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Feedback Sandwich
Extra reverb, hold the mayo
Feedback Sandwich
Flashy fiction by Spyder Darling
ardrum shattering decibels ricocheted about the dimly lit rehearsal studio, like invisible bullet spray from an ultrasonic Uzi. To most, the sound would be unendurable. But three, hundred watt Marshall stacks roaring in unison was an absolute eargasm to Oliver Omega. His ejaculation resembling gyrations were like artificial copulation as he stroked and fingered the smooth neck of the ’57 Les Paul he had strapped to his crotch.
Harnessed and quivering, Oliver stood, nearly electrocuting himself with transparent audio force fields. He was at one with his sex string devil stick, simultaneously exquisite and grotesque, delicately balanced in a pose of tender savagery. He was the ravenous wolf, the frenzied shark, the consummate volume junkie.
Soon, blood began to ooze from Oliver’s ears and drip down his long platinum hair, cascading like a crimson river down his smooth chest and into the crotch of his sin tight leather pants.
Minutes morphed into hours, then days and still Oliver jacked his axe without stopping, or even slowing when his fingers began to blister, then bleed as the steel strings sliced like razors through his bubbling flesh and naked nerves, eventually sawing into the…
