by Anne Rice
“It had been a custom, yes,” said Tristan. “My master, Nicholas the Chronicler, told me of it. But the Queen hated it. She had no respect for lords and ladies who voluntarily gave themselves up to slavery and she took no interest in such volunteers ever after. Also they had to go into it completely, banished from the castle. They were stripped and sold in the village. No turning back . . .”
“Of course. You’re speaking now with the manor house of someone’s choosing to be a slave for a few hours, a night perhaps.”
“Yes,” Tristan said. “That is what I am thinking of. Also the Queen abolished the custom that last year—the same year that you and I were sent to the village—because her very own cousin, Lord Stefan, of whom we’ve been speaking, wanted to be sold, and the Queen was furious that one of her own kinsmen would choose this.” Tristan smiled and shook his head. “Ah, Stefan. He wanted it so desperately but was denied the opportunity forever.”
“That’s it. I remember now. Yes. Lord Stefan. I remember hearing that he might step forward . . .”
“Yes, well, she forbade Lord Stefan from being sold in the village and she abolished the custom. Now, she still allowed villagers to come forward on Midsummer Night and offer themselves for naked service. This was permissible to her, villagers, as they were not noble and not her kin. But that didn’t always happen. Nicholas said few villagers had the courage for it.”
“Yes, makes perfect sense.”
I pondered for a long moment.
“I’ll tell you something else,” Tristan confided. “There were always slaves who were released if they showed absolutely no aptitude.”
“There were?”
“Yes, those boys whose organs could not be aroused, those girls who dissolved in tears and paralysis. In sum, the ones who never found it stirring or pleasurable at all to serve. But no one was ever told about it. They only heard of rebels like Prince Alexi who, in spite of themselves, had hard cocks and fiercely beating hearts even when they would not obey, or little females who writhed like kittens when they were stroked and punished though they had to be bound most of the time.”
I smiled. “Well, that makes sense too,” I said.
“Queen Eleanor called those she sent away pallid little creatures, dimwits, and pitiable beings. Nicholas told me all this. But it was all secret.”
I fell into deep thought for a long time. I remembered so many things. My cock had been hard even when I was on the Punishment Cross for public display as a runaway. I’d found it all so deeply and richly intoxicating. It had been spellbinding.
But Tristan was waiting on me.
“Put your worries aside,” I said. “We’ll establish this manor house. We shall have servants and naked slaves to run it; and it will be the place for such things. Oh, we have so much to do, don’t we? I need maps of the kingdom. I intend to build walls around it entirely even if it takes years. And this manor house shall be a jewel when we are finished with it.”
“Thank you, Laurent,” he said. His voice was muted and there was a dark intensity to his eyes, to his expression. There was something very provocative about him suddenly, the way he lowered his eyes, the way he glanced up at me. He was daring me to master him now, I knew it. I wanted to do it. I found myself wondering what it would be like to master him now that he was a man, so self-possessed, so unlike the suffering pilgrim of passion he’d been in those days. I would do this, I knew I would. And I thought to myself, I shall do this when I wish, not when he wishes.
After I had seen him to the door, I found Beauty in her parlor at her dressing table, brushing her long hair. She was singing softly under her breath. I came up behind her, wrapped my arms around her, and began to kiss her tender little neck.
“Oh, Laurent, I am so tired,” she said. “You have the spirit of a new king.”
“Beauty! How are you going to be the queen of this new realm if you have so little stamina!” I said. I slipped my hand down between her legs, but the silk of her gown might as well have been a coat of mail.
“Doesn’t a queen spend a great deal of her time presiding over and watching entertainments prepared for her?” she asked. “That doesn’t take so much stamina, does it? Oh, I wish we were already at Bellavalten and in the gardens and that the gardens were filled with lanterns and that there were slave spectacles for us to enjoy this very night.”
She turned and looked up at me.
“Do you remember when we were in the hold of the ship, sailing to the sultanate, and they took Tristan and me, and they rubbed us all over with gold? It was an oil they used, filled with gold pigment, and we were burnished like statues, and they painted our nails and our eyelids gold.”
“I remember it vividly,” I said. My cock was painfully hard. “We were kept in cages and all we could do was watch.”
“Ah,” she went on dreamily. “I would so love to have many slaves at the castle burnished in that way for evening festivals, like so many gold or silver statues. I must talk to Lady Eva about such things. Wouldn’t that be lovely?”
“Lovely,” I said. “You want to see a spectacle here now?” I knelt down beside her and, turning her towards me, I kissed her breasts through the pale blue silk of her gown.
“I wouldn’t mind it,” she whispered, kissing me tenderly. “Why, what do you have in mind?”
“I don’t know. Maybe we need another night apart, visiting with our old friends, each of us . . .”
She nodded. I saw something quicken in her face. She didn’t need my urging.
“Laurent, from now on every night for us should hold full promise, shouldn’t it?”
“Yes, Beauty,” I said. “It should. But I was wondering. Last night, when you and Alexi were alone here together . . .”
“My lord, why trouble yourself with such things? We coupled. That’s what we did. We coupled, as we had long ago. But you are my king, my spouse, and my lord. You alone are my ruler.”
How earnest she seemed, and how much wiser than I would ever be.
But what if he had mastered her, what if? Why did this matter to me? I knew that it should not matter, any more than it mattered to Beauty what I had suffered at the hands of Eva.
I kissed her again slowly, as if my lips were seeking her soul—as if my breath and her breath were one, as if our souls were linked with one vital fire.
“Queen of my heart,” I said gravely. “I am yours and yours only.”
“Yes, beloved sovereign,” she whispered, throwing her arms tight around me, nuzzling into my neck. “I adore only you and no other.”
Blanche lay naked on the floor of the dressing closet, her head on a pillow, the cruel golden chastity belt covering her tender sex with its little cage of mesh so that she could not hope to alleviate the burning desire that she felt.
All last night, she had languished in torment as her master Tristan had talked by the hour with Lady Elvera in the bedchamber beyond.
Only when Lady Eva came finally to tell them that “all was well with the King” did they stop their endless commiseration, but then Tristan had turned to his writing without so much as a word to her, and finally, she had cried herself to sleep.
This afternoon and this evening, they’d been in the great hall of the castle, feasting and talking all together, and she had again been left here in the shadows, alone and frightened and starved for her master’s touch.
Galen had come more than once to see to her, to make certain that she had not left the dressing closet, and to spank her hard once or twice over his knee as he told her to behave herself and be patient, and not dare to touch the golden chastity belt that covered her private parts.
As if I knew how to unlock it, she thought bitterly. But Galen had not meant to be cruel. Not really. He was uneasy as was everyone else, waiting for the all-important decision of King Laurent and Queen Beauty, but Blanche’s breasts and sex burned for Tristan, and the
se hours were a torment she could scarcely bear.
Nevertheless, in Blanche’s mind, Galen left much to be desired in a groom.
At last, Galen had come rushing to tell her that it was decided: the King and Queen would take the thrones of Bellavalten, and were at this very minute giving forth their first all-important decrees. Galen had taken off the chastity belt long enough to bathe Blanche and rub her thoroughly with oil all over, and then to brush out her hair. But he’d been very strict that she must keep her legs apart as he tended to her. “Don’t make me tell him that you haven’t been a good girl.” His slow firm hands had sent the chills ripping through her as they rubbed the oil into her breasts, into her underarms, and into the muscles of her arms and legs. Galen was always happy when he worked, whistling to himself, and he gave little random kisses to Blanche, on her mouth or on her forehead, and always whispered flattery into her ear.
“You’re the most gorgeous slave I’ve ever groomed,” he said. Or, “I can scarcely resist you. Someday, I’m going to beg the master just to let me lie with you once.” This puzzled Blanche but she paid little attention. She’d been used in all ways by many grooms in the castle of the old kingdom. But then, her new master, Tristan, made his own rules.
Of course Blanche had been happy about the King’s decision. How could she not be happy that the kingdom would continue, that she would not have to leave the life that had engulfed her now for two years. But all this excitement in the great hall meant more lying in wait on the floor of the dressing closet, her fingers prying vainly at the little cage that covered her, trying to touch just the edge of her nether lips but in vain. Now and then she pinched her own nipples but this only intensified her longing, and her frustration.
Finally she’d fallen asleep again, and she did not know how many hours passed before Galen again awakened her.
“Get up quickly,” he said, snapping his fingers. “I mean it, now, hurry!” He was whispering. “Your master’s had his late supper and he wants you.”
She rose to her feet and stretched like a cat. He quickly unlocked the chastity belt and removed it. “Marks, it’s left marks on your flesh,” he said crossly.
She was tempted to say, Well, what did you expect?
He took the salve from the shelf and quickly rubbed it on the tender insides of her thighs, telling her as he always did to spread her legs wide.
“You know you are the sweetest darling,” he crooned as he worked. “But I have to make these marks disappear.”
Within minutes, he was working on her hair, brushing it free of tangles. She loved the heavy feel of it on her naked back.
“Now, down on all fours, little one, and eat those bits of apple,” he said, putting the dish before her.
The apple was to sweeten her breath, of course, all lords and ladies and slaves of the kingdom ate bits of apple on awakening and several times during every day and night, and she enjoyed it, though it was a chore to nibble at it and chew it up without ever using her hands. Now and then Galen or some other efficient groom scrubbed her teeth with apple, and even her tongue. She rather liked it, though the first time had frightened her, her mouth open like that, and fingers prying into it.
Galen had Blanche on her feet again. He pinched her cheeks and rouged her lips. “Gorgeous,” he said. How intent he looked, how thoroughly engaged with his work.
Then he thrust his hand between her legs.
“You’re wet already,” he said reprovingly. “I wonder what would happen if you were spanked for that, for getting wet.”
Ah, it took all her patience to ignore him.
How could she not be moist there? Did he think this was something she could control?
Just the thought of Tristan brought the moisture flooding inside the secret cavity that only Tristan was allowed to fill or even touch. And no, it wouldn’t do any good at all if she were spanked for it. It would make no difference whatsoever except that Galen would have an opportunity perhaps to deliver more of his excellent spankings of which he was justly proud.
And he did do it so very well. Each and every groom had a different manner, a different way of wielding the paddle or the strap. So did every master or mistress. With Galen, the blows came rapidly and smartly, while with his firm left hand he held tight to her neck. “Now, how do you like that, young lady!” he would say to her about halfway through. “You think that’s enough?” She’d always known better than to answer one way or the other, pouring out her incoherent sobs instead. She loved nothing more than to be able to sob freely, her lips politely closed, of course, but her sobs nevertheless audible and unrestrained.
It was marvelous how good he was at it, the spanks coming so rapidly and with a kind of rhythm that she weakened all over as she ached under the paddle and let herself twist and dance without ever really struggling against Galen’s firm grasp.
She said nothing now as Galen pushed her into the bedchamber and motioned for her to kneel down and remain quiet and still. It had been two full days since he’d last spanked her at her master’s urging, and she knew her bottom would be fresh and pretty for Tristan if only Tristan cared to notice, which he very well might not.
The room was deliciously warm. The floor felt deliciously warm. Her beloved master sat at a table to the right of the fire. He was as always writing and he did not look up when Galen told him in a soft voice that Princess Blanche had been “prepared.”
Though she knelt with her head bowed, she could see Tristan clearly and as always the very sight of him caused the desire in her to double and triple in intensity. In a daze, she watched his hand as he moved the quill so rapidly and with such quick little scratches over the parchment. And the other hand, which lay on his thigh, she could see even better gleaming in the light. It seemed to her she could feel that hand on her already. Feel its warmth, its strength. Tristan had such large and beautiful hands.
His soft curling golden hair was mussed and loose and half veiled his face. She longed to be able to touch it, lift it, move it back away from his eyes, but she had never been permitted to do such a thing, and she might never, she knew.
Without so much as looking up or away from the page before him, he said in a low voice, “On your hands and knees, come here.”
At once she hurried to obey, and when she reached the table she at once kissed his feet. He had taken off his heavy boots and wore morocco-leather slippers now and she loved the feel of them under her lips. She dared not touch his ankle, his leg, or any part of him without permission. But she kissed him several times on each foot and then pressed her forehead to the floor. Again, the desire in her intensified. She was throbbing with it all over.
“You have no way of knowing what a momentous night this is,” he said as he continued to move the pen. “The kingdom is saved, our future is saved, and you, little princess, are safe.”
“Yes, my lord,” she said softly.
“Kneel up,” he said.
As she obeyed, glancing up furtively for a split second, he turned and smiled at her and it was as if a great bright light had washed over her warming her to her soul. How breathtakingly handsome he was. If only she could tell him, but that would never be allowed.
It was absolutely unreal to her that he, Prince Tristan, her master, had once been a slave. She knew the story of course. So did everyone. But she couldn’t imagine it, her beloved Tristan naked and being whipped as she was so often whipped, even harnessed and tethered to a cart or a coach in the dreaded Queen’s Village, where he’d served as a pony for years. Yet when she thought of it, it excited her, she had to admit, and pushed her closer to delirium as she let contrary thoughts collide in her mind now.
“Have you been a good little girl while I’ve been busy?” he asked. He stroked her hair back from her forehead. “Beautiful Blanche. You are so fair and sweet and inviting.” He bent and kissed her lips. The passion inside her boiled upwards; it was all she
could do not to rock her hips uncontrollably with it and let loose the orgasm that would humiliate her utterly and infuriate him with her loss of control.
She knelt still, very still, feeling the throbbing between her legs as his lips pressed hard against her mouth. Then his hand slid down to feel the telltale moisture, and he laughed under his breath. “Have you been obedient and chaste?”
“Yes, my lord,” she said. Didn’t he know that Galen had locked her in the chastity belt? Certainly he did.
He stood suddenly, and pulled her up on her feet.
“Darling, you don’t know how happy I am,” he said with a flood of uncommon warmth. He pressed her to his hard chest. “We are all safe once more, Bellavalten is safe!” He kissed her over and over again on her lips.
Tears sprang to her eyes. She went positively limp in his powerful arms.
“Master,” she whispered.
“Yes, we are safe again, Princess. There is nothing to fear. I can’t live anywhere else but Bellavalten, and now I will never have to contemplate such a thing.”
His eyes were wet with rising tears. And his voice was roughened with emotion, with tenderness.
“Do you love me, Blanche?” he whispered as he kissed her ear. “I command you to lie to me if you do not, because I must hear it. I must hear it now.”
“Master, I adore you, and that is not a lie,” she said. The tears filled her eyes. He was trembling and now she felt herself shaking violently, tremors passing through her legs as he held her. “I have always adored you, from the very first moment I saw you. Master, you give my whole life meaning!”
“Ah, beautiful, lovely Blanche. I’ll tell you a wicked secret,” he said, still embracing her tightly, embracing the way people do on greeting or parting, his left hand cradling her bottom, holding her so securely that her feet were off the floor.