SciFrac
WIP me into shape!
Dear Critters,
Against my better judgment, I’ve strapped myself into the flogging chair once more.
This is a concept I felt exploring, but haven’t determined the length. You’re reading Act 1: Scene 1 (incomplete). Does it hook? Word-by-word crits are always welcome, but not necessary. Mostly looking for general impressions and interest from both men and women. Also, I hope the sexual nature of this piece does not offend delicate ears.
Perhaps you’re wondering why a 35 yo man is writing about mermaid prostitutes? Excellent question, I look forward to your critique!
Draw blood.
==============
Only the richest brothel owners employed exotic mermaids. One private club, found along a forbidden coast, catered to the prurient excess of the affluent upper crust. Politicians, viceroy, titans of industry, the men of obscene wealth, all paid to indulge their sins among peers- a vulgar practice and unlawful custom at the time.
To those mermaids illegally employed, L‘Amour Noir offered a lavish butcher shop for tuxedoed pigs seeking wine, women, and foreign debauchery. Patrons paid a heavy price for the honor of squandering their fortunes, and pigs filled the theater nightly, awaiting execution.
Within the smoky decadence, lights dimmed and clients hushed at the music cue.
Merris began her seduction, seated high on a chandelier, and slowly unfolding herself from the red-velvet curtain. She flourished her fins, tail exposed, and the silver-haired pigs cooed, fishing payment from their wallets in anticipation.
The chandelier lowered from the polished copper ceiling toward a glass martini-pool below. Spotlights flaunted her descent through a chorus of rapacious hoots and whistles roaring up from the easy money. Once stopped, she eased off the chandelier and swirled into the salt water. Hello, gentlemen.
Her tail fluttered, teasing gold and jeweled treasure from men’s pockets. They gave wantonly, foaming at the mouth, begging for extra-marital courtesy with their seductress. And Merris delivered.
The arrogant windbags sat circled, stuffed into plush chairs around the pool. They cat-called and howled at the smooth curves teasing them just out of reach. One Fat Sack bellowed from a dark corner, his cigar lit orange, and she swam to his side to lubricate his pockets; weaving herself into a believable froth.
Out came his prize and he tucked it between her bare breasts. She tugged it loose, dropping it behind her. Men crouched beneath the glass martini and watched the bracelet flutter down, settling with her other donations. A promising night thus far.
Other meaty bank accounts soon fell prey to her charms as Merris made rounds to the regulars. They tipped gold coins over the martini rim, and her collection grew at a handsome pace. The sad bastards forfeited eagerly their trinkets to the fragrant object of their solicitation.
All, except one. He flicked an ice cube in her pool.
The men groaned and hushed again with baited breath. What would she do now? How would she react to this offense?
A coy smile.
She took the floating cube and lay on her back, mouth perched. She licked it, moaning, and traced it over her nipples, then sat upright to blow him a kiss. To finish, she crunched the ice between her teeth and swallowed, and the men roared to their feet, clapping. Giddy as naïve school boys.
The mezzanine levels cheered and clinked their drinks. A second man threw ice in the pool. Then another. Still more followed, and one hit her forehead. The water quickly chilled, and their incantations for “more maids!” sparked a commotion which quickly descended into an outright brawl. A “pig sty” in burlesque parlance.
Club security swarmed.
When guards rushed the floor, men groped and kicked, some climbing overboard into the martini with her. Merris dove to press the release button. The bottom portal sprang open, flushing her down the stem tunnel, dumping into a warm tank safely below stage.
She resurfaced with heavy lungs, staccato breath and panting, with fistfuls of golden donations; a fraction of her plunder.
Hyacinth, the attendant, rushed to her aid and inspected her for bruises, bringing bandages for minor scrapes. “My god, twice in one week. You’re building quite a reputation.”
Merris laughed it off. “Comes with the job.” She bent to collect the pile of gold doubloons glinting on the tank floor and tipped her a coin.
“You made a pretty killing,“ said Hyacinth. “Let’s pray you don’t get fired.”
A ridiculous notion. “Please, I make them too much money. Trust me.”
They exited the basement together through a duct to Merris’ dressing room in the adjoining cavern’ette, and began a costume change to meet their clients upstairs. Three more dancers entered distressed, nursing drinks and crowded her. “How awful! Aren’t you mortified?”
She scoffed. “Who cares? A few rowdy men. I’ve done this before. You get over it.”
“No. Didn’t you hear? A client drowned up there.”
What? The news met a collective gasp. That couldn’t be. She protested, “Impossible. I dropped out early this time.”
“But a man followed you. His neck caught in the shaft and the portal jammed. He’s still floating upside down right now!”
After a pause the girls raced up vertical tubes crowning the theater to view the corpse, but Merris stayed behind.
The horror twisted her organs into knots. They would start asking questions now. News would spread immediately, and they’d find her within weeks. All this hiding had finally caught up to her.
She paced near the vanity and counted her options fast slipping away, when a knock at her door triggered sheer panic. Outside, stood the man who'd flicked the ice. And he was smiling.
Against my better judgment, I’ve strapped myself into the flogging chair once more.
This is a concept I felt exploring, but haven’t determined the length. You’re reading Act 1: Scene 1 (incomplete). Does it hook? Word-by-word crits are always welcome, but not necessary. Mostly looking for general impressions and interest from both men and women. Also, I hope the sexual nature of this piece does not offend delicate ears.
Perhaps you’re wondering why a 35 yo man is writing about mermaid prostitutes? Excellent question, I look forward to your critique!
Draw blood.
==============
Only the richest brothel owners employed exotic mermaids. One private club, found along a forbidden coast, catered to the prurient excess of the affluent upper crust. Politicians, viceroy, titans of industry, the men of obscene wealth, all paid to indulge their sins among peers- a vulgar practice and unlawful custom at the time.
To those mermaids illegally employed, L‘Amour Noir offered a lavish butcher shop for tuxedoed pigs seeking wine, women, and foreign debauchery. Patrons paid a heavy price for the honor of squandering their fortunes, and pigs filled the theater nightly, awaiting execution.
Within the smoky decadence, lights dimmed and clients hushed at the music cue.
Merris began her seduction, seated high on a chandelier, and slowly unfolding herself from the red-velvet curtain. She flourished her fins, tail exposed, and the silver-haired pigs cooed, fishing payment from their wallets in anticipation.
The chandelier lowered from the polished copper ceiling toward a glass martini-pool below. Spotlights flaunted her descent through a chorus of rapacious hoots and whistles roaring up from the easy money. Once stopped, she eased off the chandelier and swirled into the salt water. Hello, gentlemen.
Her tail fluttered, teasing gold and jeweled treasure from men’s pockets. They gave wantonly, foaming at the mouth, begging for extra-marital courtesy with their seductress. And Merris delivered.
The arrogant windbags sat circled, stuffed into plush chairs around the pool. They cat-called and howled at the smooth curves teasing them just out of reach. One Fat Sack bellowed from a dark corner, his cigar lit orange, and she swam to his side to lubricate his pockets; weaving herself into a believable froth.
Out came his prize and he tucked it between her bare breasts. She tugged it loose, dropping it behind her. Men crouched beneath the glass martini and watched the bracelet flutter down, settling with her other donations. A promising night thus far.
Other meaty bank accounts soon fell prey to her charms as Merris made rounds to the regulars. They tipped gold coins over the martini rim, and her collection grew at a handsome pace. The sad bastards forfeited eagerly their trinkets to the fragrant object of their solicitation.
All, except one. He flicked an ice cube in her pool.
The men groaned and hushed again with baited breath. What would she do now? How would she react to this offense?
A coy smile.
She took the floating cube and lay on her back, mouth perched. She licked it, moaning, and traced it over her nipples, then sat upright to blow him a kiss. To finish, she crunched the ice between her teeth and swallowed, and the men roared to their feet, clapping. Giddy as naïve school boys.
The mezzanine levels cheered and clinked their drinks. A second man threw ice in the pool. Then another. Still more followed, and one hit her forehead. The water quickly chilled, and their incantations for “more maids!” sparked a commotion which quickly descended into an outright brawl. A “pig sty” in burlesque parlance.
Club security swarmed.
When guards rushed the floor, men groped and kicked, some climbing overboard into the martini with her. Merris dove to press the release button. The bottom portal sprang open, flushing her down the stem tunnel, dumping into a warm tank safely below stage.
She resurfaced with heavy lungs, staccato breath and panting, with fistfuls of golden donations; a fraction of her plunder.
Hyacinth, the attendant, rushed to her aid and inspected her for bruises, bringing bandages for minor scrapes. “My god, twice in one week. You’re building quite a reputation.”
Merris laughed it off. “Comes with the job.” She bent to collect the pile of gold doubloons glinting on the tank floor and tipped her a coin.
“You made a pretty killing,“ said Hyacinth. “Let’s pray you don’t get fired.”
A ridiculous notion. “Please, I make them too much money. Trust me.”
They exited the basement together through a duct to Merris’ dressing room in the adjoining cavern’ette, and began a costume change to meet their clients upstairs. Three more dancers entered distressed, nursing drinks and crowded her. “How awful! Aren’t you mortified?”
She scoffed. “Who cares? A few rowdy men. I’ve done this before. You get over it.”
“No. Didn’t you hear? A client drowned up there.”
What? The news met a collective gasp. That couldn’t be. She protested, “Impossible. I dropped out early this time.”
“But a man followed you. His neck caught in the shaft and the portal jammed. He’s still floating upside down right now!”
After a pause the girls raced up vertical tubes crowning the theater to view the corpse, but Merris stayed behind.
The horror twisted her organs into knots. They would start asking questions now. News would spread immediately, and they’d find her within weeks. All this hiding had finally caught up to her.
She paced near the vanity and counted her options fast slipping away, when a knock at her door triggered sheer panic. Outside, stood the man who'd flicked the ice. And he was smiling.
