The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty

by Ann Rice

  Beauty struggled to keep from smiling. But could they have seen a smile behind the cruel leather bit in her teeth? It did not matter. She was running fast, with her knees lifted, around the side of the castle as Lord Gregory pointed the way, his blows quick and smarting, and Lady Juliana wept as she ran along, too. "O, Beauty, I can't bear it."

  The stars were not yet faded away, yet the air was already warm and caressing. They crossed the empty prison yard, entering the courtyard between the great doors, and lowered drawbridge of the castle.

  And there stood the huge cart of slaves, already tethered to the heavy white mares who would pull it down to the village.

  For one moment Beauty knew terror. But a delicious abandon took hold of her.

  The slaves wailed as they huddled together behind the low railing, and the driver had already taken his place while the cart was surrounded by mounted soldiers.

  "One more," Lord Gregory called to the Captain of the Guard, and Beauty heard the cries of the slaves grow louder.

  She was lifted by heavy hands, her legs dangling in the air.

  "All right, little Princess," the Captain laughed as he set her down in the cart, and Beauty felt its rough wood beneath her feet as she struggled to keep her balance. For one instant, she glanced back and saw the tear-stained face of Lady Juliana. "Why, she is actually suffering," Beauty thought in amazement.

  And high above she suddenly saw the Prince and Lord Stefan in the only torchlit window of the dark castle. It seemed the Prince saw her look up; and the slaves about her, seeing the window as well, set up a chorus of vain pleading. The Prince turned away miserably just as Lord Stefan had turned his back on the captives earlier.

  Beauty felt the cart move. The great wheels creaked and the horses' hooves rang on the cobblestones. All about her the frantic slaves tumbled against one another. She looked before her and almost at once saw the calm blue eyes of Prince Tristan.

  He struggled towards her as she moved towards him, though around them the slaves flinched and squirmed to avoid the spirited thrashing from the guards who rode along beside them. Beauty felt the deep cut of a strap on her calf, but Prince Tristan was no pressed against her.

  Her breasts were sealed to his warm chest and her cheek rested against his shoulder. His thick rigid organ passed between her wet thighs and stroked her sex roughly. Struggling not to fall, she mounted the organ and felt it slip inside her. She thought of the village, the auction soon to begin, all the terrors that awaited her. And when she thought of her dear defeated Prince and her poor, grieving Lady Juliana she was again smiling.

  But Prince Tristan filled her mind as he struggled, it seemed, with his whole body to pierce her and enfold her.

  Even among the cries of the others, she heard his whisper behind his gag: "Beauty, are you frightened?"

  "No!" she shook her head. She pressed her tortured mouth to his, and as he lifted her with his thrusts, she felt his heart pounding against her.