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She stalked in silence through the barely lit warehouse interior. Anticipating the confrontation enflamed her—her breasts tingled, her nipples felt hard as small stones and stuck out as much. Primal excitement hummed in the already drenched cleft between her legs.

“Bitch,” came the sibilant whisper.

Then the enormous figure stepped out from behind a stack of crates.

Goon was still wearing his ring attire. Flat, dead eyes regarded her impassively from the tight mask.

Melinda’s sexual juices began to run like an open tap just looking at him, and Goon was obviously just as excited by the sight of Melinda. His massive erection looked like a stiff serpent in his trunks.

Even though there could only be room for one of them on this plane of existence, Melinda would miss Goon terribly. Their previous sexual encounters had been explosive fuckfests that had lasted for days. The only thing that seemed to come close to being as satisfying was the tremendous rush she’d gotten from some of the redneck male ringrats she’d snagged after the matches.

Not having sex with them.

Killing them.

Gnawing their cocks off just as they’d ejaculate down her throat. Like biting into an eclair still warm from the oven, savoring all that hot filling. The sensation was electric in its intensity: the sudden gust of blood splashing into her mouth never failed to produce the wildest orgasm.

She ate them up like appetizers.

Sex with Goon, on the other hand, was something that could never happen again. It was time for one of them to go back, and Melinda had come too far to fail now.

“I’m going to beat you senseless and send you back,” hissed the masked monster, and without further warning he launched a drop-kick at her head. The panther-like agility was terrifying in a man of this size, but Melinda nimbly ducked under the kick and caught Goon in a vicious armbar.

Dropping quickly to his knees, Goon pulled Melinda off balance, dislodging her grip. He caught her around the waist and hoisted her into the air in prelude to an Atomic Drop. With 350 pounds of weight focused, he slammed her down feet-first, jolting her crotch against his knee. The pain was nearly paralyzing. Melinda felt as though her spine had compresed into a solid mass; she was helpless as the behemoth seized her wrist and Irish-Whipped her into a stack of crates.

She hit shoulder-first, the crates blowing apart in a shower of slats and splintered wood.

Goon chuckled.

Melinda struggled to her feet, grabbing a two-and-a-half-foot slat in the process.

She feined exhaustion but as he reached to grab her, she whacked the piece of wood in a swift arc across his face. Blood spurted from the suddenly crushed nose; he reeled backwards. Now Melinda pivoted and launched herself toward him in a hand-spring elbow. Goon caught the blow full in the sternum and crashed back into more crates.

Pursuing the advantage, Melinda swept Goon’s pillar-like legs out from under him, and leaped to finish him off.

Skyrockets exploded behind her eyes as the size 15 foot came up and caught her square in the jaw. Melinda nearly blacked out from the impact. Two massive arms encircled her as she felt herself being lifted and spun into a belly to belly suplex; she could feel the gorged cock pressed against her leg.

Goon was getting off on this. She knew that if he succeeded in beating her, not only would she be returned to Hell, every orifice of her unconscious body would first be plundered.

Shaking off vertigo, she saw through glazing eyes the huge man preparing to spring on her with a crushing knee-drop. At the last possible instant, she rolled out of the way, letting the monster drive his knee into the concrete flooring. As he howled, Melinda used the precious moments to regain her breath. But Goon was back up fast, charging at her with his head lowered like a battering ram, intent on driving her into the wall.

She knew she couldn’t take a blow of such force.

This is it,
she thought.

She sidestepped, caught Goon around the neck while kicking her heels high into the air. The move allowed her drive the top of his head into the concrete—a perfectly executed DDT. She sprang up, primed herself for another attack.

But none came.

Goon lay unconscious, a defeated hulk.

««—»»

The You-Store-It existed as a complex of long brick buildings sectioned off into separate storage garages. Straker, headache thudding, walked the entire complex and saw no evidence of Melinda nor Goon. But towards the end of the last building, one of the garage doors stood open.

Straker walked in, splaying his flashlight.

The unit was quiet as the proverbial tomb. A massive figure lay prone on the floor.

Then someone stepped out from the shadows: Melinda looking strangely taller and more powerfully built, just larger somehow, but still the most beautiful woman Straker had ever seen.

“Felander said you were…”

“Demons, for lack of a better term,” she acknowledged. “I’m just the same as you, I do what makes me feel good.”

Straker’s flashlight beam strayed past her to the pentagram on the floor. “And that…is what you’re going to send Goon back with?”

“Yep. It’s what we came here through.”

Maybe twenty feet from point to point the pentagram was painted on the garage floor with what appeared to be red paint, but Straker suspected was something far more sinister.

 
“Your investigation is over Captain, Goon’ll be gone. You’ll never say anything to anyone about this because no one would believe it. I’m going to walk out of here without killing you because I sort of like you. You’re kind of amusing, what with your jacking off every time you see me.”

“This is unbelievable,” Straker murmured. “I must be on drugs.”

“Look.” She pinched the contact lenses out of her eyes. The irsises glittered like yellow sparkle. “Still don’t believe me?” She dragged off the blond wig. Even bald she was beautiful, even with the horrible yellow eyes. Her rump stretched the back of her denim skirt when she leaned over. “Remember when we were at the arena? Here’s the real reason I couldn’t let Goon see me then. Let’s just say it would’ve been instant recognition.”

She tugged on Goon’s mask till it peeled off. Straker expected something more clichéd—something hideous, a monster’s face. Anything but this.

Goon’s face was identical to Melinda’s.

“We all have identical facial features,” she told him, flinging the mask aside. “We distinguish each other’s individuality via ocular emmissions. Where I come from, every female looks just like me, and every male looks just like him.”

She smiled at Straker. “Help me get him inside the pentagram, will you?”

 
Straker dumbly obeyed.
I’m helping a demon sex-killer send another demon back to Hell. It doesn’t get any crazier than this,
he thought. They each grabbed a foot and dragged. “Christ, this big son of a bitch weighs more than a fucking piano,” she commented.

And I love the way she talks!

“It’s been real, Captain,” she said a moment later. “Get out of here now, all right? I gotta go.”

Straker felt appalled. “So that’s it? You just send him back and you disappear? What makes you think I can let you do that?”

Melinda shuddered and seemed to grow somehow, the yellow eyes practically glowing. “Captain, what makes you think you could stop me? Remember those guys in the pit? I’m going to leave this area completely, and you don’t know where I’m going. Be smart and just forget everything you saw.”

“But what the hell do I tell my boss?”

“I wouldn’t tell him anything unless you want to wind up in the Rubber Ramada. Just forget about it. I’m sending Goon where he belongs. And I’m sorry if this screws up your job, but at least you’re not going to be finding any more bodies here. I apologize for dumping them all in your jurisdiction. You know. Shit happens.”

You ain’t kidding.

She smiled at him, her yellow eyes sparkling. “It was fun doing this gig with you.” She hitched up her halter. “Too bad your beeper went off when it did. We would’ve had some mondo sex.”

Straker continued to stare.
I’ve got the hots for a demon,
he thought absurdly.

“Well,” he said just as absurdly. “We still can.”

“Nope. Like I said, I gotta get this big lug home.”

“But…Melinda.” Straker’s eyes grew wide as coins when he realized what he was about to say. “I-I-I…”

“Give me a break!” she complained. “Don’t say something you’ll regret.”

“I’ve got an idea!” he enthused. “A way that we can be together!”

That’s what he said, but this is what he was thinking:
I love her… I’m in love with a demon…

“Jesus,” she chuckled. “You mortals really are something. So give me a good laugh—what’s this big idea of yours?”

— | — | —

Epilogue

Alan McLaughlin took another hit from his pint of Bacardi, glancing around to see if he’d been observed by either of the two security guards. They were both busy trying to eject some crazy who had tried to vault into the ring. Yeah the Island County Coliseum was jumping tonight, that was for sure. The Pacific Northwest Wrestling Alliance always brought out the rowdies.

As Alan took another hit from the pint, the announcer called out the third match of the evening, this was what he’d been waiting for, the reason he’d paid a guy ten bucks to swap seats so he could be right on the aisle near ringside where the wrestlers entered.

“Hailing from the slopes of Mount Kilamanjaro, she is the current Pacific Northwest Women’s Wrestling Champion, Kimali!” intoned the announcer as a very large black woman approached the ring snarling and spitting at fans. “And her opponent this evening, the number-one ranked contender for the Pacific Northwest Women’s Wrestling Championship, hailing from parts unknown… The Magnificent Melinda!”

Now this was one hot babe! Tall, blonde, and rumor had it very available. Alan thought he caught her eye and a hint of a smile as Melinda got into the ring.

The action started immediately with Melinda launching a drop kick toward the larger woman’s head. Kimali sidestepped with a display of speed that was remarkable in a woman of her size and caught the challenger in a belly-to-back suplex that shook the ring. Kimali then climbed to the second rope launching herself onto the prone wrestler with a vicious splash. The ref got as far as a two-count before Magnificent Melinda got a shoulder off the mat. Alan felt himself getting hard just looking at Melinda’s perfect body. Both women were now out of the ring trading open handed slaps as the referee began his interminably slow ten-count; Melinda had just grabbed a chair from a fan and lifted it high to deliver the coup de grace to the champion… Alan had seen them do this finish before in their match at Western Washington Sports Complex last week, and sure enough with perfect timing, Kimali punched Melinda in the stomach and with one smooth motion snatched the chair away from her and—WHAAACK!—brought it down with full force across Melinda’s head, dropping to her to the floor.

That was that.

After an explosion of applause, two pencil-neck geeks carried Melinda off on a stretcher.

Jesus,
Alan thought.
What I wouldn’t do for a night with her…

“Like the action?” a voice inquired.

Alan turned to face some guy in a hokey glitter-jacket, like that shit Freddie Blassie used to where back before he turned a hundred. Alan had seen this dude at some other matches too, now that he thought of it.

“I got a funny feeling that Melinda’s hot for you.”

“Oh, yeah?” Alan replied. “Any woman in her right mind’s got the hots for me, pal. Who are you?”

“I’m Straker the Sinister,” the guy said. “Melinda’s manager. “Trust me.” Then he winked and put something into Alan’s hand.

A motel-room key.