Free Beauty's Release by Anne Rice Page A

swelled, pumped with life. If only there weren’t so many, so very many.... When had she ever been given to so many?
    Within seconds she emerged into the light.
    She crept out onto the floor and into the dizzying ring of chatter and laughter.
    On all sides bare feet approached her. And the long veils that fell down around them were gossamer and shimmering, the sunlight exploding on golden anklets and toe rings set with emeralds and rubies.
    Beauty crouched low, fearful of the commotion, the frenzy, but instantly a dozen small hands had hold of her and lifted her until she was standing. All around her were gorgeous women. She glimpsed olive-skinned faces with kohl-rimmed eyes, tresses tumbling over bare shoulders. The billowing pantaloons they wore were almost transparent, only the lower part of the crotch covered in darker, thicker fabric. And the fitted bodices of heavier silk only thinly veiled their full breasts, their dark nipples. But the most enticing parts of their costumes were the broad tight girdles that seemed to imprison their tiny waists, and to rein in all the sensuality that smoldered beneath the colorful diaphanous wrapping.
    Beautifully shaped arms they had, enhanced with winding snake bracelets, and there were rings on their fingers as well as their toes, and here, a brilliant glittering jewel embedded behind the delicate curve of a tiny nostril.
    How enchantingly lovely these creatures were—sav—age-eyed counterparts of the lean and graceful men. But this made them seem all the more treacherous and frightening to Beauty. They looked wildly licentious compared to the heavily draped women of Europe. Ready for the bed, they seemed, and yet Beauty felt purely, stunningly naked as she stood at their mercy.
    They closed in upon her.
    Her wrists were pinioned behind her back, her head turned this way, her legs pried apart, as riffs of laughter and shrieking deafened her.
    And everywhere she glanced she saw the large black eyes, thick eyelashes, long curls unwinding on half-naked shoulders.
    But there was not a moment even for her to get her bearings. She winced and shivered as they poked at her ears, touched her breasts, her belly.
    And she was panting and sobbing under her breath as the group rushed her forward, their long pantaloons tickling her legs, into the center of the room where the sunlight poured in upon heaps of silk-covered pillows and low, padded couches.
    It was an opulent pleasure den, this room. Why did they need her to torment?
    But immediately, she was thrown down on her back upon one of these couches, her arms stretched above her. And the women gathered on their knees, surrounding her. Once again, her legs were pried apart, and a cushion was thrust under her buttocks to raise her for examination.
    She was as powerless as she had been in the hands of the grooms before, but the feminine faces that peered down at her were full of wild jubilation. Excited words flew back and forth. Fingers stroked her breasts. She looked up into the expectant eyes, panic-stricken, unable to shield herself.
    And as her legs were turned out, knees pressed flat, she felt fingers pulling at her sex, once again opening it, widening it.
    She struggled to be quiet, but her tortured sex was brimming. As she pumped her hips on the scarlet cushion, the women only squealed louder. She could not count the hands that grasped her inner thighs, each stroke of a finger further maddening her. Long hair spilled down on her naked breasts, on her belly.
    And it seemed that even the light lyrical voices stroked her and heightened her suffering.
    But why did they stare at her, she wondered. Had they never seen a woman’s organs before? Had they never seen their own organs? Useless to try to understand. Those who could not get a close look stood up and leaned over the shoulders of the others.
    And as she writhed in the hands that held her, she saw that some one of them had placed a mirror before her sex, and the reflection of her