by Anne Rice
The Prince was in a rage. Lady Juliana was laughing. The Prince pulled Lord Stefan away and said they must leave these miserable slaves now. Tomorrow they would be in the village.
Beauty lay on her bed afterwards unable to think of anything but the little group in the prison yard. Yet she saw too the narrow crooked streets of the villages she’d passed on her journey. She remembered the Inns with their painted signs over the gates, the half-timbered houses shadowing her path, and those tiny, diamond-pained windows.
She would never forget the men and women in coarse breeches and white aprons, with sleeves rolled to the elbows. How they had gaped at her, enjoyed her helplessness.
She could not sleep. And she was filled with a strange new terror.
It was dark when the Prince at last sent for her, and as soon as she reached the door of his private dining room, she saw that he was with Lord Stefan.
It seemed in that moment her fate was decided. She smiled as she thought of all his boasting to Lord Stefan, and she wanted to enter quickly now, but Lord Gregory held her back at the threshold.
Beauty let her eyes mist over. She did not see the Prince in his velvet tunic emblazoned with the coat of arms. Rather she saw those village cobblestone streets, the wives with their wicker brooms, the common lads in the tavern.
But Lord Gregory was speaking to her. “Don’t you think I see the change in you!” he hissed low in her ear, so that it seemed part of her imagination.
Her eyebrows knit in a frown of annoyance and then she dropped her eyes.
“You’re infected with the same poison as Prince Alexi. I see it working on you every day. You will soon make a mockery of everything.”
Her pulse quickened. Lord Stefan, at the supper table, looked so forlorn. And the Prince was as proud as ever.
“What you need is a severe lesson ...” Lord Gregory continued in his acid whisper.
“My Lord, you can’t mean the village!” Beauty shuddered.
“No, I don’t mean the village!” He was obviously shocked. “And don’t be flippant and bold with me. You know what I mean. The Hall of Punishments.”
“Ah, your domain, where you are Prince,” Beauty whispered. But he did not hear her.
And the Prince, with an air of indifference, had snapped his fingers for her to enter.
She approached on her hands and knees. But she had come only a few paces into the room when she stopped.
“Go on!” Lord Gregory hissed at her angrily; the Prince had not yet noticed.
But when he turned and looked at her crossly, still she did not move, her head bowed, her eyes fixed on him. And when she saw the anger and outrage in his face, she turned suddenly and ran on her hands and knees past Lord Gregory and into the passage.
“Stop her, stop her!” the Prince cried out before he could prevent himself. And when Beauty saw Lord Gregory’s boots beside her, she rose to her full height and ran faster. He caught her by the hair and she screamed as she felt herself pulled back and thrown over his shoulder.
She beat on his back with her fists, kicking, as he held her knees tight, and she wept hysterically.
She could hear the Prince’s angry voice, but she could not make out the words, and when let down again at his feet, she ran again so that two Pages came pounding after her.
She struggled as she was gagged and bound, and she did not know where she was being taken. It was dark and they were descending stairs, and she knew an appalling moment of regret and panic.
They would hang her in the Hall of Punishments and if she could not endure even that, how would she endure the village?
But a strange calm came over her even before her captors had reached the Slaves’ Hall, and when she was thrust in a dark cell to lie on the cold stone floor with her bonds cutting into her flesh, she knew a quiet exhilaration.
Yet she continued to weep, her sex pulsing it seemed with her sobs and there was only silence around her.
It was almost morning when she was roused. Lord Gregory snapped his fingers as the Pages undid her fetters and lifted her to her feet on legs that were weak and unsteady. She felt the wallop of Lord Gregory’s belt.
“Spoilt, disgraceful Princess!” he hissed between his teeth, but she was drowsy, softened with desire and dreaming of the village. She gave a little cry as she felt his angry blows, but she realized with wonder that the Pages were gagging her again and binding her hands to the back of her neck roughly. She was going to the village!
“O Beauty, Beauty,” came Lady Juliana’s voice crying beside her. “Why did you become afraid, why did you try to run, you had been so good and strong, my darling.”
“Spoilt, arrogant one,” Lord Gregory cursed her again as she was driven towards the open doorway. She could see the morning sky over the treetops. “You did it deliberately!” Lord Gregory whispered in her ear as he whipped her onto the garden path. “Well, you shall rue the day, and how bitterly you will weep and there will be no one there to hear you.”
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 the 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 now 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.
Table of Con
tents
Title Page
Copyright Page
THE PUNISHED
BEAUTY AND TRISTAN
THE AUCTION IN THE MARKETPLACE
BEAUTY ON THE BLOCK
LESSONS FROM MISTRESS LOCKLEY
PRINCE ROGER’S STRANGE LITTLE STORY
THE CAPTAIN OF THE GUARD
THE PLACE OF PUBLIC PUNISHMENT
TRISTAN IN THE HOUSE OF NICOLAS, THE QUEEN’S CHRONICLER
A SPLENDID EQUIPAGE
THE FARM AND THE STABLE
SOLDIERS’ NIGHT AT THE INN
GRAND ENTERTAINMENT
NICOLAS’S BEDCHAMBER
TRISTAN’S SOUL FURTHER REVEALED
MISTRESS LOCKLEY’S DISCIPLINE
CONVERSATION WITH PRINCE RICHARD
PUBLIC TENTS
MISTRESS LOCKLEY’S AFFECTIONS
SECRETS IN THE INNER CHAMBER
UNDER THE STARS
REVELATIONS AND MYSTERIES
PENITENTIAL PROCESSION
TRISTAN AND BEAUTY
DISASTER
EXOTIC MERCHANDISE
ANOTHER TURN OF THE WHEEL
VOLUPTUOUS CAPTIVITY
THE EROTIC NOVELS OF ANNE RICE WRITING AS A. N. ROQUELAURE
The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty
Beauty’s Punishment
Beauty’s Release
Since 1983, A. N. Roquelaure has envisioned (for the uninhibited reader) a hypnotic and seductive adult fairy tale in the Sleeping Beauty novels. Now, the author of this exquisite erotic trilogy reveals her true identity—beckoning the reader into a sensuous world of forbidden dreams and dark-edged desires ... a world in which traditional ideas of submission and dominance and gender preference are thrown to the winds ... a world made irresistibly inviting by the adventurous spirit and imagination of the unrivaled Anne Rice.
an
erotic novel of
discipline,
love and surrender,
for the enjoyment
of men
and women
PLUME
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Putnam Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, U.S.A.
Penguin Books Ltd, 27 Wrights Lane, London W8 5TZ, England
Penguin Books Australia Ltd, Ringwood, Victoria, Australia
Penguin Books Canada Ltd, 10 Alcorn Avenue,
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Auckland 10, New Zealand
Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: Harmondsworth, Middlesex, England
Published by Plume, a member of Penguin Putnam Inc.
Previously published in a Dutton edition.
First Plume Printing, November, 1990
First Plume Printing, This Edition, May, 1999
Copyright © A. N. Roquelaure, 1984
All rights reserved
REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA
Roquelaure, A. N.
Beauty’s punishment.
Sequel to: The claiming of Sleeping Beauty
I. Title.
PS3568.0696B’.54 83-20587
eISBN : 978-1-440-67275-0
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product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance
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THE STORY THUS FAR
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 should be rewarded and sent home to their Kingdoms.
Dazzled by the rigors of the Training Hall, 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, brings 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.
As our story continues, Beauty has just been placed in the cart with Prince Tristan and the other disgraced slaves to be taken down the long road to the auction block in the village marketplace.
THE PUNISHED
THE MORNING star was just fading in the violet sky as the huge wooden cart, crowded with naked slaves, moved slowly over the castle draw-bridge. The white draft horses plodded steadily towards the winding road, and the soldiers drove their mounts close to the high wooden wheels, the better to catch with their thudding straps the naked legs and buttocks of the wailing slave Princes and Princesses.
Frantically, the group huddled together on the rough boards, their hands bound to the backs of their necks, their mouths gagged and stretched by little leather bits, plump breasts and reddened buttocks shivering.
Some, in desperation, glanced back at the high towers of the darkened castle. But no one was awake, it seemed, to hear their cries. And a thousand obedient slaves slept within, on the silken beds of the Slaves’ Hall or in their Masters’ and Mistresses’ sumptuous chambers, unconcerned for those incorrigible ones who were borne away now in the wobbling, high-railed cart, towards the village auction.
The Commander of the Patrol smiled to himself as he saw Princess Beauty, the Crown Prince’s dearest slave, press towards the tall, heavily muscled figure of Prince Tristan. She had been the last to be loaded into the cart, and what a lovely slave she was, he mused, her long, straight, golden hair hanging loose down her back, her little mouth straining to kiss Tristan in spite of the leather bit that gagged her. And how could the disobedient Tristan, with his hands bound to his neck as securely as those of any other punished slave, solace her now, the Commander wondered?
He debated with himself: Should he stop this illicit intimacy? It would be simple enough to pull Beauty out of the group and spread her legs as he bent her over the railing of the cart, spanking with his belt her plump disobedient little sex for its impudence. Maybe Tristan and Beauty, both, should be set down on the road and whipped behind the cart to teach them a good lesson.
But in truth the Commander felt just a little bit sorry for the condemned slaves, spoilt as they were, even the willful Beauty and Tristan. By noon they would all have been sold from the block, and during the long summer months of village service they would learn plenty.
The Commander rode alongside the cart now, catching another succulent little Princess with his belt, punishing the rosy pubic lips that peeped through a nest of glo
ssy black curls, and he plied the strap all the harder when a long-limbed Prince sought gallantly to shield her.
Nobility even in adversity, the Commander laughed to himself, and gave the Prince exactly what he deserved with the strap, all the more amused when he glimpsed the Prince’s hard and writhing organ.
Well-trained, the lot, he had to admit, the lovely Princesses with their nipples erect and faces flushed, the Princes trying to conceal their swelling cocks. And as sorry as the Commander felt for them, he couldn’t help but think of the glee of the villagers.
All year the villagers saved their money for this day, when only a few coins would purchase, for the whole summer long, a pampered slave who had been chosen for the Court, trained and groomed for the Court, and must now obey the lowliest kitchen maid or stable boy who bid high enough at the auction.
And what an enticing group they were this time, their rounded limbs still fragrant with costly perfume, pubic hair still combed and oiled, as if they went to be presented to the Queen herself and not a thousand leering and eager villagers. Cobblers, Innkeepers, merchants awaited them, determined to exact hard labor for their money as well as pretty looks and abject humility.
The cart jostled the crying slaves, tumbled them together. The distant castle was now no more than a great gray shadow against the lightening sky, its vast pleasure gardens concealed by the high walls that surrounded it.
And the Commander smiled as he rode nearer to the thicket of lovely shaped calves and high-arched feet in the cart, seeing a half dozen splendid unfortunates pressed to the very front rail with no hope at all of escaping the soldiers’ straps as the others crowded against them. All they could do was squirm under the playful assault, baring hips and backsides and bellies again to the sting of the belts as they bowed their tear-stained faces.
