Writing Exercise: Hamming! It! Up!

[StillStunned]

In a recent post I compared Robert E Howard's pulp writing to hamming it up as an actor: "You can almost picture Brian Blessed and William Shatner proclaiming the dialogue quoted above, with Christopher Lee as the narrator."

I think writing nowadays tends towards the realistic, the understated, the subtle. But wouldn't it be fun to go the other way for a change? To write as if you want to be published in a 1930s pulp rag, or you're a Victorian author trying to bring the "mysteries of the Orient" to life. Or as if the only entertainment you've ever seen was 1950s musicals, or you'd never read a damning criticism of adverbs or purple prose.

So let's try to ham it up for once! Let's dip our pen in the purple ink, and ask our inner Nicholas Cage to speak the lines! Let's end every sentence with an exclamation mark!

I've found it harder than I thought. It's the most complete departure from my usual style that I've ever attempted. I might need a few attempts to get it right.

The usual rules apply: keep it short, stick to Lit's publishing guidelines, and try not to take it seriously.

 

[StillStunned]

It was a bedraggled shade of the once-fine gentleman who was almost carried in between two guards, head down and long hair hiding his face. Black boots bore scuffmarks, the fine woollen breeches were ripped, and the embroidered doublet was torn open to reveal a stained silk shirt

The Count sat forward eagerly in his seat, looking down from the dais with a cruel smile playing on his lips. Bony hands gripped the carved wooden armrests until the diamond rings on his trembling fingers sent flashes across the room.

“So now, De Neuville!” he sneered. “You return to me at last. Have you come to ask for my daughter’s hand? That would be courteous, if a month overdue.”

Beside him Frere Bruno, his fat counsellor, tittered. “Most overdue, Your Grace! Yet the Sieur de Neuville has such fine manners that this must surely be his purpose.” He tittered again and wiped sweat from his pallid, bald scalp.

The Count guffawed. “Is that true, De Neuville? Have you come to show off those manners that were the toast of my court? Speak, man!”

The great hall was quiet but for the spitting of the torches in their iron brackets, and the howl of the wind outside. At last De Neuville raised his head, and a gasp whispered around the hall.

For the face was not that of France’s most courteous gentleman. Beneath the lanky hair, the bruised eyes and the swollen lip, it was the face of Eloise, the Count’s daughter.

“Do you recognise me now, Father?” she whispered, the words loud in the silent air even so. “Did you truly not see me in De Neuville? When he flirted with the ladies of your court, when he laughed with you on the hunt, when he counselled you to rid yourself of the adder who hisses in your ear?”

With that she shot at Frere Bruno a look so venomous that the priest blanched and took half a pace back. “Witchcraft!” he shrieked. “To alter your face so, to deceive your own flesh and blood – witchcraft, and you a witch, to be burned until the fire cleanses your sins from your flesh!”

“No!” The Count, startled by these words out of his shock, spoke at last. “Hold your tongue, priest, until I have uncovered the truth!”

“But Your Grace–” the pallid man began, but the Count’s roar cut him off.

“Hold your tongue, I told you! Do not test me, priest, or it will be you who burns at the stake!”

 

[Z_TheWriter]

"Is there no place in the world for one such as me? I have not always been perfect that's for damn sure! But do not the high and mighty also say that needs must when there are ends to meet?"

He stumbled forward in the queue towards the chamber, towards inevitability, towards the end of all things.

"And meet them I did! My only sin, perhaps in caring too much! In being too fond of these ends, and of the ladies they were attached to.

"I have had many children, and have always tried to care for them - In my own way! Some I have even seen meet this same fate that now befalls me. How heavy my heart weighed as I watched them trod along in this very spot! And yet I never thought- Nay! Somehow never even dreamed in my wildest fancies that one day, I too would be here, herded along, like cattle..."

He was at the door now, and could hear the panicked vocalizations, suddenly cut short, of erstwhile compatriots now sharing his doom. Being shoved forward by someone behind him, he panicked wildly himself.

"Nay I say, nay! I shall not go quietly into that good night sir! I shall not give you the satisfaction of this grim business seeming dignified in the least! You are a malicious brute, and I regret to have ever-"

The farmer took the bolt gun from his forehead, farmhands lifted his carcass onto the final hook in the truck. They closed the doors. "Ham" it said. "Fresh ham from American farms"

 

[THBGato]

This is basically What develops by @PennyThompson

 

[dirk2024]

Franklin couldn't help but catch the foul, tenacious scent as he moved downwind of the copse of trees. Few and far between, most woodland thickets were a veritable explosion of eager life. He noticed this one was absent of fauna, which surprised him, what with many different species of colorful song birds and funloving squirrels that normally infested such an island of flora.

As he closed in to the dense growth, the man, seasoned by years of outdoor exploration, was sure that many baths would be needed to scrub his body clean and his clothes would have to be burned as there was no hope of saving them from the malordorous scent.

He had smelled wild game before, had made a career of tracking down the many different evil creatures of this world that had escaped most hunters. He had smelled sweat, old yet lingering. He had smelled rotten, fetid meat of the leavings of the various carvniores he had tracked. Not all killed for food. Some killed for sport. The worst of the vile monsters, well they also defiled their victims before their blood was drained from their now soulless bodies.

The silence was deafening.

He was sure to not disturb the eery tranquility as he carefully stepped forward, avoiding any sticks or rocks that might give his creeping presence away to the nothing that was here. Excrutiatingly slow, he edged through the outer ring of scrabbly brushy that desperately tried to trap him in place and prevent his advancement into the criminal scene at the center of this stand of small tree's and shrubs.

His jaw, scrabbled with several days of beard growth, dropped as he stepped into the opening. He had heard the rumours, not believing that any one of them was true. The thought was too outlandish, yet here was the evidence of the cruel, scandalous tales.

Here lay the missing man he had been hired to find. Yet the hunter didn't feel at all successful. Success was measured by finding the living, not the horribly defiled dead. The victims throat was untouched. His face, frozen in what looked like painful fear, was equally clear of scrapes and contusions. However the source of his wounds were lower. His pants and underwear were shredded and bloody and oozing with something else. The single wound, if one could call it that, centered on the casualties rectum. It had been violated, repeatedly and with malice. It looked like it had been rutted on as well.

There was only one thing, one monster, that could do this. It proved all those disgusting rumors as true.

Franklin, no longer brave, fell to his knee's in shocked disgust, retching his dismay onto the dry, dusty earth. Then, the urge to seek assitance overtook the normally inflappable tracker. To find help, for once in his vaunted career.

"WEREPIGS!" he yelled into the lonely, gray skies above.

 

[THBGato]

"Bye girls! Have fun with Grandma and Grampy at the Zoo!" I said as I hugged Evie one last time.

'Thank you,' I mouthed to my father-in-law over the top of my daughters' heads. He gave me a wink in return.

"Enjoy your time off, Ram," he called back.

Sighing, I closed the door. If only; a massive pile of Year 11 marking awaited my attention.

"Cherie!? Could you come upstairs, s'il vous plait?" a voice called from the top of the stairs.

"Liz?!" I hadn't realised my wife was home.

"Je suis pas Liz, cherie, je suis... Lizabette." The accent was straight out of a bad sitcom.

My wife appeared them at the top of the stairs then. My jaw dropped and my nipples stiffened. She was clad - well almost - in a French maid's outfit; the apron, the stockings, the little hat. It didn't fit. I t was too big for her and was gaping, so I could see one of her nipples.

MMMM.

"Mis-tress," she simpered, badly, "I am ve-ry sor-ry, but I have been oh so naugh-ty. I am afraid my mis-tress will be veee-ry ang-ry with me."

I was trying my best not to laugh at her appalling French accent, even as my eyes roved over her body. She might be in her fifties but she was smoking hot.

"In the bedroom, now," I husked, whipping my top over my head and ascending the stairs. My sports bra followed quickly. Marking could wait.

"Zut alors!" she cried, hand placed dramatically over her mouth. She spun, revealing her bare bottom. "Oui Madame!"

 

[nice90sguy]

This purple passage is actually from one of one of my earliest posted stories here (2003):

He moaned. Sweat dripped from his nose and ears. His eyes fluttered closed. The chorus, from a great distance it seemed, sang, commanding him to keep looking. The images raced down upon him like a flock of maddened pigeons. Every photo he'd ever masturbated over, every man or woman who'd given him a real or imagined sexual thrill seemed to surround him, touching him, prodding, stroking, poking, scratching, tickling, licking him.

His penis felt as if it would tear itself apart. He was about to come, he knew it... but "Not yet... not yet...you are not deep enough..." the voices sang to him.

Suddenly the mood changed, the images becoming more disturbing, more ominous, stranger, and also more detailed – realer but more fantastic. Violently, like a rush of black lava they erupted from a grinning volcano in his mind.

Now they coalesced and cooled... now they were reality...

...He was in a familiar bedroom, crimson, cream and white. Two identical scrawny girls (he recognised them, they were one of his friend's twin nieces) sat naked on him facing his feet, one on his erection, one on his face. His hearing muffled by her legs, he heard the girl on his face say, "This is what you get for stealing my Snickers, Uncle Mickey", as she began defecating in his mouth.

The girls bobbed and jiggled on him, singing and giggling. Then he felt panic as he realised he could no longer breathe – they were going to smother him. He came, yielding to the sensation of their small, cool buttocks pressing against his face and groin...

...He was in a curtained alcove in a bazaar that smelled of cumin and saffron. A grotesquely fat Asian-looking man appeared and smiled at him revealing a gold tooth. The man was naked except for a yellow chiffon neck scarf. He was oiled with patchouli and ylang-ylang.

He turned away to show Mick a great oily behind, and backed slowly towards Mick until it pushed against him. Mick's penis slithered between the huge slippery cheeks and he came deep inside the man, who crooned and wiggled, urging him on in a strange language. The man farted loudly with every thrust.

Mick twisted and tightened the scarf at the man's neck with his right hand, while with the other he reached around and grabbed the man's short, wide erection, feeling hot semen trickling down his wrist as he strangled him...

...Now the scene changed to the college library where a very tall and sinewy vulture-woman with red-lidded eyes and a cruel grimace came nose to nose with him. She screamed a fierce curse in his face and he became paralysed.

With a swoop of her arms she dug deeply and powerfully into his flesh and quickly tore through into his abdomen with her long, black razor-sharp nails. She ripped him open like a dolls' house, reached inside him, wrenched out his stomach, and began to devour it like a starved dog, covering her face with his blood.

Then she dropped suddenly to her knees and chewed off his penis while he stood helpless and transfixed, unable even to scream in agony. She lifted it and held it close to his face, waving it at him triumphantly. She grabbed him by his hair and jerked his head down towards it. He began to weep. He watched his disembodied member ejaculating in her tight grip. She laughed, and leaned towards him. Licking his ears, she hissed at him that she would suck out his eyeballs while he bled to death...

...Now he beheld a paper-white young girl with crimson hair by Munch laid out spread-eagled on the cold tiled floor of a vast church.. She was emaciated and tubercular looking. She breathed quickly and shallowly, almost in a faint. He knelt, lifted her pelvis and fucked her. He turned her and fucked her anus. Turned her and fucked her mouth, eyes, ears, hair. He pinioned her arms as he lay on her, watching a trickle of his semen drip slowly from her lips, mixing with a sticky stream of blood from her nose.

She begged him soundlessly to stop.

He stifled her silent cries, squeezing her nostrils together with one hand, holding her lips together with the other. He watched her, feeling the ever-weakening attempts to free herself, till she expired. He fucked her corpse again and again, tearing and grinding her lips with his teeth. He heard her flesh rend as with superhuman force he hooked his arms around her legs and pulled them completely apart from her body...

 

[Jackie.Hikaru]

With apologies to pretty much every girl meets boy K-drama:

I don’t wear black because I’m always sad. I am always sad, of course, but that’s a separate matter. I wear black to better disappear into a dark night, because that’s what I prefer, and because my long straight hair was as black as can be, so I felt predestined to it.

Tonight I wore a black dress, and a black coat, and while heading home alone from a late night party, my affinity for black had nearly cost me my life. Almost. Instead, it had caused the beginning of the end of my sadness.

Snow fell in blinding sheets. All the city lights were off. And I was drunk enough not to give any thought to the dangers of stepping out onto the street.

Everything happened in a flash. Bright, blinding light. The sound of a horn. The car screeching its tire in the slushy street to try in vain to stop before colliding with me. The driver of the car couldn’t have seen me before I passed in front of his headlights, with my long black coat, and black hair. But someone did.

That someone had grabbed me by the collar of my coat to pull me from the street. The wind from the car whispered past like Death cursing his missed appointment. Only after the car’s red rear lights vanished into the night did I realize that I remained held in a warm, strong embrace… a warm, strong embrace by arms that were my fortress of fate.

I looked up, and found in the light of the full, silver moon, the snow-flecked face of my savior, an angel, jaws sculpted like divine spite, eyes smoldering with the light of a thousand distant stars, and lips that, though they had yet to speak, I knew could speak words that would ruin me.

 

[SimonDoom]

Kock: Captain's Log. Stardate 23571109. We're in orbit. Around a planet never visited by the Federation before, Beta Submissa. We've received. A distress call. We're going to find out. What it's about.

Looks at the camera with a hint of amusement; sucks in his gut.

Kock: Nohuri, any word?

Nohuri, showing a lot of black-stockinged thigh in the short red minidress: They're hailing us now, Captain.

An image appears on the screen: three women. Blonde. Brunette. Red head. All nude. The blonde speaks.

Blonde: I am Felatia, ruler of Beta Submissa.

Kock stands, legs apart, at an angle to show off his torso with his gut sucked in, with great effort. The girdle is working. Mostly.

Kock: This is Jism T. Kock, Captain of the USS Winnaprize. We received. A distress call. But may I say (that insolent smile, again). Ladies. You don't look. Distressed. (Gesticulating and wondering if his hair looks just right).

Felatia: We haven't had any . . . men on our planet for over a year, Captain. I'm sure you can appreciate our distress. We need . . . your services.

Her companions twist and coo and titter on the screen.

Kock raises his eyebrows and smiles broadly.

Kock: I do indeed. I'm beaming down in a minute. To provide all the. Assistance I can.

He turns to his doctor.

Kock: Boner, I think you should come, too. To see. What. "Medical attention" these ladies need.

Boner: Dammit, Jism, I'm a doctor, not a gigolo.

Suddenly, the first officer speaks up.

Spunk: Captain, I believe this would violate the Prime Directive against interference.

Kock (irritated): Dammit, Spunk. Why don't you and your pointy ears go play some 3-D chess? I've got some. Planet saving to do.

He turns back to the screen. Smiles winningly.

Kock: Coming, ladies. If you. Know what I mean.

 

[dirk2024]

Kock: Captain's Log. Stardate 23571109. We're in orbit.

Winner, winner...chicken dinner!

 

[SimonDoom]

Winner, winner...chicken dinner!

View attachment 2579709

You like me! You really like me.

 

[Soixenta]

(I thought this would be harder, but as soon as I decided to start with the moon, it came very easily. I am afraid that says more about me than about this challenge.)


The full moon let its silver glow fall on the upturned face, soft light stroking softer skin like a lover’s first caress.

“Oh Moon,” Princess Aluna called in a muted voice, “why can your touch not be that of Prince Hiero? When will I feel his fingers on my cheek once more?”

If the moon replied, nobody heard it but the princess. Behind her a door opened and her maid Cillia entered.

“Mistress!” she cried, dashing forward and throwing herself at Princess Aluna’s feet. “Oh, woe, woe! I have such awful news that I cannot bear to tell it!”

“What is it, Cillia?” cried the princess, sinking to her knees and clasping the maid’s hands between her own. “Oh, whatever it is, it must be awful indeed to upset you so! Is it about my father the king? Or about my mother the queen?” She gasped and closed her eyes. “Is it… is it about Prince Hiero? Say it is not so!”

“Alas, alas, sweet mistress!” the maid sobbed. “Yes, my awful news is about that brave and handsome gentleman, the only suitor fit to even raise his eyes to meet your own!”

“No!” whispered the princess. “It cannot be, awful news about Prince Hiero! For only this afternoon he swore to me to return from his dangerous quest and claim my hand. I cannot bear to think that he has come to some misadventure so soon!”

“But it is true,” Cillia insisted, pressing her cheek to her mistress’s hand. “I heard it from Cook, and Cook had it from Captain Froan, who had it direct from the Seneschal. And the Seneschal must have heard it from the messenger who came riding to the castle in such haste, not an hour since, demanding to see your father the king and your mother the queen! What else could that have been but the dire tidings of which I now bring you news?”

Princess Aluna gasped in dismay. “Then it must be true! These horrid tidings that you will divulge, that heavy message that must weigh like a millstone in your heart, the words that you fear to speak lest you break my tender heart – they must be true!”

 

[mrs_mackenzie]

[Spotlight; heroine alone on stage]
When I was a little girl
My father always said to me
Cat! Never trust an earl
Nor a boy who lives in Leigh-on-Sea!

[Chorus enters right]
When I was a young lady
My father always said to me
Cat! Don't speak if he's shady
Nor if he's a man from Leigh-on-Sea!

[Dance interlude]

[Showgirls enter left]
When I was a blushing mademoiselle
My father always said to me
Cat! Never do it in a cheap hotel
Nor EVER with a gent from Leigh-on-Sea!

[Whole cast on stage]
When I was a bride in white
My father always said to me
Cat! Even if his father is a knight
Don't marry a man from Leigh-on-Sea!

[Orchestral interlude; complex cast choreography]

[Cast form line; high-kicking]
Now that I'm lying with my thighs widespread
I thought of my father and what he'd recommend
And as the earl fucked me in the tiny hotel bed
I said! Father! It's okay! He's from SOUTHEND!

[Curtain]

[Encore]

(Sorry...)

 

[StillStunned]

Above him the howling night sky, below him the frothing sea. They roared at each other, with his small boat caught in between, like two great wild beasts fighting over their prey. And like a small, wily animal he raced between them, seeking safety and escape.

The wind lashed at his hair and saltwater sprayed his cheeks. Baring his teeth, Sven Silkbeard laughed in the face of the onslaught. “Catch me!” he roared, his voice clear even over the din of the storm. “If you can, catch me, and I will acknowledge you my match!”

But no matter how fiercely the sea tossed the tiny craft, or how angrily the wind tore at its sails, still it sped forward, following the stars towards the shore.

In the boat’s bow a small form stirred. Pale cheeks appeared from under a thick cloak, and dark eyes. “How long?” asked a small voice. “How long to safety, or Death’s cool embrace? For I care not which comes first, if only this storm would cease!”

“Storm? Nay, Princeling, this is no storm!” And Silkbeard guffawed. “Why, when I was a lad your age I would cross the icy Northern Sea in weather worse than this just to bring a trinket for a fair maid!”

The white face gazed at him balefully. “But you are a Norseman, with more salt than blood in your veins. My folk are of the mountains, and I tell you, this surely is worse than Hell!”

“Worry not, lad,” his companion said reassuringly. “Your torment ends soon. Lo! ahead I already spy the tall rock spires that mark the land of your bride.”

The prince, swallowing his bile, peered over the sheer strake. “Sweet relief!” he began, then cried, “’Ware reefs! Sven, look–!”

But it was too late! With a mighty crunch the small boat crashed into the black rocks as the waves covering them rolled back to reveal the trap that the storm had so cunningly laid.

 

[yowser]

pace ZZ Top

Big balls, hefty and fat
A big shaft that know’s where it’s at
Slicked up, lotsa drool
Best known as the biggest tool.

They come fuckin' just as fast as they can
'Cause every girl's crazy 'bout a well hung man.

Balls up, head enlarged
Got some semen ready to discharge
Sperm up, about to splurge
Givin’ in to her mighty urge.

They come fuckin' just as fast as they can
'Cause every girl's crazy 'bout a well hung man.

Lips lick, shaft slick
Penetration with a mighty prick
Crotch wet, legs spread
Hungry cunt about to be fed.

They come fuckin' just as fast as they can
'Cause every girl's crazy 'bout a well hung man.

 

[BearNextDoor]

Fun prompt. Thanks, I needed this.

--
His boots thundered across the flagstones, reverberating against the high coffered ceiling and throughout the great hall where they took their meals. The fireplace angrily spat and hissed while generations of family portraits looked down upon him. He cursed their silent mockery and derision.

"Back so soon, my love?" he half-shouted through gritted teeth. "Tonight's theatre to your satisfaction?"

"Yes, dear. Quite enjoyable." She idly pulled off a glove, pointedly ignoring his tone and baleful gaze.

"Or were you, perhaps, spending the evening at the Easton estate? In his arms once more?" His lips curled into a cruel sneer.

"And what if I was?" she hotly retorted. "He makes me feel loved. He makes me feel needed." Now a roaring flame, she unleashed the full fury of years of neglect. "He pleasures me in ways you never have!"

As though struck in the chest by an unseen arrow, he staggered back, feebly clutching a nearby chair for support.

"You shut yourself in that foul-smelling laboratory, leaving me to while away the hours alone!" Her beautiful face twisted by rage and frustration, she shouted at last. "Silas is twice the man you'll ever be!"

"Is that so, my darling?" He withdrew a small vial from his pocket and quickly quaffed its contents.

The empty vial he hurled into the flames, the broken shards tinkling musically before falling silent. The flames now licked with lurid purple tongues.

He rapidly disrobed, throwing his garments upon the cold floor, heedless of the shock on her face.

The muscles of his skinny legs thickened, transforming his thighs into corded pillars. His arms became bulging and powerful. His chest now expanded to become broad and strong and sculpted.

And all the while, he grew. Taller, ever taller. Taller than the mantle of the grand fireplace. Higher still than the family portraits. Taller, until his head nearly reached the high ceiling.

He stood before her, a monument of a man. More than a man. A god on Earth.

When she once more regained her breath, the scream she unleashed threatened to crack the very stones. It scarcely seemed possible for so slight a woman to create such a noise. She turned and fled. Her screams continued throughout their home, out the door, and into the night.

"Women," he scoffed. "Never satisfied."

 

[StillStunned]

This challenge has more adverbs than any other Writing Exercise so far, I suspect.

 

[Soixenta]

I seem to be unable to write the second half of the sex scene for my story, so I have tried to bring those "mysteries of the Orient" that StillStunned mentioned to life:


Daylight brought Jane back to consciousness. Sunlight, rising over the distant horizon to stab at her closed eyes like a spear of fire. Despite her tiredness, her fear, and the aches in her body from the long ride slung over the neck of her captor’s horse, she opened her lids and looked around.

Above the sky was turning a lighter shade of purple, the stars that seemed so close at night fleeing before the brightening light.

All around the desert stretched away. Deep red sands rolled off into the distance like the waves on the ocean that had carried her to this barbaric and exotic land. A shimmer told her that the river was nearby – the Mother of Life, she had heard it called by the bearers in her father’s caravan.

A flash of pure white ahead drew her attention, and she turned her head, squinting, and gasped. By the river the rising sun gleamed on a vast palace, shining brightly even in the incomplete light. Towers reached for the heavens, the perfect proportions of their elegant spires telling plainly of the mastery of their maker.

A harsh voice above her broke Jane’s reverie, and she twisted to look up. Her captor stared down at her, teeth shining between red lips that were framed by a curling black beard. Above them stood a fierce nose like a falcon’s beak, and above that were two dark eyes that glittered knowingly.

“This is my home,” he said, abandoning his own speech at the sight of her confusion. “You are surprised to see this jewel in the desert, yes? Do not worry, white-skin, you will come to know it very well. This will be your home too now, for the length of your days!”

And with a laugh he drove his great stallion forward, heedless of Jane’s cries of protest.

 

[StillStunned]

“Enter, my friend, enter!” The hunch-backed merchant held the tent cloth aside to welcome Ellyra inside. “Seat yourself, and tell me of your needs!”

With a sidelong glance the tall woman selected a pile of cushions and lowered herself into them. Her gaze never left her host, whose beady black eyes and nervous tongue distilled in her a deep sense of distrust.

Yet she needed information, and her last resort was this crooked man whose eyes roamed over her long legs and bare arms as the nomad roams the plains. A purveyor of secrets and mysteries, he had a slyness about him that made her both wary and hopeful.

Ellyra began to speak, but he waved a long-fingered hand to silence her. Instead, he busied himself with lighting a bronze brazier and suspending it from a hook that hung down from the tent’s dark upper reaches. A pungent smell smeared the air, making the warrior woman wrinkle her nose.

“Is that Hellspice, old man?” she asked, her tone dangerous. “Do not think to overpower me with your drugs so that you can have your way with me!”

“No! no!” the merchant protested, fingers stroking the tuft of beard on his chin. “Not Hellspice, but a concoction of my own making. Harmless, of course, but it provides a certain… clarity of the mind, a clarity that is most useful for uncovering secrets.” He smiled like a lizard.

“If you say so,” Ellyra growled. She slapped her hand on the broad dagger on her belt. “But know that my blade will drink your blood before my eyes fall shut.”

The man gulped and nodded, still fingering his beard but no longer smiling, and glanced at the brazier overhead. “Perhaps… perhaps a little less of the smoke is needed. You have clarity aplenty, it would seem.”

She watched as he rose and fiddled, then sat. Before he could speak again she interrupted him. “I came to you for information, small man. Tell me about the Red Serpent, about her powers, about her palace in the Hills of Iron. Tell me why she has stolen my brother!”

 

[PennyThompson]

(I haven't participated in this one yet because I'm worried it will just sound like my normal writing )

 

[dirk2024]

(I haven't participated in this one yet because I'm worried it will just sound like my normal writing )

 

[YmaOHyd]

(I haven't participated in this one yet because I'm worried it will just sound like my normal writing )

Not if you add violence

 

[PennyThompson]

Not if you add violence

"Shut your cumhole, slut," I growled at my pet, giving him a harsh slap across his face.

"I'm sorry, mistress," he mumbled, and a little drop of fearful arousal dripped from his pulsing dick and splatted weakly onto the floor. "B-but, it's just..."

I slammed my knee into his crotch, mashing his balls against his pubic bone, making him double over with an agonized moan. "I said silence! You do not speak unless spoken to!"

"Y-yes, but..." He wheezed, tears pooling under his eyes.

I grabbed his hair and pulled him upright, glaring into his pathetic face. "God, fine, what? Spit it out already!"

The timer on the bed side table started to ring insistently.

"I was trying to tell you... You were almost out of time for today's session." He stood up to his full height and stretched his shoulders and back, yawning, suddenly looking bored. "Sorry, dear. See you next week."

 

[YmaOHyd]

"Shut your cumhole, slut," I growled at my pet, giving him a harsh slap across his face.

"I'm sorry, mistress," he mumbled, and a little drop of fearful arousal dripped from his pulsing dick and splatted weakly onto the floor. "B-but, it's just..."

I slammed my knee into his crotch, mashing his balls against his pubic bone, making him double over with an agonized moan. "I said silence! You do not speak unless spoken to!"

"Y-yes, but..." He wheezed, tears pooling under his eyes.

I grabbed his hair and pulled up upright, glaring into his pathetic face. "God, fine, what? Spit it out already!"

The timer on the bed side table started to ring insistently.

"I was trying to tell you... You were almost out of time for today's session." He stood up to his full height and stretched his shoulders and back, yawning, suddenly looking bored. "Sorry, dear. See you next week."

I was thinking more like

 

[PennyThompson]

I was thinking more like
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Oh. Um. Oops.