by Anne Rice
We stopped more than once to observe the activities going on in the garden. On a large grassy court we found an eager crowd surrounding girl slaves playing at a ball game with knees and elbows, their hands bound behind their backs. The girls were delightfully adorned, one team burnished with gold pigment and the other with silver, hair pinned up to reveal tender necks.
“Don’t ask what happens to the losing team,” Rosalynd said, laughing gaily. “But then, don’t ask what happens to the winning team, either.”
The Hunt in the Maze was taking place as we passed by, and I could see the torches flickering through the shrubbery and hear the excited voices.
“I failed at that one always,” I confided.
“I’m surprised,” said Rosalynd, stroking my hair tenderly. “I rather enjoyed it. They really had a challenge hunting me down. I knew just where to hide, and how to outsmart them. I emerged the victor more than once.” Victors were celebrated and then rewarded by being chosen for more hunts.
I shook my head. All I could remember was the blast of the trumpet telling me to flee, and then crawling desperately through one long corridor of shrubbery after another, until they found me and forced me up with loud cries to be punished with all the other quarry who hadn’t provided good sport. It was held in the afternoons then mostly, not by torchlight, and the Queen had scolded me endlessly for being such an utter disappointment.
Again, the sheer size of the garden was astonishing to me. The torches and lanterns were dazzling me as we moved along. And many different threads of music blended in a low rushing noise rather like the sound of the fountains we passed.
Truly, the festivities seemed to go on forever. And all the courtiers I observed seemed utterly at home in it, familiar with its pastimes, and busy and not dazed as I was at all.
“And this is every night?” I asked.
“For now,” said Rosalynd, “with so many guests and so many returning. Remember Prince Jerard, the blond one, not the dark-haired one, the blond pony who was in the village stables with you, the one always mourning back then for Laurent? Well, he’s just returned. The King was so glad to see him. And Gareth, one of the old grooms adored by the King during his time in the stables, has just returned also to help with the King’s steeds. Have you seen the Royal Stables? I must take you around tomorrow.”
“Yes, there’s so much to see, but I want—” I didn’t have to finish. She kissed me full on the mouth and guided me through the castle doors.
We went up the stairs, stopping briefly on each landing to embrace. I reached up under her heavy skirts and felt her ripe warm sex, always such a delightful shock under all the silk and velvet.
At last, we were in my quarters.
Maybe the two obedient night slaves were disappointed when called to unlace Princess Rosalynd’s gown. I hardly cared. They obeyed at once, releasing her from her bindings and lacings, and now I could clutch her immense breasts the way I wanted to do it, and bury my face in them as I nestled them together.
We fell under the covers, like people of the great world beyond might do, and she crouched above me as I suckled her nipples hungrily. I loved the sight of them dangling over my face like delicious fruit from a bough.
“You don’t want to take off your shirt?” she asked. “It’s so heavy.”
“No,” I said. “I prefer it this way, if you’ll forgive me.” Of course my leggings and tunic were gone and my sex was poking at her greedily.
But she wanted to tease me just a little more. She turned suddenly to the slaves who had retreated to the fireplace.
“Good little girl, bring me a blindfold,” she said. “Silk, see-through, now.”
I laughed.
“Hush, Prince,” she said teasingly. “Each cock is a story unto itself, and yours is gorgeous. Oh, how I hungered for it in the sultanate. And they were always so strict with us, so cruel in never allowing us to touch one another or ourselves.”
“Seems we managed now and then,” I said.
The blindfold was a pretty gold thing and she tied it around my eyes. Indeed I could see through it, but it made the world a dreamlike magical place and my excitement grew even more painful and sharp. I’d worn such blindfolds many a time. I marveled at the sense of release that accompanied the wearing of them, the new level of abandon. But the story my cock was telling me was one of agony.
“Stand up, Prince,” she said in my ear, jumping off the bed suddenly and stretching her long legs and arms. This I could make out in the golden haze that had become the room. Then she pulled her dark hair down out of its combs and let it fall behind her like a great shadow.
“Lovely,” I whispered. I reached for her voluptuous arms.
“Now I’m going to mount you and ride you,” she said.
“I’ll come and fall to the floor!”
“We shall see.”
She jumped up and onto my cock, my cock slipping into her, and her sex clamping down on it with the tenacity of the most eager pleasure slave. At last. I almost wept as I stabbed her in a series of jerking spasms.
“Not so fast, beautiful prince,” she said. “Now walk, walk around the bed carrying me.” She wrapped her legs around my hips and her arms around my neck. She was kissing me.
I didn’t make it five steps.
After that, it was a bit slower. Her hips and bottom were so voluptuous, and even her calves were soft and tender to the touch. I spread her apart like a peach sliced in half and gazed at the dark pit of her sex for the longest time, the dark purplish lips, the gleaming clitoris.
For the third time, we were on the carpet. She begged me to remove my shirt but I wouldn’t. I forced her over and up on her hands and knees, and rode her now, my cock inside her, forcing her forward on her path. When she started to come, my hands found the little slippery clitoris and I pinched it and stroked it as I spent into her from the rear and felt her spend as she cried out.
All the day’s torment and agonies and delicious surprises and tantalizing memories had heated everything I felt for her, and then there was the familiarity of her, after all those years together—this succulent wench whom I’d never been allowed to touch.
An hour later I woke to the stillness of the room. The night slaves were still as statues in their positions by the hearth. Rosalynd was gone. Fabien had gone to his closet a long time back.
But at some point he had set out my writing things, as he knew I would want. A lamp burned on the table. Dim sounds came to me as if from throughout the castle, dim vibrations and hints of scraping music, and even bits and pieces of song.
I got up, and turning my back to the night slaves who were dozing anyway, stripped off my tunic and shirt and put on my dressing gown, lacing it at the neck and tying the sash. I was pleasantly exhausted, but my mind was as feverish as it had been all the long day.
At the table I sat down, smelled the black ink, and then dipped my quill pen.
There was a fresh little bound book before me—the kind I had made for my private thoughts. It was thick, but not too thick, the parchment good quality, and covers made of soft leather engraved with the letter D.
I began to write. But I found I’d seen and felt and thought so much that I could only list things, list items and people and moments, and places, and so finally, this was all that I did.
When next I fell on the pillow, I slept like the dead.
vii
By noon I was in my townhouse and what a pleasant affair it was.
Like all village townhouses it was more a work of wood than stone, and its buffed and gleaming floors and stairs and railings were its glory, along with its soft painted plaster walls. The tones of peach and yellow and occasional blue were fine for me, the heavy oak furnishings fit for a castle, and by afternoon, I had positioned my chair by the high fourth-story window to look down on the open square.
No Barbara as yet, b
ut I had been promised she would be delivered soon.
By evening, I’d sent my letter to His Majesty begging to speak with him about the Place of Public Punishment and asking to offer my services if they should be wanted as “guiding genius,” to use his well-chosen words.
That night, he came himself to bring me my gold chain and medallion. A messenger came first to say he would shortly arrive.
I was again at the window, and the square below was wondrously illuminated, nothing like the shadowy place it had been before.
Slaves were being spanked on the turntable, of course, and I could see the maypoles were busy and people were going in and out of the tents. I thought of many things, many innovations. The ball game with the bent-over painted slaves was fun, but what if the balls were driven at the targets by paddles? I could think of several other variations. Slaves on hands and knees with heads straight to receive the circular garlands tossed from a distance by competing lords and ladies.
I had been watching it all for hours, and picturing to myself the King coming down from the castle—did he drive his own chariot with his finest ponies four abreast—when, suddenly, I saw him with his retinue below in the square. What a grand figure he was, with his streaming red-and-gold cloak, striding through the crowds as they broke for him and bowed on all sides.
And how he nodded and reached out to clasp hands here and there, and how buoyant and gladsome he looked.
I could see it all even from this distance, the fine figure he cut, and I thought, Yes, he has the greatness to rule Bellavalten, with his gracious queen at his side. She was not with him, no, but her devotion to him had been obvious when I’d seen them last night. She had a shyness about her, a shrinking quality. She’d had that when she was a slave.
But he was immense—immense in stature and also in spirit. I had never had such a strong sense of it as I did now watching him receive the admiration of so many eyes and the humble respect of so many hands as he made his way right towards my house.
He didn’t remain with me for long.
I received him in my new parlor which must have looked quaint and small and confining to him. Had he ever resided or even stayed in such a place?
He stood the whole while with his secretary, Emlin, and his attendants behind him, a giant beneath the low ceiling.
He put the chain about my neck.
“You are now the master of the Place of Public Punishment,” he said.
He embraced me, and kissed me. He was perhaps the tallest man I knew.
“I’m glad you’ve returned, Dmitri,” he said. “Now I’m told that Lexius will return soon. I am so curious to see him.”
“Is this truly so, sire?” I asked. Lexius here. Lexius coming all the way from India, from his own realm.
“A letter arrived from him late today,” said the King. “He’s on the continent. He’s not far away.”
I felt my heart beating. I wondered if the King could sense it. It seemed loud enough for all the world to hear.
“Alexi has promised to tell me what happened between Lexius and the late queen,” said Laurent. “I don’t mean to press for unpleasant stories, and I will make no judgments, of course, but I do so want to know.”
I felt the blood rush to my face, though this shouldn’t have been happening. That old tale was simple enough. It was the mysteries of— But then I didn’t let myself think on it again, only telling myself, I will soon see Lexius. Lexius has actually been lured by the new Bellavalten. What can this mean?
“Come dine with us, Dmitri,” said the King as he left the room, “whenever you like. And now, I have gifts for you.”
He snapped his fingers, and through the front door, three naked slaves were delivered by two of the predictably comely grooms in Court livery.
There stood Barbara, trembling magnificently, of course, and lovely Kiera of the blond braids who’d been provided for me in my chambers, and handsome fetching Bertram.
At once the trio fell on their knees and rushed to kiss my slippers. A delicious perfume filled the air.
“Sire, thank you,” I said at once. “I’m speechless. Truly.”
“Enjoy them, Prince,” said Laurent. “And remember, here in the village you can pack them off to the Slaves’ Hall at any time for their bath, oiling, and sleep, and send for them at your leisure. No need to service them here under your roof unless you prefer it.” His voice was easy and casual. “These grooms are two of the best, and they’ll be with you until you dismiss them. They’re artists at working slaves, putting them through their paces, if you’re of a mind to watch, and will obey your every command. And, Prince, your grooms may all wear the Court’s livery if you like, as you are a member of the Court, not the village livery.”
“Thank you, sire,” I said.
“And there’s the Place of Public Punishment right outside your door of course. Now I cannot vouch for the particular virtues of this delectable little sweetheart, Barbara, but I can assure you that Kiera and Bertram have met my most exacting standards for performance.”
Once more, we embraced and then he left me.
It seemed a great brilliant light had gone out of the little parlor once he was gone. I stood stranded on the polished floor, staring back into the past, into the dark narrow face of Lexius, into his black eyes. I smelled the hot air of another place. I heard the songs of the jungle in my ears. Saw ancient walls covered with dancing naked figures. Gods and goddesses of another land.
The grooms stood waiting and the three slaves knelt at my feet. At my mercy. Ah, such breasts, such luscious breasts, and the cock on Bertram.
“What would you like to do now, my lord?” asked Fabien.
For a long moment, I said nothing.
Then I heard myself speaking.
“Welcome to my house, lovelies. I shall take my time enjoying you one by one as suits my pace. And you, gentlemen,” I said to the grooms. “One of you is to spank Kiera and Bertram over the knee now and put them beside this little fireplace as I saw them positioned in the great castle until I send for them. The other attend on me.”
Without further explanation, I bid Barbara to rise.
Then I picked her up with both hands and pitched her over my right shoulder. I caught her ankles firmly as she cried out and I carried her up the staircase in this way until I reached the bedchamber.
I laid her down on the bed. She shivered and dared not look at me, glancing up at the polished mahogany of the ceiling of the bed and then closing her eyes. Quickly, desperately, she put her hands behind her neck.
I pushed her naked legs wide apart.
I inspected her delicate little gaping sex—the dark wrinkled pink lips peeping through the glistening black hair, and the curve of her little bottom making me think of a fruit cut in half with its core exposed—as women’s upturned privates often did—dark, mysterious, the kernel of so many secrets. I had thought of a peach last night when inspecting Rosalynd in this same way.
Barbara let out a little scream as I buried my face in her pubic hair.
I pressed my tongue into her, tasting her delicious smoking and fragrant juices. I lapped at her juices. Her hips rode up and down helplessly under me. With my mouth over her clitoris, over her gasping sex, I knew she had no control, no control whatsoever, and I stabbed at her clitoris with my tongue until she came without stinting. On and on she came, abandoned to the pleasure, helpless in the grip of it.
Delirious torture for me but that’s what I wanted.
I seated myself on the bed and brought her hips up onto my lap, again studying her sex, smoothing the hair with my hand, parting her legs and prying open the lips.
She shuddered and wept, but her hips rocked. She couldn’t control them.
I pondered the mystery of her gleaming wet sex, the mystery of these little lips and this curious opening, this secret little chamber in which pleasure
raged as surely as it raged in my cock.
“You have so much to learn,” I said. “But you’re beautiful to me, precious to me, and you’re my first acquisition, my first slave, my first chosen one.”
“My lord.” She wept softly. “Deliver me to your pleasure. Only show me what it is you want of me.”
I flipped her over on her face on the coverlet.
Her skin was petal perfect and so smooth to the touch, so sweet.
Her little bottom was made up of the most shapely little mounds.
“Is there anyone there?” I called out.
“Yes, Prince,” came a voice. “Kenan, Prince, here to serve you.”
“Her little anus is too tender for my cock,” I said to Kenan. “What toys do we have under this roof, if any? What emollients?”
“Right here, Prince,” he said. He stepped to the side of the bed with a large shallow casket, holding open the lid. “These are wax, Prince, these little plugs and phalluses. The Queen designed these, and Lady Eva has them made. After you use them they will be melted down for new ones.”
“Excellent,” I said gazing over the selection. “This is exactly what I wanted.” I selected a small butt plug with a gentle head, flared at the bottom and with a place in the base to insert flowers or feathers of which the casket had a little heap. “That one and fit it with the red feathers.”
At once, Kenan prepared it for me. He held open the jar of rich rose-colored cream. Lovely scent.
I smoothed the cream over the plug and then slipping my left hand under Barbara’s tender belly, I lifted her. She moaned.
I slipped the well-lubricated butt plug into her.
She looked so fetching with the little feathers coming out of her hind end, and so helpless as she lay against the palm of my left hand.
“Now I think you’ll ride me about the room the way a certain lady did last night,” I said.