Beauty's Release

  Lexius was taken away. We did not even look at each other to say farewell. But I had more important things to think of.

  "And now for these two, these ungrateful rebels," the Queen said, turning her attention to Tristan and me. "When will I not hear discouraging reports of Tristan and Laurent?" Her voice showed genuine irritation. "Bad slaves, disobedient slaves, and ungrateful when freed from the Sultan's bondage!"

  The blood pounded in my face. I could feel the eyes of the Court on me, the eyes of chose I knew, had spoken with, had served in the past. How much safer the Sultan's garden seemed, with its preordained roles, than this deliberately temporary servitude. Yet there was no escape from this! It was as absolute as the garden had been.

  The Queen drew near, and I saw her skirts before my eyes. I couldn't move to kiss her slipper or I would have done it.

  "Tristan is a young slave," she said, "but you, Laurent, you served Lady Elvera for a year. You are well trained and yet you disobey, you rebel!" Her voice was caustic. "You even bring back the Sultan's servant on a whim. You are determined to distinguish yourself."

  I heard myself whimpering in response, my tongue touching the leather belt over my mouth, my cheeks burning against it.

  She moved closer. The velvet of her skirt touched my face, and I felt her slipper against my nipple. I began to weep. I couldn't contain it. All my ideas about the things that had happened to me left me. The fierce Master who had trained Lexius on the ship was vanquished again, wouldn't come to my aid. I felt only the tension of the Queen's disapproval, and my own unworthiness. And yet I knew I would rebel again, given half the chance! I was truly incorrigible. Nothing but punishment was right for me.

  "There is but one place for you both," she said. "The place that will strengthen Tristan's uncertain soul and quell your strong spirit thoroughly. You will be sent back to the village, but you will not be sold from the auction block. You will be delivered over to the Public Pony Stables."

  My crying increased. I couldn't stop it. It seemed the leather belt did little to muffle the sound of it.

  "And there you will serve night and day all year," she continued. "And strictly as ponies – to be rented out for the pulling of carriages and carts and other draught work. You will spend your waking hours harnessed and bitted with the proper horsetail phalluses fitted into place, and you will know no reprieve from this to enjoy the attention or affection of any Master or Mistress."

  I closed my eyes. My mind traveled back to the time so long ago, it seemed, when I had been brought through the village on the Punishment Cross, and the human ponies had pulled the cart, Tristan among them. The image of the black horsetails streaking from their backsides, their heads held high by the bits, obliterated all other thoughts in an instant. It seemed infinitely worse than marching with my hands tied to the bronze phallus in the Sultan's garden. And it would be done not for the Sultan and the royal guests but for the common and thrifty people of the village.

  "Only when that year is passed will your names be brought again to my attention," said the Queen, "and I give you my word that you are more likely to find yourself on the village auction block than at my feet when your service as ponies is ended."

  "An excellent punishment, Your Majesty," said the Captain of the Guard softly. "And these are such strong slaves, well muscled. Tristan has already tasted the bit. For Laurent it will do wonders."

  "I wish to hear no more of it," said the Queen. "These are not Princes fit for my service. They are horses to be well worked and well whipped in the village. Get them out of my sight immediately."

  Tristan's face was red and streaked with tears when I finally saw it. We were both lifted again on poles, as we had been before, and hurriedly carried out of the Great Hall, leaving the Court behind us.

  In the yard before the drawbridge, crude little signs were put around our necks, both bearing the single word: PONY.

  And after that we were rushed across the drawbridge and downhill, once more, towards the dreaded village.

  I tried not to envision the pony shackles. It was something absolutely unknown to me. And my only hope was that my bonds would be tight, and my position of servitude rigidly maintained by stern disciplinarians who would show me how to bear it.

  One year ... phalluses ... bits.... It rang in my ears as we were carried back through the gates into the swarming noontime marketplace.

  We caused quite a stir, the crowds gathering as the trumpet was blown before the auction block. The villagers moved in closely this time, though the soldiers ordered them back, and hands pushed at my naked arms and legs, making my body swing from the pole. I was choking on my tears, marveling that my understanding of what was happening did not lessen the degradation of it.

  "What does understanding mean?" I wondered. To know that I had brought it all on myself, that humiliation and yielding are inevitable at any stage of the game – somehow it produces no calm, no defense. The hands that pulled at my exposed nipples, lifted my hair from around my face – these hands reached through all my carefully pondered defenses.

  The ship, the Sultan, the secret mastering of Lexius, all swept away most certainly.

  "Two fine Ponies," cried the herald, "to be added at once to the village livery stables. Two fine steeds for hire at the regular rate to Pull the finest coach or the heaviest farm wagon."

  The soldiers hoisted the poles high. We were swinging above a sea of faces, hands slapping at my cock, slipping between my legs to squeeze my buttocks. And the sun glared on the many windows that surrounded the square, on the weathervanes turning on the gabled roofs, on the hot dusty panorama of village life – into which we had passed again.

  The herald's voice went on recounting that for one year we would serve, that all should thank Her Gracious Majesty for the beautiful steeds maintained in the town and the reasonable prices asked for their service. And then the trumpet was sounded again, and off we were taken, the poles lowered, our bodies swinging close to the cobblestones again, the villagers turning back to their work, the houses of the quiet street suddenly rising an either side of us, as the soldiers carried us on towards the mystery of the new existence.

  LAURENT: FIRST DAY AMONG THE PONIES

  IT WAS a giant stable like many another, I think, except that real horses had never been in it. The mud floor was strewn with sawdust and hay merely to make it soft and keep the dust down. Its rafters were hung with harnesses of the light and delicate sort fit only for men. And the bits and reins streamed from hooks along the rough wooden walls, while in a large open area drenched with sun from the open doors to the street stood a circle of empty wooden pillories. They were high enough for a man on his knees, with holes for the neck and the hands. And I thought as I glanced at them that I would know what they were for, perhaps, sooner than I wanted to know.

  What interested me more were the stalls to the far right. And the naked men inside them, two and three to a stall, their backsides well striped from the belt, their very sturdy legs firmly planted on the floor, their torsos bent over a thick wooden beam, their arms bound in the small of their backs as they merely stood there. With few exceptions, all wore leather boots to which horseshoes had been attached, and in two of the stalls grooms worked – true stable boys in leather and homespun – scrubbing down their charges or rubbing them with oil, their attitude one of casualness and busyness.

  The sight took my breath away. It was strangely beautiful and absolutely devastating. It made me realize in a flash what was to befall us. Words alone had not been enough.

  After the white marble and golden-threaded fabrics of the Sultan's palace, the tinted flesh and perfumed hair, this was shockingly real, the world itself, to which I'd been returned at last to pick up the thread of an existence for which I'd been bound before the raiders ever came.

  Tristan and I were set down on the floor. Our bonds were cut. And I saw a tall stable boy approaching, a strongly built blond-haired young man, no more than twenty, with light freckles on his sun-darken
ed face and bright, cheerful green eyes. He smiled as he walked around us, his hands on his hips. Tristan and I stretched out our limbs, but we didn't dare move any more than that.

  I heard one of the soldiers say:

  "Two more, Gareth. And you'll have them the full year. Scrub them, feed them, and harness them up right away. Captain's orders."

  "Beauties, sir, beauties," said the boy cheerfully. "All right, you two. Up on your feet. Ever been ponies before? I want a nod or a shake of the head, not a verbal answer." He gave my bottom a slap as I rose. "Arms behind your back, folded, that's it!" I saw his hand squeeze Tristan's backside. Tristan was still badly shaken, and he bowed his head, looking oddly regal as well as defeated, a sight that was heartrending even to me.

  "And what's all this?" said the boy, taking out a clean linen handkerchief and wiping Tristan's tears, and then mine. He had a stunning face, the boy, big handsome smile. "Tears from a pair of good ponies?" he said. "We can't have that now, can we? Ponies are proud creatures. They cry when they're punished. Otherwise they march with their heads high. That's it." He gave me a good slap under the chin, snapping my head up. Tristan had already lifted his head properly.

  The boy went round us again in a circle. My cock was pumping more madly than ever. A new form of debasement was being visited upon us. No Court and villagers to watch now. We were in the charge of this rough-hewn young servant, and even glancing at his high brown boots and his powerful hands, still on his hips, excited me.

  But a shadow suddenly fell over the stable, and I realized that my old friend, the Captain of the Guard, had come in.

  "Good afternoon, Captain," said the boy. "Congratulations on the mission. The whole village is afire with the gossip."

  "Gareth, I'm glad you're here," said the Captain. "I want these two to be your special charge. You're the best groom in the village."

  "You flatter me, Captain." The boy laughed. "But I don't think you'll find anyone here who loves his work more than I do. And these two, gorgeous steeds! Look at the way they stand. They have pony blood. I can see it already."

  "Harness them together whenever it's possible," said the Captain. I saw his hand go up to stroke Tristan's head. He took the white handkerchief from the boy and wiped Tristan's face again.

  "You know, this is the best punishment you could have drawn, Tristan," the Captain said under his breath. "You know you need it."

  "Yes, Captain," Tristan whispered. "But I'm frightened."

  "Don't be. You and Laurent will be the pride of the stables in no time. There'll be a list on the door out there of the villagers who want to hire you."

  Tristan shuddered. "I need courage, Captain," he said.

  "No, Tristan," he said seriously, "you need the harness and the bit and stern discipline, as you needed it before. You must understand something about being a pony. It is not merely another part of your slavery. It is a way of life unto itself."

  A way of life unto itself.

  He stepped over to me, and I felt my cock stiffen as if it were possible for it to get any stiffer. The stable boy stood back with his arms folded, watching all this, his yellow hair falling down on his forehead a little, freckles very pretty in the sunshine. Such nice white teeth.

  "And you, Laurent? Tears from you?" the Captain said soothingly to me. He wiped my face again. "Don't tell me you're frightened?"

  "I don't know, Captain," I said. I wanted to say that I wouldn't know until the bit and harness and the phallus were in place. But that would have been asking for it. I didn't have the courage to ask for it. It would come soon enough.

  "Chances are," he said, "that this is where you would have been placed if the Sultan's soldiers hadn't raided the village." He put his arm around my shoulder, and it seemed suddenly real, the time we had spent at sea, when we had both whipped and played with Lexius and Tristan. "It's the perfect thing for you," he assured me. "You have more will and strength pumping in your veins than most slaves. That is what Gareth calls pony blood. And the pony life will simplify everything for you; it will quite literally and symbolically harness your strength."

  "Yes, Captain," I said. I stared in a daze at the long row of stalls, the backsides of the pony slaves, their horseshoed boots on the hay-strewn earth. "But will you ... will you...?"

  "Yes, Laurent?"

  "Will you let me know now and then how it goes with Lexius?" My dear and elegant Lexius, who would soon enough be gathered into the Queen's arms. "And Princess Beauty ... if you hear any word."

  "We don't speak of those who leave the Kingdom," he said. "But I'll let you know if there is any gossip." I could see the sadness, the longing for Beauty, in his face. "As for Lexius, I'll tell you how he fares. And you can be sure, both of you, that I'll see you often. If I don't see you trotting every day in the streets, I'll come looking for you."

  He turned my face towards him and kissed me, rather hard, on the mouth. Then he kissed Tristan in the same fashion, and I studied the two rough-shaven faces together, the mingling of the blond hair, the half-lidded eyes. Men kissing. Such a lovely sight. "Be strict with them, Gareth," he said as he let go of Tristan. "Train them well. When in doubt, whip."

  And then he was gone. And we were alone with this robust young stable-boy Master who was already making my heart trip.

  "All right, my young steeds," he said in the same cheerful voice as before. "Keep your chins high and move down the row to the last stall. And do it as ponies always do, at a brisk march, arms tightly folded against your backs, knees high. I don't want to have to remind you of this ever again. You march with spirit at all times, whether shoed or not, whether in the streets or in the stables, with pride in the strength of your bodies."

  We obeyed, moving down the long line of stalls, and came to the last one, which was empty. I saw the feeding trough beneath the window, with its bowls of clean water and of meal, and the two broad, flat beams crossing the stall, over which we had to bend at the waist, one beam to support our chests, the other our bellies. Gareth pushed us to the far sides of the stall so that he could stand between us, and he ordered us to bend over and we obeyed, resting our torsos on the beams, our heads right above the feeding bowls.

  "Now lap that water, and do it with enthusiasm," lie said. "I won't have any vanity here, any holding back. You're ponies now."

  No soft, silken fingers here; no perfumed ointments; no tender voices talking in that impenetrable Arabic tongue that seemed so suited to sensuality.

  The wet scrub brush hit my backside and started its vigorous work immediately, the water trickling down my naked legs. I felt a rush of shame as I lapped the water, hating the wetness against my face, but I was thirsty and I did as he said, amazingly eager to please him, liking the smell of his rawhide jerkin, his suntanned skin.

  He scrubbed me well, ducking under the beams and coming up between them or in front of them when he had to, his movements firm and brusque, as he did his chores, his voice reassuring. And then he turned to Tristan, just as our food was brought to us, a good serving of thick meat soup, which he told us to finish off completely.

  But I had taken only a few morsels when he stopped me.

  "No. I can see we need some training immediately. I told you to eat it, and I mean for you to devour it and fast. I'll have none of those dainty manners here. Now let me see you go at it."

  Again, I was blushing with shame to have to pick up the meat and vegetables with my tongue, to have the stew on my face, but I didn't dare disobey him. I felt an extraordinary affection for him.

  "Now, that's better," he said. I saw him patting Tristan's shoulder. "I'll tell you right now what it means to be a pony. It means pride in what you are, and a loss of all false pride in what you are no longer. You march briskly, you keep your heads high, your cocks hard, and you show your gratitude for the slightest kindness. You obey all commands, even the simplest, with enthusiasm."

  We had finished our food, and we remained bent over the bar as our boots were put on, the laces pulled tigh
t over my calves, the heavy horseshoes weighing my feet, so that the tears came to my eyes again. I had known these horseshoe boots on the Bridle Path at the castle, when Lady Elvera had whipped me alongside her horse. But that was nothing to this. This was a world of austere punishments, and, overwhelmed with confusion, I began to weep, making no effort to stop it. I knew what was coming.

  As I remained in place, the phallus was pushed inside me, and I felt the soft brush of the horse's tail, and I swallowed, wishing I was bitted already so that my crying would be less noticeable and might not make Gareth angry.

  Tristan too was having a difficult time, and that further confused me. When I turned my head and glanced back to see the bushy horsetail in him, the sight of it enthralled me.

  Meantime, the harnesses were being buckled on, fine straps that ran down over our shoulders, under our legs, through a circular hook on the back of the phallus and up to a strap around our waists, where they were buckled securely. It was a good and thorough job, though I didn't feel the true panic, the true defenselessness, until my folded arms were strapped tight and connected to the rest of the harness.

  With relief, I knew that my will wasn't so important now. And a sob did break from me when the stiff rolled-leather bit was forced back between my teeth and I felt the reins against the sides of my face.

  "Up, Laurent," Gareth said, with a firm tug of the reins. And, as I stood up straight and moved backwards in the heavy horseshoed boots, I felt him attaching weighted clamps to my nipples, the weights brushing the skin of my chest as they pulled down on the nipples. The tears were a flood coming down my face. And we were not even out of the stables.

  Tristan moaned as he received the same treatment, and I felt that doubling confusion again when I turned to glance at him. But this time, Gareth pulled hard on my reins and told me to look ahead if I didn't want a nice collar to keep my head straight.