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o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
o  	The 'Bookshelf collection' offers a very wide variety of  o
o  stories. They have been submitted by people from all over the  o
o  world.  Also from alt.sex.stories (Newsgroups).   There is no  o
o  particular  order  other than offering them to you in  alpha-  o
o  betical directories.                                           o
o  	I don’t believe in categorizing things. "I don’t want to  o
o  be typed therefore I don’t type things myself."  I think it’s  o
o  a lot more fun to browse around and find  'little'  surprises  o
o  that you might not have even thought of looking for.           o
o   	Lest we forget!!!   This story was produced as adult en-  o
o tertainment and should not be read by minors.   Kristen         o
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

Corwin the Consort (MF, Medieval-fantasy)
Cecilia Tan (c) 1991

**


 Sometimes, looking around my bed chamber before I sleep 
at night, I am awed by what I have.  Could I really have 
achieved, 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 ex-
changed 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 speak-
ing.  "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 privilege."
 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 be-
tween 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 reat-
tached 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 not 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 al-
ready gone.
 I let the whip fall and sank to my knees, unsure when 
exactly the line had been crossed 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.  
 
 
Copyright 1991 by Cecilia Tan
All right reserved.