CrushWriter

The Jobber By CrushWriter@Hotmail.com I am a jobber. For those of you unfamiliar with the term, I am paid to turn up to big-name wrestling matches, be thrown around the ring for a few minutes by whoever is the star-of-the-moment, and then lose in a humiliating fashion so that the ‘main’ wrestler can look like a badass. If humiliation bothered me, it would be a problem, but quite honestly I am very well rewarded for my few minutes of effort each week, nobody knows who I am, nor will they remember once I leave the ring, so who cares? It’s a slightly odd way to make a living, but as I said, I’m paid extremely well to do

Junkyard Jessie By CrushWriter@Hotmail.com 1. It was a junkyard unlike any I’d ever seen before. Enclosing the whole, massive area was a forty-foot high-tech wall that was made of some sort of metal. I wasn’t quite sure what it was, but it looked as if it would stop pretty much anything you threw at it, rockets included. As I approached the huge gates, they began to swing open; I’d booked an appointment and I was expected. It was the only way to get into the place. I drove up the long, winding road that was flanked by neat piles of totally flattened cars. And, when I say ‘flat’, I mean totally and utterly flat

Vastopia By CrushWriter@Hotmail.com Mary and Brad finished their extremely delicious salads, and chinked their diet soda glasses conspiratorially. After a quick gulp each, they gave each other a brief kiss and then quickly took their plates to the kitchen. They couldn’t risk delaying any longer; it was unlikely anybody would know, but they couldn’t take the risk. Once every plate had been rinsed off, the few remaining scraps of lettuce safely mulched in the garbage disposal, they sat back down at the table. Brad looked deep into Mary’s eyes and began to lean his head towards hers. She parted her lips slightly, waiting for

Crushin’ Roulette By CrushWriter@Hotmail.com The five slaves shuffled into the room. It was absolutely massive, but that was no surprise. Every room in the Crush Palace was gigantic in order to accommodate the vast size of the crushers who lived there. For the slaves, it felt like they were mere toys, and that was pretty much how the gargantuan crushers saw them, too. They had been rounded up by Steamroller Steph, who was a little bit drunk. In fact, all of the crushers had been celebrating that evening at a pool party, and they were all quite tipsy and still in their bikinis. Steph, clumsy even when sober, had accidentally cr