Pagan Moss' Peep Show Stories

Monday, February 16, 2004





Happy President's Day


“You’re going to listen to what I have to say whether you like it or not--so make it easy on yourself and sit down and shut the fuck up.”

“How the hell did you get in . . .”

“But then again, you can't talk now even if you wanted to,” a woman says, laughing.

She walks towards him, putting both hands on his shoulders, forcing him down into his chair. His mouth moves madly, trying to form words, but nothing comes out except for the sound of dry air, along with a string of drool suspended from the corner of his mouth. He struggles to get up from the chair--the veins in his neck popping, his hands drawn up in fists, but it’s no use; he cannot move.

"I’m sure you've noticed by now that I'm not your typical girl,” she purrs, running her hands over her body; she’s covered in what appears to be a thin layer of nude latex, hugging every curve. The latex covers her face as well, leaving just the impression of two eyes, a nose, and a mouth, which moves eerily as she speaks.

“Well, let’s see . . . where to begin. Let me start off by introducing myself. My name is Isis and I come from . . . hmmm, how can I explain this so you can understand. Well, I come from the future I guess you could say . . . or, should I say a parallel universe? Yes, I know how this all must sound to you, but I guess my appearance, not to mention the state I have put you in, is at least some proof that I am not entirely full of shit. Now you’re probably wondering what I’m doing here, Mr. President--what kind of business could I possibly have with you. I mean . . . you being such a distinguished gentlemen and all. To tell you the truth, Mr. President, I was sent here by a group of concerned individuals. They also come from another dimension.

“Unfortunately, we have a lot of ground to cover so I won’t bore you with all the details, but this group--they used to live here on earth. I guess you could call them freedom fighters. They were some of the most intelligent people on the face of the earth and they led the last revolution--the information revolution, trying to educate the people--to wake them up before it was too late. But in the end, it wasn't soon enough and most of them ended up dying. Although, a few managed to make it through ‘the gateway’ before the end of the world.”

The president’s face turns white, as he slips down the back of his chair--his suit wrinkling.

“You look surprised that your world ends. I’m here to inform you, Mr. President, that YOU are the one most responsible for the death of the planet.”

The president shakes his head back and forth wildly, angrily mouthing words; spit flies.

“Now don’t get yourself worked up, Mr. President. You see, where I live now, there is no such thing as hate--only love and compassion. I guess you could call it evolution. I’ve been sent here to give you another chance . . . to give you the opportunity to change history--to make things right.”

The president's brow lifts.

“Yes, I know you’re not quite convinced that what I’m telling you is true. I do know, Mr. President, that you are about to make a decision that will change the course of history. Of course, this decision in itself will not be the fatal blow to mother earth and her inhabitants, but it will cause a chain of events that even I would’ve never thought possible.”

The president relaxes his posture--his eyes soften a little.

“In order to help you make the proper decision, I have brought along a machine to help educate you. Back home, I’m a teacher.”

An uneasy smile spreads across the president’s face as he strains to make out the machine at her feet.

She picks up the machine and sets it on the president’s desk. It resembles a small computer--key board and all. She bends over and picks up what appears to be a virtual reality headset.

“Okay, basically this machine is like a simulator. I put the headset on you and I start the program. Once the program starts, you will end up somewhere else. It will feel like you are really there. You will be able to move, talk, hear, smell, taste, etc. I will be your guide on your journey. You will be able to see me and talk with me, but no one else will be able to see or hear you. Think of it like the internet-- only 3-D. Anything you want to experience is waiting at your fingertips. One last thing you should know. Time is practically suspended during the simulation. What feels like a day is only minutes in reality.”

The president’s smile begins to shrink.

“There is no more time to explain things. We must proceed.”

She turns around and places the headset on the president’s head. He panics a little and tries with all his might to get out from under it, but only manages to break out in a sweat. Isis leans over the keyboard--her nails clicking loudly against the keys. The president looks at the monitor and makes out the word, “DEATH.” He closes his eyes as she hits the enter key.

A high pitched sound fills his ears and he can sense the absence of light through his closed lids. He feels as if the air is being sucked away from his body. A “rush” feeling overcomes him and he passes out for what seems like seconds. When he comes to, he opens his eyes, squinting under daylight.

He sits up and looks around, finding himself in a lush green meadow. A warm breeze passes over him, bending the long blades of grass. He inhales deeply, taking in the smell of moist earth.

“It’s so real, isn’t it?”

The president jumps back, forgetting he’s not alone.

“Where the fuck did you take me?”

“It doesn’t really matter where we’re at. What’s important is what you’re going to learn here. Come on, follow me. We don’t have much time.”

The president stands up and follows her. They walk for a couple of miles in silence until they come upon a village filled with small grass huts.

“They can’t see us?"

“No, and they can’t hear anything we say.”

“So what am I suppose to learn here? They seem like they’re living happy lives.”

“Yes, they are, aren’t they?”

Her last words seem to summon an awful sound--the roar of plane engines fills the air. The villagers run panicked, scooping up their children. As the planes fly overhead, several bombs fall from the sky, flashing silver in the light. An enormous explosion rips through the air and an angry red ball of fire engulfs the village. Thick black smoke rolls off the flames and surrounds them. The smell of death is everywhere.

“I can’t see you, Isis,” the president says, choking.

The president draws in a deep breath, searching for air. His nostrils fill with hot smoke, smelling of burnt flesh. Off in the distance, he hears cries--the sound of a woman crying over the loss of her child/the sound of a child crying over the loss of her parents.

"I can't breathe, Isis, I can't breath . . . help me, please . . ."

There is no response, only silence.

The president, overcome by heat and smoke, falls to his knees, slumps forward and collapses to the ground.

All is black.

In the blackness, the president starts to regain consciousness. He hears voices somewhere off in the distance and strains to open his eyes. He finds that he is lying in a hospital bed all alone. He sits up and scans the room, wondering if this is still part of the simulation.

"Isis," he whispers. "Are you there?"

There is no response. The president gets out of bed and makes his way down the long corridor towards the voices.

The president stops in front of a room--the door is ajar and he sees there are people inside.

"I was wondering when you would show up," Isis said, smiling.

She was standing next to an examining table which was surrounded by several people, appearing to be doctors and nurses. There was a sense of urgency in the air as they worked. They appeared to be trying to save someone's life.

"What's going on?" asked the president.

"They're trying to save her, but it doesn't look good. Her little body has suffered a terrible blow."

"What happened?"

"Some bulldozers tore through some homes this morning--they didn't even wait for people to get out--many died in their beds asleep. Some of the bodies are still burried in the rubble. The rooms here are filled now . . . some with survivors, but many more with the dying and dead. And down the hall . . .there are horrific sights to behold in those rooms."

Isis' voice cracks. "Come, follow me. This is something that you need to see."

"What about the little girl?"

"They weren't able to save her. She's dead now, along with the rest of her family."

The president follows Isis to a room at the end of the corridor. She opens the door and motions for him to step inside. The room contains several examining tables. There are no bodies on the tables--just piles and lumps of what looks like red mush here and there. No one else is in the room.

"Move closer," she says.

The president moves towards the examining table and then stops, his jaw dropping.

"Unimagineable horror, isn't it?" whispers Isis.

"I think I'm going to be sick."

The president places his hands over his mouth and runs for the door. He stops short--his body heaving forward. A spray of vomit splatters across the wall.

"I think you're starting to come around, Mr. President. Ready to go?"

There is no response.

Isis reaches over and turns the light switch off. The room is pitch black.

"I can't see," the president cries out.

"Oh, I'm sorry . . . you're ready to see now."

Isis flips the switch back on again. The lights come on, but they're no longer in the hospital room, but appear to be in some sort of bunker.

"What the hell are we doing here?"

"Because you gave the orders, Mr. President."

"What are you talking about? I didn't give any orders."

"I think, Mr. President, that you better sit down. This is going to be quite a shock to you."

The president sits down—his face expressionless. Isis points a remote control towards a row of t.v. monitors facing the president. In one press of a button, all monitors turn on, each one showing a different part of the world. The images reveal great devastation—smoke, fire, rubble, dead bodies. There doesn’t appear to be a structure left standing and no sign of life is visible.

“What is this . . . what the fuck is going on?”

“Well . . . things got out of hand, I guess you could say. You see, Mr. President, I know that you aren’t all bad. But when one is coming from the viewpoint that he stands on the moral high ground, he sometimes becomes blind and deaf . . . and then, very bad things can happen.”

“Are there any survivors?”

“Mr. President, the people that sent me to administer this simulation gave me direct and specific orders to not give you any further information regarding the end of the world. I hope that what you have seen and what I am telling you is enough to convince you that you need to change your mind about that decision you’re going to be making.”

“But that decision needs to be made . . . you don’t understand.”

“Okay, Mr. President, I see that the first phase of this simulation failed to impact you in the way that it needed to, which is quite unfortunate for you. But you give me no choice. I will have to administer the second phase of the simulation.”

“What do you mean, second phase?”

“Well . . . since you were not moved enough by the pain, death and destruction of others, maybe you will be stirred by the pain and possible death of your family.”

“Leave my family out of this,” he says, standing up.

“I wouldn’t advise taking that tone with me, Mr. President. Unfortunately, you have no choice but to cooperate fully. Otherwise, there will be dire consequences that even you could not conjure up.”

The president sits back down.

“Now . . . unlike what you witnessed during the first phase of the simulation, the pain and/or death that your family may experience is not real, although it will appear real to you. Like the other simulation, you will not be able to interact with anyone. The only thing that you can do is watch and listen. You will not be able to close your eyes and you will not be able to run away. There will be three scenes—one for each member of your family. Do you have any questions before we begin?”

The president sits with his head in his hands, appearing to sob.

“I take that as a no. One last thing. I will not be accompanying you this time. You must witness this alone. As soon as I snap my fingers, I will disappear and the second phase will begin. After the simulation is over, you will wake up in your study. This will be the last time you see me. It is up to you to make the final decision. I trust that you will make the right one.”

With that, she snaps her fingers. All is black and the second phase begins.

"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God."

The president wakes, muttering these words. His body is trembling and streams of sweat run down his back as he sits up in his chair. His eyes are full of tears. He looks around and realizes he's alone in his study. He lays his head on his desk, trying to regain his composure.

"What a fucked up dream," he says under his breath, sitting up in his chair.

He strikes a key on his keyboard and leans back, waiting for his computer to come up. The phone rings, causing him to jump.

"Hello," he answers . . ."Yeah, I'm glad you called," he says, leaning towards the monitor--his jaw drops.

On the monitor the word DEATH? is typed out. The cursor blinks as if waiting for his next move.

"No, no, I'm still here. But, we really need to talk."



0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home


A Seattle peep-show girl shares stories of her customers and adventures stemming from her bare-it-all behavior.

. . .

S W I T C H

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4 & 5


. . .

PSS coded by: the thistle

. . .

Archives : Happy Valentine's Day / [The Exorcist steps] Happy Friday the 13th ... / Faster, Pussy Cat! Kill! Kill! One of t... / / Yikes!! >> From: [Deleted] >> Reply-To: [Delet... / The Girls There are two femme lovers that l... / The beautiful and charming Girl. . . still gra... / / / [Marcello Mastroianni in Fellini's masterpiece: ... /

All Archives

All Peep Show Stories by Category

"Pagan Moss rocks. Her blog is all about compassion; it is the human drama unfolded. . . . And hot chicks in frilly knickers."
--Notes From The Emerald City

"Fascinating workplace material (NSFW, I'd say, not safe for your workplace) about working at the Fantasy Unlimited peep show in downtown Seattle."
--Anita Rowland

"This is good."
--Aberrant News

"Pagan Moss rocks!"
--Daze Reader

"Pagan Moss' Peep Show Stories is one of the best sex blogs online."
--Bottom's Up!

"Pagan Moss, leader of the Sensual Liberation Army, dishes up an intimate look at the world of real-life sex workers in a Seattle peep show. And you don't need to put any quarters in slots to have a peep."
--Orlando Weekly, which listed PSS as the Number One "Horniest Blog"

"If you haven't already, meet Belle and Pagan Moss. They inspired me by making me wet every time I'd read their blogs. You'll love it."
--Red Whore

Seattle Weblog Portal

. . .

Powered by Blogger

. . .

Creative Commons License

This weblog is licensed under
a Creative Commons License.

Who Links Here

. . .

Webwhore Manifesto signatory