PETALS AND THORNS (9 page)
The Beast set her on her feet, looking like a well-fed cat, still idly toying with her drenched sex.
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“That was a lovely beginning to our evening. Now, off with you to prepare for the rest. I'll see you at dinner, my bride.” He gave her sex an affectionate pat, the black leather making a light smacking sound.
He turned away and led the horses into the stable, leaving Amarantha to make her way in a daze to the manse, her jacket gaping open while her breasts throbbed.
* * *
Even the little robe had disappeared. Clearly the Beast planned to dispense with the more elaborate games tonight. The ghosts had braided her hair high and tight, like a crown, leaving her completely exposed.
Amarantha felt unaccountably shy walking nude into the drawing room where the Beast awaited her with his customary glass of brandy. Ridiculous, given he'd seen more of her than any other living being had. It just seemed so…brazen to walk around like this.
The Beast set down his snifter when he saw her, took her hands, and kissed them.
“You look lovely tonight, my sweet.”
“I look naked,” she answered tartly.
“Indeed,” the Beast purred, gathering her into his arms to press wet kisses over her breasts, “and you are lovely. Ready to dine?”
He escorted her to the formal dining room, where a high wooden stool sat in place of her usual chair. A round brass peg about an inch high poked out of it. Wide red satin ribbons dangled from the rungs. Amarantha sighed to see it, only guessing at how he might torment her now. Traitorous moisture pulsed hot between her legs.
The Beast helped her onto the stool, situating her so the oiled brass peg pressed against her puckered nether mouth. She wriggled uncomfortably and he gave her a light spank to hold still. He propped her heeled feet on one of the rungs 62
and tied the ribbons so her ankles, knees and hips stayed tightly anchored, keeping her bottom spread wide on the stool.
He let Amarantha feed herself again, though she had to lean over from the high stool to reach her plate, the brass peg penetrating her slightly each time she sat back, the wood rubbing her chafed bottom.
The Beast coaxed her in to conversation about the horses, the stables, as if this weren't bizarre. She supposed in his world, bizarre took on a different meaning.
They scraped up the last bits of a chocolate cake when the clock struck midnight.
Amarantha felt herself tense.
“Amarantha, I must ask you a question.”
She waited, helpless to stop him.
“Amarantha, my bride, will you beg me to collar you, chain you to my bed, and fuck you?”
“I can't. Don't you see? Even if I could bring myself to say that, to humiliate myself that way, if I let you have my virginity, then I'm bound to you forever, and my family is ruined.”
The Beast simply sat still, waiting.
“Can't we discuss this at all?”
Nothing.
Amarantha sighed. “No. My answer is and must be no.”
“Very well, then.” The Beast stood and began untying the ribbons that bound her to the stool. “I think you'll enjoy this next bit. I know I will.”
“My lord”—Amarantha placed a hand on his chest, stilling him—“can't we talk about this question you ask me every night?”
“The choice is yours, Amarantha. It's a choice I would not take away from you, even if I could.”
“You're under some kind of geas, I feel sure.”
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The Beast finished untying her and helped her down from the chair. He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and escorted her to the little drawing room where he'd whipped her. The Beast felt her tremble and patted her hand. “No whipping tonight. What I have planned should be enough to keep your attention.”
“Okay, clearly you can't talk about it. But I want you to know that, well, it's not you. I made a promise to my family.” Amarantha spoke to his broad back as he adjusted some of the fittings on the brass rack. “I owe them that loyalty.”
The Beast turned and gave her a piercing look. “They have none for you. Now be quiet and come here.”
Amarantha clenched her fists in frustration. “My lord…”
He raised an eyebrow over the mask. “Disobeying, my sweet? Perhaps there shall be some spanking after all.”
Amarantha huffed out an exasperated breath and stomped over to him. Her distraction had kept her from noticing what he had set up for her. A horizontal beam stood inside the brass rack. A brass prong stuck out of it, much like the one she'd sat on at dinner, except this one was long. Very long, and while it was narrow at the tip, it became quite broad at the base. It gleamed with oil, cheerful and terrifying.
Amarantha looked up at the Beast. He watched her closely, noting her every reaction. She found it hard to catch her breath suddenly.
“I'm afraid,” she told him. “Would it do any good to beg you not to do this to me?”
“Ah, my sweet Amarantha”—the Beast caressed her cheek, rubbed a thumb over her bottom lip—“you may plead all you wish, and I will love to hear it, but no, I will have you accept this into you while I watch. I have so little time with you that I must take full advantage. However”—he walked her over to the armchair and sat—
“I can make you less fearful. We'll do your spanking now.”
The Beast tugged her hand and tumbled her over his lap. Amarantha's shocked breath whooshed out of her, and he began spanking her rapidly before she 64
caught it again. The pain in her chafed bottom swelled to unbearable proportions within moments, and she began to whimper and struggle. The Beast laid a hand between her shoulder blades, holding her still while he punished her.
Amarantha felt the tears and tension spilling out of her. She wept still when the Beast set her on her feet, led her on wobbly legs to the apparatus, and made her straddle it. The width of the beam meant she stood with her legs well spread. The Beast helped her over the brass prong so that it nudged into her nether mouth, pressing in slightly. He brought down the black leather straps and bound her wrists, leaving slack in her arms.
This wasn't so bad. She felt sure she made a picture spread over this thing, legs long in her high heels.
The Beast rubbed her breasts and bent to suckle her nipples. He stroked her dripping sex, and she moaned in encouragement. Then he slipped the heels off her feet and sat down in his armchair.
Amarantha stiffened as she felt the cool brass push deeper into her. She stood on her tiptoes to keep it from going too deeply, but it already invaded her more than anything yet had. She pulled on the straps but couldn't lift herself off the thing. In fact, her struggles made the oil-slick metal sink even deeper, stretching her open and wrenching a cry out of her.
The Beast sipped his brandy and watched, green eyes glittering in avid interest.
Amarantha's thighs and calves trembled with the strain. Her muscles, already fatigued from the ride, fought to release. She realized he'd planned this all day, planned that ride to tire her so she couldn't withstand this thing. And he wouldn't relent until she sat fully on it.
She sobbed out a choking moan as her muscles gave way a bit more and she sank down. The thing widened, stretched, and speared her with unbearable intimacy. Her sex pulsed with sensation, and she found herself grinding her hips on
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it. Which only forced it in deeper. Her muscles fought to hold her, and her skin glistened with sweat.
Amarantha began to beg.
Pleas tumbled from her lips, promises and whimpers. She felt she might split apart. Her flesh strained and spasmed as the relentless device spread her open. All the while the Beast gave her his undivided attention, never saying a word but drinking in her every quiver and cry.
When she could at last bear no more, Amarantha yielded to the inevitable and let her straining legs relax. Her weight drove the prong deeply into her even as her sex slapped onto the beam, driving her into a writhing climax.
The Beast appeared in front of her. Also straddling the beam, he looped her exhausted legs over his muscular thighs and gathered her against him. He kissed and nuzzled her throat and breasts as she—with her head flung back—rode out the extreme sensations from the prong invading her.
“I wish that could be me inside you,” he said, his voice ragged. “If only I could feel you from the inside as well.”
He reached up and unfastened the cuffs. Amarantha immediately flung her arms around him, clinging to him as she shuddered from the penetration. The Beast held her close, running his hands over her body, soothing and savoring her.
“Once more,” he whispered, “while I'm holding you.” He slipped his fingers between them, stroking her sex with tenderness. She responded to him, digging her fingers into his rough mane of hair. Green eyes locked with violet, he drove her up, holding her as she climaxed again, pouring herself over him.
When he tucked her in and tied her hands, Amarantha asked him to stay for a moment. He obliged, sitting on the edge of the bed and fiddling with the trailing end of a ribbon.
“What you did to me tonight…” she began.
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“Shall I make you use the words, describe it in detail?” The Beast gave her his sly grin.
“No, and be quiet. I have a serious question to ask you.”
He regarded her with grave politeness, but she could feel how much he wished to flee the room.
“You said you wanted that to be you, inside me. And I know that, while you can't take my virginity unless…well, I agree to that ritual question of yours, why not…have me that way?”
The Beast stood and turned away from her, walked over to the fireplace, and held out his hands to the warmth.
“It would be something, wouldn't it? A way we could be together before I go?”
Amarantha tugged at the ribbons, wishing she could go after him.
“Alas, my sweet,” the Beast ground out, “that which dictates my life as it is has also unmanned me for all but one choice. I have nothing in that way to offer you.”
He turned abruptly, and Amarantha shrank back from the feral glint in his eyes. “I am a beast and good for nothing but being beastly. Soon you will walk away from here and take nothing but some startling memories of our time together. You will find some other husband and give him your precious virginity. But know this…” He strode over to her, and with an explosion of predatory energy that made her yelp in shock, he yanked off the covers and fell on her naked body.
He devoured her. Kissing, licking, nipping, and scratching every inch of her.
He left no part of her unmolested except for the sacred space of her virgin canal.
The beast buried his fanged mouth against her sex, making her climax again and again, his claws dragging against her flesh in fierce counterpoint.
Amarantha cried out for mercy, but he drove her up once more. She exploded into a black and red swamp that robbed her of conscious thought. In the fog, she felt him leave her. The Beast pulled up the covers and untied her hands. And vanished without another word.
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* * *
Not at all like his ferocity last night.
She dressed in a walking gown, just like those from her old life. Demure walking boots awaited her, along with a winter cloak and gloves. Though she examined the gloves and dress, they seemed to have no hidden hooks or games.
Stifling an odd sense of disappointment, Amarantha went down to walk in the garden. A light snow once again sifted down, dusting the winter garden with a fluffy frosting, hiding what lurked beneath.
The Beast did not join her. Nor did he work with the horses in the warm and steamy stables when she looked there. Amarantha visited the mare her father had left behind. He'd never mentioned that part of the story. The mare flourished in the beast's care. He seemed to have a knack for knowing just what she most needed.
That night, Amarantha went down for dinner dressed as if for a ball. The golden silk gleamed in the candlelight, the skirt belling in fabulous swoops. The ghosts created a confection of her hair. By the time they finished, she truly looked like a queen, wearing gold and diamond jewelry that dripped with fire.
The Beast awaited her as usual. He handed her a crystal glass of wine and bowed to her in greeting.
“You look most beautiful, Amarantha.”
She thanked him, uncertain how to receive this suddenly formal Beast.
“I must tender you my apologies for my behavior last night,” he continued. “It was most reprehensible. I hope that, in time, you'll find it in yourself to forgive me.”
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Amarantha cocked her head in confusion. “It seems to me that some of your other…games…were more painful or more distressing.”
The Beast shook his head. “No, never before have I lost control. I fear, my bride, that I am losing control to the beast, finally and fully.”
“Surely no—”
“I've decided, Amarantha, to release you. You shall go home to your family tomorrow.”
“But there are still three nights.”
“I shall uphold my end of the bargain. I will transfer my wealth to you. It will be of no use to me anyway.”
“But my lord—”
“Amarantha,” he almost snarled, “you don't understand. Even now I feel the beast clawing at me. My desire for you has undone me.”
Amarantha cried out, and her fingers flew to her lips as if to tuck the sound back in.
The Beast gave her a sad smile. “No worries, my love. This has broken the unending cycle of my cursed existence.” He came up to her and caressed her cheek in a light touch. “I wouldn't trade this time with you for anything. You brought life into my world again.”
“My lord Beast—”
“We will speak no more of this.” He cocked a meaningful eyebrow at her. “I will enforce that, if necessary. Now, let us go dine.”
A red rose awaited Amarantha on her plate. She took it and breathed in its scent, tears pricking her eyes. She wanted to ask who would tend his roses, his horses, but didn't, not for fear of his threat, but because she didn't want to hear the inevitable answer.