He was looking behind me, as if searching for some rescue, his eyes falling on Danton from time to time, finding no pity there. All the others seemed to have disappeared. “We didn’t mean any harm, sir, really. We just thought you’d be angry if you found out you missed the hunt...”
“Do you think I’m out here to hunt? Is that what you think?” Of course, said a small voice in my head, you’ve kept them all ignorant of your real reason for coming out here... but I silenced it with the business at hand. I stepped up to him, my nose hanging just over his forehead. “If I had known you had accomplished what you set out to do I would have ordered you back yesterday. I wouldn’t have left the Keep at such a crucial time.” I cracked my favorite cruel smile. “But I’m truly astonished that you bumbling idiots managed to succeed.” I don’t think he was listening to me anymore, just trembling. I suppose I was glad he had already run out of piss. “You’ve done your job. Now get back to the Keep and tell Dara we’re on our way back.”
I did not move as he stepped back, bowing his head once, meeting my eyes as he did so. I noted the lopsided twist of his mouth. So, he wasn’t entirely cowed, after all. Still, at least I got rid of him.
I turned back to Danton, who had watched the whole thing with his arms crossed. A little smile came onto his face, and then he turned away, too. In that way, he reminded me of myself ten years ago. No, not even that long ago. Young, his straight dark hair cresting his shoulders, he spoke very little. There was a time when I didn’t speak so much, when I didn’t have so many questions to answer, when I didn’t have as much to say.
Our prize hissed at me when I went to check on her and bring her some meat. She eyed me suspiciously, but eventually took the mutton I offered. Then she slept curled up upon herself, peacefully, which is more than I can say for the fellow whose eye she put out. That night he broke out in a raging fever. By the time it became light enough for Danton and two others to travel with him back to the Keep, he could no longer speak but for incoherent jumbles and would not answer his own name. Danton arrived back while I was watching her pacing in the clearing to inform me that he was dead. I bit my lip and wondered how Hillard fared. The she-cat batted an insect out of the air.
* * * *
By the end of that week, she would accept meat straight from my hand, always well-encased in leather to prevent her scratching me. Soon after she would let me touch her, gentle strokes on her shoulders and the back of her head. The hair on her head was long and straight like Dara’s, only black as midnight. Of course it was my own impatience that did me in. Unable to resist the feel of her fur any longer, I pulled off my right gauntlet and luxuriated in that hair, so much finer than any I’d held before. And then she’d batted down my hand and bitten it. I knew better than to pull back and enlarge the wounds. She regarded me as she sank her teeth a little deeper, and then her jaws relaxed. She seemed almost to approve as I drew my hand away and she turned to grooming her hair herself, combing it out with her claws in a wholly womanly gesture. I regarded the red lines and punctures on my skin, and then called for some hot water.
Within hours I was feverish, my red skin tender to the touch. I imagined the water would steam off of me as Aston plied it on with a cloth, but it did not, only sent me into fits of shivering. Danton sat by me muttering and occasionally saying “Calidare” to see if I would respond. And then he began ranting about a damn fool’s errand for a man’s pride. I tried to stop him, tried to explain why I’d taken the risk, but my words began to slip from me. It seemed to me I slept after that and dreamed of cats and goddesses.
* * * *
In the morning I was still alive, dehydrated, queasy, unsteady on my feet. But I pulled on my clothes, and marched out to the center of the wagons. She was still awake, waiting for me. I crouched down at her level, and held out my hand. She smelled it cautiously, and then, assured it was me, bit down just a millimeter into the skin. I withdrew my hand with a nod, “I thank you, my lady, and now my I fetch your breakfast?” She sat back on her feet, tucking her tail around them.
I was half delirious most of the next few days, unable to keep much food down, and sleeping between fragments of dreams only. Aston began tearing out his hair every time I went near her. But I went near her more and more, until I began to spend every evening sitting on a stump near her, singing to her and telling her the stories of my childhood, waiting for her to wake up from her diurnal sleepiness. After all, what else was there to do out in the middle of nowhere? The men were beginning to question my sanity, I think, but men are often more like wolves than cats. A few well-placed arm-wrestling bouts and some biting commentary kept the pecking order straight. The time wasn’t right, not yet. I wasn’t even sure what it was I had to wait for, I only hoped it wouldn’t be too long. I watched the moon rising over the tops of the trees.
She was still purring. I rested my hand on her head and realized she had wrapped her tail around my ankle. I knelt down next to her and began scratching the base of her neck, under her long mane, and the purring became a mewling in her throat and she began to rub against me. Without thinking, I cooed back some sweet nothing, the kind of babble Dara called baby-talk, even though it hadn’t produced any babies for her yet.
As she ran her head up my thigh, I realized she’d put my boot between her legs. Her tail waved from one side to the other as she continued rubbing against me, her head on my thigh, her stomach on my shin, and the tender part between her legs against my boot. I turned her chin up with a finger, and looked into her eyes. There was a flicker there, an intensity I hadn’t seen before. I might have imagined it, but I could swear she gave the slightest nod. Dara will tell you, at great length even, about how I never let an invitation go unanswered.
I took her shoulders in my hands and gently rolled her onto her back, the chain on her neck clanking. As I lowered my weight on top of her I felt my erection press between us. She growled, but did not fight me. I hesitated a moment, not sure what kissing her would do. I rubbed my nose against her nose—she writhed and the purring began again. I licked her lips and let my tongue into her mouth. I felt the extra sharpness of her teeth but other than that it was like any other woman’s mouth, wet, warm, and inviting. I felt her claws through the cotton of my shirt, the points grazing my skin, digging a bit deeper when I took to nuzzling her neck. Am I going to have any back left? I wondered. I hadn’t built up a perfect tolerance to her scratches, yet, and I knew she could seriously injure me. For just a moment I considered whether this was some ploy on her part to get rid of me. But deeper down I could not even think that. Lifting myself up on my arms, I nudged her to roll over.
I settled back into place on her back and she writhed even more. Perhaps, I thought, this is the way Cats do it. I buried my face in her thick, black fur, surprised at the sweetness of it, but that’s pheromones for you, I guess. I drank her in. Now, with her legs spread, I could smell her desire as strong as my own. I stroked her underside with one hand while fumbling with my pants with the other. My erection was almost painful as I sought to free it. She bumped me with her hips again and again, pushing her tail up into the air.
The night air was cool against me as I slid my pants down to my ankles. She purred and mewled and thrashed and would not stay still enough for me to enter her. I had to use both arms to hold her under me, and then I did not have a hand to guide myself. She bucked and nearly threw me off as I reached back with one hand, anyway. I dug my teeth into the fur of her neck, waiting for her to thrash, but it seemed to paralyze her. In her throat she whimpered, shivering, her hips still moving slightly. I fingered where she was wettest and led my penis there, pressed it against her. She moved a little and I bit down harder. She froze again and I slipped inside her, falling against her as I did so, gasping.
Inside her was a heaven I had only dreamed of. We moved together, stroke after stroke, until I could no longer tell where her growls ended and my grunts began. I could see nothing but flashes of black by the moonlight, yet I felt every curve of
her body, every muscle responding to my every motion. For all her thrashing, I had expected it to be rough, but it was smooth, now slow, now rapid, but smooth. I do not know how long we were like that, I never wanted it to end and I prolonged it as long as I could. But then she was beginning to thrash again, she cried out and arched against me—I felt contraction after contraction ripple through her, squeezing me from deep inside and pushing me closer to climax myself. Now she cried out with each thrust, throwing her head back in a frenzy—I feared I would slip out of her as she bucked. I clamped my teeth down on the back of her neck again and held her still as I drove the five long hard strokes into her. That was all I could stand before I began to fly in and out, unable to control my own hips, until at last I matched her cry and emptied myself into her, holding her furred frame against my chest as I shuddered with the last waves of it.
She rolled out from under me immediately. She licked a little sweat from my upper lip and shivered, yawning. I swear she almost smiled. And then, after making sure I was watching, she undid the clip on her collar with her deft fingers, and let it fall to the ground. While I blinked, aghast, she curled up against my stomach and went back to sleep. I had no doubt I would return to the Keep with her. But I wondered, now, whether she was still mine, or if the tables had been turned. With her fur filling my senses, I decided it didn’t make a difference. And I slept, too.
Heart’s Desire
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 a 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 as 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 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 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 ankles 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 nip
ple 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 on 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’d 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.
Telepaths Don't Need Safewords, by Cecilia Tan Page 3