Beauty and the Beast: an erotic re-imagining (13 page)

Chapter Nine

Belle woke up
with her face against her pillow, her bottom burning, her inner thighs wet with arousal. She felt tender, inside, where Frederick had stretched her with his long fingers.

But Frederick was gone, and the dream was over.

She rolled over and pulled the covers up to her chin, staring at the flickering candles, half-melted in their holders. At least an hour or two must have passed for the candles to have burned down like that.

Had that experience with Frederick really happened? Or was it, once again, but a dream?

There was a hard knock on her bedroom door.

“Frederick?” she whispered.

“Beauty,” the Beast’s voice answered. “It is I. The Beast. May I enter?”

Belle got out of bed and wrapped herself in her dressing robe, then opened the door. The Beast stood in her doorframe, his enormous body taking up the entire space, blocking any escape to the corridor outside her suite.

Why think of escape?

Because she was frightened. As much as she had imagined this moment, and even after talking about it with Frederick, she was still afraid of losing her virginity.

She was, once again, afraid of the Beast.

“Did I wake you?” he asked.

Belle shook her head mutely, but gestured that he should enter. He did, standing just inside the door, and it shut behind him on its own.

“Are you frightened, Beauty?” the Beast asked, and she ran into his arms, pressing her face against his muscled abdomen, for he was so, so tall.

He wrapped his arms around, comforting her, and she finally found the strength to tilt her chin up to look at his fearsome face.

“Yes, Beast. I am frightened. But I want to give myself to you, I do…” she smiled, even as a single errant tear rolled down her cheek.

He touched her cheek gently, wiping the tear away. “I’ve waited until it seemed you were ready for this. Ready for me.”

“I know,” she said. “Thank you for that. I know you could have…I mean, you had me captive, in your dungeon. You didn’t have to be so gentle with me, and I appreciate that you are.”

“Beauty,” he said, his voice low, “you have come to mean everything to me. I wouldn’t do anything to harm you, not for the world.”

“Can I…can I see it? See…you?” Heat warmed her cheeks, and she knew she was blushing. Could he tell, in the low light, how nervous she was?

She worried that he would laugh at her request—or worse, not know what she meant, but the Beast nodded, strands of hair from his mane falling in front of his intense green eyes. He stepped back slightly, and she missed the contact with his body immediately.

Belle turned her head, in an attempt to provide him some sort of privacy as he reached for his trousers, but it seemed that he was as unsure of himself now as she was.

After her experience with Frederick’s manhood, the warm, hard, veined cock that had so recently been in her mouth (
or not, if it had been a dream…had it been a dream?
), Belle wasn’t sure what to expect.

The Beast lowered his trousers and stepped out of them, and she focused on the floor, on the wolves’ paws he called feet, at the muscled calves and thighs. She brought her gaze higher, and took in a shaky breath.

His cock swung low between his legs, almost as thick as her forearm, it seemed. As she looked upon him, he became erect, his cock stiffening and growing even as she watched. It was a beautiful, terrible thing to behold, and she touched it with her fingertips to see if it differed too much from Frederick’s cock.

It felt the same, warm, velvety skin, and the thick veins that ran across the Beast’s cock stood out in stark relief. Her hands trembled as she touched him there, as his cock became like a steel rod encased in flesh.

“Beast,” she whispered. “This won’t fit inside of me. You’ll tear me in two.”

To her dismay, a sob escaped her throat. All this waiting, all this time, and she’d never even get to experience having the Beast make love to her.

“No, Beauty,” he said, “I won’t tear you. We’ll go slowly and carefully, and you’ll be fine. A woman’s channel can stretch to accommodate even a baby, and while I know I am well-endowed, we’re nowhere near that.”

She looked up at him in trepidation. “Do you really think I’ll be okay?”

“I wouldn’t do it if I thought differently.”

The Beast picked her up, holding her so that her lips met his, and she melted into his strong embrace. As they kissed, he captured her clitoris with his fingers, and rubbed slow, lazy circles on her tender bud until she began to relax and enjoy herself.

Soon his fingers were inside her, so much bigger than Frederick’s fingers had been, but he did exactly the same thing her dream-lover had done, carefully stretching her, rubbing the inside of her channel, lubricating every bit of her with her own arousal.

Belle panted with desire; he kept hitting that spot deep within her that had made her come so hard before, and she felt another climax building. She waited for him to stop, to pull away before she came too soon, but he kept going, holding her thighs apart, pushing her back onto the bed, and pleasuring her until she melted, wave after wave of her orgasm flowing through her body.

The Beast ran his hand over her sensitive cunny, and covered his cock with her come, until it glistened in the candlelight. A few candles had burnt out completely, she half-noted, he had spent so much time preparing her body for him.

“You won’t…crush me, will you?” she asked.

The Beast had to weigh over three hundred pounds, maybe four hundred, and she had no experience other than the feel of Frederick’s strong body lying on hers.

“Never. It will be easier if I can stand,” he said. “Come here, Beauty.”

He positioned her body, bent over the side of the bed, and gently pulled her robe off of her, letting it drop to the floor. Naked, she trembled, waiting for him. Her nipples pebbled against the bedsheets, her fingers grabbed hold of the linen and tightened in anticipation.

The Beast stood behind her, and pressed a sweet kiss to her cheek. None of his weight was on her, and she exhaled shakily.

“You are everything to me, Beauty,” he whispered. “Is this all right? You don’t have to do this.”

“Yes, Beast,” she said. “I want this. I need this.”

He pressed his cock to the entrance of her cunny, and she moaned, still fearful of how it would feel. Slowly, carefully, he entered her, stretching her wet heat, filling her completely. His cock rubbed against every nerve ending in her body, mingling pain and pleasure in almost the same way as his lovebite had done when he’d marked her.

She cried out as he pulled back and slowly thrust inside of her once more.

“It’s all right, little Beauty, everything’s all right,” he whispered, his voice low and rumbling.

Her whole world narrowed until nothing existed except for the Beast inside of her, stroking her, touching every part of her from the inside out.

It seemed to go on forever, and yet she didn’t want it to end. Her pleasure bloomed and rose on crest after crest of waves of sensation, and she bit the pillow, stifling her own cries of passion.

But the Beast ripped the pillow from her mouth. “I want to hear you, Beauty. I want to hear you scream with pleasure.”

He pulled out of her, leaving her empty, wanting. She cried out inarticulately in protest—

Don’t stop!

—but he lifted her from the bed like she weighed nothing at all, and held her in his arms. Her legs wrapped around his waist as if of their own accord; she clung to him, this mountain of a man.

The Beast grabbed her thighs and raised her up and onto his cock, impaling her with delicious passion. Belle threw her head back in ecstasy and held on for dear life.

“Yes, Beast, yes,” she moaned, unable—unwilling—to contain herself any longer.

She grabbed his bulging muscles, wanting to feel all of him, to experience everything about him. She tore at his hair, pulling his face toward hers for a long, deep kiss. Then, in a moment of primal abandon, she bit his mouth, as if daring him to bite her back.

With a low growl, he threw her onto the bed on her back. Belle cried out in surprise—he was so tall, the drop to the bed was five or six feet at least. He loomed over her, his beautiful green eyes dark with lust and desire.

“I’m sorry, Sir—” she whispered, even though, if given half a chance, she’d do it again.

“Never be sorry, Beauty.”

He braced himself above her, his body inches from hers, supported by his own arms and legs.

“I won’t crush you,” he rumbled. “I won’t hurt you.”

“I trust you, Sir,” she said.

She did, with all her heart.

The sight of him hovering above her was terrifying indeed, but at the same time aroused her deepest passion. She moaned with pleasure as he thrust inside her once more.

Belle wrapped her arms around him, the heat of his breath warm on her bare neck. His thrusts shook her to the core, awakening her entire body.

She gave him the screams he wanted, her passion mounting even as she felt she would be torn apart by his power. Belle knew she was safe with him, and her fear only intensified her arousal.

The Beast sped up his pace, rocking within her, moving faster, faster, until he came with a loud roar that shook the chandelier and made the lights flicker. Belle whimpered and nearly scrambled to get out from under him, her natural instinct overtaking her, despite desperately wanting

(needing)

more. And more. She cried out, her desire echoing through the bedchamber.

He held her hips, pinning her to the bed, wrenching another delicious orgasm from deep within her.

It’s like when Frederick came, how he seemed more animal than man
. In that moment of pure ecstasy, he had been reduced to his most primal instincts.

The Beast pulled out, hot come splattering on her breasts. She lay still, not daring to move, breathing hard.

“Stay still, Beauty. Let me tend to you.”

She closed her eyes, nearly drifting off into sleep, when she felt the warm, wet towel wiping her skin, cleaning her off. The Beast placed tender kisses on her body as he dropped to his knees at the bedside and washed between her legs. His face was so close to her there, inspecting her.

“You’re perfect,” he said. “You didn’t even bleed.”

“I fell off a horse when I was a child,” she said, “and bled then. So my maidenhood was already torn. But I swear I was a virgin for you, Sir.”

The Beast smiled at her, and laid down in the bed next to her. His weight made the mattress sink a bit, and she rolled next to his body, cuddling up to him.

“I never doubted you were a virgin, Belle,” he said, “but that doesn’t matter to me. I care about who you are now, not what you might have done in the past.”

“I care about who you are, too,” she whispered. “And not about what you might have done in the past.”

Images of him coming back to the castle late at night, fresh from a kill, haunted her, but she pushed them back. He was changed.

“Beauty, I never thought I’d be lucky enough to find you. But I’m a monster for how I’ve kept you against your will. I know you miss your father, and that you want to see him.”

Belle froze, uncertain what to say, or what to do. Of course she wanted to see her father, but she also didn’t want to leave the Beast (
or Frederick
).

The two wants conflicted horribly.

“I have a way for you to see your Papa, Belle,” the Beast said softly. “Would you like that?”

Belle hesitated. Was this a trick? But no, her Beast had never tricked her, never lied to her. So she nodded.

“I need the looking glass,” Beast said, to the fairies, she presumed.

In his hand appeared an ornate, hand-held looking glass. It was beautiful. Belle smiled wistfully. Yes, she knew she looked a bit like her Papa, but viewing her reflection in a mirror was not quite the same as seeing her father. Still, the Beast was attempting to show her kindness, so she was willing to cooperate, if only to please him.

“Here, Beauty,” he said, lying next to her, cuddled on the bed. He handed her the mirror (which was surprisingly heavy) and she held it up, gazing into it. “Tell the looking glass what you want to see, and it will show you.”

“I want… I want to see my Papa,” she whispered.

The looking glass hazed over, as if she’d breathed on it while outside on a winter day, and then as if the summer sun hit the glass, it cleared, and she saw…
her Papa!

“Oh Lord in Heaven,” she gasped. “Papa, Papa can you hear me?”

“He can’t hear you, nor see you,” the Beast said. “It is just a way for you to view him. If you listen carefully, you might be able to hear him if he speaks, as well.”

“He looks terrible,” she said sadly.

Her Papa was lying in an unfamiliar bed, staring at the ceiling with wide, vacant eyes. One of his wrists, she saw now, was chained to the bedrail at his side.

“Oh, Papa, what have they done to you?” she wailed. “He must have gone insane with worry for me.”

Then one of Constable’s men walked into the room her Papa was being kept in, and unlocked the chain. Her Papa stood, unsteady on his feet, and bowed his head.

“I didn’t kill my daughter,” he said to the floor. The officer took no notice.

“The people will decide your fate, Mr. Castelle,” the man said. “You don’t need to try and convince me. Belle is missing, and feared dead. Who else but you, with your crazy stories of a Beast, would have committed such a terrible, unnatural crime?”

Belle touched the glass, wishing she could transcend through it and into the room with them, to show them that she was here, she was alive!

“Beast,” she said turning to him, frantic. “I need to get my Papa out of there! If the Constable can just see that I am well, not murdered, then he will have no choice but to free my father.”

The Beast took the mirror from her hands and set it down, his anguished expression nearly matching her own.

“I don’t know what to say, Belle. I thought seeing your Papa would bring you joy… I didn’t mean for this to happen.”