MetaWrite 6000 : I Meta Girl at the Gates of Hell : Part One

PREVIOUS LOG

“Wake up Selina”

Roused from her impromptu slumber Selina J opened her eyes and stared wearily at her smeared reflection in the grubby mirror opposite.

“What the?!” she exclaimed, leaning further towards the mirror whilst muttering such existential questions as ‘Who am I?’ followed by ‘What am I?’

The ‘who’ was clearly established in the very first sentence of this story – she is Selina J. Her second question however was not derived from any willingness to deeper understand her place in the universe, after all who does that the moment they wake up? Normally, the only meaningful question to be asked at that time is ‘Where is the coffee?’

Indeed, if there were to be any aspect of spirituality in her demand to know ‘who she was’ it would be for the very simple reason that as she stared into the mirror it became immediately apparent that she was dressed as a Nun.

Such a revelation led Selina to follow up with a less than philosophical statement when she declared ‘I’m a fucking Nun!’

That expletive laden observation should in itself be sufficient to indicate that Selina was far from Nun material. Indeed, very little about the way she had led her life would indicate she was destined for a higher calling. But as Selina was about to find out appearances can be deceiving and things are not always what they immediately seem.

Selina studied the mirror, its frame was constructed of cheap wood that was chipped and stained. A number of light-bulbs adorned the top, all haphazardly attached by wire stapled into the frame. The bulbs were of a variety of colours albeit some no longer performed the task they had been design for, instead they dangled forlornly like a pathetic Christmas decoration. Other lights refused to go the same way as their neighbours and flickered defiantly, prepared to see out the dying moments of illumination with at least some usefulness.

The mirror itself was dingy, a sheet of dust coated the reflective material. No attempt had been made to clean the mirror, instead someone had simply drawn the crude outline of a heart through the grime. The bottom corner was cracked which framed a lipstick mark still prominent below the gloom of the dust.

The desk upon which the mirror stood was equally of poor quality and rocked due to an uneven leg. It would have rocked more violently but a stack of what seemed to be 1980s porn magazines kept some semblance of balance.

A variety of cosmetics lay strewn across the desk; lipstick, mascara and perfume all jostled for position upon the surface. The chair upon which Selina sat was worn. The imitation leather was ripped to reveal the foam interior. As she looked around the rest of the room, which was nothing more than bare walls, Selina was certain she was not in a place of worship.

Indeed, if the dubious stains on the floor were anything to go by should people get on their knees in here it certainly wasn’t with the intention of praying.

“Selina hurry up will ya! They’re waiting”

She turned to see a rather rotund man leaning against the doorway. He wore a white short sleeved shirt unbuttoned to reveal a mass of tight curly grey hair interspersed with more darker strands.

His face was large and unkind; the full flabbiness of his skin slightly disguised by a beard. The hair on his head matched that on his chest, which clung damply to his forehead with sweat.

A lit cigarette rested between his yellowing teeth, although the smell of nicotine did little to disguise the stench of body odour that emanated from this stout gentleman. Patches of sweat were visible under his armpits.

“Waiting for what?” Selina asked, still searching for the answer to who she was, despite the clear number of clues in the preceding paragraphs.

The fat man laughed “They are waiting for you to read the Gospel of Luke to them” He took a long drag on his cigarette and blew smoke in her direction “What do you think they are fucking waiting for? Now get up and get out there!”

Selina stood up and glanced once more towards the mirror. What reflected back at her would provide the unambiguous answer as to who she was.

She was not wearing a long tunic that one would expect a Nun to wear for hers was a lot shorter. It was so short that one could quite clearly see the lacy black panties she wore. Her legs were not bare but instead decorated with glossy black stockings, the tops of which were clearly visible. Her attire was completed by a pair of high chunky black heels.

“I’m a fucking stripper!” she exclaimed.

The fat man smiled displaying all his yellow teeth “Yeh you are and you’re my best girl so get out there”

He playfully spanked her behind as he ushered her onto the stage. It was dark but Selina could hear the mutterings of anticipation from the assembled crowd.

Disguised by the darkness of the stage she instinctively knelt down and clasped her hands together. Despite her initial confusion as to who she was an internal narrative now compelled her. She knew who she was and what she had to do.

The spotlight switched on illuminating her for the crowd to see, they expressed their pleasure by loud cheers. Then the music started, some cheesy 1980s electro-pop as Selina gracefully rose to her feet and begun shimmying and shaking along to the beat.

The ensemble of eager men whooped and applauded as she made her way across the stage ensuring all at the front row got a decent look. These patrons were the important ones, they were in the ‘tipping seats’.

It was a relatively low turn out and a few of the ‘tipping seats’ were empty. It was a Wednesday afternoon and later that night ought to be busier with a lot of drunk and horny guys clambering for the front row.

Selina allowed the guys clutching the most money in their fist to get the best view; writhing and crawling on the stage to entice that money away from them. A number of them eagerly obliged and soon the money clip that was securely attached to her garter started to fill up with notes.

The guys cheered with delight as Selina threw off her Nun’s habit revealing her breasts, the nipples teasingly encased in tassels. She spun them around near the face of one patron who hypnotically parted with more of his money.

Selina looked out towards the back of the room where the bar was situated , a number of men stood ogling her while they supped on overpriced watered down beer.

Get to the front and pay you cheap bastards.

To the left in the shadows of the booths, where the lapdances were normally performed, she saw a guy who appeared desperately to be trying to avoid looking at her. It was odd behaviour for someone at a strip club…..you come to watch! But her concern was not with those who had no intention of tipping her and her attention returned to the front row as she performed a number of tantalising squats and thrusts, much to the howls of approval from those who watched.

She glanced down at her money clip, the tips had been good but not great. For the right price she would tear the tassels off along with her panties and give them a real show; that’s what made her such an attraction at the club. But not today, she may be many things but she certainly wasn’t cheap.

Sorry boys! Just tease. No show.

Selina did one final circuit of the tipping seats to remove the patrons from the last of their notes. However, they had become wise to the fact that they were not going to experience one of Selina’s Special Shows and clung onto their money for another time.

Her act concluded with a unenthusiastic if not athletic turn on the pole before finishing back on her knees just as the tinny pop beats finished. With the stage once again shrouded in darkness she made her way off.

The fat man grabbed her arm as she went past “Hey not to so fast. You’ve got a lap dance to perform”

Selina looked up at his sweaty face, she was not really in the mood and just wanted to return to the grubby sanctuary of her room “Can’t someone else do it?”

“They have asked specifically for you and paid for the full works!” the fat man replied

“But I’m not feeling that good to be honest” she pleaded.

The fat man tightened his grip on her arm and pulled her in closer. Selina could smell his rank odour. His chubby fingers ran down her leg towards the money clip, he purposely took his time. Selina felt bile form in the back of her throat as he clumsily pawed at her.

He ripped the clip off and begun counting the money “That’s your rent….That’s my commission” he said as he tucked the notes away into the pocket of his damp shirt “So I’m guessing if you want to be eating tonight you oughta go give that guy the full works”

She hated him. There was nothing more she’d rather do then choke him to death by shoving the money she earned down his fat throat. But she had no back up plan, there was nowhere else to go and so her only option was to follow his command.

“Fine” she sighed “Who is it?”

The fat man jerked a thick finger in the direction of the booths. It pointed at the strange guy who avoided looking at her during the show. Perhaps that was why he chose to look away, he knew he would be getting a private show all to himself and didn’t want to over excite himself before the main event.

She walked towards the booth ignoring the cries of some other patrons requesting she marry them. She reached the booth with the strange guy and introduced herself.

“Hey honey I hear you are after the full works” she said.

The guy did not respond nor did he attempt to make any eye contact but Selina persisted, her dinner depended on it.

“Awww don’t be shy sweetie let me help you relax a little” she said whilst straddling him. She hovered just above his groin as she ran her fingers through his hair.

“Pppplease stop” he whimpered.

“Sweetie relax” said Selina as she began to caress her breasts “You like?”

“No. No I don’t. Please stop.” came the unexpected response.

Selina persisted no-one had resisted her full works lap dance and this weird guy was not going to be the first “What’s your name, sugar?”

“Kevin and you really need to get off me and go” came the rather blunt response.

Selina shot a look towards the stage and saw the fat man peering out. She was expected to give this well paying patron a show and so she must. Otherwise she would not be indulging on Den’s Special Chicken Nuggets at the Diner across from the club.

She begun to grind a little harder. Normally such a move would be for a little later, if at all, but it seemed in everyone’s best interests if she got this over quickly.

“Please you have to stop!” pleaded the guy, becoming more and more agitated.

Feeling uncomfortable about the situation Selina leant in and asked “Why? Why do you want me to stop?”

During her illustrious career at the club Selina had been told many things by patrons. These ranged from how much they love their wife to apologies for the unexpected ejaculation. In all her years she thought she had seen and heard everything. Every comment and utterance of arousal made her more and more impervious to being shocked.

“If you do not stop then the Gates of Hell will open and we will all die”

Yep. She’d never heard that one before.

The Unerotica Of Selina IX : A Song Of Tyler & Bryce – Part Nine

“Why are you surprised?”

The final Snoflakian dove reached the D’Annimos. Strangely, they were not expecting such an invitation which was surprising given they are all about prophecy.

Nevertheless,with all the invitations sent, thoughts inevitably turned to the peace summit itself.

How would the families all react to the suggestion of peace? This ideal of living together in harmony, to work together for the prosperity of all inhabitants of Earthykinda. To create a world not defined by war and suffering but of understanding and respect.

Well, from what Bryce could work out they were all planning to use the Peace Summit to kill one another.

The Toonidunzas had a very straightforward plan – have sex with them, kill them, eat them and not necessarily always in that order.

The D’Annimos were just going to poison everyone and given that they are all prophetic they probably had an idea whether their plan was going to work or not.

The Bursteads were a little more devious and planned to rule the kingdoms not by obvious force but by stealth.

Their intention was to suggest that the families are united by marriage. With everyone effectively related there would be peace.

Bryce was unsure if this was a master stroke of diplomacy or if this was more to do with their preference for suitors. If everyone is technically related maybe nobody will care what the brother and sister got up to.

In any event, once married the intention was to kill everyone else anyway.

Despite calling for the Peace Summit the Snoflakians had a similar plan, although it was a little more subtle.

Like the Bursteads they wanted the families united by marriage but such a union would not immediately end in death.

The Snoflakians would use the weaknesses of their enemies to manipulate their strengths. They wanted peace but it had to be on their terms.

If the others refused to be compliant then that is when they would die. It was quite clear that even peace loving Snoflakians could be like a cunning Burstead when they had to.

Clearly, everyone had an ulterior motive for wishing to attend the peace summit.

Bryce left the world of Earthykinda to concentrate on some developments in her own life. She too was dealing with an unexpected invitation.

“Why are you surprised? You are my girlfriend after all”

Bryce blushed and lowered her head. She loved hearing Tyler refer to her as ‘his girlfriend’.

They had been dating for sometime but this invitation to the wedding would be the first time he would introduce her to his family and close friends…..and she’d be introduced as his girlfriend!

“It’s in a Hotel, so I thought we can stay there the evening. You know, so we could both have a drink”

“Separate rooms?” Bryce enquired.

“Well a lot of guests are staying” Tyler replied, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck “So….I could only get one room”

Bryce just nodded. It was understandable that it would be difficult as well as expensive to get two rooms. It was a long drive to the Hotel and neither of them would want to make that trip home late at night.

Yet in the back of her mind something troubled Bryce. Was Tyler expecting sex? That the potent cocktail of wedding romance and alcohol would be enough for Bryce to willingly give up her virginity?

Maybe Bryce would be happy to do so. That seeing how proudly he introduced her to his family would be confirmation that he is her one true love.

But what if she didn’t feel that way? Should she just agree to any sexual request, if nothing more out of gratitude for a lovely evening?

Of course Tyler may not be expecting that at all. His reasons may be genuine and honourable; he most likely would offer to sleep on the floor.

Bryce cursed herself for even thinking that Tyler may have less than gentlemanly intentions.

After all, not all invitations have an ulterior motive.

The Needy Mule Presents: Excerpts From – The Battle Of The Scribes : A Tale of the Variants

We don’t talk about The Time Of The Scribes anymore.

They are now simply a footnote in our chaotic history; that is if we were allowed to write footnotes or indeed write anything. After the War the written word became virtually obsolete in these lands.

In the beginning there was just one Scribe who would every week produce parchments for the town folk to enjoy. Scriptures to amuse, to educate, to thrill. The people loved the offering from The Scribe.

Soon, there would be more Scribes and now the people of the town had a choice. Inevitably, such a choice would lead to division and subsequently it would end…..Well you know what happened next.

These Scribes became revered, worshipped. Everyone wanted to own those sacred parchments; they became the very symbol of status.

Yet there never were enough to go round. Despite the number of Scribes the demand for these sought after parchments were too great.

Every week on an oak table the offerings of The Scribes were laid out and the huge crowd that had gathered would rush to ensure they were able to get one. Invariably, a large number of the town would leave empty handed.

It hadn’t always been that way. When the First Scribe produced the original parchment it was seen as something of a curiosity. The people were happy to share and enjoy these texts together.

No one knows how these parchments became to be held in such high regard but when that happened, everything changed.

It begun in the local tavern where many folk would discuss the virtue of the latest offering from The Scribes.

Some would be quite vocal in preferring one Scribe over the other. Others would talk for hours about how one particular parchment is the most sacred of them all.

Night after night these heated discussions would occur upsetting the once harmonious balance of the town.

The conversations that took place in the tavern would spread across the town and soon people were on the hunt for the special, prized parchment.

Some would protect their prized parchment by encasing it in impenetrable material. Despite the cries of protest that no one will ever again be able to enjoy the sacred text ever again more and more people began to do it.

Others took a different approach. There were those in the town who did not care too much for The Scribes’ parchments. They would use the status that came with owning one to become rich.

It started with the odd sale at the Tavern but soon this market to buy pre owned parchments grew. Therefore, each week on the day after The Scribes had left their parchments, the people would make their way down to The Bay.

At The Bay, food and other precious commodities were exchanged for ownership of a precious parchment. The people of the town desperate to outbid each other in an attempt to increase their own status.

Whilst some would sell their prized parchment because they were poor and needed to feed their family others were more nefarious.

After The Scribes had been, those wishing to sell their parchment at the highest price possible would go to the Tavern and spread rumours that this week’s offering were the most sacred there had been.

As word spread large crowds would gather at The Bay desperate to own it. This would guarantee the owner a high return.

Indeed, such was the reward that people would scoop up as many parchments as they could to sell at The Bay.

Some argued that they just wanted to read the parchments, like everyone had done in the beginning, but their voices could not be heard over those who clambered to own a parchment with the sole intention of selling it at the highest price possible.

Others aware of the demand for these parchments would horde them away at their home; sometimes waiting for the right price or for that inevitable rainy day.

Attempts were made to resolve this problem. A kindly old gentleman would copy the parchments so that those who missed out could enjoy the text.

Initially, they were seen as a lesser parchment but soon those who now controlled The Bay were suggesting that even those reproductions had value due to being even more scarce. Soon no one could read them without paying a high price.

This continued for many years and every week more people would be unable to read the Scribes’ sacred parchments as initially intended. All the while, those who controlled The Bay got more powerful.

And then The Scribes stopped delivering parchments……….