Image via Wikipedia
Only when you are done fucking around with lame-ass horror. WARNING: extremely visual and graphic. Grown Folks only!
Note: Steven Rage’s books contains graphic violence, illicit drug use, non-consensual extreme sex, and potentially offensive material given the religious references. The fiction of RAGE has been called Torture Porn. What do YOU think?
Chapter TRIA:
The Good Doctor teleported himself from his office at the hospital directly to the lab at home. Uncle Tug was waiting for him there with a pair of his favorite slippers and a red velvet smoking jacket. The Good Doctor tossed the Nehru jacket on the floor and shrugged off his shoulder holsters. He shot his lungs twice more before locking both 9mms away.
“Dr. Sir,” Tug said, handing him the slippers.
“Thank you, Tug,” The Good Doctor replied and put them on. He used Tug’s shoulder to steady himself through the Uptown rush. “Tell me, Tug. Tell me about this salt.”
“Dr. Sir. It all began when I was feeding the twins.”
“I see,” The Good Doctor replied. He listened to Tug’s tale. At the end of the story he also said: “I see.”
“I harvested and dried out some more tears,” Tug told him and pointed the way, “It’s over here.”
The Good Doctor followed Tug as the chimp foot and knuckled his way over to the table where Trudge and Drudge‘s salt was kept. Uncle Tug already had a sample lined up, real thin and short.
“That small, Tug?”
“Dr. Sir,” Tug said, “It is very powerful. Please be careful.”
“I will, my Tug,” he said to his foreman.
The Good Doctor snatched up a small pipette and snorted up the two thin lines. Immediately, he felt like it was almost too much for him to handle. He clutched the table, but it wasn’t enough. He fell backward and into a chair that a quick thinking Tug had scooted into place just before The Good Doctor did his butt-thump. Tug got good and scared as his benefactor and lord seized rigid.
Tug patted The Good Doctor’s face and called out to him. He heard not a thing. He was already on the other side…
* * *
The Good Doctor found himself under a bright light. He was naked and strapped down to a gurney in the center of a cacophony of mayhem and violence. He was shivering with cold as he looked all about at the bloody spectacle. The Good Doctor had found himself immobilized and vulnerable in the midst of what appeared to be a full scale prison riot. The bad guys were winning, and by a fair share.
The Halfling that helped him dress for OR sidled up to him. Her warm red touch was so fine, so different from the brutality. While men were razing each other, whole limbs ripped off, shivs buried deep in flesh; she smiled so sweetly at him. The Halfling toyed with him and her eyes twinkled. They were in an oasis while the madness erupted. One especially unlucky prison guard was being gang-raped in his gaping neck wound. It must have killed him awhile ago. The coagulated blood had spread in a huge pool beneath the victim and attackers alike.
The Halfling lightly trailed her sharp claws down The Good Doctor’s chest and belly, regaining his attention. It felt so fine. The trail of her claws split open spaciously. As they split, the deep scratches began to bleed. She, still smiling, made a tight fist on The Good Doctor’s penis. She stroked him gently and expertly to a full throbbing tumescence. A small body part, a chewed off bit of an ear perhaps, rebounded off the backboard of The Good Doctor’s forehead. He hardly noticed as he stared at the Halfling. She was in the muted half-lighted dusk, just beyond the circle of bright light. He strained to see her clearly. She stepped close to the gurney. She wanted to let him see her exposed and he was delighted.
“You are one of my true favorites,” The Good Doctor told her.
“I know, Dr. Sir,” she replied with sweet coquette. “You fashioned me so pretty, didn’t you?”
“I sure did,” he told her. “I pulled out all the stops on you.”
“I am perfect,” she stated simply and kissed soft his lips, still stroking, “and I know what you want, Dr. Sir.”
With her other hand she showed to him what’s next. The Good Doctor began shivering anew from anticipation. She was going to do the very mania he had always longed for.
“How did you know?” he asked with the biggest grin. He was excited like a kid waiting in the rollercoaster line. The Halfling just shrugged. She tongue-tipped her fangs, a twinkle, twinkle, little star in her eyes. “Well, I surely do love you for it,” The Good Doctor confessed as she began threading the catheter deep down into his erect penis.
The pressure The Good Doctor felt was intense. A catheter placed to evacuate the bladder is uncomfortable enough when flaccid. One inserted while erect made tears fall free from the eyes of The Good Doctor. The Halfling filled the cuff with fluid. She grabbed a firm hold on the base of his shaft. Then she commenced tugging it up and down, bringing the inflated cuff toward the tip of his winky-dink and forcing it back into its base. She kissed him while she did this and whispered words of love and admiration. And when he was ready to blow, right there at the very edge of his ejaculate, the Halfling pulled it free with an audible pop. The Good Doctor came so hard he passed all the way out. Seeing her smiling and holding the balloon-inflated catheter was the last image he held.
* * * *
Uncle Tug was agitated. He didn’t want to disturb The Good Doctor, but he did not want him to die either. Confused, Tug reverted back to his countless millennia of imbedded genetic memory and trashed the lab. He found himself in the midst of a paper and cotton ball confetti storm when he heard the old man stirring. Tug knuckled over to him, real quick like.
“Dr. Sir, are you okay?”
“The Good Doctor groaned. Sitting slowly and carefully up, he came to. He glanced down embarrassed at his crotch. His impressive geriatric wood was crumbling. He was surprised to see his tailored trousers were wholly free of his expulsion. He looked to Tug with obvious surprise.
“That is the strangest part, Dr. Sir,” Tug told him, “there is no ejaculate. That’s why I had to feed the twins with Billy.”
“Clearly this is a traveling potion the twins have concocted,” he replied, sitting forward, “but I do not know how it works.”
“Can you use it?”
“Oh, most certainly, Tug,” The Good Doctor replied. “This will sell very well.”
“Yes, Dr. Sir,” Tug told him, pleased. He knew as his master smiled and winked at him he had done well.
The Good Doctor rose gingerly to his feet, a slight wince to the rise, with Tug’s help. He walked over to the twins and scratched them behind the ears. They giggled with glee. He tapped his ear and waited for her to answer. She did.
“3D? You must come to the farm, post-haste.”
“Important?” she asked.
The Good Doctor smiled, evoking the charming Halfling and their encounter together. He tickled the twins chin. “Oh, yes,” he affirmed, “Of the utmost.”
* * * *
There is more than one of us now. I can sense it. It is vague, but present. Now there is an Us. The other is not with me in this shell, but We feel the Us out there. Somewhere. We shall strive to merge. We will be patient. There is no rush, just the intense desire to unite. The need to become is almost crushing in its want. It’s nice here, though. Warm and nutritious, the liquids and spongy tissues are enabling us to grow and mature. Yes.
…end sample.
Sick, Disgusting, Vile…and Genius, October 7, 2010
By Eric Mays “Bizarro Author of “Naked Metam… (Richmond, VA) – This review is from: The Place In Between (Paperback)
Sick? Absolutely. Genius? Perhaps. Rage? All the way.We have a certain adoration for Steven Rage at the Authors Speak. He may be one of the sickest, most twisted writers writing today, but there’s a mad brilliance to his work. Reading one of his texts is like growing wiser while simultaneously suppressing the urge to vomit…
The Grim Reverend Steven Rage. Read Like The Devil. 
Grist for the Mill
Image by Steve Kay via Flickr
Time once again for "FuknPunch", the "Unemployed Child Care Clown" far-out fiction sample! Today We explore the post-apocalyptic Harbor . Everyone lives under ground to avoid the Little Ice Age conditions. Dig it!
The Grim Reverend‘s newest…The Place in BetweenBy The Grim Reverend Steven Rage an excerpt from the 3 story collection: “The Place in Between”
this excerpt is from the 1st novella in this collection, “Blood and Bubblegum“:
“Blood and Bubblegum”
Yr:09.ACE.13n.10
Two days ago:
Juan went back to the same dark shoddy bar, again.
And, again, he went without Mary. She stayed
away to tend to Bubblegum, keeping her stoned
and happy. The comely coop-chick still thought they
both had a sex crush on her. They let that cluck-fuck
fantasy remain intact. We decided that it would be
Only when you are done fucking around with lame-ass horror. WARNING: extremely visual and graphic. Grown Folks only!
prudent and to our advantage to keep from telling
her the whole truth. At least not until our hand was called. None of us ever mentioned me. Morbid is not everyone’s favorite late-night radio talk show host. Of this I am quite aware.
“I want to shove it up her tiny stink-hole,” I say,
by way of example. “Please tell me I can.” I am not the politest of company. I don’t really know of any unholy shit monsters that are. I guess that it kind of goes with the territory.
“Maybe,” Juan told me, “we’ll have to see how this whole thing plays out.”
“Yes, we will,” I agree. It’s not easy being green.
“Let’s not talk about that shit right now, Morbid,”
Juan replied, and rightly so. “Game faces, bro.”
“Yeah,” I say with all the forced bravado I could muster, “Let’s bag us a vampire!”
Juan and I needed to find the nocturne in a bad way. Juan and Mary were in hock up to their eyeballs
keeping the hen high on Plata. This shit is crazy expensive. If we didn’t rustle us up a steady source
of income soon, the goon squad would find us. That’s bad, real bad. They will send more than enough knuckle draggers to see us that even I, the unholy shit monster, won’t be able to save Juan and Mary. Motherfuckers are as serious as a heart attack when it comes to their wet, sticky cash money. And without Juan, I would be lost. The nocturne must be found.
This time we needed a face-to-face meeting. It’s frustrating because we hadn’t been able to locate the
elusive blood drinker. We could hardly believe it. All this time and work and we can’t even find the nocturne. And once we do (heaven help us) the real work will begin. No wonder Juan was so edgy.
Other than this crap-awful bar down here amongst the dregs, we had no real clue of how to find him. Nobody knew the vampire, or where he cribbed or even how to contact him. It didn’t matter, however. Juan wanted no-one but his Mary, him and me in on this plan.
The Harbor may be seen as nothing more than a dystopian ghetto shit hole, and it most certainly is, but we knew small town rules still applied. Everybody knew everybody’s business down here in the great stinky half-frozen tunnels. Everyone knew who was zooming who. It’s just like old Mayberry, but with a much higher body count.
Except in Mayberry, Andy and Barney wouldn’t let you get the skin flayed off your body while fucking a dead dog for a 5K NewRupee auto-deduct.
“Fucking squares!”
We could tell no-one because we could trust no one.
One word of what we were planning and niggas might kill us simply because they hadn’t thought of approaching the vampire Plata dealer first. Folks here in The Harbor can be vile, petty and vindictive. We needed to proceed with ample care. Everything seemed to be coming to a head. Once again, Juan made his way through the drunk and fucked-up bar crowd. He had been nervous as all hell lately. He’d been drinking more than he should and smoking super-strong hydroponic weed constantly.
Finally, after almost two weeks of this nervewracking shit, Mary had pleasantly surprised him with a handful of muscle relaxing pills, which he doled out to himself one at a time. The pills she gave him were the real and true thing, too. This was surprising. Pharmaceuticals were not on the list of over abundant items left behind. One can eat canned tuna and chili until your asshole bleeds, but not anything
of medicinal quality.
Mary smiled sweetly as she handed them over toJuan. She’s a good girl, that Mary. She’s a little penny pinching in the old fuck-sack for my taste, but still…
The pills helped Juan a great deal as he was forced to troll the same sleazy, sticky, loser filled tavern, night after fucking night, waiting for the nocturne.
He was worried the blood-drinker wouldn’t show up. Juan and I were even more nervous that he might. But he had to. The three of us have everything riding on this scheme. Where the fuck is he? Juan did a quick, perfunctory head check of the patrons. He didn’t see the nocturne anywhere around. It was just like all the previous times. If I didn’t know any better, I would think the fucking vampire was avoiding us. If that’s true , at least he knew we existed. That would be something, but we couldn’t even assume that much at this point.
To make immediate matters even worse, Juan had to pee.
“Are you kidding me?” I asked, incredulous. “You know where we have to go to do that, don’t you?”
“Yes, God Damn it! I know. Fuck.”
I could feel his bladder filling uncomfortably. He had to go. If we didn’t, Juan would have to find a place to piss right here in the bar portion of the saloon. This would cause us to be kicked out and never allowed back. With everything on the line, and with some growing
dismay, we pushed back, deep into the cave-like bar. We were headed toward the rear hallways, stairsand the toilets. This was where the realio-dealio tookplace.
The courage it takes just to approach the flesh curtains lent a moment of pause for even the hardest of the hardcore. It usually took a pensive person a lot of illicit drugs, a bucket of ethanol and a double-dog dare to even part the veil. Looking in is bad enough and we had to go inside. We had to part the curtains, enter That, and then locate us a toilet. All without getting ourselves detained, killed, or even
worse.
And what is worse than being killed, you ask?
Getting stuck down there and never being able to negotiate your way back out, that’s what’s worse than being killed. You’ll see what I mean in a minute.
Taking a deep, cleansing breath to calm his nerves, Juan split the curtains of human skin. It was real flesh replete with freckle, scar and mole stains.
You pass through and you find yourself piercing the confines of That.
“Here we go!”
We entered the first hallway. Juan took the stairway down, following the signs to the bathrooms. Humans and Halflings alike were engaged in all manners of drug consumption and sexual congress. A young girl was tugging on folks, pleading with them all for the return of her hymen. Juan just shook his head. How the fuck should he know where her freshness seal is? Shit.
“Dumb-ass dead bitch,” I commented. Like that was something to worry herself about back here. “Damn, I’ve taken shits smarter than this. “But I am repeating myself.
Juan stepped down about six more feet before he came to the first body. The male was long overripe, judging by the smell. He was a lovely shade of cyanotic blue. He was absolutely as dead as a door nail. But that didn’t give the old woman with a bald, spotted scalp the right to straddle his below the knee leg amputation. We stopped to watch her do it. It was abhorrent, but like a train wreck, we could not pull ourselves away from the wretched sight. The old woman periodically coughed up mucousfrom the blow hole in her neck and onto her hand.
The old woman used it to further lubricate the dead fuck’s stitched, blunted stump-cock. As Juan carefully and quietly passed her by, he noticed she was vaguely see-through.
“We got to go through Hell’s Own asshole, just to take a piss?”
Ignoring my patter, “Hello?” Juan kept working his way down into the dark red smoke, until he finally reached the landing. There he saw a man with his hands tied behind him. A taut, tight rope of aborted fetuses pulled up the man’s wrists. The babies were secured to each other by their own long, convoluted umbilical cords. A sulfur and sugar smelling pit- demon was feeding the rope of abortions through
a dog skull pulley. The man’s mouth was buried on a firebrand. The acrid smoke curled from his burning mouth. The demon stared hard at Juan whilst he pulled on the rope. He dislocated the man’s shoulders and kept pulling. The man never made a sound. Only his tears bore witness to his true pain.
“Can I go to school here?” I ask. “It looks like they get to play Level 10 reindeer pain games. Yeah…
Downtown is where the fun’s at, sugar-kitten.”
We finally reached our stated destination. Lucky us. The restroom was filthy and crowded thick with
men pissing. Trannies were sucking dick, their johns holding cash above their bobbing head as a promise.
Drugs were being snorted, deals going down. Some nigga was desperate enough to tie his shit off in this
horrid crapper in one of the door-less stalls, flicking up a vein, trying to feel for a bump to target his
needle.
“Gross.”
Juan went into one of these stalls. A passed out fuck, pockets having already been turned out, was slumped over to the side. His head planted firmly into the feces smeared wall. Juan considered trying to wake him or dragging him off the seat. Instead, it was most expedient to simply pull out his pecker and piss on the motherfucker. He wouldn’t care.
Juan was just shaking it and zipping up when he sensed someone. He looked up and right into the face of the old man with the big mass of dreadlocks. It was the same polished slumming dude that was trying to holler at our Bubblegum. He smiled cruelly at Juan. His jumpy nerves made him cringe.
“You sure you want this, dear fellow?” asked mister fancy dreads.
“Want what?” Juan retorted, confused. The old guy is human, not a vampire, not a demon. That means dreadlocks teleported himself here. Other than the Indian Army, Juan had never met anyone who could afford teleporting. Juan figured if someone teleports themselves into this shit hole, Juan had better pay attention to what dreads was saying. At least dreads didn’t have to go back up through all that shit to get to the bar again. Juan and I would.
Oh, well.
“Are you sure you want to meet the blood drinker?” he asked Juan.
“What’s it to you?” Juan wanted to know, getting wide with the cunt out of a deep-seeded need to not kowtow. It was ingrained and had gotten Juan intotrouble many times.
“Don’t get smart with me, young man,” he admonished.
“I am The Good Doctor. I am the king. I am also the nocturne’s supplier. You need to be extraordinarily sure of what you wish for.”
“Why’s that?” Juan asked, a bit more politely. He’d heard of the king, but had never seen him in person. I have to admit, he was pretty fucking impressive.
And I am an unholy shit monster! We don’t impressthat easily.
“Because it may just come true ,” The Good Doctor stated. And then he winked out.
Before we could recover from that shock, a cold hand dropped solidly on to Juan’s shoulder from behind. It was strong. The talons growing out of the split fingertips dimpled Juan’s coat, punctured the cloth, and pressed into his flesh. Juan was surprised at how much it hurt. He sucked it up though andstood tall.
“When you wish upon a star…” Softly, to myself, I said this.
“You got balls hunting me,” the nocturne told him. He squeezed a little more and made Juan hurt a lot. “But do you have the heart?”
“Makes no never mellow mind who you are…” Even softer.
“I’m not after you, we mean you no harm.”
“What do you want then?”
“We wanted to meet you,” Juan told him.
“You and the girl you were with?”
“That’s right. I was hoping to speak with you.”
“And you are?” the vampire asked with a bit more pressure. It was getting bad, the pain, but Juan knew a test when he felt one. Juan told him their names and intentions. He did not mention the unholy shit monster that lives in his ass. “Services?” he asked, “What services?”
“Whatever you need, you know, help,” said Juan, arm going numb, fingertips tingling unpleasantly.
“You two want to help me sell drugs?”
“Yes, exactly,” Juan replied.
“And what, exactly,” the nocturne mockingly replied, “makes you think I won’t kill your uninvited ass where you stand?”
“Because we would not dare to seek you out empty handed, Sire,” Juan told him.
“Stop the ass-licking sire shit, I don’t like it,” the nocturne warned, “And it will not help to keep you,or your Mary alive. Or even that freak you keep holedup inside you.”
“Hey!” Rude fucking vampire.
“Shush, Morbid,” Juan scolded. He said, “What shall we call you then?”
“Nothing yet,” he said. “What do you have for me?”
“We have an offering.”
“Offering? What kind of offering?”
“Blood,” Juan stated, “a continuous stream of it.”
The nocturne smiled then. “Yes,” he replied, “That might do.”
“I can take you to Mary, where she is being keptfor you. And then we can bring her to where you stay.”
“And this token of your esteem is in hopes that you and Mary can work for me, with me? Is that
right?”
“Yes, exactly,” Juan agreed. “We can be of great value and help. We can assist and protect you.”
“What do you hope to gain and I expect the truth from you,” the nocturne advised with one more, tiny squeeze, “Your life, where you stand, depends on it.”
Juan did not have to think, Mary and his motivations had never changed. “We want in,” he said simply, “And you are the way.”
“The Truth shall set you free,” I added.
The vampire was silent as he removed his painfully frigid grip from Juan’s shoulder, blood seepingnow from the talon punctures. Juan could feel him moving close to whisper in his ear.
“Well now, seeing as the three of you now work for me,” the vampire said, “I guess you should call me Pilate.”
We’re in, thought Juan.
We are!
We were. … end sample
***ATTN: Sick Freaks and Fans of Rage***...For the love of all that's unholy, PLEASE 'SHARE' my dark shit with all your friends and enemies. Hit the button below. Thank you! (finally...some help around here...) ;)