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

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.

I suppose I don’t really belong here. I write this now, my diary hidden under the table, as everyone dances around the ballroom pretending to celebrate my birthday. No one even glances my way.

I would give up all my riches to find a lover who can truly see me.

~~~

Poor, poor young Prince Frederick! Belle clasped the diary to her chest, momentarily forgetting she was searching for ways in which men might want to mark a woman.

The Frederick she knew from her dreams

(if they were really dreams)

was older, wiser, but still seemed to maintain that sense of self-awareness. The diary entry was written eleven years ago, making Frederick twenty-eight now. Quite a bit older than her nineteen years, but that didn’t bother her. If he remained imprisoned in the castle all this time, how could he ever find a lover who could “truly see” him?

No wonder he seemed desperate to connect with her. She wanted to be with him, too. Everything about Frederick turned her on—his handsome face, his dashing smile, those broad, athletic shoulders…

Belle sighed happily. Perhaps tonight she would see him again. They almost had intimate relations last night—they would have, indeed, if she had allowed him. The mere fact that she was chained to a wall naked before him, and still he respected her and listened when she denied him, was testament to his moral character.

She could see herself falling in love with Frederick. But how? How does one fall in love with a man who very likely only exists in her own imagination?

And still, there was the issue that Frederick insisted she learn to love the Beast. The thought was not as horrifying as it had been when she first met the Beast. He was not unlovable, nor terrible, as she had previously thought.

The Beast was not a monster. In appearance, perhaps, but…no. Even his appearance was beginning to grow on her. All those muscles, that strong body, his beautiful
(human)
green eyes. Only Frederick had green eyes as amazing as the Beast. No one else she’d ever met in her short time on Earth had eyes like those.

Eyes that could see into her soul.

Belle set the diary down, and raised her eyebrow. Aha! Perhaps the Beast wanted to stripe her thighs with a cane, the way Frederick had done to his seamstress lover.

A caning. It would hurt, no doubt. But she could handle it. And then she’d be marked, and she could look at her skin and know that this was real. That she wasn’t insane, locked up and under Mrs. Sharone’s care.

With that thought squared away, Belle was able to set the diary aside and begin exploring the many books the library had to offer. She may as well sit comfortably while she could.

***

The Beast ran through the woods, the wind rushing through his mane, his paws pounding against the packed dirt on the forest floor. The trees overhead shaded his massive body, and, as only the woods were able to, made him feel
free
.

Presenting the library to Belle had been a gratifying experience. He’d have to have a plaque placed on the door naming the library in her honor. The library had never had a name before, but now it only felt fitting that it should belong to her, as mistress of the castle.

Would she, could she, ever desire to stay with him?

He would mark her soon, when he was done with his run, and had bathed. The girl needed something concrete to hold her, mentally, to her situation. If she continued thinking of every moment as one moment closer to her freedom, she’d never be present fully enough with him to learn to love him.

A beautiful deer caught his scent. It was hidden just yonder behind a tree. The Beast paused, one arm off the ground, ready to turn and give chase. The deer sensed the predator that he was and ran, its spindly legs moving so fast they seemed a blur. But the Beast was faster. Breathing hard, he caught up with the animal, his hind legs bent, ready to pounce.

But something stopped him. An image of the expression on Belle’s face, if she were to see him hunting with his bare hands and teeth, ran through his mind. He was not an animal, he was not a monster. Beneath his beastly exterior, he was a man. He was Frederick.

And Frederick wanted to be with Belle more than the Beast wanted to kill a helpless deer.

The Beast paused, panting, and turned back to the castle. Instead of running on all fours like he usually did, he walked back on his legs, like a gentleman. The deer ran out of sight, not trusting this turn of events. No matter. When the Beast reached the castle, he would call upon a supper to be laid out for him. He could even request venison if he so desired. But there was no need to tear the meat from that beautiful creature’s flesh. No need to behave like a beast, even if that was what he’d become.

Once, he was a prince. He could never be a prince again, but he could be a man. For Belle.

For Belle, he would do anything.

***

Back in the library, a note drifted from the air on a piece of paper, and landed neatly on top of the copy of Voltaire’s scandalous
Candide
that Belle had discovered. She picked the paper up in surprise, even as she noted that the sun was now low in the sky toward the west.

~~~

Please do me the honor of joining me in the East Wing sitting room. I am prepared to mark you, and I trust you are prepared to accept my invitation. As always, I shall never harm you, Beauty.

With Devotion,

The Beast

~~~

Belle folded the paper in half with trembling fingers and used it as a bookmark for her book. She set it down by the windowsill, not wanting to waste even a moment by putting it back on the shelf.

The Beast would never harm her. She could trust him. And so she went, without delay, to meet him. The castle was huge and maze-like, but sconces lit up along the walls as she walked, showing her the way.

The Beast wasn’t in the sitting room in the East wing when she arrived. What should she do with herself? What would the Beast prefer?

He liked it when she knelt for him, so she carefully arranged her gown around her and waited, kneeling, head bowed.

Belle could hear his heavy footsteps prowling closer before he spoke. “You are a sight to behold, Beauty.”

Raising her head to meet his gaze, Belle offered him a shaky smile. “Thank you, Sir.”

And then, as if he could see past her brave façade and into her heart, he added, “You needn’t be afraid. Not of me.”

“I’m not,” she lied quickly. “I mean… I know I needn’t be, Sir, because I trust you.” And that was the truth.

“Let me help you out of your gown.” The Beast came closer to her, so close she felt the fur that covered his muscles brush against her bare arms. With quick hands that weren’t nearly as clumsy as she would have imagined such large hands would be, he loosened the stays in her dress and, perhaps with a bit of fairy magic, managed to have her completely naked within moments.

“Sir?”

He smiled, and she clung to his arm. “Are you going to cane me?” she asked.

“I’m sure I will, at some point. But not right now.”

Good Lord in Heaven, what did he have planned? The not knowing was killing her. And she had thought she had it all figured out, based on Frederick’s diary. Fool, her.

The Beast took her chin with his hand and tilted her head up to him. “You need not fear my fangs, my teeth.”

Before she could process what he meant, he dropped his head to her bare breast, and licked her nipple.

Oh! The sensation was almost that of a cat tongue, scratchy yet soft and wet. The sandpaper-feel of it made her nipple tighten to a hard peak, and she moaned.

“I would like to bite you, my little Beauty,” he murmured.

Fear ran through her body, and every tiny hair on her flesh stood on end. But she said nothing. If the Beast said she need not fear his fangs, then she would trust him.

“Please don’t hurt me,” she whispered, feeling shamed as a whimper tore from her throat.

He licked her breast again, all the way around the small, pink areola, and she shuddered with pleasure.

“I won’t harm you,” he promised. “But it will hurt. Let the pain mingle with the pleasure. This is not a punishment, Beauty. I want you to learn to enjoy this.”

With that, he nodded, and though he didn’t speak, she knew what he meant. She lay back, her skin against the rich carpet that covered the stone in the sitting room, and stared up at the Beast.

He was so big, so immense—he took up her entire field of vision. Somehow, even though she was naked and vulnerable beneath him, she was no longer frightened. His face was kind. How had she not noticed the similarity in his bone structure to that of Frederick? The cheeks, the jaw… the eyes. So human. So… Frederick.

“You are magnificent, Beast,” she said.

“As are you.” His head brushed the insides of her spread thighs.

And then, he licked her, his thick tongue opening her nether lips to touch her very center, lapping at her bud. The scent of her heady arousal mixed with that of the fresh-cut roses throughout the sitting room, and she breathed it in, her passion mounting.

Every lick of the Beast’s tongue brought on another wave of ecstasy. She writhed beneath him, moaning with desire.

Yes, oh Heavens. Yes.

Just as she reached the brink of climax, his fangs pierced her inner thigh, and she screamed as her orgasm wracked her body. The pain and the pleasure, the licking comingled with the bite, all came to a head, and she let herself fall over the cliff of sensual pleasure as she came harder than she ever had before.

The Beast held her against the carpet, running his tongue over the sensitive bite mark, lapping up the two tiny drops of scarlet blood as she shuddered through an aftershock of her orgasm.

Finally, he pulled her naked body into his arms, and cradled her against his massive chest.

She looked down at her thigh, at the pale white skin marked now with his fangs, and smiled. “The mark of the Beast,” she murmured.

“Does it feel real, now, Belle?” he asked tenderly.

“It does. Thank you, Sir.”

“Thank you for trusting me.” The Beast nuzzled his head against hers, and their lips met for the first time since she came to his hidden castle.

Everything she had feared was for naught. His mouth on hers was heaven on earth, and everything she desired in that moment. She could faintly taste her own blood on his lips, and her arousal as well. Their tongues danced together, but his sharp teeth never scratched her. Belle had been kissed before—that time with the baker’s apprentice in the hay loft—but that had been nothing compared to this.

She could kiss the Beast forever and be happy, wrapped in his huge, strong arms, so warm, so safe in his embrace.

Belle had been marked by the Beast. Now she was ravenous for more—for whatever the Beast wanted to do with her, to take from her, to give to her.

She was ready.

Chapter Eight

Some time had passed
, when Belle lay in her suite on the cool, white linen sheets. She was still not quite sleepy despite her hot bath, and ran her fingers over the Beast’s mark on her inner thigh. Light purple bruises had blossomed at first around the bite like an old sailor’s faded tattoo, but the mark was healed now, leaving behind the pale red mesh of new skin.

She found herself hoping it would leave a permanent scar, one that would forever remind her of her time with the Beast. Two tiny, perfectly circular dots scarring her pale skin. Yes, that was what she wanted. It would be beautiful, like the Beast himself.

Beautiful
. Was that how she now perceived the Beast? How had such an enormous perception shift occurred in so short a time?

Belle rose and stood in front of the armoire. She didn’t want to go to sleep just yet. Perhaps if she could put on a dressing robe, she could go out and find the Beast. She found herself looking forward to their long conversations by the fire. He was a very intelligent man
(Beast)
and he seemed to be genuinely interested in her decidedly ordinary life.

Certainly, she had no stories about fairies or castles or secret princes imprisoned therein, as the Beast must, but still he listened to her tales of her childhood with her Papa, and she also enjoyed retelling some of her favorite stories from the books in his library.

Well,
her
library. The Beast had insisted it was now hers. A lovely gold plaque even adorned the library door, one that said, simply, “Beauty’s Library.” It made her smile whenever she looked upon it. Especially the fact that he named it for the pet name he had given her, one she was hardly deserving of… and yet, he seemed to believe she was.

“Fairies, may I have a dressing robe to cover my nightgown, please? And slippers.”

The requested items appeared draped over the bed, and Belle dressed quickly.

The corridor was empty, the long, red rug spreading out before her like a river. Where was the Beast? What did he do, late at night, when she wasn’t with him?

Part of her feared he might be out hunting. She’d seen him enter the castle with fresh blood on his mouth. Not recently, no, but it had happened. The thought of him hunting and killing with the same fangs that so lovingly marked her made her a bit ill.

Best not to think on it. It wasn’t as if she could change the Beast into something less beastly.

“Sir?” she said aloud, hoping he would hear. No answer.

She crept down the dark corridor and descended the stairway to the main hall. The place was deserted.