The Sleeping Beauty Trilogy

by Anne Rice

  But still she cried. She would never see her beloved Inanna again. And would Inanna remember the lessons Beauty had taught her? Would she find some shared passion with the other women of the harem? Beauty could only hope so. What Beauty herself had learned, of the sweetness and intensity of such love, would always be with her.

  Yet even now, in the Captain’s arms, she thought of other kinds of love, of Mistress Lockley’s rough wooden paddle that had punished her so well in the village, of the Captain’s leather strap, and his hard cock which was pushing against her naked thigh now, the rough cloth of his breeches cruelly imprisoning it. She let her fingers touch it through the cloth. She felt it move, like a being unto itself.

  And her nipples became two stiff little points as she sighed, her mouth opening as she looked up at the Captain. He was smiling and studying her. And he let her kiss the crust of beard on his chin and chew on his lower lip. She squirmed on his lap, pressing her breasts to his jerkin. His hand moved under her bottom, squeezing the flesh.

  “No marks, no welts,” he whispered in her ear.

  “No, My Lord,” she said. Just those delicate little thongs lashing at her. How she hated them. She slipped her arms tightly around his neck, her mouth covering his. She pushed her tongue between his lips.

  “And we have become so forward,” he said.

  “Do you dislike it, My Lord?” she whispered, feeding on his lower lip, licking at his tongue and his teeth as she had done with Inanna.

  “No, I can’t say that I do,” he said. “You don’t know how I’ve missed you.” He kissed her hard in response, his large roughened hand rising to squeeze her breast, to pull it towards him.

  The sheer size of him aroused her.

  “But I want your little bottom nicely pink and warm when I take you,” he said.

  “Anything to please you, My Lord,” she said. “It’s been so long. I’m ... I’m a little afraid. I want so to please you.”

  “Of course you do,” he said. He slid his hand between her legs and lifted her by her sex. And her legs felt weak, as if they could not actually support her. Returning to the village was like returning to a dream she could not shake off, could not wake from. She would cry again if she thought too much about it. Lovely Inanna.

  But her Captain looked like a golden god to her in the sunlight from the tiny window, his crude-shaven beard glittering in the shadows, his eyes burning in the deep, tanned creases of his handsome face.

  As he flung her over his lap, something snapped inside her head, some last little bit of resistance. As his enormous hand closed on her bottom, she rose up to fit herself into it, moaning with the hard pinch that came, the fingers stroking her flesh.

  “Too smooth, too fine,” he whispered above her. “Don’t these little Arabs know how to punish properly?”

  And with the first hard wallops, her sex pumped with juices against the Captain’s thigh, her heart racing. The spanks echoed loudly in the tiny cabin, her flesh tingling, then burning, then flooded with delicious pain, her tears rising and quickly spilling.

  “I am yours, my Lord,” she whispered, half in love, half in supplication, the blows coming faster and harder on her bottom. He gathered her chin in his left hand and lifted her head. But he did not stop the punishment. “0, My Lord, I belong to you,” she whimpered and cried, and it seemed all the memories of the village came back to her. “I will be yours again, won’t I? I beg you!” she cried out.

  “Shh, stop your impertinence,” he said softly. And she was quickly rewarded with a new volley of hard spanks as she rocked and undulated under them without shame or modulation.

  As it went on and on, it seemed the hardest punishment she had ever received. And she bit down on her lip not to beg for mercy. Yet she felt it was what she needed, what she deserved, what was wanted to clear away her doubts and fears.

  And when the Captain flung her back on the bed, she was ready for his cock and lifted her hips to receive it. The small shelf bed seemed to shake under his thrusts. She bounced on the coverlet, her sore bottom slamming against the rough cloth, his weight riding her, crushing her, the cock stretching her and filling her divinely. Finally she climaxed, screaming against her sealed lips, and in the white-hot flashes of pleasure she saw both the Captain and Inanna. She thought of Inanna’s gorgeous breasts, her wet little vagina; she thought of the Captain’s thick organ and his semen spilling into her with his most violent thrusts; and she was crying for joy and for pain, the Captain’s hand over her mouth, muffling her cries, which gave her the freedom to let them go from her whole being.

  She lay still under him when it was done, her whole body gasping. And she was slightly dismayed when he lifted her. He was taking off his belt.

  “But what have I done, My Lord?” she whispered.

  “Nothing, my love. I want that bottom and those legs in good color, as they used to be.” He stood her before him as he sat again on the side of the bed, his breeches still open, his cock still erect.

  “0, My Lord,” she begged, dissolving in weakness, the aftershocks of the pleasure growing stronger instead of fainter. He was doubling the strap.

  “Now, every morning at sea, we will begin with a nice whipping, do you hear me, Princess?”

  “Yes, My Lord,” she whispered. So it was all as it should be again. So simple. She placed her hands on the back of her neck. And what had she dreamed in the ship before, about finding love? Well, there had been that heavenly taste. And it would come again. For now she had her Captain.

  “Spread your legs,” he said. “And now I want you to dance as you’re whipped. Move those hips!” And the strap came down as she moaned and swung her bottom from side to side, the movement seeming to ease the pain, her sex throbbing. Her heart was gripped with fear and happiness.

  It was almost dark. Beauty was lying on the carpet beside Laurent, their heads together on a pillow. The Captain and Nicolas and the others who had helped in the “rescue” had gone to take their evening meal together. The slaves had been fed, and Tristan was asleep in the corner. And so was Lexius. The ship was small and ill-equipped. No cages, no shackles.

  It still puzzled Beauty that only she and Laurent and Tristan had been rescued. Had the Queen some new and special use for them? It was an agony not to know, and to suffer such envy of Dmitri, Elena, and Rosalynd.

  And Beauty was also worried about Tristan. Nicolas, his former Master, had not spoken a word to Tristan since they had put to sea. He could not forgive Tristan for not wanting to be rescued.

  “0, why can’t he just punish Tristan and be done with it,” Beauty thought. All through the evening meal, she had admired Laurent’s strictness with Lexius. Laurent had forced him to eat his supper and to drink some wine, though Lexius insisted he wanted none, and then Laurent had made love to him slowly and deliberately, in spite of Lexius’s obvious shame at being taken in front of others. Lexius was the most polite and demure slave Beauty had ever seen.

  “He is almost too fine for you,” she whispered to Laurent now as they rested together, the cabin warm and silent around them. “He’s more of a Lady’s slave, I think.”

  “You may use him if you like,” Laurent said. “You may whip him, too, if you think he needs it.”

  Beauty laughed. She had never whipped another slave and did not really want—o, well, maybe....

  “How did you manage it,” she asked, “the transformation from slave to Master, so easily?” She was glad of a chance to talk to Laurent. Laurent had always fascinated her. She could not get rid of the image in her memory of Laurent in the village strapped to the Punishment Cross. There was something insolent and wondrous about Laurent. She could not fully define it. He seemed to have an understanding of things which others did not possess.

  “It has never been one or the other for me,” Laurent said. “In my dreams, I liked both parts of the drama. And when I saw the opportunity I became the Master. Moving back and forth only sharpens the whole experience somewhat.”

  Beau
ty felt a little tumult in her loins at the confident sound of his voice, the soft ironic tone it had—ever on the edge of laughter. She turned to look at him in the shadows. His body was so large, so full of dormant power even as he lay there. He was taller even than her Captain. And his cock was still a little stiff, ready enough to be awakened. She looked into his dark brown eyes and saw he was watching her, smiling at her. Probably knowing her thoughts.

  She blushed with sudden shyness. She couldn’t fall in love with Laurent. No, that was impossible, quite.

  But she didn’t move when she felt his lips against her cheek. “Divine little brat,” he growled in her ear. “You know, this might be our only chance....” And his voice died away into a lower growl, the purr of a lion, his lips grazing her shoulder hotly.

  “But the Captain—”

  “Yes, he’ll be so angry,” Laurent said. He laughed. He rolled over and mounted her. Beauty ran her arms up and around his back. His sheer size astonished her and weakened her. If he kissed her again, she would not, could not, resist.

  “He’ll punish us,” she said.

  “Well, I should hope so!” Laurent said, eyebrows raised in mock indignation, and he kissed her, his mouth harsher and more demanding than that of the Captain.

  His kiss seemed to open her soul more profoundly, more deliberately. She yielded, her breasts like two beating hearts against his chest. And she felt the massive cock moving into her wet cleft, almost bruising her with its careless speed, its necessity.

  It lifted her hips off the bare floor and plunged them back down again, its width so punishing that she was overcome with the heat of her spasms, her climax rendering her perfectly without will, her arms and legs flopping beneath Laurent. And when he came in her, she felt her body battered by him, ridden by him and his tempestuous and enigmatic spirit.

  They lay quiet and undisturbed afterwards. She half-wished she had not done it. Why could she never love her Masters? Why was this strange and ironic slave so interesting to her? She could have wept inwardly. Would she never have anyone to love? She had loved Inanna, and now Inanna was beyond reach; and, of course, the Captain was her precious darling, the big brute, but.... She did weep, her eyes now and then moving to Laurent’s sleeping form beside her. But she was very quiet.

  When the Captain came to take her to bed, Beauty gave Laurent’s hand a little squeeze, which Laurent silently answered.

  As she lay beside the Captain, she wondered what would happen to her when they reached the Queen’s shores. Surely she would have to work out her time in the village; it was only fair. They couldn’t make her go back to the castle. And Laurent and Tristan would be in the village, surely. But if she were made to return to the Queen, she could always run away as Laurent had. And she saw him again in her memory, tethered to the Punishment Cross.

  The days at sea passed in a swoon for Beauty. The Captain was strict with her and worked her constantly. But still she found opportunities to couple with Laurent again. And each time it was quiet and furtive and wrenched her soul.

  Tristan, meantime, insisted he did not care that Nicolas was angry with him. It was to the village he would give himself when he returned, as he had given himself to the Sultan’s palace. He said his brief time in this alien land had taught him new things.

  “You were right, Beauty,” he said, “when you asked only for harsh punishments.”

  But Beauty couldn’t help but know that Laurent had been busily mastering both Tristan and Lexius, taking either when he chose, and that Tristan worshiped Laurent in a way that was clearly individual and personal.

  Laurent even borrowed the Captain’s belt to whip his two slaves, to which both of them responded beautifully. Beauty wondered how on earth Laurent would ever manage to be a slave again when they reached the village. The sound of him whipping the other two penetrated the bedchamber where she slept with the Captain. It would not let her sleep.

  It was a wonder Laurent didn’t somehow master the Captain, she thought. In truth, the Captain admired Laurent—they were good friends—though the Captain frequently reminded Laurent that he was a punished runaway and might expect the worst in the village.

  “This trip is so different from the last one,” Beauty thought with a smile. She felt the welts the Captain had given her, her fingers pushing at them and making them pulse. “It can go on and on, for all I care.”

  But this wasn’t really the complete expression of her feelings. She longed for the engulfing world of the village. She needed to see its whole small society working and struggling around her. She needed to find her place in the scheme of things, give herself over to it, as Tristan said that he would do. And only then would the immensity and artifice of the Sultan’s palace be forgotten, would the remembered scent and feel of Inanna leave her in peace.

  Around the twelfth day, the Captain told Beauty that they were almost home. They would put into port at a neighboring kingdom and then reach the Queen’s harbor the following morning.

  Beauty was filled with longing and apprehension. While Nicolas and the Captain were ashore meeting with the Queen’s ambassadors, she sat with Tristan and Laurent talking softly.

  They all hoped to be kept in the village. Tristan said again that he no longer loved Nicolas.

  “I love the one who punishes me well,” he added bashfully, his eyes gleaming as he glanced at Laurent.

  “Nicolas should have whipped you soundly when we first came on board,” Laurent said. “And then you would be his again.”

  “Yes, but he didn’t. And he is the Master, not I. I will love a Master again someday, but he must be a powerful Lord who is capable of taking all decisions upon himself, forgiving all weakness in the slave as he guides him.”

  Laurent nodded. “If I were ever reprieved,” he said softly, looking at Tristan, “ever given the chance to become one of the Queen’s Court, I would choose you for my slave and bring you to heights of experience you’ve never dreamed of.”

  Tristan smiled at this, blushing again, eyes flashing as he looked down and then back up at Laurent.

  Only Lexius was quiet. But he had been so well trained by Laurent that Beauty was convinced he could bear anything that lay before him. It frightened her a little to picture him on the auction block. He was so graceful, so dignified, and his eyes were filled with such innocence. How they would strip it away from him. But then, she and Tristan had endured it....

  It was very late at night before the ship put out to sea for the last leg of the voyage. The Captain came down the steps, his face dark and pensive. He lugged with him a finely made wooden casket, which he set down before Beauty in the little cabin.

  “This is what I feared,” he said. His whole manner was different. It seemed he did not even want to look at Beauty. Beauty sat on the bed, staring at him.

  “What is it, My Lord?” she asked.

  She watched him unlock the casket and throw back the lid. She saw dresses inside, veils, a long pointed cone of a hat, bracelets, and other finery.

  “Your Majesty,” he said softly, averting his eyes. “We will be in port before daylight. And you must be dressed again and ready to meet the emissaries from your father’s kingdom. You are to be released from your servitude and sent home to your family.”

  “What!” Beauty shrieked, leaping up from the bed. “You can’t mean this! Captain!”

  “Princess, please, this is difficult enough,” he said, his face red as he looked away. “We have received word from our Queen. It can’t be prevented.”

  “I won’t go!” Beauty gasped. “I won’t go! First the rescue and now this! This!” She was beside herself. She stood up and kicked the casket with her naked foot. “Take these clothes away, dump them in the sea. I won’t wear them, do you hear!” She would lose her mind if all this didn’t stop.

  “Beauty, please!” the Captain whispered, as if he feared to raise his voice. “Don’t you understand? It was you we were sent to rescue from the Sultan. Your father and mother are the Queen’s
closest allies. They heard at once of your kidnap and were outraged that the Queen let you be taken across the sea. And they demanded that you be brought back. We only brought Tristan as well because Nicolas wanted it. And as for Laurent, we took him because we had the opportunity and the Queen said he ought to be brought back to serve out his punishment as a runaway. But you were the true object of the mission. And now your father and mother are demanding you be reprieved from all service on account of your misfortune.”

  “What misfortune!” Beauty screamed.

  “And the Queen has no choice but to comply because she is ashamed that you were ever kidnapped and taken away.” He hung his head. “You’re to be married immediately,” he stammered. “This is what I have heard.”

  “No!” Beauty shrieked. “I won’t go!” she sobbed and clenched her fists. “I won’t go, I tell you!” But the Captain only turned and sadly left the cabin.

  “Please, Princess. Dress yourself,” he said through the closed door. “We have no maids to help you.”

  It was almost light. Beauty lay naked and crying still as she had all night. She could not look at the casket of clothes.

  When she heard the door she did not look up. Laurent came silently into the cabin and bent over her. She had never seen him before in this little room, and he looked like a giant under the low ceiling. She couldn’t bear to look at him, to see the strong limbs she would never be able to touch again or his strangely wise and patient face.

  He reached down and gathered her up from the pillow.

  “Come, you have to dress,” he said. “I’ll help you.” And he took the silver-handled brush from the casket and ran it through her long hair as she wept. And with a clean handkerchief he wiped her eyes and her cheeks.