Beauty's Release (21 page)

“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.

Then he chose a dark violet gown for her, a color that was only worn by Princesses. And Beauty thought of Inanna when she saw the fabric, and she wept even more miserably. Palace, village, castle—they all passed before her, her sorrow overflowing.

The cloth felt hot to her, confining. And, as Laurent laced up the gown in back, she felt as if she were being put into a new kind of bondage. The slippers pinched her feet as he put them on. She could not bear the weight of the cone-shaped hat on her head, and the veils around her confused her, tickled her, annoyed her.

“0, this is beastly!” she growled finally.

“I’m sorry, Beauty,” he said, his voice taking on a tenderness she had never heard in it before. She looked into his dark brown eyes, and it seemed to her she would never know heat and pleasure again, sweet pain and true abandon.

“Kiss me, Laurent, please,” she asked as she rose from the side of the bed and put out her arms to him.

“I can’t, Beauty. It’s morning. If you look out the window you’ll see your father’s men on the dock waiting for you. Be brave, my love. You’ll be married in no time and you’ll forget—”

“0, don’t say it!”

He looked sad, genuinely sad. As he brushed his brown hair out of his eyes, they glazed silently with tears.

“My darling Beauty,” he said. “Believe me, I understand.”

And it broke her heart when he knelt and kissed her slipper.

“Laurent!” she whispered, desperately.

But he was gone immediately, leaving the cabin door open for her.

She turned and stared into an empty room. And there was the stairway leading to the sunlight.

Gathering her voluminous velvet skirts, she made her way up the steps, her tears flowing copiously.

LAURENT: JUDGMENT OF THE QUEEN

F
OR A LONG time, I stood watching through the little window as Princess Beauty rode away with her father’s men. Up the hill they went and into the forest. And my heart died a little inside me, though I did not completely understand why. Many slaves I had seen released, and many had shed tears, as she had. But she had been unlike any other, shining so magnificently in her slavery that for me she seemed to rival the sun. And now she had been taken so brutally from us; how could it not scar her sensuous and savage soul?

I was thankful that there was no time to brood upon it. The voyage was over, and Tristan and Lexius and I now faced the worst.

We were but a few miles from the dreaded village and the great castle, and my friendly shipboard comrade, the Captain of the Guard, was now once again the commander of Her Majesty’s soldiers. And in command of us.

Even the sky looked different here, closer, more ominous. And I could see the dark woods encroaching, feel the low, vibrant proximity of the old ways that had made of me a slave who loved both subservience and dominance.

Beauty and her escorts were gone from view. I heard steps on the ladder leading down to the cabin where we had gone to watch her, unseen, through the portholes. I braced myself for what was to come.

Yet I was still unprepared for the cold, authoritative manner with which the Captain of the Guard addressed us as he opened the door, ordering his soldiers to bind us so that we might be taken to the castle for the Queen’s personal judgment.

No one dared to question him. Nicolas, the Queen’s Chronicler, had already gone ashore without so much as a farewell glance at Tristan. The Captain was our Master now, and his soldiers went to work immediately.

We were made to lie facedown on the floor, and then our arms were pulled back and our legs bent at the knees so that our wrists might be bound tightly to our ankles, one firm loop of leather binding all four limbs together. And there were no gilded and jeweled fetters here. This was done with coarse rawhide strips that held us quite well, our bodies slightly bowed by the trussing. Then we were gagged by a long belt of leather, passed through our open lips, its two ends then extended to the knot that bound our ankles and wrists and there secured also. It held our mouths open, though covered, and our heads up off the ground and looking forward.

As for our cocks, they were left free and hard to dangle beneath us when we were lifted.

And lifted we were, first by the soldiers who carried us onto the dock. And then each of us was hung from a long, smooth pole of wood, the pole being passed under our bound ankles and wrists, a soldier at each end to carry it.

It seemed more appropriate to runaways than to us, I thought, confused by the roughness. But then I realized, as we were carried up the hill towards the village, that we
were
rebels. We had rebelled at the rescue. And now this must be accounted for.

And it hit me with full force that we really had left behind all the soft elegance of the Sultan’s world. We were in for the crudest punishment. The bells of the village clanged, apparently in honor of the men who had managed to bring us back. And, as I was jogged along, swinging from the pole, I could see far ahead the crowds that lined the high ramparts.

The soldier who walked in front of me glanced back every now and then. He must have liked the spectacle of a trussed slave swinging from the pole. I could not see Lexius and Tristan because they were being carried behind me. But I wondered if they felt the same new fear that I felt. How much harsher it would all seem after the refinement we had known so briefly. And we were Princes again, Tristan and I. There was no sweet anonymity that we had enjoyed so much in the Sultan’s palace.