Free Beauty and the Beast (an erotic re-imagining) by Shoshanna Evers Page B

hard and rushed to obey. She wouldn’t tarry and give him more reason to be hard on her. She’d learned her lesson about stalling after her first spanking.
    The chains moved as if on their accord, latching thick cuffs around her wrists.
    Oh fairies, are you against me too, now?
    The Beast stepped back, his gaze on her naked, stretched body, her arms high above her head, and smiled, baring his sharp teeth.
    “Have you ever been whipped, Beauty?” he asked.
    What was the right answer? If she said yes (a lie), would he go easier on her, or harder?
    “No, Beast,” she whispered.
    “Would you like to be whipped?”
    A trick question. It had to be.
    “I’m scared, Sir,” she said honestly. “But I’ll do whatever you want me to do. We have an agreement, and I know if I do what you say, then you’ll honor your end of the bargain and set me free when it is time.”
    The Beast laughed, a low, rumbling sound, and she struggled to keep her face expressionless despite her concern. He would honor their deal, right? He had to.
    “That’s right, Belle. We will both keep our word.” He left her field of vision, disappearing into the shadows, and returned with a long, leather whip with several strands of leather hanging ominously from his hand.
    “This will hurt, but the marks won’t last more than tonight, and by tomorrow morning, your skin will be as white and unblemished as it is right now. I chose this whip because it hurts, but doesn’t harm. I keep my word, always, Beauty.”
    A whimper escaped her throat, and she swallowed again, determined to not cry. She could handle this. How much could it hurt if it didn’t even leave a lasting mark, right?
    He dropped to all fours and moved in closer, nudging her torso with his head, the long, silky mane brushing against her nipples. The tiny pink peaks were hard, and while Belle wished she could say it was only because she was freezing, in reality, she was aroused.
    Why? Why, why, and how on earth was she turned on when she was about to be punished by the Beast?
    “Turn around,” he said.
    She obeyed, the chains around her wrists rattling in protest as her nipples pressed against the stone. The wall felt icy, almost wet.
    “You will count,” he said.
    “How many, Sir?” Please, please don’t be a lot.
    “I will stop when I feel you’ve had enough. I have considered one lash for every hour you kept me waiting…” He paused. “Perhaps next time you won’t give me all day to think about it.”
    With that, he stood on his hind legs, and once again she felt so small next to his towering mass. The helplessness of her situation overwhelmed her. Chained to his dungeon wall, unable to break free, unable to leave, forced to accept whatever punishment he deemed fit to give her.
    For some reason, that very helplessness soothed her, and made it all right. If she couldn’t escape, then she may as well relax, and not fight. He could do what he wanted, and she would survive, because he promised her so.
    And she believed him. The Beast, in everything he had done and said, had always been honest with her. She was safe in his care.
    The whip made a horrible whistling sound as it swooshed through the cold air and lashed across her back. Belle shrieked, more in surprise than pain—although the pain was there, definitely— a sharp burn across her tender flesh.
    “Count them off, Belle,” he ordered.
    “One,” she said, surprised her voice was so strong. It filled the dungeon.
    He took the whip and turned it around in his hand, so that the thick handle faced her. No! He couldn’t beat her with the handle, she would break into pieces.
    “Please,” she whispered, but the Beast shook his head.
    “You forgot to say Sir,” he said.
    She winced, waiting for the force of the thick handle of the whip, but it didn’t come. Instead, he nudged the handle between her legs, rubbing it against her clit slowly.
    What on earth? She closed her eyes, resting her forehead against the dungeon