Beauty's Punishment Page 14

  The day’s work had exhausted her. She had dropped a handful of pewter spoons and been chained upside down to the kitchen wall for an hour. On all fours, she had carried the heavy laundry baskets on her back to the clotheslines and knelt still while the village girls, hanging up the sheets, chatted around her. She had scrubbed and cleaned and polished, and been paddled at every evidence of clumsiness or hesitation. And kneeling, she had lapped her dinner from the same big dish as the other slaves, silently thankful for the cool spring water that followed.

  Now it was time to sleep, and she had been dozing, more or less, for over an hour.

  But very slowly, she realized that no one was about. She was alone with the sleeping slaves, and she saw that the beautiful red-haired Prince was lying opposite her, his cheek against his hand, looking at her.

  He was the one she had seen the night before kissing the soldier as he sat on the soldier’s lap. He smiled now and with his right fingers blew a little kiss to Beauty.

  “What did Mistress Lockley do to you this morning?” he whispered.

  Beauty flushed.

  He reached over and covered her hand with his. “It’s all right,” he whispered. “We love going to the Punishment Shop.” He said. And he laughed under his breath.

  “How long have you been here?” she asked. He was even more beautiful than Prince Roger. She had seen no slave at the castle who was any more aristocratic. The features of his face were strong like Tristan’s features, but he had a smaller build and was more boyish.

  “I was sent down from the castle a year ago. My name is Prince Richard. I was at the castle for six months until I was declared incorrigible.”

  “But why were you so bad?” Beauty asked. “Was it deliberate?”

  “Not at all,” he said. “I tried to obey, but I would panic and run into the corner. Or I simply could not perform a task for the shame and humiliation I felt. I couldn’t command myself. I was passionate as you are passionate. Every paddle and cock and lovely lady’s hand that touched me elicited some mortifying display of uncontrollable pleasure. But I couldn’t obey. And so I was auctioned off for a full year to be tamed here.”

  “And now?” Beauty asked.

  “I’ve come very far,” he said. “I’ve been taught. And I owe it to Mistress Lockley. If it hadn’t been for Mistress Lockley I don’t know what would have happened to me. Mistress Lockley bound me, punished me, harnessed me, and took me through a dozen forced tasks before she expected anything of my will. Every other night I was paddled on the Public Turntable, made to run the circle of the Maypole. I was fastened in a tent in the Punishment Place and had to take all the cocks that came to me. I was teased and persecuted by the young women. I spent the day usually dangling beneath the sign of the Inn. And I was bound hand and foot for the daily paddling. And only after a good four weeks of that was I unbound and ordered to light the fire and set the table. I tell you I covered her boots with kisses. I lapped the food literally from the palm of her hand.”

  Slowly Beauty nodded. She was surprised it had taken him so long.

  “I worship her,” he said. “I shudder to think what would have happened if I had been bought by someone softer.”

  “Yes,” Beauty admitted, and the blood flooded to her face again. She felt it too in her sore buttocks.

  “I never thought I could lie still on the bar for the morning paddling,” he said. “I never thought I could be sent unbound through the streets to the Place of Punishment or that I would climb the steps and kneel on the Public Turntable without fetters. Or that I could be sent to the nearby Punishment Shop where we went this morning, but now I can do any of those things. Nor did I think I could pleasure the soldiers of the garrison without shrinking or showing panic when they pinioned me. But there is nothing I can’t endure completely.”

  He paused. “You’ve already learned these things,” he said. “I could tell it last night and today. Mistress Lockley loves you.”

  “She does!” Beauty felt a strong swimming desire in her loins. “0, you must be mistaken.”

  “No, I’m not. It’s difficult for a slave to claim Mistress Lockley’s attention. She rarely takes her eyes off you when you’re about.”

  Beauty’s heart began to race silently inside her.

  “You know, I’ve something terrible to tell you,” said the Prince.

  “You don’t have to tell me. I know,” Beauty whispered. “Now that your year is up, you can’t beat the thought of returning to the castle.”

  “Yes, precisely,” he said. “Not because I can’t obey and please. I’m quite sure of that. But it’s ... different.”

  “I know,” Beauty said. But her head was teeming. So her cruel Mistress loved her, did she? And why did it give Beauty so much satisfaction? She’d never truly cared that Lady Juliana at the castle adored her. And this mean, proud little Innkeeper and the handsome, remote Captain of the Guard were touching her heart strangely.

  “I need hard punishment,” Prince Richard said, “I need direct commands, to know my place without hesitation. I don’t welcome again those tender groomings and all that flattery. I’d rather be thrown over the Captain’s horse and taken out to the camp and tethered to the hitching post there and used that way as I have been.”

  The image flashed brightly before Beauty. “Has the Captain of the Guard taken you?” she asked shyly.

  “0, yes, of course,” he said. “But never fear. I saw him last night. And he’s quite in love with you, too, and when it comes to Princes, he likes them a little heartier than I, though now and then ...” He smiled.

  “And you have to go back to the castle?” Beauty asked.

  “I don’t know. Mistress Lockley is in great favor with the Queen because much of the Queen’s garrison lodges here. And Mistress Lockley could keep me here, I think, if she paid for me. I earn much for the Inn. And any time I’m sent to the Punishment Shop the customers there pay for my penance. There are always people gathered there, having coffee, talking, women sewing ... watching the slaves spanked one by one. And though the Master and Mistress must pay for the service, the customers can add ten pence for another good licking if they desire it. I’m almost always licked three times there, and half that money goes to the shop and half to my Mistress. So I’ve earned back my price many many times by now and could earn it again if Mistress Lockley wants to keep me.”

  “O, I must be able to do it too!” Beauty whispered. “Maybe I have proved too obedient too soon!” Her mouth twisted in anguish.

  “No, you haven’t. What you must do is endear yourself to Mistress Lockley. And you don’t do that with disobedience. You do it with a good show of submission. And when you go to the Punishment Shop—and you surely will, as she hasn’t the time to paddle us properly every day—you must put up the best show you can, no matter how hard it is. And in some ways its harder than the Public Turntable.”

  “But why? I saw the turntable and it looked dreadful.”

  “The Punishment Shop is more intimate and less theatrical,” the Prince explained. “The place is crowded, as I told you. Slaves are lined up on a low ramp along the left wall, each waiting as we waited this morning. Then there’s the Master with his attendant on the little stage, hardly four feet off the floor, and the tables with the customers are right up against the ramp and the stage, and the customers are laughing and talking amongst themselves, ignoring most of what goes on, only commenting casually.

  “But if they like a slave, they’ll stop talking and watch. You can see them out of the corner of your eye with their elbows on the edge of the stage, and then the shouts of ‘ten pence’ and it starts again. The Master is a big rough man. You’re thrown right over his knee. He wears a leather apron. He greases you hard before he begins and you’re thankful for it. It makes the spanks sting more but it saves your skin, really. And the attendant props your chin and waits to drive you off. And there’s a lot of laughing and talking from them both. The Master always squeezes me hard and asks me if I’m
being a good little boy, exactly the way he’d talk to a dog, that same voice. He roughs up my hair and teases me mercilessly about my cock and warns me to keep my hips up high so that my cock doesn’t disgrace itself on his apron.

  “One morning I remember a Prince did come in the Master’s lap. And how he was punished. The paddling was merciless and then he was driven round and round through the tavern at a squat, made to touch the tip of his cock to each boot in the place to beg forgiveness while he kept his hands behind his neck. You should have seen him squirming in and out, the patrons sometimes taking pity and tousling his hair, but most of the time ignoring him. And then he was led home at that same painful, disgraceful squat, his cock laced to point straight at the ground in disgrace, and it was hard enough again by that time. In the evening when the customers are drinking wine and the place is ablaze with candles, it can be worse than the Public Turntable. I’ve never broken down and wailed and whimpered so much for mercy on the Public Turntable.”

  Beauty was quietly enthralled.

  “One night in the shop,” the Prince continued, “I remember I was bought three lickings after the one ordered by the Mistress. I thought surely I wouldn’t have to take the fourth, it was too much, I was sobbing, and there was a good long line of slaves waiting. But that hand came up with the grease again to rub my welts and scrapes and slap my cock, and I was riding that knee again, putting on an even better show than the ones before it. And the sack of money isn’t put into your mouth to bring home as at the Public Turntable. It’s shoved good and proper in your anus with the little drawstrings hanging out. And that night I was forced through the whole tavern afterwards, to every table for extra copper coins, and they pushed those into me until I was stuffed as well as a fowl for roasting. Mistress Lockley was delighted with the money I’d earned. But my buttocks were so sore that when she touched them with her fingers I cried frantically. I thought she’d have mercy on me, at least on my cock, but not Mistress Lockley. She gave me to the soldiers that night as always. I had to sit on many a rough lap with those sore buttocks, and my cock was stroked and tormented and slapped I don’t know how many times before I was finally allowed to plunge it into a hot little Princess. Even then I was being whipped with a belt to drive me on. And when I came the blows didn’t stop, they just went right on. The Mistress said I had very resilient skin, that many slaves couldn’t have taken it. After that she saw I got as much as I could take, just as she told me she would.”

  Beauty was too stunned to say anything. “And I will be sent there,” she finally murmured.

  “0, surely. At least twice a week we’re packed off, all of us. It’s only a little ways up the lane, and we’re sent on our own, and for some reason, that always seems a terrible part of the punishment. But don’t be afraid when the time comes. Just remember, if you come back with that little bag of coins in your buttocks, you’ll make the Mistress very happy.”

  Beauty laid her cheek against the cool grass. “I don’t ever want to go back to the castle,” she thought. “I don’t care how hard it is here, how frightening!” She looked at Prince Richard. “Have you ever thought of running away?” she asked. “I wonder if the Princes don’t think of that.”

  “No,” he laughed. “And it was a Princess who ran away last night, by the way. And I’ll tell you a secret. They haven’t found her. They don’t want anyone to know either. Go back to sleep now. The Captain will be in a terrible frame of mind tonight if they haven’t captured her by that time. You don’t think of running away, do you?”

  “No,” Beauty shook her head.

  He turned to the Inn door. “I think I hear them coming. Go on back to sleep if you can. We have another hour or so.”

  PUBLIC TENTS

  IN THE early evening, I was a pony again, safe in my harnesses, thinking almost sardonically of my trepidation the night before when the tail and the bit had seen such unthinkable humiliations. We reached the manor house before dark, and I was singled out to be made a footstool for my master for hours beneath the dining table.

  The conversation was long. Others were there, rich merchants and farmers of the town, talking of crops and weather and the price of the slaves, and the undeniable fact that the village needed more slaves, not just the fine, often temperamental little lovelies from the castle, but solid lesser Tributes who need not ever see the Queen, the sons and daughters of petty nobles under her protection. Such slaves did come from time to time, right to auction in the marketplace. Why couldn’t there be more?

  My Master was fairly quiet all the time. I started living and breathing for the sound of his voice. But he laughed at this last suggestion and asked dryly, “And who would like to demand that of her Majesty?”

  I listened to every word, gleaning, not so much knowledge I did not possess before, but an increased sense of my lowliness. They told little stories about bad slaves, punishments, common events they thought humorous. And it was as if none of the slaves serving the table or those used as footstools like myself had ears or sense, or need be given the slightest consideration.

  Finally it was time to go.

  With a bursting cock, I took my place to pull the coach back to the town house, wondering if the other ponies had been satisfied as usual in the stable.

  And when we reached the village, and the ponies were sent off, my Mistress started to whip me on the short barefoot journey along the dark road to the Place of Public Punishment.

  I started crying, weary and desperate from the exertions and the starvation of my loins. The Mistress wielded the strap more vigorously than had the Master. And I was deviled mercilessly by the realization that it was she behind me, in her lovely dress, driving me on with that little hand. The day seemed infinitely longer than the one before it, and whatever I’d felt earlier about welcoming the Public Turntable, I was now in frantic fear of it. My fear was worse than last night. I knew what it was to be whipped there. The Master’s affection after seemed like some absurd flight of imagination.

  But it wasn’t the busy Maypole circle for me, or the brilliantly illuminated turntable.

  I was driven through the flowing crowd, into one of the small tents behind the pillories. My Mistress paid ten pence at the entrance and then drew me after her into the shadows.

  A naked Princess with long gleaming copper-colored braids squatted on a stool, knees wide, ankles bound together, her hands tethered to the tent pole high above her. She worked her hips desperately when she heard us come in, but her eyes were bound with a red silk blindfold.

  When I saw the soft, sweet, moist sex glinting in the torchlight from the square, I thought I could no longer control myself.

  I bowed my head, wondering what torment I should know now, but my Mistress said very gently that I was to rise.

  “I’ve paid ten pence for you to have her, Tristan,” she said.

  I could scarce believe my ears. I turned first to kiss the Mistress’s shoes, but she only laughed and told me to stand up and enjoy the girl as I wished.

  I started to obey, but I stopped, my head still bowed, the grasping little sex right before my own, realizing that my Mistress stood very near watching. She even stroked my hair. And I understood I was to be looked at, even studied.

  I gave a little shudder all over. And when I resigned myself to it, a new ingredient heightened my excitement. My cock darkened all the more and bobbed as if trying to pull me forward.

  “Slowly, if you like,” said my Mistress. “She’s lovely enough to play with.”

  I nodded. The Princess had an exquisite little mouth, red shuddering lips that gave little gasps now of apprehension and anticipation. It could have been better only if Beauty were kneeling there.

  I kissed the Princess violently, my hands greedily clutching her heavy little breasts and bouncing them and massaging them. She went into a paroxysm of longing. Her mouth sucked at mine, her body straining forward, and I lowered my head to suck at her breasts one by one, as she cried, her hips swaying wildly. It was almost too
much to wait longer.

  But I circled her, running my hands over her gorgeous buttocks, and as I pinched her little welts, very small welts really, she gave a lovely inviting moan and arched her back to show me her tender red sex from the rear as best she could, straining the rope that held her hands above her.

  That was how I wanted to take her, her vagina from the rear, stabbing upwards, lifting her, and when I slid in, her tight little sex seemed almost too small and she gave loud gasps as I forced my way into the hot wet depth of her.

  Her cries took on a despair. She was being well used, but her little clitoris wasn’t being touched by my cock, I knew, and I wasn’t going to disappoint her. I reached around her, finding the little core under its hood of wet skin, parting her plump lips a little roughly, and when I pinched the clitoris, she gave a sharp grateful cry, rocking her smooth little buttocks back against me.

  My Mistress drew close. Her broad full skirts stroked my leg, and I felt her hand under my chin. It was agony to realize she was looking at me and would see my reddened face at the moment of climax.

  But it was my lot. And an exultation swept me up right in the middle of the pleasure. I felt the Mistress’s hand on my buttocks. I rammed the little Princess all the harder, feeling my Mistress’s gaze, and caressed the wet clit with sharp rhythmic pressure.

  My cock burst as I gritted my teeth, my face burning hot, my hips jerking helplessly. A long low groan was torn out of my chest. The Mistress held my head in her hands. And my breath came in loud relieved gasps, the little Princess crying with the same ecstasy.

  I leaned forward, embracing the warm little body, and laid my head against the Princess’s head, turning to face my Mistress. I felt her soothing fingers on my hair. And her eyes fixed me steadily. She had a strange expression, thoughtful, almost penetrating. She turned her head a little to the side as if she were weighing some conclusion. And she put her hand on my shoulder to let me know I should stay still, embracing the Princess, and she whipped at my buttocks with the belt as I looked at her. I closed my eyes. But I opened them immediately again, smarting under the strap. And the oddest moment passed between us.