slashsmut serial Jen Schillinger Scott Ross


by Jen

Pretty night. For what it was worth. Vern shut the dark drape. He picked up a pamphlet, radical organization forming nearby. **WHERE WERE YOU WHEN THE WHITES WENT OUT?** Pathetic. Leader was Tim Masters, thrown out of Vern's group for hacking up at the sight of blood, and now spreading rumors that his old buddies were neutered neo-Nazi's. He'd have to pay the pussy another visit in a few days. Last time he went by the "compound" (a half-assed cabin in the woods and his cousin as bodyguard) Timmy refused to stop his smear campaign. Just like the elections, only difference was Aryans didn't break as many laws.

Tonight was a different type of pussy. It had been almost two years. Time to stop wallowing and start getting a few wants, no...*needs* fulfilled. Certainly had enough free time, as long as the plant (and the new spic owner) kept him laid off. A week and counting.

"Dad?" Hank padded into the room from a dark hallway. "Can't we just watch tv?"

Hank moved back when Vern stepped forward. "I told you once, I told you a thousand times. They're trying to shove liberal bullshit down our throats. And the tv preachers only save your soul if they get to save their bank accounts."

The boy nodded quietly, heading back. "Son." Stopped dead in his tracks. Hug him. Tell him you love him. Learn from your father's mistakes for Christ's sake. Vern patted his head, tousling his short brown hair as a sign of affection. "Have a good night's rest." Fuck it, being touchy-feely was a woman's job. Maybe his kids wouldn't grow up to be faggots this way. Andrew had already stopped crying himself to sleep, step in the right direction.


"Gimme another."

Steve slid a draft down the counter, leaving Vern to catch with the nearest hand. He hated the case of nerves settling in his gut. It wasn't that big a deal. Didn't need love or friendship, just needed something to put his dick in that didn't have five fingers. Whores carried AIDS and Christ knew how many other bugs, and he wasn't dumb or desperate enough to screw around with the property of his fellow Aryans. Pleasant enough to swap the shit with, but apt to grab a firearm at the first sign of new passengers in the Cuntmobile. He'd probably do the same if he had a wife to protect. Rudolph's was the name of the place, his friends used to call it Adolph's, always cracked him up. Most of 'em had left for whiter pastures when the mud started trickling downhill, Vern stayed after Carolyn begged him. Let the kids stay in their school, let them keep their friends, do this for me, she said with her quivering jaw. He never let her yank him around by his low-hangers during their marriage, except one time. Now he lived to regret it. And she didn't. Life's a fuckin' bitch sometimes.

And fuck, these cows were near-death themselves. They weren't even barflies, more like barbells. Ol' Gertie hit the bad side of 40 around the same time her mouth puckered up to a Coors. Susan looked more shemale than female. Cathy looked good in her heyday, early 80's, in those jeans so tight you could practically see her leaking. She moaned like a banshee back then, probably still did. Maybe she'd like a 10th anniversary reunion tour.

Sidling up to her, he turned on the charm. "Hey honey. That new perfume?"

"Sure as shit is, 40-proof." A sad smile covered her face, at least it melted some years away. "Need a dance partner?"

She'd gained a few pounds, still felt soft in his arms. Pressed a little too close to his dick, but fuck, he wasn't gonna complain about that. They swayed to hillbilly hokum about a prick whose bitch left him and shot his dog. Tuneless song, tone-deaf singer. Her hands fell a little far below his belt, he pulled them up, beer breath tickling her ear. "Be patient darlin', no surprises since the last time we.....danced." Fake nails flew down again, unsatisfied with just a touch, she had to squeeze his ass. Did she get plastered enough to make him her own personal melon patch? He didn't like it, bulge in his jeans didn't mind, but this wasn't right. Made him feel too out of control. Lips pressed against his, needy, desperate, almost as much as him. He pushed her mouth open with the tip of his tongue, filled her slutty mouth, craned her neck back for more movement. He missed this.

Low humming hit the back of his ears. Bikers. Cocky motherfuckers, choked in enough leather to make the Village People look normal. Bikers only got better when you pushed 'em against the rest of the freaks out there. The door swung open, scumbags strolling inside with their usual smugness. Nasty-ass pigs, covered in ink and dirt. The runt of the litter leaned over the counter, pouring his own beer from the tap. A few bills flew in Steve's face before he got the chance to complain. Salt-and-pepper hair, dirty to match his leather gear. Gloves, pants, jacket, shirt, like a Mad Max reject. His dark eyes bored into Cathy's back, correctly scoping her out as the best bet in the place. He swaggered, fuck, how many people had the balls to SWAGGER these days, to the dancing couple, grabbing her hand and jerking forward.

"How much for the whore?"

"I'm no whore you cocks...."

He flashed a Ben Franklin in her face, she eyed hungrily. Almost drooling. Didn't even look at Vern, ashamed maybe? So she was a whore if the price was right. They were heading out the door, into the dark night. Vern had had enough. Following outside, he grabbed the punk's arm before his bike revved away. "The bitch is mine."

Not even attempting to move his gripped arm, the biker smiled, some secret knowledge dawning on him. "Oh, I see. Package deal. OK Daddy, how much to fuck your fat ass?" He probably expected that first punch, knocking him off his chopper with a crash. The fucker had a sick light in his eyes, seemed to enjoy the smell of blood. He lunged forward, Vern easily avoiding him, only tripping up at the hand digging into his ankle. Balance in question, the question answered itself when a fist slammed into the space between his thigh and calf. He fell beside his opponent, head spinning. Been too long since a real fight. Rolling over, he fell on top of the biker, grabbing his filthy hair, elbow pinning one arm and hand blocking the other. Instinctively, he pried scraggly teeth apart, tossing a fistful of earth inside. Turned his head and retched some, swallowed the rest. Weird. No fucking manners, no fucking clas..

"Scott Ross."

The words snapped him out of his haze, that and the dull pain in his thigh. "Who the fuck do you think you are? Know what kind of bar this is boy?"

His shit-eating grin became dirt-eating, adrenaline madness lighting his face. "The thrill of adventure gets me hard. That and cheap sex. Wanna try?" Was that some sorta come-on? Annoyed enough to be distracted, he reflexed a second too slow when Ross lifted up a leg, reversing their positions. Spine scratching against the gravel, metal pressed against his throat, ready to dig. Fuck.

"I really think we can have some fun together. So I could stand up, buy a round for us, swap Nazi shit. Or I might just slice you from neck to knees faster than you can say Triumph of the Will. Decisions, decisions...."

Breath caught in his throat, making his Adam's apple swell against the blade. Only grunts emerged. "Kill m...'ready...herfucker..." Weight off his chest ended, he opened his eyes, Ross had stood, offering his hand. "Passed the test. Congratulations...."


"Congratulations Vern, we'll drink 'til we piss beer bottles."

Part of him yelled to run. But he'd faced worse than a knife-wielding jackass in Lardner, still lived to tell the tale.

"You're a fucking nutjob."

Ross smiled his lopsided smile, an arm falling on Vern's heavy shoulder as they went back to the bar. "I thought you knew that after you felt my hard cock burrowing your leg. Gotta work on those reflexes Vern."

Cathy was still inside, stuffing money in her purse. Good bet not to shove it down her old cleavage cubby hole, that was gonna be uncovered long before this night ended. Ross obviously agreed, jerking her arm to the dance floor, utilizing the blaring love song as the theme for a dry hump. Cath put up about zero resistance, letting his hands probe, prod, pillage every clothed part of her full body. Fucking through their clothes, first words that came to mind. Went on for at least an hour, if Vern's beer time clock (three, maybe four matched up on the table) was accurate. At that moment he wanted to gut 'em both, but his eyes stayed glued to their movements. And the biker knew, the way he turned her around, tits facing Vern, skinny pelvis pressed against her ass, lifting her tank top up a few inches to rub that creamy white flesh. Lips burrowed in her neck, tongue sliding up, flicking her ear, hands moving up, up, inside cheap cloth, tickling the satiny bra holding back her beautiful breasts. Only reason he got that far without being tossed out was his pals, keeping a lethal eye on Steve. After a while his vision started fading in and out, cheap neon lights making his eyes blurry, seam-popping, hungry dick driving him off the bend.

Ross ended the show, hands pushing her ass (now she knew how it felt) to the nearest fuckspot. Passed right by his table, man and man staring each other down. Her hand, guided like a puppet, brushed Vern's cheek. Press-on grazing his smooth skin. Clearcut signal. And that grin from her puppeteer, *daring* for response. Probably guessed an old, experienced geezer couldn't spare the balls to challenge a young turk. Wrong. Following outside, he grabbed Cathy again, not giving a fuck who saw. Inhaling her mouth, tearing away barriers of clothing 'til he hit the mounds. Adrenaline pumped him forward, finally stopping at the headlights scraping his knees. Vern's hands popped open her fly, ripping her panties off, tossed on the hood. Blood poured into a single head as his jeans and boxers lowered under her hands. Shiny, dripping head grazed her hairy pussy, inches filling that hole, 2...3...not even near done yet. He thought about holding it in, waiting for the best moment, but frustrated, celibate years were built up in that snatch. Had to have it, had to come, and he did. Letting out a slow-burn hiss at the release, almost forgot he had a person under him. Fuck drunk and tipsy, Cathy tried pulling herself up. "Wanna go home."

Ross stepped in, pants half undone. "I need an address first."

"Nice try fuckwad." Even Vern barely understood his words. "I know the place, I'll drive. Just a f...miles."

Cop might pull us over. Course half the cops around here'd just show her their nightstick. Stepping behind the wheel, he drove them to her house, porch light turned on expectantly. "Still got that key under the mat?" A bleary nod, too busy laughing to really care. He went inside, the two passengers following. Cathy headed to the bathroom.

"No way in hell I'm gonna let some stranger prowl through m'woman's drawers and....."

"*I* sat on the sidelines while she spread her legs for redneck cock. Now I get a piece."

"Too busy playin' with yourself to get in the way."

Exagerrated movements, hand jabbing Vern's chest, over and over. Leaned in closer now, mouth irritatingly close. "Fuck you fucker, fucking fuckhead, scumfuck fuck..." gave up, whole body swerving toward the bedroom. "FUCK YOU!" Real genius that Ross was.

Vern walked out to the humid summertime air, cleared his head a little. Not bad at controlling his booze, better than Heinfuck at any rate. Still able to walk and talk...'mong other things. Sense told him to get the Christ away from this place, go find his truck, go home. But that wasn't right. Cathy, trashy as she was, needed protection. So he went back in, each step in stride, the thought of peeping into her love nest in back of his mind. OK, he caught a glimpse, more than a glimpse since the door was as open as her pussy. Not the same as joining the party. Dick had even less sense than he did, reviving itself at the sights. Cathy, on her back, tits fondled for all they were worth, legs over Ross' shoulders. Ross, naked as a jackass, sucking her out. Not just sucking, eating, *devouring*. So lost in the bush his skinny ass bobbed in the air with each nip, all ripe and ready for plowing. The thought that Ross licked up what he put inside her not even an hour before, shoulda turned Vern's stomach, but it made his cock ache.

Motherfucker might hurt her, she'd want you to be a lookout. Or plug in. He should help her. His hand, mindless digits, already reached in his fly. When his fist clamped down, autopilot kicked in. Fuck the shoulda woulda coulda. Be a man. And it's a great story to not tell the grandkids.

Shucked off all clothes with record time, shoes banging against her nighstand. Bitch turned her head to see, too cunt-happy to care if Manson himself were in the room. Stepping over to the bed, letting her see him, run her hands all over. Hungry kisses and licks tickled his balls, fingers clawed his thigh. Tried taking both in her mouth, she gagged and suckled one at a time. Those lips chewed lightly on the skin, just between hurt and heat. Damn...hard to think at all...managed to swing his dick across her smudged lips, smiling at that tongue flicking across his head. She took the tip in right before Ross plunged deeper. Good girl, lots of practice, no teeth even when she spasmed. After he got her all clean, Ross came up for air, licking his lips. Vern had such a hum going on he didn't even care about the way that loon leered at him, drinking in his body from head to head. Hey, didn't have the greatest physique, but not bad, and if Ross wanted to gape, no problem. From a distance. Twice in a night, not bad...FUCK...c'mon suck it dry honey...

Eyes flashed red when the contact ended, dick in the breeze. Cath was disappointed, Ross thrilled. Early stages of a hand job, not as good, but better than nothing. Grubby nails in place of plastic knives, that *ain't* a woman's touch.

"Get your goddamn filthy hands off my cock."

Said with as much authority as Vern could get from his throat. Felt so good, no matter who did the squeezing. But he knew, just from their hours together, if Ross got him, he'd go right down to the root, never let go. Reluctantly, smirking, Ross dropped the grip. Pulled Cathy up, laid down on her pink bedspread, put her on top of him. Filled her pussy up fast, not waiting for her to get ready. Vern moved a hand over her face as she rocked back and forth, planting a few fingers into her mouth to suck on. Dirty biker feet pressed into his ankle and up, straight into the basket area. Tossed the aggressive foot aside, stuck two slick digits in her ass, pushing, twisting, probing. Maybe she liked it, too busy bucking and howling over her other invasion. Ross just kept rambling on and on, using every filthy word Vern knew and a few he didn't. Quick lick of the palm, made himself nice and greasy for entrance. She came back to life when Vern started filling her ass, fighting the extra pressure. Nipped at her neck as a distraction, halfway in with more to go. Ross sat up on his elbows, adjusting as Vern pulled her back by the waist.

"Two in one night's old hand for a slut like you, isn't it?"

Memory hit him in a flash, his tongue brushed that spot behind her ear that made her crazy last time around. Panting, hands gripping the covers. So tight, tight always made it better for him. Almost sad it wasn't a cherry. He shoved the rest of himself in before she recovered. Ross shifted onto his side, Cathy sandwiched between them. Her hands went wild, groping, pushing both further in her. Ross had her by the hair, biting at her neck like a mad dog. "Do that like a cockwhore should baby..MMMM"

Did he ever shut up? All the way in, Vern pulled out to the tip, slamming back in to hear her wail. Eyes lit, Ross pulled out as he pushed back in, starting friction. The whole time with their rowboat motion, he never looked at her, only Vern. His mouth finally stopped yapping, but he managed to say even more as a mute. Vern's fingers circled around the dark places under her tits, scratching, sliding down to add a finger or three to her full pussy. Hands roaming all over his body, male and female, over his chest, carressing his nipples and poking sensitive areas, across hard, prison-made muscles, down his hip. Almost felt the other cock brushing against his in her depths, saying howdy. Went on forever, drove him crazy, those grubby fingers finally trickling toward that space between his dick and balls. Tried shutting his eyes, cause every time he didn't, he saw Ross' eyes on him, leering in purest carnal sickness. Almost expectin' him to blurt, "I'm fucking YOU Vern, she's just here to fill the space." Thought of that, the *sin* of it all, made his stomach and balls churn, 'til he finally grunted and emptied inside her, for the second time that day. Cathy was next with her spraying and screeching, probably Ross after her. Didn't pay a shit's worth of attention, too exhausted. He knew he should get out of there, God knows what the loon might do to him once he's unable to defend himself, but he didn't move from the bed. He shut his eyes, and drifted away.


No light. Wake up Vern. Something blocked his face. A pillow. He could barely lift his head off the bed. Way too much to drink, and the...musta dreamed that. He had more sense than....smoke. Stretched his tired bones to sit up, sheet laid over part of his lap. Ross, sitting on the edge of the bed, flicking ashes. "Don't be shy Vern, you're among friends."

Legs spread. Obviously had no problems with lettin' it all hang out. Vern searched with his eyes for his boxers, apparently tossed toward the back of the room. Fuck it. Nothin' he ain't already seen. Tooled around, ignoring the wandering eyes, finally found 'em.

"Cathy had to go to work, but she said to say goodbye. I sure did have fun last night, from what I remember. Of course they say three is a charm...something like that."

Vern tuned him out. Stumbling toward the bathroom, he fumbled with the shower. Water not hot enough, but it had to do. She still had the same pink shower curtain. Moisture trickled down his body, as he clumsily tried to get that drunk stench off. Head pounded like a brass band. Satisfied, he stepped out, wrapping the towel around himself when he saw a partial (and suddenly dressed) reflection in the mirror. Guess he wasn't as open as he was in the other room. Delayed reaction.

"Where did you get those tattoos? Joliet? Oz?"


"I can spot prison ink a mile away. Never wanted any for myself, Mom always said I was too pretty to mark, but I do admire from a distance. Can I touch?"

Fucking crazy, but he never had a problem with admiration. A quick nod, a certain unease and smugness when Ross smoothed his hand over a bicep. Soft hands for an ex-con hogfucker.

"Thunderbolts. Fucking grade-A choice. They look much better now under unloaded eyes."

His hand stayed put, squeezing. Other hand spread over the proud Nazi eagle on his chest, carefully, almost in some sort of awe. Too much like last night....rather just block that out for the moment.

Vern moved the hands off. "Got any plans for the day?"

"The Lowriders, my old gang, sped outta town this morning. Nothing special. I'm open to suggestions."

"Just a simple lesson in respect."

"Hopefully not too simple."

"Some fucker's talkin' trash about me and the people I associate with, and he needs to be shut up. Since you don't seem to have any problem with a little blood, thought you'd want to tag along. Gotta stop by my place first, but it's got a shower. Lowriders?"

"You already showered. Yeah, they loved 70's jungle music. And I love random acts of violence. Or planned acts. Hell, I just love violence."

Smile spread across Vern's face, just the help he needed today. "I know I showered. I don't smell like a fucking camel." Normally not a modest person, but still creeped out by Ross, Vern slid his boxers on underneath the towel.

"Water and me..." his hands shook, "don't mix. Besides, I'm doing *you* a favor, no hygiene advice please."

Shirt on, pants almost on, shoes and socks momentarily. "Let's go."

Walking through the house, Vern had to stop, put his hand on a shoulder. "About last night.."

His eyes were already mid-roll. Probably expecting the forget or die speech.

" was a fucking hoot. I haven't let go in a long time. Too long. But don't spread it around."

He loved seeing people react like that, surprised he wasn't a redneck dumbass. Or a *complete* redneck dumbass, as Cathy once said.

"I spread lots of different shit around, but this I'll keep under my belt. Just for you."

Snort. "And because you know I'd break your neck if word ever got out."

"Sure, that too. No one'd believe me anyway, they say I don't know how to share my toys."


Short drive in the truck, Ross sticking his head out the window like some dog sprung from the kennel. Back to the sturdy, plain house in no time, key in the door, Ross strolled inside. "Nice place, deceptive. Keep all the rough stuff in storage?"

"Most, yeah." Didn't have a shitload to start with, but no need to volunteer that particular piece of information. Bad enough his new sidekick saw right through him, through everybody. All the way through the fridge, shoving cold pizza down his throat. Lips curled around a carton of milk, guzzling half the contents, leaving white traces on his whiskers. Quick trip to the bathroom, and Ross made a return trip outside. Exhausted and entertained by the rapid act, Vern followed him, head pounding all over again in time with his brisk steps.

The '88 Honda bumped over dirt roads and manmade speedbumps. Ross scoped out the interior, fiddling with radio stations, fondling the rough material like he was gonna fuck the seat at a minute. An arm covered itself in his leather glove, the other stayed pale white. "We training falcons later?"

Ross smiled. "Clever, I thought you were gonna ask about moonwalking. Just trust me Vern. What's the last name?"


"Nice. German enough."

Back through roads, until the edge of the woods. Jumping out of the truck, he motioned to Ross, creeping through trees and shrubbery. Stopped once for Ross to piss, then they found the clearing. Cousin dumbfuck was nowhere in sight. Vern pulled out his gun, opening the heavy door. Ross moved ahead of him, finger on his lips, almost tip-toeing through the big room. Not in the kitchen, bathroom, finally Ross tried the bedroom. Masters leaped at the sound, reaching for his piece, but Ross already had him lined up.

"Freeze motherfucker! It's the police." Confused the wimp, until Ross began chuckling. "Always wanted to do that. Where's your gun?"

"I....I d-don..."

"Feed me another lie cunt. Where's the gun?"

"Under my bed."

Vern lifted the sheet. Crazy hand flailing stopped him from grabbing it. "This is where the glove comes in handy." His piece flew in the air, Vern caught it while Ross dove to grab the small Magnum under the bed. "Vern here tells me a little weenie's trying to swim in the world of big cocks. Didn't make sense to me, had to see for myself, and he's right! Ridiculous! Not that he's right, just that a cocksucker like you wants to run with the older crowd."

"Not scared."

"Oh, you should be. I'm certifiable. Just ask Daddy over there. I got nothing to lose. Been locked up once, probably goin' back eventually, killed numerous pets, some people, even sodomized a few skinheads. And thanks to the man you stabbed in the back, I've got a four-eyed fishfucker in my sights. Only one way to get me out. Write a note apologizing to Fuhrer Schillinger for trying to fuck up his life. Then we'll probably make you plaster your brains all over these piney walls."

Vern couldn't have wiped the stupid, dimply grin off his face if he wanted to. This was perfect. Masters fumbling for paper and a pen, ducking repeated head-slaps by Ross, holding back pansy tears. "What's he written so far?"

"Blah blah, so sorry I tried to undermine his authority, Vern's a good man with strong leadership, follow him, blah blah...."

"Mention something about being a failure to his race."

"That's good!" Gun pointed at his temple, Masters finished the note. Brown eyes swelled and puffy, hands clenched into fists, defeated.

"You'll pay for this one day. Maybe I won't, but another faceless victim will. People do fight back. I will be aveng..."

Blah blah, wah wah, fuck knows how many times the troopers heard this before Goldbergsteinkike finally shut up and stepped in the gas oven.

"Wanted to be nice, but every damn time I try, motherfucking cocksucking shitbags like you goad me, and goad his mouth." Magnum lodged inside the screaming hole, nice fit. "Look at my face, at a survivor. This will be a very happy memory for me, your last moment on Earth. All the other mongrels, oh, excuse me...*faceless victims*...I killed, they saved a seat in Hell."

Ross had a strong grip, strong enough to force that puny little hand onto the barrel of it's own gun, squeezing the trigger. His head exploded in a blood rainbow, showering the wall and both men. Neither turned away, Ross had a smile of pure joy on his face. Wagging his eyebrows as he shucked clothing, a crazy laugh followed when his pants fell to the floor. "There's this saying I never understood, until today."

Second time that day he'd shown Ross his drawers. "What?"

"I love this job."

Clean clothes came out of a black garbage bag, the bloody clothes flew inside a second later. Ross replaced his black shirt, tennis shoes, and black jeans with....a black shirt, tennis shoes, and black jeans. "I will be demanding cash by sunset. That was my best outfit."


Halfway through a cigarette he begged off Ross right before the drive home (so much for old habits staying old), Vern flicked the radio dial. Gospel. Nah. Oldies, sure. Nothing better. Still knew how to make smoke circles. Most fun he'd had all day.

"I feel like I'm in the wrong century. Ever feel that way? Like we missed the bus? With shits like that Masters in charge, the niggers are gonna overrun by the next decade. Fuck it. My sons should be getting home soon. Like to meet them?"

"Nah, didn't get along with kids even when I was a kid. I'll see 'em next time."

"How the fuck do you know I ever want to see your mangy ass again?"

A quick glance at his nails, before the headlights stare. "I get under people's skin. Once I make the contact, it's never broken. Like a mama and her newborn son."

"Or syphillis."

"Or a thunderbolt tattoo. Thanks for the adventure, I haven't had this much fun since my first gang rape. There's Cathy's."

He jumped out before Vern came to a full stop, checking his bike for damage. "That Cathy is just a gem. Give her this." Caught the wad of bills one-handed. "I don't say goodbye, but I will say this, a little addendum to my earlier comments. I've seen fat asses. That isn't a fat ass, it's a full ass."

Quicker than Vern's reflexes, he patted the mentioned buttocks. "The rest ain't bad either." Five fingers flew around to squeeze his crotch, balls, fondling the whole package. "Just ask, and I can give you pleasures that no cunt ever dreamed of." He smiled again, full of piss and fearlessness, almost enough to make Vern forget the meat market routine. "See you at Kate's boarding house in Hooterville, just one town over!"

Jesus Christ. Ross sped away at the moment Cathy arrived home. Produce and beef collide. Right back where he started. Helping her with her car door, he tried shielding his eyes from fading light. He slipped her the money, she grabbed without hesitation. "From Ross. He just left."

She got out slow, must be sore from her doublefuck horse ride last night. He caught the bag of canned goods tossed at him. "More? Nice guy. Now I can get those power company sharks off my back."

In the mood, he held the front door open for her. "Ross? Nice guy? Personally, I think he's an asshole."

Continued in Meltdown

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