textfiles/sex/EROTICA/J/jackwife.txt

	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.
	By The Lizard King.


	i.

	She said, no, she VOWED to be faithfull 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 epidomy of the happy-
go-lucky gullible fat-boy. I was twenty pounds overweight, and
when I thuoght 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 am 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 emmisarry 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.

	ii.

	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
grimmly, 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 back
and forth, causing the bile to rise in my throat. He was taking
her on the fucking kitchen COUNTER! NOT EvEN IN A 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 grimmace 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 desparately 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 minnutes? Twenty
minnutes?"
	"Five, honky." The porch monkey said, grinning at me,
one painfully fake gold tooth almost gliting 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 loosing 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 minnutes. 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 cliche. "WHAT EXACTLY THE
FUCK IS IT, BITCH!?!"
	"Hey, don't talk to her like that, crackah." The black
man butted in, and 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 refridgerator. 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 refridgerator, 
and I spun quickly and came around the other. I circled the
refridgerator, 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 clasic 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 begining to become puffy, and blood 
trickled from his nose. His right arm hung limply at his side,
much the same way his flacid 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 advarsary. 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-theigh. 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 blurr, 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
squeeled, 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 begining to hate
people, women and black men in particular.

	iii.

	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 controll 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 slurrs,
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 desparate. 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 kneck.
	She told me, God help me she told me.
	
	iv.

	The list, when written down, was a full page long. She
told me that she'd NEVER been faithfull 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 hardon. Jesus, I thought, I really got off on
this. In pure rage, I drew the blade over my own left bicept,
drawing a light cut and causing blood to seep sickly from the
wound. I might get tetnis, 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 ammounts of honey over her volumptuous body.
She demanded to know what I was doing, and I told her condemning
her to a painfull 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 errection, you'll bleed to death." He began screaming
something completely unintelligilbe, 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.

	v.

	Rick lived in a facny 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
belond to all the expensive country clubs and drive Miatas and
Porshes. 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 buisness 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 loose." 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 seering
pain before he choked and closed his eyes for good.
	"One down." I muttered, and got to my feet.

	vi. 

	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 venerial 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 minnutes 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 
dammage. 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 promply 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 simultaniously 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.

	vii.

	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.

	viii.

	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 bludged, and I did'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.

	ix.

	I had no gun when I pulled Frank Sinclaire's
SAAB into the warehouse parking lot. I could hear the
blarring rap music coming from the huge building, and
I marveled over how it could be legally called music.
It had no real rhythym, 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 entrace, 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 mercifull 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 torsoes 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.

	x.

	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 humm 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 minnutes away from the city, I
was only a few away from the house I lived in with Jenee. I
just hoped 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,
simultaniously pulling his Smith And Wesson revolver and firing
several shots at the remaning 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 intesnified, 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 painfull, 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 minnute of it! I dropped
to my face, just as the cops raced down the short flight of
stairs, and I closed my eyes...

	xi. Epilogue.

	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.
	"mmmm...." 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 atending 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 speach.
	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.

	the 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 on the alt.sex.stores newsgroup?
Where the hell else would I post it? Alt.children.stores??? No,
not very likely. 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 minnutes to download it and probably the ten minnutes
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.