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Corwin
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
From: [email protected] (Cecilia M Tan)
Subject: STORY--Corwin
Date: 26 Nov 91 04:13:57 GMT
Lines: 244
Here is my latest story. As if you couldn't guess
it's rife with bondage, lots of pain, desire, and
a lot of love. If you don't see where the love fits
in with the pain and bondage, you don't have the
same definition of SM as I do.
One more brief preamble before I dive into the
story. I wrote this the night after a local leather
party inspired by a scene I saw there. I keep saying
I don't believe in love at first sight, but I probably
should since it has more or less happened. Those of
you who wondered who I was with at the Philcon
a.s.b. party should know his name is corwin, and
he is the one that inspired this story. I love him.
Now I'll let the story speak for itself.
Sometimes, looking around my bed chamber before I sleep at
night, I am awed by what I have. Could I really have
acheived, garnered, realized all of these desires? Around me
the largeness of the house seems to grow, twenty or more
empty rooms between mine and the nearest servant, filled up
with the silence I have hoarded. It seemed like hardly any
work at all. But thinking deeper, before dreams begin to
creep up under my eyes, I realize that while it may not have
seemed to be such a conscious effort, subconscious desire is
always at work. What was it that made me invite Glinda to
that party?
She and I had never liked one another particularly. We got
along well, based on our mutual respect for one another's
talents, and certain shared tastes. But we differed in a few
opinions and were never friends. Still, I never wanted to do
anything to hurt her. Let me stop kidding myself and you. I
invited her because I secretly hoped she would bring Corwin.
The party itself was unremarkable as these things go--the
usual beatings and humiliations, and a good deal of wine was
spilled (much less than was consumed). As host I mostly watched
that night, detached from my guests by my stature. But by the
time the fire grew low, we were five women in the drawing
room, myself, three others, and Glin, with Corwin. Their act
had gone uninterrupted since they first arrived, late, at the
front gate.
They had made a grand entrance into the main hall, her
driver announcing "The Lady Glinda Trisel, Duchess of Alaming."
She swept forward into the room, trailing a gold and black
dress and crinoline almost as stunning as her flaming red hair.
She fanned herself gently and raised
her voice. "And may I present my consort, Corwin, Prince of
the Panatans." She turned back toward him. The driver
shoved him forward into the room. He stumbled and nearly
fell to his knees, chains clanking, but recovered, eyes
smoldering. He was a gorgeous sight to behold in a blue
velvet tunic, the square collar exposing the gentle curve of
his collarbone, his long brown hair bound behind him in a
matching ribbon, and topped by a silver circlet. His hands
were bound in front of him with bright silver chain. She
beckoned and he followed her further into the room, his head
held proudly. It was easy to forget she was a designer
and he a programmer--I saw a noble lady and a prince.
They greeted me, their hostess, first. Glin and I
exchanged some niceties, and I complimented her on the
scenario. We had many people come in costume, enacting
everything from movie characters to wild fancies of their
own. But I have a soft spot for that medieval fantasy
period. And Corwin, the roundness of his face, the fullness of
his lips--I would have thought him beautiful even if he had
been a woman. I could not take my eyes off of him.
Neither could many others. So even at that late hour, when
Glin slapped him in the face (I missed what he had said to
deserve it), they had an audience. As she forced him to
kneel and pushed his head to the ground, unbuttoning the
tunic in the back, Marella turned to me and whispered, "Do
you think she'll let us each have a turn?"
"Goodness, I hope so," piped in Dara, licking her lips.
I simply nodded, unable to take my eyes off them. She
stripped away the tunic and fastened his hands behind his
back, standing him up by his long hair. Now he wore only in
tight black leggings, his perfect chest exposed. "Cleo?
Where shall we put him?"
I resisted the urge to touch him. "The drawing room
archway." I led them to the gilt doorway, met
Corwin's eyes as we chained him into it. I looked away.
Hooks the perfect height for him. They had originally
been placed for a woman my size, which is small,
and Corwin was just about my height. Glin put a
collar around his neck, clipping the long ends of the
chains to it. He made a delicious picture like that, the fire
backlighting his spreadeagled figure, the chains shining in
the flames. She put a pretty black clip onto each nipple and
stepped back. I could have sat and admired him for a few
more minutes, but she wasted no time, going to work on him
right away.
She started with a cat-o-nine-tails, passing it deftly from
hand to hand as she worked up a rhythm. She fairly danced
around him as she heated up his skin. The cat was too light
to leave marks, his skin began to glow in the firelight. She
switched to a leather paddle, and we began to hear him. His
voice was as sweet and beautiful as his face. In his pride
he tried to choke off the cries, but when she began using a
stiff leather thong he coughed out a note with each stroke.
The thong bit into his skin, raising a blue welt where it
fell. I realized as I was watching his fists clench in the
cuffs, I was clenching my own. She did not stop. He
thrashed in the chains, his hair coming loose from the ribbon
and hanging down over his chest.
"Milady," he gasped out between blows.
She did not answer him.
"Milady please stop. Ah!" His eyes were shut tight and he
sucked his breath through his teeth as he tried to keep
speaking. "Milady, please!"
"He means nothing to me," she said to the rest of us, the
motion of her arm continuing. "He is but a spoil of war,
like a good horse. A fine possession which I will use, or
misuse, as is my privelege."
His chest heaved with pain, and also I could see, anger. I
suddenly wondered what their safeword was. He opened his
eyes again and I looked away. Was she drawing blood?
"Come on Glin," I said. "Let us see the rest of your
prize."
She stepped back, smiling. He hung limp for a moment,
resting, while she stripped the leggings down to his ankles.
There was an appreciative sigh from us, the rest of him was
as perfectly formed as the upper half, his strong legs
lightly dusted with hair, and the family jewels hanging
delectably between them. In the light I caught the glint of
metal. He wore a ring around them that matched the circlet
in his hair. His legs quivered as she stepped him out of the
leggings and then reattached his ankle to the door frame.
"May I?" Marella stepped forward, dangling her cat from
her hand.
Glinda bowed graciously and stepped back. "Please. Make
him sing."
Marella was even more graceful than Glinda, with more
variation to her rhythm. My palms were sweating. I felt my
teeth clench as each blow fell. He did not open his eyes
now, trying to melt into the pain. Glinda tweaked the nipple
clamps with her fingers and he screamed. Marella gave him no
breath to go limp. My heart jumped as she gave him a final
extra-hard whack. I wanted to leave the room, but at the
same time, I couldn't bear to leave his presence. Dara got
up next and went to work on him with clothespins. Each of
the women had a turn with him, Glinda making suggestions as
they went along, as though they were setting a table or
making a flower arrangement. They blindfolded him. They
chatted among themselves as they marked him.
Glinda flicked the nipple clamps off and he screamed. But
she had turned away from him, to look at me. "Would you like
a turn, as well?" she was saying, but I barely heard it over
Corwin's song of agony. My goosebumps sprang up and I could
barely maintain the act to nod my head.
"Take him down, onto his knees." They released the collar
first, then his hands and he slumped forward into me. He
tried to regain his feet, but I lowered him gently to the
carpet. I could feel his back with my hand, hot, corrugated.
I held his head back with my hand wound in his hair and
whispered into his ear.
"You are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen." I
pinched a very sore nipple and he shook in my arms. "You are
truly, truly a beauty. Do you know why I do this?" I
slapped him in the thigh and he gasped.
"No."
"Pain is a gift from me to you," I continued, working on
the nipples more. "In exchange for your beauty. At this
moment, you are the most precious thing to me on Earth."
I held him to my chest then, as he broke down sobbing.
"You are a prince," I whispered. I looked up then and met
Glinda's eyes. She glared, a hint of disbelief on her face.
I don't think she heard anything I said.
She broke character for a moment. "Well, Cle', do you
think he's had enough?"
I shrugged. "Ask him."
She raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms.
I spoke into his ear, "Corwin, Corwin are you alright?"
He would not look up from where his face was buried in my
chest. I shrugged at her.
She walked over, knelt down, her hair sliding down her
shoulder to touch his. "Come on, Corwin, let's go."
He clung to me. She said again, "Let's go." This time she
used her bare hand on his back. He wasn't the only one who
gasped. "That is an order, princeling," she added, as if
that could reestablish the scene's rules. But it was she who
had broken them.
He covered his ears and she raised her hand again.
"Wait," I said, grabbing her wrist. As our eyes met I
could not tell what she was thinking. I did nOOBot want to play
this wrong. "Duchess, how much do you want for him?"
She raised her eyebrow in surprise. "Oh, he's not for
sale."
"I thought you said he meant nothing to you." Corwin sobbed
silently in my lap, his voice spent. Perhaps it was true.
"You are right." She stood up and tapped him with her
boot. "I suppose I could set a price."
"Name it." I swallowed, unable to tell where this scene
was going next.
"Twenty five lashes, hard enough that we might hear them in
the next room." she said, her voice cold. She held a whip
out to me, daring me. "On him. You deliver them."
I looked into his eyes.
He nodded. I began lifting him up. "Give me the whip."
They put him back up in the frame and Marella went into
the other room to keep count.
"I do this," I said, drawing my arm back, "because
I love you."
My first stroke wasn't hard enough for Marella
to hear, but it was hard enough to make Corwin
scream. I pressed the whip handle to my forehead,
praying. I said "I love you," and let the second one
fall. Marella shouted "One!" from the other room.
On the next blow I drew blood. Corwin was whimpering. I let
another blow fall. Tears sprang to my eyes as he bit down on
a cry. Sweat broke out on his skin as I struck him. We were
both crying. My arm began to hurt. By the time I got to
twenty I didn't know if I could give him the last five. I
was panting, the whip hanging limp as I had to look away from
his tortured skin. You have to do this, I told myself, or
she'll finish it for you. But I could not steel myself to
raise my arm again.
"Cleo!" he said, his head hanging. "Finish me!"
By the time the last one was delivered, Glinda had already
gone.
I let the whip fall and sank to my knees, unsure when
exactly the line had been crosssed between play and reality,
waiting for the scene to end. But there was Corwin in my
arms, kissing me.
Now I lay here at night, before I fall asleep, admiring his
hair falling over the pillow. Some nights, like tonight, I'm
happy to watch the moon shining on his skin, but other
nights, I'll wake him gently and make him talk to me. My
prince.
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