DOA III

by Bentley Little

  “Help!!” Holly cried out. “Heeeelp!”

  “Shhhhh!” The Reverend Doctor said as he approached the table and ran a hand up her inner thigh. “You are about to experience something few people on earth ever have. Do you know what I did before I started this church? I was a psychologist. My specialty was addictions and so-called deviant sexual issues, but after several years counseling drug addicts, I developed my own opioid addiction. Just like you. I sank as low as a human being possibly can. I was living in the gutter, stealing, even prostituting myself to support my habit. Sound familiar? I went from prescription painkillers to heroin.

  “It took finding God for me to finally kick my dependency. And, like so many of the newly saved, I began reading the Bible fanatically. I was addicted to God. He became my new drug. It was during my sixth or seventh cover to cover read of The New Testament that I had my revelation, that the true meaning of The Resurrection was revealed to me. I felt compelled to spread the good word. That’s why I built this church.”

  Holly’s brow knitted in confusion. Eyes wide, she shook her head.

  “What? What the fuck does that have to do with me? Why am I chained up?”

  Reverend Doctor James Watson nodded.

  “I’m sure this must all be confusing for you. Let me try to explain. See, before my fall from grace, I was a respected psychologist. In addition to treating patients for their various addictions, I also did a lot of research studies, conducted a lot of experiments. I had a theory that I never got to test. Have you ever heard of the bliss point?”

  Holly slowly shook her head.

  “In the food industry, the bliss point is the most pleasurable, most addictive amount of sugar you can add to food before it starts to become less enjoyable, the point at which ultimate pleasure is derived. Too little, and it is good, but not as good as it could be. Too much, and you reach a point of diminishing returns where the experience actually begins to lose pleasure by degrees. It just becomes too sweet.

  “See, I became convinced that all physical sensation had a bliss point too, not just taste but cutaneous and subcutaneous sensations as well—even sexual pleasure. There has to be a point beyond which pleasure becomes pain. And, conversely, a point at which pain becomes pleasure, where the endorphin levels reach a point that they overcome the pain. Did you know they have conducted experiments with monkeys where they hooked the pleasure centers of their brains up to electrodes and gave them a button to push that would send a current through their brains that would simulate an orgasm? Those monkeys kept pushing that button until it fried their brains and killed them. I believe those monkeys wanted to die. Even back then, when I was just a psychologist, before I had ever found God, I was convinced that this bliss point is what man calls heaven, nirvana, rapture... and hell. I believe those monkeys reached a point where they could see heaven, and I believe you and I will reach that point together today.”

  Holly began to struggle again. “What are you going to do to me? Please, just let me go! Don’t hurt me! Please!”

  “That’s just it. I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to only hurt you. I want to give you true bliss. Oh, and don’t think I’m arrogant enough to think I can do this all on my own. I have no illusions of my own sexual prowess. I have many wonderful devices here to help.”

  Holly screamed and moaned, thrashing against her restraints as one orgasm after another wracked her body with violent convulsions that were almost agonizing. The Reverend Doctor’s two brutes had fixed a spreader bar between her ankle-cuffs and strapped her thighs down to the table with two big leather restraints—making it impossible for her to close her legs or move them much at all. Another thick strap, like an old-fashioned weightlifter’s belt, went around her waist holding her firmly against the table, limiting her movement from the waist down. She had cried and pleaded the entire time, promising them all the best blowjobs of their lives if they would just let her go, an eternity of blowjobs.

  “You can fuck me in the ass if you want! I’ll take all three of you at once, double- penetration, ass-to-mouth, any nasty filthy fantasy you can imagine. We can turn it into a bukakke session. You can all cum on my face. I’ll suck all of you dry then get you hard so we can do it all over again. I promise. Just let me go!”

  She could tell that the tall guy and the linebacker were considering her proposal from the lengthening and thickening of their enormous cocks, but it wasn’t them she needed to convince. They were just followers, and their leader had already cum once. His cock hung limply between his scrawny pale thighs. Holly wept, realizing that she’d played her only bargaining chip too soon.

  “You are good, my child. So good. I can’t remember the last time a woman worshiped my cock like that, but I could train any woman in my congregation in such a skill if that’s all I wanted. We have a higher purpose here. I want you to enter heaven, to see the face of God.”

  A device Holly recognized as a Hitachi Magic Wand—the Cadillac of vibrators—was strapped into a leather harness. There was something different about it though. She had one of the powerful devices in her bedroom at home, and it didn’t look quite like this thing.

  “This is an electro vibe wand. It vibrates just as powerfully as the famous Magic Wand, but it also delivers powerful electric shocks. It has five different intensity levels. I believe we are going to hit all five. But first…”

  The big muscular black guy, the linebacker, handed the Reverend Doctor a small black box with lots of wires hanging from it.

  “This is a TENS unit. They use it during physical therapy. It sends electric currents through your muscles to make them contract.”

  Holly watched hopeless as he affixed little metal alligator clamps to the ends of each wire. She cried out when he attached the clamps to her labia and nipples. He affixed little sticky pads to four more leads and slid two of them inside her, attaching them to the walls of her vagina, then fixing the last two to her anus.

  The Reverend Doctor held up a pear-shaped metal device that also had wires attached to it. Holly recognized it as a buttplug—a vibrating buttplug.

  “And finally, a simple metal vibrator... attached to a Violet Wand electro-stimulator.”

  He slathered the vibrator, the buttplug, her asshole, and her entire vagina with a conductive gel that also served as a lubricant, then slid both the metal vibrator and the plug inside her. The vibrations immediately did their job, sending delicious sensations throughout her sex. Jacked up on fear and adrenaline, her body began to betray her, rapidly approaching orgasm. Maybe they didn’t want to torture and kill her, or fry her brains like those poor monkeys he spoke of. Maybe they only wanted her to cum her brains out like they said. Hell, she decided, she might even enjoy it.

  Then the Reverend Doctor turned on the TENS unit, and her vagina began to rhythmically contract. Her nipples were buzzing like she was hooked up to a car battery. Unable to fight it, the first violent orgasm tore through her, surprising her, and stealing her breath away. Had she not been strapped down, she felt like she would have flown off the table. Holly could not remember when she’d last had such a powerful climax, if ever. She was panting heavily like she’d just sprinted a mile, but the Reverend Doctor was not done. She had forgotten about the Hitachi. He strapped the harness around her hips and thighs, holding the large vibrator firmly against her clitoris. Then he turned it on.

  Holly’s dilated rectum and vaginal walls were contracting around the vibrator and the buttplug buzzing inside her as the TENS unit did its job, the Hitachi vibrated against her clitoris, and her labia and nipples buzzed with electricity. Holly screamed as another orgasm ripped through her and she continued to cum, one bone-jarring climax after another, tumbling down over each other like an avalanche of pleasure buffeting her body relentlessly. Whenever she thought she could not experience any more pleasure, the Reverend Doctor would turn up the intensity on the TENS unit or the Hitachi, driving her further and further into a cocoon of overwhelming ecstasy.

  Holly was del
irious. She had no idea how long she’d been in the room or how many orgasms she’d endured. A river of vaginal fluid flowed between her legs, saturating the leather bondage table.

  “Oh, my God! Oh, fuck! Oh, Jesus Christ! I can’t take it anymore! Stop! Please stop! I feel like I’m dying!” Her eyes rolled up in her head, saliva drooled from the corners of her mouth, and tears flowed freely as she continued to cum.

  “Do you see him? Do you see the face of God?” The Reverend Doctor asked, bristling with excitement.

  Holly shook her head from side to side, then thought better of it and began to nod enthusiastically.

  “Yes! Yes, I see him! I do! He’s beautiful!”

  The Reverend Doctor dropped his head, closed his eyes and let out a long sigh.

  “No. You don’t see him. You’re lying. Don’t lie to me. This will all go so much better if you are truthful.”

  Holly sobbed loudly, uncontrollably.

  “Just let me go! Let me go! You have to stop! I can’t take it!”

  She could barely see the maniacal cult leader through the haze of salacious sensations. His voice sounded like it was a mile away. Holly was dimly aware that the two brutes were masturbating on either side of her. They splattered her face and breasts with cum that dripped down her forehead into her eyes. She tried to blink the sticky mess away. When she could see again, she saw that they were still masturbating, preparing to ejaculate on her again.

  “Then you have to tell me the truth. I want to know when you pass through the gates of heaven. I want to know when you see the Lord’s face.”

  “I’m not lying! I see him! I do!” Holly said breathlessly, another orgasm colliding against her like a wall, knocking her head back and causing her entire body to spasm and convulse.

  “No. I’m afraid you aren’t quite there yet. Let’s turn it up a bit more shall we?”

  “Please! Please don’t! I can’t take anymore! I’ll die! You’re killing me!”

  Electric shocks ripped through her loins, as the metal vibrator inside her began to crackle with electricity and the Hitachi strapped against her clitoris released its own electric charge, as did the metal buttplug vibrating deep in her anus. The pain was intense, but combined with the powerful vibrations, the painful jolts brought her to more thunderous orgasms that felt like they would break her in half. Her mind swam in a sea of agony and ecstasy, going under, slowly drowning in sensations beyond anything she could have imagined.

  A joyous smile burst upon her face and Holly whispered, “More.”

  The Reverend Doctor leaned in closer. “What did you say, child?”

  “Don’t stop... P-please, don’t stop. I want m-more! More!”

  The Reverend smiled and nodded. “Ahhh, the bliss point.”

  He turned the intensity on the electro wand between her legs to the max, then increased the TENS unit and the Violet Wand until Holly’s entire body vibrated with electricity and the smell of burning flesh filled the air along with the pheromone rich musk of sex. When the Reverend Doctor removed a scalpel and a cauterizing pen from a medical bag and began cutting and burning her, Holly could no longer distinguish the pain from the pleasure. It had all merged into one kaleidoscope of lubricious sensation. She was drunk, intoxicated with endorphins, only dimly aware that she was still cumming, that she was still in the dark room strapped to the table, who she was or had ever been, as the Reverend Doctor cut a circle around Holly’s left breast then grabbed the edges of her skin with a hemostat and slowly removed the skin with a wet, sticky, ripping sound, peeling it like a grape and revealing the bubbly yellow fat and pink muscle tissue beneath. The two brutes were still furiously masturbating as they crowded in to watch their beloved religious leader skin Holly’s breast.

  “I see Him!” Holly shouted. “I see the face of God!” She repeated gleefully, smiling in profound joy, divine rapture, as semen rained down upon her ecstatic face.

  Wrath James White is a former world class heavyweight kickboxer, a professional mixed martial arts trainer, distance runner, and performance artist, who is now known for creating some of the most disturbing works of fiction in print.

  Wrath is the author of such extreme horror classics as The Resurrectionist (now a major motion picture, Come Back To Me) Succulent Prey, Population Zero, and many others.

  Wrath lives and works in Austin, Texas with his three daughters, Isis, Nala, and Zoe, his son and co-author, Sultan Z. White, and his beautiful wife Tammy.

  WOEFUL CITY by Garrett Cook

  GARRETT COOK

  1.

  “Through me you come to the City of Woe,

  Through me you reach eternal pain

  Through me among the lost you go

  Justice moved the maker who would reign

  Unstoppable from year to year to year

  Wisdom high and love that shall not wane

  Before my coming nothing could appear

  That’s not eternal, eternally I endure

  Leave your hope behind if you’d enter here”

  Is it Dante?

  This is not what I expect to hear from a woman riding me at an arcade booth at an adult videostore on 82nd. I am not at an arcade booth at an adult videostore on 82nd. I am elsewhere. I am drifting. She is grinding, she is gorgeous, she is glowing and I am drifting. I have come here for a reason, I know it. She’s taking me back so she can take me forward.

  2.

  The sun is beating down hard on my shoulders, which are straining. There’s a shovel in my hand and it’s urgent. Dirt behind me, a hole in front, getting big enough for me to reach in for what I’d buried there a few hours earlier. Four hours and twenty-seven minutes earlier. You’d best believe I’ve been watching the clock. There’s a right way to do this and a multitude of wrong ways. Hell, it’s quite possible that there’s no right way. Likely. Probable. But I wouldn’t be doing this if this was something I should do.

  Suddenly, paydirt. Literally. There it is, the big wooden box, a coffin with strategic airholes. I lift the lid like Peter Cushing at war with the dead. The smell of piss. The sound of heavy breathing. A tiny blonde, whose eyes are big and the color of seaglass. I lift her up. She’s fine. Fine as she can be. I mean, she’s not fine. If she were fine, she wouldn’t be buried there in the back yard. It’s a relief for sure.

  I take her to the bathroom and run a bath. I pour her a big glass of water. She sits in the bubbles and the comfort. She relaxes into the bath, she takes in the water, then she slurps up the air just as greedily. She’d been in a coffin after all. I run the sponge and my hand over her. Getting the sweat and the dirt off her is a big job, but I savor it. Her body is precious to me, she deserves to be clean and comfortable and happy. From washing, my intention changes and I slide my fingers inside, and I wrap an arm around her waist and I play her like a violin, working over the surface seeking out the tones I want.

  “I do this,” she says, “for the moment I stop thinking you’ll come back for me.”

  3.

  I’m sitting at a booth across from an immaculately assembled middle-aged woman, a Frankenstein bride of Sephora, outlet mall Chanel and years of corporate degradation. This is not the kind of company I usually keep. And it’s not because I don’t feel good enough for these sort of people. She clearly does her damnedest to make sure I do and she has since I first sat down at this restaurant.

  “I need you to get what this is about, okay? This is about shame. This isn’t like a sex thing, not really. It’s a thing I need to talk about.”

  I am starting to hate this woman. It’s my fault for deciding to live like this though. I live for these experiences. What else is there?

  “My son plays high school football. He’s not very good at it, you see. He’s actually really, really bad at it. You tell your kid to stick with it, you tell your sons to be strong and that this builds character, but he never seems to get any better. They mutilate him on that field. He’s slow and he can’t take a hit. He’s small too. You’d think a boy his siz
e would be hard to catch, but he isn’t. I understand why they don’t pass to him.”

  Why is she telling me about this? Is this something incestuous, something gross and scatological? I’m really hoping it isn’t. I don’t pop a boner from incest or cancer or anything like that. I’m ready to call this a night when I notice something. She is clutching her purse. There’s something in there that she wants but isn’t giving herself.

  “This isn’t a sex thing, okay? I’m not going to fuck you. I just want that to be clear. This isn’t a date. Their rivals, their rivals are the Tigers. They never really beat the Tigers. They make fucking fools of themselves every homecoming. I’m a bad mother.”

  “You’re probably not a bad mother,” I counter. I don’t like the face she makes when she says I’m a bad mother.

  “Let me talk. I’m a bad mother. Everything tells me that who I am is this child’s mother and that my value and my right to go on walking around in this skin is contingent about my doing this job well. I keep a tiny stuffed tiger in my purse. I bought it at a game. The other team’s mascot is in my purse. All the time. And I watch from a corner of the bleachers at these games.”

  “Yeah, and?”