by Anne Rice
With a tug of the fragile gold chain, the lithe, long-fingered guide drew him down now, lowering his gleaming head until, eagerly, he took the honeyed date from her naval.
Beauty’s hips and belly rose sharply at the touch of his lips and teeth, the moan breaking from her, the flowers in her mouth shuddering against her cheeks. And as if through a haze, she saw her distant attendants smiling, nodding, coaxing.
Tristan knelt between her legs. And this time the attendant did not have to guide his head. With an almost savage gesture, Tristan gnawed at the dressing of fruit, the soft pressure of his jaws against her pubis maddening her.
He consumed the grapes, and, his mouth pressed to her pubic lips, he grasped with his teeth the thick chunks of melon.
Beauty writhed, clutched at the pillow. Her hips rose uncontrollably. Tristan’s mouth ground deeper into her, teeth biting at her clitoris, licking it, as he extracted more of the fruit. And in a fury of rocking, undulating movements, Beauty pushed with all her might to offer it to him.
The conversation in the room had died away. The music was low and rhythmic and almost haunting. And her own moans grew into openmouthed gasps as the distant young men beamed proudly.
Tristan’s jaws worked against her, emptying her. And now he lapped the juices from between her legs, his tongue coming up in broad wet strokes to her clitoris again slowly.
She knew her face was blood red. Her nipples were two aching little kernels.
She undulated so violently that her buttocks rose off the pillow.
But with a wrenching moan of disappointment, she saw Tristan’s head rise. The little chain was being jerked. She sobbed softly.
Yet it was not over! He was being brought up beside her and artfully turned around, and positioned over her again, his cock descending to her lips as his mouth opened wide to cover her entire pubis. She raised her head, licking at his cock, trying to catch it in the clamp of her lips, and capturing it suddenly, pulled it lower as she raised her shoulders.
Frantically, she sucked it to the root, the sweet taste of honey and cinnamon mingling with the hot salty smell of Tristan’s flesh, her hips riding fast on the cushion as Tristan sucked on the tiny knot between her legs, turning his mouth to close up her thick and pulsing lips with his teeth, his tongue lapping the honey that squeezed out from them.
Groaning, almost crying, Beauty nursed from the cock, her head dangling from it, her mouth contracting in time with the spasms between his legs as she felt him suck with sudden violent strength at her clitoris and the mound above it. And as the fiery shimmering orgasm inundated her, bringing forth her loudest moaning sighs, she felt his come overflow into her.
Locked together they struggled, and around them in the crowded tent, there was only silence. She saw nothing. She had no thoughts. She felt Tristan slip away. She heard the low rumble of voices again. She knew that the cushion had been lifted and she was being carried.
They were moving down the steps, and all around her in the room of the cages there was low excited chatter, the angelic attendants laughing and talking in hushed voices as they set the cushion down on a low table.
Then Beauty was helped to her knees and she saw Tristan kneeling right in front of her. His arms went around her neck, her arms were guided around his waist, and she felt his legs against her legs, his hand pressing her face to his chest as she gazed at the angelic ones who, gathering closer and closer, stroked Beauty and Tristan and kissed them all over.
Beauty saw in the gloom the soft serene faces of the other Princes and Princesses, watching.
But her lovely captors had taken down the painted paddles from her cage and from Tristan’s, flashing these exquisite articles in the light so that Beauty saw the intricacy of the ornate curlicues and flowers, and the pale blue ribbons streaming from the handles.
Beauty’s head was pulled back gently and the paddle put before her face, touched to her lips so that she kissed it. Above her, Tristan did the same, his lips in that same half-smile as the paddle was withdrawn and he looked down at her.
He clutched her hard as the first stinging slaps came, his strong body obviously trying to contain the little shocks of the spanks as she moaned and twisted under them as Mistress Lockley taught her. All around was the bright airy laughter of the attendants. Tristan kissed her hair, his hands feverishly kneading her flesh as she pressed tighter and tighter to him, her breasts crushed against his chest, her hands spread out on his back, her writhing buttocks flooded with tingling warmth, the old welts little knots under the paddle. Tristan could no longer keep still, the moans coming deep in his chest, his cock rising between her legs, the broad wet tip slipping into her. Her knees left the cushion. Her upturned mouth found Tristan’s mouth, as their jubilant captors redoubled the strength of the spanks, eager hands pressing Tristan and Beauty ever tighter together.
Sequel to follow:
In which we learn about
the adventures
of Beauty and Tristan
in the
Palace of the Sultan.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
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
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, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4V 3B2
Penguin Books (N.Z.) Ltd, 182-190 Wairau Road, 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, 1985
All rights reserved
REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA
Roq
uelaure. A. N.
Beauty’s release.
Sequel to: The claiming of Sleeping Beauty and
Beauty’s Punishment
I. Title.
PS3568.0696B’.54 85-1486
eISBN : 978-1-440-65755-9
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be
reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any
means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written
permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or
dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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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 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, 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 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....
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 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 care-takers, 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 obe
dient 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 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.
