Beauty's Kingdom Read online

  “You wish to be a pleasure slave in this kingdom, is that true?”

  “Yes, Master.”

  “Then remove your clothes, all of them, and your shoes and put them on that table. And do not ask to keep any article of clothing about you.”

  I did this immediately, and only as I felt the soothing air on my naked skin did it hit me that at last, at last, I was here and this was truly happening to me. I felt weak suddenly, and my hands trembled. But I was soon completely naked, and very much ashamed of the dust of the road that seemed to cling to my hair and my hands, and I was staring at the floor and struggling to appear collected.

  A very long moment passed.

  Any spoken word might have been a mercy.

  None came, and then a door in the side wall opened and a lovely young woman in a servant’s livery of apron and wimple beckoned for me to come to her. She smiled.

  “Don’t worry about your clothes, little boy,” she said in the most cheerful voice. “They’ll be put in your chest with everything else.”

  Surely I blushed violently. It certainly felt like it, this pretty girl speaking to me and me being utterly naked. I went into the room and found it was smaller than the other but very warm with a big bronze tub there of steaming water, and a little fire roaring on the hearth and buckets set all around it.

  “Into the bath, little boy,” said the girl.

  I stepped in and sank down into the water, and she commenced to scrub me all over. She washed my hair thoroughly, rinsing it with buckets of warm water, and then, telling me to stand, started to wash between my legs with the same thoroughness she’d used all along.

  “Well, I can tell you, that you’re gorgeous enough all right, but I don’t make the decisions. And look at that cock, standing up already.”

  She turned me around and scrubbed my bottom in the same efficient way.

  “Now you answer me as ‘madam’ and you answer all men as ‘sir,’ do you hear, though you may say ‘master’ or ‘mistress’ if you like, but I wouldn’t bother. Your lips are sealed, you understand, unless you’re directly questioned. And you never make an openmouthed sound—never an openmouthed moan or a sob or a cry, do you hear? Lips tight at all times. Now, go stand by the fire.”

  I said, “Yes, madam.”

  She rubbed me hard all over with the towel, and then oiled me with a delicious perfumed oil, and then dried and brushed my hair till she said it was “shining.”

  None of this took very long as she was very good at what she did.

  I was desperate to ask about the girl who’d come before me, but I didn’t dare.

  “Well, if they don’t accept you, little boy, then I don’t know anything,” she said when she was finished. “So! From now on you walk with your eyes down and your hands on the back of your neck. Go through that door, and I wish you luck.”

  She gave me a peck on the cheek. “Little boy,” she said as I was almost to the door. “If they don’t accept you, they’ll hire you for some service, I’m sure of it. You’re not just pretty. You’re a precious little knave if ever I saw one.”

  The door opened before she finished, as though someone had been watching through a chink in the wall, and I headed into a larger room on a red carpet.

  I realized there were at least four people around me, and from the sound of voices and other noise that I was in a large space.

  At once a woman appeared before me, clamped her soft hands on the side of my head, and told me to look at her.

  In a blur I saw the others were all men in long rich tunics, and that she was a goddess with red hair, or so one might think.

  Her green eyes were beyond anything I’d ever beheld and so were her smiling lips.

  “And you’re known by?”

  “Brenn, madam,” I said. I almost stammered. I feared suddenly I’d faint! That was absurd, but the weakness I felt in my belly and the hardness of my cock were paralyzing me.

  “That’s a pretty name,” said a tall blond-haired man beside her. He had a long sheet of parchment against a writing board and was scratching on it with a quill pen. The board had an ink well in it. He was remarkably handsome, with curling golden hair, and his own eyes were almost as exceptional as the lady’s eyes. “Brenn, is this the name you wish to be known by in the kingdom if you are accepted?”

  “Yes, sir,” I replied.

  “You look down now, little Brenn,” said the woman, “and you must not raise your eyes again. Remember, you are being tested in all things and have been for some time now. You must do your best to be obedient and perfect, but dignity is also highly desirable—only you must remember that your masters and mistresses ultimately define what is dignified.”

  “Yes, madam,” I said.

  My head swam. It was all too real! It was beyond anything I might have imagined, because I had never been able to imagine just how it would play out in detail here.

  “And know that when I call you ‘little boy’ or ‘little Brenn,’” said the lady, “this is customary with all slaves to refer to them with such pet names and diminutives.” Her voice was kindly and sweet.

  “Yes, madam.”

  The tall blond man stepped forward and putting his hand on my shoulder he directed me to turn around.

  “You are in fact a splendid big boy in every sense, Brenn,” he said. “And sometimes you’ll be called a ‘big boy’ with just as much affection as anything else.” His voice was more tender than the lady’s voice, deeper naturally and ever so more melodious. I found it disconcertingly beautiful. Somehow the way he said his words, the resonance, it made me feel more naked. But that seemed ridiculous.

  I was now facing two other persons I could not clearly see.

  “He’s too muscular for my taste,” said one, and it was a quavering elderly voice and full of anger. It was as if he’d slapped me.

  “Now, Lord Gregory,” came a much-younger male voice, “I find this a most appealing sort—”

  “Oh, yes, of course, Prince, you would,” said the elderly Lord Gregory. “And I’m sure His Majesty is likely to agree with you!” This was said with nothing short of disgust and rage. But the lady behind me was laughing.

  I stared at the carpet, stared at the slippers of the men, stared at the ornate hems of their robes . . . at golden bees and curling vines, and pointed leaves embroidered on velvet. My face was flaming.

  All at once, there were hands all over me, touching me, squeezing my arms and my legs, and my backside. Again, I thought I might go down in a faint like a coward! But I held steady. Even the long white hand of the elderly gentleman came out and touched my right nipple. Then he pinched it hard. I bit down not to cry out. He did the very same thing to my left nipple.

  Then he slapped my cock so hard he almost knocked me off balance. I couldn’t help but make a little sound but my lips were sealed, as the pretty girl had told me they must be.

  Meanwhile the others continued to examine to their heart’s content. The lady removed my right hand from the back of my neck and examined my fingers. And to my utter amazement I felt tears spring into my eyes, tears of utter helplessness. As she gently stroked my left hand I realized my legs were wobbling.

  And to think this had all been done to Sybil, but then they’d likely said the nicest things about Sybil. Oh, what had made me think I’d be acceptable! Double dose of the potion that makes for a man or a woman!

  The elderly man rubbed my shaven beard and made a sound of revulsion. “And look at his pubic hair, well, that will have to be groomed.”

  “Oh, nonsense, my lord,” said the lady behind me. “It’s gorgeous. Black and thick. The King will love it. And I suspect the Queen will love it. Indeed, there is something about this one which suggests to me that the Queen might adore him. Now if the King likes him, well, the problem will be finding any other slave to match him if the King wants him for a team to
pull his chariot.”

  Pull his chariot!

  “Steady, little boy,” said the Prince behind me with the wicked Lord Gregory. “I think you’re beautiful, simply beautiful. What do you think, Tristan?”

  “Tristan” answered that he thought so too. “He’s what I would call quite wondrous. Unique certainly. He is near to six feet, near enough, and his thighs and calves are like a Roman statue’s! And look at his feet. They’re large but high arched with short thick toes. I like that. I like his shoulders, and well, his backside is perfect. The thing about his backside is, that for all his muscularity, he’s softly padded there. The Queen will love these details. Anyone would love these gifts.”

  Keep steady, just keep steady, I thought to myself. Just as the Prince said to do. Keep steady. They are accepting you! Yet a sweet terror was threatening me.

  I felt a hand for the first time on my balls. My cock was bobbing and I couldn’t control it. It was the hand of the Prince behind me. I felt something prod at my backside, prod at my anus.

  Well, if I was actually going to faint it would be now. I knew this. But I didn’t. I felt a peak of excitement it seemed I’d never known before. A gloved finger was exploring my anus, and fingers were pushing at my bottom. The gloved finger had been oiled, and it went deep into me.

  “I say not only is he acceptable,” said the lady, “but that he should be sent directly to the King and Queen as soon as he’s properly prepared.” As always her voice was almost gay and cheerful.

  “Agreed,” said the one named Tristan. “All the details are perfect.”

  And was it possible that he was the famous Tristan, friend of the King and Queen, who had helped to revive the kingdom?

  The elderly man grumbled; indeed, he positively growled.

  “Lord Gregory, look at his little backside,” said the lady, and I was turned around now to face her, so that I saw her slippers and the pretty ribbons sewn to her skirts. “Don’t you see how charmingly he’s made? The Queen will take an interest, I assure you. Indeed, I have an idea for the Queen with this one.”

  I realized my eyes had glassed over. Never in all my life had I experienced anything like this moment. It was at such a pitch of intensity that I couldn’t measure it.

  “He has aptitude,” said Tristan. “That’s plain enough and I like his nipples. The area around them—”

  “The aureole,” said the lady.

  “The aureoles are dark and large and beautiful. The King will love that. And I’d be amazed if the Queen didn’t love it too. Yes, the pubic hair is thick and unkempt. Look, it crawls up to his navel and down his thighs, but again, look at his face, his eyes . . . he’s like a . . .”

  “He has a highly unusual combination of endowments,” said the Prince behind me. There was something faintly amused and mocking in his tone, but I think it might have been meant for the elderly gentleman. “I like him myself very much, and if neither the King nor the Queen chooses him, I’ll choose him. That’s quite enough for me right there.”

  The garrulous old lord snorted. Then his wicked hand was on my bottom squeezing it painfully. Had to be his fingers doing this.

  “You overrule me as you always do,” he muttered behind me.

  “Well, not always, my lord, that is not fair,” said the Prince beside me. “And more often than not we all agree as we did with the last young lady.”

  This might mean Sybil. Desperately, I had to believe that it meant Sybil.

  “Now that was an appropriate applicant,” said the old man. “And proud and spoilt and deserving of punishment. But decent, nevertheless, promising.”

  The tears were now flowing from my eyes, but I held steady, swallowing, trying not to work my lips. They had all agreed on Sybil! Think of that. Now I must be accepted.

  “Look at me again, little boy,” said the lady lifting my face. Punishment. The word echoed in my ears. And real punishment had not even begun.

  It was a shock to see her face, to see anyone’s face, because this meant that others had been seeing my face all along. When you look into a person’s eyes you feel that they are looking at you.

  “Now stop trembling so much, little satyr,” she said. “You’ve been well brought up, haven’t you? You’ve dined with nobility.”

  “Yes, my lady, clerk to a duke,” I said and then bit my lip.

  “Ah, excellent. And you have lovely hands. And you keep them on the back of your neck as you’ve been told.”

  “Yes, madam.”

  “With these muscles and that beard,” said the elderly lord, “he ought to be at the lowest work in the village. In the fields in fact.”

  I stared expressionless at the lady but she smiled warmly.

  “Well, now, that will be the decision of the King or the Queen,” she replied. She turned and requested from someone that her strap and paddle should be brought.

  Now, likely, my blushing stopped and I drained of all color. I was suddenly terrified. What if I couldn’t endure it, couldn’t endure standing still for it, couldn’t possibly— I felt a sudden urge to drop to my knees and ask them to give me a moment to prepare, but that was absurd, and absolutely unacceptable.

  “You don’t want to send him on to be spanked?” asked Prince Tristan.

  “No, I want to see it settled here and now,” said the lady. “I like this one.”

  “Well, then you’ll allow me to put him to the test,” said the elderly man.

  He reached past me and took a long black leather strap from someone who had just brought it for the lady.

  It was a thick strap.

  There was a noise behind me, a soft sound, and as the lady turned me around now, or I should say as she turned me to the side, I saw a low stool there.

  “Up on this, you crude little brat,” said the elderly man. “Move now. I’ll see what you’re made of! You want to serve in Bellavalten, do you?”

  I climbed on the stool—it was only a foot off the ground—and the two princes stood in front of me. The lord’s voice stung me to the quick. But I was determined to endure. Indeed I was so determined that it seemed I had no choice. I felt elated.

  “Reach up over your head,” said Prince Tristan. “Yes, that ring. Grasp it with both hands. And keep your eyes fixed downward, as is proper.”

  The tears were splashing down my face. But the elation grew ever more intense. It was as if I were floating.

  As I took the round leather-clad ring firmly in my hands, Prince Tristan stepped up closer.

  “Now be brave, Brenn, you want to serve, remember?” said Tristan. “Your lips are to remain closed—sealed, as we say in the kingdom. You may cry, of course. Your masters and mistresses fancy the pretty sparkle of tears. But sobbing, moaning, whatever you cannot suppress, all this must be done with lips tightly shut.” His voice was so gentle it was like being comforted, stroked. “I’m going to hold your chin firmly while you’re beaten. And please know that Prince Alexi here and I both know how hard this is for you.”

  I pressed my lips together, vowing not to make a sound.

  Though I was looking down I could see them both through my tears. And the voice, the tenderness in the voice, was as piercing and paralyzing as the anger of the old Lord Gregory. I couldn’t quite understand why, but it made me cry all the more freely.

  “Keep your legs closed,” said the elderly gentleman. “Those balls of yours are enormous. I don’t want to hit them. And if you dare move your feet from the wood or your hands from that ring, I’ll beat you over every inch of your body before I send you back where you came from!”

  He drew up close, his garments touching me all over in a feathery way, and he said in my ear: “If you dare to waste my time, you’ll be sorry for it!” Then he moved back.

  The strap almost knocked me to the side. He must have doubled it because the blows came so fast, one after another, cutting
me from below and then slicing across my thighs.

  Tristan’s fingers tightened on my chin, and another hand, the hand of Prince Alexi, reached out and began to gently squeeze the tip of my cock.

  “That’s it,” he said softly. Same loving tenderness as Tristan. “Stand firm, Brenn. You are doing very well.”

  I barely heard him over the loud smacking blows, coming so fast I’d lost all count. My bottom felt as if it had doubled in size and was ablaze with the sweetest pain, a strange delicious pain, a throbbing pain, and I was afraid suddenly that if Prince Alexi didn’t stop I would come in his hand. Maybe he wanted me to do this!

  I was so confused, so helpless, being pushed this way and that by the strap, struggling to stand firm and not to come, that the tears just flooded my eyes and I could hear, hear as if it were someone else, my own sobs behind my clenched teeth.

  I realized I was struggling, but I hadn’t moved either my hands or my feet, and I closed my eyes shut, I couldn’t help it and tried with all my will not to wriggle or squirm when the strap hit me.

  “Stand up straight!” said the angry lord. He whacked away at my thighs now, back and forth, back and forth, and worked down now to my calves, jumping past the tender underside of my knees.

  The blows stung in a different way on my calves, but all my backside was aflame from the strap. The strap whipped at my ankles, hard, and then suddenly it was back up again on my bottom.

  “See, it is a very shapely and lovely bottom,” said the lady.

  The lord paused in his work. I shook violently all over. A surge of electric sensation passed through me. I felt I was floating again.

  Prince Alexi, thankfully, let go of my cock.

  I felt his fingers cup my balls. He was using both hands.

  “Priceless,” he said. “Their Majesties will love this equipment.” There was that dark slightly mocking tone again. But he wasn’t mocking me. I knew it.

  I couldn’t stop the tears, hadn’t been able to stop them from the start, so I stopped trying and just stood there feet together, hands grasping the hook and cried.

  “Keep your eyes down now, Brenn,” said the lady. She moved around until she stood between the two princes who made way for her.