Beauty's Release - By A. N. Roquelaure & Anne Rice Page 0,29
the doors of the palace.
BEAUTY: THE WATCHER
BEAUTY AWAKENED in a half swoon. They were gathered all around her still, the wives of the harem, talking idly.
They had long, beautiful feathers in their hands-peacock feathers and other brightly colored plumes with which they now and then stroked her breasts and her organs.
A little pulse throbbed in her moist sex. She felt the feathers lazing on her breasts, then stroking her sex more roughly but slowly.
Did they want nothing for themselves, these gentle creatures? Sleep took her again, and then again released her.
She opened her eyes, saw the sun pouring through the high latticed windows, saw the tentwork above aswarm with bits of embroidery, bits of mirrored glass, gold thread. She saw their faces near her, their white teeth, their soft rose-dark lips; heard their low, rapid speech, their laughter. From the folds of their garments perfume rose. The feathers continued to play with her as if she were a toy, a thing to tease idly.
And gradually from this forest of beautiful creatures, she fixed upon one stately figure-a woman who stood apart from the rest, her body half hidden by a high ornamental screen, one hand clutching the border of cedar wood as she stared down at Beauty.
Beauty closed her eyes, luxuriating in the warmth of the sun, the bed of cushions, the feathers. Then she opened them again.
The woman was still there. Who was she? Had she been here before?
Remarkable face, even in a sea of remarkable faces. Lush mouth, tiny nose, and blazing eyes that were somehow different from the eyes of the others. Her deep brown hair was parted in the middle, and it fell down below the shoulders in heavy banks of curls that created a triangle of darkness around the face, only a few ringlets on the forehead suggesting disarray, human imperfection. A thick circlet of gold wound round her forehead to hold in place a long rose-colored veil that appeared to float over her dark hair and fall behind her figure like a rose-tinted shadow.
Heart-shaped the face was, yet severe, very severe. The expression was one of seeming rage that was almost bitter.
Some faces would be ugly with this expression, Beauty thought, but this face was enhanced by the intensity. And the eyes-why, they were violet-gray. That was what was so strange. They weren’t black. And yet they were not pale eyes; they were vibrant, and searching, and suddenly full of conflict as Beauty looked up into them.
The woman drew back a little behind the screen, as if Beauty had driven her back. But the move defeated her purpose. All heads turned now to see her. No one made a sound at first. Then the women rose and bowed in greeting to her. Every one in the room—except Beauty, who dared not move—bowed to the woman.
“She must be the Sultana,” Beauty thought, and she felt a tightening in her throat to see the violet eyes focused so sharply on her. The clothes were very rich, Beauty realized this now. And the earrings the woman wore—two immense oval ornaments heavily carved with violet enamel in relief—how lovely.
The woman didn’t move or answer the greetings murmured to her. She remained half hidden by the screen, and she stared at Beauty.
Gradually the women resumed their former places. They sat beside Beauty and once again laid the feathers on her, stroked her. One of them leaned against her, warm and fragrant like a giant cat, and let her fingers play with Beauty’s tiny tight pubic locks idly. Beauty blushed, her eyes glazing over as she looked at the distant woman. But she moved her hips, and, when the feathers stroked her again, she began to moan, knowing full well that this woman watched her.
“Come out,” Beauty wanted to say. “Do not be shy.” The woman attracted her. She moved her hips ever more rapidly, the broad peacock feather lingering in its strokes. She felt other feathers tickling her between the legs. The delicate sensations were multiplied and became stronger.
Then a shadow passed before her eyes. She felt lips kissing her again. She could no longer see the strange watching one.
It was twilight when Beauty awoke. Azure shadows and the flicker of the lamps. Smell of cedar, roses. The wives caressed her as they lifted her and took her to the passage. She didn’t want to leave, her body awakening again, but then she thought of Lexius. And surely they would send word to Lexius that she had pleased them.