Robert Michael Pohl

FOREWORD When Derek Skeeba realized his emotions were wasted, when he saw, with crystalline lucidity, that his love was a futile endeavor, he decided to funnel his energies into a more productive compulsion-He would put the sinews of his salacious appetites to work at the squeeze play, he would use the muscle of his heart to quash the heartbeat of others, he would raze the swelling inside himself as tall as a monolith and let its shadow fall over the sickening city around him like the shadow of an ancient hartebeest. Derek Skeeba would torture the troglodytes whose mediocrity had caused him to yearn for someone better than them. ...

His helmet bumped up and over her sacral flexure and, for the first time, she felt what it was like to have the fist of Zeuss buried deep within her concavity, filling her, forcing her, willing her to open her mouth for his fingers. I didn’t remember our actions as being so desperate, so preternatural, so painfully, breathtakingly disturbed. Watching the proof of it now I am rendered ashamed, not so much of her but of myself for having videotaped it. ...

“Crazed with lust, the wench instantly fits herself with a dildo; she frigs me; this, says she, will make me overlook the pain she’s about to cause me and then she delivers the thunderous blow, then another, and ’tis this one does in my maidenhead. Words cannot describe what I suffered; but the lancing pains provoked by this terrible operation soon yielded to the sweetest pleasures."-The Marquis de Sade, Juliette, Part One ...