Saturday, January 27, 2018

Rehearsal

By Brewt.Blacklist

January 2018

THERE WAS nothing to it. The running sight gag that the author of this farce so carefully designed that the director bought into was sheer simplicity in itself. The dialog that contrasted it nearly wrote itself, setting up a social criticism they were sure would be meaningful to everyone after they went home. A conversation starter. The hunt for the actor that was to accomplish this artistry—not to mention the auditions for it—went on for days longer than for the lead. There were no lines; they were looking for a modesty of presence that undercut the daring necessary that so many men were so ready to flaunt, standing up on the stage, bold and daring, desperate to get the part, so they could show off their…theatrical…gifts. None of them understood.

Chester adored this play and believed in it, and he fought every instinct he had to turn and run, or even at least put his hands up to shield his shame, and that genuine inner conflict he could do nothing to hide was what fulfilled the vision and landed him the role.

“Perfect. No arrogance.”

“Agreed. That blush is priceless.”

The hard part, the directors and producers correctly discerned, was to waltz a very fine line between his willingness to appear full frontal naked before an audience at very precise comedic timings, and keeping his personal mortification and disgrace turned up on high in doing so. Rehearsals were tricky; they didn’t want him in any way to get used to prancing about in front of God and everyone, so he didn’t appear “in costume” until the second-to-last tech rehearsal when all the lights were kicked on to performance levels, and a serious unexpected setback was discovered.

“Wow, he’s white. Incandescent.”

“Agreed. I’m still seeing spots. Makeup!”

Lucy was given the task of finding the right mix of powders and oils she would have to brush all over his entire body to keep from blinding the patrons when he stepped on his mark and yet still have him appear glistening.

“Oh, and shave him, too, dear. Can’t have our gimmick looking like a gorilla.”

“Yes, of course completely. Everything below the nose.”

There were coloration and glow debates right up to his second entrance.

“Cut! What the hell, Chester?”

“Yeah, no, we can’t have that.”

Chester’s hands flew to his center juncture. His face went crimson even more spectacularly than usual—the rampant erection he was sporting was just out-and-out wrong for this kind of show. He flew off, stage left.

Lucy was there to catch him with a robe, and she assured him that he killed it, taking him back to the dressing room to re-apply the pancake that had smudged, slowly, carefully, paying extra care to make sure his penis was properly shaded. His third entrance had the same problem, and brought up the question among the directorate as to whether or not they should bring the whole cast and crew out, to try to laugh him out of his hardon. It proved necessary. By the time he got to his last moment to shine, he was so embarrassed, his guilt and humiliation took over his courage, and withered him in the green room.

“Can’t have that.” Lucy twinkled as she knelt before him—checking for stubble with her cheek, licking and tonguing and slathering the vexing excess clumps of foundation that sure seemed to be centralized, smoothing him over, getting his eyes to glaze as she cooed, encouraging him to relax—like she always did right before he went on. “Mmmm; break a leg. Listen: you go be brave and I’ll be right here to fuck you like a whore after your dramatic triumph.” Her dress fell to the floor to show him what he had to look forward to, and he took his cue.

“Cut!”

“Lucy! Get out here! No, now! Right god damn now!”

Directing is the art of compromise and problem solving toward creative eloquence, and the decision was made that Lucy was just going to have to fuck him like a whore before he went on, not after. Which worked, until an inspiration struck at the last run-through, and there was scrambling.

The production, of course, bombed. The review did comment on one small change to the script that was of note, in that the comedic nude appearances of Chester and Lucy together—hand in hand, humble, out of breath, rosy, dripping, their body-greasepaints smeared and blended—was indeed an amazing special effect, a case of fine acting, and a true conversation starter.

 

Monday, January 8, 2018

Ouroboros

By Brewt.Blacklist

January 2018

SHE HAD had no chance any more than she had had no choice. The abbess had called for her, and she obeyed. She was ordered to go with this wealthy and respected man, and to do anything and everything he demanded of her, and she smiled and indulged him. What he wanted appalled her; her statements of this, both to the man and then again later back in the cloister, earned her copious scoldings, and fiery sermons on her duty, and angry red stripes to remind her of her laziness and vanity from everyone she ever knew around her, that she had grown up with. “Thou shalt abide and agree and defer in all things, foolish girl; bend thy pride over and yield to thy betters.” He was the first of multitudes to come to her in the dark. So many, she lost count, and eventually, she got to where she could stomach the requirements for her to spread her legs, and could commit to opening her mouth and wearing the finest appearances of gratitude as she consumed whatever foul substances came from the phalluses that were laid in on her teeth. Although, she had a worse time stoppering up the screeching and bawling from all the blows and the humiliations that rained down on her incessantly; she cooperated to the best of her ability. Her acquiescences did little to cut down on the rebukings, but, in her prayers, she could—in her forgivenesses of trespasses against her—be satisfied that she was maybe in some way pleasing to at least the ever-watchful cherubim.

At the trial, the question was raised as to whether or not her scandalous pregnancy she could no longer hide underneath her robes and cilice, could have been the result of a divine action, as there was precedent in the well-known verses read at yuletide, and there was a moment there that she felt a ray of hope. Which was immediately dashed as the man, the very first man who had taken all of her innocences, who had somehow weaseled his way into the ecclesiastical court, stood and pointed and confessed that it was he who had desecrated the girl but without fault of his own, as it was she who had led him into temptation with her beauties and seductions, and her unlimited willingnesses, and that the bastard she carried could verily be his.

A second possibility of salvation flashed when he was asked if he would proceed with honor, and take her in as his, to have and to hold. He laughed, and said not just “No,” but “Hell, no.” He was not the only man she had thrown herself at, and he was through with her: he would not accept the yoke and millstone of her unseemly burdens, as he had paid the little trollop princely sums, time and time again. Which wasn’t altogether true, as the convent had been the beneficiary of the mammons, as they always were, when he or any of his friends came stumbling around after midnight, drunk, insisting they could and indeed would pay and pay handsomely for the liberty to despoil yet another Bride of Christ.

The man was absolved with the penance of a small number of “Hail Mary’s,” which he refused, and ended up being fined a pittance. The novice begged for clemency to no avail, and was condemned as a wayward woman, indeed the very incarnation of the Whore of Babylon, which was not to be tolerated inside these consecrated walls, and she was stripped of her solemn vestments and her rosary to be admonished with the perfection of judgment, listening in tears to the priestly words of “and may God the Father Almighty bequeath a mercy that passeth understanding upon thy wretched soul that we, of this noble and venerable presbytery, do not see fit to endow upon thee nor thy prostitute’s voluptuous and sin-ridden body.”

Pity and compassion was applied for by one of the oldest and wisest vestals of the sisterhood, as she had seen all this before. She prophesied that it would be best for all concerned in deference to the sake of the child, for it would behoove the magistrates to avoid the infamy of slaying the unborn infant as contemptible Herod had once done to the Innocents of Bethlehem, and the matter was debated at length and the advice was ultimately considered as profitable. Grace was to be dispensed in the form of a delay of the purging of evil from their midst, until the baby was born. The convicted harlot would spend the last few weeks of her condition bent over in the pillories in the central square of the township, where she could keep watch on the scaffold being constructed and ruminate upon the errors of her wickednesses.

It took less than a day for her habit to turn up missing, and her shift fell away ruint a morning or two after that, for the men of the village started bringing their sons to the shackled naked girl to teach a variety of lessons. The most obvious things to learn were the wheres and with-whats and ways of intrusions into the anatomies of wenches, to the amazements of the ignorant. Which was promptly followed with the conceited demonstrations regarding the delights of curves and secret places, that, when properly stroked and teased, would wrest writhings and moans that the youngsters were told to interpret as full and comprehensive permission to do whatever pleased them. Even against the miserable creature’s actual verbalized refusals. The delicious melodies and attractive sonorities she unwillingly made bespoke of a more convincing consent to be believed in than any mere language could imply. All of which was explained as part of the inheritance for all mankind of the power that was donated to Adam over the companion created for him before they were even thrown out of the Garden. Then, too, there were the sanctions for the boys to be given the opportunity to practice the acts of husbandry upon this unworthy concubine’s flesh, one after the other, braying like animals without restraint or end or any form of relief for this damned damsel in their intercourses, even unto the abominations of sodomy—as the young lady was well-acquainted with those excesses even though it embarrassed her to be left so profoundly devastated and weak as such dirty usage so reliably left her—so that the children would be well-prepared for their wedding nights, and that they would come to know and understand and even long for the endless and profound number of variants for marital bliss that were in store for them as part of the sacrament of marriage that was their fate.

The educations would continue when the humble sister complained about the squandering of her dignity, carrying on about how she was being unjustly abused by the depraved, unwitting as she was in thereby granting the elders the freedom to demonstrate the time-honored methods of just how a man is to deal with a reluctant woman, a disobedient woman, and especially a woman who would fail to express her enthusiasm for her husband’s efforts to keep himself from violating the sixth commandment as an adulterer, if said woman would ever once to be found lacking in how she served herself up to him with abandon, to be the most willing and cheerful recipient of his lusts, to keep him safe in their home and away from the attractive lures of the coveting of wives of other men, from fornicating with strumpets, from perpetrating naughty rapine upon pure and blameless girls. The barrel of brined-soaked hazel rods—no thicker than a thumb, in accordance with the law—had to be replenished more than once a week, and, despite her cries that she would concede to whatever was demanded of her whenever the thrashing would begin yet again, the teenagers more often than not ignored her bids to perform sheer idolatry upon their budding manhoods, kissing and slathering to the point that she would gag and choke herself deeply upon them, as they had at least as much interest and yea, even more enthusiasm in pursuing these drills for her mortification and chastisement as they had for the other enlightenments and joys the slaughter-meat before them had to offer.

The matrons of these crossroads would bring their daughters, to see what could become of them, if they played loose and free with their virtue, but kept them there, too, so they could observe what lay in store for them with their future husbands, after they took their vows before the congregation about richer and poorer, and sickness and health, speaking in low tones about the righteous expectations to be wrought from happy wives, on earth as it is in heaven. There was feminine trembling around the plaza every day, as an echo of the severe disciplines made a-plenty in all the hovels in the evenings when the private questionings and bickerings about the impure zeals being pursued in town were put down with authority using the tools of domestication to bruise tendernesses until surrender was volunteered, not to mention all of the screaming that was so consistently wrung from the lips of the disgusting public whipping girl when her crimson bow was not otherwise occupied with the adoration and worship of the infidelic staffs and stout members of men and boys and even mongrels and goats that were brought in on whims for yet another entertainment that the comely lass could render for the jeering crowds.

The excuses to deride a woman without reprisal were taken by all—the word “cunt” was bandied about freely with mirth and sneers—and the spitting and the vehemence was without end. The prisoner was splashed and adorned and crowned with all the urine, feces, and sperm as could be produced in this God-forsaken little hamlet.

The day of the blessed event came about and would have been missed but for the midwives who would come to check on the girl, to give her her daily bread and keep tabs on her condition for the sake of the utmost interested gratifications of the deacons—onanists all—and the steeple bells were rung to summon the assemblage, for the time of punishment was at hand to be wreaked upon this wretched slave to lechery. The contractions had set in, the effects of which completely overshadowed the caning to the point that the beatings became moot.

The brothers were sent for, and the victim was released from the stocks; she collapsed and shrieked as more seminars for life were dealt to the community when labor set in for sure, and those who had not attended a birthing were instructed as to what they were seeing with whispers as everyone stood back and withdrew, keeping their comforts and eases for themselves and their families, with their arms all wrapped around each other tight as they gazed on the scene in fascination and horror. Commentaries and assurances were extended that the sounds this witch was making about her agonies and her pleas for help were without consequence as there was nothing anyone could do, and it was all simply part of the curse for women—especially her—to bear. The spirits of hallowed lasciviousnesses and smug glees filled those in attendance, all without guilt. Her knees were tied together, to forestall the inevitable until the utmost will of God could be enacted.

The friars arrived and yanked the staggering postulate up the stairs onto the platform, throwing her onto the narrow bed, face up. They lashed her arms underneath, and pulled her feet into the air and tied them to the vertical rails, forcing her head through the hole, not so that she could see and contemplate the sharp doom above her, but to attend her mouth to suckle on one executioner as her bottom was exposed to the other.

Both men—who had won this fortuity by lottery and pledges of obediences to the monastery—exposed themselves and their profane shames to the masses without humility, and double-penetrated her. They began their infernal thrustings in a desultory rhythm, to make the experience worse for their quarry. There was no reason not to. Not unlike the numerous times they had taken her before the trial was convened or even considered; they were well-practiced in this exploit, and had long ago gotten their timings and signals arranged for and understood, so that they would both attain their bellowing triumphs at the same time.

Another convulsion hit, changing up the tremorings and pressures on the men, hurrying along the process in a way that was new and unknown to them. They luxuriated and wallowed in the freshness and uniqueness of the sensation, amplified by the irrevocability of the situation. They would be the last men on earth to so enjoy this doxy—save what the gravediggers would do to what was left of her—and it burned their imaginations; they set their jaws to see to it they would perform this ritual again, and again, as long as they both should live.

When the moment of her final consummation arrived, that both men would achieve the last knowing of this worthless cow, simultaneously, the blade was released, and she was expended into, in her mouth and her ass, as the guillotine separated her head from her neck. She died as she had lived, in pain and degradation, being filled without respite with the seeds of men.

But not immediately, not instantly. The man who caught her promontory and concluded his attempts to drown her with what could come from his prick with a shout and a blasphemy, wrenched her skull off of him, lifting her up by her hair, with just enough light still in her eyes to behold the other man cutting what was left of her debased and useless carcass open, to rip out the child she bore as her corpse spasmed from the mountains of the agony he was pouring into her and overflowing her with. The vile-most criminal against decency observed the consecrated villain tossing her inferior progeny—an unfortunate and meaningless girl, newly freed from the belly of Leviathan with a vicious slap to portend all that was to come to her in her short, nasty, and brutish life—into the crowd of clamoring nuns, who would take her in and raise her, exactly as this defiled and disgraced slut had been, and everything would start all over again.

The chanting of the mob about just how much she deserved this excellent and well-founded smiting gave way to how the angels welcomed her into their arms when she had finished drooling semen and her remains ceased their amusing shakings, and she gave up the ghost, entering the gates of the kingdom to hallelujahs, that she had come to them at last. There was great rejoicing and excitement that she would pick up right where she left off, being of use and service—now to the saints—with her sufferings and travails and earnest efforts to be sweet and charming and meek and most of all, available for all possible intimacies without interruption before the eyes of the Lord, as per the mentions of the Great Tome of Mesopotamia on how the labors and chores and honors and concerns of women are but only and single-mindedly to be directed towards accomplishing the ecstasies of men. Her mother and her grandmother and her great-grandmother all the way back to Eve herself all raised their hands to smile and waive at their descendent, only to earn themselves and their newly-received kin being introduced into the brothels of Abraham’s Bosom a more prolonged and violent flogging than usual from the martinets of the mighty all-seeing seraphim, for daring to take the focus of their attentions away from the deliriums and raptures of the redeemed and the holy monks and hermits there for the instant their quiet hummings of hymns of praise and radiant greetings took, getting themselves all nailed to the seatings in the great throne room by their hands and their feet as so many of the womanly host already were, with crowns of thorns placed hard on their brows they would need to be careful about, to not pierce the brethren, as the gentlewomen lovingly glorified and revered the venerated penises and scrotums and anuses that they would kneel before and apply their affectionate tongues and pulsating lips to evermore. When the bindings were managed and realized and made permanent, the Slampigs of Paradise all applied themselves even more fervently than ever before to the laudable cravings of the monastics and the martyrs and the apostles, who were canonized with the blessings of eternally erect cocks that would fuck these bitches forever resulting in perpetual fountains of rhapsody and filth that the true anchoresses of the faith would be expected to drink deeply of, for it is holy communion to these most lowly of penitents, as it was in the beginning, and is now and ever shall be, world without end, amen.