Telepaths Don't Need Safewords, by Cecilia Tan Read Online Free PDF Page B

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