Seven Kisses: A Beauty and the Beast Dark Romance (4 page)

Mme de Villeneuve slid just one finger inside, bottoming out when her palm met Gabrielle’s throbbing clit.  “You want this all the time, don’t you?”

“Yes.”  Gabrielle gasped as innate electricity zapped from her clit to her toes.  “Yes, but I don’t know why.  Ever since I got here my body’s just exploded.  It
hurts
.”

“What hurts, Suzanne?”

This time, it felt jarring to be called Suzanne.  She wanted to cry out,
I’m not Suzanne!  I never was!  I’m Gabrielle and I’m not supposed to be here.  Let me go!  Let me go!

Why couldn’t she bring herself to say those words?  What was keeping her at Loindici Manor?

“Tell Madame de Villeneuve what hurts, Suzanne.”

“Down there,” she said.  “Ever since I got here it just throbs and throbs and throbs.”

“Down where?” Madame asked with a grin.  “Your feet?”

“No.”

“Your knees?”

“No!”  This silliness irked her.  How dare Madame de Villeneuve talk to her like a child?

“Where, Suzanne?”  Madame smashed her palm against Gabrielle’s clit.  “Tell me where it hurts.”

“My pussy!  My pussy, okay?  Enough with this stupid chit-chat. My clit is throbbing so hard it hurts. My pussy lips are swollen so big it feels like they’ve been swarmed by bees.  I just want it to stop! Please, make it stop!”

“I can do that,” Madame replied, and squeezed Gabrielle’s pussy with two fingers inside it.  “How does this feel, dear child?  Am I scratching the itch?”

“No!” Gabrielle cried, though the answer should rightly have been
yes
.  She squirmed on her hospital bed, trying to wriggle out of her straps.  “Stop it!  I don’t want to feel this way.  Make it stop!”

Wet squelching sounds echoed through the clinical room.  Without any soft furnishings, every noise sounded sharp.  Jagged edges on every word, every breath, every gasp.

“Feel my fingers inside you?” Mme de Villeneuve asked.  “Do you feel what they’re touching?”

“No. How should I know?”  The bouncing ball of arousal in Gabrielle’s belly made her testy as hell, but she found herself fucking Madame’s fingers as much as she could, considering her legs were strapped into stirrups and her arms bound tightly at her sides.

“What am I stroking?” Madame asked, rubbing both fingers hard against the swollen flesh of Gabrielle’s pussy.

“I don’t know!  I don’t know!”

“Suzanne, my beauty, after all your many sexual partners you cannot identify your G-spot?”

Gabrielle heard herself gasp as Madame rubbed that swollen spot in circles.  She’d never really understood what a G-spot orgasm was. She’d never really cared. In fact, she stayed as far away from orgasms as she possibly could.

But this sensation… this warm, wet, heavy pushing sensation… she was starting to understand why G-spot orgasms were so highly coveted by those who delighted in sex. 

The squelching sound Madame’s hand drew out of her pussy kicked around the room like a tin can, knocking off every wall, every tile.  Its rudeness shocked her, humiliated her, but she loved it.  Her pussy was so sopping, so hungry, so throbbing and ready to come that she knew she was on her way.

But not yet there.

Not quite.

There was a heaviness inside her. She’d felt it many times before, though never in this context.  She needed to pee, and the sensation embarrassed her deeply.

“Will you untie me, Madame?  I need to go to the bathroom.”

Mme de Villeneuve cocked her brow.  “No you don’t, my dear.”

No you don’t?
  How would she know?  But Madame seemed so sure of herself.  She went on milking Gabrielle’s pussy with three fingers, her palm on Gabrielle’s clit, pressing, squeezing.  God, it felt good.  Gabrielle didn’t want to enjoy any pleasure at Madame’s hand, but how could she hold back?  That bearing-down sensation overwhelmed her.

“I’m about to pee!” Gabrielle cried, raising her chest as high as she could.  “Move your hand, Madame.  I can’t stop it!”

But Mme de Villeneuve continued milking her pussy in that strange manner. Gabrielle raised her hips and arched them quickly to the side, hoping to escape the woman’s long, slim fingers.  No such luck.

“Oh god,” Gabrielle groaned.  “Oh no.  No, please don’t make me.”

She didn’t want to come if coming meant peeing all over someone.  But she couldn’t stop. Madame kept rubbing, rubbing, rubbing that special spot, that spot she never knew she had.

“Nooo!” Gabrielle cried, arching so far off the bed her Velcro bindings cut into her arms and legs.  It hurt like hell, but she couldn’t hold back. 

“You can’t stop now,” Madame said, grinning wickedly.  She seemed to be speaking for Gabrielle’s whole body, which seconded the sentiment by bucking wildly into her hand.

“Please, no!  Please…”

Her muscles found a rate of spasm they liked and stayed there while Madame scoured her pussy.  “Inertia, my dear. A body in motion won’t stop until climax is achieved.”

“Nooo!”

Gabrielle’s muscles seized, but that only made matters worse.  The harder she bore down, the faster her climax came on.  Weighted pleasure formed itself into a ball of tension deep in her belly, and when she released it she flooded Mme de Villeneuve’s hand with… pee?  Was she peeing?  Because it felt different.  It felt like a different type of release.

Something was definitely coming out of her—she could hear it tinkling onto the tile floor—but she really couldn’t say what it was.  What other liquid was inside her but pee?

Whatever it was, spraying it all over Madame’s hand and the floor made her feel about as humiliated as humanly possible. “I’m so sorry,” she said.  “Madame?  Did you hear me?  I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

“I did, my child.”  Drawing her hand slowly away from Gabrielle’s pussy, Madame turned to dunk her hands in the bowl of water on the counter.  “For such an experienced young woman, you certainly have the attitudes of a novice.  Do you only submit to sexual acts for the pleasure of a man?”

Gabrielle couldn’t answer that, so she didn’t say anything at all.

“Are you familiar with the Electra Complex, Suzanne?” 

The sound of water tinkling in that metal bowl escorted Gabrielle from the scene. She escaped into memories of her mother until Madame splashed the entire bowl across the floor, aiming for the spilled apple sauce.  Opening the door, she called out, “Bring the mop now, if you please!”

“I thought you were here to clean,” Gabrielle said.

“To clean you, yes. Not to clean the floors, my dear.  What’s the sense in training monkeys and not putting them to use?”

“True…” 

Mme de Villeneuve stood between her legs, staring at her swollen cunt. This made Gabrielle uncomfortable enough to break the silence.  “What’s the Electra Complex?  You asked if I knew what it was.”

Madame said, “You are familiar with Freud’s Oedipus Complex, no doubt.”

“Yeah, of course. Every boy wants to kill his father and marry his mother.  Not sure I believe it, but I’ve heard the theory.”

“Well, my dear, the Electra Complex is Carl Jung’s proposed counterpart for female psychosexual development.  The Electra myth is Greek in origin, and tells the tale of a young woman who plots to kill her mother and step-father in retaliation for the murder of her father.”

“Reminds me more of Hamlet than Oedipus,” Gabrielle replied.

Mme de Villeneuve did not appear amused by her take on the concept. “Freud rejected the Electra Complex, also.  He believed the sexes to be analogous, but in doing so dismissed the daughter-mother competition for possession of the father and the maladaptation that arises in young women such as yourself, who ultimately fixate their desire for father on man after man after man.”

“Okay.”  Gabrielle didn’t know how to respond.  Madame seemed off in another world, and nothing she said made much sense.

“You see, my dear, all girls are in love with their fathers. Every time she has sex with a man, she is psychologically completing the act of union with the man who raised her.”

Gabrielle’s empty stomach churned.  “Don’t tell me that.  Gross.”

“Ahh, but when you make love with a woman, that love is free of such emotional complexity.  It is assumed, by some, that women are attracted to other women due to an unresolved Electra Complex, but this I reject.  There is such a thing as meaningless tension release, but only between members of the same sex.  It is simple, you see.  It is without psychological encumbrances.”

Gabrielle couldn’t help wondering if this was an actual line of psychoanalytic reasoning or if Mme de Villeneuve was totally off her rocker.  Coming into this gorgeous manor house, Gabrielle had naturally assumed the person running it knew their stuff.  But what if that wasn’t the case?  When she’d looked up Loindici Rehabilitation Centre, she’d found no trace of the place online.  Maybe Madame was just some crazy rich lady with monkeys instead of cats.  Where the beast fit into all this, Gabrielle couldn’t say.

Maybe she really
had
dreamed that part of her stay…

When the monkey butler waddled into her room, using his giant mop as a walking stick, Gabrielle said, “Hello, Gerard.”

The monkey shrieked, shaking his fist as he tossed the mop down on the tile.

Madame scowled.  “Do you know nothing, child?  This is Samuel, not Gerard!”

“Samuel the Monkey Butler?”

“Quite so.”

The monkey raised both fists in the hair and hooted in a way that seemed to say, “I am deeply offended by your inability to tell one monkey from another.”

“I’m sorry,” Gabrielle said, feeling her gut twisting the same way it had when Madame talked about girls wanting to sleep with their fathers.  Now that she looked the monkey plain in the face, yes, she did see a difference between this and the other.

“Samuel,” Mme de Villeneuve said, in a conciliatory tone.  “Do you accept Suzanne’s apology?”

Hanging his head, he walked slowly around the puddle, then raised his hand to Gabrielle’s.  Grabbing two fingers that had practically gone numb from being bound beside her, he shook them to keep the peace.

“Sorry again,” she said.

Grunting, Samuel the Monkey Butler waddled back around the pool, picked up his mop, and started cleaning the mess off the floor.  When the monkey looped around Gabrielle’s hospital bed, Mme de Villeneuve darted out the door.

“Madame?”

Mme de Villeneuve halted in the doorway. She turned only her head, not the rest of her stern, straight body.  “Yes, Suzanne?”

Gabrielle wasn’t sure what she wanted to say, so she asked, “What you did to me just now… was that part of my therapy?”

“No, my dear.”  Gazing solemnly across the room, Madame said, “That was part of
my
therapy.” She started out the door, but halted again to say, “I will give your body a few hours to recover, and then your session will begin...”

Chapter 6

Consciousness.  Intolerable consciousness.

If only someone would drug her again.  Whatever she’d been given before would suit her nicely.  Anything to send away reality’s constant weighty presence.

Such a small white room. Plaster ceiling. Long mirror on the far wall, ancient apothecary bench against the near one. The wooden shelves over the counter were pleasant to look at. They had small cubby holes, some with drawers, some open. The open ones were empty, but Gabrielle imagined there were potions behind those tiny doors.
Magic
potions. Something she could take to forget.

To forget you’ve been attacked, you’ve been assaulted by two different assailants?

Yes. To forget
that
.

Though, in a strange way, she didn’t want to forget.  The last time Madame returned, she and her monkey butlers—Samuel and Gerard—had pushed a huge machine into the room.  It reminded Gabrielle of those antiquated models of computers she’d seen, from… when? The 60s or 70s?  Or World War II?  Before her time, at any rate.

They’d brought this huge contraption into her little room and angled it between her legs.  Of course, her legs were not open wide enough, so each monkey had to unlock the wheels on her stirrups and draw them further apart—so far apart her muscles burned with the strain.

“What are you doing to me?” she’d asked.

The monkeys made chattering noises, one to the other, like they were laughing at her… or laughing at what was about to happen to her.

When Gerard and Samuel teetered out of the room, Mme de Villeneuve closed the door behind them.  Gabrielle’s drug-induced haze hadn’t worn off quite so starkly at that point, so she watched rather dizzily as the weird woman attached a phallic instrument to a rod sticking out of the casing.

“Is that leather?” Gabrielle asked—
of all questions
!

Mme de Villeneuve turned the phallus until it stopped.  “You’ve never felt anything so soft in your life.”

In her confounded state, it hadn’t occurred to Gabrielle what this machine was for, much less what it was about to do to her. An inkling came, in trickles, when Madame powered up the motor.  The gears ground into motion. The belts whirred. Mme de Villeneuve coated the phallus in oil as it lurched directly between Gabrielle’s legs.

“What… what
is
this thing?”  Her muscles twitched.  “Is it about to do what I think it’s about to do?”

“If you think it’s about to penetrate you, then yes. That’s precisely what it’s about to do.”

The leather phallus inched toward the eternal wetness between Gabrielle’s legs. The machine took forever to get into gear.  Good thing.  Gave her pussy time to adjust to the idea of being splayed open and filled to the brim.

Whatever cocktail of drugs Mme de Villeneuve had pumped into her system made her insides itchy as hell.  Her pussy felt pulpy and thick, like a mango between her legs.  Or a papaya.  Something big and ripe and juicy. Always ready for action.  Always craving it.

“Very nice,” Madame said, clasping her hands just beneath her chin.  “Oh my dear, you look just wonderful.”

Gabrielle tried to catch a glimpse of herself in the big mirror on the wall, but the angle was wrong and, anyway, the mirror seemed warped.  There was something weird about it.  She couldn’t say precisely what, but she trusted Madame’s assessment. Whatever was going on between her legs would surely make for arousing footage. 

Madame certainly had not been lying about the softness of the leather.  Gabrielle had never felt anything so buttery smooth.

When the machine started whirring like a carnival ride, the phallus stuffed Gabrielle’s pussy.  “Oh God,” she said.  “Madame, is this safe?”

“Excellent question,” Madame replied.  “We are about to find out, are we not?”

“
What
?”  Gabrielle couldn’t conceal her fear as the phallus rammed her harder, faster.  “Madame, what’s the lesson here?  I should consider my beastly nature something that can’t go without electricity driving it?  That it doesn’t exist independently of a higher power, or another force or… something?”

She winced to negotiate the pain of the pounding. She’d never been fucked so hard.

Mme de Villeneuve chuckled brightly.  “Don’t be ridiculous, Suzanne.  I am merely taking my machine for a test run.”

“Between my legs?” Gabrielle shrieked.

“Of course, dear child.  Where else would I test it?

She fought her screams as Madame’s contraption picked up the pace, but she couldn’t contain herself.  Her hands formed fists.  So much force built up in her muscles that she felt strong enough to break through the Velcro.  She wasn’t, of course.  She tried, time and again, but it never worked.

She’d never seen her body react this way.  How strange it looked, her legs splayed and bound, her arms pulsing and veiny like two raging cocks.  Her breasts heaved, nipples pointed, flesh bouncing as the machinated phallus pummelled her.

No amount of struggling would free her, but every time her limbs seized, her pussy clenched around the large leather cock. And every time her pussy clenched, the friction got hotter, the phallus felt bigger.  Was it just her imagination, or was the leather inflating between her legs?  Blowing up, heating up, hammering away at the last strand of Gabrielle’s sanity.

The tension in her muscles increased until she’d lifted her bum clear off the bed.  She hovered there, concentrating every bit of energy on the machine as it pounded her, laying down sharp and brutal blows, working so vigorously she felt the soft leather warming her wet and swollen pussy.

“I shall remove my fine contraption now,” Mme de Villeneuve hollered over the rickety rattle of the working machine.  “It works. That is all I wanted to know.”

“No!”

Madame grinned as brutally as the machine dealt out punishment.  “You must be aching, young lady.”

“No!  No!  I…”

Another orgasm called her name and, like the one her captor had given her with just two fingers and a palm, this was a climax unlike anything she’d ever experienced. And yet totally, completely and entirely different.

“Oh god!” Gabrielle said, just a squeak, not that Madame would be able to hear her over the raucous machine.  “Oh my god, I’m just… this is… Oh god!”

“Give in to the power of it, Suzanne.”  Madame looked on with what seemed like voyeuristic jealousy.  “Let the climax burst inside you.”

Watching her breasts quiver relentlessly, Gabrielle imagined her orgasm as a big balloon filling her pelvis.  The leather phallus hammered her pussy until the tension in her muscles made her body a painful plank.

That didn’t last long.  It couldn’t. Like a rope under excruciating duress, she’d reached her limit and she snapped.

Her body collapsed on the bed.  She only fell an inch, but the tumble felt storeys high.  And still the relentless phallus attacked her worn-out cunt.  Her screams dissipated into the rattle and hum of the machine as it struggled to maintain its pace.

“Oh dear,” Mme de Villeneuve said, and the sentiment drew Gabrielle’s eye to the contraption.

“What’s happening?” Gabrielle asked, feeling as though panic might be necessary, but unable to arouse the feeling in her orgasmic mind.  “Is that smoke?”

Madame pulled the plug from the wall socket.  “Perhaps the machine has had enough for one day.”

“Ohhh…”

Gabrielle breathed hard as the contraption slowed like a chugging train.  It took up every bit of space her pussy had to offer.  The leather phallus couldn’t possibly have been throbbing inside her, but it certainly felt that way.  Her pussy fluttered around the shaft as Mme de Villeneuve summoned her monkeys to escort the machine from her room.

The experience wasn’t consensual, strictly speaking, and yet if she had the chance to relive it, smoking motor and all, she would do so in a heartbeat.

There wasn’t much to think about during the long hours she spent flat on her back with her legs spread wide. She thought about her family, of course—about her sisters who probably wouldn’t notice she was missing even if she was gone three months.  When she thought about her mother, whose death she’d caused, a sour sensation took hold of her stomach. She pushed it away and told herself not to go there.

If only she could have one day, just one, where she didn’t experience this shameful thought…

She couldn’t even think about her father, thanks to Mme de Villeneuve’s so-called “therapy.”  Gabrielle was certainly not in love with her father.  If the only boys she’d ever dated tended to share his warmth and tenderness, well, so what?  Those were excellent qualities in a man.  Didn’t mean she wanted to marry her father, or sleep with him, or whatever Madame had said.

Thank goodness he was in the states right now.  If he wasn’t on vacation, he’d surely have noticed she was missing. They rarely went a day without talking on the phone. By now he’d be worried sick, and that was the last thing Gabrielle wanted.  If she got out of Loindici Manor alive, she would never tell him what had happened.

And if she didn’t get out alive?  She could only hope someone would cover her naked body before he found her.

The door swung open and Mme de Villeneuve swanned in like she owned the place… which she did, as far as Gabrielle could tell, so maybe the high-handed attitude was appropriate.

“All day you’ve been asking me when your session will begin,” Madame said.  “Now it is time.”

“What time
is
it?  There are no windows in here. I can’t tell if it’s day or night.”

“You do not require such information for your rehabilitation, Suzanne.  When you seduce strangers, do you express any preference for time of day?”

“Do I…?” Gabrielle stammered.

“Your parents informed me they’ve walked in on you at six in the morning, twelve noon, eleven at night.  You seem to release your beast on demand, with no concern for time or place.”

“Oh.”  She could hardly argue. She wasn’t really Suzanne.  “What do you mean,
place
?”

“Your parents have many times rescued you from police custody after you were caught engaging your beast in public areas.”

“Oh…”

“A public park, a theme park, a waterpark…”

“Waterpark?” Gabrielle’s imagination soared.  “That’s terrible. There would be kids around.”

“A criminal act, to be certain.  Do you understand, now, why this therapy is necessary?”

Gabrielle’s stomach plunged when she thought about the real Suzanne running around the woods, corrupting minors, having sex with random guys in public.  “I’ve been so stupid.  There’s a beast on the loose and it’s all my fault.”

“That is why you are here, my beauty.  You will no longer allow the beast to control your actions, nor indeed your motivations.”  Mme de Villeneuve raised a hand. It held the beast’s chain.

For a moment, Gabrielle could only think about Suzanne—the real Suzanne, fucking random men in playgrounds, corrupting young minds, not caring how her actions impacted other people. It was Suzanne’s fault Gabrielle found herself trapped in the seedy underbelly of this horrible place, under the control of this horrible woman and that horrible…

Beast?

Gabrielle’s stomach dropped as Madame pulled him into the whitewashed room.  She’d been thoroughly drugged the last time he’d ravaged her.  In her mind’s eye he was more animal than man.  Now that the drugs had passed through her system, she saw the beast as he truly was: a man in a mask.

A brute, for sure, but only a man. A man with outstanding musculature, but only a man.  A chest like sculpted leather, arms like carved wood, a cock like a fucking machine’s phallus, but no more animal than she.

The mask was pretty convincing, she had to admit.  She could see why, in a drugged stupor, she wouldn’t have been able to tell where the edges left off.  Now that she could focus on the finer points, she realized he had on the kind of false fur they used on movie werewolves.  It looked real. 
Very
real.  But she knew now it wasn’t.

The beast was only a man.

Though that knowledge should have made her feel better about him, it actually made her feel much, much worse. It was one thing to be attacked by an animal who knew only nature.  But a
man
?  A man had a mind.  He could make his own decisions.  Why would he ravage her?  He knew the meaning of the word NO.

“Go away,” Gabrielle said. “I don’t want him here.  Go away.”

“Suzanne, my beauty, what’s come over you?”  Madame wrapped the chain around her hand, keeping the beast close at her side.  “All day you’ve been begging for therapy.”

“I’m not Suzanne. I lied before. I’m a good person. My name is Gabrielle.”

Madame looked stricken, and said to the beast, “Our patient seems to be experiencing a dissociative episode.”

“I’m not!  This isn’t multiple personalities or whatever. I’m
Gabrielle
. I’m not Suzanne.”

“Gabrielle,” Madame said, inching closer, speaking softly.  “Tell me about yourself, dear child.  Do you know Suzanne?”