The Great Coon Hunt, part 3: Finale

Finishing his beer, Dan tossed the empty can over his shoulder and ran the back of his hand over his lips to make sure no foam remained.  He turned to Pete and the boys, surveying them with a grin.

“Ok, gents, listen up,” the Sheriff said, “We got a dozen niggers left to dispose of, right?  So I have an idea.  I’m gonna let the monkeys outta their cells and we’re gonna chase ‘em down one by one.  You catch an ape, you can do whatever you want to it.  Just don’t use a gun unless absolutely necessary.  Any objections?”

There was a brief pause, then Mike stepped forward.  “Can you give us a coupla minutes before you set ‘em loose?  There’s somethin’ I’ve always wanted to try on a coon, but I’m gonna need time and maybe a little help to set it up.”

“Whatcha got in mind?” Dan asked.  Mike approached him and whispered into his ear.  The fact that his idea, whatever it was, strongly impressed Dan was so clear to everyone in the room that Pete felt a deep pang of what could only be jealousy.

“You’re sure we’ve got everything you need?” Dan asked Mike; upon the latter’s affirmative reply, the older cop said, “Ok, grab somebody and go get it.  Pete, grab a coon from the top row and have it untie the hanging meat.  I’ll have one from the bottom drag it out to the vans.  I don’t want more than two out until the end; Mike can use one of ‘em.  In the meantime, we can all collect whatever we think will be useful for exterminating this infestation.  And remember, boys—the nigger scum needs to be punished.  It needs to suffer.

The hardbodied young man fanned out, their faces radiant and their still-exposed cocks stiff with racial hatred and malicious glee.  Nobody felt the slightest need to tuck their swollen, engorged members back into their pants, no one had the slightest trace of self-consciousness.  On the contrary, it bound them even closer.

None of them were fools; they all knew their actions were illegal and considered reprehensible by society.  But neither laws nor societies were perfect.  Both were capable of errors.  Every white man in that blood-soaked building was devoutly convinced that he was not only correcting a major error, but that the purgation of such a base, corrupted form of the human species was a crucial duty—one so important to their existence as true men that it demanded consecration with semen.

Mike went to the storeroom with Jack as the thick tread of Pete’s knee-high camo hunting boots rang echoingly on the iron stairs.  Dan headed towards the lower cells but before he reached hem, he was halted by Pete’s words from above.

“Hey, Sheriff!” the young, but already experienced killer called out, “Don’t bother getting’ any down there.  I got two big ol’ black bucks up here that look up to the job.  I’m sendin’ one down.”

After a few muffled but sharply-barked commands, a nigger tremulously descended the stairs, its eyes wide with fear.  It had a muscled, well-toned body and despite being utterly limp, it was obviously sporting major tackle.  The hardbodied Lieutenant leaned over the railing and grinned.  “The other one looks just like it—bet they’re outta the same litter!”

At that, the remaining Aryans in the hall began hooting and catcalling.  The spade shrank back in terror.  Dan sneered and strode brusquely towards it, clamping his powerful hand around its thick muscled bicep and manhandling it towards the bottom floor of cells.  “Get over here, you sack of shit,” he snarled, and pointed to a dangling ape with an abdomen so severely damaged it had practically been disemboweled. 

He unholstered his service revolver and place the barrel flush with the coon’s skull.  “When the meat hits the floor, you’re gonna drag it outside to the van.  I’m comin’ with ya the entire way.  Listen up, you worthless cockroach—you try anything, you drop the meat, you so much as look at me or any other white man, I’m gonna do the world a favor and empty your fucking skull of whatever wad of diseased tissue it uses for a brain.”

He spoke calmly and coolly, his voice even and his tone level.  It was somehow more terrifying than if had been screaming and the darkie responded by pissing itself.

“Fucking sub-human garbage,” Dan muttered, wrinkling his nose at the sour, acrid odor, “Can’t even be house-trained.  Gonna make you clean that up once you’re done with the bodies,” he growled at the trembling nigger.  “Hell, I might even make you lick it up, just for the laughs.”  His handsome face twisted into a malicious smile as he envisioned the suffering the muscled black youth could be forced to endure—but then reality set in and his face became wry.

“Of course, it all depends on how long you survive.  Maybe someone else will be cleaning up your piss—and your blood.”

The body at the far end began to jerk and twitch as the barbed wire noose that help it aloft began to be unmoored.  Pete called down, “Hey, Sheriff?  Gonna need another one after all.  This fuck ain’t strong enough to both lift the meat and untwist the wire.” 

The clank of a cell door opening was followed by a brisk series of barked orders.  “Over there!  Move!  Grab the wire and lift.”  There was a momentary pause and then Pete’s voice came again, not harsh and demanding, but with an ice-cold matter-of-fact tone.  “Grab that barbed with your bare monkey paws and lift, you motherfucking jigaboo, or I’m gonna gut you like a deer and jack off while I watch you try to keep your bowels inside you.”  Sounds of misery permeated down as the corpse rose a few inches, shuddered for a minute, then fell suddenly, hitting the concrete floor with a wet splat.

“Go get it, boy,” Jack told the coon.  He kept a bead on it as it hesitantly approached the carcass, too emotionally traumatized to do more than blubber and moan as it mindlessly obeyed.   It bent down and reached under the corpse’s arms.

“Not like that, boy, not like that,” Dan said.  The Aryans gathered around it, grinning.  “Best do as he says,” Frankie warned, giving the spade a gentle nudge with his steel-toed combat boot that barely even fractured a rib.

“Grab it by the wire and drag it out,” Dan said calmly.  The nigger looked at the barbed wire, then down at its own palms, then turned a completely blank stare on Dan.

As if on cue, a commotion from above had increased in volume enough to be clearly heard now, with Pete snarling, “I don’t care how much your fuckin’ ape paw is bleeding!  Here—”  There was a wet cracking sound, reminiscent of the snapping of a fresh green twig.  It was instantly followed by a shriek, cut off abruptly by a thick, meaty slap.  “Shaddup,” Pete growled menacingly, “Or I’ll break something worse than your fuckin’ pinkie.  Get back to work, monkey.”

Dan returned the coon’s stare.  “Your kind can only learn through pain.  And the next time you look a white man in the face, I’ll have nails driven into your eyes—unless, of course, something worse is already happening you.  Heh!”   

Tears welling in its eyes, the jigaboo grabbed the barbed wire noose and began to drag the corpse.  Almost at once, its hands began to bleed.  It stopped for a moment, bleating in pain, but Dan got it moving again with a swift kick to the ass from his steel-toed boot.

In the time it took for yard ape to haul the meat out and return, a second body dropped from above, accompanied by the agonized mewling of the monkeys.  In this way it progressed, taking twenty minutes to clear the upper tier.  The lower was done in fifteen because it wasn’t necessary to raise the dangling coons to untie them.  By the time it was over, the bodies had been cleared.  Three niggers stood in the middle of the room, moaning in fear and pain, the palms of their hands shredded to hamburger.

“Housecleaning’s done,” Dan said with a cheerful smile, “Time to have some fun.  You ready, Mike?”

“Yeah, I am,” Mike replied, stepping aside to show what he and Jack had created.  It was a harness consisting of four electrical lines wired into a set of battery jumpers.  It was connected to the overhead power cables via what looked like a dimmer switch.  Even Jack looked impressed.

“Where’d you learn to do that?” he asked.

“Worked as a trainee electrician for about six months,” Mike said nonchalantly, “Then I found out the guy teachin’ me was a half-Jew.  Jumped him in the dark one night and fractured his kike skull.  Last I heard, he was in a coma—never went back.”

“Go ahead and pick your ape,” Dan said.  “No point in auctioning them off, they ain’t worth nothing,” he added with a chortle.  Mike strolled over to the quivering trio of coons, the tread of his heavy engineer boots echoing in the concrete expanse.

“This one,” he said, nodding towards a lithe young porch monkey with a swimmer’s build.  The moment it was selected, it began to gibber in terror and back away.  Mike grabbed a zip tie from his utility belt.

“Here, someone help me snag this coon,” Mike called.  Ed was closest; he rounded on the nigger and sucker-punched it so hard, it was too busy spitting out its teeth to object to or even notice Mike binding its hands behind its back.  It wasn’t until he began to frog-march it over to the harness that it began to shriek in abject fear.

“Fuckin’ howler monkey,” Mike growled as he secured to a metal post by looping a second zip tie through the one on the nigger, then around the post. 

“Now we gotta wire it up,” Mike instructed, raising his voice over the jigaboo’s cries.  It wasn’t necessary for long, though; the spade’s voice suddenly cracked, leaving it emitting a frantic wheeze.

Mike continued, “It’s like the electric chair—ya need one connection at the head and another below the heart.  So—here.”  He clamped the red cables to the nigger’s earlobes, then with a vile grin, clamped the black ones onto its balls.

“You ready, ya fuckin’ scum?” Mike snarled as he picked up the dimmer.  “Y’know,” he said, pausing and turning to Dan with a playful smirk, “Seems to me the state owes us somethin’ for all this.  After all, this motherfucker woulda ended up in the chair someday anyways.  Think of how much money we’re savin’ ‘em but goin’ ahead and taking the coon out now!”

Then he flipped a switch on the bottom of the dimmer.  Even at the lowest setting, nigger moaned and went rigid.  Mike gave the knob a vicious twist.

“URK!” the darkie spat out.  Its lean body, slick with sweat, suddenly jerked into a rigidity so severe that it rose up onto its toes, its spine curving back in an arc.  Its eyes rolled back into its head, leaving only the bulging whites.

“Aw, fuck yeah,” Hank said, stepping forward and beating his meat.  “Ya likin’ that white lightnin’, nigger?” he sneered.  Jack stepped forward, as did Pete, both of them jacking their rods.  Soon all of them were standing around, jeering and catcalling.  Only Dan held back, as befit his position of authority—but it didn’t stop him from stroking his own powerful weapon.

“Fry, you goddam black scum,” Mike roared, jerking the dial up to two-thirds of the way while pounding his shaft.

The effect was immediate.  The coon pissed itself, the hot salty fluid an excellent conductor of electricity down its spasming legs.  Hemorrhages began to appear in the whites of its eyes and a thick, slimy trail of foam exuded from between teeth that were relentlessly clamped down on its tongue.

“Burn in hell, ya fuckin’ subhuman jigaboo!” Jack shouted, his cruelly handsome face contorted with a blend of racial hatred and a triumphant bloodlust that could only be sanctified by a release of semen. The only way of combatting the racial evil on the spiritual level was by repeated offerings of potent seed of the True White Man.

“Do it, man,” Pete gasped, obviously as close to the brink of orgasm as everyone else was, “Smoke that nigger fuck!”

Mike didn’t need to be told. He cranked the power to full and fried the monkey to a crisp.

The trickle of foamy drool became a torrent.  It shuddered in violent convulsions, its lean, chimp-like body sweating and thrashing.  Blood spewed from its eyes and ears.  Suddenly, with a violent thrust of the hips, its dangling cock rose straight up and ejaculated with explosive force.  The nigger probably would have enjoyed it if its brain hadn’t been boiling inside its own skull.

However intense its deathload was, though, it was utterly lost in the deluge of white boy cum that immediately followed.

Surprisingly, it was Dan who led the way.  “Aw, fuck,” he grunted, “Fuckin’ nigger punk getting’ what it deser—aw, fuck!  Fuck!  Fuck!”  Even though he was standing some distance away, the long, ropy strand of spunk geysering from his cock managed to spatter Jack’s green Doc Martens.

Mike, having switched off the power, let fly next as the dead ape slumped to the floor, followed by Pete, whose hot, milky sperm splashed all over the dead coon’s flat belly and trickled down its abdomen.

Frankie and Hank shot simultaneously, their thick spunk coating the nigger’s feet.  Jack was more vocal than the others.

“Ya liked that, ya dead piece a’ shit?” he jeered, furiously cranking his shaft, “That’s what white fuckin’ power feels like yeah?  Too much for you, ya worthless coon!  You can’t take real white power!  Can’t take—oh, fuck—can’t take my—fuck!  Yeah, white power, bitch.  White—gah, FUCK!!!—white fuckin’ power!!!”  As he spewed his hot potent manseed, Hank joined him almost soundlessly, as if Jack’s release had given him permission to unload as well.

For several minutes, the only sounds in the abandoned jail were the gasping of the Aryans, catching their breath, and the subdued whimperings of the niggers.  The stench of cremated coon pervaded the room; it had a sickly-sweet smell, like overcooked pork.

As the group of brutal killers regained their composure, Dan spoke up.  “Hope you boys didn’t completely empty your nutsacks,” he said with a wicked grin, “There’s plenty more niggers left needing a good baptism in White Power.  Anyone got any ideas for these two?”  He nodded at the two spades standing by the staircase, their shredded hands still oozing blood.

“Aw fuck yeah,” Pete growled, “I wanna teach that one a lesson.”  He nodded at the taller of the two, which immediately started sobbing.  Edging back into the corner, it pissed itself in terror.  Pete sneered.  “I had a dog that I couldn’t housebreak.  Had to put it down, just like I’m gonna do to you, fuckhead.  Any of you gents wanna help me out and hold it down while I show it who’s boss?”

Mike and Frankie stepped forward.  Grabbing the gibbering, terrified ape by its arms, they dragged it into the far corner.  Pete followed, slipping his hunting knife from its sheath and holding it so that its nine-inch blade of carbonized steel glittered in the light.

In the meantime, Jack’ voice rang out.  “I got dibs on the other one.  Fuck, my balls ain’t drained at all.  Ed, you and Hank, bend it over that table there; I gotta go get somethin’.”  The coon squalled like a money in pain as the hardbodied Aryans, their long cocks still hard and dripping, manhandled it over to one of the metal tables and bent it over.  It was still struggling as Jack reappeared from the storeroom holding a flat screwdriver with an eight-inch shank.

Dan held back, stroking his shaft, enjoying the cruel creativity of the younger men.  He liked that they were self-starters and needed no guidance from him in these matters.  He spent a moment observing Jack.

The young skinhead was speaking to Hank and Ed.  “Y’all ever try nigger pussy?  They’re all fuckin’ fags, so their holes get reamed out.  Watch this.”  He jammed his massive rod up the jigaboo’s ass with a single brutal thrust; its agonized scream spiraled up into an octave usually reserved for sopranos, making the vicious racist grin in triumph.

“Aw, fuck yeah, take it all, ya goddam black cunt!  That white boy meat hurts, don’t it?  That’s how you know you got a real man inside ya, not just another monkey!”  As his enormous cock plunged balls-deep into the helpless coon, both Ed and Hank laughed brutally.  Still holding the ape down with one hand each, they used their free hands to slap their erect dicks in its face, smearing their thick oozing precum on its lips and in its eyes.

In the far corner, Pete slowly approached the horrified coon being pinioned by Mike and Frankie.  “Hey, boy,” he said gently, a slight smile on his face as sadism lit his pale blue eyes with a frightening glitter, “Remember how I toldja I was gonna gut ya like a deer?  I changed my mind.  Deer are noble animals; yer just a porch monkey.  I’m gonna gut ya like a pig, har!”  Without a warning, he rammed his blade into the nigger’s belly up to its hilt.

“GACKGH!” the yardape gurgled as nine inches of hardened steel sliced through its guts like they were wet paper.  “Goddam, yeah!!!” Mike cried, precum oozing from his stiff hog in a steady stream, “Teach that stupid fuck a lesson it won’t forget!”

Getting up close, Pete began sawing upwards, cutting the spade open from the navel to the base of the sternum.  He pulled the knife out; grabbing the cunt by the back of its neck, he forced its head down and wiped its blood off on its own nappy hair, then stepped back and began to masturbate.

“You can let it go,” he said.  Frankie and Mike immediately began beating off.  The coon gasping and gurling, looked own as its intestines began to spill out of the seven-inch gash in its belly.  Looking back up at Pete in abject horror, it clutched its hand over the wound in a desperate and useless attempt to keep its guts inside its abdomen.

“Ya gotta do better than that, nigger!” Frankie jeered, ginning in manic bloodlust, “Lookit—some of ya is still oozin’ out!”

 Back in the center of the room, Jack was still assraping the other coon.  “Goddam it,” he muttered through clenched teeth, “I told y’all all these fuckin’ nigs take it up the ass.  This one’s already startin’ to get loose on me.  You boys know how make nigger ass pussy tight again?  Ya gotta do it manually.  Here, I’ll show ya.”

Putting one hand on the back of the monkey’s head, he forced it down onto the table.  He took the screwdriver in the other hand and started shoving it into the pigfuck’s ear.

Slowly.  Very slowly.

Its screaming became almost unendurable as its eardrum was punctured, but once the steel shaft began to grind through the middle ear, the ape’s vertigo increased to the point that it couldn’t scream anymore.  It could only retch and vomit, its hard, muscled body thrashing in unimaginable agony.

“That’s it!” Jack cried, “Work my shaft, ya fuckin’ nigger!  You know you want my load, ya goddam faggot coon—fuckin’ milk it out as you die!”

Even though he was inching the screwdriver into its cranium, it didn’t take long to reach the point where Jack wasn’t able to inflict any more pain—there are no nerve endings inside the brain.  Jack still hadn’t cum yet, though; he wasn’t gonna let it go till he did.  He had only one option left.

He began to skullfuck the coon with the screwdriver, brutally and ruthlessly reaming the steel shank inside its head, scrambling its cerebellum into mush.

Back across the room, Pete was close to orgasm and the monkey was close to death.  As it bled out, it began to weaken.  It sank to its knees, then seemed to lose the strength to keep holding its innards in.  Its hands fell to its sides and immediately its intestines fell out in a thick, ropy pile of guts, accompanied by a thick, viscous splat.  It looked up at Pete, its mouth gaping, an agonized, pleading look in its eyes—and that was all it took.

“Fuckin’ worthless piece a’ monkey meat—aw, fuck! FUCK!  FUCKIN’ DIE, YA GODDAM NIGGER!!!”

His first jet of semen shot directly into the coon’s open mouth.  It was instantly followed by Mike’s, then Frankie’s—the latter hitting its eyes while Mike spilled his seed into its exposed and newly-vacated abdominal cavity.  The ape died in a shower of sperm, its last sight on earth that of the hate, rage and lust in the faces of the white men who’d killed it, just because they could.

Jack unloaded as he angled the screwdriver down and destroyed the monkey’s brain stem.  It began to convulse violently, its firm, hard body thrashing and kicking.  “Yeah!  Yeah!  Fucking die on my dick, jigaboo!  Take this white load and die!” 

As Jack’s shaft erupted deep in the nigger’s guts, both Ed and Hank blew thick wads of white boy cum into its face.  At the last moment, Dan stepped up.  As his orgasm built, he looked over at the coons still locked in the cells.  “This is what happens to coon who set foot in white country.  This—aw, fuck—this is why we don’t have a nigger problem ‘round here.” 

He pried the dying spade’s mouth open and shoved his massive tool down its throat.  “Take it, ya worthless jigaboo!  Swallow my cum, ya subhuman ape!”  As he unloaded down its throat, he grabbed the screwdriver from Jack and stabbed the black fuck in the back of the neck, repeatedly severing its spinal cord.  The nigger skidded into the cold screaming vortex of death with the salty taste of a white man’s semen in its mouth. 

The Sheriff, his cock still dripping, strode over to the switch that controlled the cell doors.  “All right, boys, warm-up is over,” he announced, “It’s time to hunt some coons!”  He threw the switch, opening the cells at once.  Whooping and cheering, the hyper-sexed skinheads dashed into the lower cells while Pete and Dan, smirking with evil pleasure, mounted the stairs to roust out the three niggers still left on the upper tier.

At the far end of the upper catwalk, two of the spades were huddled against the far wall, trembling in terror.  The cops disregarded them; their objective for the moment was to force the monkeymeat downstairs into the killing pit.  But one was still in its cell; they both entered to get it out.

This one looked younger than the others; it must have been about seventeen or eighteen, but it didn’t appear to be that old.  It was curled into a fetal position in a corner of the cell, whimpering and crooning to itself.

“Goddamit,” Pete muttered, “Looks like this one’s blown a fuse.  Ain’t gonna be any fun.”

“No, it isn’t,” Dan agreed grimly, “It’s not gonna give any sport at all.  Might as well off it now.”

If the yardape heard its death sentence, it didn’t react.  It didn’t react at all—until Dan and Pete started kicking to it death.

Dan led the way, slamming his combat boot down into its face, stomping its teeth down its throat.  Next, he transferred his attention to its nose, grinding it brutally under the thick tread of his sole.

The muscle-bound young Lieutenant didn’t hesitate to join in.  He drove his knee-high hunting boot into the coon’s crotch with vicious force.  The jigaboo had done nothing during all this but try to curl up in a tighter ball, but Pete’s next move changed that.  He stepped on its black balls, crushing them into the concrete floor with such relentless power that they ruptured, spurting out their contents like crushed grapes.

The nigger let out a piercing, agonized screech that sounded utterly inhuman—the sound of an animal in terrible suffering.  “Aw, fuck yeah!” Pete cheered, the bleating of the darky making his dick go hard.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m talkin’ about,” Dan grinned.  “Let’s finish this scumfuck off and get back to the fun downstairs.”

It took less than three minutes to kill the nigger.  Pete’s lace-up camo boots rose and fell on its midsection, imprinting deep bruises on its belly as he stomped it so hard, he tore its intestines and stomach and ruptured its liver.  Dan continued to focus on its head, his hard-soled boots shattering its jaws and cheekbones and so utterly destroying the orbits of its eyes that the latter organs collapsed back into its sinuses.  They alternated brutal kicks to its flanks, each one rewarded with the erotic crunching of breaking ribs.

By the time they were done, both sadistic killers were completely rock-hard again.  The young porch monkey was so mangled that it wasn’t even recognizable as being primate; even dental records wouldn’t have helped.  Both of its lungs had been so riddled with bone shards from its ribs that they collapsed. As Dan and Pete watched with intense satisfaction, it convulsed violently and expelled its final breath in an agonized cloud of blood and foam that erupted from the hamburger that had once been its face.  Its useless life ended on the cold concrete in a puddle of its own blood and stinking piss.

As Pete left the cell and confirmed that the other two coons had already fled downstairs, Dan sneered as the quivering corpse.  “Fuckin’ yardape,” he muttered, “Deserved every bit of what you got for comin’ onto my turf.”  He turned and followed Pete to the lower level.

From then on, the situation devolved into an extended testosterone-soaked bloodbath.

Mike and Jack had cornered one coon near the staircase; as it held up its arms in a pathetic attempt at self-defense, they repeatedly stabbed it.  Its hands were already slashed to useless ribbons, and it was screaming and begging—until Mike got a lucky blow in to its throat.  It gagged and made a loud sound like it was blowing a raspberry, but it was the sound on a dying ape choking on its own blood.  As it spat a thick, coppery spray, Mike and Jack stepped back, cheering and jacking. 

The nigger sank to its knees.  “Feel it, motherfucker!” Mike yelled at it, “Feel what White Power really means, fuckface!”

“Aw, fuck, take it, ya nigger cunt,” Jack moaned, sweating and beating off, “Take my pure white load, ya—fuck!  Yeah, fuck!”

The spade looked up, despair and agony written large on its simian countenance, as both the Aryan shot searing loads of their potent white seed all over its face.  Then it slumped to the ground, just another pile of jigaboo meat covered in cum.

Frankie, Ed, and Hank had trapped another pair.  The coons were huddled up against a wall, with the boys forming a sort of semi-circle around them, taunting and jeering at their subhuman prey.  Both nig-nogs were in tears.  Suddenly, the one on the left tried to make a break for it.

The boys were prepared; they’d been waiting for this.  All three were armed with the wire-wrapped boards.  The two closest—Frankie and Hank—went at it like a moving piñata as Ed threatened the other.  They only got two blows in before it rejoined its companion against the well.

The three skinheads traded a salacious look amongst themselves; as they did, their thick, vein-wreathed cocks began to throb and swell visibly.  A prurient leer twisted Ed’s hard face.

“C’mon, men,” he growled throatily, “I think it’s about time these dumbass yardapes learn what happens when they cross paths with real White Men.”

“Hell yeah,” Hank replied, massaging his erect tool and looking the closest coon directly in the face, “You ready to die, monkeyboy?  Fuck no, you ain’t ready for this shit.  Yer stupid little ape brain can’t imagine how fuckin’ bad this is gonna hurt—we’re just gonna hafta show ya.”

And with that, all three Aryans waded in, swinging their improvised bats.  For a solid three minutes, the large concrete hall echoed with the thick, gruesome splattering sound of barbed-wire-wrapped wood slamming into naked flesh and ripping it open, accompanied by a rising crescendo of shrill screams of nigger agony. 

But only for about three minutes—then the screaming began to fade, as the coons’ throats were torn open.  They slowly sank to the floor, gurgling and choking, and the boys began to unload.  They didn’t even have to touch themselves to do it; as nigger blood began to flow around their boots, their orgasms were not only spontaneous but simultaneous.

There were also so intense that each of the Aryans had to reach out his hand to his brother next to him to steady himself.  With their other hands, they were still beating the spades.  Long after the monkeys had died, they were still being showered with cum and blows.

In the meantime, Dan noticed the Pete had two jigaboos to himself on the other side of the room.  The sadistic young Lieutenant noticed his boss on grinned at him.

“Hey, Sheriff,” he called, “These two say they’re brothers.  They look like littermates to you?”

Responding with a cruel leer, Dan stepped towards them.  “Well, fuck,” he drawled, “They all look alike anyway.  That’s why non one’s gonna miss ‘em—they’re like fuckin’ cockroaches.  All of them the same, and always too fuckin’ many of ‘em.”

“So we’re kinda like heroes for exterminatin’ as many as we can?” Pete asked with mock innocence.

“Yeah, we sure fuckin’ are,” Dan responded.  “Now show me what you can do with the little one there.  You’ve been working out; I wanna see what kinda progress you’ve made.”

Pete didn’t need to be told twice.  With a huge grin of sadistic lust, he reached out and grabbed the younger coon around the neck and deadlifted it straight up.

Instantly the nigger pup’s eyes, already bulging in fear, grew so wide it looked like they were about to fall out.  The young ape clawed wildly at Pete’s hands as its feet kicked frenetically a good eight inches above the concrete floor. 

The other nigger began screaming.  “Deshanté!” it bawled, “Put ‘im down!”  It lunged, but Dan stopped its forward momentum with a single, powerful blow to the face.  The porch monkey retired back to the wall to consider its broken nose and watch its brother get slowly strangled to death.

It took a while for the young one to die, but, as Dan noted approvingly, Pete showed no sign of any strain as he held it aloft and squeezed its worthless life out.  After two minutes, the young darky began to gag and drool.  Its defense attempts became slower and less coordinated, the thrashing of its legs became more spasmodic.

And after spurting out a quart of piss, its nigger dick began to swell.

Dan noticed.  “Hey, Pete, the fuckin’ retard likes it.  Look at its goddam dork.”

“Yeah?” Pete asked and glanced down.  He then stared it straight in the eyes.  “Well, it ain’t gonna like this­—but I goddam sure am!”

With an evil grin that twisted his handsome face into a vicious snarl, the hardbodied Lieutenant clenched his hands.  Within seconds, the loud crunching, crinkling sound associated with crushing a foam cup was audible—but what had been crushed was the nigger’s trachea.

The coon’s eyes rolled back in its head, showing nothing but the bloody whites.  Thick white foam bubbled over its swollen lips.  Without warning, cum began to spill from its dick—not shooting out in a geyser but flowing out in a steady stream.

It was Pete who blew a ferocious geyser of sperm, triggered by the uncontrollably erotic sensation of killing a yardape with his bare hands.  He was only vaguely aware that the screaming of the dead monkey’s brother had intensified behind him, then subsided under the meaty sound of flesh impacting flesh.

Pete shuddered as his balls emptied, then dopped the dead jigaboo.  It hit the ground like a sack of dirty laundry.  The Lieutenant turned to enjoy the view of Sheriff Dan beating the other spade to death.

The powerful older man had the ape pinned to the floor under him, his fist rising and falling like a piledriver and delivering damn near the same amount of force.  Under the brutal, relentless rain of blows, the coon was barely clinging to consciousness.  As Dan’s huge fist slammed into its face, its chest, its belly and its balls, it could only bleat in helpless agony like a sheep being butchered.

Each time his hand made contact with the niggermeat, Dan’s cock—already so engorged it was frightening—spat out hot, glistening precum.  But the strain of holding back his violence-induced orgasm was building to the point of being uncontrollable.  After a few minutes, the Sheriff reached the end of his tether and stood up, even though the nig-nog wasn’t dead yet.

His face terrifying with hate and bloodlust, Dan raised his muscled leg, holding his combat boot over the prone porch monkey.  “Die, you worthless piece of shit,” he screamed at it, “Die, nigger motherfucker!!”

He slammed his boot down hard twice in rapid secession on the coon’s neck, immediately crushing its throat and snapping the cervical vertebrae.  The ape’s smooth, muscular body jerked violently and blew a thick deathload all over its own belly—but it wasn’t anywhere near as thick or as large as the load Dan blessed it with, anointing the dead pile of nigger shitmeat with the righteous potent sperm of a true White Man.

As he stood, gasping and sweating, Dan cold hear the sounds of slaughter and lust dying away round him.  Turning back, he saw the Aryans, grinning as they caught their collective breath.  Soon the only noise in the room was the dripping of blood and the occasional thumping of a monkey’s limb as its mangles nervous system fired a mindless signal down its spinal cord.

Then, from off to one side, came a faint whimper.  Everyone, to a man, turned to see the remaining three niggers crouching in the corner under the spiral staircase.

“Aw, man, I forgot about them!” Jack said with an eager grin, “Hey, boys, the fun ain’t over yet!”

He took a step towards the cowering trio only to be blocked by Dan.

“Not so, fast, mister!” the Sheriff barked.  For a moment the two leaders stood in a face off, scowling.  But Dan’s innate authority and his visibly larger cock, still throbbing and oozing, patently reinforced his status as Dominant Alpha.  Jack wasn’t happy, but he backed down.

“They need to work,” Dan said.  “They were bred to be slaves, right?  So—” here he turned to the terrified apes “—get to work, asswipes.  You two, drag this fucking meat out and dump it in the vans.  Jack and Pete, you two oversee them.  You know what to do if they start to get uppity—no mercy, no second chances.” 

As the gibbering coons shuffled out of the corner, Jack, mollified by his own resumption of authority, began to bully them into corpse removal while Pete stood guard, fingering the trigger of his shotgun.  Dan turned to the third nigger.  “Hey, Mike, take this one into the store rom and make it fill a bucket and get a mop.  Then put it to work cleaning the floor.  Doesn’t have to be perfect; I just don’t want the smell to attract vermin.”

He paused, then added with a grim chuckle, “Room’s too full of fuckin’ vermin as it is.  At least we taught it a lesson.”

It took over half an hour to clear the old jail of dead jigaboos and their blood (and piss).  When it was over, Dan, Pete, the skinheads and the three pieces of slavemeat were gathered outside around the vans.  Dan had already shut down the generator inside the Poorhouse; it wasn’t needed any longer.  Dawn was breaking; the sky a bright gray with a piercing golden glow to the east.

It was going to be a beautiful day.

“Pete, you cuff those two; I’ll get this one,” Dan said; no one needed to ask to whom he was referring.  “One in each van.”

That done, he gave the order for everyone to pile into the same vans in which they’d come.  “You already got your bike out at the quarry?” he asked Pete.  The Lieutenant, who’d recently purchased a motorcycle nodded.  “Good,” the Sheriff replied, “I’ll take the lead.”

The vans pulled out in single file.  After twenty minutes on the county road, the lead van swung off onto a rutted, barely passable gravel road that wound through the hills.  At one point, it pulled away onto a very faint and obviously recent dirt track that detoured through the woods before re-connecting with the gravel path.  Fifteen minutes later, they came to a halt at the edge of a cliff that towered over a hundred feet above a water-filled quarry.

They all exited the vans—except the cuffed coons still trapped in the back with the apemeat.  “Ok, you know what to do,” Dan told Pete, who nodded.  “Sorry you’re gonna miss this part, but duty is duty.”

“No problem,” Pete replied with an endearing grin, “I’m sure you’ll give me plenty of chances to make up for it in the future.”  As he sauntered off to his previously-stashed bike, Dan turned to the skinheads.  “He’s going back for the truck.  We’re gonna need transportation after we dumped these in the quarry.”

Frankie peeked over the edge of the cliff.  Despite the blackness of the water indicating its prodigious depth, he remained uncertain.  “You sure it’s deep enough?” he asked, “This looks like a good make-out spot.  Bet there’s plenty of kids up here fucking on weekends.”

“The water’s over three hundred feet deep here,” Dan replied, “And no one comes up here anymore.  Remember my detour through the woods?  That was around a place where the gravel got washed out.  The road is blocked.  I made the detour myself, and I’ll cover it when we’re done.”

“These fuckin’ monkeys breed like roaches,” Jack pointed out.  “Whatcha gonna do if relatives of these ones come snoopin’ about?”

Dan’s hard, handsome face twisted with a slight sneer.  “There’s plenty of room down there for more niggers,” he said, his quiet voice alive with menace, “C’mon, lets dump this pile of scumshit.”

Dan, Jack, and Mike each opened the driver’s doors of the vans; all three had been left running.  It was an easy matter to pop the gearshift into neutral.  It was also easy enough to push them to the edge; there was a slight downhill slope.

Just was the vans began to tip, faces appeared simultaneously at the rear windows.  It was clear that the trapped live coons knew something was happening, even if they didn’t know what, and the look of utter terror on their faces was all that was needed to stoke the racist killers’ bloodlust to a new frenzy.

As the vans tumbled over and hit the water, every one of the men, Dan included, stood at the cliff edge and beat off.

The weight of the engines pulled the vans under nose first, tilting the rear doors up.  Even though they were over a hundred feet away, the pleading, tear-stained faces of the jigaboos were clearly visible, pressed up against the windows.

‘Fuckin’ die, ya worthless scum!” Hank shouted as his racial sadism boiled up; soon the catcalls from the others proved he wasn’t alone.

“Does it hurt, ya nigger cunt?  That’s what White Power feels like, bitch!”

Even Dan joined in.  ‘Fuckin’ drown like rats in a trap, you disgusting shits!” he called out, Fuckin’ die, fuckin’ yeah!  Yeah!!

They all unloaded at the same time, a thick pearly rain of Caucasian seed splattering across the surface of the water.  Dan’s massive, potent load hit the window of the left-most van—as the rear filled with water, the last glimpse the dying coon had of the surface world was smeared with hot white cum.

Then water filled its mouth and its lungs. It kicked and thrashed for a few moments, foam sewing from its mouth and nose, before it drowned like a dog, helpless, terrified and alone in a pile of dead bodies.

As the stepped back from the cliff, Dan pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and cleaned the still-leaking cum from his cock.  The Aryans hadn’t thought to provide themselves with such a convenience, but they didn’t care.  They shoved their oozing dicks back inside their pants, except for Mike, who remembered he had a tissue.

Just like Dan, he cleaned himself.  It wasn’t obvious that he was beginning to idolize the powerful Alpha, but the signs were there for those who know what to look for.

And Dan did.

For now, they all had to wait for Pete to get back.  Dan nodded to Mike, and they stepped aside, talking quietly as a sense of post-coital emptiness began to fill others. 

Large rocks were strewn across the site.  Jack sat heavily on one.  It had been fun, but it was over.  He was already feeling dejected, with a yearning to get home.  After all, there were plenty of niggers back there that needed offing.  And kikes and faggots and chinks, too.  Some many fucking cunts that needed to learn the true meaning of White Power.

The thought perked him up.  “Any of you boys got a smoke?” he asked.  Ed gave a cigarette and as he lit it up, Jack leaned back and contemplated the future with a smile that boded pure evil.

3 thoughts on “The Great Coon Hunt, part 3: Finale

  1. JWC

    A masterpiece. This might be the first story where the amount of cum is greater than the amount of blood. Load after load after load gets spilled here, to say nothing of my own. Pete remains my favorite character, and his hatred is palpable in this chapter. He participates in my two favorite snuffs: stomping a coon to death with in his hunting boots and crushing a nigger’s throat with his bare hands. He is a fuckin’ man! I still recall fondly when Dan first seduced him with the opportunity to snuff faggots. Now, he has become a true killer, who delights in hate and violence. I hope to see more of both from him in the future. And the dangling subplot with Dan and Mike has whet my curiosity. Will Rigler County be getting a new deputy? Will Dan, Pete, and Mike be cleaning up the streets together? I can’t wait. My favorite series.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. BasqueMan

      JWC — There is an abundance of lust on this last chapter that seems to surpass the level of violence. As you put it, there is more cum than blood. It is like the orgy of violence multiplies several times the explosion of sexual energy.

      “Bravo!” to M3M for this explicit, unrestrained, and arousing story.

      Liked by 1 person

  2. I am sorry it’s taken me this long to check in, except that each time I come here to comment, I become overwhelmed by the story, it’s like EVERYTHING I’ve got a hot button for – all here, and I simply become unable to type the most basic of thoughts. This story has been burned into my mind. Pete and Mike, and Dan. Oh there it goes again I just can’t think straight except that very little has ever impacted me the way that M3M has here. M3M you are the ace of aces.

    Liked by 1 person

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