Welcome To Corbin's Bend

by Thianna D

  A pause. Then a tentative thing, like a pat that the one patting had just lost a little bit of control over, landed on her ass. She couldn't help it. She started to laugh.

  If she had ever laughed at John during a discipline session, she was sure she wouldn't have been able to sit down for a week. Fred just stood there.

  "Fred," she finally said. "You have to want to hurt me. You're very dear to me, but you're not kinky, and you don't want to hurt me."

  "How can you want that? How can you want someone who wants to hurt you?"

  "You can call it fucked up if you want, Fred, and I've got some personal psychological theories about it, but it's who I am." She smoothed down her skirt and got up. She put her arms around him.

  Fred's head dropped to his chest. "Is there anything I can do?"

  "Be my friend?" Sarah asked.

  "OK," Fred replied, and hugged her. She kissed him and he kissed her back. Oh, fuck. This wasn't good. She was in fact becoming aroused, not really because of him, but because she kept picturing what he would be like if he could be John. God damn it, wasn't she entitled?

  She pulled back. "At least for the moment, would you consider benefits?"

  "What?"

  "I need you to fuck me, Fred. Can you do that, without thinking that it means we're dating, or in love, or anything?" She left his embrace, and lay herself over Marilyn's bed again, and pulled up her dress, and pulled down her panties to her knees, which she spread as wide as the panties allowed. "I'm a very, very bad girl, and bad girls get laid over their roommates' beds, and spanked and fucked by anyone who happens by, don't they?"

  She heard him approach, and closed her eyes, trying to pretend he was John. Then he pulled her panties up, and her dress down. She hid her face in her hands and started to cry, but he pulled her up, gently, and sat her down on the bed next to him, holding her for a while.

  "Jesus Christ," Fred finally said, in a kind tone that made the words that followed even more infuriating. "What did that asshole do to you? Should I call the police?"

  "Oh my God," Sarah said. "You people are just never going to understand, are you? John didn't do this to me. This is who I am. We're just different from you. It's only perverted if you think like someone from the nineteenth century." Sarah gave an exasperated sigh. "Fred," she said, "do you jerk off?"

  Fred was taken aback, but he finally said, "Yeah, OK. I jerk off."

  "Well, that's perverted."

  "No it's not," Fred replied automatically. "Everybody does it."

  "So the fact that I'm the only girl you've ever met who loves getting it in the ass from her professor means I'm perverted?"

  "But you don't really want that, do you?"

  "My God, is anyone ever going to believe me? Yes, I want that. I want that so bad I can barely even stay in this room with you, instead of getting up and going to my car and trying to find John and beg him to fuck me in the ass just one more time."

  Chapter 15

  Once he muddled through the most likely inaccurate theories about the famous fasces of Rome, the Greek mastix and the Roman flagellum, he could move onto the good part. For a moment though, despite himself, he bitterly remembered the joy of introducing Sarah to his flogger, so similar to the flagellum, which no one except the most depraved would ever have used domestically. The spanking story for the March lecture was an imagination of Augustus spanking his daughter Julia, in a vain attempt to turn her from her debauched ways.

  The discussion the following week was understandably less well attended than the lecture. Dunn thought they probably worried he would quiz them on the Suetonius he had assigned, with the warning that it included some “racy stuff”, at which they had laughed uproariously. Maeve hadn't been there.

  She was there for the medieval lecture, though, when the spanking story was about Henry II and Eleanor of Aquitaine. Enough of them had seen The Lion in Winter that this story went over very well indeed. The second discussion, on a section from Le Morte d'Arthur, where Guinevere at least deserved a spanking, was a little better attended, but Maeve again didn’t attend.

  He found the final lecture much more difficult to write, because although there was copious evidence for spanking from 1600 or so on, and especially from 1700 on, it was almost all to do with the punishment of minors, the most interesting parts of it heavily sexualized, which he had known he should avoid it as a topic for a public lecture, even before Brent had gently warned him about it. He had to resort to vague references to the Eton block and the cane, and the cutting of switches in America, but he thought he got the point across. Then it was time for the best bit of all, Jane Austen's joke in Mansfield Park about "Rears and Vices", which he'd cleared with Brent beforehand.

  The next week, at the final discussion, Maeve was present. He enjoyed the discussion and thought his audience did too, because mostly they just talked about parts of Jane Austen novels that really should have spankings, and John felt like the whole thing had been quite the success. Maeve didn't say anything in the discussion, but she smiled often at the ribald jokes others made. As the discussion began to break up at about ten o'clock, Maeve came over to where John sat at the head of the table.

  "Dr. Dunn," she said quietly. "May I speak with you?"

  "Of course," said John.

  The room was soon empty except for the two of them. They sat at the end of the big conference table talking quietly.

  "We're worried about Sarah," said Maeve.

  "I am too," said Dunn. "I haven't talked to her myself, or even seen her except at a distance, but I've heard from my colleagues that she isn't doing well this term. It's very concerning, because as you know, she's brilliant and has a bright future, but I'm afraid I just don't think that me talking to her would do any good." He sounded so rehearsed to himself that he had a sudden urge to cry.

  "No," replied Maeve, "I don't think so either. It's just that... Well, Joe and I don't really understand… this thing."

  "You mean BDSM?" asked Dunn.

  Maeve nodded, and said, "Can I ask you to give me an honest answer to something?"

  "Of course."

  "Do people… get over it?"

  Dunn sighed deeply. "Well, one thing I can say is that it's not the same for everybody. There are people who just enjoy it from time to time." Maeve nodded again. "But since I'm being completely honest, I need to tell you that I think Sarah is like me in this respect. She may find someone else who will help her live out this part of her identity, and I very much hope she will, and soon. But she's always going to be kinky, I'm afraid."

  Then Maeve seemed to resolve something in herself, and she continued, abruptly, "Will you swear on the Holy Cross that Sarah came to you?"

  There was no use in trying to pretend that John didn't know what Maeve meant. The tears welled up in his eyes. "I swear by the Holy Cross," he said. "I swear it by the Holy Name of Our Lord, and by the Most Holy Sacrament."

  "Thank you, John," said Maeve. She stood and left without another word. It was the first time she ever called him by his Christian name.

  Maeve came to Sandy Ridge to take Sarah out to dinner at the beginning of April. Before their drinks had even arrived, Maeve said, "You and your father are never going to see eye-to-eye on this, I think, so God help us if you marry him, but, for whatever it's worth, I'm giving you my blessing."

  "What? You're not talking about John right? Because if you're talking about John, this is probably an even more effective way to kill me than making him break up with me was. He doesn't want me, Mom."

  "I think he does," Maeve said quietly. "I don't know whether he'll admit it, though."

  "He's certainly been doing a pretty good job of keeping it hidden, that's for sure," said Sarah sarcastically.

  "Sarah," Maeve replied, "that's not fair."

  "I really am losing my mind, aren't I? I could swear you just defended John Dunn."

  "I did. With the possible exception of his failure to turn down sexual favors which you apparently offered him, i
t appears that he behaved rather admirably."

  Sarah couldn't trust herself to speak and buried her face in her hands. This crying thing was getting old, she thought.

  "Now, the BDSM," Maeve continued, "is something that I've decided I don't have to understand. I've been reading a lot of things on the 'net, and I talked to John last week."

  Sarah lifted her head at that. "You did what?"

  "I went to his lectures, and then I went to the last discussion session."

  "Oh Jesus," Sarah said. "My mom gets to talk to the man I love, but I have to stay a hundred feet away from him."

  "Oh sweetie, I'm so sorry," Maeve said. "I think your father and I probably did you and him a great injustice."

  "Probably." Sarah didn't even try to keep the bitterness out of her voice.

  "But, Sarah, why didn't you tell us?"

  "Tell you what? Who I fuck is my own business."

  "I don't mean that. I mean, about this part of you."

  Sarah almost said something crude, just in an attempt to be cruel to Maeve, but she caught herself, realizing her mother was making the most sincere effort she had ever made to understand her daughter. "You guys just never came across as being particularly fetish-friendly," she said. "Even if I'd known what to call myself, I probably wouldn't have been able to articulate it until I met John. And it's not like you asked me if I wanted to wear a butt plug."

  The look on her mother's face made her laugh. It felt like the first time she'd really laughed since December (laughing at Fred's half-hearted attempt to spank her certainly didn't count). Once she had started laughing, though, she couldn't stop. She just kept thinking of what it would've been like if she had put “a butt plug” on her Christmas list, and then had opened it under the tree. She looked at her mother, and saw that Maeve had a smile on her face too. Then Maeve's smile broadened, and finally she succumbed to Sarah's laughter.

  "Oh my God," Maeve gasped, "that moment when your father flipped up your skirt…"

  "Oh, Mom…"

  "The look on your father's face. I wish you could've seen it."

  Sarah laughed so hard now that she worried she might break a rib. Other people in the restaurant turned their heads to look at them.

  So strange, Sarah thought later, that it took this to make me feel close to my mother.

  Soon enough it was Easter. Sarah didn't know if she had the courage to face John, but she decided to go home for Easter break anyway. She could decide whether to go to church when she got there.

  Mass was beautiful and uplifting, and Sarah felt hope and joy rising in her heart just as Father Henry said it must, in Eastertide.

  After the end of the liturgy, when the postlude had begun thundering out, and the people made their way out of the nave and into the narthex and the sunny day beyond it, she sat down next to John in his pew in the back. The smoke from the incredible amount of incense Father Henry always managed to get into the air on holy days still swirled around in the April sunlight that filtered through the very modest stained glass that was all St. Michael's could afford.

  The organ played very loudly, and John closed his eyes as he listened to the end of the spectacular Bach fugue Mrs. Hascom, the organist and choir mistress, played with characteristic aplomb, so at first he didn't notice she was there. She just looked at him for a few moments, fighting the urge to kiss him, but also fighting the urge to flee. Finally he opened his eyes and saw her, and for one wonderful moment it all seemed perfect. She saw him: the real John, her John, as if he had just travelled from some imaginary ancient holy land where he had been visiting the empty tomb with Mary Magdalene. He smiled at her as if she were someone from that wonderful place, and the urge to kiss him almost overcame her, but she managed only to smile.

  But then he seemed to return to himself and began casting his eyes around the church, presumably to try to find her parents. Some sort of veil crashed down between them, and she didn't think he was looking at her anymore, as much as he was looking at some demon he was fighting.

  Sarah glanced over to where her parents headed. She saw her mother look towards her. Maeve gave Sarah a hopeful smile, but Sarah shook her head.

  She turned back to John. "It's no good is it?" she asked.

  "I…" said John.

  "I thought you might want to know," said Sarah bitterly, "that my mom gave us her blessing."

  "And your dad?"

  "Does it look like he's coming over here to kill you?"

  "No, but…"

  "That's what I thought," said Sarah, and rose to go. "What ever happened to never denying who you are?"

  "Sarah," he said. "It's not that simple."

  "No, of course not." She left the church, thinking she probably wouldn't ever return.

  She pulled herself out of the academic part of the funk, at least. Not A pluses or even A's, but A minuses across the board. Really, considering how completely absent she had been for the first half of the term, it was a stunning performance.

  The real problem was that she had no desire to do anything anymore. Or at least none of the things that used to make her happy. She didn't read anything–not the goofy sci-fi novels she used to love, and certainly not academic books and articles, as she would if she were really planning on applying to grad school the following year. She had nearly finished her applications in December, but of course she hadn't sent them. She knew she would probably stand a very good chance of getting into the top-tier programs that were her goal, if she applied that fall, but she couldn't muster the slightest desire to do so.

  On the other hand, she had been able to muster a great deal of interest in going out–a lot. Her last few weeks at Sandy Ridge, with the stupid paint-by-numbers thesis about Livy done, and the exams basically a cakewalk, blurred with trips to bars and quasi-one-night-stands with two boys who happened to be around when she was drunk. The quasi part was that each of them called her a few nights later, and she went out with him and fucked him again. She could tell they thought she was a pretty good lay–maybe even a mind-blowingly good one–but she had no idea how she felt about that, considering that she knew the reason she was good at sex was John. With her now-characteristic bitterness, she thanked John mentally for introducing her to birth control shots.

  When Marilyn told Sarah she had called Sarah's parents, to tell them about what Sarah was doing, Sarah said, wearily, "Fuck you," and went out with the second of the two guys, Darren, who wasn't really a Dom but said he was and at least liked rough sex. She was finally coming out, she thought, and if it didn't feel wonderful, it certainly felt real (she told herself).

  The night before graduation, Sarah went home to Corbin's Bend for a party her parents had thrown for her. The day after graduation, she had plans to drive out to California. She didn't know what she would do there, but she felt she didn't have a choice but to leave Colorado. As soon as she arrived, Maeve said, "We invited John but he declined."

  Sarah's father stood there, and Sarah looked at him with mild interest to see what expression he wore. To her astonishment, he said, "Go say goodbye to him, Sarah. He's a good man."

  Sarah gaped. She couldn't think of a single thing to say.

  "You really should," said Maeve. Her tone of voice said that she desperately wanted Sarah to go over there, but she didn't want to push.

  "Alright," Sarah said. She went to unpack. She had no intention of actually going to John's.

  After the party (parties in Corbin's Bend were tame affairs, as far as she was concerned, and this one had featured endless friends of Maeve's and Joe's telling her about how much promise she had, and how nice John was, but she was grateful for the gesture), she lay awake in bed for a very long time, thinking about October and November. It couldn't actually have been as wonderful as she remembered it, right? In the past month she had spent some time on various sites on the 'net and she could find plenty of Doms who would probably like to meet her. The whole soul mate thing was a crock. And she was going to San Francisco, where the whole thing
had started. Leather in its natural environment. Whee.

  Chapter 16

  I came to say good-bye, Professor. I'm leaving." It was the day after graduation. Sarah stood in his living room, attempting to be cheerful, he could tell instantly, but behind the cheer was a dullness–a sort of disinterest in anything or anyone–that made him want to scream. He remembered the expression on her face when they had their very first conversation about the tutorial that never really happened–the one about Livy's early history of Rome–how her face had glowed with passionate interest that he knew he had partly been responsible for kindling, and how captivated he had been, how much he had wanted to know more about who she was and what she wanted out of life. Had she given off a submissive vibe there? He thought probably. The way their erotic energies had fed off one another, in October and November, certainly made it seem they must have had something D/s going on beneath the surface from the beginning.

  Christ, he was supposed to say something, wasn't he? She looked at him, with a face that was somehow both hard and dull, now. He could barely recognize her, or at least he wanted barely to recognize her, if that was what she was going to be like for the rest of her life. The scream impulse became, of its own accord, a weeping impulse.

  "Leaving?" he asked. "Where are you going?"

  "San Francisco, I think. I think I need just to go hang out somewhere. That's all. This place is over for me. And, you know, San Francisco..."

  "I do. It's lovely. You'll like it." He tried to put tenderness into his voice. It was nearly all he could do not to cry, though.

  Her false cheerfulness seemed to wink out like someone had turned out the lights behind her eyes. "Why the fuck do you even care, asshole?"

  Before he could even think about what he was doing, he grabbed her by the shoulders and threw her over the arm of the living room sofa.

  "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Sarah yelled, turning her head to meet his eyes, where he stood next to her as she lay there, not trying to get up at least for this moment when all her attention focused on her rage at him. "Don't even think about spanking me. You gave up that right when you fucked me over on Christmas Eve!"