Emboldened by The Beast’s clear expression of admiration, Rose began to look for a way to strike the final blow in her campaign to attract his romantic attentions. A brief experiment with the bodices in her wardrobe was quickly abandoned; her breasts were simply too small for additional support to accomplish anything. A search through the house’s bedrooms yielded a more promising avenue of attack: an old but serviceable box of make-up. After a few attempts she managed to produce an effect that satisfied her, and so with her cheeks rouged, her eyes shadowed and her lips ruby red she made her way down to dinner.
“Good evening Rose,” said The Beast as she entered the dining room. “How many potatoes would you like with your stew?”
Throughout the meal, The Beast made conversation as he usually did, and so after a few minutes Rose began to try to turn her head so that the light would show her new appearance in its best light. The Beast appeared not to notice. Eventually, Rose allowed her vexation to get the better of her.
“Do you notice any difference about me this evening?” she asked.
The Beast sighed and put down his cutlery. “Indeed I do, Rose. It has not been lost on me that recently you have got it into your head that you need to be something you are not. The gowns are one thing, but for whatever my opinion is worth, I would sooner keep the company of a sincere young girl than a painted whore.”
For the first time since she had come to The Beast’s home, Rose left the table without asking to be excused. She held in herself with dignity until she was out of the door, and then broke into a run as she made her way to the bathroom to wash away her tears of chagrin.
That night, Rose heard voices from her bedroom. One was The Beast’s. The other, deep and vibrant, was a lady’s. Not pausing to think, she snuck out of bed and onto the landing wearing only her shift. Lying on her front and peeping through the bannisters, she was able to spy The Beast and a woman in hardy travelling clothes conversing in the entrance hall. She was perhaps in her early thirties, and strikingly handsome, with a confident bearing, hard eyes and full lips. Rose felt a stirring of jealously as she listened.
“…it’s more than enough for now, thank you,” the woman was saying. “Is there anything I can bring you when I next visit?”
“Aside from the usual, yes there is as it happens,” replied The Beast. “I have been thinking of expanding my library with some more modern volumes. Sir Walter Scott, the latest Jane Austen, that sort of thing.”
“Jane Austen?” questioned the mystery woman, with mild incredulity. “Since when have you taken an interest in Jane Austen? Come to think of it, since when have you kept this place so clean? You have another girl here, don’t you?”
“It’s not what you think Agnes,” said The Beast, guiltily.
“Oh no?” Agnes’ tone elevated scepticism to an art form. “Then what, pray tell, is it?”
“Well, to begin with it was as you might assume, but after a while… Agnes this girl is different. She’s helped me see that you were right all along, and I promise you she’ll be the last one. I would have released her already, but she is so clever, and her education has been sorely neglected. I have been teaching her. I have taught her to read and I thought we might progress to the classics next.”
“And you had her clean your house too,” commented Agnes.
“I did not even suggest that she should,” retorted The Beast. “In fact I told her several times she did not have to.”
“So you have no romantic designs on this girl?”
“Not at all. She is like a daughter to me.”
Lying on the landing above, Rose felt a heavy emptiness freezing in her chest. How stupid she had been to imagine The Beast could have feelings for her. And how bitter it was to find that he had all the while known the love of this statuesque and jealous woman, whom Rose could never hope to equal, not to mention what sounded like a string of other lovers coming to the house. Turning her attention back to the conversation, she heard The Beast and Agnes say their farewells. The Beast turned and began to ascend the stairs.
Suddenly terrified of discovery, Rose crawled back towards her room, making the best compromise she could between speed and silence. Thankfully, she had left her door ajar and she did not have to push it open very far to wriggle through it. Having reached safety, she lay on the floor trying to breathe quietly. The nights were becoming chill, and goosebumps pricked up on her legs as she listened for the sound of The Beast’s footstep departing across the landing.
“You have many talents, little Rose, but it would seem that stealth is not among them,” he said, ducking into the room and looming above her, his black fur and dark suit making him a nightmarish silhouette in the gloom. “You are up long past your bedtime, not to mention that you saw fit to eavesdrop on my private business. What have you to say for yourself?”
Suddenly defiant, Rose pushed herself to her feet and stood toe to toe with him, although he still dwarfed her, meaning she had to bend her neck backwards to look him in the eye.
“I don’t have to explain myself to you.” she shouted. “Go away!”
This drew a snarl from The Beast. “Rose, this is my house, and you will follow my rules while you stay here.”
“I shan’t!” she hurled back, “You can’t make me. Feed me bread and water, starve me, throw me out into the forest to freeze, I don’t care.”
Grabbing her by the shoulders, he began to raise his own voice. “Rose, you’re being a brat. If anyone has the right to anger here it is I, and I must admit that I am finding lenience a difficult practice.”
“Fuck your blessed lenience!” she screamed, and began to pummel his chest with her little fists. “You’re not the nice man you pretend to be, you’re a monster just like you look. You’re ugly and you smell bad and I’m going to rip the pages out of your books and stamp on your stupid flowers and smash everything in your house until there’s nothing left!”
She heaved in a great breath and prepared to continue her tirade, but The Beast was dragging her to the bed by one arm that he clenched with bruising force. Sitting on the bedside, he yanked her towards him as if she weighed nothing, causing her to stumble forwards. Catching her halfway to the floor, he wrenched her around by her shoulders and pushed on her back to bend her over his lap.
“What are you—” she began.
“Be quiet!” he cut her off, pulling up her shift around her waist. “Every word you speak will make this worse for you.”
He brought down his hand on her bare arse with a smack that echoed like nearby thunder, drawing a stifled gasp from Rose. For a moment he let it rest there, the length of his palm and fingers easily cupping around it in its entirety. “You once said that you would accept this punishment,” he reminded her. “Now—” he struck again, eliciting a whimper. “Your lack of discipline—” another smack delivered with brutal force, “Merits it.” With that pronouncement he began to rain blows mercilessly on Rose’s pale buttocks, employing neither technique nor restraint, preferring to merely strike her again and again with unchecked ferocity.
Rose began to wail as The Beast spanked her, her face and eyes soon becoming red and awash with tears. As the ordeal drew on, the pain from each impact began to flow together into single pure note sung so loudly that it became her entire world. And within that world, she started to feel something new. Now, as The Beast’s hand landed on her abused arse, she felt her cunny tingle. Each smack brought with it a twinge of hot pleasure that began to spread through her from between her legs. In some far off place she was screaming with agony, but she didn’t care. She deserved it. She wanted it.
She thought she had reached the perfect moment, but the next proved her wrong. Beneath her, she felt something in The Beast’s lap swell. She was naïve, but she knew enough to recognise what was happening. Spanking her was making his cock hard. He wanted this too. He wanted it like she did. For several seconds she enjoyed the feeling of his cock growing under her tummy before she realised that The Beast had stopped spanking her.
“Stand up.” he told her. She obeyed, feeling dizzy and weak. Now that she had returned to the world, her arse felt like she had sat in hot coals. She looked at him with renewed devotion glistening in her tear-filled eyes.
“Thank you very much for my punishment,” she said. “I’m sorry for the horrible things I said. I didn’t mean them. I’m sorry for staying up past my bedtime and I’m sorry for eavesdropping. I promise to try to be a good girl from now on.”
The Beast gave her a long, silent stare that she could not decipher, and then he left, closing the door behind him.
Rose lay down on her bed and hitched her shift back up. A couple of years ago, what seemed like a lifetime, she had bled for the first time and her sister Julianne had reluctantly taken on the job of explaining the things a grown woman should know. At the time she had listened carefully, but felt more disgust than anything else. Now she was ready to explore that lesson in more practical detail. Reaching down between her legs, she discovered that her cunny was already slick with moisture, just as it had been after her dream of the black dog. She experimentally pushed a finger inside and was rewarded with a shiver of pleasure. Encouraged, she began to explore the moist crease, sliding her finger up down between its lips. A second finger soon joined the first. Between her cunny lips, but outside of her true depths, she found a firm nub that was particularly sensitive. Was this normal? She quickly found that by bending her fingers inside herself and sawing back and forth she could stimulate her insides and rub over the mysterious nub at the same time.
As her delicate fingers worked back and forth in her little slit, she began to lose herself. She remembered being bent over The Beast’s lap, one hand holding her down while the other spanked her. He had been so strong, and she had been so utterly helpless. A series of tiny gasps began to escape from her as her pumping fingers drew wetness from her depths that dripped onto the bed. She thought of his cock growing beneath her, and she wished she had gotten to see it. What was it like? What would it feel like to have it pushed deep inside her? She imagined him commanding her to open her legs for him, and submitting to his will, knowing that he would take her whether she wished it or not. She thought of him pushing slowly into her, and of wrapping her arms around his vast, muscular body as he fucked her.
Rose’s fingers were now working against her cunny with furious speed. She greedily drew in breath after heaving breath as her hips pushed upwards in an instinctive attempt to increase the pressure. Suddenly, something in her snapped like a rope under tension. Pleasure exploded through her body and she began convulsing like the devil had possessed her. Once, twice, thrice her back arched, almost throwing her completely off the bed. After it was over she lay there panting. Absent mindedly, she brought her wet fingers up to her mouth. She fell asleep sucking at them like a baby.