Freak, p.1
Freak, page 1
Freak
Audrey Rush
Freak by Audrey Rush
Independently Published
Copyright © 2025 Audrey Rush
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permissions contact: audreyrushbooks@gmail.com
Cover Design by Charly Jade @designsbycharlyy
Amazon Paperback ISBN: 9798278324911
Barnes & Noble Paperback ISBN: 9798260395493
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any persons appearing on the cover image of this book are models and do not have any connection to the contents of this book. This book is intended for mature audiences only. Any activities represented in this book are fictional fantasies only.
for the disgusting freaks
who can’t hide their filth,
I see you.
And so does Dr. Ambrose…
Contents
Author’s Note
1. Dr. Ambrose
2. Violet
3. Dr. Ambrose
4. Dr. Ambrose
5. Violet
6. Violet
7. Violet
8. Violet
9. Dr. Ambrose
10. Violet
11. Violet
12. Violet
13. Dr. Ambrose
14. Violet
15. Violet
16. Violet
17. Violet
18. Violet
19. Dr. Ambrose
20. Dr. Ambrose
21. Violet
22. Violet
23. Violet
24. Dr. Ambrose
25. Violet
26. Freak
27. Freak
28. Dr. Ambrose
29. Dr. Ambrose
30. Dr. Ambrose
31. Dr. Ambrose
32. Dr. Ambrose
33. Dr. Ambrose
Thank you for reading!
Skins
My Girl
Morsel
Crawl
Also By Audrey Rush
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Author’s Note
This content notification contains spoilers.
This is a horror book. As such, this book contains graphic violence, including the medical and psychological abuse of conscious and unconscious patients. It also contains mentions of physical child abuse, neglectful and abusive foster parents, abortion, forced infanticide, and cannibalism.
This novel contains disturbing adult content, including but not limited to nonconsensual encounters, extreme degradation, body modification, breeding for product, blood, urine, excrement, incest, and necrophilia. A detailed list of content can be found on the author’s website.
This book was originally titled Exposed, as part of The Wellard Asylum Series. Freak is now a complete standalone novel. In this current publication, the asylum’s name and history have been updated, and additional chapters have been added. The original book was thirty-seven thousand words. This book, Freak, is sixty thousand words.
This is a horror book with disturbing adult content. Reader discretion is advised.
Chapter 1
Dr. Ambrose
The winter winds whip across the top edge of the grave, brushing my forehead. I drop my cock and quickly tie my gray hair into a low ponytail. My palm runs over my length while my other hand rubs the dirt walls; soil sprinkles the healing wound near the urethra, and I relish in it, knowing soon, she’ll be here too.
The coffin beneath me creaks like an old house, irritated by my hastiness, and my upper lip curls. It is annoying, isn’t it? There is no reason to hurry this painful self pleasure, and yet my impatience controls me. She is almost in my grasp.
And she may be just as impatient as I am.
As I resume my self care, I pull out my device, swipe to the video, and hit play. On the screen, a woman with freshly dyed blonde hair sits on her haunches, her shoulders curled inward. Her beaded dark eyes, filled with the glossy sheen of longing, are on the cameraman. She parts her lips, unconsciously inviting him in. Her bottom lip trembles.
Please piss on me, she whispers.
The recording shows the first sprays of yellow liquid crossing the woman’s face. I squeeze the head of my cock and suck in through my nostrils. The yellow arc grows, gracing her lips like a water fountain, and though the cunt twists in revulsion, I’ve seen cases like hers before; she’s only acting like this because she knows it’s how she should feel and act. In reality, she’s ready. Needy. Begging for him to use her in any way he sees fit. I bet the cunt smelled like an unkempt barn by the time they were done recording the video.
I jerk my cock, the friction of skin against skin a pleasant tune accompanying the slut’s subtle groan. Patches of white scar tissue spot my long length, with the thickest callus on top of the head, right near the urethra, sitting opposite of my latest self-inflicted wound. The gash is still fresh, red inflammation around the border, with the open crater in the middle in shades of sullied cream and pink. Sometimes, a harsh, pungent scent similar to rotting meat drifts from the laceration, especially during masturbation, but in the middle of a cemetery, the earth’s perfume dominates the air.
The camera pulls back, and the slut’s knees part; clear liquid drips from her cunt. Saliva increases in my mouth, and my cock grows to a full erection, the skin pulled taut, pain shooting to my temples.
Of course, she’s aroused. She’s a nasty little cunt.
At twenty-five, the woman in the video, Violet, has only just begun her sexual awakening. Her first boyfriend was quite sexually average, and her current boyfriend—though willing to perform strange acts for video submissions to a doctor—is withheld. Thus, her future exploration will be completely under my care.
Do you like it? Her boyfriend asks in a perfunctory tone. Do you want more?
Goosebumps crawl over her flesh. Yes, she whines. Please. More.
I zoom in on her lips, and there, right as her boyfriend expels the final squirts of his stream, Violet opens her mouth, letting the smallest drop of his urine tease her tongue. My jaw drops. Pleasure pushes through the pain in my cock as I continue to stroke myself. Desire is on her periphery, waiting to be called out; she can’t hide herself completely.
And soon, I will completely unleash her inner needs.
I lean my back against the dirt wall and dig my nails into the skin of my length, never stopping my repeated jerking. More dirt falls around me. On the video, Violet grabs her tit through her piss-soaked clothes; her lips twist in disapproval while her hips writhe. Pain ricochets through me the closer I get to orgasm. The nerve endings cinch like a noose around my neck, and the sharp fire of desperation licks my throat as I keep my eyes on Violet. Finally, she voluntarily swallows a small amount of his urine.
No one told her to. The cunt simply wanted it.
My cum splatters out. White semen, mixed with the drops of blood from the freshest wound, drench the phone’s screen. Underneath the liquid, the camera zooms in on Violet as she licks her lips. I smirk. The little cunt is thirsty for more.
I sigh, then take a handkerchief out of my lab coat pocket. This orgasm is lighter than usual, and I suppose that’s appropriate. I’ve pleasured myself to that same video hundreds of times since I first received it, and after waiting for such a long time to have her finally under my command, I’m eager to enjoy her unhinged inner freak for myself.
As I clean the phone, the fabric slides against the screen. I wipe my hand and cock with the handkerchief as well. Traces of blood dampen the fabric. I huff; blood stains are a constant issue with my interests and line of work. I don’t bother fixing any of the handkerchiefs, but I do have an endless amount of stark-white lab coats at my disposal. I enjoy having a professional appearance.
Once my trousers are zipped and my device and handkerchief are stowed, I climb out of the six-foot deep hole. I’m an older man; however, even climbing out of a grave, my vitality is present. It helps to stay fit in my profession.
Graffiti is sprayed over the closest grave marker, and I squint at the lettering. It’s faded now.
A balding man with watery blue eyes clears his throat. “Dr. Alick Ambrose,” he says in a scratchy voice.
His clammy hands reach to shake mine. He’s younger than me by a decade, perhaps more, but he’s a pathetic little man, always eager to find a new way to get on my good side.
He gives me a firm handshake; my grip stays limp. A sneer curls my lips. Begging to shake my hand as soon as I’ve climbed out of a grave may be one of the most desperate things he’s done. He’s undeserving of true respect.
“Like I said, sir, I have no problem doing this work,” he urges.
He continues rambling; I ignore him. I keep my lips narrow. Part of keeping a tight rein on this facility and others within the region is letting the idiot and others like him babble to completion. That way they think they’ve been heard, and they have ample opportunity to spill accidental secrets.
“Oh!” He startles mid-sentence. “You’re already finished.”
In the hole down below us, the surfaces of the grave are perfectly lined as if cut by machinery, save for the divots from where I brushed or leaned against the wall. A bucket of murky water and a small flat shovel lay in the coffin; tools I used to complete the process. There are some tasks that must be done by a trusted expert, and there are other tasks in which I only t rust myself. Digging up a coffin and smoothing the dirt walls around it were things I alone needed to do.
It’s all for my sweet one.
“I assume you can fix that,” I say, nodding toward the divots in grave walls. “And you’ll collect the tools.”
“Absolutely, sir,” the groundskeeper says. “Whatever you need, we’re ready. I’ll be forever in your debt for how you’ve helped my sister.”
Those words bring a sinister smile to my face, which has nothing to do with helping him and everything to do with the knowledge that his gratitude comes at a price. With my help, the groundskeeper’s sister has finally been released from my asylum. The poor bastard doesn’t realize it’s only temporary. Soon, she’ll return to my favorite department, and once again, he’ll be groveling for my assistance. He ought to know letting a man dig up a grave will ultimately lead him down a horrifying path.
“You love your sister?” I ask.
He bows his head. “Yes, sir. With all of my heart.”
My nostrils flare, curiosity blooming in my chest. I’ve suspected their relationship for a while now, and his avoidance to my eye contact only furthers it. Perhaps there is something more between the two siblings, something sexual in nature. An aspect I can explore more with his sister’s return to the Ambrose Asylum. Maybe she can eventually become a trained doll to be sold as well.
However, right now, both the groundskeeper and his sister are unimportant to me. My entire focus is on the only object worthy of my attention.
Violet, my sweet one.
“It would be unfortunate if a visitor found this grave and came to you with questions,” I say.
I don’t clarify who the visitor may be; the groundskeeper can make his own assumption about the grave and the potential connections. I have no doubt he’s seen the woman visit his cemetery before. I lift my nose. “Unfortunately, you will be unavailable to any mourners until I’ve concluded my business. I’ll give you a call.”
“Yes, sir.” The groundskeeper bobs his head. “My sister and I were just talking about taking a vacation.”
“Enjoy yourselves, then,” I say with a wink. I can’t help it; he has no idea what his future holds. My business won’t take that long, and it may be the last time he indulges in leisurely freedom with his sister.
On my way out of the cemetery, I step over decaying bouquets and pass through black spiked gates. Then I settle into the driver’s seat of my sedan and remove a vial of blood from the glove box. I had Violet’s current boyfriend take her to the clinic in town to have a sample drawn for preliminary testing to confirm her perverse condition was not due to a physical ailment. The dumb son-of-a-bitch is so invested in her safety and stupidly trusting in my care, he truly thinks I ordered blood tests. In reality, I collected it from the clinic myself. My reputation stretches beyond the asylum; no one dares question my needs.
I’ve been saving her blood for a special occasion, and now is precisely the right time.
I shake the vial and watch the separated parts mix back together. I twist it open before bringing it to my lips and tossing my head back. The blood drips into my mouth, the metallic essence coursing over my tongue. My dick engorges, the taste of her blood already driving me toward another full erection. I groan deeply. There’s nothing like drinking a woman’s blood, especially when she has absolutely no idea it’s technically been stolen from her.
Usually, when I drink a woman’s blood, I barely know her name; it’s a passing situation, a way to dangle my power over my victim until I grow bored with the game and drink it.
But Violet isn’t a passing interest like the others. I know her name. Her background. Her interests. I know everything about her. She’s my obsession. I can admit that. I’ve been thinking about today’s appointment non-stop since I scheduled it with her boyfriend, and she is completely unaware of how much I’ve been investing in her life.
I must save my next orgasm for her. Violet thinks she’s agreed to a short appointment at the asylum, but she will be staying with me for a very, very long time.
She’ll be under my care permanently.
Chapter 2
Violet
A pair of uniformed guards roll open the gates manually, and my stomach sinks to my feet. They remind me of masked executioners waiting on a scaffold for the next beheading.
The car creeps forward slowly, and I reach for my boyfriend’s knee. My stomach twists. There aren’t many parking options for us that aren’t overgrown with dead weeds or in ruins, as if the asylum staff don’t care about their visitors or outpatients, as if they only have permanent residents here.
Eventually, we find a spot near the entrance.
Even though we have the heater on in the car, my fingers are blocks of ice. I pull the sleeves of my hoodie over my hands, protecting myself from the cold, and…maybe the asylum too. My boyfriend, Benji, sighs deeply and runs a hand through his wavy brown hair. His nose is angled with a large bump, and it gives him this innocent demeanor, like he could be a schoolteacher, the kind of selfless person who deserves deep love.
I can’t give him that. Not until I do this.
I shift in my seat and face the asylum. I’ve driven past this place more times than I can count, but I’ve never been this close to it before. For a long time, it was like a ghost waiting at the edges of my mind, always out of reach. Now, I’ll embrace its full weight.
This is where my mother died. It’s up to me to make things right for her.
As I stare up at the asylum, my intestines tangle into screwed-up knots. I clutch my stomach and try to ignore the pain. There are several buildings to the property, each with barred windows and chain-link fences topped with barbed wire. The fences are higher than the first floor, as if the designer knew the patients would try to escape. As if they would never allow them to leave.
The Ambrose Asylum is not a shelter; it’s a prison.
And in a way, I’m surrendering to it.
“This is it,” Benji says. I bite the inside of my cheek. He’s just announcing our arrival, but the words are different now, like this may actually be the end of me.
But I have to be here. I owe it to my mother and myself.
“Great,” I say. The word comes out snarky. I grimace and roll my eyes. I need to be nicer to Benji. I fix my tone: “Thanks for doing this with me.”
“Anything for you,” Benji says.
I smile weakly. Benji is always polite and considerate. Sometimes, I wonder if I deserve him.
Before those doubts begin to fester, I change the subject: “Will the doctor have me stay after the initial examination?”
“You mean overnight?”
“Sure.”
“I mean, I’d prefer not,” Benji says. “But yeah. Between the videos and losing your job, he might think you need extra help.”
Benji told the doctor I was found masturbating with a knife handle at work and was fired, which is similar to what the records say about my mother. Whether her records are truthful is another story.
As for me, I was actually fired because I stopped showing up for my shifts. After I became obsessed with finding out everything I could about my mother and the Ambrose Asylum, work, my relationships, sleeping, even eating regular meals were no longer my priorities.
Then came the videos.
