Beauty and the Beast (an erotic re-imagining) Read online

  Her father inhaled a shaky breath. “I’ll go down. You stay here.”

  “I’ll do no such thing,” Belle said.

  A narrow staircase led down in to the bowels of the castle, and Belle stuck close to her Papa as he descended the stairs.

  “I’ve returned as promised, Beast,” Henry called.

  They pushed open a heavy door and entered the dungeon. Belle blinked, trying to adjust to the darkness. Something…some thing was in the corner, hidden in the shadows.

  “Who’s there?” she called, her voice sounding high and frightened to her ears.

  A beast crept out of the corner on all fours. When he stood, he towered over them both by four or five feet. Belle gasped at the terrifying sight.

  “This must be Belle,” the Beast said. “The girl who loves roses.”

  Belle nodded, trembling. “Sir, please don’t punish my father for my mistake. I never should have asked for a rose. He didn’t mean to steal one, he only meant to please me—”

  The Beast roared, silencing her.

  Tears stung her eyes. Her father wasn’t crazy—this was real. The Beast, he was real! And even more horrible than even her father’s story could have prepared her for.

  “I won’t punish your father then,” Beast said. “I will punish you.”

  Her father threw himself protectively in front of her. “You wanted me, Beast, and I am here as promised. Take me.”

  Belle couldn’t let her father die for her. She couldn’t. Henry Castelle was the only truly good soul she knew, and she would protect her Papa to the death.

  “Beast,” she whispered. “Sir. Take me in his place.”

  The Beast looked at her appraisingly, staring at her so intently she felt the heat from his gaze.

  “You will stay as my prisoner, forever, in place of your father?” Beast asked softly.

  “I will.” Belle’s cheeks were wet with tears, tears for the loss of her freedom, and for the pain she knew she was causing her Papa. But anything was better than having the Beast take him.

  “So be it,” the Beast said. He turned to her father. “Get out and never return. If you do, or if you send anyone looking for me, I will eat her.”

  Henry cried out in horror, not moving, reaching his hands toward Belle.

  “I said LEAVE!” the Beast roared.

  A gale-force wind blew down the stairs, wrapped around her Papa, and carried him out of the dungeon.

  “What’s happening?” Belle gasped. “Where’s my Papa?”

  “He has been escorted off the castle grounds,” the Beast said.

  Belle sobbed, putting her face in her hands. She didn’t want to see the Beast, didn’t want to see the cold dark dungeon where she would surely die.

  “Are you…are you going to eat me?” she asked.

  The Beast bared all his fangs, and she trembled.

  “No, Belle, I will not be eating you tonight. Get some rest.”

  Belle worked up the courage to speak again. “Where will I sleep?”

  Suddenly, the Beast loomed above her. The muscles across his fur-covered chest bulged, his shoulders so broad they blocked her view of anything but…him.

  “There’s some hay in the cell. You’ll sleep there—unless you planned on sleeping in my bed. I assumed you were the virtuous maiden type. Perhaps I was mistaken.”

  Belle looked at him in confusion. “No! I mean, I am. But…you’re an animal. You don’t see me like that, do you?”

  Good heavens, where did that even come from? Why was she even entertaining the idea that a beast would want to ravish her?

  But something about the way those cool green eyes of his stared at her made her think he wasn’t all animal after all. He did speak, and reason, after all. What sort of beast was this?

  “I suppose I am an animal,” he said, his voice thick. “And yes, I see you.”

  ***

  The Beast prowled the great hall above the dungeon. Just below his paws lay a beautiful girl—a girl who would rather die than give her Papa over to him.

  Something tugged on his conscience, a nagging feeling of guilt. It wasn’t fair to keep her his prisoner. But this was his only chance. The one and only time he’d ever had a girl in his castle, a girl who might be his salvation.

  He had to keep her, at least long enough to see if she could ever look past his hideous appearance and into his true soul.

  What then? She’d only see the man who’d separated her from her father, the man who’d kept her prisoner. Even if she became accustomed to his beastly appearance, she could never love him.

  Accustomed to his appearance…

  Yes. That was a start, at least. He would see her often, often enough for her to get used to how he looked, so she wouldn’t cringe in fright every time he came by. Once she was able to see him without fear, she’d be able to talk with him.

  He already knew they had one thing in common, at least.

  They both loved roses.

  Perhaps, for her, he could cut some of the deep red blooms. Their color and aroma would brighten the dreary castle up, at least, and might even make her feel more comfortable with her situation.

  “Castle,” he said to the empty hall. “I want a bouquet of roses in the dungeon for the girl.”

  Heaven knew she had earned her roses tonight.

  ***

  Belle laid on a large pile of hay in the cell, staring out the barred window above her head. The window itself was only a foot tall, and seemed to look out onto the grass.

  She closed her eyes, determined to imagine herself in a better place. In a beautiful garden filled with roses. She could almost smell them…

  The scent of roses in the air became so heady and real that she opened her eyes to see if perhaps everything had been a bad dream. Stone walls surrounded her.

  But…where did that bouquet of gorgeous red roses come from? They sat on the edge of her cot, freshly cut and bound together with a ribbon.

  Belle reached over and picked the bouquet up, bringing it to her face. They were real, as real as her prison. Had she fallen asleep, had that horrible beast been there to drop them off?

  Well, if he brought her roses, maybe he wasn’t so horrible.

  No. He was horrible. He was keeping her prisoner! And he hadn’t even left her any food. Maybe he could run around hunting down deer with those fangs of his, but she needed something on a plate.

  “The roses are lovely,” she murmured under her breath. “But I can’t eat them. I need supper.”

  Immediately a tray piled high with bread, roasted chicken, and steamed carrots appeared before her. She gasped and jumped back, knocking a piece of bread off the tray in her haste.

  “I’ve gone mad,” she breathed. Delusions? Hallucinations?

  But the food smelled so good. So…real. How could food that appeared out of thin air be real? Perhaps she was like a person lost in the desert who thinks they see a waterfall, only to find out they are licking a sand dune.

  Her hunger got the better of her, and she picked up the bread, holding it close to her face to examine it. It didn’t disappear when she touched it, so that was promising.

  A tiny bite, as a scientific experiment of sorts, couldn’t hurt. Right?

  Belle nibbled the bread, waiting for her mind to snap out of it and to discover she was gnawing on the edge of her shoe. That didn’t happen, and the bread was extremely tasty, so she moved in for the chicken.

  Amazing!

  “Thank you for the food,” she said to the empty cell.

  No response. Fairies? Could it really be fairies helping her, like Papa had told the Constable?

  “I’d love some wine, if you’re in the giving mood, fairies,” she added. Not that she actually thought it would happen. It was merely an experiment.

  An open bottle of red wine and a glass settled onto the stone floor. What on earth?

  Belle didn’t usually drink, but tonight she wanted to escape her cold reality and fall asleep. Perhaps she would wake to
find the roses, the food, and the wine were all part of an elaborate dream.

  In the meantime, she intended to get drunk.

  Belle kneeled on the hard floor and poured herself a glass of wine, carefully taking the glass back onto the hay with her. Was she being granted wishes?

  She took a deep sip, relishing the taste. Why had she been such a teetotaler all these years? Wine was delicious. Especially magic wine gifted from fairies.

  “If I am being granted wishes, I wish to be home with my Papa.”

  Nothing. Nothing happened at all.

  “I wish for a saw so that I may cut those bars loose,” she tried.

  Yes! A sharp, scary-looking metal saw appeared at the floor below the window, clattering against the stone.

  What would happen if she escaped? The Constable thought her father was crazy; if she said there was indeed a beast, would they want to send her to the Institution for Lunatics as well?

  If no one came to slay the Beast, he would no doubt find them and eat them both. Still, she had to try. With an unladylike gulp, Belle finished her glass of wine for courage.

  Now she only had to avoid sawing off one of her fingers. She picked up the saw, surprised by how heavy it was. It was a difficult angle, standing on the hay with the saw, but she may as well start somewhere.

  “I wish for these bars to be gone,” she said. Nothing happened.

  The sound of the saw screeching against the metal bars rattled her nerves, and she wasn’t making much headway, even after giving it a really good try for about a half an hour. The one bar she was working on wasn’t even cut through yet, and she still had five more to go.

  It was too much. Her arms ached, and the hay she stood on began to look more inviting as a place to sleep.

  At least the saw could be a weapon, for when the Beast returned. She could threaten him with it and demand to be set free.

  If he set her free, she would have broken her word, though. And he’d go after her Papa again. That was the whole reason she was there in the first place.

  Sudden movement outside the window caught her eye. She glimpsed something outside—a wolf? No. The Beast. He prowled along the edges of the forest, and though her vision was limited by the small window, one thing she could see clearly—the moonlight glinting off of his bloody fangs.

  It appeared the Beast had been out hunting.

  Please, God, let this all be a dream. Please, please, God.

  But it wasn’t a dream. She was awake, and more terrified of her predicament than even before.

  Belle exhaled shakily, and put the saw down, nudging it under the hay a bit with her foot to hide it from view. She poured another glass of wine and sipped from the glass, cradling the roses in her arm, breathing in their comforting scent.

  I wish to wake up at home with Papa…

  The wine finally hit her, and she was asleep when the Beast returned.

  2: The Beast’s Captive

  Henry Castelle was sweaty and streaked with dirt from the woods by the time he raced to the Constable.

  “You must help me!”

  The Constable took his boots off his desk and frowned. “Let me guess. This is about a beast.”

  “Yes!” Henry gasped. “The Beast has taken Belle prisoner. He could be eating her alive as we speak, we have to save her!”

  The Constable nodded. “Let’s calm down now, Mr. Castelle. Please sit, I’ll be right back. We’ll get you the help you need.”

  Henry slumped into the chair in relief. Finally, they were listening.

  But the Constable returned from the back office with his wife Mrs. Sharone. The lady who ran the Institution for Lunatics. Henry grabbed the side of the chair as she approached.

  Mrs. Sharone stared down at him in his chair. “A beast has taken your daughter prisoner, is that correct?”

  “Yes, madam.”

  “Is she dead?” She frowned, picking up her clipboard.

  “I hope not,” Henry whispered. “I don’t know. He could have eaten her. We must find her.”

  “Mr. Castelle,” she said, “I think you are overwhelmed and scared. I think you’re trying to tell us that something awful happened, and that it wasn’t your fault, am I right?”

  Henry nodded mutely.

  “Mr. Castelle, are you the Beast?”

  “What? No!”

  “Did you hurt your daughter, Mr. Castelle?” she asked.

  Henry jumped up. “You’re the lunatic, Mrs. Sharone. And if the Constable doesn’t help me get Belle and slay this Beast so help me God I will—”

  He didn’t get to finish his threat. The Constable pushed him to the floor, and he hit his head. Everything went black and fuzzy for a moment. When he came to, his wrists hurt—the Constable had put handcuffs on him.

  “Well,” Mrs. Sharone said, her voice sounding distant and tinny. “He’s certainly a danger to others. I’ll take him to the Institution so he can be sedated. I fear the worst for his beautiful daughter.”

  The Constable nodded grimly. “Henry’s covered in dirt. I’ll search his garden for any fresh gravesites.”

  ***

  Back at the castle, the Beast entered the dungeon quietly. He wanted to check on the girl, to be sure she was all right.

  A half-empty bottle of wine lay on the ground by her hay pile, where she sprawled, asleep. Beast grinned. It amused him that both she and her father knew how to get what they needed from his enchanted castle. Neither of them had needed a note explaining it, the way he had.

  That indicated that she was the accepting sort. When things she asked for appeared out of nowhere, she seemed to have accepted it and moved on, no explanation needed. Hopefully that meant she would learn to accept his appearance as well.

  Only time would tell.

  The Beast crept toward her, not wanting to frighten her by waking her, as he had done to Nadine that night so long ago. The memory of her screams of terror still filled his nightmares.

  Belle’s long brown hair splayed around her head, one pale hand nestled under her cheek. Her plain blue dress was simple but form-fitting, as if she’d made it before she’d finished growing into her curves. The buttons at her neck were undone, leaving her collarbone exposed.

  She was beautiful…no wonder they called her Belle. The girl certainly qualified to have a name that meant Beauty.

  Beast leaned in closer to her, breathing in the warm, sweet scent of her skin. He couldn’t recall ever doing that to a girl when he was human—sniffing her. Maybe he had become more of an animal than he’d thought.

  Belle stiffened, her brow creasing, her eyes squeezed shut.

  “I didn’t mean to wake you,” Beast said softly.

  She kept her eyes closed. “I’m scared,” she whispered.

  “I won’t hurt you.”

  “Don’t eat me.”

  He smiled but composed himself, knowing a smile only looked like he was baring his fangs. If she chose to open her eyes when he was grinning at her, she’d probably run screaming.

  “I won’t eat you, Belle,” he promised.

  He’d never actually eaten a person, but it had seemed like a good threat when Henry Castelle was there. Now he wished he could take it back so she wouldn’t be so frightened to have him near her.

  “Why are you here, then, if not to eat me?” she asked.

  “I wanted to see you,” he admitted. “It’s been so long since I’ve had human contact.”

  “How long?” she asked, keeping her eyes shut.

  “Ten years.” He ran his fingers over her silky hair.

  “What happened ten years ago?”

  He couldn’t tell her, so he wouldn’t try. “I…changed.”

  “Change back,” she whispered.

  If only it were so simple. Perhaps she thought he’d been a nice beast who changed into a mean beast. He laughed, the sound coming out like a howl.

  Belle whimpered, and Beast stopped laughing. He touched her cheek gently, running his hand across her smooth face, relishin
g the feel of her skin. She bit her lip to hold back a gasp.

  “I’d like to change,” he said. “Maybe you can help me.”

  “How?”

  “It’s been a long time since I’ve had a woman for company,” he said. “I want to touch you. Is that all right?”

  Belle inhaled sharply, but she nodded.

  “Why are you saying yes, if you’re afraid?”

  “Because you’re so big,” she whispered, her eyes still shut. “I’m scared you’ll hurt me.”

  “I promise I won’t hurt you,” he said. “You have my word. My only desire is to make you feel good right now.”

  At that, she relaxed visibly, the crease leaving her forehead. Beast kept one hand against her cheek, and with his other hand, spanned the length of her body and gently touched her foot.

  “Your feet are cold,” he said, holding them in one large hand to warm them.

  “I am a bit chilled, sir.”

  “It’s cold and dark down here in the dungeon,” he admitted. “I think you should have taken me up on my offer to sleep upstairs, in my bed.”

  Belle moaned as he moved his hand up her leg to her knee, whether in fear or pleasure, he couldn’t tell. But she wasn’t stopping him.

  Her blue dress lifted, leaving her thighs bare. She wore nothing underneath, and he could smell her feminine musk. The scent drove him wild with desire, but he forced himself to go slowly, to not frighten the girl.

  Beast rubbed her thighs, warming her flesh. With a sigh, her legs parted ever so slightly, her body melting into the hay.

  He reached the junction of her thighs, the one part of her body that threw off heat. His thumb rested on the tender bud he found, more beautiful than any rose in his garden.

  “Have you ever been touched here?” he asked quietly, his voice thick.

  “No,” she whispered. She was wet for him, slippery beneath his hand.

  Beast slid one finger inside her tight channel. “You’re not a virgin, Belle. How is it that no one has touched you here?”

  She gasped, tilting her hips up to meet his fingers, still keeping her eyes shut. “But I am a virgin, sir. Well—the baker’s apprentice last year…just a little kissing in the barn loft. He didn’t know how to do…what you’re doing.”