the ladystouch Third Level 2 Assignment

Steve stood outside the metal door, waiting, running his hand through his short, dark hair. There was nothing else to do. The door in front of him was as innocent of a doorknob as the one behind him, and the blank white walls offered no distraction.

The damnable thing was that Steve knew he was being watched. He knew that this delay was intentional, and he resented it. He was aware of his status; there was no need to remind him this way. Power games always annoyed him, but, remembering what was at stake, he tried to control his impatience.

Eventually that patience was rewarded, and the door in front of him opened. Schooling his strong, sharp features into impassivity, Steve marched into the room beyond. This room was not much of an improvement, save it was larger…and the man in the grey, worsted suit offered plenty of distraction.

The white walls and white linoleum floor were accented by the round, chrome-and-white-formica table. The two white, plastic chairs were as uncomfortable as they looked, but, then, Steve had no expectation of comfort in this interview.

“Hello, Steve. Be seated.” Steve silently followed the order, his manner tense and guarded.

The heavyset man in the suit took the other chair, sat, and perched a pair of dark-framed reading glasses on his aquiline nose. His iron-grey hair was brushed back from his temples, framing and emphasizing heavy jowls. He opened the folder on the table. “I’ve been reviewing your file, and it seems your performance has improved only marginally.”

“Sir, there have been extenuating circumstances. Some of the intelligence I received was inaccurate, causing the security breach. But, Sir,” Steve said, desperation creeping into his voice, “the quality of the slaves I deliver has always been excellent.”

“Yes,” he conceded. “That is true. You do seem to have a knack for training these girls. You manage to deliver obedient slaves who haven’t had their spirit broken. But I cannot overstate the risk you exposed the company to when you allowed a trainee to escape.”

“Yes, Sir,” Steve dropped his gaze, shifting nervously in his chair.

“It seems your performance was deemed substandard last year, as well.”

“Yes, Sir.” Steve silently fumed. Last year’s review had been patently unfair; the result of professional jealousy from a superior who felt threatened by his competence. It didn’t matter. The results were the same: he had been forbidden to see his sister, Fran, for an entire year.

He couldn’t face another year without seeing her. Fran, thirteen years younger, had always been the delight of his life. He missed her terribly, and felt responsible for her. She worked at the company headquarters in Montreal, but she had no idea what he did for the company…and he intended to keep it that way. She must never know that she was hostage to his continued good behavior.

The man in the suit made a production of appearing to consider Steve, weighing his decision carefully.

Sweat broke out under Steve’s arms and between his shoulder blades. He tried hard to hide his anxiety, but he knew he had failed when the big man smiled.

“In cases like this, where the decision is too close to call, I like to allow a little input from the subject.”

He stood, turned away from the table, and, grasping the tab of his zipper, slowly lowered it, opening his trousers. Reaching in, he pulled out his flaccid cock, and, turning to Steve, said, “Suck my dick, slave.”

Steve hit his knees, and proceeded to earn a favorable performance review.

I will get to this after work today! Thanks

Looking forward to your comments.

Thanks Lady C, I have to say I did really like this piece. You set the scene very well, giving a real feeling of anticipation. I liked the few twists you added, the sister and the unexpecting ending.

You have a good use of languague and punctuation, which means this was a well crafated piece. I do feel there is something missing though, even though I am finding it hard to put my finger on it. I think that I would like to learn more about Steve's emotions, even though I know in this piece, he purposely was hiding his emotions.

I would like you to do another piece of writing, which puts Steve into a more openly emotional scene. The one idea that came to my mind was what if he discovered his sister was being trained as a slave! I am also intriqued by the idea of him being a slave too, so that could be even be an idea for the piece.

This doesn't need to be a long piece, or even a full story, just show me Steve in a different light. I want you to really let me know how he is feeling about what is going on around him.

Contact me if you need any more imput.

Thanks again for a great job and I look forward to seeing your next piece of writing.

AG

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Aussiegirl1

You have a good use of languague and punctuation, which means this was a well crafated piece. I do feel there is something missing though, even though I am finding it hard to put my finger on it. I think that I would like to learn more about Steve's emotions, even though I know in this piece, he purposely was hiding his emotions.

I would like you to do another piece of writing, which puts Steve into a more openly emotional scene. The one idea that came to my mind was what if he discovered his sister was being trained as a slave! I am also intriqued by the idea of him being a slave too, so that could be even be an idea for the piece.
AG

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Hello, Aussiegirl, and thanks for taking the time to read this piece. I agree with you. There is something vaguely incomplete with this scene, but I couldn't figure out what was missing, either. :)

I'll be happy to write another scene or story, but, if you don't mind, first, I'd like to take another crack at this one. I'd like to see if I can get the reader to really empathize with Steve's predicament.

I'm sorry to be stubborn about this piece, but I tend to be a little like a terrier with a bone--I worry at it until it submits! And I hate leaving an almost-good piece just lying there. :)

Thanks for your patience,

That is fine, especially as you also feel something is missing. I have asked H Dean to come and have a read as well, so he may be able to shine a light on the mystery. It is not as if it is not a well written piece, but maybe it needs more life or something.

Anyway I will look forward to seeing what you come up with.

Thanks
AG

I welcome any light on this problem, even H Dean's. :)

Life is intervening right now, so it may take a day or two before I have something to show you.

Again, thank you both so much for all the time and thought you put into helping aspiring writers like me. I can't imagine the amount of time you must devote to this site. I can only tell you it matters--a lot.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by theladystouch

Steve stood outside the metal door, waiting, running his hand through his short, dark hair. There was nothing else to do. The door in front of him was as innocent of a doorknob as the one behind him, and the blank white walls offered no distraction.

---

While the opening paragraph offered a starkness and almost helpless situation, it came up a bit awkward with the last sentence. The portion after the final comma, for impact sake, should be its own sentence.

Quote:

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The damnable thing was that Steve knew he was being watched. He knew that this delay was intentional, and he resented it. He was aware of his status; there was no need to remind him this way. Power games always annoyed him, but, remembering what was at stake, he tried to control his impatience.

---

When one considers the ending of this story, his impatience and the notion that being watched was "damnable" doesn't make sense. Further, a power game would not, or should not be played in this particular situation, nor should they annoy him. If this guy is a slave he should be willing to accept whatever was delivered.

Quote:

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Eventually that patience was rewarded, and the door in front of him opened. Schooling his strong, sharp features into impassivity, Steve marched into the room beyond. This room was not much of an improvement, save it was larger…and the man in the grey, worsted suit offered plenty of distraction.

---

"Impassivity" is not a word that fits here. While it may be accurate, I think it should be noted that a passive demeanor should be projected as a norm for him. Further, it doesn't really fit with your early description of him being annoyed and impatient. This character starts out with a fairly strong description and then peters out into something entirely different - its a weird shift that doesn't really work. Also, "this room was not much of an improvement" is rather mundane as descriptions go. You want to indicate the ordinariness of the room, but not use ordinary language.

Quote:

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The white walls and white linoleum floor were accented by the round, chrome-and-white-formica table. The two white, plastic chairs were as uncomfortable as they looked, but, then, Steve had no expectation of comfort in this interview.

---

Lots of white here. I get the idea, but there are other ways to describe the stark whiteness of the room besides white, white, white. Also, he never sat in the chairs, so how were they uncomfortable. You could of said that he had past experience in the chairs or that he discovered they were uncomfortable. Instead, they were merely deemed to be as uncomfortable as they looked.

Quote:

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“Hello, Steve. Be seated.” Steve silently followed the order, his manner tense and guarded.

The heavyset man in the suit took the other chair, sat, and perched a pair of dark-framed reading glasses on his aquiline nose. His iron-grey hair was brushed back from his temples, framing and emphasizing heavy jowls. He opened the folder on the table. “I’ve been reviewing your file, and it seems your performance has improved only marginally.”

“Sir, there have been extenuating circumstances. Some of the intelligence I received was inaccurate, causing the security breach. But, Sir,” Steve said, desperation creeping into his voice, “the quality of the slaves I deliver has always been excellent.”

---

Kind of odd for a slave to provide his opinion that his slaves were excellent - shouldn't he ask if they have not always been excellent?

Quote:

---

“Yes,” he conceded. “That is true. You do seem to have a knack for training these girls. You manage to deliver obedient slaves who haven’t had their spirit broken. But I cannot overstate the risk you exposed the company to when you allowed a trainee to escape.”

“Yes, Sir,” Steve dropped his gaze, shifting nervously in his chair.

“It seems your performance was deemed substandard last year, as well.”

“Yes, Sir.” Steve silently fumed. Last year’s review had been patently unfair; the result of professional jealousy from a superior who felt threatened by his competence. It didn’t matter. The results were the same: he had been forbidden to see his sister, Fran, for an entire year.

---

He defended himself before but couldn't see his way to do so now? His personality is a bit wishy-washy. Where is the consistency with him?

Quote:

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He couldn’t face another year without seeing her. Fran, thirteen years younger, had always been the delight of his life. He missed her terribly, and felt responsible for her. She worked at the company headquarters in Montreal, but she had no idea what he did for the company…and he intended to keep it that way. She must never know that she was hostage to his continued good behavior.

---

Replace "but she had" with "having" and get rid of the passiveness of the sentence. Also, "what he did for the company" should be more to the tune of "his position with the company" and you need to get rid of the "...".

Quote:

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The man in the suit made a production of appearing to consider Steve, weighing his decision carefully.

---

I am not sure what a man in his position would do in this case, but I am certain he would make no pretenses of "appearing" considerate. He doesn't care how he appears to a slave. He just does as he does.

Quote:

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Sweat broke out under Steve’s arms and between his shoulder blades. He tried hard to hide his anxiety, but he knew he had failed when the big man smiled.

---

"knowing" would make this less passive. Also, a bit of a slump or a change in his demeanor would accent this nicely.

Quote:

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“In cases like this, where the decision is too close to call, I like to allow a little input from the subject.”

He stood, turned away from the table, and, grasping the tab of his zipper, slowly lowered it, opening his trousers. Reaching in, he pulled out his flaccid cock, and, turning to Steve, said, “Suck my dick, slave.”

---

This, while indicative of his position makes little sense. Steve failed and his punishment or incentive to improve is to merely suck cock? I would think there would be something more harsh - "Suck my cock. Assuming you complete this task better than your other assigned tasks, you may return to the slave training annex. You appear to lack understanding in the sort of performance we expect. I expect your future evaluations will improve after a week of continuing education."

Quote:

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Steve hit his knees, and proceeded to earn a favorable performance review.

---

I did like this ending. It was rather explicit without being crude.

Okay, now that the destruction has completed, I think I can tell you that the trouble with this was the duality of Steve. He was far from consistent in his behavior and the starkness of his situation was held through the first part of the story and then forgotten in the second.

Thank you so much for your insight. I think you have put your finger on the problem(s) admirably. I don't have much practice or experience analyzing my writing--and it shows.

Your critique is a great help, and I'll do my best to incorporate your suggestions into my rewrite.

Thanks for weighing in. I appreciate it! :)

Quote:

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Originally Posted by theladystouch

I welcome any light on this problem, even H Dean's. :)

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You shall suffer for this!

Quote:

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Again, thank you both so much for all the time and thought you put into helping aspiring writers like me. I can't imagine the amount of time you must devote to this site. I can only tell you it matters--a lot.

---

You are quite welcome for the aid. It is quite nice to receive such comments as these. You make me blush like a little girl.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by H Dean

You are quite welcome for the aid. It is quite nice to receive such comments as these. You make me blush like a little girl.

---

Hmmm...trying to imagine Mean Dean as a blushing little girl. My mind boggles! :)

Quote:

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Originally Posted by H Dean

You shall suffer for this!

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Gee, I thought I already did. You mean you tore my story apart BEFORE you saw this comment? <wry grin>

Thanks again, H Dean, for your constructive critique. I've taken most of your advice, though I did disagree with one point (I'm sure you are shocked ;) ).

Steve is not passive, because he hasn't accepted his slavery. I've tried to make his duress a little more obvious. Please let me know if this works. Anyway, since the manager knows he is under duress, I felt he would take sadistic pleasure in the cat-and-mouse power game. Opinions? AG? HD?

So, without further ado, here is my rewrite:


Steve stood outside the metal door, waiting, running his hand through his short, dark hair. There was nothing else to do. The door in front of him was as innocent of a doorknob as the one behind him. And the blank white walls offered no distraction.

He knew he shouldn’t get angry. Anger was a luxury he couldn’t afford. Accepting his situation was the only option that made any sense. But Steve knew that this delay was intentional, and he resented it. He was aware of his status; there was no need to remind him this way. His belly roiled as his mind skittered down the well-worn and useless paths. Discouraged, he wondered if he would ever reconcile himself to his situation. Finally, with a skill born of long practice, he schooled himself to patience.

Eventually, that patience was rewarded, and the door in front of him opened. Erasing the signs of his inner turmoil, Steve marched into the room beyond. The same utilitarian anonymity marked this room, save it was larger…and the man in the grey, worsted suit offered plenty of distraction.

The decor was white and chrome, and was clearly not designed for comfort. But, then, Steve had no expectation of comfort in this interview.

“Hello, Steve. Be seated.” He silently followed the order, his manner tense and guarded. The manager was new to the company, leaving Steve wary and uncertain.

The heavyset man in the suit took the other chair, sat, and perched a pair of dark-framed reading glasses on his aquiline nose. His iron-grey hair was brushed back from his temples, framing and emphasizing heavy jowls. He opened the folder on the table. “I’ve been reviewing your file, and it seems your performance has improved only marginally.”

“Sir, there have been extenuating circumstances. Some of the intelligence I received was inaccurate, causing the security breach. But, Sir,” Steve said, desperation creeping into his voice, “I’ve always been told the quality of the slaves I deliver is excellent.”

“Yes,” the man conceded. “That is true. You do seem to have a knack for training these girls. You manage to deliver obedient slaves who haven’t had their spirit broken. But I cannot overstate the risk you exposed the company to when you allowed a trainee to escape.”

“Yes, Sir,” Steve dropped his gaze, shifting nervously in his chair.

“It seems your performance was deemed substandard last year, as well.”

“Yes, Sir, but—” he bit off his reply as the man raised his hand, gesturing for silence.

Steve quietly fumed. Last year’s review had been patently unfair; the result of professional jealousy from a superior who felt threatened by his competence. It didn’t matter. The results were the same: he had been forbidden to see his sister, Fran, for an entire year.

He couldn’t face another year without seeing her. Fran, thirteen years younger, had always been the delight of his life. He missed her terribly, and felt responsible for her. She worked at the company headquarters in Montreal, having no idea what his work entailed; and he intended to keep it that way. She must never know that she was hostage to his continued good behavior. As usual, thinking of Fran left him feeling agitated and powerless. As long as the company controlled her, they controlled him.

The man in the suit made a production of appearing to weigh his decision carefully. Steve was certain this was intentional. A cat playing with a cornered mouse. His gut tightened, sweat breaking out under his arms and between his shoulder blades. He tried hard to hide his anxiety, knowing he had failed when the big man smiled.

“In cases like this, where the decision is too close to call, I like to allow a little input from the subject.”

He stood, turned away from the table, and, grasping the tab of his zipper, slowly lowered it, opening his trousers. Reaching in, he pulled out his flaccid cock, and, turning to Steve, said, “Suck my dick, slave. Prove to me you are competent at something, and maybe I’ll decide you’re worth the trouble of retraining.”

Steve hit his knees, and proceeded to earn another chance at a favorable performance review.

Quote:

---

Steve is not passive, because he hasn't accepted his slavery. I've tried to make his duress a little more obvious. Please let me know if this works. Anyway, since the manager knows he is under duress, I felt he would take sadistic pleasure in the cat-and-mouse power game. Opinions? AG? HD?

---

I will leave the indepth analysis of this piece to H Dean but I can already see a big improvement. The piece flows better now and also has more consistency. I do think the manager would enjoy the cat and mouse game and in your re-write the emotions shown by Steve are far more convincing.

Great job and depending on what H Dean has to say, we will wait to see about the next piece of writing. I still want to see you put Steve into a different situation but there is no rush to get it done.

Cheers
AG

Hey there! I wanted to let you know that I've seen this and intend on getting to a complete rip of it as soon as time allows. Just in case thigns get out of hand for me, I wanted to throw a couple things I saw right off. So, here ya go!

Quote:

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Steve stood outside the metal door, waiting, running his hand through his short, dark hair. There was nothing else to do. The door in front of him was as innocent of a doorknob as the one behind him. And the blank white walls offered no distraction.

---

This still falls flat. It is a little too simplistic and you seem to be over explaining. When I get the chance I will try to help you with a few changes - a few ideas. It's a matter of order and combining of ideas that is my complaint, really.

Quote:

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He knew he shouldn’t get angry. Anger was a luxury he couldn’t afford. Accepting his situation was the only option that made any sense. But Steve knew that this delay was intentional, and he resented it. He was aware of his status; there was no need to remind him this way. His belly roiled as his mind skittered down the well-worn and useless paths. Discouraged, he wondered if he would ever reconcile himself to his situation. Finally, with a skill born of long practice, he schooled himself to patience.

---

You over explained here. Also, the notion that any option, in his situation, would make sense or not is immaterial. Again, I will try to give you a bit more. But you over explained these things and you weren't quite cut throat enough in them. What options did he have? What could he afford to feel? You gave him too many choices. Cut it down!

Sorry, folks. The real world, with its real deadlines, has caught up with me. I will give this the proper attention as soon as I am able. My apologies for the delay.

Not a problem -- thanks for letting us know though.

Okay, here is attempt number three. I've really only addressed the areas H Dean pointed out. I'll be happy to rewrite to a greater degree if you wish to provide some additional guidance.

I did have one question regarding your feedback on the first paragraph. I'm not sure I understand how my writing can be too simplistic and be over explaining at the same time? I'm not doubting you, just not quite understanding...


Steve waited outside the metal door, running his hand through his short, dark hair. There was nothing else to do. The door in front of him was as innocent of a doorknob as the one behind him, the plain walls offering no distraction.

He knew he shouldn’t get angry. He couldn’t afford it. But Steve’s situation was a difficult one, and acceptance came hard.

This delay was intentional, and he resented it. He was aware of his status; there was no need to rub it in. His belly roiled as his mind skittered down the well-worn and useless paths. Finally, with a skill born of long practice, he schooled himself to patience.

Eventually that patience was rewarded, and the door in front of him opened. Erasing the signs of his inner turmoil, Steve marched into the room beyond. The same utilitarian anonymity marked this room, save it was larger…and the man in the grey, worsted suit offered plenty of distraction.

The decor was white and chrome, and was clearly not designed for comfort. But, then, Steve had no expectation of comfort in this interview.

“Hello, Steve. Be seated.” He silently followed the order, his manner tense and guarded. The manager was new to the company, leaving Steve wary and uncertain.

The heavyset man in the suit took the other chair, sat, and perched a pair of dark-framed reading glasses on his aquiline nose. His iron-grey hair was brushed back from his temples, framing and emphasizing heavy jowls. He opened the folder on the table. “I’ve been reviewing your file, and it seems your performance has improved only marginally.”

“Sir, there were extenuating circumstances. Some of the intelligence I received was inaccurate, causing the security breach. But, Sir,” Steve said, desperation creeping into his voice, “I’ve always been told the quality of the slaves I deliver is excellent.”

“Yes,” the man conceded. “That is true. You do seem to have a knack for training these girls. You manage to deliver obedient slaves who haven’t had their spirit broken. But I cannot overstate the risk you exposed the company to when you allowed a trainee to escape.”

“Yes, Sir,” Steve dropped his gaze, shifting nervously in his chair.

“It seems your performance was deemed substandard last year, as well.”

“Yes, Sir, but—” he bit off his reply as the man raised his hand, halting him.

Steve silently fumed. Last year’s review had been patently unfair; the result of professional jealousy from a superior who felt threatened by his competence. It didn’t matter. The results were the same: he had been forbidden to see his sister, Fran, for an entire year.

He couldn’t face another year without seeing her. Fran, thirteen years younger, had always been the delight of his life. He missed her terribly, and felt responsible for her. She worked at the company headquarters in Montreal, having no idea what his work entailed; and he intended to keep it that way. She must never know that she was hostage to his continued good behavior. As usual, thinking of Fran left him feeling agitated and powerless. As long as the company controlled her, they controlled him.

The man in the suit made a production of appearing to weigh his decision carefully. Steve was certain this was intentional. A cat playing with a cornered mouse. His gut tightened, sweat breaking out under his arms and between his shoulder blades. He tried hard to hide his anxiety, knowing he had failed when the big man smiled.

“In cases like this, where the decision is too close to call, I like to allow a little input from the subject.”

He stood, turned away from the table, and, grasping the tab of his zipper, slowly lowered it, opening his trousers. Reaching in, he pulled out his flaccid cock, and, turning to Steve, said, “Suck my dick, slave. Prove to me you are competent at something, and maybe I’ll decide you’re worth the trouble of retraining.”

Steve hit his knees, and proceeded to earn another chance at a favorable performance review.

Dear Aussiegirl and H Dean:

I don't wish to deprive you two of the opportunity to critique this, but, with your permission, I've thought of another situation to put Steve in, and I would like to go ahead and get started on that. I'll post it under a separate thread when I get something in shape.

If I haven't mentioned it lately, thank you both for all you help. I really appreciate it!

That is fine with me! I have held off on offering my view on the above piece, as H Dean is the one who really knows what he is looking for. I am sure he will be along soon to do his thing.

Thanks again for all of the effort you are putting into this level, it is very much appreciated.

Well, I am getting a bit busy again, so I will probably be a little hit and miss. I wanted to adress the question of being too simplistic but over explaining things.

The verbiage you sometimes use can be a bit high school-ish. Just the same, you tend to over-explain what you are trying to say. When I get the chance I will try to give you a few notions on shortening things up and leaving some things unsaid. Until then try to look at your story and see if you can find areas where one word would cover the two or three words you use. See how you might be able to pop a moment into motion where it might lack motion. See where two short sentences might make something stand out and where combining two sentences might do so.

As I have often said, in moments of excitement you should go with shorter sentences. Not with each sentence, but with more than you otherwise would - it makes the reader speed his reading. When you are looking for a slower pace you should tend to combine more sentences and lengthen them - It makes the reader slow down a bit.

Anyhow - here is a small thing from the latest entry and then I am off.

He knew he shouldn’t get angry. He couldn’t afford it. But Steve’s situation was a difficult one, and acceptance came hard.

First off, too many adverbs to start a sentence. Also, you might want to rearrange the order of things and/or combine them. The last bit - "and acceptance came hard" should be a sentence all on its own. It would add emphasis to the situation and set up the end well. Also, how about a moment of feeling - "Unfortunately, his was a tenuous position. Acceptance came hard."

Also, instead of "couldn't afford" try another phrase - what other words are able to fit in the space? "He could ill afford it" is a posibility. This is what I mean by too simplistic.

Now, I gotta make like a nose and run.

See ya later, kids.

Thank you, HD, for the clarification. I have tried to remove some of the sophomoric language, and increased the action verbs. I'm afraid I'm still a little adverb-heavy, but...am I getting the idea?




Steve waited outside the metal door, running his hand through his short, dark hair. There was nothing else to do. The door in front of him was as innocent of a doorknob as the one behind him. The plain walls offered no distraction.

He knew he shouldn’t get angry. He could ill afford it. But Steve’s situation was a difficult one. And acceptance came hard.

The waiting was intentional, and he resented it. He was aware of his status; the additional delay was unnecessary. His belly roiled as his mind skittered down the well-worn and useless paths. Schooling himself to patience, he reminded himself of the consequences of failure.

Eventually that patience was rewarded, and the door in front of him opened. Erasing the signs of his inner turmoil, Steve marched into the room beyond. The same utilitarian anonymity marked this room, save it was larger…and the man in the grey, worsted suit offered plenty of distraction.

The decor was white and chrome, and was clearly not designed for comfort. But, then, Steve had no expectation of comfort in this interview.

“Hello, Steve. Be seated.” He silently followed the order, his manner tense and guarded. The manager was new to the company, leaving Steve wary and uncertain.

The heavyset man in the suit took the other chair, sat, and perched a pair of dark-framed reading glasses on his aquiline nose. His iron-grey hair was brushed back from his temples, framing and emphasizing heavy jowls. Opening the folder on the table, he began. “I’ve reviewed your file, and it appears your performance has improved only marginally.”

“Sir, there were extenuating circumstances. Some of the intelligence I received was inaccurate, causing the security breach. But, Sir,” Steve said, desperation creeping into his voice, “I’ve always been told the quality of the slaves I deliver is excellent.”

“Yes,” the man conceded. “That is true. You do seem to have a knack for training these girls. You manage to deliver obedient slaves who haven’t had their spirit broken. But I cannot overstate the risk you exposed the company to when you allowed a trainee to escape.”

“Yes, Sir,” Steve dropped his gaze, shifting nervously in his chair.

“It seems your performance was deemed substandard last year, as well.”

“Yes, Sir, but—” he bit off his reply as the man raised his hand, halting him.

Steve silently fumed. Last year’s review had been patentlybiased; the result of professional jealousy from a superior who felt threatened by his competence. It didn’t matter. The results were the same. He had been forbidden to see his sister, Fran, for an entire year.

He couldn’t contemplate another year without seeing her. Fran, thirteen years younger, had always been the delight of his life. He felt responsible for her. Working at the company headquarters in Montreal, she had no idea what his work entailed. And he intended to keep it that way. She must never know that she was hostage to his continued good behavior. As usual, thinking of Fran left him feeling agitated and powerless. As long as the company controlled her, they controlled him.

With a jolt, Steve returned his attention to the man in the suit. He had missed whatever the manager had said, and the man made a production of appearing to weigh a decision carefully. Steve was certain this was intentional. A cat playing with a cornered mouse. His gut tightened. Sweat broke out under his arms and between his shoulder blades. He tried hard to hide his anxiety; knew he had failed when the big man smiled.

“In cases like this, where the decision is too close to call, I like to allow a little input from the subject.”

He stood, turned away from the table, and, grasping the tab of his zipper, slowly lowered it, opening his trousers. Reaching in, he pulled out his flaccid cock, and, turning to Steve, said, “Suck my dick, slave. Prove to me you are competent at something, and maybe I’ll decide you’re worth the trouble of retraining.”

Steve hit his knees, and proceeded to earn another chance at a favorable performance review.

Thank you, HD, for the clarification. I have tried to remove some of the sophomoric language, and increased the action verbs. I'm afraid I'm still a little adverb-heavy, but...am I getting the idea?




Steve waited outside the metal door, running his hand through his short, dark hair. There was nothing else to do. The door in front of him was as innocent of a doorknob as the one behind him. The plain walls offered no distraction.

He knew he shouldn’t get angry. He could ill afford it. But Steve’s situation was a difficult one. And acceptance came hard.

The waiting was intentional, and he resented it. He was aware of his status; the additional delay was unnecessary. His belly roiled as his mind skittered down the well-worn and useless paths. Schooling himself to patience, he reminded himself of the consequences of failure.

Eventually that patience was rewarded, and the door in front of him opened. Erasing the signs of his inner turmoil, Steve marched into the room beyond. The same utilitarian anonymity marked this room, save it was larger…and the man in the grey, worsted suit offered plenty of distraction.

The decor was white and chrome, and was clearly not designed for comfort. But, then, Steve had no expectation of comfort in this interview.

“Hello, Steve. Be seated.” He silently followed the order, his manner tense and guarded. The manager was new to the company, leaving Steve wary and uncertain.

The heavyset man in the suit took the other chair, sat, and perched a pair of dark-framed reading glasses on his aquiline nose. His iron-grey hair was brushed back from his temples, framing and emphasizing heavy jowls. Opening the folder on the table, he began. “I’ve reviewed your file, and it appears your performance has improved only marginally.”

“Sir, there were extenuating circumstances. Some of the intelligence I received was inaccurate, causing the security breach. But, Sir,” Steve said, desperation creeping into his voice, “I’ve always been told the quality of the slaves I deliver is excellent.”

“Yes,” the man conceded. “That is true. You do seem to have a knack for training these girls. You manage to deliver obedient slaves who haven’t had their spirit broken. But I cannot overstate the risk you exposed the company to when you allowed a trainee to escape.”

“Yes, Sir,” Steve dropped his gaze, shifting nervously in his chair.

“It seems your performance was deemed substandard last year, as well.”

“Yes, Sir, but—” he bit off his reply as the man raised his hand, halting him.

Steve silently fumed. Last year’s review had been patentlybiased; the result of professional jealousy from a superior who felt threatened by his competence. It didn’t matter. The results were the same. He had been forbidden to see his sister, Fran, for an entire year.

He couldn’t contemplate another year without seeing her. Fran, thirteen years younger, had always been the delight of his life. He felt responsible for her. Working at the company headquarters in Montreal, she had no idea what his work entailed. And he intended to keep it that way. She must never know that she was hostage to his continued good behavior. As usual, thinking of Fran left him feeling agitated and powerless. As long as the company controlled her, they controlled him.

With a jolt, Steve returned his attention to the man in the suit. He had missed whatever the manager had said, and the man made a production of appearing to weigh a decision carefully. Steve was certain this was intentional. A cat playing with a cornered mouse. His gut tightened. Sweat broke out under his arms and between his shoulder blades. He tried hard to hide his anxiety; knew he had failed when the big man smiled.

“In cases like this, where the decision is too close to call, I like to allow a little input from the subject.”

He stood, turned away from the table, and, grasping the tab of his zipper, slowly lowered it, opening his trousers. Reaching in, he pulled out his flaccid cock, and, turning to Steve, said, “Suck my dick, slave. Prove to me you are competent at something, and maybe I’ll decide you’re worth the trouble of retraining.”

Steve hit his knees, and proceeded to earn another chance at a favorable performance review.