Sleeping Beauty

Nunca gostei das história da Bela Adormecida, menina loira, bem comportada, que depois de cem anos de sono é devolvida à vida de princesa por um beijo do principe. Romantismo a mais... Mas descobri a versão adulta deste conto, uma trilogia erótica de Anne Rice. Deixo aqui um excerto do início, história em que a Bela, depois de acordada, vive como escrava sexual em reinos distantes.

"But it was true, this old tale. And, fearless as before, he went in search of the Sleeping Beauty who must be at the core of it. In the topmost bedchamber of the house he found her. He had stepped over sleeping chambermaids and valets, and, breathing the dust and damp of the place, he finally stood in the door of her sanctuary. Her flaxen hair lay long and straight over the deep green velvet of her bed, and her dress in loose folds revealed the rounded breasts and limbs of a young woman. Her face was perfect to him, and her embroidered gown had fallen deep into the crease between her legs so that he could see the shape of her sex beneath it. He drew out his sword, with which he had cut back the vines outside, and gently slipping the blade between her breasts, let it rip easily through the old fabric. Her dress was laid open to the hem, and he folded it back and looked at her. Her nipples were a rosy pink as were her lips, and the hair between her legs was darkly yellow and curlier than the long straight hair of her head which covered her arms almost down to her hips on either side of her. He cut the sleeves away, lifting her ever so gently to free the cloth, and the weight of her hair seemed to pull her head down over his arms, and her mouth opened just a little wider. He put his sword to one side. He removed his heavy armor. And then he lifted her again, his left arm under her shoulders, his right hand between her legs, his thumb on top of her pubis. She made no sound; but if a person could moan silently, then she made such a moan with her whole attitude. Her head fell towards him, and he felt the hot moisture against his right hand, and laying her down again, he cupped both of her breasts, and sucked gently on one and then the other. They were plump and firm, these breasts. She’d been fifteen when the curse struck her. And he bit at her nipples, moving the breasts almost roughly so as to feel their weight, and then lightly he slapped them back and forth, delighting in this. His desire had been hard and almost painful to him when he had come into the room, and now it was urging him almost mercilessly. He mounted her, parting her legs, giving the white inner flesh of her thighs a soft, deep pinch, and, clasping her right breast in his left hand, he thrust his sex into her. He was holding her up as he did this, to gather her mouth to him, and as he broke through her innocence, he opened her mouth with his tongue and pinched her breast sharply. He sucked on her lips, he drew the life out of her into himself, and feeling his seed explode within her, heard her cry out. And then her blue eyes opened. “Beauty!” he whispered to her.” (Anne Rice, "The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty")