Anne Rice - Beauty 03 - Beauty's Release

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ABOUT THE E-BOOK
TITLE: Beauty's Release
AUTHOR: Ann Rice asA. N. Roquelaure
ABEB Version: 2.0
No Tea Edition
Table of Contents
Beauty's Release
THE STORY THUS FAR
BEAUTY'S RELEASE
LAURENT: CAPTIVES AT SEA
LAURENT: MEMORIES OF THE CASTLE AND THE VILLAGE
BEAUTY: THROUGH THE CITY AND INTO THE PALACE
BEAUTY: EXAMINATION IN THE GARDEN
BEAUTY: MYSTERIOUS MASTER
BEAUTY: THE RITES OF PURIFICATION
BEAUTY: THE FIRST TEST OF OBEDIENCE
LAURENT: FOR THE LOVE OF THE MASTER
BEAUTY: THE WATCHER
LAURENT: A LESSON IN SUBMISSION
BEAUTY: MYSTERIOUS CUSTOMS
LAURENT: THE GARDEN OF MALE DELIGHTS
LAURENT: THE GREAT ROYAL PRESENCE
LAURENT: THE ROYAL BEDCHAMBER
LAURENT: MORE SECRET LESSONS
BEAUTY: INTO THE ARMS OF FATE
LAURENT: DECISION FOR LEXIUS
BEAUTY: REVELATIONS AT SEA
LAURENT: JUDGMENT OF THE QUEEN
LAURENT: FIRST DAY AMONG THE PONIES
BEAUTY: COURTLY LIFE IN ALL ITS GLORY
LAURENT: LIFE AMONG THE PONIES
MOMENT OF TRUTH
Copyright Notice
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This book was hand-copied right by mad Benedictine monks.
Ann Rice
Writing as A. N. Roquelaure
Beauty's Release
THE STORY THUS FAR
In
THE CLAIMING OF SLEEPING BEAUTY
AFTER HER century-long slumber, the Sleeping Beauty opened her eyes at the kiss of the Prince to
find her garments stripped away and her heart as well as her body under the rule of her deliverer. At
once, Beauty was claimed as the Prince's naked pleasure slave to be taken to his Kingdom.
With the grateful consent of her parents, and dazed with desire for the Prince, Beauty was then brought
to the Court of Queen Eleanor, the Prince's mother, to serve as one of hundreds of naked Princes and
Princesses, all playthings of the Court until such time as they would be rewarded and sent home to their
Kingdoms.
Dazzled by the rigors of the Training Hail, the Hall of Punishments, the ordeal of the Bridle Path, and her
own mounting passion to please, Beauty remained the undisputed favorite of the Prince and the delight of
her sometime Mistress, the lovely young Lady Juliana.
Yet she could not ignore her secret and forbidden infatuation with the Queen's exquisite slave, Prince
Alexi, and finally the disobedient slave, Prince Tristan.
After glimpsing Prince Tristan among the disgraced of the castle, Beauty, in a moment of seemingly
inexplicable rebellion, brought upon herself the very same punishment destined for Tristan: to be sent
away from the voluptuous Court to the degradation of harsh labor in the nearby village.
In
BEAUTY'S PUNISHMENT
Sold on the village auction block at dawn, Tristan soon found himself tethered and harnessed to the
carriage of a handsome young Master, Nicolas, the Queen's Chronicler. And Beauty, put to work in
Mistress Lockley's Inn, became the plaything of the Captain of the Guard, the Inn's chief lodger.
But within days of their separation and sale, Beauty and Tristan were both seduced by the iron discipline
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of the village. The sweet terrors of the Place of Public Punishment, the Punishment Shop, the Farm and
the Stable, the Soldiers' Night at the inn enflamed them as well as frightening them, causing them to forget
their former selves utterly.
Even the harsh judgment of the runaway slave, Prince Laurent, his body bound to a Punishment Cross
for exhibit, only served to tantalize them.
And, as Beauty gloried in chastisements at last equal to her spirit, Tristan became hopelessly enamored
of his new Master.
Yet no sooner had the pair met and confided their shameless happiness to each other than a band of
powerful enemy soldiers attacked the village, kidnapping Beauty and Tristan along with other choice
slaves, including Prince Laurent, to be taken by sea to the land of a new Master, the Sultan.
Within hours of the attack, the stolen Princes and Princesses learned that they would not be ransomed.
By agreement between their sovereigns, they had been condemned to serve in the Sultan's palace until
such time as they would be safely returned to their Queen for further judgment.
Kept in long, rectangular golden cages in the hold of the Sultan's ship, the slaves accepted their new
destiny.
As our story continues, it is night on the quiet vessel and the long voyage is nearing its close.
And Prince Laurent is alone with his thoughts about his slavery....
BEAUTY'S RELEASE
LAURENT: CAPTIVES AT SEA
NIGHTTIME.
But something had changed. As soon as I opened my eyes, I knew we were close to land. Even in the
shadowy silence of the cabin, I could smell the living things of the land.
And so the journey is coming to an end, I thought. And we will finally know what awaits us in this new
captivity in which we are destined to be even lower, and more abject, than before.
I was as relieved as I was frightened, as curious as I was filled with dread.
And by the light of the one night lantern, I saw Tristan lying awake, his face tense as he peered into the
darkness. He too knew that the voyage was almost ended.
The naked Princesses still slept, however, looking like exotic beasts in their golden cages. The piquant
little Beauty was a yellow flame in the gloom, Rosalynd's curly black hair draped her white back to the
curve of her plump little buttocks. And above, the long, delicate-boned Elena lay on her back, her
straight brown hair combed out over her pillow.
Lovely flesh, these three, our tender fellow prisoners: Beauty's rounded little arms and legs begging to be
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pinched as she lay snuggled in her sheets; Elena's head thrown back in the total abandon of sleep, her
long slender legs wide apart, one knee against the bars of the cage; Rosalynd turned on her side as I
looked at her, her large breasts falling gently forward, nipples darkly pink and erect.
And to my far right the black-haired Dmitri, vying with the blond Tristan in muscular beauty, Dmitri's
face oddly cold in slumber, though by day he was often the kindest and most accepting of us all. We
Princes, caged as securely as the women, probably looked no more human, no less exotic.
And each of us wore the stiff little covering of gold mesh between our legs, forbidding us the slightest
examination of our own hungry organs.
We had come to know each other very well during the long nights at sea when our guards were not near
enough to hear our whispers. And in our quiet hours of thinking and dreaming, perhaps we had come to
better know ourselves.
"Do you feel it, Laurent?" Tristan whispered. "We are near to the shore."
Tristan was the anxious one, the one who grieved for his lost Master, Nicolas, yet watched everything
around him.
"Yes," I answered under my breath, with a little glance at him. Flash of his blue eye. "It can't be long."
"I only hope..."
"Yes?" I said again. "What is there to hope for, Tristan?"
"... that they don't separate us."
I didn't answer. I lay back and closed my eyes. What did it matter to talk about it when soon all things
would be revealed? And we could do nothing to alter them.
"Whatever happens," I said dreamily, "I'm glad the voyage is ended. I'm glad we'll soon to be put to
some use again."
After the initial tests of our passion, we had not been used again by our captors. And for a fortnight we
had been tortured by our own desires, the boyish attendants only laughing gently at us and quickly
binding our hands when we dared to touch the delicate wedge-shaped casings of mesh that imprisoned
our privates.
We had all suffered equally, it seemed, with nothing to distract us in the hold of the ship but the sight of
one another's nakedness.
And I couldn't help but wonder if these young caretakers, so thoughtful in every other regard, realized
how relentlessly we had been schooled in the appetites of the flesh, how our Masters and Mistresses in
the Queen's Court had taught us to crave even the crack of the strap to alleviate the fire within us.
Not a half day of the old servitude had passed without thorough use of our bodies, and even the most
obedient of us had received constant chastisement. And those sent down from the castle to the penance
of the village had known little rest either.
But those were different worlds, as Tristan and I had often agreed during our whispered nighttime
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conversations. In both the village and the castle, we had been expected to speak, if only to say, "Yes,
My Lord," or, "Yes, My Lady." And we had been given express commands and sent now and then to do
errands unaccompanied. Tristan had even conversed at length with his cherished master, Nicolas.
But we had been warned before we ever left the Queen's domain that these servants of the Sultan would
treat us as if we were mute animals. Even if we could understand their strange foreign tongue, they would
never speak to us. And in the Sultan's land any lowly pleasure slave who attempted speech would merit
immediate and severe punishment.
The warnings had been borne out. All during the voyage, we had been petted, stroked, pinched, and
guided about in tender and condescending silence.
When, out of desperation and boredom, Princess Elena had spoken aloud, begging to be let out of the
cage, she had been quickly gagged, her ankles and wrists bound against the small of her back, her
undulating body suspended on a chain from the cabin ceiling. And there she remained, the attendants
scowling at her in shock and outrage, until she had given up her vain and muffled protests.
And how kindly and carefully she had been taken down afterwards. Her silent lips had been kissed, her
hurting wrists and ankles oiled until the red marks of the leather cuffs were gone from them.
The young silk-robed boys had even brushed her sleek brown hair and massaged her buttocks and back
with their strong fingers, as if such irascible little beasts as we must be soothed in this manner. Of course,
they had stopped soon enough when they realized the soft shadow of brown curly hair between Elena's
legs was moist, and that she could not help but move her hips against the silk of the grooming mattress,
so excited was she by their touch.
With little scolding gestures and shakes of the head, they had made her kneel up, holding her wrists again
as they fitted her little vagina with its inflexible metal covering, the chains coming round her thighs and
quickly clasped tight. Then she had been put in her cage, arms and legs tied to the bars with thick satin
ribbons.
Yet this display of passion had not angered them. On the contrary, they had stroked her wet sex before
covering it, smiling at her as if to approve her heat, her need. Yet all the moaning in the world had not
brought mercy from them.
And the rest of us had only watched in lustful silence, our own starved organs pulsing vainly. I wanted to
climb into her cage and tear off the little shield of gold mesh and stab my cock in the wet little nest made
for it. I wanted to open her mouth with my tongue. l wanted to squeeze her heavy breasts in my hands,
suckle the small coral-colored nipples, and see her flushed red with throbbing pleasure as I rode her to
the finish. But these were but painful dreams. Elena and I could only look at each other, as I hoped in
silence that sooner or later we might be allowed the ecstasy of each other's arms.
The dainty little Beauty was also most intriguing, and the buxom Rosalynd with her big mournful eyes
absolutely luscious, but it was Elena who was full of cleverness and dark disdain for what had befallen us.
During our whispered talks, she laughed at our fate, tossing her heavy brown hair over her shoulder as
she spoke.
"Who has ever had three such marvelous choices, Laurent?" she asked. "The Sultan's palace, the village,
the castle. I tell you, in any one I can find delights to suit me."
"But, darling, you don't know what it will be like in the Sultan's palace," I said. "The Queen had
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hundreds of naked slaves. In the village there were hundreds at labor. What if the Sultan has even more
than that – slaves from all the realms of the East and the West, so many slaves he can use them for
footstools?"
"Do you think he does?" she asked excitedly. Her smile became charmingly insolent. Such wet lips and
exquisite teeth. "Then we must find some way to distinguish ourselves, Laurent." She leaned her chin on
her hand. "I don't want to be just one of a thousand suffering little Princes and Princesses. We must see
that the Sultan knows who we are."
"Dangerous thoughts, my love," I said, "when we can neither speak nor be spoken to, when we are
pampered and punished as simple little beasts."
"We'll find a way, Laurent," she said, with a mischievous wink. "Nothing ever frightened you before, did
it? You ran away just to see what it would be like to be captured, didn't you?"
"You're too quick-witted, Elena," I said. "What makes you think I didn't run in fear?"
"I know you didn't. No one ever ran away from the Queen's castle in fear. It's always done in the spirit
of adventure. I did it myself, you see. That is why I was sentenced to the village."
"And was it worthwhile, my dear?" I asked. Oh, if only I could kiss her, make her pour her high spirits
into my mouth, pinch her little nipples. It was a great cruelty that I'd never even been near her during our
days in the castle.
"Yes, it was worth it," she said thoughtfully. She had been in the village a year when the raid happened, a
female farm slave of the Lord Mayor, working in his country gardens, searching out weeds in the grass
with her teeth on her hands and knees, the gardener a stout and severe man, never without a strap in his
hand.
"But I was ready for something new," she said, turning over on her back, letting her legs go apart as she
always did. I couldn't stop staring at the thick brown hair of her sex under the woven gold shield. "And
then the Sultan's soldiers came as if I had summoned them with my imagination. Remember, Laurent, we
have to do something to distinguish ourselves."
I laughed to myself. I liked her spirit.
But then I liked all of them: Tristan, a beguiling mixture of strength and need, who bore his suffering in
silence; and Dmitri and Rosalynd, both contrite and dedicated to pleasing, as if they had been born slaves
instead of royalty.
But Dmitri could not control his agitation or his lust, could not hold still for punishment or use, though his
mind was filled with nothing but high thoughts of love and submission. He had spent his short village
sentence pilloried in the Place of Public Punishment, awaiting his whippings on the Public Turntable. And
Rosalynd too knew no semblance of control unless shackled tightly. Both had hoped the village would
purge their fears, allow them to serve with the finesse they admired in others.
As for Beauty, well, next to Elena she was the most enchanting, the most unusual slave. Cold she
seemed, yet undeniably sweet, thoughtful and rebellious. Now and then through the dark nights at sea I
saw her staring at me through the bars of her cage with a puzzling expression on her strong little face, her
lips spreading easily in a smile when I acknowledged her.
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When Tristan wept, she would say softly in his defense:
"He loved his Master." And she would shrug as if she found it sad but incomprehensible.
"And you loved no one?" I had asked her one night. "No, not really," she said. "Only other slaves now
and then.... And there came that provocative look that made my cock rise at once. There was something
savage in her, something untouched, for all her seeming fragility.
But now and then she seemed to brood on her resistance. "What would it mean to love them?" she
asked once, almost as if talking to herself. "What would it mean to yield the heart completely? The
punishments, I love. But to love one of the Masters or Mistresses...." She looked afraid suddenly.
"It troubles you," I said sympathetically. The nights at sea worked on all of us. The isolation worked on
all of us.
"Yes. I long for something I have not had," she whispered. "I deny it, but I long for it. Maybe it is only
that I haven't found the proper Master or Mistress....
"The Crown Prince, it was he who brought you to the Kingdom. Surely you found him a truly
magnificent Master."
"No, not at all," she said dismissively. "I can barely remember him. He did not interest me, you see.
What would happen if I were mastered by someone who interested me?" And her eyes took on a strange
glitter, as if seeing for the first time a whole new realm of possibility.
"I can't tell you," I had said, feeling suddenly at a loss. Up until that moment I was sure that I had loved
my Mistress, Lady Elvera. But now I wasn't entirely certain. Maybe Beauty spoke of a deeper, finer love
than I had ever known either.
The fact was, Beauty interested me. She who lay beyond my grasp upon her silken bed, her naked limbs
as perfect as a sculpture in the semi-dark, her eyes full of half-revealed secrets.
Yet all of us, despite our differences, our talk of love, were true slaves. That was certain.
We had been opened up and inalterably changed by our servitude. No matter what our fears and
conflicts, we were not the blushing, awestruck beings we had once been. We swam, each at his or her
own pace, in the dazzling current of erotic torment.
And as I lay thinking, I sought to understand the important differences between the castle life and the
village life, and to guess what this new captivity in the Sultanate promised us.
LAURENT: MEMORIES OF THE CASTLE AND THE VILLAGE
I HAD SERVED well for a year in the castle, property of the strict Lady Elvera, who had had me
whipped each morning as a matter of course, while she took her breakfast. She was a proud and quiet
raven-haired woman with slate-gray eyes, who spent her hours at delicate embroidery. I had kissed her
slippers afterwards in thanks for the whipping, hopeful for the smallest crumb of praise – that I had taken
the blows well or that she found me handsome still. Seldom did she speak a word. Seldom did she look
up from her needle.
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In the afternoons, she took her work to the gardens, and there I coupled with Princesses for her
amusement. I had first to catch my pretty prey, which meant a hard chase through the flower beds, and
then the blushing little Princess must be carried back and laid at My Lady's feet for inspection, after
which my real performance commenced and must be carried through perfectly.
Of course, I had loved these moments – pumping my heat into the shy and quivering body beneath me,
even the most frivolous Princess shaken by the chase and the capture, and both of us burning under My
Lady's steady gaze as she nevertheless went on with her sewing.
Pity I had never covered Beauty during this time. Beauty had remained the Crown Prince's favorite until
she fell from grace and was sent down to the village. Only the Lady Juliana was allowed to share her. But
I had glimpsed her on the Bridle Path and longed to have her gasping under me. How finely tuned a slave
she had been even in the first few days, her form as she marched beside Lady Juliana's horse quite
impeccable. Her hair was golden as wheat as it hung down beside her heart-shaped face; her blue eyes
flashed with burnt pride and undisguised passion. Even the great Queen was jealous of her.
But, looking back on all of it now, I did not for a moment doubt Beauty, when she said she had not
loved those who claimed her affections. I could have seen, had I looked, that her heart wore no chains
then.
But what had been the particular quality of my life in the halls of the castle? My heart did wear chains.
But what had been the essence of my bondage?
I was a Prince, though bound to serve – a high-born being temporarily deprived of his privileges and
made to undergo unique and difficult trials of the body and the soul. Yes, that was the nature of the
humiliation: that I should be privileged again after it was over, that I was the equal of those who enjoyed
my nakedness and reprimanded me severely for the slightest show of will or pride.
It was never so clear to me as when Princes from other lands came to visit and to marvel at this custom
of keeping royal pleasure slaves. How it had flayed me to be presented to these guests.
"But how do you make them serve?" they would ask, half astonished, half enchanted. You never knew
whether they yearned to serve or command. Do all beings have both inclinations at war within them?
The inevitable answer to their timid questions was a mere demonstration of our fine training; that we must
kneel before them, offering our naked organs for their examination, our upturned backsides to be
whipped.
"It is a game of pleasure," My Lady would say matter-of-factly. "And this one, Laurent, a beautifully
mannered Prince, amuses me in particular. He will one day rule a rich realm." She would pinch my
nipples slowly, then lift my cock and balls in her open hand to display them to the amazed guest.
"But still, why does he not struggle, resist?" the visitor might ask, possibly masking his deeper feelings.
"Think on it," My Lady would say. "He is quite well stripped of the accoutrements that would make him
a man in the outside world, only the better to expose the fleshly accoutrements that make him a man for
my service. Imagine yourself as naked, as defenseless, as thoroughly subjugated. You might serve, too,
rather than risk a gamut of even more ignominious corrections."
What newcomer had not asked for his own slave before nightfall?
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Red-faced and trembling, I had crawled to obey many an order given in an unfamiliar and unpracticed
voice. And these were Lords I should some day receive in my own Court. Would we remember these
moments? Would anyone dare to mention them?
And so it was with all the naked slave Princes and Princesses of the castle. Nothing but the highest
quality for this utter debasement.
"I think Laurent will serve another three years at least," Lady Elvera would say airily. How remote she
was, how eternally distracted. "But then the Queen makes these decisions. I shall weep when he goes. I
think perhaps it is his size that most entices me. He is taller than the others, bigger-boned, yet his face is
noble, don't you think?"
She would snap her fingers for me to come near, and then run her thumb down my cheek. "And the
organ," she might say, "it is extremely thick but not overly long. That is important. How the little
Princesses squirm under him. I simply must have a strong Prince. Tell me, Laurent, how might I punish
you in some new fashion, something perhaps that I have not thought of?"
Yes, a strong Prince in temporary subjugation, a monarch's son, with all his faculties engaged, sent here
to be a pupil of pleasure and pain.
But to incur the wrath of the Court and to be sent to the village? That was an altogether different ordeal.
And one that I had barely tasted, though what I did come to know was the very quintessence of it.
Only two days before my capture by the Sultan's thieves, I had run away from Lady Elvera and the
castle. And I do not know why I did it.
Certainly, I adored the Lady. I did. No doubts really. I admired her imperiousness, her endless silences.
She could only have pleased me more had she whipped me herself more often, rather than ordering it
done by other Princes.
Even when she gave me to the guests or the other Lords and Ladies, there was the special joy of
returning to her, of being taken again into her bed, being allowed to lap at the narrow triangle of black
hair between her white thighs as she sat there against the pillow, her hair down, her eyes narrow and
indifferent. It had been a challenge to melt her glacial heart, to make her throw back her head and cry out
in pleasure finally like the most lascivious little Princess in the garden.
Yet I had run away. And it had come over me suddenly, the impulse – that I should dare to do it, just
get up and go off into the forest and let them search for me. Of course they'd find me. I never doubted
they would. They always found the runaways.
Maybe I had lived too long in fear of doing it, of being captured by the soldiers and sent to labor in the
village. It was tempting me suddenly, like the plunge from a great cliff.
And I had mastered all my other faults by this time; I had attained a rather boring perfection. I never
shied from the strap. I had grown so to need it that my flesh quivered warmly at the mere sight of it. And
I always caught the little Princesses quickly in the garden chase, lifting them high by their wrists and
carrying them back over my shoulder, their hot breasts thudding against my back. It had been an
interesting challenge to master two and three in a single afternoon with the same stamina.
But this matter of running away.... Maybe I wanted to know my Masters and Mistresses better!
Because, when I became their captured fugitive, I would feel their power to the marrow of my bones. I
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would feel all that they could make me feel, completely.
Whatever the reason, I waited until the Lady had fallen asleep in her garden chair, and then I stood up
and rushed to the garden wall and climbed over it. This was no little bid for attention on my part. I would
make it an indisputable attempt at escape. And, without glancing back, I fled over the mown fields
towards the forest.
Yet never had I felt so naked, so utterly the slave as in those moments when I appeared to be in
rebellion.
Every leaf, every tall blade of grass stroked my exposed flesh. A new shame astonished me as I roamed
beneath the dark trees, creeping past the watchtowers of the village.
When night came on, I felt that my nude skin was glowing like a light, that the forest would not conceal
me. I belonged to the intricate world of power and submission and had tried wrongly to steal away from
its obligations. And the forest knew it. Brambles scratched my calves. My cock hardened at the slightest
sound in the brush.
And o, the final horror and thrill of capture, as the soldiers spotted me in the dark and drove me onward
with shouts until they had me surrounded.
Rude hands grabbed at my arms and legs. I was carried low to the ground by four of the men, my head
hanging and my limbs outstretched, merely an animal who had given good sport, brought into the torchlit
camp amid cheers and hoots and laughter.
And in the blazing moment of inescapable justice, everything was further clarified. I was no high-born
Prince anymore. I was a stubborn and lowly thing to be whipped and raped repeatedly by the spirited
soldiers until the Captain of the Guard appeared and ordered me bound to the thick wooden Punishment
Cross.
And it was during that ordeal that I had again seen Princess Beauty. She had already been sent down to
the village and chosen by the Captain of the Guard as his little plaything. Kneeling in the dirt of the camp,
she was the only woman there, her fresh pink and milk-white skin all the more delectable for the dust
clinging to it. She had magnified all that happened to me with her intense gaze.
And no wonder I still fascinated her: I was a true fugitive, and the only one of us in the Sultan's ship who
had earned the Punishment Cross.
In earlier castle days, I had glimpsed such mounted runaways myself. I had seen them put in the cart to
be taken to the village, their legs spread wide on the crossbar, their heads bent back over the top of the
cross so that they looked straight up into the sky, mouths stretched by the black leather band that held
their heads in this position. I had been terrified for them, marveling that even in this disgrace their cocks
were hard as the wood to which their bodies were tethered.
And then I was the condemned one. I had passed into the tableau to be bound in the same excruciating
fashion, eyes heavenward, my arms doubled behind the rough stake, my open thighs stretched wide and
aching, my cock as hard as any I'd ever beheld.
And Beauty was but one of a thousand witnesses.
Through the village streets I was paraded to the slow beat of the drum for common crowds that I could
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摘要：

ABOUTTHEE-BOOK TITLE:Beauty'sReleaseAUTHOR:AnnRiceasA.N.RoquelaureABEBVersion:2.0NoTeaEditionTableofContentsBeauty'sReleaseTHESTORYTHUSFARBEAUTY'SRELEASELAURENT:CAPTIVESATSEALAURENT:MEMORIESOFTHECASTLEANDTHEVILLAGEBEAUTY:THROUGHTHECITYANDINTOTHEPALACEBEAUTY:EXAMINATIONINTHEGARDENBEAUTY:MYSTERIOUSMAS...

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