reached over and plucked one of her makeup brushes from the table. Making sure he didn't block her view, the Beast trailed the long-handled brush over her belly and through the black hair surrounding her sex. With delicate precision, he drew the brush's tip across the topmost part. Amarantha shivered.
Repeatedly he drew the brush tip over her flesh as if painting her. Dipping it into the well of moisture that seemed to bubble out of her without end. She squirmed and panted as he continued. Unable to tear her eyes away, she watched as he drew the silky bristles through the valleys and tickled the peaks.
“A lesson,” the Beast murmured in her ear. He pointed the brush's tip into the little hood near the top of her sex, and Amarantha cried out. “This is your pearl. The seat of intense pleasure.” He drew the brush down and swirled it in the font of fluid below. “This is the portal of love, which guards your virginity and which I may not breach until you beg me to.”
“Unless I beg you to,” she gasped.
She heard the smile in his voice. “ Until , my bride. This,” he continued, drawing the brush down between her splayed cheeks, “is your nether passage.” He reversed the brush in his hand and slid the rounded end into her puckered opening. “This, Amarantha, has been mine to take from the moment you vowed to obey me.” He pushed deeper, and Amarantha moaned at the invasion. “I am a monster, yes, but a patient one.”
39
The Beast stood, taking the makeup brush with him and tossing it into a receptacle.
“Would you care to dine, my love?” he asked with great courtesy, and Amarantha tried to gather her wits.
“Yes, please. My lord.”
“Very well. You wait there and don't move.”
With that, the Beast left the room, left Amarantha splayed open, staring helplessly at her sex. Her father had told her that any ninny could keep her legs closed for one week, and here she sat, legs impossibly spread, filled with restlessness and feeling oddly desperate to give a monster whatever he asked of her.
On the second night.
The Beast strode back in, carelessly crunching over the bits of broken wood and glass. He carried a plate in one hand and a chair in the other. Reversing the chair, he set it behind hers, straddled it, and sat. He speared a bit of meat with a silver fork, brought it around her cheek, and held it to her lips.
The Beast's voice held amusement at her surprise. “I thought we'd dine here, as the view is so lovely.” Amarantha squirmed uncomfortably, but he only chuckled.
“Eat, Amarantha.”
She obeyed, taking the tidbit from the fork. While she chewed, the Beast got a piece of roasted potato ready and set the plate on the floor. He held the potato to her lips and let her take it.
“I've been thinking about what you said,” the Beast mentioned, as if they were having a casual supper. “It is foolish for me to keep these gloves on when you've already seen, and felt, my hands.” She watched in the mirror as, behind her back, he stripped off the gloves and tossed them to the floor. “It's a vain indulgence that has become unwieldy, since it prevents me from feeling your beauty as well as watching it.”
40
He leaned over and forked up several pieces of meat and vegetables. She would receive no leisurely feeding like the night before. The Beast seemed impatient to get her fed and on to other things tonight.
Her punishments, no doubt.
He fed her the food, then set the fork on the floor and draped his hands over her shoulders. A man's hands, yes, but covered in golden fur with retracted curved claws where his nails should be. The Beast's fingers trailed over the upper curves of her bosom, tracing the scratches he'd placed there.
Noticing she'd finished that bite, the Beast fed her another, resumed caressing her cleavage with one hand, and dropped the other to her raised knee, stroking the stocking that rose from her laced-up boot. Amarantha stopped chewing. She wanted to pull
Repeatedly he drew the brush tip over her flesh as if painting her. Dipping it into the well of moisture that seemed to bubble out of her without end. She squirmed and panted as he continued. Unable to tear her eyes away, she watched as he drew the silky bristles through the valleys and tickled the peaks.
“A lesson,” the Beast murmured in her ear. He pointed the brush's tip into the little hood near the top of her sex, and Amarantha cried out. “This is your pearl. The seat of intense pleasure.” He drew the brush down and swirled it in the font of fluid below. “This is the portal of love, which guards your virginity and which I may not breach until you beg me to.”
“Unless I beg you to,” she gasped.
She heard the smile in his voice. “ Until , my bride. This,” he continued, drawing the brush down between her splayed cheeks, “is your nether passage.” He reversed the brush in his hand and slid the rounded end into her puckered opening. “This, Amarantha, has been mine to take from the moment you vowed to obey me.” He pushed deeper, and Amarantha moaned at the invasion. “I am a monster, yes, but a patient one.”
39
The Beast stood, taking the makeup brush with him and tossing it into a receptacle.
“Would you care to dine, my love?” he asked with great courtesy, and Amarantha tried to gather her wits.
“Yes, please. My lord.”
“Very well. You wait there and don't move.”
With that, the Beast left the room, left Amarantha splayed open, staring helplessly at her sex. Her father had told her that any ninny could keep her legs closed for one week, and here she sat, legs impossibly spread, filled with restlessness and feeling oddly desperate to give a monster whatever he asked of her.
On the second night.
The Beast strode back in, carelessly crunching over the bits of broken wood and glass. He carried a plate in one hand and a chair in the other. Reversing the chair, he set it behind hers, straddled it, and sat. He speared a bit of meat with a silver fork, brought it around her cheek, and held it to her lips.
The Beast's voice held amusement at her surprise. “I thought we'd dine here, as the view is so lovely.” Amarantha squirmed uncomfortably, but he only chuckled.
“Eat, Amarantha.”
She obeyed, taking the tidbit from the fork. While she chewed, the Beast got a piece of roasted potato ready and set the plate on the floor. He held the potato to her lips and let her take it.
“I've been thinking about what you said,” the Beast mentioned, as if they were having a casual supper. “It is foolish for me to keep these gloves on when you've already seen, and felt, my hands.” She watched in the mirror as, behind her back, he stripped off the gloves and tossed them to the floor. “It's a vain indulgence that has become unwieldy, since it prevents me from feeling your beauty as well as watching it.”
40
He leaned over and forked up several pieces of meat and vegetables. She would receive no leisurely feeding like the night before. The Beast seemed impatient to get her fed and on to other things tonight.
Her punishments, no doubt.
He fed her the food, then set the fork on the floor and draped his hands over her shoulders. A man's hands, yes, but covered in golden fur with retracted curved claws where his nails should be. The Beast's fingers trailed over the upper curves of her bosom, tracing the scratches he'd placed there.
Noticing she'd finished that bite, the Beast fed her another, resumed caressing her cleavage with one hand, and dropped the other to her raised knee, stroking the stocking that rose from her laced-up boot. Amarantha stopped chewing. She wanted to pull
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