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crush freak - excerpt...
Jamie sat on his bed counting half the promised money. Twenty-five thousand for nothing more than making a few phone calls, visiting a few girls on the street. The other half on delivery. That shit was simple, but he still didn't get how a man could be sexually turned on by watching bugs get squished under some whore's heel. Robert had explained that it wasn't necessarily the bug or the girl, though both were important. It was really the compression that got him hard. The restriction. The building pressure in the body until the crunch and rupture. The thick squirting stream of innards. Of course, he had tried getting off by binding himself with rope, in plastic wrap, and under a board with weights on it. But none of that ever did it for him. The girl and her shoes were important, much like people with a foot fetish, he had continued. But so was watching the squeeze build pressure, not knowing exactly when the eventual pop and flow of guts would come, much like people with a balloon popping fetish. It was the surprise. Robert made it clear that he wanted as many whores and addicts as Jamie could put together to stand on him at once, grinding their feet into him. He wouldn't pop like a roach, but his body would be under tremendous pressure, he said, crushing the air and life out of him and that was what he wanted.
"I want to be jacking off as they're crushing me," Robert had said. "I want to blow my wad while I'm struggling for breath. Extreme auto-erotic asphyxiation."
armstrong speaks...
I was working in a factory- had been there a number of years, and I was going nowhere. Hating my existence, I sat in my truck having lunch and listening to Murderdolls (Sick, Get sick on this, you motherfuckers make me want to slit my wrist) and watching the president of my company leaning against a brand new car, smoking a cigarette and chatting with his best friends, (guys he had conveniently given management positions to…). He was a cocky white guy with perfect hair, a soul patch and a shirt that was always open a bit too far. The type of guy who would fire a girl if she refused to let him do blow off her ass. The type of guy who would punch a girl if her tits were too pointy. A fucked up hybrid of Ike Turner and Dabney Coleman. We all knew what he did in that dark office of his, the wet bar, the big screen, the porn collection, the guilty secretaries. No secrets. Big dirt-bag. I was looking for an idea to pair up with this image of him leaning against the car, carefree but full of shit, wanting to paint him in the worst possible light but not far from who he really is. One night while reading up on fetishes (purely for my own entertainment), I came across the term 'crush freak' and I knew I had my story. As many depraved things as he had done, there had to be some dark corner of his existence that hadn't been discovered and blasted through the company rumor mill. I figured it had to be bad… something like a crush fetish. Hmm... maybe that's why his wife punched him out during the Christmas party that year. Just a thought.
armstrong bio...
Anthony Armstrong, when asked what fuels his dark writing style, laughs and says, "I have a life-long list of people who have been less than kind, and an amazing knack for holding grudges. I wield my keyboard like a chainsaw."
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Chimericana Books.
Chimericana Books.
Chimericana Books.
Chimericana Books.
Chimericana Books.
Chimericana Books.
Hellbound Books, Spring 2006
Plus six other short novels (approx 40,000 words each) that I'm looking to publish in a special 6-pack.
