"To whom do you belong?" he demanded in a low, but angry voice.

"To you, my Prince, completely!" she cried out. It was dreadful, and then, suddenly unable to control herself she said, "Please, please, my Prince, not in anger, no..."

But instantly his left hand clamped over her mouth, and she felt another terrible torrent of hot spanks until her flesh was stinging and she couldn't control her crying.

She could feel the Prince's fingers against her lips. But he would hardly be satisfied with this. He had her on her feet now and by her wrists he led her to a corner of the room between the blazing fire and the curtained window. There was a high stool there made of carved wood, and on this he sat while he stood her beside him. She was crying softly, but she dared not beg again, no matter what happened. He was angry, fiercely angry, and though she could endure any pain for his pleasure, this was unbearable for her. She must please him, must make him loving again, and then any pain at all would not be too much.

He turned her and she stood facing him as he sat inspecting her. She dared not look him in the face, and then he drew back his cloak, and laying his hand on the golden buckle of his belt said, "Unfasten this."

At once she went to obey, with her teeth without being told that was how she might do it. She hoped and prayed he would be pleased. She pulled on the leather, her breath soft and fast, and then pulled the strap back so that the belt came loose.

"Now pull it off," said the Prince, "and give it to me."

She obeyed at once, even though she knew what would follow. It was a thick, wide leather belt. Maybe it would be no worse than a paddle.

Now he told her to raise her hands and her eyes, and she saw above a metal hook just over her head hanging from a chain on the ceiling.

"You see here we are not without provisions for disobedient little slaves," he said in his usual gentle voice. "Now clasp that hook, though it will put you on tiptoe, and you will not dream of letting go of it, do you understand me?"

"Yes, my Prince," she cried softly.

She had hold of it, and it seemed to stretch her out, and the Prince moved back the stool on which he sat and appeared to make himself comfortable. He had ample room in which to swing the strap, which he had made into a loop, and he was silent for a moment.

Beauty cursed herself for ever admiring young Prince Alexi. Yet she was ashamed that his very name had formed in her mind, and when she felt the first hard smack of the belt on her thighs, she let out a frightened little cry but was glad of it.

She deserved this, and she would never again make such a terrible mistake, no matter how beautiful or enticing were the slaves, and her boldness to look at them had been unforgivable.

The wide heavy leather belt struck her with a loud, frightening sound, and the flesh of her thighs, more tender perhaps than her bu**ocks, even sore as they were, seemed to ignite under it. Her mouth was open, she could not keep herself quiet, and suddenly the Prince ordered her to lift her knees and march in place.

"Quickly, quickly, yes, in rhythm!" he said angrily, and Beauty, astonished, struggled to obey, marching fast, her br**sts moving with the effort, her heart pounding.

"Higher, faster," the Prince commanded.

She marched as he commanded, her feet slapping the stone floor, her knees coming up very high, her br**sts a terrible aching weight as they swayed, and again came the belt smacking her and stinging her.

The Prince seemed in a fury.

The blows came faster and faster, as fast as she was moving her legs, and very soon, Beauty was writhing and struggling to get away from them. She was crying aloud unable to stop herself but the worst of it, the worst of it, was his anger. If only this were for his delight, if only he were pleased with her. She was crying and burying her face in her arm and the balls of her feet were burning, and her thighs felt swollen and blotched with pain as now again he took out his temper upon her bu**ocks.

The smacks came so quickly, she had no sense of how many there were, only that it was a great deal more than he'd ever given her before, and it seemed he only grew more agitated, his left hand now thrusting her chin up and closing her mouth so she couldn't cry, all the while he commanded her to march faster and lift her legs higher.

"You belong to me!" he said without ever stopping the loud spanking belt. "And you will learn to please me in all things, and you will never please me with your eyes upon the male slaves of my mother. Is this clear to you? Do you understand?"

"Yes, my Prince," she struggled to say.

But he seemed at wits ends to punish her. And stopping her suddenly by lifting her around the middle, he brought her up over the stool which he had just left, so that dangling from the hook which she held for dear life, she was now thrust over it, the wooden seat of the stool pressing into her naked sex, her legs out helplessly behind her.

And then he sent his worst rain of blows on her, hard snapping spanks that made her calves quiver and sting as her thighs had done before. But no matter how he busied himself with her legs, he always returned to her bu**ocks, punishing them the hardest so that Beauty was choking with sobs, and felt this as endless.

Quite suddenly, he stopped.

"Let go the hook," he commanded, and then he scooped her up over his shoulder and taking her across the room, he flung her down on the bed.

She fell back on the pillow, and immediately beneath her sore and swollen bu**ocks and thighs felt a prickling and a roughness. She had only to cast her head slightly to the side to see the jewels glittering on the coverlet. And she knew how they would torture her as soon as he had mounted her.

But she wanted him so badly. And when she saw him rise up over her, she felt not the hot throbbing pain in her body but a flood of juices between her legs and a new moan coming out of her as she opened herself to him.

She couldn't keep from lifting her hips, praying it didn't displease him.

He knelt over her, removing his erect c**k from his breeches, and then he brought her up on her knees and impaled her upon it.

She cried out. Her head fell back. It was a great hard driving thing inside her sore and quivering orifice. But she felt it bathed with her juices, and as the Prince forced it in deeper and brought her down upon it, it seemed a spit that rubbed against some mysterious core in her, sending the ecstasy washing through her so she was giving great guttural moans in spite of herself. The Prince's thrusts came faster and faster and then he too gave a soft cry, and held her close to him, her br**sts aching and pressed to his chest, his lips on the back of her neck, his body softening slowly.