Beauty and the Beast: an erotic re-imagining (6 page)

With a heavy sigh she removed her dress and sank into the tub, grateful for a chance to wash off the insanity of the night so she could start fresh. She smelled like hay from the cell, and had dirt on her legs from falling in the woods. The water soothed her aching buttocks.

That Beast knew how to spank.

She took her time washing herself, washing her hair, and combing it out. When she was done, she slipped on a white nightgown. It fit perfectly.

“Thank you, fairies,” she said. She paused. “May I have more wine, please?”

A single glass of red wine appeared. No bottle. Oh well, that would have to do. Hopefully it would put her to sleep and keep her from dreaming about all the terrible, sinful,

wonderful, intoxicating

things that Beast had done to her. And what more might be in store…

Chapter Three

In his room
down the hall, Beast collapsed onto his bed. The mattress sank in under his massive weight. Had he done the right thing, agreeing to keep Belle only six months? Surely that wasn’t enough time to get her to see past his appearance, forgive him for taking her captive, and fall in love with him.

There was too much to accomplish, in too short a time.

Also, the cut on his chest burned like fire.

“I need a washrag and ointment,” he said, not bothering to lift his heavy head from the pillow.

The items appeared, and he tended to his wound. But it still hurt like hell.

“Laudanum, please,” he said. The opium tincture appeared, and he sipped a bit of the bitter medicine. He took care not to abuse the potent drug, but with a fresh wound, he knew he’d be tossing and turning without it.

His sleep was quiet, dark, and deep. In his dreams, he was no longer a Beast. He was himself. He was Frederick.

And he still had a captive to attend to.

***

Belle woke gently, or perhaps she didn’t wake at all. A light caress ran along her arm.

Beast?

She opened her eyes. It was a man—a man in her room. “Who are you?” she gasped. “What are doing here?”

She bit down on her first instinct—to scream for the Beast to come to her rescue. Doing so wouldn’t make much sense, since the last thing she wanted was the Beast in her suite.

The intruder—the man—said nothing, he just looked at her until she recognized him…from the portrait. The beautiful young man with the amazing green eyes.

Just a dream, then
. That was good. To dream and know she was dreaming meant she could do whatever she wished, and awake unscathed.

“Hello, beauty,” the Prince said, settling next to her on the bed. “I saw you looking at my portrait.”

“I did,” she whispered, the way she often did in the dark.

Normally, she would be absolutely shocked for a stranger to sit on her bed—but this was only a dream, and so she welcomed it. Welcomed
him
.

“Do you find me handsome?” He kissed her neck, igniting a spark of desire.

Just a dream…none of mattered if it wasn’t real.

“Yes.” Boldly, she reached out and touched his clean-shaven face, and stared into his eyes. Familiar eyes.

“Is that very important to you?” he asked.

What a strange question! “I don’t know,” she murmured. “I
am
glad you’re here. It’s nice to see another person, if only while I sleep.”

“My name is Frederick.”

“Frederick… Am I being haunted?” she asked.

Because while he was touching her, running his hands over her body, ahh…it didn’t feel so much like a dream. It felt real. It felt… incredible. Did ghosts feel real?

“In a way, perhaps I am haunting you,” Frederick said. “Don’t be afraid. The Beast is good. He didn’t eat me, Belle, if that’s what you think.”

“Are you imprisoned here, in the castle?” she asked. “Like me?”

Frederick smiled. “I am.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and drew the handsome Prince onto her, relishing the weight of his body on hers. Surprising that she could feel the weight of a ghost, or a dream, or whatever Frederick was.

“One moment,” she gasped, sitting up. “Are you actually a prisoner in this castle, and did you find me, and are you about to ravish me? Or am I dreaming?”

“Yes.” Frederick smiled, beautiful straight white teeth that didn’t frighten her exactly—not the way Beast’s fangs did.

“Y-yes?”

“Yes, to all of it.” Frederick kissed her long and deep, his tongue dancing with hers.

Belle moaned with passion as his kisses left her lips, traveling down her neck, to her breasts. She tore at her nightgown to give him better access.

She only prayed this was really a dream.

Who cares?

She was a captive—none of it would be her fault, surely. When she got back home she’d just pretend none of it happened. As long as she was enjoying the experience, why deny herself?

And oh my goodness, she was enjoying herself.

“Belle,” Frederick whispered, his breath hot against her nipple. “You must try to love the Beast. Don’t be so afraid of him.”

“I could never love the Beast, Frederick,” she said. “Never.”

Frederick sucked her nipple into his mouth and she gasped in delight. No one had ever done that to her before. The feeling was…otherworldly.

“That disappoints me,” Frederick said. His mood seemed to darken. “I should…I should go.”

“I can’t change my answer,” she said. “But will I see you again?”

“If I’m to survive, yes,” he said. “Please, Belle. Go to the Beast. Don’t be afraid.”

“He—” she blushed, unsure if she could reveal what had happened, even to a ghost. Or a dream-man. Or a prisoner in the castle intent on making her think she was insane.
Whomever
the handsome man with his mouth on her breast was.

“The Beast
spanked
me, Frederick. Like a naughty child. It was humiliating.”

Frederick grinned. “You’re looking at it the wrong way.”

Belle frowned. “Is there any other way to look at it?”

Frederick dropped his hand to her ass, caressing the tender skin through her nightdress. “I think he quite enjoyed the experience. Having that luscious bottom under his hand, watching it pink up with heat.”

Belle laughed. “I could imagine
you
enjoying yourself, then.”

“There are ways to enjoy submitting to the Beast. Don’t be so frightened of new experiences.” He gave her bottom a firm squeeze, and she gasped. “Perhaps when you’re healed, you’ll allow me to spank you. I’ll make you love it.”

“I don’t see how that’s possible,” she said, but it was a lie.

The desire in his eyes aroused her. Yes, perhaps she’d allow Frederick to spank her. It was just a dream, after all.

It was, wasn’t it?

***

The following morning, Belle couldn’t find the plain blue dress she’d arrived in. But the armoire was filled with glorious gowns, the sort of dress she’d never worn, out of modesty. It didn’t seem right to be bedecked in jewels and pearls and lace when she rode in her wagon past children begging on the streets.

Of course, that was in another life. Before Papa lost everything. Perhaps if she’d agreed to buy the dresses when she had the chance, she would have been able to sell them later. Instead, they moved to the country and she wore even plainer clothes than before.

Wearing something plain didn’t look like an option right now.

Belle picked a stunning pale pink dress from the armoire and dressed, calling on the fairies to help lace her up, and to pin her hair.

She had to find the other prisoner, Frederick. Last night had felt too real for him to be just a dream (in which case, she had behaved shockingly inappropriately). Or if it was a dream, surely that dream was meant to inspire her to find him.

She tip-toed down the hallway, pausing only to look at the handsome Prince’s portrait. Heat warmed her cheeks at the memory of his touch. Silly to blush from a dream.

(was it really a dream?)

Where was the Beast? Every corner she turned, she feared she’d run into him. That he’d ask her if she was ready to…begin.

I’ll never be ready
. The Beast frightened her almost as much as the strange desire he aroused in her, whenever he looked at her from his towering height.

But Frederick had implored her to go to the Beast. If only she could find Frederick, she could figure out what was going on.

She knocked softly on every door she passed, praying at each one that it wouldn’t be the Beast’s room. The handsome young man couldn’t be in the dungeon, because she’d already been there, and had felt frightfully alone. So he must be living in the castle, somewhere.

“Fairies,” she whispered. “Show me the way to Frederick’s room.”

A candle on the wall lit, and she turned to it in surprise. With the sunlight streaming in through the windows of the castle, she certainly hadn’t been expecting candlelight.

To the right, another candle.

Belle followed their lead, walking in the direction of each newly flaming wick. The fairies had led her to a closed door at the end of wing.

Shivers of anticipation rushed through her. If Frederick was indeed beyond that door, would he know her? Or had her dream been a vision of which he played no part?

Carefully, Belle pushed open the large wooden door. It creaked on its hinges from years of disuse.

“Prince Frederick?” she whispered.

No reply.

The room was clearly a young man’s room, and well-appointed. Glass shards covered the floor. Belle skirted around them. A long, floor-length mirror stood in the center of the room, the looking-glass smashed to pieces. The violence of the act left a thrumming vibration in the room, it seemed.

“Frederick, are you here?” she asked again.

No reply.

Of course. Her over-active imagination at work, once again. But then, why did the fairies lead her here, if Frederick didn’t exist?

She crossed the room, stepping over the broken glass, and sat on the bed. The sheets were askew, as if no one had bothered to straighten them after some…some sort of struggle.

Belle smoothed the sheets into place, and uncovered a leather-bound book.

A book!

Having something to read would help her pass the time, and hopefully make the next six months go by quicker.

She just needed to give herself to the Beast so her six month sentence could start. But how?

I can never
—

—
don’t think about that now. Just read. Escape.

The book’s yellowing, aged pages were all handwritten. A diary, perhaps.

She opened it to the first page.

The Journal of HRH Prince Frederick, to be read by no one.

Belle smiled. Goodness, that sounded almost like how she’d started her diary as well, when she was a teenager.

Settling back onto the satin pillow, Belle turned the page, and read.

~~~

None of the women at Court want to play the games I wish to play. Lady Amelia is almost as old as I, sixteen, and yet she only wants to steal kisses, then giggle with her friends when they see me ride by.

I finally got Amelia alone in the wine cellar, but she guarded her virginity with more ferocity than Father’s men guard the castle gate. My attempts to woo her resulted in nothing more than me getting a slap across the face with her glove.

I told her I’d like to use that glove on her, perhaps on her cheeks (I touched her derriere to let her know exactly what I meant), but she gasped as if I’d suggested murdering her, and ran away. I do believe I will cease courting her.

~~~

Belle laughed out loud. She could only imagine the look on the Lady Amelia’s face when the young Prince requested to spank her. It probably looked a bit like the expression on her own when the Beast told Belle to bend over.

From the looks of it, Prince Frederick had quite a taste for tying girls up and spanking them. But only if they were willing. Belle flipped through pages of entries, each detailing his pursuit and failure to entice dozens of young ladies into his bed.

~~~

Surely it is my Stepmother’s doing, that no girl will have me. A spell of some sort. Heaven knows she has enchanted the King to do her bidding. It is as if no one recognizes that when my father is gone, I will be King, and the woman of my choosing will be Queen. That when I marry (if I marry), the woman I choose will be a Princess until I ascend to the throne.

None of that is apparent. It can only be black magic to cloud the Court’s minds against the subject. A rumor has gone around that my Stepmother gave birth to a demon that died at birth. My father won’t comment on the matter. Can’t he see she’s using her magic to give him an heir, when God Himself doesn’t want her to spawn a child?

Why does he need an heir, when he has me? Aren’t I enough?

~~~

Belle had no memory of a King, or a castle, or an Enchantress Queen or a Court or any of the things Prince Frederick wrote of in his journal. Was it all just the imaginative musings of a teenage boy, wishing his life were more interesting than it was?

Or was it…real?

Clearly, the castle was real. The portrait of Prince Frederick was real. The castle did have some sort of…something, happening. Fairy infestation.

Could it be that this evil Queen had “clouded” everyone’s memories, as the journal suggested?

Either way, Belle could empathize with the young man’s feelings. She too felt like she wasn’t enough, at times. The only daughter to her Papa, a poor consolation when they were forced to move out of town and into the country to work for a living.

Her stomach grumbled rudely, interrupting her thoughts.

“Fairies,” she said. “I would like some breakfast, please, and tea.”

She sat up on the bed, awaiting the tray that would be magically appearing, but none came.

“Fairies?” she asked. “Are you through granting wishes?”

A note fell on her lap, settling against the luxurious pale pink fabric of her dress.