Shall we play a game?
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((Lets play a writing game, here's how it goes:
We are going to write a story together. Here are the rules:
I am going to start writing a story.
-Each person that posts after me gets up to 500 words to continue the story.
-You do not need use use all 500 words but if you go over the limit the next person that posts is allowed to disregard anything that happens after the 500 word limit.
-You can take the story in any direction you want but what you write MUST connect to what was written by the person before you.
-NO DOUBLE POSTING!
-Be courteous, don't hog the story by jumping in the second someone else has posted. If you have already contributed to the story give others a chance to do so before you contribute again.
-If you wish to make additional comments please put them in double brackets as if they were OCC comments in an RP. These do not count to the 500 word limit.
Lets begin))
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“Another day, another dollar.” Muttered Frank as he took a swig from his beer bottle.
Stella Artois...a thing of beauty they said but right now the liquid in the bottle just looked like piss to him. Frank walked down the street, his drunken eyes wondering over the bright neon signs of the town, looking for something, anything to soothe the discontent in his soul.
As a lost 20 something Frank had fallen into the trap so many of his generation had become ensnared in. Raised on a diet of media extolling the virtues of passion and individuality, he had grown up thinking he was destined for greatness. As an adult he had found himself the inheritor of a shallow society, a broken economy and a shitty job. Tonight he had managed to survive another round of corporate downsizing but his salary had taken a cut.
Rounding a corner he was confronted with a line of shops that catered to those of the geek persuasion. Figurine stores, manga rentals, and even a maid cafe. Otaku in greasy shirts wondered the street while cos-players strutted their stuff. It brought back memories for Frank. Years ago he’d been a fanboy himself, but he had long since abandoned the fandom dismissing it as childish. Anime DVDs had given way to “Understanding Economics in 12 lessons,” dating sims had given way to a real girlfriend (who had dumped him three months ago) and cos-play had given way to sensible office wear.
What did it matter anymore? It wasn’t like getting piss drunk was any better than fantasising about waifus. Speaking of which, perhaps it was time to sober up. Tossing the beer bottle aside Frank walked towards the maid cafe. The maids were all bubbly and perky, greeting him with shouts of “welcome home master!” even though Frank with his crooked tie and scruffy office shirt didn’t look anything like an English Lord. One of the maids boldly took Frank by the arm and guided him to his seat. This one was obviously good at her job, she wore the maid oufit well too. Not all girls could pull off the look but this one... Her long straight hair framed a cute face and fell across her apron which curved around an ample bosom. The cheeky girl was even pressing her breast ever so slightly into Frank’s arm though the rules expressly forbade contact with the clients.
As they arrived at the table Frank gingerly extracted his arm from the maid’s grasp and accepted the menu. Don’t be fooled, he thought. It’s all a cock tease, they just want your money, get your coffee then get out. Franks eyes widened as he saw the price of the coffee but he bought it anyway. Surprisingly it turned out to be really good, almost worth the price.
As the caffeine began to burn the alcohol from his brain Frank noticed the maid still hovering around him.
“Can I get you anything else master?” she asked sweetly.
((Word count: Exactly 500. What will happen next? Is this the beginning of an exciting adventure for Frank? Will he sink deeper into his misery? Will he discover happiness? Or will something completely unrelated happen nearby and shift the focus of the story elsewhere? YOU DECIDE!))
We are going to write a story together. Here are the rules:
I am going to start writing a story.
-Each person that posts after me gets up to 500 words to continue the story.
-You do not need use use all 500 words but if you go over the limit the next person that posts is allowed to disregard anything that happens after the 500 word limit.
-You can take the story in any direction you want but what you write MUST connect to what was written by the person before you.
-NO DOUBLE POSTING!
-Be courteous, don't hog the story by jumping in the second someone else has posted. If you have already contributed to the story give others a chance to do so before you contribute again.
-If you wish to make additional comments please put them in double brackets as if they were OCC comments in an RP. These do not count to the 500 word limit.
Lets begin))
----------------------------
“Another day, another dollar.” Muttered Frank as he took a swig from his beer bottle.
Stella Artois...a thing of beauty they said but right now the liquid in the bottle just looked like piss to him. Frank walked down the street, his drunken eyes wondering over the bright neon signs of the town, looking for something, anything to soothe the discontent in his soul.
As a lost 20 something Frank had fallen into the trap so many of his generation had become ensnared in. Raised on a diet of media extolling the virtues of passion and individuality, he had grown up thinking he was destined for greatness. As an adult he had found himself the inheritor of a shallow society, a broken economy and a shitty job. Tonight he had managed to survive another round of corporate downsizing but his salary had taken a cut.
Rounding a corner he was confronted with a line of shops that catered to those of the geek persuasion. Figurine stores, manga rentals, and even a maid cafe. Otaku in greasy shirts wondered the street while cos-players strutted their stuff. It brought back memories for Frank. Years ago he’d been a fanboy himself, but he had long since abandoned the fandom dismissing it as childish. Anime DVDs had given way to “Understanding Economics in 12 lessons,” dating sims had given way to a real girlfriend (who had dumped him three months ago) and cos-play had given way to sensible office wear.
What did it matter anymore? It wasn’t like getting piss drunk was any better than fantasising about waifus. Speaking of which, perhaps it was time to sober up. Tossing the beer bottle aside Frank walked towards the maid cafe. The maids were all bubbly and perky, greeting him with shouts of “welcome home master!” even though Frank with his crooked tie and scruffy office shirt didn’t look anything like an English Lord. One of the maids boldly took Frank by the arm and guided him to his seat. This one was obviously good at her job, she wore the maid oufit well too. Not all girls could pull off the look but this one... Her long straight hair framed a cute face and fell across her apron which curved around an ample bosom. The cheeky girl was even pressing her breast ever so slightly into Frank’s arm though the rules expressly forbade contact with the clients.
As they arrived at the table Frank gingerly extracted his arm from the maid’s grasp and accepted the menu. Don’t be fooled, he thought. It’s all a cock tease, they just want your money, get your coffee then get out. Franks eyes widened as he saw the price of the coffee but he bought it anyway. Surprisingly it turned out to be really good, almost worth the price.
As the caffeine began to burn the alcohol from his brain Frank noticed the maid still hovering around him.
“Can I get you anything else master?” she asked sweetly.
((Word count: Exactly 500. What will happen next? Is this the beginning of an exciting adventure for Frank? Will he sink deeper into his misery? Will he discover happiness? Or will something completely unrelated happen nearby and shift the focus of the story elsewhere? YOU DECIDE!))
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leonard267
FAKKU Non-Writer
Alas, many a felony has been committed under the influence of alcohol. Yes, the coffee did purge some of the nasty substance out from the grey matter within his skull somewhat but does not mean that he is completely sober. When he heard the words, "Can I get you anything else, master?", the part of his brain that is responsible for common sense ceased to function and he embarked on a long tirade.
"Oh... You are a maid. These days you don't have to go to a maid agency to get one of those people to clean your house and enjoy your house while you are slogging your guts out 8 hours a day for a misery paycheck!
"No. While they are supposed to be at home, cleaning my house like a paid slave while I go out to work as a paid slave, they go moonlighting in those cafes where they press their bosoms on whatever that is humanoid in shape! Then they get pregnant and I have to terminate their services because of some stupid labour law and I have to pay even more money to get another maid because of something called inflation!
"Let me tell you this woman! I would like to have some money, so that I can hire a maid. Then I can start a maid cafe and have more money and hire more maids. And once I have more maids, I have more money that will be spent on more maid cafes and maids and one day, I will open a maid agency that trafficks women from third world countries to be paid slaves ..."
That was followed by more inaudible mumbling. Frank then peered at the waitress with rather bleary eyes. She looked rather taken aback. Frank did not realise it but he was gripping her wrist whilst he was going on about maids and maid cafes. He loosened his grip and made an effort to speak,
"Urgh... I must be drunk. Get me more of the Stella Artois, or coffee or anything that can be ingested."
"Oh... You are a maid. These days you don't have to go to a maid agency to get one of those people to clean your house and enjoy your house while you are slogging your guts out 8 hours a day for a misery paycheck!
"No. While they are supposed to be at home, cleaning my house like a paid slave while I go out to work as a paid slave, they go moonlighting in those cafes where they press their bosoms on whatever that is humanoid in shape! Then they get pregnant and I have to terminate their services because of some stupid labour law and I have to pay even more money to get another maid because of something called inflation!
"Let me tell you this woman! I would like to have some money, so that I can hire a maid. Then I can start a maid cafe and have more money and hire more maids. And once I have more maids, I have more money that will be spent on more maid cafes and maids and one day, I will open a maid agency that trafficks women from third world countries to be paid slaves ..."
That was followed by more inaudible mumbling. Frank then peered at the waitress with rather bleary eyes. She looked rather taken aback. Frank did not realise it but he was gripping her wrist whilst he was going on about maids and maid cafes. He loosened his grip and made an effort to speak,
"Urgh... I must be drunk. Get me more of the Stella Artois, or coffee or anything that can be ingested."
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((It's been a while since I've participated in something like this. Here we gooooooo))
The teary-eyed waitress took no time in scurrying to the back kitchen, no doubt to immediately tell her coworkers and manager about the schmuck in her section. At the very least, she would take her time back there to avoid him as much as possible. As she shuffled away, Frank couldn't help but take a sideways glance at her skirt as it spun, showing off just enough skin to keep most asking for more. He was a man after all. But as short as skirts in this place went, hers seem to be showing off more skin than it should be. Small slits towards the middle showed off just the slightest hint of white cotton.
It was a tear. A sizable one. Of course, if she were conscious of it, she could conceal it fairly easily. But she didn't. It was a neat little gift from the universe, but Frank could take it or leave it. Teenage panties weren't the highest on his list of priorities. By no means were they the lowest, but other things took precedence. At the moment, his Artois was that thing.
He dropped his head into his folded arms on the table, staring out at the predominantly male crowd. Other maids came and went, and as they passed he would steal a peek at their tail ends. Considering the amount of cameras in the room, both blatant and hidden, what he was doing was hardly the sleaziest thing to witness. But something eventually caught his attention. They all had tears. Each one of them, torn. Some smaller than others, and some on the stockings rather than the skirt itself, but each of them were torn.
He wanted to look a little bit more, but his drink had arrived. Or rather, drinks. Both a coffee and bottle of beer were standing on the maid's tray, and she hurriedly placed them on the table, her eyes not wanting to meet his. The potential tip apparently wasn't worth the definite hassle. She nodded and forced a smile before turning to tend to other patrons. Before she could get too far, he called out to her.
"Hey. Excuse me." She hesitated, then turned around.
"...Yes? Is there something wrong, master?" He rubbed his eyes.
"No, no. This is fine. It's just uh..." he motioned to her skirt. "It looks like you've got a bit of a tear. Just on the back there." She peered over her shoulder as if she'd be able to see anything at that angle, then reached behind her to pull a bit of skirt up to take a look. Somewhere nearby, a camera shutter clicked. "It looks like a lot of you guys are torn." He pointed at some of the other maids on the floor.
The teary-eyed waitress took no time in scurrying to the back kitchen, no doubt to immediately tell her coworkers and manager about the schmuck in her section. At the very least, she would take her time back there to avoid him as much as possible. As she shuffled away, Frank couldn't help but take a sideways glance at her skirt as it spun, showing off just enough skin to keep most asking for more. He was a man after all. But as short as skirts in this place went, hers seem to be showing off more skin than it should be. Small slits towards the middle showed off just the slightest hint of white cotton.
It was a tear. A sizable one. Of course, if she were conscious of it, she could conceal it fairly easily. But she didn't. It was a neat little gift from the universe, but Frank could take it or leave it. Teenage panties weren't the highest on his list of priorities. By no means were they the lowest, but other things took precedence. At the moment, his Artois was that thing.
He dropped his head into his folded arms on the table, staring out at the predominantly male crowd. Other maids came and went, and as they passed he would steal a peek at their tail ends. Considering the amount of cameras in the room, both blatant and hidden, what he was doing was hardly the sleaziest thing to witness. But something eventually caught his attention. They all had tears. Each one of them, torn. Some smaller than others, and some on the stockings rather than the skirt itself, but each of them were torn.
He wanted to look a little bit more, but his drink had arrived. Or rather, drinks. Both a coffee and bottle of beer were standing on the maid's tray, and she hurriedly placed them on the table, her eyes not wanting to meet his. The potential tip apparently wasn't worth the definite hassle. She nodded and forced a smile before turning to tend to other patrons. Before she could get too far, he called out to her.
"Hey. Excuse me." She hesitated, then turned around.
"...Yes? Is there something wrong, master?" He rubbed his eyes.
"No, no. This is fine. It's just uh..." he motioned to her skirt. "It looks like you've got a bit of a tear. Just on the back there." She peered over her shoulder as if she'd be able to see anything at that angle, then reached behind her to pull a bit of skirt up to take a look. Somewhere nearby, a camera shutter clicked. "It looks like a lot of you guys are torn." He pointed at some of the other maids on the floor.
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The maid seemed terminally embarrassed for a few seconds looking at the tear in her skirt then to the tears in the uniforms of her colleagues.
“Oh, thanks for noticing master, I’ll be sure to fix this at the end of my shift.”
She was trying to be cute again, but she couldn’t quite keep the edge of bemusement out of her voice. No doubt everybody who visited the cafe noticed the tears but Frank was probably one of the few who had the decency to point them out. And the maids did indeed wear their costumes well, it seemed more of a travesty than a tease that such high quality costumes were defaced in this manner. Frank didn’t know whether the maids had made the tears themselves or if their boss had done it. Either way it was a pity, even if there was extra skin on offer.
Frank fished a crumpled bank note out of his pocket and placed it on the table. Part of him felt silly for soliciting the maid any further but it had been a while since he’d had any meaningful human contact. Besides did the fact that the company was paid for make it any less real? The maid glanced at the money clearly wondering how hard Frank would make her work for it. He saw the conflict in her eyes and like a fool put down another bill. That did it. The maid quickly scooped the money into her apron and cheerfully plopped herself down at his table.
Frank realised that he had two drinks in front of him: coffee and a beer. After few seconds pondering he pushed the beer towards the maid more because he didn’t want to get any more drunk than because he actually thought he could get her drunk. The maid looked apprehensively at the beer before opening it with a bottle opener and pushing it back. Frank stopped her half way.
“If you don’t want to drink just leave it standing there. I’d rather I at least look like I’m being magnanimous.” said Frank.
For a while he sat back and sipped his coffee, letting his eyes drink in the sight of this cute maid who stared back at him quizzically.
“You know for what it’s worth, I’m sorry for what I said earlier. Of course, everything is fine now that you have my money right?”
The maid looked really confused now. Of course it was all about money but she still had an illusion to sell. Mercifully Frank raised a hand.
“You know what, you don’t need to answer that. I know how this works. You’ll tell me whatever I want to hear. Question is what do you think I want to hear?”
The maid stared back at him incredulously but she could find no contempt or sarcasm in Frank’s expression: only a tired curiosity.
“Oh, thanks for noticing master, I’ll be sure to fix this at the end of my shift.”
She was trying to be cute again, but she couldn’t quite keep the edge of bemusement out of her voice. No doubt everybody who visited the cafe noticed the tears but Frank was probably one of the few who had the decency to point them out. And the maids did indeed wear their costumes well, it seemed more of a travesty than a tease that such high quality costumes were defaced in this manner. Frank didn’t know whether the maids had made the tears themselves or if their boss had done it. Either way it was a pity, even if there was extra skin on offer.
Frank fished a crumpled bank note out of his pocket and placed it on the table. Part of him felt silly for soliciting the maid any further but it had been a while since he’d had any meaningful human contact. Besides did the fact that the company was paid for make it any less real? The maid glanced at the money clearly wondering how hard Frank would make her work for it. He saw the conflict in her eyes and like a fool put down another bill. That did it. The maid quickly scooped the money into her apron and cheerfully plopped herself down at his table.
Frank realised that he had two drinks in front of him: coffee and a beer. After few seconds pondering he pushed the beer towards the maid more because he didn’t want to get any more drunk than because he actually thought he could get her drunk. The maid looked apprehensively at the beer before opening it with a bottle opener and pushing it back. Frank stopped her half way.
“If you don’t want to drink just leave it standing there. I’d rather I at least look like I’m being magnanimous.” said Frank.
For a while he sat back and sipped his coffee, letting his eyes drink in the sight of this cute maid who stared back at him quizzically.
“You know for what it’s worth, I’m sorry for what I said earlier. Of course, everything is fine now that you have my money right?”
The maid looked really confused now. Of course it was all about money but she still had an illusion to sell. Mercifully Frank raised a hand.
“You know what, you don’t need to answer that. I know how this works. You’ll tell me whatever I want to hear. Question is what do you think I want to hear?”
The maid stared back at him incredulously but she could find no contempt or sarcasm in Frank’s expression: only a tired curiosity.