Beauty's Beast

by Sophie Starr

  Gaston walked to me, tilting my chin and grinning. “You are speechless—an admirable quality in a woman.” He grabbed the fullest plate and sat next to me, scooping some of my roast and potatoes onto his plate. “You don’t need as much as I do.” He winked.

  My clueless father grinned as he grabbed his own plate and sat at the table, cutting his potatoes before trying to shove the entire piece of tough roast in his mouth.

  “I fear I still don't understand.” I grabbed my father’s plate and cut his meat. “How have you two come to these terms without my consent?” I was barely hanging on but being rude to my father’s employer and explaining my objections would have to wait until Gaston was gone.

  “You are but a girl, and Gaston has brought up a good point that you can’t possibly know what’s best for you. Not at your age. He is older, five years older. And a businessman. He can provide you with a brilliant future. My own father always said that women couldn’t possibly understand the ways of the world and what it takes to secure safety.” My father looked lost. “It is what is best.” His words were not his own, but Gaston was taking advantage of the fact my father was muddled from his work. I was certain my grandfather had never uttered those words.

  Gaston laughed. “It is very true, Belle.” He grabbed my hand, holding it as he chewed his meat. “You will make me the happiest man in all the kingdom. We shall be married in a fortnight.”

  I nearly gagged but managed to control myself. The moment Gaston left I would be discussing this with my father. We had found this village easily enough; we would find another. If not, I would run away.

  No, I couldn't abandon my sick father. We would run together.

  My brain spun in circles until it came to one conclusion: I had to run and I had to bring my father with me.

  But how would I get him to leave? And how far would I get with a sick old man who gets confused easily?

  Gaston chewed heartily, looking like a dog with a new bone. “Do you know how happy you will make me? How lucky you are?”

  I gasped, pulling away.

  “She is lucky. We both are.” My father shrugged again, clearly not hearing the words being spoken. He was in a state, drawing equations on the table with his fingertip. His mouth was moving, though no words left his chapped lips.

  “Papa!”

  “Don't bother him, my love.” Gaston smiled, seeing he was getting his way with everything. “I am of the opinion that once an understanding is in place, there is no going back.”

  “Precisely,” my father mumbled.

  My lips burned with the words I desperately wished to speak, but I knew my place. If I argued in front of him, Gaston might terminate my father’s employment and throw us out into the streets. And my poor father would need my fervent objections explained to him so he understood. Regardless of how horrible it all was, I refused to humiliate my father by speaking out of turn, or risk his employment. I would much rather sneak away in the night than have Gaston question my father’s ability to control his daughter.

  As the meal finished with Gaston telling us about his latest hunt, my father stood in the middle of the tale and walked from the room.

  Gaston gave me a look, perhaps a bit annoyed at first, but then excited at the prospect of us being alone.

  My insides tightened. “Tea?” I asked quickly.

  “Belle, surely you see this is the best thing for me—us.” He reached for me, but I shot up, clearing the table. “I have some custard cakes. Let me get you one.”

  He got up as well, following me into the kitchen. I tried to outmaneuver him, but he snatched my wrist, spinning me and pressing me against the counter. “I have something I want to show you, Belle. Something you need to see. I think it will change your opinion of me. The women in town have always loved it.” He pushed down on my shoulders, forcing me to my knees. I fought but it was no use. His hands together were nearly the size of my back.

  I whimpered, glancing at the knives and meat forks, wondering if I could get away or if I killed him my father would help me bury him in the woods.

  But my mind moved faster than my body. He untied his trousers, releasing something like I had never seen before. I knew it was his penis, but I had never seen one so large and certainly not up close. I backed away, reaching for the knives behind me.

  “You need something explained to you, Belle.” He grabbed my hands, planting them both on the swollen rod hanging between his thick thighs. “I own you now. You and your father. I will ruin him and throw you out into the streets if you don't play nice.”

  I shook my head, desperate for something else to barter with.

  “Just rub it, just like this. That's a good girl.” He sighed and moaned, thrusting his hips a bit and forcing the motion of my hands.

  “P-p-p-lease, Gaston. P-p-please, don't m-m-make me do this.”

  “Shhhhhhh. Just like that.” He forced my hands to stroke it. Hot tears started from my eyes but he jerked my face upward. “If you cry or you don't do exactly as I say, I will have your father committed. My uncle runs the institution for the mentally unwell. Your father has more than shown the town what sort of nut he is.”

  I shuddered, realizing how much thought Gaston had put into all of this.

  He continued to grunt and sigh with each thrust and spoke with labored gasps, “Your father has given his consent and when I am done with you, no man will want you anyway. So you will be my bride either way. If you play nice your father will have this little house to himself. I will sign over the deed the moment we are married. If you quarrel, you will be an orphan and all of this will be more painful. Either way, you are going to be the sorest bitch in this kingdom.”

  I backed away more, but managed to force the tears and whimpering to halt. I gripped the meaty cock the way he was showing me and stroked. He thrust his hips, shoving it into my grip like he was mating with my hands.

  He moaned for a moment before reaching for my head. His thick fingers slipped into my chestnut hair, dragging my head toward him. He pushed the swollen red head of the beast at my face. I pressed my lips closed tight, fighting the sobs stuck in my throat.

  He jerked himself forward again, pressing the beast against my lips. I didn't understand until he stuck a finger in my mouth, prying my lips open. “You’re going to suck my cock and if I feel teeth, your father gets committed.”

  He dragged his finger from my mouth, replacing it with the head of his cock. I gagged but he shoved it to the back of my throat, cutting off my air supply. I cried out as it pulled away, but it shut off my noises when he shoved it back there repeatedly in short bursts. I lifted a hand to the shaft of it, to stroke and avoid it going all the way to the back of my throat.

  My spit slid along the thick cock, making my stroking hand do the majority of the work. His eyes were closed and his head tilted back as he groaned into each thrust. His hand didn't stop pulling my hair and my head ached, but I didn't dare complain. I couldn't have spoken if my life depended upon it.

  His thrusting became rhythmic as his groaning got louder. His grip on my head tightened as his already throbbing cock convulsed. Blasts of warm liquid filled my throat, choking me. The taste was foul but as he finished shouting for me to swallow, his cock went limp. He released my hair and patted me on the head.

  “That's a good girl. Oh, Belle, that's my good girl.” He grinned, slipping the now much smaller thing from my lips and back into his pants and tied them up. He nodded his head. “See you tomorrow, Belle.” He picked up his jacket and left through the back door of the kitchen.

  My knees ached, my head hurt, and my throat burned.

  A lifetime of that was what awaited me if I married him.

  There was no way I could endure that.

  No way.

  2

  My dreams were filled with horror and constant flashbacks of the disgusting way in which Gaston had abused me. There was no saving myself from the memories or the fear of the possibility it would happen again.

 
He was the most eligible bachelor in our part of the kingdom. He was only a few years older than I was but was already far richer than any man I had ever known.

  On paper, he was an ideal candidate for any girl.

  Just not me.

  I knew about the other side of him.

  I had heard rumor of his ways and seen his treatment of the barmaids firsthand.

  Once, when walking to town, I thought I might avoid seeing him if I came by way of the back alley, but what I stumbled upon was ungodly. He had a barmaid bent over a barrel of ale in the alley. Her eyes met mine, and I knew she didn't want to be there. He grunted into her, jerking her body forward with every stroke. I turned back and went home, abandoning my desire to get a new book.

  That had been last winter. From then, his lecherous stare and forceful ways made my insides turn whenever I saw him.

  And now he would be mine.

  I would spend my days bent over a barrel and jerking away as he used me to rut like a wild animal.

  My heart nearly seized and failed to beat again when I imagined how much worse it could get. And how inferior I would always be, good for only a handful of things.

  After the horrible abuse, my father had not come up the stairs, and I had seen myself to bed. But when I woke I was determined to beg him to renege his consent in a letter and then run away. I hurried down the stairs to the cellar to find him asleep at his desk.

  I sighed and was reminded of the words Gaston had said to me about committing my father if I didn't wed him.

  It was only a moment before my father woke, blinking slowly and lifting his head. “Belle, my dearest. I got it working. I got the confounded thing working. I think I might be able to sell it now.”

  I opened my mouth to beg him to run but I couldn't do it. I could see from the broken down pile of junk it was unlikely the machine would get him anywhere. He wasn't the inventor he had once been. And he wasn't the father he had always been.

  There was no one protecting me and Gaston knew it.

  I was no different than the barmaid, there for the taking.

  My father yawned and frowned at the same time, looking even crazier. “I had the strangest dream you were to wed Lord Gaston. Imagine how remarkable that would be.”

  “It is not a dream, Papa. You agreed to the proposal last night.”

  “Does this please you?” He winced when he saw my face. “Come now, tell me child. How do you feel about that? Claiming the most eligible bachelor in the lands.” He sounded like he was beyond hopeful about the entirety of it all and had his mind made up about it.

  “I am very grateful, Papa.” I forced the words from my lips. Everything about it felt wrong, but I saw my fate much clearer that morning.

  “Have I spoken out of turn, my dear? The whole night is a bit blurry for me. Gaston offered me a drink and then I suppose I had too much of it.”

  I shook my head, realizing that was why my father had been so out of sorts. Gaston had either slipped something into the drink or offered him more than he could handle.

  His steely colored eyes narrowed. “Are you certain? I do not know if it is such a good idea by the look on your face. You do not look like a young woman in love.”

  “He is just very different from me and not a choice I might have made on my own.”

  He nodded and brushed his fingers through his mustache. “He is very different from you, very direct and intense.”

  I would never deny that there was a moment I had planned our escape, us running through the woods, finding a new city. A forced smile graced my lips. “Yes, Papa. But now I see it’s what’s best for our family.”

  He blinked as clarity filled his eyes and he waved a hand. “Poppycock. If you do not love him and would not have chosen him, then I will tell him I was mistaken and confused.” His tone was one I hadn’t heard in ages. It was strong and sensible. “I know things haven’t been easy, but I feel we are on our way with this latest invention. It will revolutionize the cleaning of clothing and linens. The machine does all the work, you see? No more hours of scrubbing over bins of water and twisting it all out.”

  “Papa—” I paused. “There is nothing I want more than to see you succeed. But Gaston is a possibility for us to be safe and taken care of. In fact, it’s a guarantee.” My father’s inventions had once been remarkable, along with his mind. But it was a different time than this one and his moment of clarity wouldn't last. I knew that.

  “Oh, I see. Of course. Yes.” His blue eyes lowered, as did his mood. He nodded like he understood, but I could see the hurt on his face. But it lasted only a moment before he looked up, suddenly fighting for us. “If you don't want to marry Gaston then there is no reason for us to stay here. There is a fair in the small city nearby. It is for inventions exactly like this. It is a chance to find investors and benefactors who believe in the idea. I daresay I should at least go and see if my work will find some success before we throw in the towel.” He got up and walked to me. “One last attempt at this before we see you married off. If you remain here I will come and fetch you or send word for you the moment I know we are a success.”

  It warmed my heart to see him so clear and in his right mind. I nodded and let him have his chance, though I knew the reality. We had been down this road before. At least it was a way to run away, even if my father didn't know that was what we were doing.

  “I leave this very afternoon and when I return in a fortnight, we will celebrate my success or your wedding night.” He looked proud as a peacock and not tired or worried as he so often did.

  We spent the day packing his things and cleaning the invention as I plotted how to best use the fortnight to my advantage. I planned to pack the things in the house we needed and load the second carriage and horse, readying them for the moment I could sneak away.

  When he was done loading the carriage and harnessing Philip, our horse, he was off. Through the dust billowing up from the trail I could just make out his bright smiling face as he waved back at me, and I returned his wave.

  I busied myself, tidying and baking. When I was done and the sun was setting, I locked up the house with the locks my father had made, and hurried to the attic, making a small bed. I lit a candle and opened my favorite book.

  I read by the light of the candle, nibbling on fresh bread and the bits of cheese we had left. I read but my brain contemplated possibilities.

  I knew my best chance was to run away, following my father to the city. I could tell Gaston that my father had changed his mind. My father wasn't here for Gaston to torment. I would leave a note and then run.

  The sky was dark and I was nearly done my book when the loud bang at the door startled me. I lay perfectly still, my heart in my throat and my entire body tense. Moving as if he were watching me, I leaned forward and blew out the candle by my side.

  “Belle, Maurice, are you home?” It was indeed Gaston. He banged louder. “BELLE!”

  I closed my eyes as the pounding on the door worsened. In the dark I could pretend there was no banging and no Gaston. Perhaps he would suspect we had fled and turn his affections to another girl. That would have been the best outcome.

  I didn't know how long his carrying on lasted, only that it seemed to go on forever. Eventually, he stopped. I curled into a ball and fell asleep.

  Many days passed this way.

  I had evaded him by hiding out in the house, not moving around the windows, not going outside at all during the day, and packing our things at night. I guessed my papa would need a week to sort his devices out at the fair. I would leave on the ninth day and hopefully meet him on the road as he returned for me.

  But eventually I ran out of luck.

  It had been eight days since my father had left, and I had nearly completed the packing. I had read alone in the attic for the most part, watching Gaston come and go several times each day. But when he came to the house that morning, he did not knock. I watched him creep around the yard but did not hear the knocking.

  Eac
h night when I finished packing, I used the locks my father had installed. The sound of a door opening told me I had forgotten the night before.

  Gaston approached, making only a slight noise, creeping along the floorboards as they announced him. I froze, stopping dead in my tracks. I could not see him, but I knew he was in the house.

  I slid along the doorframe, holding my body tightly to the wall. He walked past the doorway, as if he didn't see me but grabbed at me the moment I thought I might be in the clear.

  I screamed but he just shook me and shouted in my face, “Where is Maurice?”

  “Gone, far away from here and you.” I shoved him back.

  His hand came up like he might backhand me but he paused and his eyes filled with something resembling hatred. “You tell me where he is.”

  “Gone. He left the day after you came here.” I shuddered at the memory. “He said I don't have to marry you!” I regretted saying it the moment I did.

  His eyes widened and he turned me over his knee, lifting my dress as I was flung face first toward the floor.

  I stopped just short of eating the wooden floorboards as my undergarments were ripped down, scraping across the fronts of my thighs. I kicked and squirmed but it was no use. His meaty hand caressed my exposed flesh for a moment and then was gone. I shivered as his body tensed and the hand came down, smacking hard on my bottom. I screamed but it was no use.

  “Scream, scream for me. No one can hear you.” His hand came down again. I squirmed and kicked, thrashing harder, but all it did was tighten his grip upon my arms and back as he pinned me to his legs. His hand came down again, echoing the smacking sounds off the walls of the silent cottage.

  Hot tears flooded my eyes but I refused to let them out. I refused to cry for him as he berated me.

  “You are forcing me to teach you your place! A woman bows before her man—her lord!”

  Smack.

  “You will learn to behave like a proper wife!”

  Smack.

  “I will have your respect!”

  Smack.

  His hand rested on my flaming cheeks as soft whimpers and sobs fell from my parted lips. He massaged and groped the tender flesh, taking every ounce of dignity I had left.