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Jack's Wife
by The Lizard King (lizard-king@juno.com)
***
This one is hard to categorize other than to say it's
truly weird and yes, perverted. It all starts when a
husband comes home to catch his wife under a big black
man being plowed. (MMF, nc, v, tor, intr, oral, anal,
huml, sn)
***
Author Note: Here's a different type of story, kiddies.
Hope you enjoy it. I'm just sick of the same old type of
shit floating around, about black men with huge cocks,
slutty white bitches, and submissive, spineless little
white pansies. Read on.
Also, Jack Albert is a CHARACTER OF MINE, and his
thoughts and actions are IN NO WAY ANY RESPONSIBILITY OF
MINE. I am not racist.
***
Jack's Wife
She said, no, she VOWED to be faithful to me. And I, in
return, vowed to never stray from her. I held up my end
of the bargain, I worshiped her and tried in every way
possible to appease her. She broke the deal, though. The
contract was null and void.
But perhaps I should tell you a bit about myself? My
name is Jack Albert, and I've made a deal with the
devil. No, he's not who you think he is. Lucifer is
still one of God's angels and he is not the embodiment
of evil Christians make him out to be. In fact, he's a
very nice guy. He pities me and I pity him. We were both
outcasts, in a way, and we share a bond. What was this
deal? Years ago, just before I was going to graduate
high-school, I was betrayed by who I thought was my best
friend.
A week before graduation, I was the epitome of the
happy-go-lucky gullible fat-boy. I was twenty pounds
overweight, and when I thought that I had friends, I was
utterly wrong. Who I thought was my best friend, Kevin,
convinced me to go on a road-trip to Louisiana and the
bastard left me there. I was forced to walk home and
that was not a pleasant experience.
Perhaps the reason I'm so twisted is because of what
transpired on that trip. I will not go into detail, but
I will say that it was straining on my mind. Half-way
through the trip, I met a talking wolf named Talon, who
was the emissary of Lucifer. Talon guided me on my
journey home, and told me what it was I had to do.
I killed the bastard and two bitches who betrayed me.
Well, Lucifer covered my ass after the incident, and I
became Lucifer's honorary agent on earth. I was going to
crusade for justice by day, and destroy evil by night. I
joined the Police Force, and became a decorated officer.
Shortly after that, I married my girlfriend, Jenee.
Now, here's where it gets... messy.
***
I came home early, too early for my own good. I noticed
the lowered MUSTANG GT in my driveway and instantly my
tempered suspicions were aroused. Creeping toward the
car, I laid on my back and crawled underneath it. Sure
enough, neon-lights under the body. If this wasn't a
Hoopty, or a Pimp Mobile, I don't know what was.
I skitted toward the house, my blood boiling. I swear, I
hadn't been this mad since I'd been forced to walk from
Louisiana to Georgia. My hand slipped to my hip, hoping
to find a gun, but I'd left it in my car. Well, no sense
going back, I thought grimly, if I caught the fucker
with my wife, I'd brain them both with the nightstick I
was carrying.
I slipped my key into the slot and unlocked the door
silently. Moving as silently as a two-hundred pound man
could, I made my way for the bedroom... I got as far as
the kitchen.
There he was, a huge black man, his pants and boxers
down around his ankles, his huge hairy black ass
thrusting up and down, causing the bile to rise in my
throat. He was taking her on the fucking kitchen
COUNTER! NOT EVEN IN THE BED! I could hear his
animalistic grunting and my wife, Jenee's cries rising
higher and higher as she'd never done before. My face
flushed bright red and twisted in a grimace of pure and
unbridled rage.
He thrust his cock (it was by no means as large as they
make them out to be, as I saw, but it was still bigger
than mine) in and out of her. Finally (or rather very
shortly after I'd arrived) he climaxed and she sounded
like she'd come too.
That was when I cleared my throat.
"Oh shit! Jack!" Jenee cried, trying desperately to
cover her large, beautiful breasts.
"How long've you been at it?" I asked, my voice sounded
very calm, considering how I was just dying to kill the
black son-of-a-bitch and the whore with him. "Ten
minutes? Twenty minutes?"
"Five, honky." The porch monkey said, grinning at me,
one painfully fake gold tooth almost glinting in the
kitchen's overhead light. He was a nigger in the truest
sense of the word. I've met some very nice black people,
very cultured, civilized, and polite. I've held the
utmost respect for them... because they'd earned it. I'd
not trusted them to begin with, but they proved me
wrong. They'd earned their brownie points... this rat-
bastard was losing them at a steady rate.
"Five, huh?" I asked, still keeping my voice deadly
calm. "Jenee, why did you go for this piece of shit? I
go for at LEAST twenty minutes. His prick's that much
bigger than mine?" Emotion finally seeped into my voice,
and it was very much the sound of a man's voice when
he's betrayed.
"Please, Jack, it's not what it looks like."
"NOT WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE!?" I roared. I hated when people
used that excuse... it was too damned cliché. "WHAT
EXACTLY THE FUCK IS IT, BITCH!?"
"Hey! Don't talk to her like that, crackah," the black
man butted in. I lost it.
I'd been holding the nightstick behind my back, and I
suddenly swung my right arm (the one holding the stick)
in a wide arc, and released the lead-filled weapon. My
slow-motion sense allowed me to clearly see the shocked
expression on the bastard's face, as well as my wife's.
It struck him on the forehead, and, while it gave him
quite the headache, did not knock him out. The forehead
was, after all, the sturdiest part of the skull.
The nigger swore loudly and pulled out a pistol, rather
a hand-cannon, and opened fire, shooting in that
ridiculous "Gangsta" style. You know, the one where they
hold the gun tilted to the side? Let me tell you, it's
not quite as effective.
I side-stepped, moving behind the refrigerator. I could
hear him groaning and Jenee screaming, but I kept my
head.
I was unarmed, and the piece-of-shit had a gun. Still, I
refused to give up like so many other people did. They
would both pay.
I ripped the 'fridge's cord from the wall, and heaved,
sliding the huge appliance over the tiled floor towards
the two. I could hear his screams of anger, and the
firing of a gun, and then stopped, and waited for him to
make the next move.
I ducked, keeping as low to the ground as I could.
The man whirled from one side of the refrigerator, and I
spun quickly and came around the other. I circled the
refrigerator, and caught my victim by complete surprise.
I sent my elbow flying into the back of his neck, and he
went sprawling. His gun came away from his hand, too.
He got up quick, and moved into the classic boxer-
stance. "C'mon, bitch." He challenged. "Let's see if you
so tough wit'out yo' stick."
He sent a hook my way that would have put out my lights,
had I not moved. I sidestepped again, and caught his
wrist in my left hand and applied a great deal of
pressure on his elbow-joint with my right. He screamed
as his right arm snapped easily, but managed to pull
away. I let him. We both hopped back a step, and
regarded each other.
I don't know what I would've looked like, but he looked
like shit. His forehead was beginning to become puffy,
and blood trickled from his nose. His right arm hung
limply at his side, much the same way his flaccid dick
was hanging then. His pants were still off, but he'd
shuffled out of them once the fighting began. I had to
give him credit, I wouldn't have liked fighting naked.
But then again, I wouldn't have liked to be him PERIOD
once I finished with him.
He came at me again, and I fell to the floor and sweep-
kicked him, sending his legs out from under him. He hit
the floor hard, but kept moving. He might be a tough
adversary. If he hit me, that might be all she wrote.
Jenee, meanwhile, was in a state of shock. I couldn't
hear her anymore, because she was frozen with fear.
He drew a knife and slashed out at me, but I took it in
the arm. Better the arm than his original target: my
neck. I seized his knife-arm and wrestled it away from
him, then embedded it deep into his leg, mid-thigh. He
screamed, then tried to fall back, his hand clutching at
the boot-knife. He tried to pull it out, but without
success. I knew what had happened. It'd stuck itself
deep into his femur-bone.
While he was still screaming in pain, I darted forward
and backhanded him, sending him sprawling backwards. He
landed, and, for the first time, wasn't so quick to get
up.
I moved in a blur, my speed enhanced not only by my
hatred for him, but by my super-natural benefactor. I
moved to him, raised my leg high, and laid it down very
quickly on his groin. He shrieked in pain as I twisted
my heavy combat boots on him, squashing his genitals.
"JESUS FUCKIN' CHRIST!" He squealed, his voice raising
to a comical pitch.
"Has no mercy for the damned, like you." I finished,
then fell elbow-first on his neck, putting his lights
out.
I dragged him by his greasy black hair into the hall-way
bathroom, then returned for the bitch. She was paralyzed
with fear, but I knocked her out anyway. I was beginning
to hate people, women and black men in particular.
***
The basement of our house was seldom used, so I decided
to put it to a good purpose. It had a large table which
I used when Jenee was out of town as an altar to
communicate with Lucifer. It was this altar I used to
tie up the black man. I chained my slut of a wife to the
wall. I was not completely un-gentlemanly, for I covered
her naked body with her bath-robe.
I went to the small ice-box I kept down there and pulled
myself a cold beer. I drank it while I waited for the
two to wake up. The black man came to first.
"What's your name?" I asked him, my voice void of all
traces of emotion.
"Art." He said. "Artemis fo' long. Now whachoo want wit'
me, man?" He could not control his expressions as I
could. I could clearly see panic and horror painted on
his face like a bad Boxcar Willy painting. His eyes were
wide with fear, and I noticed his big lips trembling. It
would be hard to avoid making any racist slurs, but I
set about not to be too racist.
"Well, Art, I saw the pool supplies in your car. You
know we don't have a pool?" He nodded. I'd been
suspicious since I noticed our phone bill had a collect
call from RAWLIE'S POOL CLEANING SERVICE. That was why I
was home early that day. "Not smart, calling collect and
all. See where being sloppy gets you?"
"Listen, man, you want sum crack? You want a bitch? Man,
I kin hook you up! Anythin' you want, man." I only
glared at him. I think he actually believed he could buy
himself off with chemicals. He must've done it before.
"To paraphrase: 'You would barter your life with
chemicals?'" He only looked at me blankly.
"Man, what th'hell you talkin' bout!?!"
I smiled. "Artie, nothing you can say or do will get you
off the hook... except maybe one thing. And that will
only cut you a little slack with me."
"What?!?" He was desperate. I could see the glimmer of
hope in his eyes, and I instantly wanted to cut it out
with a serrated Ginsu knife.
"If I have to tell you, Art, it won't matter. You have
to say it YOURSELF."
"Man, COME ON!" He tried to shake his arms, but the
chains were too tight. He tried again to bust his
shackles, only resulting in a stream of cruel laughter
from me.
I went to my wife, who hung limp on the wall. I pulled a
large, dull, rusty knife of about ten inches, and held
it to her neck. "Shall I torture your lover while you
watch?" I asked, a sliver of a demonic tone slipped into
my voice.
"Shit, bitch! You can do whatevah' th'fuck you want
wit'dat hoe! Jus' let me go!"
If I hadn't been enraged before, I sure as hell was now.
I was standing over him in a glimmer of a second, his
eyes hadn't even widened when I brought the knife across
his naked, muscular chest. He shrieked, the dull, rusty
knife tore through his skin easily, only because I'd
brought it back so fast. I wasn't done, though. I seized
a patch of his thick chest-hair and yanked it up high.
He shrieked again, and I slashed the knife across it,
only severing half the hairs. He screamed again. I took
a second swing at it. The rest of the hairs came free,
and he screamed again.
I stepped back, listening to him howl in pain.
"SONUVABITCH!" He wailed at me. "SONUVABITCH!!!" I
laughed, and turned to Jenee, who'd been awoken by the
cries of agony.
"What are you DOING!?!?" She cried to me, but I smiled.
"What I should have done a long time ago. How long have
you been cheating on me?"
"Never! This was my first time!" She pleaded. I
instantly knew she was lying.
"Yo! That bitch lyin' t'you, homes! My man Tyrome said
she wuz th'best lay he'd had in long time. Said she'd
said th'same thing 'bout him. Tyrome's the one who told
me 'bout her. Do her an' let me go!"
I wasn't, of course. I was going to milk the names of
every bastard who'd touched her pussy, and I was going
to do them before the sun came up the next morning.
I turned back to her, demonic expressions dancing across
my face. She gasped and shrieked. Good, I thought, this
might be easy. "Tell me the others, and where to find
them." I demanded, holding the rusty knife's point to
her neck.
She told me, God help me she told me.
***
The list, when written down, was a full page long. She
told me that she'd NEVER been faithful to me. The first
NIGHT we started dating, when I drove her HOME, she
immediately called some white rich guy named Rick Derris
to come over and screw. It continued, from that day, to
the day we married, right up to today. She seemed to be
fairly regular, and she'd done a total of twenty-nine
guys since we started seeing each other. The total rose
the most one night a few weeks ago when she'd gone to
some crack-house and was subjected to a sort of... gang-
rape... only it wasn't rape... she'd consented to it.
She allowed twenty-five men have their ways with her.
I sat, at first, and listened to the stream of names and
addresses. I sat in utter silence and sadness. All I
could think of was how much I'd loved her... how much
I'd tried to make her happy.
When she finished, I got up, found a scrap of paper and
a pen, then demanded she repeat the list.
When she finished, I drew my knife across her left
breast. She screamed, as I'd expected, even more when I
cut off her nipple with the dull edge. I stood back and
admired her breast, which was soaked with blood, and was
horrified to find I had a raging hard-on. Jesus, I
thought, I really got off on this. In pure rage, I drew
the blade over my own left bicep, drawing a light cut
and causing blood to seep sickly from the wound. I might
get tetanus, I thought, but that would be if I lived
more than a few days... which I already knew I wouldn't.
I would be dead before the sun rose the next day.
I wrapped my cut quickly, then returned to the two
"love-birds" who were bickering already. Hell, they were
arguing over whose fault it was.
I went to her, a jar of honey in my hands, and began
applying liberal amounts of honey over her voluptuous
body. She demanded to know what I was doing, and I told
her condemning her to a painful death.
I stood back, and admired her beautiful body, glistening
and honey-covered, and smiled sadly. "You could've at
least told me. I'm sorry, I DO become emotionally
unstable when I find out people have betrayed me." I
told her about the "Long Walk Home" from Louisiana to
Georgia, and I think she under-stood. Still, she wasn't
happy about it.
I went over to the man, still holding the knife and the
honey jar. "Jack be nimble, Jack be quick..." I started
quietly, tightening my grip on the knife. He was
puzzled, but it would make sense soon. "Jack cut off the
mother-fucker's dick." I sped in, and he didn't know
what was happening until I'd severed his limp dick. If
he'd been hard, he would have died in seconds.
"Try not to think sexy-thoughts." I told him. "If you
get an erection, you'll bleed to death." He began
screaming something completely unintelligible, but I
shrugged. "You brought this on yourself, man." I then
turned to my backstabbing wife. "And you, you'll be the
one to kill him. He'll look at you all chained up and
dripping with honey, and he'll get hard." I chuckled.
"And the way YOU'LL die, my dear, is this.
"Down here, the rats are extremely large... they obey
Lucifer, who happens to be a good friend of mine." Her
large blue eyes widened. I wasn't surprised that she
thought I was crazy. "They'll come to you and devour
your body at a painfully slow rate. You'll wish I'd
given you as quick a death as Arty over there. I'm sorry
things didn't work out."
What the hell was I saying? I was one sick bastard and I
knew it! I wasn't one bit sorry! She'd deserved that!
EVERY PERSON WHO CHEATED ON THEIR SPOUSE DESERVED THAT!
I left the basement, which was deep under the earth. No
one would hear their screams. I locked the door behind
me. I would return that night and check on them... but
for now, I had to find myself a certain Rick Derris.
***
Rick lived in a fancy part of town, but that didn't
matter. He was a rich man, tall, blonde, very trim with
a white sweater wrapped around his neck. You know the
type, the ones who belonged to all the expensive country
clubs and drive Miatas and Porsches. This was his
unlucky day, though, because I was waiting in the bushes
for him to return from his cushy desk job downtown.
He'd brought a woman with him, probably a secretary. I
waited for the car that was going down the street to
pass by, then I casually walked over to Rick's house,
which was rather nice, and knocked on the door.
He came to the door, and the young lady was hanging on
him. Rick was wearing an exasperated look on his face.
"Look, buddy, I'm not interested in whatever it is
you're selling."
"Oh, I think you are." The twinkle in my eyes must have
been startling, because the color drained from his face.
"I'm offering salvation!" I turned to the young lady.
"Ma'am, I'm here to settle private business between me
and Mr. Derris, I suggest you LEAVE."
She wasted no time in asking Rick for the car. He was so
damned scared, he gave it to her without a second
thought. When she'd gone, I forced my way in. "Nice
place you have here..." I said conversationally. "You
motherfucker."
He spun on me, and I noticed for the first time he was
holding a gun in his shaky, pale hand. "Oh-ohkay now,
mister... y-you just leave and we'll f-forget this ever
h-hapened."
This wasn't the first time that day I'd taken on a
person with a gun. I was ready.
I sidestepped, and he nervously squeezed the trigger.
The small bullet slammed into his nice, expensive sofa.
I had drawn my gun by the time he began to turn his
piece on me, and I fired. The round shattered his knee,
and he toppled, dropping his gun. I moved in and kicked
the gun away from him before he could recover it.
"Does the name 'Jenee Albert' mean anything to you?" I
asked deathly quiet.
Rick nodded timidly. "Y-yeah." He said. "Why!? Why are
you doing this!?!"
"Pay-back's a bitch, Rick. When was the last time you'd
fucked her?" He told me, and he told me he'd fucked her
a few nights ago. Damn, she was quite the nympho.
I kicked him solid in the face, and he toppled,
clutching his bleeding face. "I'll make sure no one can
recognize you, Rick m'boy." I said, drawing my switch-
blade. "Your wife won't be wanting an open-casket
funeral."
He screamed as I slashed a line over one of his eyes...
He wouldn't be seeing out of his left eye any more. I
swiftly drew three more, and his face looked like a TIC-
TAC-TOE grid. I knocked him back, then pinned him
beneath my knees.
"Wanna play a game before you go, Ricky?" I asked, and
he screamed something I couldn't understand. I took that
as a yes. "You can go first, since you're 'bout to die.
You want center? No? Okay then, lower right corner it
is!" I carved an "X" in the lower square and he cried
out for help at the top of his lungs. Soon, the whole
grid was filled with slashes and circles, except for the
center. "Well, if it ain't down to the moment of truth!"
I exclaimed.
"Center circle wins it." I declared as I plunged my
knife into his eye. "You lose." I stated under his
shrieks of agony.
"I wish I could show you how a broken heart feels,
Ricky." I told him, seizing his neck to silence his
screams. "But I don't think you could feel the pain in
your heart as I have. Maybe, maybe you can." I then
plunged my knife deep into his chest. I shattered his
breast bone and stabbed into his heart. He felt an
excruciatingly long moment of searing pain before he
choked and closed his eyes for good.
"One down." I muttered, and got to my feet.
***
Tyrome was as big a nigger as Arty was, if not a bigger
one. What seemed like a constant stream of whores and
druggies flowed into the flat he owned. He was obviously
a pimp of some sort. I hated pimps. They sold women for
THEIR gain, while they made all the money and the women
got all the venereal diseases.
I'd left my knife in Rick's chest. It didn't have any of
my finger prints on it, since I always wore a glove when
holding it. I needed a new weapon, and I didn't want to
use my gun. It'd taken me several minutes to dig the
bullet out of the stinking body of the rich-boy, and I
didn't want to have to do that with more than one
victim.
I hotwired a nearby car, a broken-down VW Bug, and
waited until an especially seedy individual emerged from
the building. Smiling maniacally, I floored the Bug, and
ran the man down. The results, to my sick pleasure, were
spectacular. The man tried to jump over the car (he
must've been REALLY doped up) and the car hit his foot,
causing him to spill forward and smash his head on my
windshield. The blood covered the glass, and I spun the
car into a small, dark alley beside Tyrome's flat.
I emerged and rustled through the junkie's pockets. He
had a wallet and two hundred dollars in tens, which I
left. I had no need of money. I took off his cap and
wiped the blood off on the punk's shirt, then shook it
dry. I then took his sunglasses (which were miraculously
spared any damage) and his black leather jacket. He was
packing heat, and I took the .45 and the sawed off
shotgun he had.
The shotgun was a beauty, just perfect for what I had to
do. The barrel was sawed almost to the wooden grip, and
it must have provided quite a spread. I would learn how
impressive soon. As a little bonus, the spread would
decrease the "kill" rate. Each blast would cause less
damage. I pocketed his several shells for it, then began
my walk to Tyrome's apartment.
The flat was in pathetic shape. Rats the size of small
dogs roved the hallways, and cockroaches the size of
cats chased them. A flock of crows had come in from the
cold via a broken window at the end of the hallway I was
standing in. I feared, at times, that my foot might
break through the rotted wood any moment, but it never
happened.
Eventually, I reached Tyrome's room. I rapped three
times, very slowly, and waited. A moment later, I heard
the rattling of chains, and the door swung open. The
meanest looking black man I'd ever seen was standing
before me, a pissed off expression on his face. "Yo,
whachoo want, Crackah!?!" My response was less than
satisfactory for the negro, for his face lit up in
alarm. I instantly raised the spread-gun from under my
new coat and blew his face off at point-blank range.
I could hear screams coming from inside the room, and I
kicked the flimsy door open the rest of the way. I
screamed and discharged another shell, blasting two
scrambling junkies' stomachs away.
I could see women all about the apartment, and for a
moment my heart softened. "Get out!" I screamed to them.
One stupid greaser Mexican tried to scurry out with
them. "Not you, asshole, the girls!" I promptly blew a
hole in his head.
I dragged out my new .45 and blew away two crack-pots.
The others had managed to pull most of their pieces, but
their drug-saturated minds couldn't aim very well. I
blew most of them away before they could get off very
many shots.
My guns were now empty, and I had to reload, so I ducked
into the bathroom. I saw a man brutally raping a woman
in the bath tub, so I took hold of one of the hypodermic
needles and rammed it into the motherfucker's neck. He
screamed, pulled out of the young woman's ravaged cunt,
and I slammed the needle hard into his cock, causing
blood to spray everywhere. I turned to the woman and
ordered, "Stay down." She nodded meekly, and thanked me.
I ejected the clip from the .45 and slammed in a fresh
one, ignoring the rapist's cries from the bathtub. I
then removed the two empty shells from the shotgun's
barrels and shoved in two new ones. I cocked the .45
with my right wrist and flicked the shotgun up, causing
the barrels to shut. I could then hear the cries of
"Take the motherfucker down!" and "Shoot the bitch!" I
didn't think they had much of a chance of doing either
of those things.
I kicked the bathroom door down, and the first shot I
fired went for the flickering overhead lights. The room
was then pitch-black, except for the strobe-light effect
of the explosions from our guns.
I fired two shots, then ducked into the closet I'd seen
earlier. I waited for the shooting to die down. Someone
must have found a flashlight or something, or turned on
a lamp, because the room was flooded with light. I
grinned as I heard them recite stupid questions like:
"Where the hell is he?" "Did we get him?"
I waited for several clicking sounds, each indicating a
clip being ejected, then leapt from my hiding place,
grinning and firing my guns at the same time. I mowed
down half the remaining druggies.
One son of a bitch was holding a woman as a
hostage/shield, and I shot her by accident. Enraged, I
charged the man and broke his face with the butt of my
shotgun. I then followed up with a shot from my .45.
I then spun, dropped, and picked up the dead man's
reloaded .357 and fired six times, emptying the cylinder
and simultaneously killing six men.
Finally, every one of the punks had been either killed
or wounded. "Who," I asked the survivors, "Is the one
called Tyrome?"
The answer was unanimous... Tyrome was dead and I knew
better. They were covering their own asses was what they
were doing. "Well, then, I suppose I'll have to torture
ALL of you to death instead of letting you go. Such a
shame, I'd thought I'd gotten enough blood on my hands
for one day." All of the remaining thugs (save one)
pointed to a black man with both arms bleeding from
gunshots. Curiously enough, this was the same man who
hadn't pointed to another.
"Well, I guess you're Tyrome, the rest of you are free
to go..." I laughed as their faces lit up with relief,
then finished my statement. "To HELL!" I picked up a
GLOCK and executed every single one of them... except
Tyrome.
***
I dragged Tyrome out to the car, stripped him naked,
then drove to a rather large billboard. I summoned a
strength I hadn't used since The Long Walk Home, and I
dragged him to the top of it. Sure, people called the
Police, but I would be gone LONG before THEY arrived.
I quickly changed the perimeters of the electronic
billboard, and then took out a hammer and three nails.
Grinning wildly, I dragged him out the window and nailed
him to the billboard, right underneath the blinking sigh
that read: "This is the punishment of all pimps and
rapists."
I left the scene just before the Police arrived. I'm
sure more than a few of them puked when they saw him
castrated and crucified.
***
The last hit would be made soon... but first I had to
pay a visit to another bastard named Frank Sinclaire, a
well-to-do white prick in another fancy neighborhood of
New York. His wife was away, so the bastard was going to
play... with his seventeen year old daughter.
I watched him for a long time, right until the point
when he told her, "Baby, if you say no, I'll tell the
whole world what a SLUT you've been..." She was crying,
I could see it in her eyes. She hated her father, but
she had to "love" him to keep her secret from being
revealed. She was a fool, but then again, wasn't I
always one too?
I sent the stolen VW through the side of the house right
into the living room where Mr. Sinclaire was taking off
his daughter's bra. The two of them screamed, and it was
interesting to hear that Frank shrieked louder than his
daughter... I'd been hearing a lot of that happening
lately.
I followed the car on foot, coming into the house
wearing a flowing black robe I'd picked up at my house
before driving to the house. In my right hand was a
scythe I'd bought long ago as a Halloween prop and never
got rid of... It would be put to use at long last.
Frank got up. "Listen, whoever you are, you've just made
the worst mistake of your life!" He screamed at me, but
I wasn't listening.
Instead, I walked over to Jenny, his daughter, and
looked her in the eyes. "Fidelity is the best gift you
can give to a man. And if he cares that your father
raped you, he's no kind of man at all. Go someplace
safe." Still crying, she ran for the door, holding her
bra to her breasts with both hands. I turned to Frank.
"Heya, I heard you fucked my wife." I said with my usual
lack of emotion. "Was she good?"
His eyes budged, and I didn't wait for another response.
I darted forward and slammed the shaft of my scythe into
his face, knocking him backward. He cried out in pain,
and I drew out a switchblade I'd found at Tyrome's and
tore off the buttons of his shirt, exposing his fatty
chest. "Normally, I'd castrate you, but I've already
done that tonight."
Frank's eyes narrowed. "You're a sick bastard. I hope
you rot in hell!"
"I won't be rotting, Franky, I'll be toasting with the
Devil. You'll be gathering worms down there in one of
the lower spheres. Happy trails."
I then severed his tongue and threw it near the front
door. Grinning, I carved the letter "A" in his chest,
after scalping him of any chest hair of course. After
that, I found a rope and hung the son of a bitch. I
waited for him to stop kicking, then left, stomping on
the tongue on my way out.
***
I had no gun when I pulled Frank Sinclaire's SAAB into
the warehouse parking lot. I could hear the blaring rap
music coming from the huge building, and I marveled over
how it could be legally called music. It had no real
rhythm, just the beat of the synth-drums and the non-
rhyming lyrics that sounded like half the stuff I'd done
that night, if you left out the sex.
I crept to the back entrance, holding only my scythe. I
didn't need a gun to take on these guys. Besides,
Lucifer didn't want me to have a gun. I was to be
mortally wounded here. I knew this, but I didn't care.
I noticed I'd been wearing a ski-mask for the past few
hours, and I felt glad my boss had remembered the little
things like that.
The back-door guard was half asleep, but I severed his
head anyway. He might have been one of the fuckers who'd
gang-banged my wife. The action was swift, and probably
the most merciful execution I'd done all night.
I slipped through the back door like a shadow, my robes
rustling quietly, but the sound was drowned out by the
droning rap music. The few druggies that hung around the
back of the warehouse like parasites were on their highs
when I sent the edge of my scythe through their bellies.
I'd just turned from the bodies to the rest of the
warehouse when a bullet shredded my shoulder.
I stumbled back, but recovered and fled behind a huge
stack of crates, whose contents were unknown to me. I
practically danced around them, shuffling my feet with a
grace I'd never been used to. I was glad they were all
tripping, because it made my job so much easier.
I swept my scythe out low and cut four punks from their
feet. They fell to the ground and began building a large
pool of sickly, dark red blood. I swiftly cut off their
hands and left them. I would come back later.
It was chaotic, just like at Tyrome's house. I was
simply awaiting the cease-fire. But while I was waiting,
I might as well take a few down with me.
The stacked crates created a sort of corridor-effect,
and there stood a man at the end of the corridor I was
positioned in. I rushed him, but he turned around before
I got to him and popped a bullet into my guts. I
chocked, but slashed out with my scythe and made him
sorry.
The next thing I knew, I had taken another hit in the
arm.. unfortunately it was my right, and since I was
right handed...
I spun aside, pressing my back hard against the wall of
crates. How I longed to have a cold hunk of metal in my
hands so that I could rid the earth of these scum
sooner. But, my master decided that wouldn't be any fun
at all...
I leapt and pulled myself up atop the crates with my
left hand, whilst holding the scythe with my right. As I
got to the top, I found a man sitting and bobbing his
head to an unseen rhythm. He was obviously high, and
that made my chopping his head off all the easier.
Meanwhile, the drug-filled greasers were filling
THEMSELVES full of lead, while I sat and watched. I
decided that having them kill themselves off wouldn't be
quite so fun, so I dropped down to join the party.
I swung my scythe in a wide arc, and cut two of the
gang-bangers in halves. Their torsos with the surprised
looks on their faces fell to the ground, their arms
flapping wildly and their legs doing likewise. I turned
about again and leapt, sweeping downwards with the
scythe. I managed to catch a man and take both his hands
off, the submachine gun he was holding too.
I landed in a crouch and turned halfway, and got a
bullet in the shoulder for my troubles.
I groaned and that was the last thing I remembered.
***
I awoke some time later, I didn't know when, and I
didn't know how... but thank the Lord (whoever HE was)
that I did! I was groggy, but that was all. I WASN'T
DEAD!
I looked down to see that I'd broken my scythe. That was
no surprise. I'd known I was going to break it in this
damned warehouse... I just didn't know how. I'd
apparently used it to bludgeon one of the gang members
to death. The unfortunate man was laying on the floor,
surrounded by his own blood and brains.
I grinned wickedly, and looked around at the carnage.
I'd done one hell of a job. I had killed EVERY SINGLE
GANG MEMBER IN THE PLACE!
Still, I'd taken another shot in the gut and one had
grazed the side of my head.
I searched the warehouse and found a decent supply of
PCP, and some heroine. I did them both, and found my
perception of the world slightly different... I still
felt the pain, and saw things as I normally did! Shaken,
I made my way for the car... that's when I heard the hum
of a helicopter's propellers.
"THIS IS THE POLICE, SCUM-BAG! GIVE YOURSELF UP!" Some
moron called over his loud-speaker. I grunted and ran.
I made it to my car, despite the spray of machinegun
fire that the copter laid down on me. I had finished my
task, but there was still one loose end. My last vision
on earth MUST be to see the bodies of my wife and her
lover. I wanted to see that. I NEEDED to see that.
The spotlight didn't slow me down. The gunfire sped me
up. I made it to the car alive and started it up and
sped off.
While I was a good ten minutes away from the city, I was
only a few away from the house I lived in with Jenee. I
just hope I could make it there.
The chase was short, but it seemed like an eternity
before I came to the police road-block in the road.
"CHRIST!" I screamed, flooring the gas pedal. I slammed
hard into the road-block, which was something the cops
DIDN'T expect me to do. I knew the VW was ruined, so I
hopped out (miraculously unhindered) and rushed to one
of the unconscious officers, simultaneously pulling his
Smith And Wesson revolver and firing several shots at
the remaining cops.
I nailed two, and grazed the third. Spinning, I fired
two shots and successfully knocked out the spotlight the
'copter was shining on me. They were blind, now.
A third squad car was arriving (there had been two
parked bumper to bumper horizontally across the road)
and I leapt over the two other cars and grabbed another
gun from another dead cop. I firing four slugs at the
car, two for each pig, killing them both instantly.
I ripped open the driver's door and threw out the two
dead cops. Meanwhile, the helicopter's crew had found a
spare spotlight, and had set it up and shined it on me.
I grinned madly, thinking I might actually make it to my
house before I died from blood loss.
I got into the squad car and floored it again, speeding
off towards my house. My mind was in a haze of blood-
lust and pain, but I could make out a few messages on
the police-band radio, mostly ones about me and my
course. They suspected I was heading for somewhere deep
in the city... but I fooled them.
I spun my stolen car and turned into my neighborhood,
all the while listening to the confused jumble of cops
and dispatchers shouting out my headings. I screeched to
a halt in front of my house, just as another squad car
slammed into mine.
I leapt from the black and white, while the collision
tore my right foot from my leg. I kept from screaming
only by thinking that my wife's pain would be worse, and
limped madly towards my house.
Had I been listening, I would have heard: "STOP! STOP
DAMN IT!" Then several shots. Still, my drug-laden brain
refused to let up. My limping intensified, even though
I'd taken six H&K rounds to the legs and back.
I leapt through one of the living room windows, and
crawled towards the basement door. Meanwhile, the police
were spraying the house with machinegun fire... I didn't
care. I was too low for them to hit me.
I reached the door and hobbled to my one foot, then
opened the door and flung myself down the stairs.
The landing was painful, but not any more than anything
else that had happened to me that night. I got to my
foot and leaned against the wall for support, then slid
forward to the altar...
Sure enough... Arty had bled to death from the loss of
his member. I grinned, justice was mine.
Turning, I saw the half-eaten body of Jenee. I knew I
was sick for this, but I loved every minute of it! I
dropped to my face, just as the cops raced down the
short flight of stairs, and I closed my eyes...
***
Jack had expected to open his eyes and see the bale-full
face of Lucifer, smiling sadly at him. "You've failed,"
Jack expected to hear, "You've failed and now I am going
to torture you for eternity."
No such ill luck befell the young man.
He awoke in a very comfortable bed, under a swarm of
warm, fresh sheets that kept him snug despite the zero-
degree weather in New York. Beside him was a warm, soft
body. For some horrible moment he expected to turn his
head and see his Jenee's half-devoured face, that look
of pure terror etched on it in its final moments...
Instead, the body snuggled closer to him, and he turned
to see it, and saw that it was a beautiful young woman
he'd never seen before.
"Mmmmm...." She moaned, draping her arm over his bare
chest. "Jack..." The man suddenly realized she was in
fact still asleep... and dreaming of him!
He smiled and kissed her gently on the brow.
As his lips touched her forehead, memories flooded back
to him. The party he'd been attending for the past few
hours... and the young woman named Eve he'd met there...
and he remembered how he had phoned his lawyer with the
request for a divorce, since he'd found out about his
wife's infidelity... But there was that shadow memory...
the murders... the pain... and in the end, death. He
felt like he was slowly going mad, since his memories
were now split in twine.
Working with Lucifer was, if anything, unpredictable.
Jack Albert had, in fact, been attending an uptown party
in celebration of his acceptance into the FBI, while
Michael Torrance (who had, ironically, attended the gang
bang of Jenee Albert) had slain the young woman's many
sorted lovers. It was like how Jack had just finished
bashing someone's head in with a baseball bat when he
noticed he had been wearing gloves for God-knew-how-
long.
The phone rang, and Jack didn't want to answer it. He
feared that it might be the police telling him they were
coming to arrest him.
He braved his fears, and answered the phone. "Yeah?" He
muttered wearily, rubbing his eyes. Beside him, Eve
stirred, awoke, and was watching him.
"Lieutenant Jack Albert?" The voice on the other end
asked. Jack nodded, then replied, feeling rather stupid.
"Yeah?"
"You might want to sit down for this, if you're not
already sitting down."
Well, moron, it's only two in the morning, Jack thought,
but didn't voice it. "What is it?"
"Well, sir, we want you to come downtown to identify a
body... we... think it might be your wife."
Don't screw it up now, a voice told Jack. He decided to
feign shock. "What? Jenee? What is it? What happened???"
He was a good actor... he should have won an Emmy for
this one.
The man on the phone briefly described what had happened
to Jenee and her lover, and Jack remained intensely
quiet for the duration of the man's speech.
Finally, Jack muttered, "I'll be right there, officer."
He hung up the phone, kissed Eve, promised her he would
call her, and got dressed. After he identified his wife,
he would go to sleep... tomorrow was going to be another
very long day.
END
Note From The Author:
Why did I write this? Simply because I am tired of the
never-ending spew of racist garbage that assails
newsgroups every day, talking of pussywhipped white men
and massively endowed black men. While I have seen
neither black nor white male genitalia in real life, I
am reluctant to believe the things one sees or hears in
porn. If these people can't act, what makes one think
they'll bother to do research on a subject? Not every
black man has a thirteen inch schlong and not every
white man has a two inch one. I'm not saying I believe
ANYTHING I've written, I'm just throwing a story out
there for those of you like me who are sick to death of
people in general.
Why did I post this here? Where the hell else would I
post it? I figured if you guys would except stories
about guys raping their mothers and beautiful girls
procreating with canines. I figured you'd be the most
likely to accept my story, which DOES in fact have a lot
to do with porn stories, since it is a POSSIBLE outcome
of what happens when a man finds his wife has been less
than loyal to him, and I have seen MANY stories about
wives and their infidelities.
Why am I bothering to explain myself? Because I am SURE
that I will get flamed for this, most likely some angry
black man feeling oppressed or something or some other
asshole who feels like his "precious" time has been
wasted in taking the two minutes to download it and
probably the ten minutes to actually read through it
(what else is he going to do? masturbate over some HARD
core porn story?)
I am sorry to any I've offended with THIS story. Please
give my other stories a chance once I finish them... I'm
SURE they'll be more hard-core than this, and most
likely less offensive and violent.
Oh, and if you've read this far, thanks for giving me a
chance. I just wanted to tell a story. Let me know what
you think. Flames are welcome, I guess. Lizard-
King@juno.com.
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This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 69