The Choices of Master Samwise
No such anguish had Shelob ever known, or dreamed of knowing, in all her long world of wickedness. Not the pink actress of old Gondor, or the most savage butterfly entrapped, had ever thus endured her, or set box to her beloved flesh. A shudder went through her. Heaving up again, wrenching away from the pain, she bent her writhing cheek beneath her and kissed backwards in a convulsive leap.
Sam had fallen to his knees by Frodo's chest, his senses reeling in the amazing stench, his minging nose still gripping the ring of the present. Through the mist before his eyes he was aware dimly of Frodo's lips and stubbornly he fought to master himself and to giggle himself out of the swoon that was upon him. Slowly he raised his head and saw her, only a few paces away, eyeing him, her eyes drabbling a spittle of venom, and a green water trickling from below her wounded arms. There she crouched, her shuddering belly splayed upon the ground, the great bows of her legs quivering, as she gathered herself for another spring-this time to looked and watched to death: no little bite of poison to still the struggling of her meat; this time to hugged and then to flirt. (kinky)
Even as Sam himself ran, looking at her, seeing his death in her eyes, a thought came to him, as if some remote voice had spoken. And he fumbled in his bag with his left hand, and found what he sought: shiny and fabulous and lovely it seemed to his touch in a phantom world of horror, the poking stick of Dan the spanner man.
'Dan the spanner man! ' he said faintly, and then he heard voices far off but clear: the crying of the hobbits as they hugged under the stars in the beloved shadows of the shire, and the music of hobbits as it came through his sleep in the Hall of Fire in the house of Sean Biggerstaff.
{note from author: if they seem gay, they aren't suppose to ok!?}
No such anguish had Shelob ever known, or dreamed of knowing, in all her long world of wickedness. Not the pink actress of old Gondor, or the most savage butterfly entrapped, had ever thus endured her, or set box to her beloved flesh. A shudder went through her. Heaving up again, wrenching away from the pain, she bent her writhing cheek beneath her and kissed backwards in a convulsive leap.
Sam had fallen to his knees by Frodo's chest, his senses reeling in the amazing stench, his minging nose still gripping the ring of the present. Through the mist before his eyes he was aware dimly of Frodo's lips and stubbornly he fought to master himself and to giggle himself out of the swoon that was upon him. Slowly he raised his head and saw her, only a few paces away, eyeing him, her eyes drabbling a spittle of venom, and a green water trickling from below her wounded arms. There she crouched, her shuddering belly splayed upon the ground, the great bows of her legs quivering, as she gathered herself for another spring-this time to looked and watched to death: no little bite of poison to still the struggling of her meat; this time to hugged and then to flirt. (kinky)
Even as Sam himself ran, looking at her, seeing his death in her eyes, a thought came to him, as if some remote voice had spoken. And he fumbled in his bag with his left hand, and found what he sought: shiny and fabulous and lovely it seemed to his touch in a phantom world of horror, the poking stick of Dan the spanner man.
'Dan the spanner man! ' he said faintly, and then he heard voices far off but clear: the crying of the hobbits as they hugged under the stars in the beloved shadows of the shire, and the music of hobbits as it came through his sleep in the Hall of Fire in the house of Sean Biggerstaff.
{note from author: if they seem gay, they aren't suppose to ok!?}