typing machines so well. Aurelie fitted in so well it was like he’d always been there. We were even warming up to the idea of him going steady with one of the prettiest girls on our side of the state. Everything was hunky-dory for the first couple of months before certain tensions started to arise. It took awhile but when we got to the bottom of it we were able to put the pieces of the puzzle together.

When Aurelie was in the company of an all-white crowd, he couldn’t stop himself from appealing to the hardcore racists. Suggesting most of the black folks thought they were running the show in Kingsfordland since they owned most of the land around. When he mingled among an all-black crowd, he addressed everyone as his brother and sister, explaining to everyone that Naples was just a stone’s throw away from Africa, all the while calling every white man and woman out of their name.

For the time, it may not have seemed like a very big deal for the Segregated South. And while Tennessee wasn’t any different from any state in the union in its brand of hate, our remote neck of the woods was too small for the blacks and the whites not to get alone. We were smart enough to know we needed each other if we were going to make a decent profit off our greatest commodity: moonshine.

When this outsider learned that his mouth was sitting him in hot water with us locals, Aurelie cleverly put out a call to some of his other mob defects to swarm out little mountain town. While Aurelie may not have gotten his hands on our moonshine, his goons made sure they got their hands on our town strong-arming local businessmen for so-called protection. Protection from them, that is. And when certain business folks refused to bend to this new will, Aurelie, the self-appointed boss of the whole deviant operation, started ordering his men to attack some of the people that helped him out. Sometimes he went so far to turn to brutal defilement of these victims, regardless of sex, as a way to humiliate others with his newfound power. I guess he figured if he couldn’t swim with the Big Fish up north he would bank his own pond here down south. Being that this had always been home to us, we quietly stood our ground thinking of some new ways of chasing those sorry bastards out of town. We soon got word back that some of those powerful crime families had put such a high bounty on the heads of those untrustworthy souls that we got the big idea of making our small town the French Rivera of the South based on the amount of money we thought we could get. Cooler heads prevailed noting that making deals with the devil meant them possibly wanting to dip their smelly foot-fingers into our moonshine production, and considering how vast it carried throughout the mountains, we would be doing nothing more than killing roaches for rats.

Since we were so far removed from the rest of the known world, we decided to use our curse as our blessing. It took a while to get everybody on the same page. Once we did it was like we were a hungry anteater taking out the ants. We started being nice and humane about the whole process by blindfolding and kidnapping the ones we thought we could take and dumping them miles out the way. The worst they were, the further we drove them out. One guy we drove all the way down to the Louisiana bayous figuring he could be their problem from now on. Aurelie was no fool. He was hot on our trail from the very beginning. We were just smart enough to hide behind the corner fast enough for him and his protection not to spot us. We quickly had to shift gears a little when the old route wasn’t working anymore. Because his goons were always on the hunt for our moonshine, we took to the art of persuasion. Offering them a sample of our revered product with the promise of offering them an in. We grew up on moonshine. It was like blood in our veins. To a city slicker who often hails moonshine as this mystical drink that their lips rarely touched, we knew that it wouldn’t take much to knock their lights out. So we chose to scare off those who were smart enough to leave and kill off those that were dumb enough to stick around.

After we gave Aurelie’s right-hand man a one-way ticket over a steep gulch, Aurelie was fair game, and we were in for the kill.

By then, it was well known that Lollo Aurelie couldn’t satisfy his hunger for exceptionally beautiful women. So much so he was importing them from as far away as Wisconsin to satisfy his animalistic lust. As a result, the whole town chipped in to hire one of the prettiest whores around to offer him a drink of our Tennessee moonshine in her boudoir. He was barely undressed when we stormed into the room to find him passed out on the bed with an Irish toothache still raging in on his comatose state. Before the five of us could send the bastard back to hell where he hailed from, Ralph looked over at the prostitute’s belonging and asked to have a minute with Aurelie. He later followed up by asking us to meet him in our usual spot in the woods an hour later.

“You’re not going to leave the son of a bitch like this, now are you?” I asked, looking at the end result after finding the gumption to ask such a daring question through the dying laughter in the wooded mountains that night.

It was hard to really look down at the almighty Aurelie, flat on his sorry back, barely recognizable through the pile of harlot paint splattered across his rugged face. That is except for his unique aquiline nose. There he was, a man who groomed himself to be one of the most powerful monsters we’d ever come across, only to be made to look like a bitch in heat in a ripped pink blouse and some lace pink stockings.

No bottoms. Only everything else he naturally came into this world with.

“Yeah, doggie,” Ralph offered excitedly, bouncing in his squat position between the pair of slender hairy legs roped at the ankles to the sturdy branches about. “But not a minute shy before all of us have a little fun pumpin’ ol’ Priscilla’s Pumpernickel. It’ll be rude not to after she got all dolled up for us!”

Ralph laughed some more, taking his dirty middle digit and shoving it into the open jar of slimy fat dripping at his foot. He then pulled it out of there and shoved the thing into the awaiting poop chute.

Aurelie gave a mild groan of consciousness from his drunken stupor, almost acknowledging to the rest of us that he was still with us, still present in his swimming mind. Knowing the ways of distilled whiskey, at best he was still drifting through dreamland indifferent to the dubious plunder he was about to receive.

After Ralph took his stubby long finger out of the wrinkled hollow, Ralph reached over and smeared it across Aurelie’s prettily made-up face.

“Priscilla never looked so damn purdy.” David grinned down at the runny makeup, tugging at his hungry crotch ready to feast.

The words were there. Perverse in their barbaric need to strip away the last piece of dignity Aurelie tried his best to hold onto. It was disturbing as it was disgusting to watch the rest of his manhood being stripped away like that. Even I felt sorry for the cruel bastard. Nevertheless, the deliverance of David Oliver’s last word, there was the confirmation and shock over what was to become of Lollo Aurelie that caused my hambone to stir.

Before I could make up my mind if this newest revelation was decent or corrupt, Ralph undid the top of his overalls and took to his knees, making the stud naked from the waist down like Aurelie across from him.

Without question, it left little doubt to those men standing around what were to happen next with Ralph glazing his squat piece of sausage meat with the available pork grease.

At this point, I was driven mad with lust in vicious anticipation of what was to come through when this ounce of human compassion came flooding back through my veins. My eyes were on Ralph’s finger-poking Aurelie, but I also saw David over there out of the corner of my eye changing his position over there next to Aurelie’s head. Instead of facing out towards Aurelie’s feet, David was looking down at Aurelie. But I really caught wind of what was about to happen when David used his boots to steady himself on the covered parts of Aurelie’s arm and pulled his tree trunk of a black root out of his denims.

“Ahhh!” David blew out the relief.

Nobody, not even the law, was bold enough to tell David Oliver what he could and could not do. But even if we thought we could that night, the rancid piss coming out of that incredibly large hose that was flushing so fast and furious direction into Aurelie’s made up face that all that was left for any of us to do was give off a concerned sigh while David heaved a relieving groan. We were left baffled when Aurelie stopped fighting his bath and opened his mouth to the wild stream foaming at his mouth.

“I swear if I didn’t know any better I would think ol’ Priscilla got off on that nasty shit!” David commented, putting his cock back in his pants.

“Don’t you know that gold ol’ Priscilla will let any many do any goddamn thing to her purdy self?” Ralph coolly hooted.

“She’s a fucking nymph!”

I looked over at David looking over his huge shoulder back at pudgy Ralph who was raring to go with his flared mushroom glans banging at Aurelie’s lubed backdoor.

Piss was still dripping hot off of Aurelie’s face when I saw that the inevitable was imminent as Ralph cautiously peeled back the tight foreskin of his sweet, pickled pecker and nuzzled the end tip between that trembling cleft.

“Aggghhhh!” Aurelie gasped hazily, letting out a long sight that grew into an ugly grunt the more Ralph used his knees to get a better grip of the mountain.

Aurelie tensed up several times over during the initial invasion, even bucking back a few times without a clear intent of blessing or rebuff.

“Listen to that purdy piggy squeal her sweet melody!” Ralph proclaimed to the moonlight, sinking his sticky pecker in as far as it was go into the poor makeshift cunt. Ralph head stead with Aurelie letting out a girlish shrill to the surrounding range to let the know that he was still active in his body as if he began to grasp that he was helpless in what was happening to him.

Ralph lifted his dirty tee shirt and pulled it back behind his neck. “Now it’s time to really poke Ms. Piggy!”

Ralph got into a real comfortable position that allowed him to really started fucking Aurelie. It was an amazing sight to behold. Ralph was a fat son of a bitch who usually gave out of breath just by getting out of his rocking chair. That night, however, Ralph worked, worked up a sweaty sweat putting the screws to that exhaust pipe. He was working harder than I had ever seen him work before, with Aurelie reaping the benefits against the steady pounding.

I knew that Aurelie wasn’t really there when he kept on looking for where his own screams were coming from, fighting hard to come to more than anything else, silently looking around for a helping hand.

“Yeah, get that sorry bitch, Ralphie!” Malcolm, biracial kin to both Ralph and David egged on.

“I’m getting it in Cousin Mal! I’m getting it in!” Ralph huffed.

Ralph held steady sawing away at Aurelie grunting and groaning heatedly before he pulled his pecker all the way out and crammed it all the way back in to get the most grumbling out of the womanized man.

“Oh, God,” Aurelie screeched, still looking elsewhere for the author of his straggled voice.

With sweat just pouring off him, Ralph plunged deeper into Aurelie, stopped cold, threw his head back to the humid night sky, and howled an obscene deposit into that sweet hole that viciously pushed the heavyset man out.

Ralph barely caught his wind after the great white drainage before hairy Clyde, one of the other guys standing about, knocked the redneck flat on his caboose and quickly mounted the Italian Stallion like the Italian Mare with absolutely no fuss.

Clyde pounded Aurelie with his curved knob for another ten minutes strong before he too emptied out his trash.

Malcolm took Clyde out in the same fashion Clyde took out Ralph with the major difference being that Malcolm looked most comfortable between those open pair of legs.

Fifteen minutes in, Malcolm pulled his furious baby maker out of the naked abyss quivering to push out the collective cream of all three men from the loosened crack.

I walked over behind Aurelie fanatically rotating his hips like he didn’t care who was next, letting me and everyone else know that while he was still relatively out of hit, his rosebud was still wholly in the game.

“Billy Boy, I don’t know,” David noted over my shoulder with me coming out of my trousers for my turn. “Look at that beautiful gaping twat over there just oozing with hot velvety spoo. I mean, I know the good for nothing slut got plenty of round pussy for me to get off on with this huge motherfucker I’m packing, but you’re a bit more modest than me. No offense. I don’t know if she’ll do the trick man. I just don’t fuckin’ know!”

David called himself trying to be coy with his words. He was right. Compared to his Uncle Malcolm with his enormous cock, I was relatively smaller than him even though I had spades over both Ralph and Clyde with my long slender length.

With my manliness on the line, I dropped to my dirty knees and pushed into the slimy pink fissure. It was so scrumptiously warm and soft it felt like I was walking through a sultry paradise making the whorish bitch take me down to the furry hilt. Aurelie was feeling so good with her pulsing snatch I thought I would return the favor by tweaking her nipples through her tattered blouse.

Aurelie began to sob as I pumped into him deep and hard, putting him through both joy and agony rocking every inch I had to give to him. The more aggressive I got, the warmer his hole became mine to take.

“I guess it was plenty of pussy for you, huh, Billy Boy? Wasn’t it? Plenty!” David guffawed as I wiped away swat from my lowly brow.

That sorry son of a bitch was feeling so fuckin’ sweet, I nearly forgot where I was or that ‘Priscilla’ was still a fuckin’ man underneath it all.

“You gonna take me load, Priscilla? Huh, baby? You gonna take my load?” I growled with a renewed vigor in taking that ass. “I know you are. You know why? ‘cause you’re the best little whore around, aincha?”

Aurelie incoherently moaned.

I fucked that sweet hole to kingdom come, feeling like my balls were going back into my body smacking against that voluptuous keister.

“C’mon, Priscilla, baby, open up! Open up that sweet snatch for Billy Boy! Ahhh, yeah, that’s it! There it is! Oh, fuck, you fucking bitch!”

I lost it after that. Cum spewed out of me and joined the other armies of sperm in search of a deeper place to furrow.

“Oh damn!”

I nearly bowled over to the ground from pure fatigue, reminding myself that I was taken out by another man’s delectable butthole.

I would’ve sworn I was knocked over like the men before me had it not been for David looking me straight in the eyes with his long thick black cock sinking into Lollo Aurelie’s piss-stained mouth hanging off of the platform.

“Don’t you dare bite it, bitch!” David barked.

David hunkered down even further into Aurelie’s mouth which from my angle looked like Aurelie was sword-swallowing a lead pipe.

The fact that even in his semi-consciousness Aurelie was able to take much of the surreal flesh down his gullet was quite a remarkable feat. Although I had been on the other end of it a time or two when David had me to suck him off when his wife was too busy rearing his twelve kids to satisfy him, my paramount was just getting my lips around the enormous head. And there David was over there fucking his mouth like it was a proper hole for him.

“Open your fuckin’ piehole, you stupid cunt! Open up!”

I don’t think there was a soul in those woods that couldn’t hear Aurelie gurgling on the cock rammed down his pretty little throat that night with a loose-hanging pair blocking his nostrils with every forceful lunge.

“Priscilla’s a happy little milkmouth slut, ain’t she?” Clyde egged on against a tree, stroking his sleeping log.

“Don’t you know that Priscilla Pumpernickel loves playing with fat peppermint canes?” David asked, making me think of his killer brother as he kept on scraping and assaulting the pair of tonsils just below him.

David continued to pump his cock into that waiting mouth. I swore he was going down to his gut the way Aurelie kept choking on it.

Then, without warning, David stuffed his entire shaft down Aurelie’s throat and just held it there. Held it there!I thought the way Aurelie was choking on it David was out to kill him. Death by dick, I feared.

Once David pulled up, though, and pulled his cock out of that mouth, Aurelie erupted with thick spit gushing out of his mouth with chunky wads of slob running down over his eyes with great gasps of air following suit before David rode his face a few minutes more.

“Time to get in some butt,” David publicized in childish glee, getting up from his place on Aurelie’s worn face.

I saw David get up and move towards me, but I didn’t have a clue that I was actually in his way. Of course, I got out of it once I did watching David do his thing and I didn’t come back to what I was doing then until this familiar warmth swathed my trouser snake to let me know I never retreated out of Aurelie.

David quickly replaced me, mercilessly swimming into the deposits in one smooth stroke while Aurelie yowled like a wounded mutt in pain and outrage. Except this time Aurelie wasn’t nearly as groggy as he had been before. Aurelie might’ve come to while getting his throat reamed but failed to let the rest of us in on it. But when David shoved his larger-than-life cock far up Aurelie’s poor stretched-out rectum, Aurelie had no choice but to let the mountains around Kingsfordland know that he had sobered up in that instance.

“Fuck! I’m no pansy, you filthy motherfucker! I’m a fucking man! A man!” Aurelie cried with the sizeable cock tearing him in two.

“Hush up, bitch!” David snarled, driving back into him out of sheer malice. “You ain’t no fuckin’ man wearing pink pantyhoses!”

“Aggghhhhh!!!” Aurelie griped and shook with a violent tremor.

“See, what I tell you, Priscilla. You even moan like the no good tramp that you are!”

David bent forward and began to hump in earnest. It was quite clear to every one standing around that David and Aurelie were both desperate for this exchange to be over. The only difference being that David wanted to cum badly when he did. Just not before having some more fun with the son of a bitch by offering him some of the most lethal lashings one hung bull could deliver.

“Huh? You get off on having a real man like me up in your guts, huh, Priscilla Pumpernickel?” David cooed sinisterly against the soft whimpers below.

“My name is not Priscilla Pumpernickel, you ugly fuck!” Aurelie screamed in pain.

David stopped dead in his tracks raising his huge body up by his hands and slapped Aurelie across the kisser followed by a ringing noise that bounced off those tall trees.

“Look, you Italian slob. You’ll be what I want you to be, you hear? If I say you’re good ol’ Priscilla Pumpernickel, you should be quite proud and dandy to be Priscilla for a man like me. Got it, you worthless son of a bitch? Good!”

David went back to beating up that hole, plunging in and out of it with no loss of rhythm or stride. Aurelie immediately burst with loud grunts that grew into wolf howls. That was nothing compared to the slop sounds his hole made after loosening its tightened grip around that impossibly large cock.

David hollered against the deafening noise of his wet pounding. “That’s how you take your man, Priscilla! That it! That’s my girl!”

Aurelie shocked us all when I looked down and saw that his corn was in desperate need of shucking, beading with the stuff that he was already stuffed with. Aurelie may’ve been hard all the while the rest of us were fucking the son a bitch, but after he got put in his place, it made it even noticeable.

The bombshells didn’t stop either there either. Aurelie began to really get into the action working hard to vigorous roll his hips back on David to help him get his job done much thoroughly. I thought Aurelie might’ve been more effective had his hand been free to claw the giant moonshiner’s broad back instead of them being behind his back. I quickly learned differently when I saw the great Lollo Aurelie willing accept his doable role as the late Priscilla Pumpernickel.

The odd tragedy in all this was that once Aurelie crossed over to Priscilla, David couldn’t really enjoy her in the role constantly blubbering that the big brute was ruining some of the best pussy in town.

His movements started to change going from this knife-and-jab motion to this lovey-dovey lovemaking with Aurelie calling David by his name, begging to be fucked like he meant it, making him feel like a real woman.

That was everything David needed to hear, soon after he made the announcement he was going to shoot his wad.

“Ah, shit! I’m gonna blow this mug! Ahhh!”

David sped up, and once again stopped once he rammed every inch of meat into that bottomless pit of a whore and roared like a lion coming inside of it.

I thought David was going to die the way he held still over Aurelie with sweat rolling off him and washing the makeup off Priscilla’s purdy painted face.

Aurelie shook with David underneath him but seemed to fall into seizures the way the stud ripped out of him with the loudest pop outside of a clap of severe thunder.

And just like before, David moved quickly back over to Aurelie’s mouth and barked, “Clean this shit up so I can take it back to my missus tonight!”

Kingsfordland didn’t have much of a problem out of Lollo Aurelie after that, though we sealed his emasculated fate by leaving him out in the middle of the street for the whole town to see him purdy in pink. We thought he would’ve left running for the hills. But he quietly got up and limped back toward the mountains in the same direction he hailed from.

When I got a job with the Census Bureau three years later and circled back around after staying away just as long, I was surprised to learn that David Oliver’s wife had passed away during childbirth a year earlier, and that his new girl looked like a dolled-up version of Aurelie, though she heavily insisted that her name was Priscilla Oliver, David Oliver’s newest bride.