This is a fairly long one. Fair warning, the next couple of chapters will see the return of the 'non-erotic' tag, so enjoy this one.
True to his word, The Beast checked that Rose remembered the phrase ‘Goody Two Shoes’ the next morning, but over the following days things seemed to return back to normal. Rose presented her cleaning schedule and he approved it, but as she was only doing what she had always done, it didn’t seem like much of a difference. Their lessons together now consisted of discussions about a book called The Meno, which she was expected to read to herself in her own time. It was a sort of a play about virtue and education by a man called Plato. Rose found it interesting and enjoyed talking about it with The Beast, but inside she was clamouring for him to act on their new relationship. She dutifully called him ‘my lord’ whenever his rules required it, and quite often when they did not, but that was the only notable change in their interactions. It was as if she had imagined everything that had happened from her spanking onwards.
She tried a couple of times to flirt with him or act out and earn a punishment, but each time The Beast merely ordered her to stop and be sensible. She supposed she could disobey until he was forced to take sterner action, but that seemed to be against the spirit of their arrangement. In any case, she was happy that they were on good terms again and she didn’t want to antagonise him. Eventually, she could take it no longer and she raised the subject directly at dinner.
“My lord, I was interested to know if you were planning to act on our arrangement in the near future,” she said after a few preliminary pleasantries.
The Beast looked at her questioningly. “Our arrangement?” he asked. “You’ll have to clarify for me. Apart from your residence here, which properly speaking was agreed between myself and your father, there is no arrangement between us.”
“But…” Rose began, “The day after you spanked me you said—”
“The day after I did what?” interrupted The Beast with incredulity. “Rose, I fear your imagination is running away with you. I would never do such a thing. You have become dear to me, in your own way.”
Rose began to object, but The Beast cut her off again, this time with a note of anger in his voice. “I will hear no more of this Rose! It’s a fine thing to be creative, but you must know the difference between reality and fantasy. Now be a good girl and eat up the rest of your vegetables, and we’ll pretend this never happened.”
“Yes, my lord.” Rose turned her attention to the vegetable in question — kale. She disliked it intensely, but she would sooner throw herself into the fireplace than disobey or question The Beast over such a trivial matter. As she worked her way through it, she reflected on The Beast’s attitude. She supposed that he had put it on so that her rape would seem more real, and less like a game, but she was beginning to doubt that theory. Could it really be that she had imagined everything?
If this was part of a game, then it was not to her taste. It was unsettling to have her memory contradicted with such confidence. The Beast had asked her about ‘torture of the spirit’, and she had said she would like to try it. Was this part of that? It wasn’t the shame or humiliation he had mentioned. She had imagined being called names and forced to degrade herself. This odd vertigo was something different. He’d also told her that she should use her special words if ever she was in doubt, but it seemed ridiculous to employ them against what was essentially just a little make-believe. If he was toying with her, then he surely expected her to understand. If she really was deluded, then she couldn’t imagine what his reaction would be to her suddenly blurting out ‘Goody Two Shoes’ for no good reason, and she was quite sure that her explanation would not improve matters.
For several nights after talking things through with The Beast, her memory of his tongue and the anticipation of what was to come had filled her thoughts in bed as she frantically sawed at her clit with her fingers. Now, however, with doubt and frustration as her constant and unwelcome companions, she found herself unable to call the convulsions of pleasure she had only discovered so recently.
Days passed, and in many ways they were some of the happiest Rose had known. The Beast appeared to be in high spirits, and while he continued to be strict with her, he seemed notably more at peace with himself than she had previously seen him. They laughed and joked, they talked seriously about Plato in her lessons, they enjoyed The Beast’s delicious cooking together and at dinner he allowed her to have a small glass of wine to accompany it. At times she would forget altogether about what had passed between them. It was starting to seem like a dream. Perhaps it had been.
One evening after dinner Rose was teaching The Beast to play Cribbage, having discovered cards and a pegging board in the drawer of a guest room. “You’re making this up,” The Beast was saying.
“I’m not!” She shouted, laughing. “If you have a knave the same suit as the turn-up, you score one for his nib. I told you that.”
“That’s absurd,” he grumbled. “Why for his nib? What does that mean?”
“It’s just what you say,” explained Rose. “No, don’t gather the cards up yet, I still have my box.”
“Ah, yes,” he said with resignation.
Rose turned over a few facedown cards on the table and laughed happily. “Fifteen two, fifteen four, and eight for a double run is twelve! I win again.”
The Beast rolled his eyes while gathering the cards. “I think that’s enough for this evening,” he said. “You should do your study before bedtime. Remember that tomorrow we’re discussing the myth of Aristophanes.”
“Yes, my lord,” said Rose, rising to go to the library.
They’d moved on to another book in their lessons. This one was about the nature of love. So far the characters had discussed love’s ability to inspire sacrifice, and a distinction between good and bad types of love, but her reading for the evening turned out to be very different. It was a strange comic parable told by a clownish drunkard about how humans had once been eight-limbed, two-headed beings, who having been split apart were now forever searching for their lost other half. Once she had finished reading she glanced at the candelabra, having learned to estimate the time by how far her candles were burnt down. Seeing that it was almost ten, she got up, took a candle from the desk and left. She was not sure if The Beast would allow her any grace on being up past her bedtime, so she always made a point of being in her bedroom before the clock struck the hour.
This had been a good day, she thought as she climbed the stairs. Her time with The Beast was fun and fulfilling. Maybe she was wrong to imagine there could be more between them. The book he had her reading made love into a puzzle to be solved. She had thought that she and The Beast fit together like a carpenter’s joint: two shapes designed to join perfectly in a strong bond. But the story she had just read made that idea seem ridiculous. Where other characters talked learnedly of how true love stemmed from a desire for virtue, Aristophanes’ tale was farcical. Was The Beast trying to teach her something by ***********ing this book? Clearly, while his romantic desire for her may have been in her imagination, his desire to help her better herself was not. If this was all she could have of him, she would accept it and still count herself happy.
As she walked into her bedroom, she felt at peace. Putting her candle down on her bedside table, she turned and let out a yelp of surprise. The Beast was in the room with her, closing the door behind them. “Hello Rose,” he said, taking a key from his pocket and turning it in the door’s lock. “I’ve come to the conclusion that there are a few things we need to discuss before we retire for the night. Do sit down.”
“Yes, my lord,” she said automatically, crossing the room and sitting on the chaise.
The Beast did not sit down himself, evidently preferring to prowl up and down in front of Rose.
“Rose, when you first came here you seemed to be a charming young girl — bright and enthusiastic, hardworking to a fault, and even quite pretty in your own way. But for some time now I’ve been quite concerned about your behaviour. First it was your gowns, which admittedly I gave to you, but you wore them as if you expected something of me. Then it was that ghastly make-up, which made me put my foot down. After that you gave up for a little while and I thought that was the end of the matter, but then one day you started with this ‘my lord’ business and began talking about me spanking you and some kind of agreement between us
“Obviously I tried again put a stop to things, but these last few days your behaviour has been intolerable. All the little teases: the flashes of flesh; the suggestive remarks; taking every opportunity to bend over in front of me or assume other lewd positions under the thinnest of pretences. Don’t think I don’t know exactly what you’re doing.”
Roses stomach lurched. She’d tried to flirt a little a few days previously, but nothing like what The Beast was accusing her of. She’d been nothing but friendly and obedient, hadn’t she? On the other hand, if her romantic encounters with The Beast had been her imagination, maybe her memory wasn’t reliable. Was she really doing all these things? No. She knew she wasn’t. “I didn’t—” she began.
“Do not contradict me!” shouted The Beast. “I’ll have no more of your games or teasing. This is serious Rose. You don’t know how serious. But you can begin by admitting that you’re a very wicked girl. Say it.”
Rose’s mind raced. After all his accusations, being called ‘wicked’ fell short of what she’d expected. He’d called her a whore before just for painting her face. Then she remembered that he’d told her he’d hold back when humiliating her. But now that the moment had come, she didn’t want him to. All at once, she saw a way to allay her doubts without resorting to her magic words. “Worse,” she whispered, looking straight at him. “As bad as you want.”
He leant forward to scrutinise her. She gave the tiniest of nods.
“Well?” he demanded, “I’m waiting for you to tell me you’re a disgusting slut. I don’t recall myself phrasing it as a request.”
Her heart soared. It was real. Then the situation that she was in truly took hold of her. The Beast’s hunger and rage were palpable.
“I’m a disgusting slut, my lord.”
“And you think that just admitting it makes it right, you fucking whore?
“No my lord, of course I—”
“Shut up. You are not a nice little girl who is allowed to address her betters. You are a vile, deceitful smear of cunt blood who plays the innocent while dangling the temptation of her body in front of me in the mistaken belief that there will be no consequences. Tonight I will teach you otherwise, and you will have no-one but yourself to blame.”
“My lord, I—”
The Beast struck across the face. Having experienced his strength before, Rose did not think he had put a large fraction of it into the blow. It could have snapped her neck. Instead it only stole her words from her mouth in a moment of stinging reprisal that echoed around the gloomy room like the crack of a whip. Standing over her as she sat on the chaise, he began to unbutton his breeches not three inches from her face.
“I will show you that there are better uses for a whore’s mouth than lies and wittering,” he said. “First you will tell the truth about your actions over the last few days, and the reasons for them. Leave nothing out. Explain to me in detail what a wretched little bitch you are.” He finished with the last of his buttons he produced a cock the colour of drying blood, as large as Rose’s forearm in both length and girth, and with the same slight taper towards its swollen head. Released from the confines of his breeches it sprang forwards and came to rest against Rose’s face.
Knowing better than to move away, Rose attempted to comply with The Beast’s wishes. “My lord, all that you have said is true. I thought that I could play a game to tease you. I thought that if I could make you desire me, you might… you might be less strict… give me things.”
While she was say this The Beast gently put one hand on the back of her head. He applied no pressure, but there was now no way she could move away from his cock as it lay against her face. It was hot against her skin, pungent with The Beast’s animal scent, and rough with pits and veins. With his other hand, he began to caress her hair in long slow strokes from her crown down to her shoulder.
“That’s very good Rose,” he said like a teacher speaking to a slow child. “And what is the proper word for someone who uses their body to get things in return?”
“A whore my lord,” she whispered.
“Speak up loud and clear and tell me what you are, by your own admission.”
“I’m a whore. If it pleases you to hear it, my lord, I am a dirty whore!”
“Oh Rose,” he said fondly, continuing to stroke her hair. “This is not about pleasing me, it is about educating you. I like to think that since you have come here I have taken you under my wing. It has always been my concern to make you the best that you can be, but until now I have been making a grave error in overlooking your limitations. You will never be anything truly good, or worthwhile, or clean, and I am sorry for trying to force those things upon you when they are so much against your nature.
“But don’t worry. From now on we will work towards a much more appropriate and achievable goal: you will learn to embrace what you are. Now do not for a second think that I am absolving you from the shame of being a common, lowborn harlot. I am only saying that it would be more shameful still to deny it. For someone like you to be ashamed is healthy; it shows you have achieved self-awareness, which is the closest to virtue that you are capable of.”
The dim candlelight traced a thread of silver through a tear that ran from Rose’s eye down The Beast’s cock. Her emotions were boiling, alchemical. She was still relieved that her relationship with him was not imaginary, she was shocked by his cruelty, and she was ashamed, just as he said she should be. She was comforted, repulsed, and reassured by his hand stroking her hair and his hard cock against her face. She was afraid of what was coming, and excited by it. She hated this. She loved it. She wanted it to stop. She had the power to make it stop.
“Thank you my lord,” she said. “I am grateful”
“That’s good, little Rose, but spare your thanks until we are done. Now we have established what you are, it is time to improve you. In using your body to gain advantage, you have been offering a service, and by doing so you have entered into a contract, whether you know it or not. It is a poor entrepreneur who fails to deliver on a contract, and that is the lesson I intend to impress upon you by acting as my own bailiff and taking by force what is rightfully mine. Now look over by the dresser and tell me what you see leaning there.”
Rose complied and her eyes widened, “My lord, it is a riding crop.”
“That’s right. It’s an excellent tool for use with horses, and I don’t see why it shouldn’t work just as well with other livestock. Here is what will happen: I am going fuck your mouth right to the back of your throat. You will find it extremely unpleasant and you will want it to stop almost immediately. After every dozen thrusts I will give you a moment to recover. If you need a break any sooner than that you can give me a tap with your hand, but respite is not without price. When I am finished training your mouth we will move on to work with the crop. Every stroke of my cock that you decline is a stroke of the crop you are accepting to your body. Is that clear?”
“Yes my lord.”
“Excellent. Now open wide like the convenient sleeve of wet flesh you should aspire to be.”
The Beast put the head of his vast cock against Rose’s lips and she did as she was told. She had to open her mouth as wide as she could to accommodate it as it pushed insistently forward. Her jaw ached as the thick rim of its head passed her lips, and then she had to contend with a new discomfort as it reached the back of her throat. The Beast held her head in place for a second as she gagged, and then withdrew just enough for her to recover.
“Such a disappointment to have plumbed your depths so soon,” he commented. “But it can’t be helped I suppose. Remember that you can give me a tap if you need me to relent, but it will be a stroke of the crop for every thrust less than twelve. We will continue until you find yourself choking on my seed. Swallow as much as you can, and be careful not to allow my upholstery to become stained.”
Without further warning he forced his cock into her throat, a couple of inches further than before. Then he quickly withdrew, only to repeat his assault. He not made his fifth thrust before Rose, panicked and gagging, gave him a series of frantic taps on his thigh. “Only four!” he chortled merrily as he relented. “So that will be eight strokes of the crop. A gift for me, a most unfortunate start for you. I would suggest that, if you wish to avoid accruing a total that will leave you permanently scarred, you should breathe through your nose and learn to enjoy the feeling of wanting to retch.”
He renewed his attack with enthusiasm, and this time Rose made it to eight thrusts. “Twice as good!” he congratulated her. “You should be happy to be learning a valuable skill. That’s a running total of twelve strokes” Then he started fucking her mouth again before she had even caught her breath. Seven thrusts later she again needed clemency. “That will teach you to be ready,” he said. “I don’t have time to wait around for you. The count is seventeen.” Her eyes had already been watering, but now she began to cry.
The Beast’s running total reached 31 before Rose managed to take a full dozen thrusts without needing to rest. This time The Beast removed himself fully from her mouth. Looking down fondly at her tear-streaked face, he stooped to kiss her on the forehead. “That’s very good, Rose,” he told her. “You should congratulate yourself. How do you feel?”
“I don’t think I can do this,” she told him between sobs. “I want it to stop.”
“Nonsense,” he said. “You’re crying tears of joy, you’re so happy and proud. Now remember that this doesn’t end until I spend myself in you, so if you really want things to hurry up, you might consider letting me go on past twelve strokes. From this point on I won’t stop until you indicate that I should, and you can indicate that you want me to start again by just giving me another tap. Of course, sometimes I’ll start again whether you want me to or not, and you’ll have to endure another twelve thrusts if you don’t want to add to the count. Now, you’ve had a nice long rest, open your mouth again and we’ll begin in earnest.”
Rose obediently accepted his cock back into her mouth and her ordeal began anew. It was difficult to keep count of how many times he had forced his cock into her throat while she was constantly fighting to control her nausea. When she thought he had reached twelve, she tapped for his mercy. “Only eleven this time,” he commented. “You’re backsliding. The count is 32.”
On it went. Rose gave up trying to count and just held out as long as she could each time. The Beast kept up a constant running commentary of patronising faint praise and casual degradation, and despite her best efforts her future punishment slowly grew. After one particularly long stretch he simply cried out “Well done” before immediately beginning again. With almost no time to recover Rose lasted for only three more thrusts. “Oh dear, not so well done that time,” he said. “You must really be looking forward to getting hit to add so many strokes at once! The count is now 53, and I’m close to spending my seed. You’re doing well. Just try to hold on as long as you can this time and you’ll get your reward. Remember to show how grateful you are by swallowing it all down.”
Spurred on by the prospect of an end to her torment, Rose fought to stay strong against his onslaught. Her throat ached as it was violated again and again and, shamefully, she could feel her cunny growing hot and wet. She started to drift away as she focused on that welcome, humiliating warmth, but she was jerked back to reality by The Beast grabbing two handfuls of her hair and burying his monstrous cock fully halfway into her face. He gave an inhuman roar as his churning seed boiled into Rose’s throat. She tried to swallow, but the column of raw meat in her gullet held it open. Torrents of viscous brine flowed down her throat and filled her mouth, spilling out around The Beast’s cock and down her chin.
Unable to handle the flow of semen, Rose tapped at The Beast and he pulled away. As his cock left her mouth a final jet of ivory white exploded from it, anointing her face, hair and collar bone, and staining her dress. She forced herself to swallow the rest of what was in her mouth and looked up at The Beast plaintively. “Good girl,” he said, placing his hand gently against her cheek. “You did well.” Now that she had a moment to breathe freely, those simple words filled Rose with pride. A part of her felt pathetic to be so thankful for them, but a larger part was elated. She had survived. She had done well. She smiled at him with gratitude.
“Oh Rose,” he said, putting his hand on her cheek. “I do love you.” He began to scoop his seed from her face and feed it to her. She dutifully suckled it from his fingertips until there was only a thin sheen of it shining on her skin. “We shall need a rag to clean up the rest,” he said. “Stand.”
Rose stood up. The Beast took hold of the front of her dress and tore it like paper. A few swift rips and the remains of it fell off her. The Beast was left holding a piece of fabric which he spat on and used to vigorously scrub her face. When the job was done to his satisfaction he tossed his cloth aside and turned his attention to Rose’s shift and petticoats. These too were destroyed with a few perfunctory motions, leaving Rose naked save for sensible shoes and stockings tied with garters below her knees, apparel that only served to draw attention to the nudity of her girlish body. Even dishevelled by the treatment he had bestowed on her, her eyes red and her hair in disarray, the beauty of her face was still extraordinary. The Beast looked her up and down appreciatively and ran a rough thumb over one of her stiff little nipples. “Delightful,” he opined.
His glance alighted on a dark spot on the fabric of the chaise longue. “Oh dear,” he said, raising his eyebrows and gesturing for Rose’s benefit. “It seems you haven’t managed to follow my instruction to keep the upholstery clean. That’s five more strokes with the crop, which brings your total to 58. Hopefully that will motivate you to swallow more next time. Stay standing right there. If you move a step I will double the count, and that many strokes is sure to draw blood.
Terrified, Rose stood stock still while the Beast went about his business. He carefully removed and folded his clothing, placing it on the dresser. As he undressed, looking away from her, he resumed his lecture: “I believe that the order of business at hand is to teach you to be an effective and satisfying whore. You have performed adequately in your first lesson, which focused on one the duties that role comprises, however there is still the matter of your previous transgression. Through your actions, you advertised yourself as a body for use with no intention of following through on the promise that entailed. Therefore you must learn a second lesson — that such things have consequences far worse than the service you sought to avoid.”
Naked, the Beast cut an even more imposing figure. Save for his dark grey hands and feet, smooth black fur covered his heavy frame, softening but not concealing the lines of the taught muscles beneath. His short mane continued down his spine to the centre of his back, and a little way below that, he had a stubby tail. His dark crimson cock had dwindled in size, but still hung almost to his knees. He crossed the room to the bedside table, took the candle and a book that was there, returned to the dresser and put them down. Then he went back and picked up the table, moving it to the centre of the room in front of the bed. Finally, he retrieved the riding crop, a long black cane terminating in a small leather loop.
“Rose, come here and put your hands on the table.” He commanded.
“Yes, my lord,” she replied, bending over and supporting herself as he had instructed. The Beast moved around her and groped her bare arse, a finger lightly caressing the glistening lips presented beneath. Then he moved to one side and began to run his riding crop gently up and down over her buttocks.
As he teased her, he said, “It’s time for me to punish you now Rose, as you know you deserve. A lot of gentlemen in my position like counting and thank yous from their girls, but honestly I’m perfectly capable of counting for myself and I think thank yous lose their power through repetition. Therefore you will say thank you only once, when we are finished, and you will be sure to say it like you mean it. Is that clear?”
“Of course, my lord. My thanks will be heartfelt, I assure you.”
“I do not care one whit how you actually feel so long as you perform correctly. Every whore is deceitful, but their worth is as equipment, not as human beings. Provided they function as required, they are fit for their purpose. That said, I am prone moments of generosity, so I am going to allow you some control over your punishment. Your bottom is by far the easiest place to take a beating, but seeing as it is barely larger than the juicy little peach it resembles, you may find that you struggle to accept 58 strokes there. Therefore, at any time, you may cry out in pain and we will turn instead to beating those woefully underdeveloped little hillocks that pass for your tits. There too, you will have the option of screaming if you require reprieve. The remainder of your punishment will then be meted out to your damp cunt, and from that, my darling slut, there will be no escape. Now, try to stay quiet unless you want your punishment to move to the next stage. Brace yourself and we’ll begin.”
With a swish and a slap, he brought the crop around in a wide arc that ended in a blistering impact on Rose’s bottom. Forewarned, she gritted her teeth and sucked in a breath. More strokes followed, each finding a different mark. Unlike when The Beast had spanked her with his hand, the crop’s blows were precisely targeted, its tip leaving a new, white-hot sting each time it alighted. As her beating continued though, the individual impacts began to flow together into a burning that pulsed rather than ending and beginning anew. A low whimper escaped from her. Her face twisted in pain and her eyes screwed shut, squeezing out two tears that curled around her cheeks to her jawline. It was too much; Rose decided to use her escape. When the next blow fell, she opened her mouth and screamed as loudly as she could. After holding it in, it was a blissful release to vocalise her pain.
“Thirty-one strokes,” The Beast told her. “That’s good Rose; you’re more than halfway there. Only 27 more to go. Now turn around and sit so I can work on your tits.”
Looking down at the hard wooden table she was leaning on, Rose did not relish the prospect of sitting on it with her now-tender behind. “My lord,” she whimpered, “Perhaps you would allow me to sit on the chaise longue?”
“Stand and face me Rose,” commanded The Beast. She did as she was told and he reached his hand down and pushed his fingers a short way into her cunny. Rose closed her eyes in anticipation, but the treatment was short lived. Removing his hand, The Beast smeared Rose’s wetness across her face. “That is why you cannot sit on my chaise longue you stupid slut. Your cunt is filthy. You’ve already allowed my upholstery to be stained, and were I not a great deal cleverer than you, you would have done it again. Now sit on the table.”
Rose lowered herself carefully onto the table, wincing as her stinging bottom took her weight on the cold wood. She looked miserable. The Beast ran the tip his crop back and forth across her chest, tickling each of her nipples in turn and taking a couple of experimental backswings that made her flinch from blows that never came. Then in a sudden blur he struck, the crop making a loud crack as in made contact with her left breast, about an inch above the nipple. Caught by surprise, Rose let out a cry of pain.
“My goodness,” said The Beast in mock surprise. “I had no idea you were so enthusiastic to have your cunt whipped. Twenty-six strokes is going to leave it black and blue, but it’s your choice.”
“No please, my lord.” The Beast corrected her. “Three strokes for improper address brings your total to twenty nine.”
“Please my lord, please don’t whip my cunny. I’ll do anything. I’m sorry.”
“You will be sorry,” said The Beast. “You will gain a whole new understanding of what it is to be sorry.” He looked down at her rictus of terror and sighed theatrically. “I am too generous,” he said. “Am I to understand that your preference is for me to beat your tits?”
Rose nodded with almost comical enthusiasm. “Yes, my lord, please beat my tits and not my cunny.”
The Beast smirked at her. “Beg me. Leave your slit out of it and explain to me why you need to have your tits beaten. What is it about you that is so reprehensible that taking a crop to your chest is a fitting punishment?”
“My lord, I’m a slut. I deserve to have my tits beaten because I’m dirty and I teased you with— Aah!”
The Beast had struck a quick blow to the top of Rose’s thigh with the crop. “That’s not an explanation. You’re just repeating what we’ve already covered. Why are you dirty? Why did you tease me? What is it, deep down, that soils you so badly you can never be made pure?”
Wracking her brain frantically for an answer that would satisfy him, she began to babble, “When I started to get really pretty all the boys in town started to pay attention to me, which made me uncomfortable, but then I came here and saw you looking at me in the same way only… hungrier, and you started to try to get me to like you, so I thought that if I could make you think you had a chance of fucking me you’d carry on being nice to me.
“That’s why I’m a whore. I’m not clever or high-born or elegant, but I’ve got holes men want to fuck and I was willing to use them just to get attention. If I was still at home I’d probably have led those boys on and ended up getting raped, then I’d have made a drama of it to make people feel sorry for me but really I’d have loved it. I’d have gotten myself raped again on purpose, or made up stories about it, just for people’s sympathy. That’s why I need to be hurt very badly, because being punished just a little bit would be giving me what I want. That’s how disgusting I am; I’d rather be fucked in the throat than be ignored. I’m a manipulative little bitch who’s terrified of loneliness, and the only way to cure me is to give me the kind of attention I’ll regret. The kind of attention I deserve. Please my lord, beat my tits, it’s the only way to save me from how filthy I am inside.”
“You make a good case,” said The Beast, “Thank you for your honesty. Now I understand how serious the situation is I’m not convinced that 29 strokes will be enough. Tell me Rose, how many strokes do you think we should add to make your punishment sufficiently severe?”
Knowing that ‘none’ would be the wrong answer, Rose tried to guess the smallest number The Beast would accept: “Please my lord, I would like three more strokes, bringing the total to 32.”
There was an awful stretch of silence as The Beast considered her proposal. “Very well,” he said. “Seeing as you asked so nicely, I will resume beating your inadequate little tits. Prepare yourself, and do scream for me when having your cunt whipped instead starts to seem like an attractive prospect.”
He unleashed a blizzard of fire on her breasts, striking again and again without pause. Rose looked directly ahead and tried to think of something else, but there was nothing except the pain, and the anticipation of more pain. The Beast began by working carefully around her nipples, a fact that she was absurdly grateful for until he switched to striking them and them alone, left then right, again and again. The abuse of this more sensitive flesh was like the touch of a brand, and when The Beast changed his pattern, hitting her right nipple twice in a row, it was too much. Unbidden, undeniable, her scream went on until there was no more breath to sustain it.
“That was 25 strokes,” The Beast told her. “I like your teats better in pink.”
Rose glanced down to see that the aftermath of her beating was clearly visible, both in her breasts’ overall colour and as individual marks where bloody speckles showed beneath the surface of her skin. Looking back to The Beast, she saw that his cock was fully erect again, standing out from between his legs like a thick red limb on a tall, black oak.
“A little treat for you now,” said The Beast. “I’ll let you lie on the bed to take your last seven. Go over there now and open your legs up nice and wide for me.”
Encouraged that the end of her punishment was in sight, but not relishing the thought of being hit on her cunny, Rose stood up. There was a faint ripping sound as her bare arse came unstuck from the wood she had been sitting on, and she winced at the reminder that she was now sore in two areas. As she walked to the bed, The Beast gave her further instructions: “Lie on your back, with your knees bent over the edge. I want easy access to your cunt so I can hit it as hard as possible.”
Rose smoothed the covers of her bed before lying down. She’d stared at the canopy now above her for many hours while waiting for sleep, but as she shifted her legs apart she saw its every detail anew – every thread and discolouration. The Beast walked up to stand above her. “The luxuries are mounting up for you,” he commented. “Now you can scream your silly little head off and there’s no chance of me misinterpreting you.”
There was a loud snap as The Beast struck her cunny. Unprepared, Rose bit down on a short cry as the delicate lips of her sex flooded with pain. Perversely, even now she had leave to scream, she wanted to save it so she had something to let go of, an inch to give when it became too much, so when the next blow fell she merely sucked in air through her teeth. She endured the third strike too, but the fourth made her cry out. Then The Beast paused. “That’s good Rose. You sing beautifully. Only three more to go. Do carry on being a good girl and hold yourself open for me so I can finish by hitting your little rose petal.”
“My lord, please no. Please don’t hit my—aaagh!”
Rose’s protests were cut short as The Beast casually swatted her cunny with his crop.
“If you wish to earn more strokes, then be all means continue to protest,” he said. “Otherwise shut up and show me your clit. Do you not remember explaining to me what a disingenuous little whore you are? And that I needed to hurt you so badly that you would truly regret it? And then you tried to slip in the idea that beating your tits would be enough. Clever of you to hide your lies within the truth, but I’m not fooled I’m afraid. Open. Your. Cunt.”
Gulping, Rose placed a hand on either side of her cunny and pulled its lips apart to reveal her tiny pink nub within its glistening furrow. She tried to mask her anxiety by showing determination on her face, but she felt her lip trembling as tears once more began to form in her eyes. The Beast lightly touched her clit with the tip of his crop and favoured her with an even smile.
Rose’s crotch exploded with pain and a crack echoed around the room. He had moved so fast she hadn’t even seen the blow. Crying out from a throat that had been sore from fucking before she even started screaming, she clenched her hands reflexively, letting go of her cunny. The Beast hit her again on its lips and so she brought her legs together and curled up protectively on her side, wailing. Three more blows landed on her arse and he began to shout at her.
“I am losing patience with your play acting, whore!” he bellowed, hitting her again. “You will accept three strokes to your clit without interrupting the punishment with you childish theatrics. Get back in position and open up for me this instant or the count will be five!”
Bawling like the child he accused her of being, she complied with his command. He returned the crop to rest on her clit, waited for anticipation to build… and then the agony flooded into her again. She somehow managed to stay in place as the crop came down a second time, the pitiful sound she was making now coming unbidden as she concentrated all of her self-control on holding herself in place for the third. When it came, she barely felt it. The relief that her punishment was finally complete overrode everything else as she curled back into a ball, sobbing and quivering.
A long way away, someone was speaking to her. “Rose… Rose… Pay attention to me you dumb slut!” Jerking back into the moment, she looked up to see The Beast standing over her. “I asked whether you were grateful for your punishment.”
She nodded. “Yes, my lord.” she managed to stammer out. “Thank you very much for hurting me so badly. I know my place now.”
“And have you learned my lesson?”
“Yes, my lord.”
He grinned malevolently, showing his ivory fangs. “That’s where you’re wrong,” he said. “After I’ve taken what’s mine from you, then you’ll have learned. I’m going to fuck you so hard your tender quim will split down to your arse and leave you with one ragged hole.”
He lunged forward, and her terror took over. She turned over and scrambled to escape with a quickness she hadn’t known she had, let alone after a beating. Briefly, she thought she had evaded him, but then a huge, rough hand encircled her ankle and yanked her back to the centre of the bed. She struggled as he turned her back over onto her back, but he was many times stronger than her. The Beast’s snarling, inhuman face loomed above her, and there was nothing but ravenous hunger in his snake’s eyes. Grasping one of her thighs in each hand, he pulled them apart and lined up the nightmarish column of flesh that was his cock at the entrance of her cunny.
“No! Please, don’t my lord, please don’t, I’ll be a good girl, your slut, your whore, whatever you want, I’ll do anything…”
She was babbling. Unmoved, he guided the head of his cock so that it parted lips of her cunny and rested at the wet entrance to her sex. Then he placed a hand over her mouth, muffling her desperate pleading and brought his face down so their eyes were mere inches apart. For a fragment of time, she imagined that she could see tenderness behind his eyes.
He snarled and pushed violently forward, his cock forcing its way a fist’s length into her. His hand over her mouth stifled her scream, but she was able to groan in protest as she felt something inside her tear. Without withdrawing he shoved forward again, gaining more ground in his invasion. Twice more and he was fully within her, and without pause he began to fuck her. He moved his hands to grip her upper arms, and with her mouth no longer covered Rose was able to give a series of high shouts, her distress pouring from her with every brutal thrust. She could feel herself stretching around him as he moved within her, forcing her tiny cunny to accommodate the obscenity he was raping her with. With a creak and a crack, the bed below them snapped in half, dropping them both a foot onto the floor and knocking the wind from Rose’s lungs. The Beast continued single-mindedly, not even breaking his rhythm as the mattress below them bent into a valley.
He was seeking neither to give her pleasure nor to prolong his own. He was consuming her without care or restraint, which made the final act to her violation mercifully brief. He slammed into her with a final, savage thrust and she felt his hot seed flood into her in a series of torrential waves, filling her beyond her capacity and leaking out around his cock to stain the ruined bed. For a few moments, his crushing weight lay on top of her, then he withdrew and stood. Suddenly he appeared unstable, uncertain. Skirting around Rose as she lay half-stunned in the remains of the bed, he took a few tentative steps towards the door.
“Stay,” said Rose. “Please my lord. Please stay.”
“Are you… are you OK?” he asked.
She gave a low, broken chuckle. “It’s difficult to say right now. But I’m happy, I think. Please don’t go though. I feel… I don’t know. I don’t want to be alone.”
Returning to the side of the bed, The Beast stood over her awkwardly. Lying in the trough that the mattress now formed between the two broken halves of the bed, Rose was a pitiful sight. Covered in red welts from her beating and leaking blood and semen from between her legs, she had never looked smaller or more fragile. She pushed herself up into a sitting position and gave him an exhausted smile. She reached up her hand towards him.
“Would you mind helping me up?” she asked. The Beast reached down and pulled her to her feet, and in the same motion she fell forward and wrapped her arms around him. Her hands did not come close to meeting behind his back, but she was able to get enough purchase on him to give him a long, silent embrace. Tentatively and gently, he reached his arms around her and held her in turn. Turning her head to one side, she rested her cheek on hard muscle of his chest, enjoying the feeling of his soft fur and the slow bass rhythm of his heart in her ear.
After a couple of minutes, she pulled away from him. “Let’s put the mattress on the floor,” she suggested. “I don’t think that bed will be very comfortable anymore.” In wordless agreement, he moved past her to the remains of the bed. Pulling the bedclothes off and letting them fall into a heap, he took the mattress in a wide grip and effortlessly flipped it onto the floor. Rose retrieved new bedding from the chest and made up a bed on the floor. They crawled under the covers. The Beast lay on his back and Rose curled around him on one side, her face looking towards his profile, her hand idly stroking his chest.
“Was everything as you would have wished it?” asked The Beast.
“Almost,” Rose said. “To be honest the waiting was by far the worst part – when you made me think I was imagining things. After it started… it’s hard to explain. I wasn’t lying when I said I wanted it to stop. But at the same time I knew that I could stop it and I didn’t. It was awful, but it was wonderful as well, to be so helpless. To be used so casually and cruelly. To be made to feel worthless, but also… also like I was the centre of your world. You couldn’t hide your hunger and… I think I knew it was part of your love. Does that make sense?”
Staring up at the ceiling, The Beast looked troubled. “I’m sorry about making you uncertain,” he said. “I thought it would make the whole thing seem more real – more like the rape you said you wanted. I’m sorry; I should have discussed it with you. I thought it would spoil the effect, but that wasn’t worth the risk of hurting you. I just never thought that of everything I planned and that would be the thing you didn’t want.
“You were right that it did sort of make it better in the end,” she said. “And you did tell me to use my magic words if I was even slightly in doubt. It was just… I don’t know, it felt silly to use them just because of words and attitude, and I thought that if I really was remembering things wrong trying to use them would just make you angry.”
“You really did doubt then? Then I must apologise again. I can see now that must have been horrible.”
“I forgive you,” she said nuzzling his cheek.
“Did you, um, come to a grand climax at the end?” he asked.
“Not this time, but it’s all right,” she replied. “It wasn’t really about that. And you’ll have plenty of time to provoke such unladylike responses from me in future.”
“We could start now,” he suggested.
“No thank you, my lord,” she smiled at him. “For some reason I find my clit is rather sore, right at the moment.”
He gave a short snort like the beginning of a laugh and they lay there for a few slow breaths. Then she said, “While that was special and I wouldn’t change it, we should be more careful in future. I’m not sure we want children yet.”
“I’m a little taken aback by the implication that you will want them in future,” he said. “To be honest I don’t even know if I can. I’d long since given up on the idea of heirs. A conversation for another time, in any case. You are not currently fertile. It’s linked to the cycle of your blood, and I can smell your seasons.”
Laughing herself, she replied, “Well that’s both reassuring and disturbing. I think I should sleep now. Good night, my lord. I love you.”
“I love you too, Rose,” he replied. And then, after she had drifted off to sleep, he added: “So much it frightens me.”