I love chatting and role playing. It's lovely when you get into a private world with someone else, a stranger, and all of a sudden you're both of you creating and living in that world. I sometimes wonder how I ever had any ideas for stories before I started role playing online. Here is a story that I sometimes think of when I chat and roleplay. It's contemporary and the heroine is a young woman who starts off rather well, don't you think? Cye was a young woman in her early 20s. To all who saw her, she was the essence of glamour. Her body still retained the shape and freshness of a teenager: long elegant legs and shapely ankles; wide hips which supported a beautifully rounded bottom; slim waist and broad shoulders which framed her gorgeous breasts, the left breast imperceptibly larger than her right: both more generous than one might expect from first sight of her body. Her nipples were fresh and pink as a young girls', and so was the tissue around them, her areolae. When she was sexually excited, one could just catch a glimpse of the inner lips of her vagina: a deeper shade of pink, for she made sure she was always completely shaven smooth down there. A lover once commented that the part of her body where her buttocks flowed into the small of her back was the most wonderful place on earth; and we may be sure he applied the flogger intensively to that spot, for Cye had for many years been under the influence of an older woman, who prostituted her to clients who wanted more than the usual services a commonplace whore would be prepared to provide. Cye's relationship with the bull dyke who owned her was both very complex and extremely simple, as most relationships are. Her Mistress had seduced her when she was still very young and impressionable; had taught her all there was to know about sex and how to serve; and still commanded her love and loyalty. Cye was no doubt the best in Mistress' stable of girls, the income from which kept them all comfortably off and independent, especially Mistress. Mistress noticed how Cye's face would remain calm and still, and would slowly change to a beautiful look of suffering when men whipped her body hard or assaulted her with their cocks or other more creative mechanical toys. However, when the two of them were alone together, Cye's sweet young body pressed against her older and more hard polished one, Mistress saw how Cye would cry and smile intensely - but only for her. Was Mistress becoming jealous of her younger ward's increasing popularity with the clients? Did she feel that Cye was so far ahead of the rest that she posed a challenge to her supremacy, despite how careful Cye always was to serve only her beloved Mistress? We may not understand her motivation at this point, but it is clear that one day Mistress set Cye a very difficult assignment. Cye was to present herself to a certain luxury apartment in a wealthy part of the city. She was told the password for the concierge and given the key to the door. Once inside the apartment (which Cye noted was well appointed in a rather anonymous sort of way) she had to take all her clothes off and go into a room beyond the first, there to read and follow further instructions which awaited her. Naked, she opened the second door quietly, and saw on a raised platform in the centre of the room a large coffin, upholstered in yellow silk. The lid to the coffin lay on the floor beside it. The instructions told her to light a dozen large black candles around the coffin. Then she should place small soft pads over her eyes, and wind a long piece of silk round her head. She counted at least ten turns, before tucking the end into the winding. Then she had to get into the coffin (the instructions were very explicit that she should blindfold herself first) and lie down on her back, her hands crossed over each other below her belly button so that her vaginal slit could be viewed. After that, it was a question of waiting and never, ever, daring to undo the blindfold until explicitly allowed to do so or speak unless addressed. Cye lay in the coffin, her beautiful body breathing ever so gently, breasts and stomach rising and falling, for what seemed like hours and perhaps it really was that long. Then she heard voices, one of them, she knew, her Mistress. "There you are. Isn't she pretty?" "Mmm... yes, just as I remembered her, only... more so!" A man, a deep rich baritone, which Cye was completely unable to associate with a face or name. "Would you like to have her on my conditions?" "These are absolute?" "Of course. It will be up to you to manage her." "I may never allow her to see my face or body, or to touch my cock with her hands." "You can see why I make that stipulation." "Should she, then she must be returned to you - she becomes your problem then, not mine." "I know. You must keep your hands clean. So... shall I call the men in?" Cye listened to the conversation with mounting alarm. Her anxiety grew as it progressed, and even more so when at the end she heard others enter the room, and the lid of the coffin was fixed down over her. She had hardly enough space to raise her hands, and felt her breath fall back on her face so the lid must have been very close. Her good training nevertheless took hold and she did not utter a whimper as she felt the coffin raised, and carried out on the shoulders of the men. There was an interminable journey by car, she listened to the sounds of the traffic until she realised the road they were traveling down must be a long and lonely one; then the coffin was removed, and carried to a place of rest. At last, the lid was removed and Cye took deep breaths, concentrating on appearing calm and unaffected. She could smell fresh air, a hint of pine, and the distant sound of surf. A hand caressed her body, her breasts, her folded hands, her pussy lips, the insides of her thighs. "So beautiful... so sweet... you may speak to me, my name is Ross although you should address me as Master when you wish to be formal." His voice held a smile in it. "Do you understand the conditions, Cye?" "I think so" she whispered softly. "You can stay here until I finish with you. It may be weeks, perhaps even months. Your Mistress is strange, but her conditions are worth your beauty. You know the kind of sex I want from you, the same as you are famous for giving to many lucky men. The one condition is you must never, ever, look at me or touch my cock with your hands. Do you understand this?" "Yes, Master." "Good. I'm usually here soon after nine pm, and that is when I require you to blindfold yourself as you have now. I will leave in the morning, and when you have heard my car drive off, you may undo the blindfold and enjoy the amenities of this house, which is completely at your disposal. Don't speak to the staff, and don't go beyond the perimeter fence. Understood?" "Yes, Master." He raised her out of the coffin, and she felt herself walking on a cool marble floor. Then her hands were tied up, above her head till she barely stood on her tip toes, and she experienced the soundest thrashing she could remember for a long time. It went all over her lovely smooth shoulders, her bottom, and down the backs of her legs. At last and finally, she began to cry out, which only had the effect of redoubling the blows, her body covered for the second time, from her shoulders down to her ankles. When she was finally broken, sobbing and moaning with pain and despair, the man who had become her owner released her, and gently supported her steps to a large silken bed, where he lay her down and made love to her, softly, gently, kissing her face and breasts as his enormous cock pushed deep inside her body. That night, he spent himself in her four times, once in her asshole when he made her get up on all fours like a bitch. The wonder of it all was the house. Polished wood, marble, the most expensive furniture, on the crest of a hill overlooking a long deserted sandy beach. The wind of the sea blew gently through the open rooms at the front, sometimes stirring the draperies. The staff (there was an old woman and two old men, she finally understood) kept out of her way and ran everything providing her with food and doing the cleaning and washing. Cye had absolutely nothing to do all day except wander round, reading some of the erotic literature displayed here and there, and making herself beautiful in front of the long mirrors that were such an integral part of the structure. Her young skin healed quickly - astonishingly so, it might seem - and she was able to take rest during the daylight hours so that when her owner arrived, she was the most beautiful object in the house, waiting for him, arms passively at her sides, head slightly bowed, completely naked in the large marble hallway. "Do I please you, Master?" she whispered one night. "Of course." "Thank you Master." "Can I give you anything? Whatever you need, just ask me. I love you." Slowly, as the weeks passed, Cye requested and was given presents by her owner: jewelery, fine clothes (and such gorgeous shoes!), swimming costumes, books, magazines. In fact, whatever her heart desired, only better and with much more quality. Sometimes she would be requested to greet her owner clothed, and would join him for dinner (it was funny to eat blindfolded at first, but very charming to be served by him: she loved being asked to greet him wearing clothes - sometimes wearing very specific items from her growing collection.) Sometimes she was required to tether herself naked to the whipping post, with a particular whip or cane selected and placed on the floor in front of her. On those occasions she would wait in fear for his arrival, especially if he was late. Every evening, at nine, she would strain her ears for the faintest murmur of his approaching car and her heart would race all the faster when she heard its distinctive sound. And of course, sometimes he would not come at all. Cye nevertheless stayed waiting as she had been told until she would hear the old woman shuffling up to her to say it was all right. If Master was not here by now it meant he was not coming. Only two things were lacking: company, and the sight of her owner. She finally persuaded him first of all to let her have a phone, and then later to let her invite some of her sisters in bondage from Mistress' stable. That helped ease the loneliness a lot: they would spend delightful afternoons, giggling and joking at the side of the enormous swimming pool at the back for it was not often that any of Mistress' girls managed to land themselves such a comfortable appointment. But they always had to leave an hour before his arrival and could never arrive before mid-day. One afternoon her friends asked her what her new owner actually looked like. Cye attempted to tell them about the strange conditions of her new life, and her inability to explain herself consistently, and her lack of knowledge about him made her friends at last express their jealousy openly. "You never know. He might turn out to be a mass-murderer." "Or someone horribly disfigured." "Or very ill with an awful contagious disease." "He might be a pervert who is waiting to hack you to death." Although Cye was convinced in her heart of hearts that her owner was a good man, and maybe perhaps even a very attractive man, these kinds of comments acted as a sort of poison in her mind, robbing her of peace in her delightful idyll. The more Cye thought about these things the worse they got, so one afternoon she hid a sharp kitchen knife under the bed, and when her owner had exhausted himself making love to her that night and she could hear the regular breathing of his sleep, she quietly picked up the knife to defend herself with, undid the silk around her head, and let the little pads fall from her eyes, hardly daring to see... ...the most beautiful of young men, abandoned in sleep. His dark hair contrasted against the pallor of his skin; the curls of the chest hairs coming down in a small ridge over his stomach to widen out into the moist tangle of his pubic hair, below which his lovely penis, at present flaccid from exhaustion, nestled between two exquisite balls. Cye raised the scented candle at the side of the bed for a better look, and her hand shook a little and a small drop of wax fell on the chest of her wonderful man. His eyes flickered open and Cye saw the look of sadness cross his face as she saw he realised that she had undone her blindfold and was looking straight at him. "Oh, Cye...." "Master! You're so beautiful!" "And you too my dearest, sweetest Cye. I have learnt to love you deeply these past months." "So?" He shook his head. Cye realised that there were deep reasons, reasons she could not guess at, which forced Ross to drive her out of the lovely home in which they had been so happy together. Perhaps her Mistress continually monitored this house, or had snitches among the serving staff, or Mistress had some very strong bond on her owner that he dared not break. Mortals can never hope to understand the workings of divine beings and must always yield to them. For whatever reason, Cye was returned to her apartment by Ross, who did not say a single word more to her, and made her leave all her lovely new belongings behind. Back in her own old familiar surroundings, Cye realised how drab and colourless her former life with Mistress had been, compared to the wonder and the richness of what she had experienced with Ross. Her apartment was small, cramped, fussy. It lacked style and the clothes she had bought for herself were tarty, vulgar. She buried her face in her hands and wept bitterly. If only she had not listened to those horrible doubting voices! The phone rang. Cye leapt for it heart throbbing wildly, but it was Mistress. "So. You finally failed me." "Yes Mistress. I'm very sorry, Mistress." "Are you sorry? You have now become my worst nightmare." "Oh, Mistress!" Sobs wracked her body. "Please give me another chance!" "Are you prepared to do anything for me, Cye?" "Oh yes, of course, Mistress! Always..." "Come and see me tomorrow, in the evening. You need not wear anything special." Cye knew what that meant. Terrible punishment. What else could she do? There was no other life for her but in the hands of her Mistress, and however displeased she might be, Cye knew... she hoped... she wished... that after her ordeal, whatever it was to be, she would be re-instated in the stable. She might even - oh god, would she? - be given to Ross again for his use. She lay awake and tossed in her lonely bed all night and could hardly concentrate on a thing the following day as the hands of the clock crept slowly to 9 pm. Then, she dressed herself sadly in her jeans and t shirt, and left her apartment with not even her handbag but just the key of her door in her pocket. The punishments that Mistress made her undergo were dreadful, and unlike any she had ever experienced in her young life. In between, she was kept chained up in a dark room. All she had to do to make them stop, her Mistress told her over and over again, was to promise never to have anything to do with Mistress again; to leave; to walk out in disgrace. So simple, Cye. Are you sure that's not what you want to do? Her first punishment: Cye was strung up by her arms on a frame, with her legs wide apart. She watched wide-eyed as Mistress took out a little box and a pair of leather gloves. She donned the gloves, and opened the box for Cye to look. It was pull of little spiky seeds. Mistress shook some seeds over her hair. She pressed some into the base of her neck. They had little spines over them that when pressed aganist her flesh they stuck with a small bite each time from their spines. Mistress arranged them over her nipples, tucked them under her breasts, into her navel and round her tummy, and of course poked some into the lips of her vagina and asshole. Cye cried quietly from the fear as Madame poked them over her thighs, her calves, between her toes.. then along the floor to a box. "There are ants inside the box" she told Cye. "They like the seeds, but some, I'm afraid, will sting. They're all very angry just now. They sting rather badly, and the swelling is very itchy and it lasts for weeks. Are you sure you don't want to go and get out of my life?" Cye shook her head amidst her sobs, and the ants did indeed boil out of the box, swarming up to her, up her legs, all over her body, sometimes stinging her; into the folds of her vagina, her anus, over her lovely smooth belly and onto her breasts, into her nose and all over her face and hair. After a few hours, Mistress released her and she cowered in her cell, trying to clean her body, aware of many little points on her flesh where the ants had bitten. By morning, her body was aflame and she tried hard not to scratch herself, it was awful. She moaned and cried in the darkness of her cell, but when Mistress stood in the door, outlined against the light and asked her did she want to leave, she dumbly shook her head and begged her Mistress to show mercy to her. Her second torment was with three large and rough sheepdogs. After the ant bites had subsided into little knots of agony under her skin, Mistress locked her into a cage with the dogs, who immediately ran to her and started to sniff at her vagina and bottom, pushing themselves at her and scratching her with their dirty claws. She cried out for help, trying to protect her body, but Mistress had sat down in a comfortable chair on the other side of the cage. "You will only be released, you horrible little girl, after you have had sex with all three dogs. They like girl pussy from what I've seen, and you only have to position yourself like a bitch for them. Of course" she shrugged "you could always tell me you will go, instead?" Poor Cye! She looked at the panting, unkempt dogs and imagined them draped over her back, their sharp doggy penises stuck inside her vagina, their paws scratching against her breasts and sides as they enthusiastically fucked her. With bitter tears in her eyes, she let herself be mounted, first by one... then by another... and finally, oh it was so sore by then she could hardly help herself from screaming in agony, by the third. Her vagina was torn and bleeding but all the while Mistress kept up a running commentary on how badly she was doing and how even the dogs despised her. Cye got through her ordeal, and Mistress reluctantly let her out of the cage, kicking the snarling dogs back in with her boot. Her third ordeal was most probably the worst. Mistress had her pulled out on an operating table, legs spread apart, and inserted a catheter up her pee hole which she controlled by a small tap, so Cye could only pass water when she was allowed to. Then Mistress slowly passed a long tube into her mouth, down her throat, into her stomach. Cye gagged at the feeling of the tube inside her, but her coughing grew into inarticulate cries as she realised that Mistress was pumping warm water down the tube, which she was incapable of rejecting. Her stomach grew large, it became distended. She could see the veins standing out on it. She tried to shake her head and protest against the straps that held her, and sometimes Mistress would put her face close to Cye's and whisper gently "Your tummy will look awfully flabby by the time this is over, just like your pussy has become so wide open after the doggies and your skin is all covered in bumps after the ants. Do you want me to stop? You have only to say the word, you silly little failure." And Cye would shake her head and Mistress would pour more water into her victim's mouth. When she could pump no more into Cye, Mistress released the tap, and Cye was able to pass a lot of it out, crying in pleasure for the relief, staring at the ceiling in joy. Then the tap was closed and more water was pumped down her throat. Cye lost count of how many times this happened, but in the morning, when her bladder had finally emptied for the last time, Mistress took Cye off the table and showed her reflection to her in the full length mirror. Cye didn't want to look at first, but then she steeled herself thinking, looking brought me to this, looking will now be punished. She gasped in horror none the less as she saw what she had become: hair stringy and dirty, her body covered in angry red pustules, all over her lovely face, her breasts, her belly... her inner vagina lips hung like shreds of dirty gray cloth above a large and sagging stomach. "Now you may go" said her Mistress quietly. "And good riddance." Poor Cye! To have been reduced to such a pitiful wreck from her blissful state with her marvelous lover! How she got back home I don't know, but she barely managed to get the door open with her key and flung herself, weeping bitterly, on the bed. Now we come to the last part. There are two endings to this story. One is the conventional ending which many storytellers will use because to them it seems incredible that Cye should have suffered so much and lost so much all for nothing. In this version, Ross is waiting in Cye's apartment. And when she finally comes back after her ordeal, he promises to love and cherish her till death will part them - as his slave and lover, as the sharer of his incredible wealth, but now that she has paid the price of her inquisitiveness she may always be able to see his face and bask in the warmth of his smile. She accepts. She regains her former beauty and in time surpasses it, bearing Ross many lovely children. She is even reconciled to Mistress. It turns out that Ross is in fact her Mistress' son, and Mistress had promised to find him the most faithful lover in the world. Which only she as the goddess Aphrodite could do. Are we going to be afraid to look at the other kind of ending? In this second ending there is no ulterior plan, no symbolism. It is simply a sad story of what happens to those who cannot control their inquisitiveness, who never know to leave well enough alone. Cye is abandoned by everyone - by Ross, by Mistress, by all her so-called friends. She drifts into cheap prostitution, taking her clothes off in endless nightclubs where the red light hides the imperfections of her body, becoming increasingly bitter and hopeless till one day the neighbors realise she has not been seen for days, and when the police open her apartment they find her dead body in a pool of blood in the bath. She slit her wrists and let the warm water carry her off. Myself, I prefer the first of course. The ancient Greeks called it the legend of Psyche and Eros. Later it was retold as the story of Beauty and the Beast. It speaks to us deeply because it is a story of rebirth through suffering and it was sometimes re-enacted in the great ancient pagan mystery rituals. But sometimes, I find myself in a chat, and the person with whom I'm chatting says hey honey, you got a cam? Let me see your face on the cam. Send me pictures of yourself naked holding today's newspaper so I know you're for real. Are you a real woman, honey, not just a fagot jerking off? Call me on my phone. Ah then, I think of the other ending.
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