Blogs by The Grim Reverend Steven Rage
feelin down and dirty, feelin kinda mean ...
1/26/2011 12:07:30 PM
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Once you start in on a serious drug collection, the tendancy is to push it as far as you can...Seriously, though 'FucknPunch' is in Europe getting his blood changed out. Pill-Man brings today's gruesome fiction sample.
* mean mug mo’ thug…*
He was feeling down and dirty, feeling kind of mean. The hermaphrodite he was f***ing had a ball-gag deep in her mouth and it was securely fastened. The man turned to the girl’s mom, smacked her two quick ones in the cake-hole. He shot his expulsion in her face and hair. She exhaled the Plata smoke as she brought her mouth to the dude’s lumpy cock and proceeded to clean it all off by using her teeth and tongue.
The man leaned back and watched her do this while he flipped up his feet and placed them on the hermie’s back. He closed his eyes as she exhaled her relief. She began to cry pitifully. The mom thought briefly about removing the ball-gag from her child’s mouth, but instead she lit up another pipe of the Plata.
The man, himself, opted for a regular smoke. He lit a custom made cigarette he kept in a rather ornate case nearby. He inhaled the delicious Turkish blend, held it a moment and then blew out the plume. He pulled his feet from the hermie’s back. He opened a small chest on the lamp table, removed a two gram bag and tossed it in the mom’s direction. The mother grabbed the dope, stuck it up her twat for safe-keeping. Then she helped her kid get out of the gag and onto her feet. She made to wipe the male from her face and hair.
“Do that shit on your own time,” he told her. “Now get the f*** out.”
Once they left, Job’s earthly father brought out his tray of his personal upstairs coke. The lightly blue-tinged Peruvian flake was set on his lap. He started chopping and lining up the coke, smiling. He leaned down and pulled up a finger-thick chalk line when the temperature became frigid in his living room in an instant. Ice formed in the air, contrasting the warm, cozy heated room and snowflakes inexplicably formed and began to swirl all around. His heart began to thunder, the feeling familiar, but hard to sink his teeth into, it was from so long ago.
Mister Mo’ Thug appeared in front of him. Job’s father’s hair turned white from fright in an instant. He dropped the coke straw. He watched with mortal dread as he beheld the eight foot tall mean mug. His impossible weight cracked the floor beneath him.
“My Lord – “
He put up a stifling hand. “I need not your voice.” Job’s father paled further as he sat dumfounded. “Place your hand within mine,” he said.
His servant did and he began with the pinky finger. Mister Mo’ Thug slowly and methodically bent all the fingers up one at a time. Each one broke with a gruesome wet snap.
Job’s father dropped to his knees. Beads of sweat sprang up from all over his body. He cried out and mean mug hit him in his face, breaking a cheek bone and causing the man’s face to swell and misshapen.
“Not a word.” Job’s father bit through his own lip, trying his failing best to keep quiet, to not further infuriate. “The cur you sold me has let me down. He stopped and looked down to the blubbering human. “I cannot exact my vengeance upon him, so it will now fall to you.” Mister Mo’ Thug curled his hand into a fist. He crushed Job’s father’s hand and twisted fingers into almost dust. “And there will be things done to you,” he said, “that ye shan’t imagine.” Mister Mo’ Thug has always been an asshole. Most everyone agrees. Mother certainly does. The man’s face was leaking blood unimpeded from his nose and his cry was stifled quickly by his remaining fist. He shoved it down the human’s throat. Mean mug then went from the flat, pulpy ruined hand next to the man’s wrist and on up to the forearm, crushing them both, before just tearing the f***er off at the root and dropping it beside the human’s quivering, dying body. Job’s father looked down to the floor at his missing arm like it was something he should know, but couldn’t quite place.
With Mister Mo’ Thug’s fist down the man’s throat, his eyes threatened to bulge right out of their sockets. He reached all the way inside Job’s father and pulled the human inside out. He flat out hated f***ing losing.
Job’s father was still breathing and conscious while Mister Mo’ Thug’s imps climbed on him. One imp fell wildly in love with the human’s severed arm, it being still warm, and consummating this with a love act, rubbing hard on the bone with his own.
The others perched on Job’s father, jacking off into and feeding on the wet inners. They climbed up his pooper and plucked at his exposed heart and lungs, tearing and ripping.
* mean mug mo’ thug…*
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