Orgasmatron

With Charlotte, it never felt like cheating because it never felt like love. It always felt like what it was supposed to be in the first place; an overpowering, unadulterated hunger for flesh with a genuine sadistic regard towards dignity that would spiral itself into an uncontrollable feeding frenzy of self-respect and warm body fluids; otherwise known as hot, throbbing lust.

She never played hard to get and she would never make him pay. She was the All-American whore next door. She was one thousand Penthouse Forum stories rolled into one rapturous page-turning novel. She was an unsuspecting, upper-class nymphomaniac who knew how to scratch an itch.

The sex was just that. Sex. It was wonderful because it was just what he had imagined, hoped and anticipated it would be and it was predictably average because it was what he had always imagined, hoped and anticipated it would be. It was uninhibited masturbation with the presence of a live body. The feeling was mutual and Charlotte was the ‘come inside and leave your condoms at the door’ kind-a-gal.  And there was never any spooning or sappy pillow talk or any gestures of gratitude. The gratitude being expressed, already, in various selflessly compromising acts; it was understood.

Rules were established in rapid accord. One rule was that the sappy pillow talk and spooning stay reserved for for their significant others, the ones they each loved so dearly. There was no lip kissing other than when applied as a basic fundamental first move. Another rule was to stay focused on the main objective at hand: a couple of jarring orgasms delivered as quickly and as easily as possible. Making a day out of it would be a form of lovemaking and that was not what either of them wanted from each other. They had their significant loved ones for such things.

© 2011 Mark Rogers

Front Cover for Driftwood (book 1)

Driftwood (Book I)

amazon-logo

Click here for more inane drivel and lascivious behavior – brought to you exclusively by The B.U.R.N.O.U.T.S. Chronicles™

 

The Rock – Of Ages

It was a night just like any other night; a night of good times, a night of bad times, but mostly just a night of times. It was a night to remember, but more over, a night to forget. It was a night of endless ribbing and poking at one another’s blemishes and shortcomings, a night of mundane inebriation and quick fixes, a night of bonding among futile friends and worthy adversaries; in short, another night of explosive mediocrity.

For those who went, The Rock had been a source of nirvana, an escape from everyday troubles, a place to call their own and to hide from the world; regardless of the fact that the world was sometimes less than fifteen-hundred feet away. And, except for the one time, no parents or cops ever came to The Rock and, except for an occasional canoe or kayaker….and Moon, there was never any other signs of humanity at The Rock. It was their safe zone, and would forever be remembered as a peaceful haven in their memories.

Mahdakis stood on the edge of the small cliff, which held the rock and over looked the tail end of the Brandywine River that poured into The Christina, which eventually poured into the Delaware. It was a small river, only several feet deep at its deepest points, and at its widest point, you could throw a Frisbee to someone. But it was peaceful and had a calming effect on him. He stood thinking of the inevitable future, and the nagging past that just wouldn’t leave him alone. At this point he could hear almost every inane conversation going on behind him………………

Continue reading

Refer All Inquiries To God

“Smells like love on her breath,” Rad said, kissing her. The woman began to scream and Muffin Man gagged her with her own panties and bungee-corded her wrists and ankles to either side doors. Paralyzed with confusion and panic, the woman ceased feeling human anymore. She was a caged animal and the most horrific moment of her life was about to begin with the grim realization that she was no more significant than a slice of holiday ham.

“I got her ass,” exclaimed Muffin Man.

“I want that nice little mouth of hers!”

“I’ll take care of the dude!”

“Wait, I changed my mind. I want her mouth,” Muffin Man reneged.

“Well, big boys go first. So, take a back seat,” Rad barked.

“Fine. I’ll get to that when I’m done.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Wait a minute! Hold everything.” Captain H interrupted. “Done with what? You still plan on fucking her up the ass?”

“Yeah.”

The woman tried to scream.

“And then coming in her mouth?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“You can’t do that! You understand, Irish man? There’s an order ya gotta to do these things in, and you’re in reverse. I mean, sweet Mary of Jesus, we don’t go sticking things in people’s mouths that have been up their own ass. That’s just not ethical.”

“Who gives a shit?”

“I do!” Captain H began slapping Muffin Man’s face to the rhythm of his pronunciation, “Just-be-cause this is-a-rape, doesn’t mean-we-can’t-be civil-ized.”

“And remember,” noted Rad, “good oral hygiene is essential to the development of healthy teeth and gums.”

“You wouldn’t do this sort of thing at home, would you?”

“I live with my mother!”

“Just answer the question.”

The woman was starting to get antsy and impatient. Whatever they were going to do, she wished they’d do it and get it over with so she could begin the healing process more sooner than later.

While everyone was arguing over their piece of the pie, Floyd had inched his way to the end of the street. He looked in both directions of the cross street once, then twice, then again. He was making sure they were in the clear.

Floyd hadn’t planned on this night unfolding like it was. He liked to make an extra buck or two helping Captain H hot wire cars, steal radios or crack safes and whatnot. Whatever. It was fun work. It was money and replaceable goods. Insured goods. The woman in the truck was irreplaceable. Floyd knew this. What bothered him more was that, he knew the other three knew this, too. That made them even worse. Worse than the idiots who don’t know any better. They knew they were doing harm. They just didn’t care. The naked woman reminded him of his own female-birth-giver, who was also in her thirties and very sexy. He wondered if the woman in the truck had family or maybe even kids his own age that he knew in school.

“Okay, how ‘bout I fuck her in the ass and then cum in his mouth. Is that okay?”

“Now that would be a chuckle.”

“It would, now wouldn’t it,” agreed Captain H. “Shit, why don’t we just work the dude over. To hell with her.”

“What are we, a bunch of queers here or something?”

“If you have to ask – ”

“She’s hot! You know…for her age. Let’s fuck her, man.”

“Nah.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” explained Rad, “it wouldn’t have the same comedic impact as violating this semi-unconscious dude every which way, now, would it?”

“When did we become the three stooges of sexual assault?”

“Just shut up and stick it to him.”

The woman was growing more offended with each passing moment. It was demoralizing enough to be the rape victim of three young men. It was another altogether to, then, be denied any sort of attention from those three young men and passed over for an ugly forty-five-year-old man. And, all of this coming after they had thoroughly inspected her goods. The ‘for her age’ remark wasn’t sitting well with her either. She was almost pouting, but still relieved, as she stared down admiring her own breast and flat stomach. She watched on with a perverse jealousy as the twisted event unfolded for the salesman.

“Five-O, Five-O! Run! Run!” Floyd shouted running towards them. He was flailing his arms all over to get their attention and then ducked out of sight, running like mad through backyards and hopping fences, over and onto other blocks. He was gone.

While he was doing that, the others wasted no time in getting their asses out of there. “Shit! The cops! Move it! Move it!” Captain H ordered. Muffin Man and Rad kicked the man’s naked bleeding ass under the truck and made their way back to the Benz. Fun was fun, but Grand Larceny and Rape were another matter. And if they didn’t get the car to where it had to be, for whatever reason, well that was another form of Hell they’d rather not think about either. They sped out like lightning and never looked back.

The woman, still naked, was too gripped with fear to cover herself before the cops came. She just sat in the front seat crying; stripped of dignity, independence, and self-worth. Another minute passed and she found strength to put some clothes on. A minute after that, she stood up and looked around the street bewildered.

Except for the sobs of the injured salesman under the truck, it was quiet. Very quiet. And, she was not hurt. Not really.

There were no police.

She puzzled a moment and suddenly remembered the odd look Floyd shot at her and started crying tears of joy. She closed her eyes and gripped her customized vanity diamond crucifix against her bare chest, and uttered, “Thank-you, God, thank-you. I’ll never be a bad girl again. I promise.”

She was lying.

 

Insert Extraneous Footnote Here:

Overtime, the head salesman began frequenting gay bars and S & M clubs as he now found difficulty maintaining an erection without the aid of some bizarre roll play or the presence of another penis. Alone, defeated, ashamed and unable to come to grips with what the whole experience had made of him, he murdered himself.

The authorities found him in his garage with the car running. He was naked except for one of those black and orange ‘FOR SALE’ signs hanging around his neck. Written in the rectangular white space of the sign, in ruby red lipstick, were the words ‘Refer all inquiries to God’.

 

© 2011, 2014 Mark Rogers

Covers for In Case You Werer Too Stoned to Remember...

In Case You Were Too Stoned To Remember…..

amazon-logo

Click here for more inane drivel and lascivious behavior – brought to you exclusively by The B.U.R.N.O.U.T.S. Chronicles™

Taking It For Face Value

Black Tom inhaled the joint and lazily looked over at Pock, the owner of a weathered crater face. “So why do they call you Pock? Is that a Texas kind of thing?”

Mahdakis and Tony were silent, eyeballing one another trying to make the best of an uncomfortable moment.

Pock spoke softly, “Nah man, it’s ’cuz a my face and whatnot.” Pock’s hand waved over his face suggestively as his eyes lowered to the ground. “You know?”

“That’s just from bad acne at one point in time. You can cure that you know.”

“Yea, how? Cut his head off?” Tony laughed.

“That wouldn’t be much fun, now would it?” Black Tom got up and walked into the bathroom. When he returned, he was holding a jar in his right hand and was mixing its contents with a wooden spoon, held in his left. “What you need, is to dab just a little of this on your face every morning and at night just before bed. It’ll do miracles.” Black Tom knelt down in front of Pock and was about to poke his face with the pointy end of a feather.

“Hey man, what duh fuck is dat, mane? Ya’ll gone fuckin’ bonkers er sumpin’? Don’t touch me wit dat crap.”

“It’s okay,” Black Tom retreated politely, “it’s just a facial concoction that rejuvenates the skin by going deep into the pours and replenishing any facial blemishes back to their original state. You’ll be a better looking guy in no time, just trust me on this one. There’s nothing in here that you don’t ingest into your body anyway, or nothing that isn’t all natural.”

“Wut duh fuck iz it, ’zactly?”

“It’s two parts strained mud water, one-part chicken blood, with a drop of vanilla extract and a sprinkle of crushed lavender pedals; about a teaspoon or more.”

“Say what?”

“Just grab a handful or two of mud and put it in a colander, spaghetti strainer or whatever, and let the water strain out into a bowl or something; maybe do this overnight because it’s gonna take a long time.”

“Okay. Where do I find sum ’dat chicken blood?”

“Just a fresh chicken from the grocery store will do. You know, before you cook it, reserve the blood in a container of some sort, but don’t let it sit around for more than a week in the fridge, or it’s no good.”

“Fresh chicken; got it.”

“And the pedals you can purchase at any florist of course. But this is the important part.” Black Tom moved in towards Pock’s face, holding the feather like a pen. “You must apply just a little bit with the tip of an authentic ostrich feather, as the ostrich is rich in particular enzymes that disperse from the feather stem when mixed with the other proper ingredients.”

“Enzymes, yeah…I heard ah doze.”

“Then apply the ointment like this.” Black Tom began touching Pock’s face lightly with the tip of the feather, and drew what felt to Pock like, imaginary lines; one under his right eye and then one on his left cheek. “This will go into your skin’s pours directly and sit festering, adding essential vitamins and minerals to the under layers. That’s it. Don’t apply any more than that. The next time you do this however, apply the ointment in two different spots.”

“Which ones?”

“Wherever you like. Just mix it up and don’t go over the same area too often. Then when you’ve done that…” Black Tom turned the feather around and began brushing Pock’s entire face with the feather end, “…give yourself a quick brushing like so. When you give it a brush like this, you are brushing any excess of those vitamins and minerals that may have not gone into your skin and spread them over your face where they won’t do much, but what little they do, will heal, and not go to waste by dripping on the floor.”

“Vitamins and Min’rals…those are good tings.”

“Yes they are, and so are ostrich feathers. That is why it is very, very, very, important that you use an authentic ostrich feather, like so, and not a fake one or any other type of feather. Do you understand?”

“Yeah…authentic.”

“Right, and since they’re hard to find, I’ll give you this one. There’s a little place down in the village here where I can get more.”

“Can you eat ’em too?”

“The feathers?”

“Ostrich. Do you eat ’em?”

“Personally I don’t eat any meat at all unless it’s between a woman’s legs, and even then I’m known to be a bit stingy. But I’ve heard that it is quite a delicacy in other countries.”

“Pussy?”

“No, Ostrich.”

© 2011, 2014 Mark Rogers

Covers for In Case You Werer Too Stoned to Remember...

In Case You Were Too Stoned To Remember…..

amazon-logo

Click here for more inane drivel and lascivious behavior – brought to you exclusively by The B.U.R.N.O.U.T.S. Chronicles™

 

 

Pasta Affair

After finally securing her right leg to the bedpost with a towel, Tony went to the dresser drawer, pulled out a roll of duct tape, and proceeded to cut off a seven-inch piece, “I’m tired of your mouth, already. Try this, you bitch!”
Tony walked over to the bed where Nicki was screaming, “No! No! No! Don’t! Please, No! I can’t breathe! I’ll hyper ventilate!”
“Too bad, bitch!” Tony quickly applied the tape over her mouth.
Nicki lay on the bed flailing her naked flabby body around; her left leg trying to kick him away, “Mmm! Mmm! Mm-mmmmmm!!”
The smoke alarm started going off, “Shit!” Tony quickly cuffed her left leg to the post, “I forgot about the pasta on the stove. I’ll be back!”
“Mm-mm?” she mumbled as Tony turned and ran downstairs to the smoky kitchen.

Tony returned, holding a large pot of steaming lasagna noodles, which he set down on the dresser, “I hope you like butter,” he said, taking one of the hot noodles out of the pot and dangling it in the air, allowing the hot butter to drip on her naked body.
“MMM-MMM!”
“Yeah, Mm-mm…yummy, right?”
“Mmm!”
“Okay. Okay, I won’t make you wait any longer. Here, take this,” and then Tony thrashed her several times with the hot, wet, buttery lasagna noodle on her torso.
“Mmm!!! Mmm! Mmm!!!!”
“Yeah…mm-mm. You want some more, huh?” Tony walked over to the steaming pot and yanked out another noodle in which to torture her with.
“Hmmm!”
“Yeah…..I know…You got an appetite for sausage too. I haven’t forgotten.” Tony began yanking on his penis while he whipped her with the noodle on her inner thigh and the sides of her ass, butter splashing everywhere upon impact of her body . Nicki tried to scream through the duct tape as he whipped her with more noodles, over and over again; all the while frantically masturbating.

As if all this wasn’t enough for the helpless young woman, she was to be further traumatized when five police officers came crashing through the bedroom door, as she lay on the bed with her glory wide open for all to see, and watched them tackle Tony Ravioli. “FREEZE YOU FUCKER!”
“DOWN ON THE GROUND! GET DOWN!”
“I GOT HIM, JOE. I GOT HIM! CHRIST THIS FUCKER’S HAIRY….YUCK!” the uniformed officer yelled, spitting something out of his mouth.
“GET OFF ME! WHAT THE FUCK’S GOING ON AROUND HERE?”
Officer Roy drew his weapon and pointed it at Tony, “Don’t move. You’re under arrest for kidnapping, sexual assault, stalking, endangerment, vandalism, trespassing, and all kinds of odious charges.”
“WHAT THE FUCK DOES ODIOUS MEAN?”
“You have the right to remain silent, anything you ……”

© 2011, 2014 Mark Rogers

Covers for In Case You Werer Too Stoned to Remember...

In Case You Were Too Stoned To Remember…..

amazon-logo

Click here for more inane drivel and lascivious behavior – brought to you exclusively by The B.U.R.N.O.U.T.S. Chronicles™

 

 

Working at The Car Wash

“Ah one, – ah two, – ah one-two-three__” ………..and with one ugly clamorous bang, the atmosphere in the room filled instantaneously with mutinous intentions, sustained only by the revolutionary cheers of an apocalyptic, ear shattering, mind warping noise that only desperate, rebellious, teenage angst could be held accountable. It was a lawn mower plowing through gravel. It was a thousand baking sheets smacking the concrete in unison. It was a sodomy fiesta of rabid dogs and mangy alley cats. It was the aforementioned and more, woven together in unrelenting cataclysmic resonance providing an audible kaleidoscope of impossible concentration.

The beauty of it was that none of the four adolescents responsible for the deafening atrocity heard it that way. Continue reading

Rock of Ages

groupshotIt was a night just like any other night; a night of good times, a night of bad times, but mostly just a night of times. It was a night to remember, but more over, a night to forget. It was a night of endless ribbing and poking at one another’s blemishes and shortcomings, a night of mundane inebriation and quick fixes, another night of bonding amongst futile friends and worthy adversaries; another night of explosive mediocrity.

It was the last night of the season that anyone would hang at The Rock, and also the last time that many of these people would be together as a group at The Rock. December was rushing in its cold winds and, with most everyone having a car now, there was less of a need to assemble at this particular place anymore; at least during the winter months. While The B.U.R.N.O.U.T.S. were still under age to drink at bars, they could safely meet at any number of the parks in the Norford area and drink there.

For those who went, The Rock had been a source of nirvana, an escape from everyday troubles, a place to call their own and to hide from the world; regardless of the fact that the world was sometimes less than fifteen-hundred feet away. And, except for the one time, no parents or cops ever came to The Rock and, except for an occasional canoe or kayaker….and Moon, there was never any other signs of humanity at The Rock. It was their safe zone, and would forever be remembered as a peaceful haven in their memories.

 

© 2011, 2014 Mark Rogers

Covers for In Case You Werer Too Stoned to Remember...

In Case You Were Too Stoned To Remember…..

amazon-logo

Click here for more inane drivel and lascivious behavior – brought to you exclusively by The B.U.R.N.O.U.T.S. Chronicles™