Gang, we’ve got a real treat for you today! Chomping at the bit waiting for the new extreme horror novel from Kevin Strange? Then we’ve got an awesome TEASE for that ass!
While the novel won’t be available for sale till at least the end of the month, we’ve managed to get our hands on the first TWO chapters for your bitch ass eyeball pieces!
Now, this book ain’t for the faint of heart or easily offended, but we don’t have to tell the Strangeheads that! This is HARDCORE horror and the blood, guts and sexual fluids fly right from the jump!
Before you read these exclusive excerpts, be sure to check out the cover reveal and book synopsis here.
Enough foreplay, gang, here’s chapter 1 and chapter 2 of BEETLE BRAIN!
Sue Ellen wasn’t aiming to get fucked that night, but as fate would have it, she would end up with a dick in her ass—both literally and cosmically—before dawn.
The guy was nice enough. A small time politician from Chicago with more money than brains and more drugs than faith in the sanctity of marriage.
Sue Ellen was a couple hundred dollars short on rent, and the strip club was dead as a doornail like it was every other Tuesday night since the city passed an ordinance requiring all dancers and waitresses in strip clubs to register with the state. Thing was, there was only ONE strip club in Hopp’s Hollow. This was the city’s way of pushing them out, even though they’d been grandfathered in when the new mayor decided to “clean up” the downtown area.
“Downtown area. Yeah right,” Sue Ellen thought as the politician balled her rear end in one of the lap dance rooms near the back of the club. He’d paid the bouncer Jackson a hundred bucks to keep watch. Not like it mattered; Quinton, the bartender, was the owner of the Twin Moon, and he knew exactly what they were doing back there, how illegal it was, and how quick he’d end up in jail if he got caught whoring out his strippers. But with business at an all time low, he took his chances, knowing she’d split the loot with him later that night.
Hopp’s hadn’t had decent downtown nightlife in fifty years—not since the mills shut down and the barges that ran up and down the Mississippi river started using Hopp’s as nothing more than a gas station.
Business dried up and the millionaire families who’d started those mills sold their mansions for pennies on the dollar. Now the huge buildings were havens for prostitutes and drug dealers. The beautiful, ornate rooms overlooking the waterfront had been stripped bare and converted into efficiency apartments. They stood in ruins all over the city. Once grand landmarks, now so dilapidated, they gave Hopp’s Hollow, Illinois the distinctive honor of being considered one of the most haunted towns in the entire world.
“I’m gonna cum, baby!” The politician spun Sue Ellen around and pushed her to her knees. He unloaded all over her face, grunting and dripping sweat. When he was finished, he halfheartedly pulled up his pants and stumbled into the hallway.
Sue Ellen had collected the cash before she let him enter her rump: five hundred bucks for ten minutes of work after she peeled off half for Quinton. Not bad. And at least he didn’t make me put his dick back in my mouth, she thought, pulling up her panties.
She didn’t clean off her face, though. That would cost her the other hundred bucks she was about to make. Sure enough, Jackson scooted through the satin curtain. “Oh… Oh that’s fucking hot.”
Sue Ellen sat still as Jackson unbuckled his pants and started jacking off. As he got closer to climax, he’d start rubbing his fingers through the other man’s cum on her face.
Sue Ellen thought about how many groceries she could buy with six hundred smackaroos.
“Oh yeah. Oh fuck yeah!”
And there he went. As he got off, Jackson always licked the other guy’s cum off her face. As soon as he’d recovered, he would grumble something about not being gay and drop the cash in her lap. They’d never actually spoken about Jackson’s peculiar fetish, she just caught him whacking it after she’d finished up with a client one night and told him if he didn’t pay, she’d tell Quinton and get him fired.
“Dudes are fucking weird,” she thought as she wiped the rest of the spunk and saliva off her face, touched up her makeup in the mirror inside the tiny booth and then returned to the front. Her song was playing. It was her turn to dance for an empty house.
When she walked out front, she saw him.
The man who would forever change her life.
The man who would make her a queen. Just not the kind of queen any woman in her right mind would want to be.
He’d make her the Queen of the Beetles.
A Perfect Circle’s “Judith” blasted over the speakers as the DJ introduced her. “Aaaaand Lilly joins us on the main stage! As fierce as she is sexy, you’re gonna wanna get right up next to this little hottie. You don’t wanna miss her big finale!”
There was one customer in the entire club. Bless Joshy’s heart, he came in here and gave it his all every night. No matter how crowded or dead it was, he was at the top of his DJ game.
The customer was a strange little foreign man. He waddled up to the stage and sat down. He had about six strips of wispy black hair that he had combed up over the top of his head.—not well, either; it was sticking up and jutting out at weird angles. He was dark-complected with brown eyes and big sweaty lips on top of jowls that reminded Sue Ellen of rotten pudding. She dropped to her knees and crawled up to him like he was a king or a god all the same. It was her job. This is what she did to keep the lights on. She didn’t even see the creepy little men anymore. Her mind was always far away. When she needed to get away from reality, she always imagined herself on a beach in the middle of nowhere. Shipwrecked. Stranded somehow. Abducted at the beach by the uncivilized natives who stripped her naked and prepared to gang rape her right there on the shore until they saw a birth mark or some other fantastical telltale sign and realized she was their long lost queen.
The thought always made Sue Ellen smile, even on the worst days at the club with the creepiest creepers copping cheap feels on her tits and ass without a dollar to their name to show for it. She imagined herself on a throne of gold, natives at her feet worshiping her. Singing songs in her name.
“Fuck yeah,” she thought. “Worship me, bitches.”
Back in the real world, back in the club, she popped the strap on the back of her bra and let her tits fall out. She shook them in the little dark man’s face and purred in his ear, “I’m Lilly. What’s your name?”
Lilly was her stripper name, by the way. Adam’s first wife in the bible. Made her feel deep and shit, but the truth was, she hadn’t even given herself the name. A veteran stripper with the name of Annabelle had felt sorry for her on Sue Ellen’s first night at the club, all wide eyes, quick to tears. She’d run away from home after her mom ended up in jail for the third time for check fraud and her step daddy and step brother had decided to turn her into a human shish kabob, fucking her from the front and the back at the same time.
The boyfriend she’d had at the time was such a fucking junkie, he’d passed out high in the car during her audition and had a fucking overdose. She was hired on the spot and had to go back to fucking work that night just to bail him out of jail after the club had called the cops on him for trying to die on their property.
To say she’d been a bit frazzled was an understatement. When it was her turn to dance, the DJ asked her what her name was. She’d told him it was Sue Ellen, not understanding that he meant her stripper name. Annabelle had been nearby and swooped in to her rescue, telling the DJ to call her Lilly.
“That’s a pretty name,” she’d said, wiping tears from her eyes for the third time that night. Annabelle had explained what it meant and the name stuck. Annabelle was a nice girl. Annabelle showed up decapitated in a dumpster in north Hopp City three months later after ripping off her crack dealer one time too many.
When the dark man in front of her didn’t respond to the name question, she moved onto her next routine. Acting like you gave a fuck about a client’s name and job was an easy way to score an extra twenty or two when you told them about how hard you were working in college, just stripping on the side to pay tuition (yeah right—Sue Ellen barely made it through her freshman year in high school before she got caught with the lesbian P.E. teacher, letting the lesbo bitch eat her out in the locker room for an easy A).
“Privates are only twenty bucks,” she whispered expertly into his ear. As a stripper you either learned how to be sultry and seductive on the outside even if you were screaming and crying on the inside, or you didn’t make money. That’s how the strip club business rolls. There’s always another pretty girl short on shame who loves cash money to take your place.
Some dudes don’t want to tell you anything about themselves. They’re always married, but some of them have a lot to lose if their fat bitch wives ever found out they hung out in strip clubs with all that young sexy pussy flaunting around. Some guys wanted to get right to the point. They wanted tits and ass in their face and they wanted to blow wads in their pants (or all over your face, if the money was right).
“I had something more… lucrative in mind,” the pudgy little creep said, flashing a wallet full of hundred dollar bills.
Sue Ellen raised up, shaking her tits over the man’s face before dramatically falling backward, letting her shoulders hit the stage while she thrust her crotch lustily in his face.
Really what she was doing was eyeballing Quinton at the bar. She already had to tip him out for the buttfuck she’d received earlier, she wasn’t looking to split two tricks with him tonight. She had plans for this money. She was going to blow this crappy town and head to Vegas where she could get a real porn career going. She was sick of taking dicks up the ass for pennies on the dollar when she could be a real star and take dicks up the ass for six figures.
Sue Ellen might have rolled snake eyes in the luck department when it came to her childhood, growing up with a crook of a mother and a molester of a stepdad, but at least she’d hit the genetic lottery when it came to her looks.
It didn’t matter to these fucking perverts how fucked up in the head you were if you had a pretty smile and nice tits or a big ass. All they wanted was to get off. You were a fantasy to them. an unattainable beauty in which to target their lust once their wives had shat out a few of their little brats and got all lumpy and soft in the wrong areas. Once they stopped sucking their husbands’ smelly little dicks.
That’s all Sue Ellen was: a hot piece of ass to aim their dicks at. And she was totally fine with that—for now, anyway. She’d run away to Vegas and make the most of her perky tits and plump ass ’til they started to sag. ‘Til she became that tribal queen in her fantasies.
Quinton was flirting with one of the blonde waitresses, the one with the pierced nipples and bad breath. He wasn’t paying any attention.
Sue Ellen leaned in to the little man in front of her again. “Oh yeah, baby?” She licked his ear. It tasted bitter, thick with wax. Her stomach turned over a bit. She swallowed it down like the pro she was. “Tell me more.”
“Meet me at this address after your shift.” The dark man slipped a business card onto to the stage, wrapped in a hundred dollar bill. “I won’t get into specifics here. Come alone.”
Sue Ellen opened her panties, giving him full view of her shaved pussy, and dropped the money and card inside, letting her panties snap back against her glistening skin. She patted it for good measure. “I don’t meet strange men by myself, sugar. I got more sense than that.”
He smiled, showing several crooked and yellowed teeth. “I’m sure you do, sweet Lilly.” He slid another hundred into her bra as she gyrated in front of him to the rhythm of the music. “A public place then, would be more to your liking?”
Sue Ellen smiled slyly, ecstatic that she’d scored another two hundred bones just for having a minute-long chat with some rich creeper. “Sure, baby. Meet me at the Waffle House down in Pontoon Beach at five thirty.”
The little man leaned forward and slid a final hundred into her G-string just above her butt crack. “You’ll be there?”
“With bells on, honey.”
The freaky man curled his finger back in a “Come closer” motion. She giggled, feeling a twinge of revulsion for allowing herself to be commanded by such an odd little twerp, but she did as he asked, leaning in close enough to kiss him.
He whispered, “There’s two thousand dollars in it for you if you actually show.”
Sue Ellen sat back on her haunches, stunned. That’s the kind of loot she hoped to save up over the next three months. Two Gs was all she needed to escape to Vegas. She hadn’t actually considered meeting this guy at Waffle House. Dudes tried to pick her up at the club every night. It was all part of the game: Make them think they were somebody special, somebody you really wanted to fuck. Get them to invite you out for breakfast after work, then drain their wallets while they were still in the club.
No girl in her right mind would actually meet one of these weirdos out in public away from the safety of club security. Not alone, anyway. But for two grand? She’d let this guy’s friends take turns fucking her in a hotel room for two grand. Shit, they wouldn’t even have to take turns. They could all gang up on her at once for that kind of money.
Would she really be able to skip town and leave Hopp’s Hollow in the dust tonight?
The thought made her dance up off the table and do her first pole tricks in two years. With hardly ever any customers, there was no reason to get fancy with it. But tonight? Tonight there was cause to celebrate!
She climbed up to the top, flipped upside down and into the splits, slowly spinning as gravity pulled her back down toward the floor, smiling the whole way.
Never guessing that meeting with the dark little man would be the worst mistake of her whole shitty life.