Her Beast (Beauty and the Captor 1)

Against my will, the image came to mind of him trying to force that enormous bulge inside me. I cringed, thinking I would certainly split in two. But the thought appealed to the sick, depraved girl inside me, the one who had writhed against his fingers and moaned in pleasure despite how wrong it was.

What the hell had he done to me? Before this, I’d never…well…there’d been the occasional strange dream, the kind that would wake me, sweaty and aching, and disgusted with myself for conjuring the dark scenes.

But they had been dreams—nightmares by any normal standard. And this was reality—bitter, harsh reality. I couldn’t simply wake up from this nightmare and shame-facedly relieve the ache before drifting back to an innocent slumber. But maybe that’s all this was. My body was simply responding the way it had in those dreams. I’d rewarded it often enough for it, rubbing hard and fast to the last snatches of the dream until my body convulsed with its relief.

It didn’t make it any less humiliating now, but it helped to explain why I’d responded the way I had.

“You are very unique, Pet,” he said, drawing my attention back as he rose from the chair. And then he left with the tray.

I debated going to check around the chair, pathetically hoping he’d left some kind of scraps behind, but I knew he hadn’t. It would be hours before I had the chance to eat again, and who knew what horrible thing he’d make me do for it.

It seemed I no longer paid for things with money—of which I’d had precious little, to begin with. The price he demanded was my pride. My humiliation bought me food, but what happened when he’d extracted every bit of it from me? Then what would he demand in payment?

I closed my eyes and shifted tighter into my corner. The carpet rubbed against my abused bottom, providing a fresh reminder of what had happened and making the tears in my eyes well over. Maybe it would be better to get it over with—to stop resisting, stop trying to hold onto the pride and dignity he was just going to take away from me in the end.

I’d been right about this being sexual for him. And I’d been right that he’d been trying to slowly drive me insane. I had a feeling he wasn’t going to stop until he turned the girl he’d taken into nothing but a complacent shell he could use any way he wanted. Why try to stop it from happening when it was going to happen eventually?

I breathed a deep sigh, trying to cleanse the fight from my body. It held on tight. I could feel it wrapped tight around somewhere in the center of me, woven into the fabric of my being. I kept breathing, trying to disentangle each strand.

My eyes grew heavy, and I didn’t fight them. Every moment of sleep had been a struggle, but now it seemed like the exhaustion had finally caught up with me. I welcomed it, willing it to help me slip away. To escape the pain, the uncertainty, the humiliation…even if only for a little while. I would struggle to offer it all up later. I would worry about handing over whatever pride I had left later. Later.

I drifted off quickly, but he followed me there. In my dream, he teased and tormented me. He tied me up and he hurt me. And he held me down with my arms pinned above my head and he rammed his massive cock deep inside me.

When I awoke, I was sweaty, and the aching throb between my thighs was all too familiar.

But when I looked up, he was there. He was staring down at me with an amused grin on his too-handsome face. My cheeks flamed, remembering the scene in my dream and wondering what clues my sleeping body had given him about what had been going on in my head. Had I moaned? Begged? Touched myself?

“Hello, Pet. Sweet dreams?” he queried with an expression that said he knew too much. “Kneel,” he said and I struggled up onto my knees, hoping he’d abandon the subject and feed me. I’d gladly crawl all around the room if he’d just leave the topic alone.

Instead, though, he crouched down in front of me and he slipped his hand between my thighs.

I tried to back up, but my corner gave me nowhere to go.

He didn’t run his fingers along me this time but shoved a finger inside me. Oh god. Sensation. Too damn much sensation. On top of the dream that still clung to my body, his touch was too much.

“Hmm, very sweet dreams it seems,” he said as he removed his finger and raised it to his lips.

My wetness glistened on his finger and I squeezed my eyes shut as he slipped it into his mouth. And then I felt him pressing his finger against my lips, trying to force it inside. I kept them closed until a low growl rumbled up from his chest in warning. Reluctantly, I let him in, and I tasted myself on the invading digit. It wasn’t crepes, or either of the other meals he fed me. It was something different. New. Earthy, with a soft sweetness like honey. The new sensation fed my depraved brain.