Master’s foot, his brown hair veiling his face mercifully.
Where were Dmitri and Rosalynd? Why had they been discarded? Would one of the other men who had come in with the Master take them?
She couldn’t know. And the corridor seemed endless. But she didn’t really care about Dmitri and Rosalynd. All she cared about truly was that she and Tristan and Laurent and Elena were together. And, of course, the fact that he, this mysterious Master, this tall and impossibly elegant creature, was moving right alongside of her.
His embroidered robe brushed her shoulder as he moved ahead, Laurent struggling to keep pace with him.
The thongs licked at her backside, licked at her pubis, as she rushed after them.
At last, they came to another pair of doors, and the thongs drove them through into a large lamp-lighted chamber. She was bid to stop by the firm pressure of a slipper on her neck once more, and then she realized that all the grooms had withdrawn and the door had been shut behind them.
The only sound was the anxious breathing of the Princes and Princesses. The Master moved past Beauty to the door. A bolt was thrown, a key turned. Silence.
Then she heard the melodious voice again, soft and low, and this time it was speaking, in charmingly accented syllables, her own language:
“Well, my darlings, you may all come forward and kneel up before me. I have much to say to you.”
BEAUTY: MYSTERIOUS MASTER
A TUMULTUOUS SHOCK to be spoken to.
At once the group of slaves obeyed, coming round to kneel up in front of the Master, the golden leashes trailing on the floor. Even Laurent was freed now from the Master’s slipper and took his place with the others.
As soon as they were all still, kneeling with their hands clasped to the backs of their necks, the Master said:
“Look at me.”
Beauty did not hesitate. She looked up into his face and found it as appealing and baffling now as it had been in the garden. It was a better-proportioned face than she had realized, the full and agreeable mouth finely shaped, the nose long and delicate, the eyes well spaced and radiantly dominant. But, again, it was the spirit that magnetized her.
As he looked from one to another of the captives, Beauty could feel the excitement coursing through the little group, feel her own sudden elation.
“O, yes, a splendid creature,” she thought. And memories of the Crown Prince who had brought Beauty to the Queen’s land and of her crude Captain of the Guard in the village were suddenly threatened with complete dissolution.
“Precious slaves,” he said, eyes fixing on her for a brief, electric moment. “You know where you are and why you are here. The soldiers have brought you by force to serve your Lord and Master.” So mellifluous the voice, the face so immediately warm. “And you know that you will serve always in silence. Dumb little creatures you are to the grooms who attend you. But I, the Sultan’s steward, cherish no such illusions that sensuality obliterates high reason.”
“Of course not,” Beauty thought. But she didn’t dare to voice her thoughts. Her interest in the man was deepening rapidly and dangerously.
“Those few slaves I pick,” he said, his eyes traveling again, “those I choose to perfect and offer to the Sultan’s Court are always apprised of my aims, and my demands, and the dangers of my temper. But only in the secrecy of this chamber. In this chamber I want my methods to be understood. My expectations to be fully clarified.”
He drew closer, towering over Beauty, and his hand reached for her breast, squeezing it as he had done before, just a little too hard, the hot shiver passing down into her sex immediately. With the other hand he stroked the side of Laurent’s face, thumb grazing the lip as Beauty turned to watch, utterly forgetting herself.
“That you will not do, Princess,” he said, and at once he slapped her hard and she bowed her head, her face stinging. “You will continue to look at me
Where were Dmitri and Rosalynd? Why had they been discarded? Would one of the other men who had come in with the Master take them?
She couldn’t know. And the corridor seemed endless. But she didn’t really care about Dmitri and Rosalynd. All she cared about truly was that she and Tristan and Laurent and Elena were together. And, of course, the fact that he, this mysterious Master, this tall and impossibly elegant creature, was moving right alongside of her.
His embroidered robe brushed her shoulder as he moved ahead, Laurent struggling to keep pace with him.
The thongs licked at her backside, licked at her pubis, as she rushed after them.
At last, they came to another pair of doors, and the thongs drove them through into a large lamp-lighted chamber. She was bid to stop by the firm pressure of a slipper on her neck once more, and then she realized that all the grooms had withdrawn and the door had been shut behind them.
The only sound was the anxious breathing of the Princes and Princesses. The Master moved past Beauty to the door. A bolt was thrown, a key turned. Silence.
Then she heard the melodious voice again, soft and low, and this time it was speaking, in charmingly accented syllables, her own language:
“Well, my darlings, you may all come forward and kneel up before me. I have much to say to you.”
BEAUTY: MYSTERIOUS MASTER
A TUMULTUOUS SHOCK to be spoken to.
At once the group of slaves obeyed, coming round to kneel up in front of the Master, the golden leashes trailing on the floor. Even Laurent was freed now from the Master’s slipper and took his place with the others.
As soon as they were all still, kneeling with their hands clasped to the backs of their necks, the Master said:
“Look at me.”
Beauty did not hesitate. She looked up into his face and found it as appealing and baffling now as it had been in the garden. It was a better-proportioned face than she had realized, the full and agreeable mouth finely shaped, the nose long and delicate, the eyes well spaced and radiantly dominant. But, again, it was the spirit that magnetized her.
As he looked from one to another of the captives, Beauty could feel the excitement coursing through the little group, feel her own sudden elation.
“O, yes, a splendid creature,” she thought. And memories of the Crown Prince who had brought Beauty to the Queen’s land and of her crude Captain of the Guard in the village were suddenly threatened with complete dissolution.
“Precious slaves,” he said, eyes fixing on her for a brief, electric moment. “You know where you are and why you are here. The soldiers have brought you by force to serve your Lord and Master.” So mellifluous the voice, the face so immediately warm. “And you know that you will serve always in silence. Dumb little creatures you are to the grooms who attend you. But I, the Sultan’s steward, cherish no such illusions that sensuality obliterates high reason.”
“Of course not,” Beauty thought. But she didn’t dare to voice her thoughts. Her interest in the man was deepening rapidly and dangerously.
“Those few slaves I pick,” he said, his eyes traveling again, “those I choose to perfect and offer to the Sultan’s Court are always apprised of my aims, and my demands, and the dangers of my temper. But only in the secrecy of this chamber. In this chamber I want my methods to be understood. My expectations to be fully clarified.”
He drew closer, towering over Beauty, and his hand reached for her breast, squeezing it as he had done before, just a little too hard, the hot shiver passing down into her sex immediately. With the other hand he stroked the side of Laurent’s face, thumb grazing the lip as Beauty turned to watch, utterly forgetting herself.
“That you will not do, Princess,” he said, and at once he slapped her hard and she bowed her head, her face stinging. “You will continue to look at me
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