Belle

by Tamara Vincent

  Then she left her bedroom, and went down the stairs for breakfast.

  The Master was there, sitting at the head of the long table, and so where the two harlots, the signs of the previous night’s incontinence on their face, their posture.

  The Master looked up from his plate and his eyes expanded.

  “My dear Annabelle, what a surprise,” he said.

  The two women looked at her. The brunette licked her lips, while the blonde chuckled.

  Annabelle walked briskly to the table, and without pausing, climbed on top of it. The women stared at her goggle-eyed as she started on all fours along the table. There was a saucy smile on her painted lips, and her eyes were burning into the Master’s eyes. She prowled slowly through the dishes and bowls, knocking down bottles and pushing food off the table. The women stretched their hands, not to stop her, but to caress her body, her breasts, her sides. They sighed, and moaned, and she kept going, purposefully, until she was at the end of the table, her hands on the very edge, her face no more than five inches from the Master’s. She could see every line and every fold of his animal face, she could smell the musk of his fur, she could see the silver tips of his curved horns.

  “Annabelle—” he said.

  “Shut up,” she growled. “Shut up and fuck me.”

  And she woke up, panting.

  She went to the bathroom and cleaned herself up.

  She dropped her nightgown and her panties in the laundry basket, wondering shamefully what would those invisible servants that seemed to take care of every aspect of the house’s maintenance, when they found her stained things.

  She took a long cold shower, images from her dream still haunting her. She soaked and soaped her hair, her body, and let the icy-cold water shock her out of her reveries. Then she wrapped her head in a towel, like a turban, and put on her bathrobe, and decided to take the morning off. She laid in bed, trying to catch the sounds from the house, but nothing seemed to stir. Finally she dozed off, and this time no dreams came or, if they did, they left no memory behind, and no moist embarrassment.

  She dressed, and walked out in the corridor, and it was already dinner time. Through the tall windows she saw that it had started snowing, and looking down she saw the black car, and the Master, leading his two women. They climbed on board, and the car left.

  She dined alone, in the still house, and then she retreated for the night.

  She found it hard to sleep, and no sounds came from the corridor. She was, she was sure, alone in the great mansion.

  The snow kept falling the following day, as Annabelle prepared herself for another long session in the library. This time it was erotic poetry, she had to catalog and archive, and she spent most of the day between powerful verses from Sappho and John Donne, and salacious doggerel recorded by dubious authors. Students’ songs and courtly verses, in a variety of languages and metrics, describing with delicate words or rough images the couplings of gods and men, of spirits and animals.

  In the evening, she dined alone, and then she went to sleep. She had a moment of hesitation, when it came to locking the door. She was, after all, alone in a snowbound house. What was there to fear?

  And yet, she had her discipline.

  She pulled the key from her neck, and she locked the door, and then left the key hanging on the door handle by its blue ribbon.

  She checked herself in the mirror, not knowing exactly what she was looking for, and then she gave along stare at the woman in the gold dress, in the painting.

  Then with a sigh she opened her drawer, and set to write down what had happened in the last few days. When it came to her dream, she was brief. A nightmare, she wrote, the nature of which she could not remember.

  Then she slept.

  For two days and two nights Annabelle was alone in the great house, snow piling higher on the outside. Her meals were always punctually ready at the table, and the work in the library proceeded. She was slower now, taking more time to browse the strange volumes, to look at the pictures, to read a few passages, a chapter, a poem, a short story.

  She often found herself distracted, straining to hear any noise, any voice, any sign of somebody else there with her.

  But she was alone.

  She bathed, she ate, she took the dresses off their racks and put them back again.

  She opened the cigar box, and smelled the aroma of the seasoned tobacco.

  She felt strange, and a steely resolution started growing in her chest.

  And so, after three long days of solitude and silence, she ate her simple dinner, and then went up to her room.

  She took off her clothes and put on a flimsy nightgown, white with blue ribbons, and then sat at the foot of the bed, staring expectantly at the door she had not locked.

  Not tonight, she had decided.

  What could happen, but what she expected, and with each heartbeat welcomed more?

  The Master advanced into the room, breathing heavily, his shoulders heaving, his eyes burning. He was wearing a dark blue dressing gown with a black velvet collar, that billowed around his hairy legs like blown by a strong wind.

  “You should have locked your door,” he growled.

  Annabelle held his gaze, proud. “I decided not to.”

  “You don’t know—” he panted, “what I will do to you.”

  Annabelle allowed herself a cynical smile. “I think I can guess,” she said.

  Her heart was beating faster than ever, and yet she was calm, ready to take whatever would come. She had been moving towards this moment since she had come into this house. There was no reason to deny it. She felt both an intellectual kinship with this monstrous beast, and the strong, tidal pull of his animal sensuality.

  She could not dismiss the memory of the cries and gasps of pleasure of the two harlots, and was eager to experience the same ecstasy.

  The Master was now in front of her, where she sat at the foot of the bed. “You have been incautious,” he growled.

  Annabelle smiled, and tugged gently at the belt of the dressing gown, and pulled it open.

  Her eyes widened.

  “Oh, my goodness—” she whispered.

  He pushed her back on the mattress.

  “No!” she gasped.

  “It’s too late,” he growled. He grabbed the front of her nightgown and yanked it off her body, in a single gesture. She shrieked, her skin burning where the garment had ripped off. Then he was holding her by the wrists, pushing her back, holding her arms spread out as he climbed slowly on the mattress, between her legs.

  He lowered his huge head and he ran his tongue along her body. Annabelle gasped, and shuddered. The long, wet, raspy tongue lingered between her legs, and then the Master pushed on, tickling her navel, and then driving his hot breath and his tongue between her breasts, up her neck, and then down again.

  She could feel his colossal erection caress the inside of her thigh. She shook her head, but he silenced her, his tongue now into her mouth, searching, conquering.

  “Please,” she sighed, coming up for breath. His tongue curled around her breast, tickled her stiff nipples. He pushed between her labia, and she felt panic surge, her heart like a storm at sea in her ears, her eyes in his, wild, terrified.

  He entered her, slowly, pushing the walls of her virginity aside, and she let out a gurgle, and smiled, as the first electric shock of pleasure mingled with the pain.

  “Yessss!” she hissed, throwing her head back, her hair falling over her face.

  He plunged in, taking her maidenhood in a single stroke, ripping her open, shaking her like an earthquake.

  She let out a long, throaty yelp.

  Still he held her outstretched, like crucified, and rhythmically, mercilessly, pounded inside of her, deeper with each stroke, her legs curled around his hips, slamming into her, her ankles crossed in the small of her back, her mind suddenly full of a million obscenities, and then blank.

  She came two, three times in the space of two heartbeats, and then lai
d back, senseless, lost in a bottomless pit of pleasure.

  Later he took her again, holding her upright, letting her chose the tempo. She grabbed his horns and used them to hold herself up, and rocked her hips to pull him deeper, to extract more pleasure from him.

  His hands burned on her buttocks as she pressed her chest against his, her hair over her face like a curtain.

  He came again, filling her up with his fire, and she arched her back and cursed, and fell back on the mattress.

  He grabbed her tit and squeezed, making her scream in pain. Shew tried to escape. She rolled on her knees and lunged to the side of the bed., but he grabbed her by an ankle and pulled her back. She laughed, and threw her arms around his neck, and bit in his ear.

  “Do me,” she hissed. “Again!”

  Then her voice died in a strangled wail as he entered her again.

  Belle woke up late the next day, blinded by the white haze coming from the window. Her head was full of fluff, and her body ached all over, a furnace burning between her legs. She tried to move, she rolled on the mattress. She sat up, and brushed her hair back from her face, her breasts.

  She tried to rise, but found out her legs would not support her. She laughed, and surprised herself by laughing, at the thought.

  She recalled the Master’s bestial dong, the way he had administered it to her for long hours, as she had drifted in and out of a sensual stupor.

  She laid back, and with cold fingers she caressed her tumescent labia, her plump mound, the engorged folds of her vulva.

  She stretched, joints and vertebrae snapping, and she felt a languorous sensation wash over her.

  It was all she had expected, and much more.

  Again she drifted off to sleep, gently massaging her pussy.

  Belle limped into the dining room and gave a rueful smile at the Master. She was wearing a pair of high-waisted jodhpurs and knee-high boots, and a loose blouse that gave more than a hint of her cleavage.

  “You look gorgeous this morning,” he said.

  “I feel gorgeous,” she said, sitting, and sighed.

  Her eyes reduced to two burning slits. “You’ve been a beast last night.”

  “Isn’t that what they say about me out there?” he said. “Isn’t that what they call me?”

  “I thought we discussed gossip already,” she said. “And I am deeply disappointed.”

  “Why?”

  Her smile widened. “All those rumors, and they let out the most interesting detail,” she said.

  The Beast laughed, a long, howling sound. “You did seem surprised.”

  “Who wouldn’t be?” she said. “I’m sure I felt your tool push at the back of my mouth.”

  She laughed, and poured herself some coffee. She had been served an earthy breakfast this morning, eggs and sausages and bacon and baked beans and fried bread, tomatoes and mushrooms, and potato waffles. She wolfed down the lot, pouring more coffee on it.

  “You did not complain, anyway,” the Beast said. He chuckled. “Well, not much.”

  “I still wonder how I was able to take all of you in,” she said, piqued. “I will walk with a limp for days.”

  He snorted, his nostrils expanding. “Women are always complaining,” he said.

  “Oh, but I am not complaining. Not at all. In fact I was wondering—”

  “What?”

  She slid down of her chair and forced him to turn towards her. The chair dragged on the floor as he stared at her, puzzled.

  She knelt in front of him. “Let me see how it looks in the light of day.”.

  The Beast guffawed as Belle undid his trousers and released his cock. She widened her eyes and licked her lips. “Now this is really something,” she whispered.

  He ran his hand through her hair, and she smiled up at him. “I don’t want to dislodge my jaw,” she said, arching an eyebrow.

  He sighed.

  “But I have another idea,” she added.

  She pulled her blouse open, freeing her breasts. The Beast stared at her, as she cupped her tits and caught his erection in her cleavage.

  “You like it?” she asked.

  The beast growled.

  “I’ll take that for a yes,” she said, as she started rubbing his cock up and down between her tits, pushing on it, squeezing it. She inhaled deeply the salty aroma that spread in the air while the Beast caressed the sides of her head, sporting, his tail whipping his sides.

  She could feel him throb against her skin, thick as her wrist and long as her forearm, the purple head glistening.

  “Come on,” she cooed through gritted teeth, “be a good boy.”

  He moaned, his legs shaking. She grinned evilly and increased her tempo. “Come on,” she repeated.

  “You are crazy,” he roared.

  “Oh, yes! I am completely crazy!” she replied, bouncing up and down frantically. “You made me like this.”

  The Beast threw back his head and he spasmed with a powerful heave, releasing his load.

  Belle screamed in delight as the warm jet struck her and seemed to go on forever. It soaked her hair and splashed in her face, dripping down her chin and onto her boobs, splattering on her trousers and on the carpet, and still it kept pouring, like a geyser, like a hydrant.

  Then he laid back, hunching his shoulders, and groaned a deep sound of satisfaction.

  Belle straightened her back and ran her hands through her hair. Staring the Beast in the eye, she licked her lips, and collected a thick dollop of warm pale goo off her cleavage, and put it in her mouth.

  “Take me upstairs,” she said.

  He stood, his tail snapping from side to side, and grasped her. She squealed as he put her over his shoulder, and squealed and laughed and screamed obscenities until he threw her down on her bed, and pulled off one of her boots. She fumbled with the buttons of her pants.

  Then he licked her face, and pushed a clawed hand between her thighs.

  Belle stretched over the Beast, draped over his hairy body like a blanket. She licked his jawline, and drew circles in the fur on his chest with her finger.

  “Is this what happened to the others?” she asked, dreamily.

  He was holding her butt in his big hand, one finger gently caressing her sphincter. “No,” he said.

  “Did you devour them?” she asked.

  He laughed, loud, and rocked her like an earthquake.

  “Don’t be silly,” he said. He pushed his finger gently in, and she took a deep breath.

  “Then what?”

  “Most of them just did the job they were expected to do, and then collected their money and left.”

  “They were never seen back in town.”

  He ran his talons down her spine. “Why go back there? To be the object of gossip and mistrust and who knows what else?”

  She shifted her position, laying her head against his shoulder.

  “Much better to leave forever, use the money to set themselves up in some big city where they could start anew.”

  “It figures,” she sighed.

  “What?” he asked.

  “I dreamed I was special. The only one to truly please you, the only one you would not turn into your next dinner.”

  Again he laughed, holding her with his corded arm to avoid she tumbled down.

  “You are special,” he said.

  “Really?”

  “You gave yourself up willingly, and you are one wild, horny little creature.”

  It was her time to laugh. “Beast, you can’t imagine just how horny you make me.”

  “I think I do,” he grinned.

  “Really?” she asked, pushing herself up. She ground her ass against his hand. “Then why don’t you do what you’ve been thinking about this last half hour?” she asked.

  The Beast laughed. “You are completely crazy.”

  “And I want you to make me crazier.”

  She sat up. “Come on,” she said. “Do you want me on all fours?”

  She pushed with her bott
om against his growing erection.

  “Like an animal?” she asked, running her hands over his pecs, grasping handfuls of fur. “Come on, I know you want it—”

  He caressed her hair, and grabbed a handful.

  “Yes!” she said. “Now we are on the same page!”

  They rolled on the mattress, and shifted their positions. The bed-springs creaked, and she held on to one of the posts, arching her back and offering him her ass.

  He slapped her buttocks, and purred as the white flesh quivered. He pulled her head back, tugging at her hair, and she screamed and laughed. “That hurt!”

  “This will hurt more,” he laughed, and he pushed inside of her.

  She gagged and coughed and moaned, her knuckles white as she held on the bedpost, and at the same time pushed back, allowing him to get deeper inside of her.

  “Yeahhhh!” she groaned, as he pulled back and then pushed back in, and she pressed down on the mattress and saliva trickled from her mouth.

  “You like it?” he growled.

  “Yes!” she squealed.

  He pumped inside of her, and she started making rhythmic yelps, seconding his thrusts, her boobs bouncing, her hands sliding down the post, her head pulled back.

  Then his buttocks contracted and he flooded her with his fiery cum, and she let out a final howl of pleasure.

  Then he let go of her hair and pulled out of her and she collapsed, panting, bathed in sweat, and completely mad with pleasure.

  Belle was in the library, having a measure of brandy and a cigar while she perused “The Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure”, when she heard a commotion in the hall and voices and steps approaching.

  She looked up, a finger inside the book to keep her mark, and was surprised seeing the Beast coming in, two women under his arms, once again the blonde and the brunette she had met before, bouncing and bubbling, made up like whores and wearing cheap knock-offs of elegant dresses. One of them was smoking a cigarette, while the other had the unfocused looks of the drug-addled.