Beauty and the Beast (an erotic re-imagining) (11 page)

“Not very, no.”

“Why don’t you escape, Frederick?”

He laughed. “And miss out on getting to know the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen? No thank you.” He stretched his legs out in front of him and wrapped an arm around her slender shoulders. “I’ll stay right here, if it’s all right with you.”

She was quiet for a moment. “Yes. It’s all right with me.”

***

Dawn broke, and with it, Belle discovered she had been broken too. Not broken in a bad way, really. Just…bent. She’d been emotionally bent, her will twisted until she no longer knew what she wanted, what Frederick wanted of her, or what the Beast wanted from her.

What did
she
want?

(I want to see my Papa)

But that thought, so ever-present and insistent before, seemed submerged now just below the surface.

More pressing issues were at hand. A new world of possibilities had been opened for her, and she wanted to explore them more fully before she went back home. Life with Papa was simple bliss, the warmth of hearth and home, but life in the castle with an intimidating and magnetic Beast and magical fairies and a prince who may or may not be a figment of her imagination…well, it was all a bit too intriguing to give up so quickly.

Especially since she’d come to the castle with no concept of her own womanhood, her own natural ability for pleasure. She had so much to learn, and the Beast had her as his captive student to teach—by any means necessary—exactly what she was capable of.

Today, instead of dreading her training under the Beast’s stern hand, she was almost excited.

Have I gone mad?
Delusions, hallucinations?

Perhaps she was locked up with the lunatics herself, humping the walls and moaning for relief whenever an attendant walked by. Perhaps she hadn’t spent the night chained to a dungeon wall, but in a straightjacket. That would almost make more sense than her new, strange reality.

Frederick was nowhere to be found. At some point he’d chained her back to the wall, although the other possibility—that he’d never been there at all, and she’d merely dreamt the entire experience—was also a distinct possibility.

How could she make informed decisions when she had no concept of what was even real anymore?

“Beast,” she whispered to the empty dungeon.

His heavy paws sounded on the long stairway. There was no way he could have heard her speak, she’d barely breathed the word aloud at all. And yet, he arrived before her as if summoned.

“Good morning, Belle,” the Beast said. He nodded his head toward her shackles, and they released.

“Thank you, Sir,” she said.

“Come to me.”

Fear thrummed through her body, but she fought past it and stepped forward to him. What would he do to her?

But the Beast tenderly took her small wrists in his large hands, rubbing away the soreness, and inspecting her skin closely. He turned her around, running his hands along her back and down to her buttocks and thighs. His very touch ignited that same fiery passion she couldn’t deny, even though it conflicted so completely with her fear of him.

“Just as I promised, Beauty,” he said. “You are unmarked from my lash.”

“You are a man of your word, Sir,” she whispered.

“A man,” he murmured, almost under his breath.

She couldn’t tell if she’d offended him or not. He was, by his own admission, not any man. He was
The Beast
. The very Beast who had frightened her so terribly that she’d inflicted physical damage upon him, leaving a red, healing wound on his chest, right across his heart.

But—

“What’s wrong, my darling?” the Beast asked.

She loved that he could sense her emotions shifting, the questions building inside of her, without her having to say a word. Even her own family couldn’t do that with her.

“I had the oddest thought,” she said. “I can’t say, it’s too embarrassing.”

Now the Beast smiled, showcasing his impressive fangs. “Let’s trade confessions, then. We’ll be even, and you won’t feel embarrassed about whatever you were thinking anymore.”

Belle smiled brightly at the idea. Even the fact that the Beast seemed so intent on getting to know the true woman she was, beyond her face and body—well, it meant a lot. Most of her suitors only cared to court her for her dowry, back when she was rich. After her Papa lost everything, the men who came knocking only cared about her appearance. They wanted to see if she lived up to her given name.

No one, save the Beast, had ever offered to share confessions before. Or required that they learn more about each other before he rewarded her with an orgasm. No one had ever given her an orgasm before, period.

What sort of Beast was this man?

What sort of man was a Beast?

“I want to be marked by you, Sir,” she admitted. “I’m afraid of the pain, but…I think it will help me know what’s real. Almost like how you pinch yourself to be sure you’re not dreaming… If I could see the marks on my body then I’d know I wasn’t going insane. That I’m truly here, with you.”

The Beast smiled, but she was growing accustomed to his fangs, and didn’t flinch.

“That’s my confession,” she added. “May I hear yours?”

“I confess that I know you’re unhappy about being held captive here in my castle, with me. And while—for reasons I can’t divulge—I can’t grant you your freedom early, what I can do is make your stay more enjoyable. I would like to do something that will make you happy…as long as you don’t request your freedom.”

Belle threw her arms around his thick, muscular waist in a moment of pure excitement, then quickly withdrew, unsure if such displays of affection were appropriate.

“Thank you, Beast. That’s so very kind.”

“And I haven’t forgotten what you’ve confessed to me, either,” he added. “I’d be more than delighted to honor your request to be marked.”

Butterflies flitted through her belly at the thought, but she just smiled. There was no need to fear, because the Beast would keep her safe—even from himself.

“The lady needs a gown,” he said to some spot on the ceiling. Could he see the fairies?

Before she could wonder more about it, she found herself dressed in a shimmering blue gown with chiffon and lace. Tiny satin slippers appeared on her feet.

“Thank you, Sir,” she said, touching the material in awe. The stitching was so fine, it was nearly unnoticeable. “It’s beautiful.”

“Then it suits you,” he said. “Come, let’s leave the dungeon and your punishment behind for the day. Tell me what you desire, and I’ll give you whatever you wish.”

As long as I don’t wish to leave…

But she tamped down the thought and smiled up at her captor brightly.

“I love to read. If you have any books lying about, I’d be most grateful for an opportunity to read them. It will help the hours go by when we’re not, um…together.”

She whispered the last word, since being
together
with him was not as simple as that. Being with the Beast meant lessons in humility, passion, and pain. Belle could never be bored when the Beast was near.

They climbed the steep staircase out of the dungeon, and Belle gasped in delight at the sight of the great room. It was filled with roses, everywhere. The scarlet blooms filled the hall with their glorious scent, and with the sunlight streaming through the stained-glass windows, the interior of the castle was transformed into a magical paradise.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed.

“Then it suits you, as well,” he said, smiling down at her. “I never cut roses before you arrived. I was afraid to kill them before their time. But now, it seems that the roses truly come alive only when they are in your presence.”

Belle blushed at the heady praise, and lowered her eyes.

“Come with me,” he said, taking her hand in his. His hand seemed to swallow hers whole. “Allow me to show you the library.”

“You have a library?” She bounced a bit on the balls of her feet in excitement, but stopped herself. She wanted to behave like a lady, not a schoolgirl.

The Beast led her down the long corridor to the West wing, and pushed open a large, imposing mahogany door.

“Close your eyes,” the Beast said playfully, and pulled her by the hand into the library.

Belle obeyed, but she couldn’t help but to breath in the scent of books—that incredible aroma of old paper, glue, ink, and leather, combined with a hint of the magic that made the words come alive on the page.

“You can open your eyes now.”

Belle blinked at the vision before her and inhaled sharply. Books! Books
everywhere
. The enormous room was two stories tall, with a spiraling stairway on each side leading up to the upper level. Leather-bound volumes filled the shelves from floor to ceiling on both floors, and the upper level looked down upon them with an open loft area surrounded by an ornate wrought-iron railing.

Several rolling ladders were in front of the bookcases to allow easy access to even the highest-placed books. And best of all were the chairs and couches around the floor, and the pillows piled high by the windows, perfect for getting comfortable with a story. The library was filled with sunlight during the day, as well as having numerous lamps available for cozy nighttime reading.

“Does it please you?” the Beast asked.

He sounded worried, and Belle realized she hadn’t said a word since he brought her inside. She’d simply been standing there, looking around with her mouth hanging open.

“I’ve always wished that this might be what the Kingdom of Heaven looks like,” she said. “It’s amazing. It’s…it’s perfect. Thank you, Beast.”

“You’re welcome,” he said. “I hope it can be some comfort to you during your time here.”

“Can I look around a bit?” She picked one thick volume off the nearest shelf and ran her hands lovingly over the binding.

“Certainly,” the Beast said. “I have other things to attend to. But I’ll see you this afternoon, at which point I will mark you.”

Belle was so entranced with the idea of having hours of leisure time to spend perusing the library that she almost didn’t catch what he said.

Her reply caught in her throat, and she coughed fitfully. “Sorry, Sir,” she said, finally taking in a full breath. “What had seemed like a good idea in the middle of the night when I was chained to your dungeon wall, unsure if I was going insane or not…no longer seems like such a good idea after all.”

The Beast shook his head as he walked toward the exit. “You were right, Belle. You need a physical reminder, something you can look at and be reminded of why I am keeping you here.”

“Why
are
you keeping me?” she asked immediately.

But he only growled in response. She winced and turned away.

His heavy hand on her shoulder gave her a start, and he sighed. “I’m sorry, Beauty. Sometimes I can’t say what needs to be said. But later, perhaps I can show you.”

Belle’s grip tightened on the book in her hand.

What would the Beast do to mark her?

And most pressing of all, why, oh why, had she asked for this?

7: Marked by the Beast

Belle watched
silently as the Beast left the library, closing the heavy mahogany door behind him.

Part of her wanted to find a good book and lose herself in the story, to mentally leave this place behind as she soared through an adventure of written words. But the more rational—albeit frightened—part of her wanted to know what she could expect to happen that afternoon when the Beast summoned her once more.

If only Frederick were there with her, perhaps he could suggest what the Beast might do to mark her. After all, both Frederick and the Beast seemed to share the same sexual proclivities.

Frederick only seemed to appear when she was dreaming, however, and there was no way she could take a nap right now, not when her nerves were frayed with worry.

She set the book in her hand back onto the bookshelf near her, and remembered. The diary! If she could read Frederick’s diary, perhaps she could find a story in which he had marked one of his mistresses, or fantasized about it.

“I wish for Frederick’s diary, fairies, if you please.”

The old diary appeared, opened to the last page she’d read, laying on an overstuffed cushion by the windowsill.

Belle rushed over to it and sat, her gown settling around her like a shimmery blue pool, and picked up the forbidden diary.

~~~

For my seventeenth birthday, the King is holding a grand ball. It’s less a celebration for me, than a chance to please his Queen. My Stepmother loves to show off in front of the court like a peacock.

All was not wasted, however. The seamstress who came in to design Stepmother’s gown has taken a liking to me, and didn’t blink an eye when I suggested she allow me to stripe her thighs for my birthday. The cane that marked her pale thighs felt so right in my hands, and fit me better than a crown ever could.

The seamstress remarked that she’s never met a man of my young age who can make her feel the way that I did. Flattery, no doubt, but it made me feel better than anything a lover has ever said to me.