"Yes," he said. "I hear she never wears it free. It reminds her too much of when she was a slave."

"She's not Lady Juliana!"

"Yes, that's exactly who she is. How did you know?"

"She was my tormentor at the castle, my Mistress as surely as the Crown Prince was my Master," Beauty said. How well she could see Lady Juliana's lovely face, and those thick braids. How often had Beauty run from her paddle along the Bridle Path? "O, how dreadful of her!" she said. "But what happened after that? How did you manage to escape her?"

"I told you I broke and ran from her, and the Captain of the Guard had to bring me back. It was clear I was not ready to return to the castle." He laughed. "She begged and pleaded for me, I'm told. And promised to tame me herself with no help from anyone."

"Monster!" Beauty said.

The Prince dried her arms and her face. "Step out of the tub," he said, "and be quiet. I think Mistress Lockley is in the kitchen." Then he added in a whisper, "Mistress Lockley wouldn't let me go. But Juliana isn't the first slave to remain and become a terror. Maybe someday you'll face the choice and suddenly have the paddle in your hands, and all those naked bottoms at your mercy. Think of it," he said, his dark face crinkling with a good-natured laugh.

"Never!" Beauty gasped.

"Well, we must hurry. The Captain's waiting."

The image of Lady Juliana naked with Roger flared bright in Beauty's mind. How she would love just once to turn Lady Juliana over her knee! She felt a hard stirring between her legs. But what was she thinking? The mere mention of the Captain caused in her an immediate weakness. She had no paddle in her hands and no one at her mercy. She was a bad, naked slave, about to be sent to a hardened soldier with an obvious taste for rebels. And envisioning that sun-browned handsome face and the deep gleaming eyes, she thought, "If I'm such a bad girl, then I shall act like one."

THE CAPTIAN OF THE GUARD

Mistress Lockley had come out of the door. She untied Beauty's hands and dried her hair roughly. Then she pinioned Beauty's wrists behind her back and forced her into the Inn and up a narrow curved wooden stair behind the giant fireplace. Beauty could feel the warmth of the chimney through the wall, but she was marched upstairs so fast she scarcely felt anything.

Mistress Lockley opened a small heavy oak door and forced Beauty down on her knees in the room, pitching her forward so that she had to put out her hands to catch herself.

"There she is, my handsome Captain," she said.

Beauty heard the door close behind her. She knelt, still uncertain of what she meant to do, her heart racing as she saw the familiar calfskin boots and the glow of the little fire on the hearth, and the large wooden paneled bed under the sloped ceiling. The Captain sat in a heavy armchair beside a long dark wood table.

But as she waited, he gave no orders.

Rather, she felt his hand gathering the length of her hair and lifting her by it, so that she had to crawl forward a little and then kneel up in front of him. She stared at him with astonished eyes, seeing again that brazenly handsome face and luxuriant blond hair of which he was surely vain, and the green eyes deep set in the sunbrowned skin meeting her stare with the same intensity.

A terrible weakness came over her. Something within her softened completely and the softness seemed to grow, infecting all of her heart and spirit. Quickly she shut it off. But some understanding was just coming to her. . . .

The Captain lifted her to her feet, her hair wound around his left hand. Towering over her, he kicked her legs wide apart.

"You will show yourself to me," he said with the barest trace of a smile, and before she could think of what to do, he let her hair go and she was standing free and a wave of humiliation passed over her.

He sank down in the chair again quite confident of her obedience. And her heart thudded so loudly she wondered if he could hear it.

"Put your hands between your legs, and part your private lips. I wish to see your endowments."

A scarlet blush burned her face. She stared at him and didn't move. Now her heart was racing.

And in an instant he had risen, imprisoned her wrists, lifting her and seating her hard upon the wooden table. He bent her back, her wrists pushed against her spine, and forced her legs wide apart with his knee as he looked down at her.

She didn't flinch or look away, but gazed right into his face as she felt his gloved fingers doing what he had commanded her to do, spreading the lips of her vagina wide, and now he looked down at it.

She struggled, twisted, tried desperately to free herself, the fingers prying her wide apart, pinching hard at her clitoris. She felt the color scalding her face, and she rocked her hips in open rebellion.

But under the rough leather casing of his gloves, her clitoris hardened, grew large, bursting over his thumb and forefinger.

She was gasping, and she had turned her face away, and when she heard him unfastening his breeches and felt the hard tip of his c**k against her thigh, she moaned and lifted her hips in offering.

At once the c**k was driving inside of her. It filled her so completely that she felt the hot, wet pubic hair of the Captain sealing her closed and felt his hands under her sore bu**ocks as he lifted her.

He carried her away from the table as her arms wound around his neck and her legs about his waist, and with his hands he worked her back and forth on his thrusting cock, lifting her as she almost cried out and then forcing her down on the full length of the organ. Harder and harder he worked her, and she did not even realize that he was cradling her head in his right hand or that he had turned her face up or that he had forced his tongue into her mouth. She felt only the jarring explosions of pleasure washing through her loins and then her mouth clamped shut on his and her body was taut and weightless, being lifted and brought down, lifted and brought down, until with a loud cry, an indecent cry, she felt the final shattering orgasm.

On and on it went, his mouth sucking the cry out of her, not letting her go, and just when she thought with agony it will come to an end, he drove his own climax into her. She heard him groan deep in his throat. His hips froze and then rode her in a frenzy of quick, jerking movements.

The room was suddenly quiet. He stood cradling her, the organ in her giving occasional little spasms that made her whimper softly.

Then she felt herself emptied. She tried to protest in some silent way, but he was still kissing her.

She had been stood on the floor again, and her hands laid on the back of her neck, and legs forced apart by the gentle nudge of his boots, and for all her sweet exhaustion, she remained standing. She stared forward seeing nothing but a blur of light.