Pills-in-a-Little-Cup

by Rage, Reverend

  Tug opened his eyes and blinked at the screen. It was the second day of the fifth waxing moon, in the 24th year, ACE. The screen then brought up the chimp’s daily chore list. The Good Doctor helped Tug stay on task by having screens placed liberally throughout the urban micro-farm where the chimp was foreman. The preponderance of screens helped keep Tug’s daily routine humming.

  Tug threw off his thick comforter, cursing his full-body baldness again. The Good Doctor designed him this way so that Tug could feel more human. It did. Tug especially enjoyed looking at himself in the many mirrored surfaces around the farm. He liked seeing the solid muscles and ropey veins that would have normally been covered by thick matted fur. It made him feel special and closer to the human that created him. Tug even had his very own collection of freckles, birthmarks and moles. There was no other like him; The Good Doctor had told him on a number of occasions. Uncle Tugmunkee was wholly unique.

  Still, Tug hated the cold. Waking up shivering was the only time Tug wished he was a standard fur-bearing chimp? Tug had his thermals and sweats on. He slipped on a pair of comfy slippers and left his quarters. He walked upright and slowly. He hugged himself, his teeth chattering, and blew on his hands. Tug stamped his feet, trying to get his circulation moving. He was glad, he was below the surface.

  Just like everyone else that was left in The Harbor, The Good Doctor’s place was situated mostly underground. The urban micro-farm was a good size, though, and Tug was in charge of the whole shebang. Tug walked down the corridor that separated his private domicile from the main house. The low tube lights came on as he neared them and turned off automatically as soon as he passed. Even wealthy and important folks like The Good Doctor had to preserve as much of the solar paneled field supplied electricity as possible. It was just too darned hard to come by in these times.

  Tug’s first chore of the day was to feed the twins. They stayed put in their cage in The Good Doctor’s at-home private laboratory. Tug entered the lab and went straight to the twins’ cage. His dolphin dream left him with a big, thick straight arrow. His tennis ball sized testes were full.

  As soon as the conjoined twins noticed Tug in the lab, they began mewling and drooling. They were begging to be fed like a hungry litter of pups. Trudge & Drudge, as The Good Doctor had dubbed them, were making such a gosh-awful racket. The twins were like this every time. Their squash-court sized head was shaking to beat the clock. Their combined three eyes were beginning to tear up their milky-white baby blues. Trudge and Drudge were designed by The Good Doctor to be limbless. He claimed to Tug the twins had no drives but eating, secreting and excreting. They had no need of said limbs. The pharma-pseudos the twins produced by just being alive and cared for made them both a golden goose and a cash cow all at once.

  Tug had his throb-pole out of his thermals and stuck it through the bars of the cage where the twins were kept permanently isolated and restrained. Trudge and Drudge were getting crazy. They drooled even more out of their one toothless mouth. Tug pressed his thumb on the cage scanner and their table inside the cage rotated up towards Tug’s Tommy knocker. When the twins were level, Tug grasped the back of their huge melon head. Their eyes were leaking thick tear tracks down and onto Tug’s knob. He wiped his ding-dong ditchem free of the tears and pushed it into the twins’ open waiting mouth. They were like little baby birds; their mouth opened wide to be fed.

  Trudge and Drudge sucked fiercely on Tug. He had his eyes closed and recalled the still fresh dolphin dream and her magnificently lifted tail. In his mind he was taking her gently and sweetly. He put one of his over-long fingers into his own mouth and suckled and chewed on it. He murmured words of inter-species love.

  That’s when it hit him…

  * * * *

  The light inside Tug’s head got real hot and bright. It felt to Uncle Tugmunkee like he was fixing to have a full-out seizure. He thought he was being electrocuted, but the only thing he was stuck in was certainly not an electrical outlet. Tug was getting frightened when suddenly every little thing went dark and silent. It was only a moment more before Tug found he was gripping the actual dolphin he’d been fantasizing about.

  Tug could easily feel the breeze as it wafted over the two of them and their sex act. He was nude and it was warm on Tug’s bare skin. The sun was way up in the sky. It was bright and hot. The crowd at the Seaquarium cheered Tug and the dolphin on. She felt so good to him. Tug felt his sack shrinking and his boys tighten. He was getting close to climax. He stopped wondering why there was no force-field needed to protect them, or if he was somehow lifted out of The Harbor and teleported unknowing to the ice-free equator. He just stopped thinking at all.

  Tug dug his strong chimp fingers deep into her firm, smooth dolphin flesh. He pounded her with vigor, pounded and pounded her until what felt like a liter squirted out of him and streamed deep into her.

  As the crowd rose to deliver them a thunderous ovation, Tug was snapped back to the lab and the twins. And man, oh man, were they ticked.

  * * * *

  Tug was way over on the other side of the lab from the twins and he was facing the wrong way. His monkey was still rigid and pulsing, but was deflating flaccid by the second. Tug was breathing heavily. He had to sit down, he was so dizzy.

  “That was the best sex I’d ever had,” Tug muttered low. He worked hard to slow his breathing and to steady his slamming heart.

  The twins were shrilling. They were getting downright distressed. They still needed to be fed. Tug aimed their food the wrong way. He began looking all around him for it. The twins couldn’t give two dumps whether their food was body temp or room temp, so Tug wasn’t overly concerned. He just wished they’d shut the heck up. He was looking as fast as he possibly could. The twins weren’t encoded with patience and their screams were getting to him.

  As fast as he knew how, Tug searched the wall he woke up in front of. He could not locate his lactate. Tug glanced down on the floor and all around the vicinity and still he found nothing. It was really weirding the chimp out. Tug was perfectly willing to scoop the goop and feed it to the twins by hand, but he failed to find it. The semen was gone.

  Trudge and Drudge were ear-shattering now.

  Dash it all, thought Tug.

  The noise was getting hard to deal with. The twins kept getting louder and their cries higher pitched. They were making Tug’s eardrums vibrate uncomfortably. It was more than he could handle. He couldn’t think straight. They were so loud.

  Logically, thought Tug, I have to think logically. Which was easier said than done, what with the racket they were making. And now the twins were so distressed that the cage was rattling from the vibration of their dismay.

  I must not have ejaculated, Tug concluded. If that’s the case, his batter should be bubbled right up to the top of the nozzle spout.

  Tug pulled on his guy a bit, but there was no tumescence left. His huge sack drooped empty. His member was inexplicably covered with sex crumbs, not drool from the twins. And there was no mess anywhere. The twins were screaming painfully now. Tug had no clue what had happened, but he could not tolerated the clatter and clamor any longer.

  Knowing nothing else he could do, Tug shoved his limp Larry into the painfully suckling mouth of the hungry twins. Tug shouted at a nearby screen, wanting Billy to come in from outside. He needed help, right away.

  “Dang, this hurts!” Uncle Tugmunkee exclaimed through painfully gritted teeth.

  * * * *

  Billy Goat Gruff was above ground. Beneath the protective force-field, The Good Doctor had a fully functioning urban micro-farm. The property was beautiful. Bill Goat was Uncle Tug’s right hand kid.

  Billy came from out of the root garden. He’d assured himself that all was well with the yams, onions, carrots, radishes and such. The trees were in full fruit. The hens were laying their double-yolk eggs in abundance.

  He went next to check the solar generator: it was on his daily check list. Billy found the energy source solid, the batteries
fully charged. The intermittent micro-pore opening and closing of the shield allowed vital wind and air in. The mighty sun in the sky still beat down upon the northern hemisphere’s icy face and shone through the force-field. This constantly monitored changeling permitted optimal growing conditions.

  The Good Doctor owned a well-run three acres. The farm supplied all the foodstuffs needed for his entire household with much surplus to spare. This abundant leftover of produce, eggs, goat’s milk, jerked catfish and whatnot went to the Market and sold as profit. Managed by Tug and run by Billy, the farm also produced the highest quality herbs, potent bud-smoke, and psych-shrooms available in The Harbor. The farm even had a free-flowing water reservoir to raise catfish and a big commercial grade dehydrator for turning the fish into jerked meat.

  The Good Doctor was very rich.

  Billy found himself with a few spare moments. The Good Doctor spent his days at the hospital for the Hellbound. Uncle Tug was still inside the main domicile. Billy was thinking of giving himself some private time. He decided to pay a visit to the milking shed. There was a new lovely young doeling there he wanted to climb on and give her what for. Billy was up on his hind legs. He stroked his chin whiskers as he walked toward the shed. She was going to get it. Uncle Tug’s shout burst the bubble of his revelry.

  * * * *

  Billy came trotting into the lab on all fours. The urgency in tug’s voice was clear. Billy came to a halt in front of the twins’ cage. Tug looked over his shoulder at him as he came in.

  “Thank goodness you’re here!” Tug exclaimed with his Jim-jangle still stuck painfully in the twins’ mouth. “Did you visit the girls yet?” he asked. Embarrassed, Billy looked down at the floor. He’d been caught. Tug saw the expression on Billy’s goat face. He shook his head vigorously in the negative. “You’re not in trouble, man,” Tug shouted, the pain very nearly unbearable, “Answer me!” Billy, not being able to vocalize, shook his head no. “Excellent. Now get over here and feed them before they kill me!”

  Trudge and Drudge were designed by The Good Doctor to live and thrive on human semen. But since chimpanzees share all but 1.4% of a human’s DNA, Uncle Tugmunkee fed them most days. In a pinch, however, Bill will have to do.

  “Get over here, dang!” cried Tug. He pulled his out by boxing on the twins’ ears. When they opened their mouth to cry out, Tug removed his business with gratitude, expelling relief in a sigh.

  Before the twins could start their screeching again, Tug pushed Billy right up to the cage. He unsheathed the goat’s get ‘em. The twins were crazy hungry now. They gobbled on Billy’s gruff like it was a candy cane. The goat held onto the bars of the cage. He gripped them with his hoof-hands and gnashed his teeth.

  It was all over within a minute. Both Billy and Tug sighed with relief, but for entirely different reasons. The twins, finally fed, fell fast asleep. Billy bowed quick to Tug and then made his way back up top. It was time to start collecting the eggs and harvesting the ripened produce.

  Tug sat, massaging his prominent brow in his hands. He was still unsure as to exactly what happened. He decided it was past time for him to work through the rest of his list before The Good Doctor came home. If he didn’t complete all his chores, there would be hell to pay.

  Tug rose and went to the basin. The motion sensor in the sink splashed water on Tug’s hands. He soaped them up and was just about to wash them off with the trice-cycled grey water when he noticed the crystals caked on his long index finger. It looked to Tug like salt.

  I should call The Good Doctor, thought Tug, and tell him about the salt.

  * * * *

  Open. Bright is the light. Blink, blink-blink. I see. Blink some more, some more. I see. Oh, my…

  TRIA

  THE GOOD DOCTOR PREPPED HIMSELF TO TELEPORT home. He made sure he had his travel slippers on and his holsters securely fastened. The big black 9mm housed all twenty shots. The silver-purple gun loaded for bear with Uptown Girl. He always went armed into the teleporter. The trustworthy pain in his undercarriage served to remind him why:

  The teleportation system was hooked up to the GRID. It had some bugs yet to work out as The Good Doctor was loathe to discover first hand. He had intended to transport himself from the urban micro-farm he still called home to Hell’s Mouth. Instead, he found himself shoeless and unarmed. He had accidentally teleported himself directly into an off-the-GRID clan-driven ice fishing camp in the desolate wastes of Big City. The clan kept moving around, fishing all over the solid frozen Grand Lake. It took weeks for the Occupying Indian Army to fix a firm location on The Good Doctor and bring him back.

  He was in sorry shape when they finally found the elderly statesman. In the time he was captured and moved around, he was beaten and molested. The acts were so brutal and committed so often and thoroughly that three points were permanently shaved from his score card. The incident had made The Good Doctor a legend in The Harbor. It’s when the rumors about him being not only an Antichrist (which he undoubtedly was), but the Antichrist.

  The hospital promoted him, gave him his seat on the Council and dropped some credits into his account. His future was secured.

  Once he healed and could return to work, he hardly thought about it. Except, that is, for when he accidentally stood up or sat down too fast. Then the memory asserted itself, using sharp chronic pain as its calling card. Still, he thought it had been worth it. An assumption of The Good Doctor’s Dark connections helped him immensely. I mean, would you give someone who might be Satan’s Chosen One any grief?

  The Good Doctor teleported himself from the office at the hospital, directly to his lab at home. Uncle Tug was waiting for him there with a pair of his favorite house slippers and a plum colored smoking jacket. The Good Doctor tossed the Nehru jacket on a low table 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, kicking off the travel slippers and putting the house pair on. He used Tug’s shoulder to steady himself through the Uptown Girl 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 and at the end of the story he 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 of the veil…

  * * * *

  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 oa
sis 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 came apart, the deep scratches began to bleed. Still smiling, she 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 softly kissed his lips, still stroking, “and I know what you want, Dr. Sir.”

  With her other hand she showed to him what was 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 roller coaster line, fairly twisting in his restraints. 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.