chester and lester. a tale of two brothers and their start-up companies.
you're here for the rejection letters, aren't you?
Lester's Electric Milking Machine didn't go down too well at the vicarage.
Burdizzo Books
The Black Nun
The Little Lost Church
On The Pier At The End Of The World
Walsall
West Midlands
August 10th 2017
Dear Ms. Brown,
It is with regret that the Diocese of Burdizzo must write to you again regarding your latest submission to the Parish newsletter. While we appreciate the effort you must have gone to, writing such a unique and enlightening piece of fiction (I must say that in all my years in the habit, I have never come across a man who cries tears of male ejaculate, and you would be surprised at the men I have come across) you must immediately cease and desist sending The Reverend this filth as it gets him too excited and the only way to calm him down is a good anal scourging, in the name of The Lord of course. The flagellation is exhausting, not to mention the amount of altar candles we go through is astronomical and the church only has limited funds, as I’m sure you can appreciate Ms. Brown.
As such, while the spermagrammatical adventures of those spunky brothers Lester and Chester may be of interest to some, and believe me Ms. Brown despite the wimple I am no prude, I would ask that if you insist on inflagrating The Reverend’s loins with such titillating turpitude that you be the one that comes to the vicarage to apply the ointment. I am far too busy with the needs of our flock to be administering salve to The Reverend’s particulars. Plus, there is only so much communion wine I can drink before The Verger notices it is going missing. It’s the only thing that gets me through the long nights, listening to The Reverend praying so very loudly in his quarters. At least I think he’s praying. He shouts ‘Oh, God!’ quite a lot, and I’m sure I hear him splashing holy water up the walls.
There is also the small matter of your entry into the Burdizzo Bake Off, which many of the parishioners found entirely too salty. The judges couldn’t decide if it was meant to be lemon drizzle or a bakewell sponge, but the icing certainly was creamy and The Reverend went back for a second helping he enjoyed it so much.
Sincerely,
The Black Nun
P.S. The Big Burdizzo Bring and Buy sale is just around the corner, so if you are able to bring along some that fantastic cloudy ice of yours, it always goes down so well.
Neither did the first version of "Bind Us Together" (now re-named Chester's Cloudy Ice)...
BURDIZZO BOOKS
Reverend Burdizzo
The Little Lost Church
On The Pier At The End Of The World
Walsall
West Midlands
April 13, 2017
Dear Ms. Brown,
First of all let me express my thanks for your story submission ‘Bind Us Together’, the time you must have taken will never be replaced, neither will the time I spent reading it.
Secondly I would like to offer my commiserations that myself and my publication house will be unable to publish your submission in our anthology ‘Reverend Burdizzo a HymnBook’. There were numerous reasons for the piece not making the grade, and as I believe that every upcoming writer should have constructive critique I will happily point out the main reasons. Before that I would like to say that your writing, descriptive narrative, grammar and style is, as far as I can see, faultless. But that is the only nice thing I can say about your submission.
Your story, basically is about a man who has grossly enlarged testicles which need relieving numerous times a day. He is a keen pornographer housing what is believed to be the largest and most extensive collection of pornography known to mankind. He even has categories people have never heard of. As if a story of a chronic masturbator is a disrespectful enough to send to a publisher of religious texts and pamphlets, you have to add intricate details as to what he does with his ‘doings’. Whilst I'm sure there are more exotic ingredients used in the preparation of food around the world I myself am a meat and two veg kinda guy, and I don't need to read about semen being used in any kind of culinary purposes.
As I said, upon receiving your submission I was overjoyed that you had titled it after one of my favourite Hymns. I was expecting maybe a tale of a religious couple, perhaps a series of interesting, humorous and even poignant, snippets of their long lives together and how they were bound, by God, together in holy wedded matrimony. But no.
No. No. No. Instead you decide to publicly release my own life story but just call me by a different name. At least you never referred to me as a Reverend in the story too. The similarities between the main character and myself are identical and it wouldn't take anyone who knew me long to figure out your story was about me. I have a congregation to run, they can't know anything about my extensive pornography collection, especially the ‘Dr Doolots’ Animal Kingdom’ series of snuff films I myself personally starred in. And if ever they saw the ‘Choir Practice’ video starring myself and my beloved Black Nun, we would be ruined. As to my resourceful ingredient that I add to most of my recipes at the church's coffee mornings every other Friday, well you would be disappointing a lot, A LOT, of satisfied housewives if they found out my secret additive. My food wins prizes Ms Brown, I can't jeopardise that or my other career because of your ‘close to the cuff’ story.
I would like all evidence of this tale, any correspondence between myself and you, including the photos of us together in the pantomime horse costume, to be destroyed and not shown to anyone. As agreed I have enclosed the cheque your requested, and my recipe for my own special clotted cream that you love so much.
Sincerely,
Reverend Burdizzo
P. S See you at church on Sunday, put the egg in before the semen this time, NOT during.
To read the published version of Bind Us Together, please visit www.amazon.com/Reverend-Burdizzos-Hymn-Book-ebook/dp/B071J37MNL/
For more information about Burdizzo Books visit their facebook page www.facebook.com/BurdizzoBooks/
The Black Nun has her own facebook page too, www.facebook.com/emdehaney/
And none of us would be here without the Rev www.facebook.com/pinprickbymatthewcash/
Burdizzo Books
The Black Nun
The Little Lost Church
On The Pier At The End Of The World
Walsall
West Midlands
August 10th 2017
Dear Ms. Brown,
It is with regret that the Diocese of Burdizzo must write to you again regarding your latest submission to the Parish newsletter. While we appreciate the effort you must have gone to, writing such a unique and enlightening piece of fiction (I must say that in all my years in the habit, I have never come across a man who cries tears of male ejaculate, and you would be surprised at the men I have come across) you must immediately cease and desist sending The Reverend this filth as it gets him too excited and the only way to calm him down is a good anal scourging, in the name of The Lord of course. The flagellation is exhausting, not to mention the amount of altar candles we go through is astronomical and the church only has limited funds, as I’m sure you can appreciate Ms. Brown.
As such, while the spermagrammatical adventures of those spunky brothers Lester and Chester may be of interest to some, and believe me Ms. Brown despite the wimple I am no prude, I would ask that if you insist on inflagrating The Reverend’s loins with such titillating turpitude that you be the one that comes to the vicarage to apply the ointment. I am far too busy with the needs of our flock to be administering salve to The Reverend’s particulars. Plus, there is only so much communion wine I can drink before The Verger notices it is going missing. It’s the only thing that gets me through the long nights, listening to The Reverend praying so very loudly in his quarters. At least I think he’s praying. He shouts ‘Oh, God!’ quite a lot, and I’m sure I hear him splashing holy water up the walls.
There is also the small matter of your entry into the Burdizzo Bake Off, which many of the parishioners found entirely too salty. The judges couldn’t decide if it was meant to be lemon drizzle or a bakewell sponge, but the icing certainly was creamy and The Reverend went back for a second helping he enjoyed it so much.
Sincerely,
The Black Nun
P.S. The Big Burdizzo Bring and Buy sale is just around the corner, so if you are able to bring along some that fantastic cloudy ice of yours, it always goes down so well.
Neither did the first version of "Bind Us Together" (now re-named Chester's Cloudy Ice)...
BURDIZZO BOOKS
Reverend Burdizzo
The Little Lost Church
On The Pier At The End Of The World
Walsall
West Midlands
April 13, 2017
Dear Ms. Brown,
First of all let me express my thanks for your story submission ‘Bind Us Together’, the time you must have taken will never be replaced, neither will the time I spent reading it.
Secondly I would like to offer my commiserations that myself and my publication house will be unable to publish your submission in our anthology ‘Reverend Burdizzo a HymnBook’. There were numerous reasons for the piece not making the grade, and as I believe that every upcoming writer should have constructive critique I will happily point out the main reasons. Before that I would like to say that your writing, descriptive narrative, grammar and style is, as far as I can see, faultless. But that is the only nice thing I can say about your submission.
Your story, basically is about a man who has grossly enlarged testicles which need relieving numerous times a day. He is a keen pornographer housing what is believed to be the largest and most extensive collection of pornography known to mankind. He even has categories people have never heard of. As if a story of a chronic masturbator is a disrespectful enough to send to a publisher of religious texts and pamphlets, you have to add intricate details as to what he does with his ‘doings’. Whilst I'm sure there are more exotic ingredients used in the preparation of food around the world I myself am a meat and two veg kinda guy, and I don't need to read about semen being used in any kind of culinary purposes.
As I said, upon receiving your submission I was overjoyed that you had titled it after one of my favourite Hymns. I was expecting maybe a tale of a religious couple, perhaps a series of interesting, humorous and even poignant, snippets of their long lives together and how they were bound, by God, together in holy wedded matrimony. But no.
No. No. No. Instead you decide to publicly release my own life story but just call me by a different name. At least you never referred to me as a Reverend in the story too. The similarities between the main character and myself are identical and it wouldn't take anyone who knew me long to figure out your story was about me. I have a congregation to run, they can't know anything about my extensive pornography collection, especially the ‘Dr Doolots’ Animal Kingdom’ series of snuff films I myself personally starred in. And if ever they saw the ‘Choir Practice’ video starring myself and my beloved Black Nun, we would be ruined. As to my resourceful ingredient that I add to most of my recipes at the church's coffee mornings every other Friday, well you would be disappointing a lot, A LOT, of satisfied housewives if they found out my secret additive. My food wins prizes Ms Brown, I can't jeopardise that or my other career because of your ‘close to the cuff’ story.
I would like all evidence of this tale, any correspondence between myself and you, including the photos of us together in the pantomime horse costume, to be destroyed and not shown to anyone. As agreed I have enclosed the cheque your requested, and my recipe for my own special clotted cream that you love so much.
Sincerely,
Reverend Burdizzo
P. S See you at church on Sunday, put the egg in before the semen this time, NOT during.
To read the published version of Bind Us Together, please visit www.amazon.com/Reverend-Burdizzos-Hymn-Book-ebook/dp/B071J37MNL/
For more information about Burdizzo Books visit their facebook page www.facebook.com/BurdizzoBooks/
The Black Nun has her own facebook page too, www.facebook.com/emdehaney/
And none of us would be here without the Rev www.facebook.com/pinprickbymatthewcash/
Lester's electric milking machine
Lester’s Electric Milking Machine
By Dani Brown
A green snake coiled around his feet, picking up on his emotions. Anger and jealousy fought with resentment for dominance. All Lester wanted to do was to order his groceries.
He couldn’t even do that without Chester’s grinning face and throbbing erection staring back at him from the computer screen. His stupid little brother found success selling premium salty ice to hipsters. The snake hissed when she couldn’t handle Lester’s emotions any longer.
Lester couldn’t maintain an erection without a butt plug and it would never last for long. His favourite song couldn’t cheer him up, some 80s temptress with big hair and bigger shoulder pads. The thought of licking her clean couldn’t stop the tears from falling. He wanted to believe they were anger, but deep down inside he knew they were the salty tears of loneliness wrapped in sadness.
Some people cried blood. It was rare, but it happened. Lester was different. He was one of a kind. His balls had to find relief somewhere. The continuous stream of liquid leaking from his pisshole wasn’t enough.
While little brother Chester started to accumulate the largest collection of pornography the world had ever seen, Lester went in for surgery. His balls were re-routed to his tear glands. Every time he cried, and given his preference for cheesy 80s love songs and rom-coms, he cried a lot, he drained his balls to the point of agony and then, cried some more.
Chester’s goddamn Cloudy Ice was everywhere. His stupid little brother had enough money for a castle. He promptly filled it with porn.
Lester couldn’t catch glimpse of a naked breast without his balls falling to his knees. If his butt plug wasn’t handy, Mister Floppy wouldn’t give him any juice, except the little clear pre-ejaculation that followed him everywhere. The pain claimed him and the cum leaked out of his eyes. Lester was a freak.
He tried to click off the screen. A hand-me-down computer from his baby brother, the thing was slow from six months of pornographic abuse. Lester didn’t want to risk snooping around in the hard-drive to speed things up. His balls and tears wouldn’t be able to handle it.
His sanity wouldn’t be able to handle the supermarket, but he could avoid his little brother’s mass-produced ice with more ease if he went in person.
He turned the keys in his hand-me-down car. At least Chester washed the jiz stains away.
It wasn’t long after pulling out of his driveway that he drove straight into an SUV and went up in an explosion. Horribly maimed, but breathing, he survived and woke up with Chester gloating over his sterile bedside.
“I fed your snake by the way. Hope she doesn’t mind, but that hamster was mining in my arse half an hour before she swallowed him.”
Chester chuckled. Lester wanted to throw something at him, knock little bro out and dunk his head in the toilet, but couldn’t wrapped in bandages and restrained in his bed. A nurse came into the room with a trolley.
“Visiting hours are over.”
Lester sighed relief in his head. He didn’t want Chester to realise how much he hated him. Someone needed to look after Buddette.
“See you tomorrow.”
Lester held his breath as Chester left the room, letting it out only after the nurse shut the door.
“We’ve had a look at your medical records and think we’ve come to a solution for some of your suffering. No more crashing your car while thinking of your brother’s semen.”
Hope bloomed in Lester. He may not be into porn, but he wouldn’t mind having a girlfriend. He hoped the nurse was talking about his cum problem. It was always on his mind.
“Now, this might hurt a bit. I’m going to need you to roll onto your side.”
Hope wasn’t the only thing to rise in Lester. The nurse lifted the flaps of his hospital gown, touching his butt cheeks with a gloved hand. He heard something metallic hitting something metallic. The nurse pried apart his arse. Cold lubricant hit his anus. A metallic object was inserted.
Tears sprung to his eyes. He wasn’t used to metal. His butt plug was plastic. His balls bulged with discomfort. His cock grew as the probe went further up.
“This is going to sting now.”
The lights in the room flickered as his arsehole received an electric shock. Liquid poured out of his pisshole and ran in rivers down his eyes. He thought he pissed himself, until, he smelled all the salt. His balls drained completely for the first time since the 80s Drive Home from Work podcast played nothing apart from love songs a few months back.
There was so much cum and more poured out. He was erect again with another shock. His balls didn’t take long to refill and then explode out of his pisshole with less tears.
An inhuman sound escaped his throat. It bounced off the sterile walls in the isolation room. It took blowing his load again to realise he was moaning.
“Maybe that’s enough for now.”
The probe popped out of his anus in a stream of lubricant and butt juice. His balls ached for more. Tear ducts weren’t as good at releasing jiz as his cock. He cried to get rid of the last drops, while fantasising of himself in a real life romantic comedy.
The nurse came back the next day following Chester’s visit. Lester’s butt became capable of taking high voltage electric shocks. It was a cattle prod that she used.
The doctors and nurses wouldn’t allow him to hire an escort before discharge. He didn’t need to. When he arrived home, driven by Chester, he discovered he had a new neighbour. She stood outside in a flowing white dress, watering her flowers.
“Now that is a fine piece of ass. I wouldn’t mind seeing her pop up on an amateur stream.”
Lester looked at his little brother with disgust.
“You better not embarrass me.”
“Still cry jiz, bro? She’s mine. I’ll have her starring in my private collection in no time.”
“Leave her alone.”
Chester pulled up in the shared driveway. The flats were nice. Everyone had a little garden. Lester could see that Chester hadn’t bothered to look after his vegetables while he was in hospital. It’ll give him a reason to be outside and talk to the new neighbour.
Chester went to the boot and pulled out Lester’s bags.
“Jeez, what do you have in here, a dead body?”
Lester didn’t respond. He didn’t want his brother to know about his cattle prod. He’d have him starring in porno movies and milking him for ice.
“Medications.”
Chester dragged all of Lester’s bags into his ground floor flat.
“Buddette? Where are you girl? Daddy’s home.”
“Oh, I hope you don’t mind, but I borrowed your snake.”
“Where is she?”
“That was a few days ago, I brought her back.”
Chester went into the room with the snake tank.
“She’s sleeping. Must have really worn her out.”
“What did you do to my snake?”
Horrified, Lester ran into the room.
“Relax. It was nothing she didn’t want.”
“Seriously, what the fuck did you do to my baby?”
“Well, I might have overfed her. She probably won’t want to eat for two months. Maybe even three.”
“How did you feed her?”
“That’s a funny story. You see, she really enjoyed the arse hamster. I thought she’d like to fetch more. Be like hunting in the wild.”
“Where did she get the hamsters.”
“Well, I didn’t want a snake routing around in my anus. So, I hired someone.”
The heat lamp from Buddette’s enclosure seemed to turn up a few notches on its own.
“Are you telling me, you had my snake route around someone’s arse for her dinner?”
Chester smiled.
“Get out.”
Lester pointed towards the door.
“Sure thing bro. I’ve got to go jerk off anyways. Have a big order for ice from the U S of A. The hipsters over there love it.”
Chester laughed and left. Lester tapped on the glass. Buddette looked at him with sleep in her eyes.
“You okay, my baby?”
He opened the enclosure.
“I’m so sorry. I won’t leave you again.”
She wrapped herself around his arm and he carried her out.
“Things are going to be different around here, you’ll see.”
He switched on the computer ready for his favourite podcast. Lester liked to tick off how many 80s love songs they’d play each show. He missed it during his hospital stay. He drifted off on his sofa, carried away by 80s music.
He woke with a throbbing erection. He didn’t cry. The nurse stretched his arsehole so he didn’t even need lubricant, but he liked it. He liked the way it chilled his anus and made him cum.
He put Buddette back under her heat lamp and left the room. She didn’t need to be watching him. It could make her think she must slither up his arse for dinner from now on. Chester was such a dickhead.
He went to his window with his cattle prod and a bottle of lubricant. He grabbed a jar. He didn’t want jiz stains all over his flat. He pressed the remote on the CD player and his flat was filled with 80s love songs. The neighbour was outside, struggling with shopping bags.
He imagined her helping him with the cattle prod as he banged into her after a night of flirting and rom-coms. He held his cock over the jar and shoved the cattle prod up his anus. He pressed the button to give himself a zap of electricity, thinking of her the entire time. He blew his load, filling the jar to the top.
He didn’t have another jar, so pulled the cattle prod out and wiped it with a baby wipe. He plugged it into the charger. No longer scared of erections, he was worried about running out of battery. It would be worse than his phone dying while at an 80s revival tour.
He held the jar to the light. The beard cream label was still on it. Maintaining erections and cumming from his cock, a business plan took shape. He would need to build himself a machine to handle it all. He wasn’t like his brother. He didn’t have a lifetime to build strong wrists.
The neighbour was forgotten as he went to work. Buddette’s first tank had enough wires to run a current into a rolling pin. He needed a chair and collection devise next. He took his mother’s antique chair from the dining room. She was dead and gone, both parents were (and turning over in their graves over Chester’s Cloudy Ice business, he checked to confirm). She wouldn’t mind if he mounted the rolling pin onto it. He needed bags to collect his spunk. There were plenty of sandwich baggies in the kitchen.
He set up the entire thing in front of the television so he could watch rom-coms while relieving himself. The rolling pin needed a bottle and half of lubricant before it slid up his anus. He attached the controls to the chair. He needed easy access. One for the blue-ray player, the other to give himself mild electric shocks.
He filled at least one hundred baggies before he couldn’t take it anymore. It was enough to attract investment into his business for a proper electric chair and unlimited jars with their labels already glued on. First shipment of Lester’s Electric Beard Ointment went out to America. Chester didn’t get that much interest with his ice right away.
Lester had enough money to move into a castle of his own. He didn’t want to. He wasn’t particularly fond of his Housing Association flat, but he did like the neighbour.
One day, he plucked up the courage to ask her on a date. He cried semen tears when she said yes. The tears didn’t hurt as much as they used to, not with him milking himself dry every night.
He ran into the flat to get ready. He stayed an extra hour on top of his milking machine to ensure no accidents happened. He put the bags into the special fridge purchased by his investors and locked it. He didn’t want Eloise seeing how he made his money when he brought her back to his flat for coffee. He put the milking machine into the cupboard.
He had to leave his cattle prod on the nightstand. If she wanted pleasure, it would be the only way. He had a plan to turn it into a sex game to prevent embarrassment.
He showered, being sure every trace of jiz and lubricant was rinsed from his body. He ran to the petrol station behind the flats for roses and showed up at her door a bit sweaty. She didn’t seem to mind.
“Where to?”
“There’s a nice film on at the cinema that I’ve been wanting to catch.”
They walked arm-in-arm towards the city centre, making small talk. Halfway there, a car pulled over and masked men jumped out. They held cattle prods.
Lester’s date was pushed to the grass at the side of the road as his trousers were pulled down. He cried the salty-jiz tears of humiliation. A warm, unlubricated cattle prod was shoved up his anus, despite his efforts to clench. A jar was held below him.
The electricity was turned up too high. His hair and beard fought the ointment to stick up. His balls came close to exploding. The mask men had what they wanted and jumped back into their car as quickly as they came out leaving Lester with his trousers around his ankle and a new cattle prod up his arsehole.
Eloise walked over and pulled it out. Tears ran in a white river down his cheeks. He stroked them into his beard and hair. Eloise pulled up his trousers.
“Let’s go home.”
She led him back to the flats. He couldn’t stop crying. He couldn’t see through the tears. His balls hurt in direct violation of the extra milking. She reached into his pockets, searching for his keys. Her touch sent him into an instant erection. He cried harder with the pain.
He couldn’t have said anything, even if he wanted to. The words would have made no sense.
She took his hands, covered in his jiz, and led him inside. She found tissues and wiped him clean, followed by a hug.
“I’ve wanted you for so long. I was afraid you never noticed me.”
The words sent shivers down his spine and straight to his cock. She kissed his forehead. He needed his anus probed before he exploded. She kissed his nose.
Something triggered the automatic stereo. 80s love songs boomed from the speakers. He held her in his arms, fighting against the pain.
Her mouth found his. He slipped his tongue in for his first kiss, pain spreading through his body. She pulled his hands up her body. At least she had no objections to moving fast.
“Take me now.”
She moved her hands to his crotch.
“I want you inside me.”
“Let’s go to the bedroom.”
He moved off the sofa, moving her from his lap, but not letting her fall, just like he had seen in his favourite romantic comedy. The music followed them with the motion sensor speakers he installed last week.
He didn’t need to remove her clothes. She was already naked, leaving a trail from the sofa to the bed. He didn’t bother with buttons. He was in too much pain with his balls aching for release. Lester wasn’t as graceful as his lady friend in removing his clothes. He threw them in a jiz-covered ball to the floor and jumped onto the bed. Her legs were spread wide, waiting for him.
“I need you to put this up my arse.”
He handed her the cattle prod, hoping there wouldn’t be questions. He couldn’t hold it in any longer. He slipped a finger in her. He caught glimpses of his brother’s porn and knew what to do. She shoved the cattle prod into him, as he found his way into her.
They reach a comfortable rhythm in time with the 80s love songs playing from the stereo. The music stopped. All the lights went out. He kept pumping. He didn’t want it to ever end, but end it must.
“Press the button,” he whispered into her ear.
The prod ran on a chargeable battery. She zapped all the juice out of it making him cum. He laid on top of her panting. They heard doors banging and the neighbours shouting. The street lamps were dark. Everything was out.
“What the fuck happened?”
He reached for his phone and clicked onto a warning on the news.
“Don’t waste your batteries,” the headline said. “Major power outage. Everything is blown.”
He chuckled at the everything blown part. He certainly blew his load.
Lester heard a car speeding and horn honking. A few seconds later, Chester barraged into his flat.
“I’ve done something very bad.”
Lester started to cry again. He hated his brother, despite his new-found change in fortunes.
“Stay here. My brother is a pervert and arsehole.”
Lester pulled his trousers on, not bothering to wipe his cock.
“Where are you? Crying cum, again?”
“Hold on.”
“Sounds like a charmer?”
“Who is that? Did you get one of those sexbots?”
Lester left the bedroom and shut the door.
“Are you responsible for this?”
He couldn’t see his brother, but walked to him based on the sound of his breathing.
“Well, sorta.”
“What does that mean?”
“You see, you were attacked earlier.”
Chester couldn’t have known about that, unless he was behind it.
“What do you know about that?”
“Well, I sorta hired some people to milk you. I wanted to know what made your beard cream so special.”
Lester felt the anger rising in him. He wouldn’t cry. He would grind his teeth instead.
“And we went to analysis it, with all our pornography on. And it seems your spunk combined with our porn broke the electricity. Even the solar panels are busted. So, it is your fault. Entirely your fault, Lester. If it weren’t for your sperm, everything would still be working.”
Lester threw a blind punch and hit a kitchen cabinet instead, knocking full jars of beard cream on the counter. Some of them shattered and covered both brothers in spunk.
“Lester!”
“Hey, what’s going on out there?”
The door to the bedroom opened.
“Stay in there.”
“You’re not a sexbot, you’re a person.”
Lester could hear his brother grinning and threw another punch. It landed somewhere on Chester’s face with a crunch. Chester fell to the floor.
“I told you to stay in the bedroom. My brother is a fucking douchebag. He makes Chester’s Cloudy Ice to sell all over the world by watching porn, sometimes it is live-action stuff. He wants to put you in one. He’s already done it to my snake.”
Then it dawned on him, Buddette, his best friend and often times only friend, needed a heat lamp to survive. He would have killed Chester then and there if it hadn’t been dark. He ran for the dining room, housing her enclosure. He banged his knees and tripped over, bringing tears of spunk to his eyes.
“Buddette, don’t worry girl, daddy’s coming.”
He swallowed more than one mouthful of his tears reaching her. He felt along the enclosure until he found the door and put his hand inside. The snake slithered up his arm.
His balls ached. He remembered the cattle prod from the assault. He felt along the wall until he arrived at the sofa. He would have to use it with Buddette wrapped around him. It was the only way to ensure she survived.
He could hear Chester stirring in the next room. He ignored him in favour of relief. He pulled down his trousers and shoved the prod up his anus and switched it to full power for a quick zap. Dry, he could think.
“What does the news say?”
“I’ll check. My phone has a long battery.”
Eloise sat next to him.
“It says it can’t be fixed.”
“We’ve all become so dependent upon electricity, we can’t cope without it. We have to do something.”
“What do you propose big bro? We milk you into plug sockets?”
Lester rolled his eyes. In the dark, Chester couldn’t see. He was the one with the ejaculation problem.
“This is your fault. You fix it.”
“Shut up, Chester.”
“I’m going to get some candles. I have an idea.”
He fell to his knees to crawl along the floor, Buddette slithered to his shoulders. Beneath the TV stand, he kept a supply of scented candles and a lighter for those lonely evenings watching rom-coms with a bowl of popcorn. He lit one, then another.
“I don’t know how these’ll last, so we’ll have to be quick. I’m going to need a mirror.”
“I have one in my bag.”
She rummaged around, gave up and dumped the contents of the bag onto the floor. Lester felt his balls refill. He wouldn’t have long to set things right. While his date found the mirror, he dug out more candles and placed them in a circle on the coffee table before lighting them.
“What you doing big bro? Still practicing witchcraft, I see.”
Lester ignored him. It had only worked twice before. Once when he checked for objections from his mother for use of her chair. And the first time, when he went to see if his parents rolled around in their graves over Chester’s Cloudy Ice. He set everything out.
“Chester, either lend your energy or go away.”
Chester snickered.
“I’m outta here.” Lester and Eloise heard him leave.
“Okay, I know this seems crazy, but think of Tesla. Focus all your attention on Tesla while looking through the mirror. Not at it, but through it. Like there’s another world on the other side.”
Lester sat on one side of the coffee table. Eloise sat on the sofa.
“You have to sit on the floor.”
She moved down, implanting her arse on some lipstick and various handbag debris. His balls twinged as he took her hands.
“Ready?”
She shook her head for yes.
“Okay, now, focus. Tesla. Calling Nikola Tesla.”
Lester’s balls began to fill. He took a deep breath and stared at the mirror.
“Tesla. Are you there?”
The curtains fluttered, even though the windows weren’t open. He felt Buddette lift her head.
“I’m here, Lester. I’ve been watching you closely. Great inventing. You and your brother. I know you don’t like him much.”
“Can you put this to right?”
“Under one condition.”
The stereo boomed ten seconds of a love song.
“What’s that?”
“You and your brother stop competing and start working together.”
Chester didn’t really leave. They heard him go outside. He listened from the bushes, wishing his brother would open the windows. He heard Tesla’s remark though. Lester drew in a breath.
“He wouldn’t want to work with me. He’s a cocky little arsehole.”
“Anything to get the power back on!”
Lester heard his brother run from outside. Little bastard was listening in.
“Don’t worry bro, I won’t put your girlfriend in my movies. Anything you say.”
“Fine,”
Lester agreed through gritted teeth.
“Together, you two can take over the world.”
The lights flickered. People outside cheered. Lester imagined their necks craning up. Nikola Tesla manifested from the mirror. The candles blew out and they were plunged into darkness. Lester balls ached.
One full minute later, everything came back on again. Love songs blared from the speakers.
“Your taste in music was always awful.”
Author's notes
I wrote Chester's Cloudy Ice a few months before Lester's Milking Machine. I've since submitted it elsewhere, so can't post it here until I hear back. When the call for Sparks came, I thought Chester could use a brother. Chester had pornography. Lester couldn't get it up and cried jiz. He needed something else. When I was about eight/nine, my mother would take me to horse riding lessons on a Tuesday evening. On the way home (it was a good 45 minute drive), the only radio station to get reception would play love songs. I'm sure some were from the early 90's and some would have been from the 70s, but cheesy 80s music tends to haunt me. What could be worse than 1980s love songs (other than Nickelback, The Rasmus and Michael Jackson - although MJ probably put out some love songs in the 80s)? This wasn't decent 80s music, this was the worst of the worst. If I hear one of those songs now, I cringe. What goes well with love songs? Rom-coms. Lester's interests were born. Thought he could use a pet. Chester had a house bursting with porn and covered in cum. Lester had no spunk-bunnies for company. Look out for Chester's Cloudy Ice and Lester's Electric Beard Cream, cumming soon to a story near you. Dani
Something's missing
Rejected for Content 6 is the home of Bind Us Together, which has since been re-named Chester's Cloudy Ice. To purchase your copy, follow the link to amazon https://www.amazon.com/Rejected-Content-Workplace-Jim-Goforth/dp/1977941915/
Sparks, featuring my story "I'm Your Electric Man" is out now. It doesn't include "Lester's Electric Milking Machine". Follow the link to amazon for your copy https://www.amazon.com/Sparks-Electric-Anthology-MATTHEW-CASH-ebook/dp/B0764H1T2P/
Keep watching this site for the spunky adventures of Chester and lester.
Chester's Cloudy Ice, popping into a story near you soon.