Mephisto Me Deadly

…

Wind howled, and the saloon door creaked shut in the shadow of the stranger. Buckles jingled, and the stranger walked the aisle of empty seats with a purpose. Thunder cracked, and the only man in the bar got company.

Mephisto turned to the stranger. Bit too much leather for his taste, but her eyes were sharp. Too sharp. Like his nipples the day his wife was murdered. It had been cold out. He looked away from the pain.

“I knew you’d be here.” Her voice was like cool ice. His nipples were hard again. Stop it. “You always return to the scene of the crime.” It was true. Like a boomerang thrown at a trampoline, he always came back. That was how his other wife had died. He squeezed his eyes shut. The pain!

“There has been no crime here, officer. Good day.” It was night, damnit. Lightning flashed and she pointed over the bar. At the bartender, cocooned in come. Entombed in ejaculate. Sheathed in spunk. Dead.

“He did that to himself,” he said. Even to him it felt weak. Like holding the frail hand of his other other wife on her deathbed. Crushed. By the bed, when it flipped over in a hurricane.

Ye gods, how painful!

Lightning flashed again and the stranger followed, pointing now to the ceiling. Her gimp suit creaked. He looked there at the waitress, jailed in jizz. Dead. “She did that to herself.”

The sound of sirens, thunder. Red and blue, lightning. He was done. Well done, like his mistress that time she roasted herself in the oven. Damn those automatic timers!

The stranger spoke into her radio. “We’ve got him. We’ve got the Cock Strangler.”

…