by Tara Brown
I stepped toward him, unable to control my feet. “He was trying to make Mrs. Potts a venison stew to thank her for nursing him back to health.” I stepped closer again. “And you treated him like a criminal. He would have died up there. He might have died in the forest on the way home, like an animal. And I will never know. All for a deer—a stag? It’s ridiculous.”
A tear slipped from my eye and I realized what I was truly afraid of.
My father was completely alone. He was scared, sick, and no doubt as worried about me as I was him. But in my coward’s heart I didn't want to go back to the village because if I did, it meant Gaston would have me forever. And that was a fate worse than any I had before me.
My sickly father wouldn't be able to fight that fate for me.
Before I could open my mouth and say another thing the master spoke, “Your father is well. He is worried for you but that is all. He is home.”
“How could you possibly know that?”
He offered a large hand, but I just stared at it, uncertain of what would happen if I took it. He reached it forward and snatched my hand in his, still not revealing his face out from under the cloak or the shadows, and pulled me to him. He stepped back, revealing a birdbath there in the recess of the wall. He swirled a hand over it, making it calm and flat. “Tell the water the thing you wish to see.”
I leaned forward, seeing nothing but my own reflection, even in the dim light. I glanced back at him to where he had sunk farther back into the shadows. “What do you mean?” He made me nervous to be so close to him and in such a dimly lit spot.
“Speak to the water.” He said it as if I were daft.
So I turned my face and whispered to the water, doubting his sanity more so than before, “I wish to see my father.”
The water began to glow, from the bottom of the bath. I thought it might have been the sun coming back or something else, but the light was blue—pale blue.
It was beautiful in fact and mesmerizing. I leaned in, closer and watched as it swirled and churned, like the open sea.
It grew cloudy and dark and then stopped all at once. The water became flat and a vision appeared.
It was my father.
He was at home, soaking his feet and sipping a tea. Gaston was nowhere to be seen in the image. My father looked weak, not frail but sick. His eyes were red and tired. It made me sad to see. He ate some soup he must have made himself and sniffled into a handkerchief.
He was still unwell but he was alive.
As I lifted my face to say something to the master, I forgot my words the moment I saw his eyes.
Here in the shadows he might have succeeded in hiding himself from me but with the glowing light of the bath and its magic, I saw him clearer than I might have in the sunlight.
He was beautiful.
Hard and fierce, and yet vulnerable and frightened. His blue eyes and heavy brow drew me in. I didn't know what to think of him, but I liked seeing his face. It made my captivity much more reasonable to bear. There was something about him I couldn't shake. It was like being in a book where the lovers meet for the first time and their eyes are stuck in each other’s gaze.
I didn't see him as a master or a monster or a beast. He was suddenly something else.
His eyes widened. “Are you satisfied?”
I shook my head. “No, but thank you. I needed to see that.”
“Come as often as you like, see him as often as you need.”
I swallowed hard. “Thank you.”
“You are welcome.” His words were a whisper, “I am glad to see you found a dress more to your liking and less tempting for me.” His eyes trailed down the front of my baggy gown.
“I did. It’s one of Mrs. Potts’ dresses but she didn't seem to mind.”
He blinked and his eyes focused on my neck. He stepped back into the shadows and then I was alone. Because he moved so much faster than I did, when I hurried after him I realized he was already gone from the courtyard completely.
The sun crested the forest, peeping out from behind the clouds one last time before setting completely.
I shivered a little from the cold and hurried inside.
When Mrs. Potts came to my room to call me to dinner and to offer more of Babette’s clothing, I turned her down. I followed her into the dark hallway, wearing her own old gown with my hair tied back.
I sat at the long table, not fighting the fact I was ordered to be there.
When a cool wind blew through the dining room I wasn't surprised by the fact he was suddenly there, his shadow dancing in the flickering light of the fire and few candles.
He didn't speak, nor did I.
I sipped water and wine and ate bread, pretty much alone. As did he.
Cogsworth, Mrs. Potts, and Lumier delivered our food on silver trays and drinks in fine goblets, but they didn't speak to either of us. Their nervous behavior around him was back, as if they were tiptoeing over glass.
The meal was gourmet but it might have been grass and dirt for all I cared. Sitting across from him was worse than being near him. He was intriguing in the way a cat that wanted no affections was.
When I was done I was stuffed, more full than I had been in a long time. I got up, not thinking, and walked to the fire. I sat on the rug in front of the flames and sighed.
It was not a bad evening, even if he didn't try to talk to me. He didn't explain how he was a monster and a man and which one he preferred being. He didn't tell me why he held me captive for such a ridiculous offense.
He sat in his chair and I sat on the floor, both of us in tense silence.
I blinked and yawned, turning to see that he had left at some point. I had been lost in the flickering flames and the crackling wood so I missed it. I had also missed the meal being cleared away and the table looked as if neither of us had been there at all.
So I got up and left the room, walking slowly through the grand hall. A small light across the floor, leading in a direction I had never been, caught my eye.
I followed it, curiosity getting the better of me.
My insides tightened as I neared the door and a sound rippled from the small space. I knew that sound and yet I didn't turn away. I walked closer, pressing my ear against the door.
The sound grew louder.
I lifted a trembling hand to the knob. I had to know. I didn't know why but I did. I turned it slowly, listening for any difference in the noise. But it remained steady—some grunting followed by moaning. I knew the sound well enough to suspect what was beyond the door.
I leaned forward as I turned the knob and opened the door a crack. There was a large room behind the door, big enough that the massive fire burning in the middle of it created light and shadows in every corner. A woman hung from the high ceiling, suspended by ropes and harnesses. Her legs were spread wide, tied that way.
I had never seen anything so ghastly, and yet I couldn't tear my gaze from it if I had to.
It was insane and creative and yet disgusting.
She lay on her back, swinging as the master stood in front of her. His huge hands cupped her ass, holding her in place so that when she swung away from him she slid along his cock. He swung her back, meeting her body by thrusting himself forward, slapping his hips against her body. She cried out, writhing and moaning and completely unable to move.
I wasn't certain if she was a willing participant until I noticed it was Babette.
The room was vast and beautiful, a mahogany study for a powerful man. But the apparatus hanging from the ceiling and the large chests on the floor with whips and ties puddled around them made me think it wasn't just a study.
She clung to the ropes that tied her hands, rocking her body in the swinging motion, helping him along.
His taut ass clenched as he met her, with both of them making noises I found arousing. Again, just as they had when he was cupping them, my nipples hardened under the rough dress.
The way I moved, leaning more forward to see better, my nipple dragge
d across my hand, sending a tightening sensation through my body. I moved my hand, brushing my knuckles again over the buds I had created.
The sensation was wild, one I hadn’t felt ever.
It stirred things inside my stomach that I wondered at. I lowered my other hand, watching him thrust and her writhe. I lifted my skirt and touched the hot lips of my sex. What had Gaston called it again?
My pussy.
I slipped my middle finger inside the lips, brushing them in the moisture I had made in my excitement.
A soft gasp escaped my mouth as I bit my lip and circled the thing at the top of my pussy that stuck out a little. It was the greatest feeling I had ever had.
The shadows of the people making the strangest love I had ever seen or heard of, created a play for me. I could fill in the blanks, making me the girl on the swing. I wanted the master to fill me up the way he did her. I could see Babette arching her back and crying out in pleasure as he bounced their bodies off one another.
I rubbed the fabric over my nipple faster, hitching my own breath with pleasure and shock as my finger worked faster. A rush of energy swept over me as I tensed and released all at once. A soft moan escaped my lips as my breathing turned ragged and my heart pounded.
I dropped to my knees, closing the door quietly and breathing heavily into the frame, clutching to it and myself.
There was no excuse I could muster to forgive myself for the great evil I had just committed. I had pleasured myself while acting like a voyeur.
It was disgraceful.
I got up and hurried to my room, desperate to forget what I had done and grateful no one knew.
Chapter Eight
When I woke my pussy was wet again. My finger was between the lips and coated in my own juices.
I pulled my hand from the blankets, stunned that I had pulled my dress up and touched myself in my sleep.
There was no explaining it except that perhaps I had been so traumatized by the events of the evening I had experienced a nightmare about it all.
It was still dark outside. I had woken in the middle of the night.
Lying there, I relived the whole scene: the firelight and the dancing bodies upon the wall, and the way his thrust was met by the way she moaned.
It was fabulous and appalling all at once.
I breathed deeply, stirring in my sheets.
I wanted more than I could offer myself. I wanted to feel what Babette had been feeling. She had moaned and writhed in what appeared to be agony, but I knew it was pleasure. Which was contrary to what I had ever been led to believe about sexual intercourse.
I had been told it was for the man and not the woman at all.
But the way the master had run his face across me, teasing and humiliating me, had me in knots with desire.
Pulling back the covers, I got up to sneak to the door. I cracked it, peeking through the small space between the door and the frame.
There was nothing in the hall, apart from the few candles Lumier left lit.
I shrugged on a cloak that Mrs. Potts had left me and slipped from the room. Hurrying to the stairs, I tiptoed down them. My instincts begged me not to go to the room, but my curiosity and depravity won over.
I stood outside the door with my fingers placed against it, wondering if they were there still. Praying they were.
I turned the knob. My stomach lit up with butterflies and anxiety. When I opened it I saw the fire was out and nothing moved inside the disgusting space.
There was no doubt my mind wished I would close the door, but my thighs squeezed together, pressing hard against my sex and my fingers clutched to the wood of the door, arguing I needed to see inside. Silently, I opened it farther and crept inside, closing it behind me.
The room smelled of mahogany and the dying embers in the fireplace but there was something else.
It was him.
I could smell him in the air the way I had when I had been pressed against his firm chest. I hadn’t noticed the scent before but now I did. It was musk and manliness and it made my mouth water.
Creeping across the rugs to the fire, I scanned the large space. Moonlight shone in the wall of windows, lighting the way for my intrusion.
When I got to the fire the contraption that had hung from the ceiling was gone. No ropes and no buckles. The large chests glinted from the corner of the space, calling out to me.
I walked to them, half in a trance of desire and desperation. I dropped to my knees, lifting the lid and peering inside the first chest. The moon at my back cast a shadow over the chest so I couldn't see what I was revealing by lifting it open.
I turned, jumping when I saw him there, again nothing but a massive shadow.
“What are you doing in here?”
I parted my lips to speak but how could I? What would I reveal in my truths? I closed my mouth and shook my head, hoping he would assume I was being nosey.
But he bent and grabbed me from the floor, lifting me into the air and plopping me onto my feet. “What are you doing in here?” He repeated himself a lot. It was unnerving because I always suspected he knew the answer.
I shook my head again. “I don't know.” It was the truth. What was I looking for? I was already on borrowed time with my virtue, or rather the scrap of it that was hanging on.
“Do you want this, Belle?” He cocked his head to the side. But with the moonlight behind him I couldn't see clearly. I pressed my lips together, not certain of the answer I wanted to say the most.
He pulled me into him, his breath whispering over my skin. “What do you want?”
“You.” The word was a whisper I never expected to say. I shoved him on the chest recalling the way he had tormented me and that it had only been hours since his hands and cock had been all over Babette. I turned and ran from the room, haunted by the sound of his chuckle behind me.
I didn't run back to my room. I ran for the birdbath. I was desperate to see my father.
“I wish to see my father.” I hovered over it, shaking and sobbing. His face came into view, but what I saw didn't make me feel better. He was speaking to a man, not Gaston, a different man. He looked wild-eyed and confused. He blew his nose and shook his head, staring off in different directions.
The man nodded and wrote something on a paper, slipping it into his pocket.
I stepped back, confused by what I had seen.
My father was clearly worried about me.
He wasn't the only one. I was desperately worried about the sordid creature I had become here.
Sighing, I dropped to my knees and leaned against the old birdbath. There was no escaping the castle, and I feared there was also no escaping my desires. My sex throbbed, wishing someone was touching or licking it.
On the other end of the spectrum, my father was worried and clearly not doing well.
What had become of us?
Defeated, I closed my eyes and sighed again, feeling the pull of sleep and sadness.
I didn't know I had fully fallen asleep until I woke in my room. I was tucked away in my bed, but I was not alone. In the chair across the room slept the master. His legs were sliding from the chair and his neck was at an odd angle. He looked painfully uncomfortable, whereas I was tucked into my bed and fully covered and warm.
I got up to bring him a blanket but the moment I moved his eye popped open.
For the first time I saw the actual color of them, bright blue. In the light of the luminous bedroom he was more beautiful than I had imagined he might be. The brilliant blue eyes, dark hair, and morning scruff upon his face made him look normal—like any man might have. Even the shaggy set of his dark hair made me fight my grin.
But the eyes watching me were unnerving.
He got up in one fluid movement, looking around the room before speaking as if he were in pain. “You are the most confusing young woman I have ever met.” He turned and left the room—left me standing there in the middle of it with a blanket in my hands.
I hated him—at least I
wanted to—and yet found myself wondering why he was the way he was. He had clearly been made this way.
What was this curse none of them spoke of but we all knew was there?
Instead of focusing on it, I got dressed and headed downstairs where breakfast was the same, lonely and ready for me.
I glanced about, wondering about the filth in a room that at one time was obviously meant to be enjoyed in a relaxing way.
Curious and bored, if I was being completely honest, I got up and started looking about the empty space. In the far corner of the room there was a set of double doors. I opened them against my better judgment, coughing as dust and staleness filled the air around me.
It was a dark storage room filled with very fine furnishings. I dragged one of the chairs from the closet-type room and whacked it until the dust lifted and I could see there were more of the roses. They were everywhere. I traced the beautiful petals and design with my finger until I was interrupted.
“Madam, are you lost?”
I turned to see Lumier and smiled, shaking my head. “I want to make this room pretty again. Do you think you could help me?” He opened his mouth and I could plainly see the answer was not what I wanted. I smiled wider. “I just think the master is very unpleasant because the house is so dreadful. He needs someone to cheer things up around here. I find a dreary house makes me dreary as well.”
Lumier wrinkled his nose. I sighed and shook my head. “Don't worry about it. I will do it myself.”
He drew his dark brow together and I realized I couldn't place his age. It was the same as everyone else here. I couldn't quite tell what age they were. I imagined Lumier was in his fortieth year, but then there was a youthfulness to his slim face that whispered I might be wrong. It was the same with his personality, and everyone else’s in the house. While he had a tidy and simple look to him with his long dark hair pulled back into a ponytail and a butler’s uniform over his skinny body, there seemed to be a glint of something more in his eyes.
