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Enchanted: Erotic Bedtime Stories For Women
Nancy Madore
Allow yourself to be drawn into a fantasy world like no other…Where a beautiful princess is seduced into a love triangle with a handsome prince and her winsome maid…Where a mysterious gentleman`s young bride is deliciously disciplined for her unchecked curiosity…Where a naive daughter is married off to a beast of a man whose carnal appetites awaken her budding desire….With a unique and decidedly adult twist on thirteen classic fairy tales, Nancy Madore intrigues and arouses with her titillating, sizzling anthology of erotic stories guaranteed to keep you up late into the night. You`ll never look at fairy tales the same way again.


I dedicate this book to you.

NANCY MADORE

Enchanted
Erotic Bedtime Stories for Women

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

Foreword
It is amazing how confused everyone seems to be about women’s sexuality, including women. Women’s magazines are constantly giving advice about how women can better please their men (and where to find the products to help them do it), while women’s TV bombards us with horror stories about how terrible men are—and thrown in the middle of all this we have myriads of dazzling female sex symbols supposedly forging a path for our total sexual empowerment. So why are increasing numbers of women reporting an overwhelming uninterest in sex? Why isn’t sex fun for women anymore?
In my opinion, these self-proclaimed representatives of female sexuality in the media are alienating women sexually, by exploiting them, tearing down their self-esteem and raising their expectations of themselves to unattainable highs while lowering their expectations of men to ridiculous lows. When a popular female icon starves herself, alters herself, misrepresents herself, sells herself, exploits herself, etc., she is contributing to the overall standards that influence how women are viewed by men and how they view themselves.
It is my belief that to really empower women sexually (or in any other part of their life, for that matter) we need to stop trying to control or change them. We must accept them exactly as they are. When women feel good about themselves they feel better about sex. Sex is not a market that is cornered by a select few. All women have it within them to be sexual, although it lies dormant in many of us because of the damage done by our culture and media. It can be reawakened, but only through total acceptance of who we are. We need to feel safe being sexual without the fear of being exploited, changed, categorized, punished, shamed or degraded.
I thought erotic stories written especially for and about women might help, and the results of my efforts are the stories you find here. They are based on the real fantasies of women, as they are, without censure. Do not be alarmed if you find a fantasy or two that is not quite “correct” from every point of view. Bear in mind that I have carefully selected these fantasies from the most popular according to my research. Accepting these fantasies will not harm the movement for women’s equality, since equality can be achieved only through acceptance.
And so I have accepted and even embraced women’s fantasies and written about them as honestly and fully as I was able. Keeping in mind that I was writing for women, I empowered my heroines in ways that would not compromise the fantasies or the reader. Recognizing her desire for romance, I added passion and tenderness to make the sexual fantasies more meaningful. I forbore the tendency so many writers have to make their heroines unnaturally beautiful and “perfect.” The male characters carry more than their share of the fantasies, and the female characters are written so that the reader can easily imagine herself into the starring role. The stories are highly erotic, but completely without the profanity and vulgarity that often accompany sexual material. The characters are the long-ago friends that most of us grew up with in Grimm’s and other fairy tales. In place of the old, outdated maxims of the original fairy tales I have slipped in a few modern adages of my own.
Naturally, it was not possible to include every woman’s fantasy in this book. I chose only the most common and straightforward for my fairy tales, and I hope that those of you who are more original and creative than the rest of us will forgive me for leaving yours out. Every fantasy is not for everyone, but it is my own personal fantasy that you find the stories exciting and entertaining.
Thank you for reading Enchanted: Erotic Bedtime Storiesfor Women.


Beauty and the Beast
My name is Beauty. It is likely that you have heard of me. My story, or rather, the one they tell of me, has been told too many times to count. But that is not really my story at all. The particulars have been disregarded entirely. I would have thought that with all the telling of it someone would have, just once, stumbled upon the truth. And perhaps some of you did read between those illusory lines and suspect the truth, incredible and shocking as it is. Or maybe the truth is really too fantastic to believe. I admit there are times when I can hardly believe it myself, and it all seems like a faraway dream.
In fact, some of what has been put down in the various accounts of my life is true, for, in order to save my poor father’s life, I did consent to live with a fearsome creature that was more beast than man. It is also true that I fell in love with the Beast. As for what happened after that, the storybooks are quite accurate in their exposition for the Beast, immediately upon my avowal of love, was released from an evil curse and returned to his original form as a charming prince. We were married that very day.
But that is where the similarities between the legends you have read and my own incredible narrative end. For I have not lived “happily ever after” since that day.
You see, I miss my Beast.
As I languish here within the lonely halls of this castle, my mind often drifts back to the very first day I spent here. It was with much trepidation that I left my bedchamber that day, very cautiously, to make my way through the vast corridors that twist and turn throughout this fortress. Despite much speculation over the matter (for I had slept not one wink the night before), I could not imagine why the Beast had requested my presence there. I spent the day alone, wandering in and out of rooms and exploring the unfamiliar surroundings, while trying to guess what was in store for me.
This is not to say that I came to the great castle of the Beast against my will, for I was quite anxious to leave the poverty and boredom of my childhood behind me, and so when obligation awarded me this adventure, I was not entirely dissatisfied.
I could not have said what a castle should look like, but it seemed to me that everything I saw was exactly as it should be. Very austere-looking ancestors silently gazed down at me from the lofty positions where their portraits hung superciliously upon the walls. Other walls displayed splendidly woven tapestries of French picnics, Italian vineyards and other exotic affairs. The furniture was intricately carved from the finest lumber, and the carpets were extravagantly thick and colorful. In short, everything was quite extraordinary in its elegance and splendor.
I did not chance to meet the Beast while roaming the castle that day. He had, upon my arrival the previous evening, instructed a servant to take me directly to my bedchamber after I had bidden my father a quick farewell, and watched with strange detachment as he loaded two brimming trunks onto his coach. These were gifts from the Beast, who instructed that they be filled with treasures for my father to take away with him. It calmed and pleased me to imagine my family’s delight when opening those trunks.
I did not stir from my bedroom during the remainder of the night, sleepless though I was. I pondered the end of my old life during the long hours of that quiet night, and even into the next day as I drifted from room to room, examining everything at leisure, without seeing a single soul about the place.
Supper was announced with the tinkling of a bell, and it was there that I once again encountered the Beast. Despite his gruesome appearance and gruff voice, I was pleasantly surprised to discover that he was, in fact, a gracious host, and we passed that first dinner with pleasant conversation and food and drink that delighted the palate.
As soon as the meal was concluded, the Beast rose from the table, surveying me with his dark eyes for a moment before asking, “Will you marry me, Beauty?”
I stared at the Beast in utter astonishment. What was I to do? Though my heart was hammering a loud warning of caution not to anger the Beast, I somehow managed to whisper, “No, Beast.”
The Beast merely nodded bleakly, saying, “Very well, then,” in a tone that indicated he had expected my reply, and he abruptly left the hall.
Relieved that I had not provoked the Beast with my refusal to his preposterous request, I too left the dining room to retire for the evening.
Have I forgotten to describe my bedchamber? Do not think it is because the room was not worth mentioning, for it was, and continues to be, the most beautiful room I would find in this elegant castle.
When first entering the chamber on the previous evening, I was too preoccupied to take much notice of my surroundings. On this night, however, I darted from one thing to the next, examining the wonderful array of objects that had been placed there for my pleasure, until at last my eyes beheld the extraordinary bed upon which I was to sleep. Along its towering posts it displayed, in great detail, the carved images of wild animals, spiraling along the edges and seemingly moving upward until, at the top, there sat a beautiful man with a crown. I knew not the meaning of the exquisite carvings that lanced that wooden frame, but gazed attentively at them nonetheless, for their beauty was not lost on me in spite of my humble upbringing.
Beside the bed an enormous bouquet of no less than one hundred fragrant pink roses stood placidly in an oversize vase that had been set on the bedside table. And, upon my word, from that day forward I was never to enter my chamber of an evening without finding an equally remarkable display of freshly cut flowers beside the bed.
The bedding was every bit as magnificent as everything else I had feasted my eyes on that day, and a shiver of pure delight ran through me as I slipped between the sumptuous silken sheets. It was such a pleasurable feeling that I was momentarily tempted to remove my nightdress. Instead, I ran my hand slowly across the bedding. My senses were rapidly becoming engulfed in exotic sensations amidst the influence of such luxury.
I was startled out of my enchantment suddenly when there came a light rapping on the door of my chamber.
“Who’s there?” I inquired, sitting up and clutching the silk sheets about my neck.
“It is only I, your servant, the Beast,” came the gentle reply.
His manner was as reassuring and appealing to me as his appearance was frightful. “Do come in,” I said, more at ease.
The Beast opened the door to my bedchamber but did not step over the threshold. Through the dim light of the hallway, I could clearly see his physical outline, which would have been terrifying if not for his gentlemanly demeanor. I waited for him to speak.
“I only wished to inquire if all was satisfactory, My Lady,” he said, remaining just outside the doorway.
“Satisfactory?” I echoed, suddenly amused. “Good heavens, no! I would never in my wildest imaginings have dared to describe these accommodations as ‘satisfactory.’” I smiled happily at my little joke, as I flung the extravagant bedclothes aside, and reached toward the nightstand to light the lantern.
The Beast remained silent and stared at me as if stunned. Upon seeing his expression, I realized my flippant reply must have insulted him and immediately tried to put matters right.
“Oh, Beast! What I meant to say…well, of course every thing is quite satisfactory. Why, it is more than satisfactory! That is what I meant of course.”
But something was terribly wrong. It was as if the Beast had not even heard me. Without thinking I leaped from my bed to approach him as I made another effort to explain. But I only managed a few steps before freezing in horror.
Had I heard a growl? My mind reeled between shock and disbelief. It was impossible! And yet, his eyes had a most unnatural glow. He stood perfectly still, like an animal that is poised for an attack.
“Beast?” I whispered, as much a plea as a question.
And then all of a sudden he was gone.
I stood there many moments afterward, trying to collect my shattered wits. I glanced down at my trembling hands, and it was then that I noticed my dressing gown. It was completely sheer, from head to foot! The lantern I had lit only served to emphasize my nakedness beneath the cloth!
I did not see the Beast again until suppertime the following day. There, he was as gentle and refined as I had remembered him being at the previous meal we had shared. I blushed and shivered whenever his eyes met mine, but he never gave any indication that he noticed, or that anything had transpired that warranted such an attitude. His demeanor eventually lulled me out of my suspicions and fears, and I was once again at ease, and even enjoying his conversation and friendly manner. Afterward, he stood up and asked me the same question he had asked on the previous night, and the one he would ask every night thereafter.
“Beauty, will you marry me?”
To which I always replied, “No, Beast.”
Our friendship blossomed. And yet, every noise I heard from within my bedchamber at night would leave me anxious and sleepless, waiting breathlessly for that light tap on my chamber door.
But the Beast never ventured near my bedchamber again.
It was I who, unable to sleep one evening, stumbled across the Beast’s private chamber while wandering toward the library in search of something to read. I heard a noise, much like a groan, coming from the other side of his door as I passed. I stopped abruptly.
In a moment or two I heard the noise again. I knew immediately it was the Beast and was seized with compassion for him. Was he ill?
Without further thought I knocked on his chamber door. Moments passed and I knocked again.
“Go away,” I heard the Beast say at last, in a pleading tone.
“I shall not,” I replied determinedly, “not until I have seen that you are well.”
Silence again.
“Please,” I implored, knocking again. “Just open the door and let me…”
“Go away from that door, Beauty!” the Beast commanded harshly. “Leave now or you will endanger yourself!” His tone was controlled, but his voice was desperate.
I have wondered many times why I did not leave him then. I have told myself that I could not leave a friend in need. I have told myself that it was my curiosity that would not let me leave. I have told myself a great many things, but I suspect that you will not believe them, either.
I turned the doorknob and opened the door to the Beast’s private bedchamber.
It was pitch-black inside. I took a few steps into the room, searching the darkness for the Beast. The door behind me suddenly slammed shut. The hair on my neck stood up.
The darkness was slowly giving way to shadows. My eyes scanned the massive room frantically, seeking the Beast’s form. Suddenly I heard the shrill screech of metal rings on rods, nearly causing me to jump out of my skin, as one heavy velvet drape was yanked aside so that the bright moonlight could enter the chamber. Now I could see the Beast clearly as he approached me. I could also suddenly hear his irregular breathing, and I realized he was panting.
My own breathing became more rapid as I desperately struggled to get enough air into my lungs. It was as if the huge chamber had shrunk to half its size upon my discovering the Beast’s large form. Fear was steadily trickling through my veins, infusing me with an acute awareness of everything around me. The Beast slowly approached me until he stood so close that I could feel his warm breath on my skin, and I fancied I could even feel heat from his stare. He was a full foot and a half, if not more, taller than I, with shoulders that extended a distance of more than three times the size of mine. There was an unnatural glow in his dark eyes. I shivered in spite of the heat I felt coming off him.
“If you don’t want your nightdress to be destroyed, remove it now,” the Beast said at last. His tone was matter-of-fact, but his manner was strained, as if he was struggling to maintain control. His voice was gruff, and so deep as to be barely able to transmit human language. His presence engulfed and overwhelmed me. His gaze hypnotized me. His breath burned me. There was nothing that I could perceive remaining of the mild friend I had shared so many suppers with.
And yet, as I stared into the Beast’s eyes, mesmerized, a new sensation was rapidly creeping up from deep within me, mingling with the fear.
Utterly motionless, except for my throbbing heart, I contemplated my predicament (meanwhile, as I stood pondering, the foregoing sensation persisted and grew, so that I felt strangely excited and excitable). In this state, I saw the situation only superficially, and reasoned to myself accordingly: What power had I to resist the Beast? Indeed, resistance seemed unlikely while the Beast stood towering ominously over me, silently waiting for me to obey his command. What he was capable of, were I not to comply, I didn’t dare speculate. The Beast who stood over me at that moment appeared ready to pounce at my slightest movement. And yet, vaguely, I suspected the Beast would make every effort to submit to my will, were I to try to escape him.
All the time that I stood there deliberating, which seemed to me like hours, but more likely was mere seconds, I was plagued with that gnawing excitement that had been steadily growing within me, and haven’t I as much as admitted already that I was not desperate for the scenario to end?
With a sudden motion, I hastily removed my nightdress, lest my resolution wane. I stood waiting with much agitation for the Beast’s next move, but he merely stared at me in silence for what seemed to me an interminable amount of time. I wondered if he could hear my frantic heart; its echo was thundering loudly in my own ears.
The Beast slowly lifted his huge hand and lightly caressed my face. I gasped in shock when I felt it. It was so rough as to almost inflict pain with the slightest touch.
The Beast’s eyes flared with momentary anger, but then quieted as he studied me with troubled eyes. “I do not want to hurt you, Beauty,” he murmured. “It is you who controls the destiny of us both.”
I could not grasp the meaning of his words. His presence was slowly overpowering me, enveloping and entrapping me in its dangerous power. It seemed as if he were warning me of something. Had he said that I was in control? Should I stophim? I wondered. Could I still stop him? I felt too weak to move.
Meanwhile his hands, which were quite large as I have said, and clawed, crudely rubbed my tender skin, slowly working their way to my breasts. To my surprise, my nipples immediately responded, hardening under his touch. A moan escaped my lips as he squeezed them; the brute force of his hands combined with my own continually growing desire was agonizing.
He continued to touch me and, when he reached the place between my legs, I felt a wave of shame as my own excitement became evident. The Beast was now changing rapidly; with each passing moment he was becoming more like a beast and less like a man.
“On your knees,” he grunted, between heavy breaths. I stared at him, speechless. The reality of what was happening suddenly dawned on me. He would take me just as he would an animal. It was too late to change my mind, however, for he was already brusquely maneuvering my body into the position he commanded right there on the floor. He did this so swiftly and efficiently that I had no doubt left about his strength, or the futility of my trying to escape.
I remained motionless where he placed me for several moments, while the Beast, meanwhile, hastily worked behind me to remove his clothing. Still too frightened to risk angering the Beast by turning to look at him, I could only wonder frantically what lay behind the elaborate garments the Beast took such pains to hide himself in. But my curiosity eventually got the better of my fears and, almost without my willing it to, my head turned in the Beast’s direction. An involuntary gasp escaped my lips.
The Beast was unclothed, except for his shirt, which hung open, revealing a torso that was covered in coarse animal hair. From the waist down his body resembled that of a lion’s, with two huge paws for feet, and a long tail that hung to the floor. But even more frightening than anything I have described so far was the object that jutted out just below his waistline. It was of a deep reddish purple color and inhuman in size. I was certain that I would never be able to withstand it.
The Beast heard my gasp and caught sight of me staring at him in horror. He let out a terrible roar that had only the smallest resemblance to the words, “Turn around!”
“You will kill me!” I cried, in real terror, even as I obeyed his harsh command.
“I promise you will live,” he replied, with a sudden return to his former gentleness. His voice trembled with his effort to speak. “This is the way it must be until you free us both from this fate.”
I was bewildered by his words, but I had no time to dwell on them, for suddenly I felt his breath, hot as steam, between my legs. Even with this warning, I was completely unprepared for what followed.
As rough as sandpaper and larger than the leaf of an oak, the Beast’s tongue slowly wriggled and dug itself into my most tender place. I nearly jumped out of my skin, but the Beast held me firm, even as he repeated the action again, and still again. At once aggravated and enthralled by the harsh persistence of the inhuman thing that continued to rub and pry at my delicate flesh, I could do little more than twitch and jerk, one moment desperately trying to get away, and the next moment pressing myself toward him. His large tongue easily covered my exposed area in its entirety with one rough stroke, and then carefully resumed its invasion of my inner flesh with the enthusiasm of a hungry animal. I was near the point of swooning, so overcome with excitement was I.
At last the Beast stopped with a grunt, and I felt his oversized fingers prying me open. By now my entire body was shaking violently.
In spite of my excitement, I felt an immense pressure as the Beast began to press himself into me from behind. I protested with little cries, and my body instinctively edged forward in an effort to escape the intruding Beast. This he would not allow however, and his powerful hands grasped my waist harshly, jerking me all the way back until he entered me. I screamed.
With visible difficulty, the Beast struggled to retain what little human restraint he still possessed. His whole body shook as he held me firmly in place and, in a strangled voice, he insisted, “You will get used to me in a moment.”
But I was getting used to him before he finished his statement. My entire body suddenly felt like it was on fire. I moaned, tentatively rocking back and forth. But there was much more than what I had thus far experienced to endure. Pulling my hips forward in short little jerks, the Beast began a steady but gradual advance.
“Slowly,” I heard him murmur, possibly to himself, as he continued to edge himself into my body. Little by little he pushed forward, all the while holding me firmly in place. All I could do was remain motionless, gasping and whimpering, one moment in extreme pleasure, the next in exquisite pain.
I would never have thought it possible, but I was, in fact, able to take the Beast entirely. Yet I could scarcely breathe when at first the Beast filled me completely, for I felt as if I were being impaled. I was conscious of nothing but that part of me he filled.
Very slowly, with ragged breathing and low growls, the Beast began to move himself in and out of me. He continued the slow pace for quite some time, allowing me to become completely accustomed to him; but at last his grunts and moans became wilder and louder, and likewise his strokes became rougher and quicker. His breath seared the skin on my back. His hands bored into my flesh, bruising the tender skin. I thought I felt his teeth nip my shoulder.
I was aroused to the point of pain. With my inhibitions long gone, I began to touch myself to enhance the pleasure as I struggled against the Beast.
But I was too late. With a deafening yell and one last hard thrust, the Beast filled me with a tremendous deluge, the excess of which flowed down my trembling legs.
I was profoundly disappointed and attempted to pull myself away from the Beast, but he held me firmly in place, remaining inside me, still fully aroused, as he reached around for my hand and replaced it between my legs. He held it there until I grasped what he wanted me to do.
I was momentarily embarrassed by his knowledge of what I had been doing, but that quickly disappeared as my enthusiasm once more returned. Realizing that I had as much time as I wished to enjoy the Beast, I once again began to stimulate myself. Meanwhile, the Beast slowly pulled himself out of me, almost to the very end, and then, just as slowly, pushed himself all the way back in. He continued this patiently while I sought my own pleasure.
My every sense was awakened and aroused. My skin prickled under the rough hands that grasped my hips. My ears were ringing with the raw, animal sounds that echoed throughout the moonlit chamber. My eyes were riveted to the spot on the floor that displayed the images of our two contrasting shadows as they struggled intimately against each other. My inner thighs were sticky and wet. I thought about the Beast’s sharp teeth on my shoulder as I finally found my own satisfaction.
That began my nightly visits to the Beast’s private bedchamber. And for me, each night was more pleasurable than the one before, and I no longer felt embarrassed or ashamed. In fact, my Beast was appearing much less beastly to me, and my affection made him appear, at times, even handsome. Even so, when the Beast asked me to marry him each evening, I gently declined.
One day, some months later, I received a message that my father was ill. At supper I showed the message to the Beast. After reading it he looked up at me in horror.
“Please don’t go, Beauty,” he begged.
“I must!” I cried. “If anything happens to my father before I see him again I shall never forgive you!”
The Beast was silent for a moment.
“Beauty,” he said pleadingly, “if you leave this castle, it will mean certain death for me.”
“I don’t understand,” I replied, annoyed suddenly with all the mystery that surrounded him. It had become an unresolved matter between us that so many questions always remained unanswered. Once again I implored him, “Won’t you please explain your mysterious words?”
“I cannot,” came the usual reply, but his chagrin at his seeming inability to tell me the truth made him a little more indulgent. “I will not stop you from leaving this castle as long as you promise to return to me in one month,” he said. “If you stay longer than that I will surely die.”
“I promise,” I replied with a sigh, knowing I would learn no more from him on the matter.
“I hope you keep your promise, Beauty,” he said miserably. Then he rose to leave, but at the doorway he turned to add, “There will be two trunks put out before you leave. Fill them with as many riches from the castle as you like and take them to your family.”
That evening I was more eager than usual to go to my Beast, but there was also much to do in preparation for my journey. I rushed to and fro frantically, all the while longing for the moment when I could be near my Beast and bid him a more personal farewell.
When at last I entered his chamber, I was positively quivering with excitement. The Beast was sitting in a chair in a remote corner of the darkened room. Removing my robe, I positioned myself on the edge of the bed in just the way he liked best, as was my habit. Within seconds I was soaking wet and aching for him. That’s the way it was for me with the Beast. It was enough just to wait there, trembling and poised on my hands and knees, anticipating what was to come, to bring about that kind of response in me.
I had not even heard him move when suddenly I felt his crude hands caressing my soft skin.
“Turn around,” he said suddenly in his gruff whisper.
I paused for a moment, stunned.
“I want to see your face tonight,” he said simply.
Intrigued by something new, I quickly obeyed his request, and turned so I was lying down on my back. I silently watched him as he removed his clothes, able for the first time to observe him openly. He appeared so much more fierce and animallike without his clothing. I shuddered with trepidation as I stared at his naked form. Once again, as on that very first night, it occurred to me that, in appearances at least, he really was more beast than man.
But he is a man, I insisted inwardly, refusing to acknowledge any idea that might, if allowed, somehow bring about an end to these nightly pleasures. Yet I closed my eyes as the naked beast approached.
“Open your eyes, Beauty!” he rasped.
I did so and saw his manhood poised before my lips. He took my head in his hands, but I resisted. The Beast refrained from forcing himself into my mouth, but neither did he yield his grasp of my head.
I stared at the object before me. It was shaped differently from that of a normal man’s, besides being larger, and was much darker in color. I tentatively put out my tongue, very lightly and cautiously tasting the object that brought me so much pleasure. The Beast shuddered, and suddenly I was seized with a desire to please him. I opened my mouth and caressed him gently with my lips at first, but soon found myself sucking hungrily. He was so large that I could only take a fraction of him, and that with great effort, but he seemed not to mind this; for what I was able to take I took with relish, clutching him with lips and tongue and jaw.
Abruptly the Beast stopped me and removed himself from my mouth. Pushing me down on the bed he spread apart my legs. I stared into his dark eyes as he approached. There was something shining there—something inhuman. I wanted to turn away, but his eyes held mine. A wave of terror trickled through me.
The Beast growled loudly as he entered me. My legs were stretched almost to the point of breaking as I tried to accommodate his immense form. He rasped and grunted as he mercilessly used my tender flesh. His hot breath burned my skin, and I watched with horrified fascination as his sharp teeth carefully nipped at my shoulders and breasts.
But my terror was quickly being joined by that old familiar pleasure that the Beast had kindled within me. They were both working together with the Beast to bring me toward a passion I had never before experienced. I relished the coarse animal hair that covered his body and the fierce, animal sounds that escaped him as he savagely mated me. I squirmed and moaned as his large, rough hands simultaneously bruised my tender skin and sent shivers of delight just beneath its surface. I cried out time and again, helplessly, pleading and dizzy in the utter agony of such exquisite sensations that came from him filling me to overflowing. Wave after wave of pleasure rippled through me as I vaguely heard the Beast’s tremendous roar amidst my own screams.
Before I could even catch my breath, morning had come!
I left in such a flurry of activity and excitement that I did not think of my Beast for many days. My father recovered quickly upon my arrival, and I became reabsorbed in the eventful days of a large family. Too quickly my month was up, and it was time for me to return to the castle.
No doubt the stories that you read made me seem quite unkind, and even unwilling to return to my Beast. Nothing could be further from the truth. I missed him terribly! I wanted more than anything to return to the castle, but my dear mother wept each time I made an attempt to leave.
Nearly two months passed in this way, until late one evening I awoke with a start from a dream of the castle and my Beast. In the dream all was dark as I wandered through the halls of the castle in search of my Beast. Upon entering his bedchamber, I found the Beast sleeping peacefully in his bed. As I approached him, it slowly occurred to me that my Beast was not sleeping at all, but dead! It had been my scream that awakened me.
Suddenly I remembered the Beast’s warning that he would certainly die if I extended my stay for longer than a month!
I immediately jumped from my bed and packed my things. By morning I was ready to leave and, after a sad but firm goodbye, I began my journey home to the castle and my Beast. Oh, how I suffered that day, worrying that I should never see my Beast again! If only I had known how true that would be…
When at last I arrived at the castle later that day, I immediately rushed to the Beast’s bedchamber. The Beast was lying on the bed, exactly as he had been in my dream.
“No!” I screamed, as I rushed to his side. “Please, Beast, don’t die!”
His head moved slightly when he heard my voice. I wept with joy and threw my arms around him. “Thank goodness you’re not dead,” I kept murmuring through my tears.
“You came back,” was all he said.
“Yes, I’m back…for good!” And I knew I would never leave him again.
“Will you marry me, Beauty?” he asked.
“Yes, Beast,” I said through my tears. “Yes, yes, yes!”
Barely had I uttered those words when, suddenly, there was a great flash of light. In the next instant a strange man sat where the Beast had been lying only a moment before. My Beast had disappeared. I gasped in astonishment and took a step backward.
“Oh, Beauty,” exclaimed the stranger. “Finally you have freed me from the curse!”
I blinked through my tears as I tried to comprehend the man’s words. He was explaining that he was my Beast, who was really a prince who had been turned into a beast by the spell of an evil witch. Being an especially wicked witch, she had cruelly added the seemingly impossible condition that the prince would be released from the spell only if his true love would agree to marry him while he was still a Beast!
So this stranger is my Beast, I thought, amazed. I examined his face and saw that he was indeed a handsome prince. I could not account for the disappointment I felt and besides, I had never seen my Beast happier than he was on that day. We married.
And now I must end my tale, as it is late and time to prepare for my husband, the prince. He comes to my bedchamber now and, as always, I shall be ready for him when he gets here.
But I shall not search his eyes for that savage glow.
Or listen for that deafening roar.
I stopped looking for those things years ago.


Bluebeard
There once lived a wealthy gentleman who had acquired property throughout several kingdoms. He traveled extensively from one to the next, never staying for any length of time in any one place, so that no one knew just where he resided or what he did and with whom. Because of this, there was much curiosity and speculation about the man.
This circumstance was further aggravated by an irregularity in the man’s aspect that seemed to confirm his apparent eccentricity, for he was so unfortunate as to have a beard that was blue. His mysterious lifestyle combined with his peculiar appearance tipped the scales of favor against him just enough that he became, perhaps unjustly, regarded as a man of disreputable character. His surname was abandoned and forgotten, and he was known simply as Bluebeard.
The mysterious life of Bluebeard was a regular topic of conversation among the neighbors of his various mansions, castles and estates, and, with each story that was told of him, his reputation became more and more scandalous. It was, in fact, widely believed that Bluebeard owned his many properties for the sole purpose of housing numerous wives. And when those wives failed to materialize, it was further decided that they must have met with some unfortunate disaster. Who these women were or what exactly it was that happened to them, no one could say for sure. Nevertheless, the ladies shrank back in fear whenever Bluebeard approached.
Now it came to pass that one of Bluebeard’s neighbors was a widow who had two grown daughters. Upon visiting his property in that region, Bluebeard noticed the daughters, and shortly thereafter he revealed to the widow his desire to marry one of them, leaving the choice of which to the daughters themselves. But the widow’s daughters, upon hearing of Bluebeard’s offer, passed him back and forth between them, as neither one could bear the thought of having such a frightful-looking husband with so uncertain a past. In this way they put him off repeatedly until at last Bluebeard, in an effort to win the affection of one or the other, invited them to be his guests in one of his castles far away. This they readily agreed to, as they were curious to know how Bluebeard lived, and to see if the rumors about his exceptional wealth and eccentricities were true.
So it was that the widow and her two daughters, along with a large party of their closest friends, came to stay in Bluebeard’s castle. They all remained as his guests for an entire month, which flew by in such a flurry of parties, fine dining and other types of merriment that no one wanted to leave, least of all the widow’s two daughters. In fact, the visit went so well that the older of the two sisters began to think that Bluebeard was not quite so fearsome to behold, and even that his beard was not so very blue.
A short time later Bluebeard and the widow’s oldest daughter were married. And in spite of the rumors about him, his new bride found Bluebeard to be a loving and attentive husband who spared no expense in giving her everything she desired; she settled happily into her new life with him.
But as everyone who has ever been married knows, there is much one doesn’t learn about their spouse until long after the wedding day and well into the marriage. Bluebeard’s wife discovered this one day, as her husband prepared to leave for an extended trip that would detain him for no less than a week on a business matter requiring his immediate attention. His wife was disappointed that her husband was going away so soon after their wedding, but Bluebeard kindly suggested that she amuse herself during his absence by throwing parties and filling the castle with guests. He handed her a large ring with many keys attached, giving her access to all of the rooms in his castle and his belongings therein, so that she might have any single thing her heart desired.
But all of a sudden Bluebeard’s countenance darkened and, becoming very grim, he pointed to a tiny, odd-looking key that was attached to the ring. Showing this key to his wife, Bluebeard explained that it opened the door to a small room at the end of the corridor on the very bottom floor of the castle. Without offering further explanation, Bluebeard rigorously forbade his wife to use the key and enter the room, warning her that she would suffer greatly if she disobeyed him. Though she made one attempt after another to gain a reason for this injunction, none was forthcoming. Bluebeard’s wife stared at the odd little key as her husband bade her a tender farewell.
Now you may think that Bluebeard’s wife was eager to send for her friends and throw a great party but, in fact, as she stood at the window and watched her husband’s coach ride out of sight, she was overcome with curiosity to know what was in the little room at the end of the corridor on the bottom floor of the castle. Indeed, the poor lady could think of nothing else, so that she was utterly incapable of finding any pleasure in the many luxuries that lay before her.
Clutching the little key to the forbidden room, she wandered up and down the long, winding hallways of Bluebeard’s castle, brooding over the warning issued by her husband. At length, she found herself standing at the very doorway of the room she had been banned from entering. “I must have a glimpse inside or I shall have no peace,” she reasoned.
Without pondering further over the matter, she carefully fit the tiny key into the keyhole and turned the latch. As soon as the latch was released, the door popped open, but the room was pitch-dark inside, as shutters were closed up tightly over the windows. She rummaged through her pockets in search of a match and, finding one, quickly lit it and held it out before her.
She took a step forward as her eyes, adjusting to the darkness, fell upon a large table. There were shackles attached to the table, evidently for the purpose of restraining someone. Her eyes widened.
In another part of the room she saw a heavy rope hanging from the ceiling. About halfway down on the rope there was a manacle, and directly below that the rope split into two parts, with each connecting to a shackle that was fastened to the floor. On a nearby wall there hung long leather strips of varied lengths and widths.
As she stared at these objects in horror, Bluebeard’s wife suddenly recalled the many rumors she had heard about her husband’s previous wives, all of which were presumed dead. Suddenly it occurred to her that he must have killed them in this very room, for, to her inexperienced eyes, the objects she saw there could serve no other purpose.
But there was no more time to deliberate over the matter for, at that very moment, the match she was holding burned down to her fingers and with a little shriek, the terrified lady dropped the match and the ring of keys onto the floor. Trembling violently, she felt around in the dark for the keys and, finding them at last, she rushed from the forbidden room, fled down the winding corridor, and slipped into the first open doorway she could find. She collapsed into a nearby chair.
Very slowly the horrified lady began to regain her composure. She assured herself that her husband could not know that she had entered the room—for she had touched nothing. Considering this, she glanced at the key ring and gasped. Was it her imagination, or had the little key to the forbidden room changed? Yes, it had turned bright red!
This discovery started her heart racing anew, and in desperation she took a section of her petticoat and rubbed the key vigorously, but no matter what she did the red would not come off the key. At length she perceived that it was a charmed key, and if her husband discovered it he would indeed find out that she had disobeyed him. But then she reasoned, “If I take the key off the ring perhaps Bluebeard will believe it has been lost.”
As she considered this, a dark shadow fell over her and she looked up to find no other than Bluebeard standing before her. She flung the keys behind her and desperately tried to appear happy to see him, but he could see by her face, which was paler than death, that she had entered the forbidden room.
Bluebeard did not accuse his wife immediately, however. Instead, he spoke to her very pleasantly, telling her how, just as he was nearing town, he had come upon a messenger riding in to tell him that the business had been concluded satisfactorily after all, so that he could forfeit his trip. All this he explained in a very leisurely manner, though what it was exactly that he said his poor wife could never have told you, so preoccupied was her traumatized mind.
But at last Bluebeard came to the point and asked his wife very politely for the ring of keys. As you might well imagine, that lady did everything she could think of to delay, but her husband would not be put off, and at length she handed him the keys.
Bluebeard examined the keys carefully and then said to his wife, “Why has the key which I forbade you to use turned red?”
At this his wife burst into tears and confessed all, begging her husband to forgive her. But Bluebeard grabbed her fiercely, dragging her along as he strode purposefully toward the small room at the end of the corridor, saying, “Now you will meet your fate in that room!”
The poor woman beseeched her husband for mercy with tears streaming down her lovely face, so that even the hardest of hearts would have softened, but Bluebeard turned his face away from her and, quickly unlocking the door, forced his struggling wife into the forbidden room just before stepping into it himself. Then he locked the door behind them.
Bluebeard’s wife was suddenly silent, as she stood in the dark room and waited. Without the slightest difficulty or fumbling, Bluebeard quickly lit a lantern and set it on a stand near the table with the shackles. Then he approached his wife.
She held her breath in absolute terror as Bluebeard lifted his hand to her face in a gentle caress before placing his hands lower, upon her neck, and carefully reaching under the lace collar of her dress. She shut her eyes tightly, thinking he would strangle her in the next moment. And remarkably, something within her was stirred to life by her husband’s touch. She loved him yet!
All at once there was a great tear and her dress came apart, falling away from her in strips. Next went her underclothes and, before her dazed eyes had time to become fully adjusted to the dim light, she found herself standing before her husband without a stitch of clothing on her quivering flesh. She felt fresh tears rushing to her eyes as she remembered how tenderly he had held her only hours before. That he could kill her thus (for that is what she believed he was about to do) left her heartbroken.
Bluebeard led his wife to the rope that she had wondered about only moments before. Very deftly he attached her wrists to the manacle at the center, adjusting it so that her arms were stretched high above her head. Next he fastened her feet to the shackles on the floor, which were set just far enough apart to make it awkward for her to stand. Too horrified to speak, she stood stretched apart, mute and trembling.
Having confined her thus, Bluebeard approached the wall where the various strips of leather hung. As she watched her husband thoughtfully examine them, it suddenly dawned on her what those leather strips were and how her husband would use them on her. With this comprehension came the awareness that her life was not in danger, but she was too alarmed by the unspecified horrors that were still imminent to feel relief over this. She began to struggle against her bindings as she watched him select a thick black whip.
Bluebeard turned back toward his wife, saying, “Because of my great love for you, I shall be merciful. You will receive only thirty lashes.”
After a second of shocked silence, Bluebeard’s wife began again, in earnest, to plead for mercy. This he ignored, continuing in the same calm, matter-of-fact tone, only slightly louder to supersede her cries. “You will count the lashes as I give them to you. If you miss a single count, we will start again at the beginning. Also, you must accept the lashes willingly, acknowledging that you deserve them. You may cry out, but you must not protest or I will begin the lashes again.”
Immediately after this frightful speech Bluebeard sent the whip flying brutally across his wife’s backside for the first time. She cried out, and fresh tears blinded her vision.
“We will begin again,” was Bluebeard’s cruel reply, and again the lash stung his wife’s flesh. This time she called out, “One!”
A moment later another sting from the lash came and she heard herself cry, “Two!” Shock and horror mingled with her shame, and yet, with the next sting of the whip she managed to cry, “Three!”
Bluebeard continued this barrage, and his wife obediently called out the corresponding number to each and every painful sting. Periodically Bluebeard would stop to ask her, “How many more lashes do you wish, my love?” or “Tell me, how many more lashes should I give thee?” to which she was compelled to answer with the full amount due to complete the required thirty lashes. Somehow she managed to do all this, though her skin shone bright red and burned with a white, hot heat, long before her thirty lashes were up.
When at last she had endured all thirty lashes, her husband approached her and gently kissed her face and lips. Although she now knew that her husband was not going to kill her, she still wondered uneasily what more lay in store for her. And yet, she found herself responding to her husband’s kisses, partly from relief and partly from a new, curious and incomprehensible need that was growing within her. She began uttering soft words of apology and love. But Bluebeard drew his lips away from hers, chiding her softly, “A loving wife does not take what is not given freely from her husband.”
Bluebeard carefully unfastened his wife’s hands and feet and, lifting her into his arms, carried her over to the table with the shackles. He placed her gently on the table, adjusting her body so that she was positioned on her hands and knees, with her legs spread wide apart. Her wrists and ankles were quickly and adeptly fastened to the table. Then Bluebeard gently forced her head down onto the table and placed a clasp of sorts around her neck to hold it in place. She was deeply humiliated and agitated to be bound thus, for in this position her most private parts were especially laid open and visible. With horror she realized that her husband had walked to that end of the table and stood before her at that very moment, examining her.
She felt his warm breath on her flesh as he approached nearer, and then something soft and wet touched her exposed area. It took her a moment to realize that it was his tongue, and she moaned with a mixture of pleasure and apprehension. With precision and determination he continued relentlessly, until she was unable to fight off the feelings of arousal that were coming over her. She struggled under the constraints in an effort to enhance her own pleasure. But just before she reached a point of release, her husband stopped, leaving her anxious and fretful. He repeated this process several times, and each time he would test her submissiveness, asking, “Who will you obey from this day forward?” And to each inquiry, what else could she do, besides willingly acknowledge his power and vow to obey him?
Bluebeard continued teasing his wife in this manner for what seemed to her like an eternity, but suddenly he stopped abruptly and walked to the other end of the table so that he stood directly in front of her. Slowly he unfastened her neck and lifted her head. His pants had been opened, and his arousal stood within inches of her lips.
She hesitated only a moment before she understood what he meant for her to do. Then she took him willingly, eagerly even, for she felt a voracious hunger to please him in any way he would allow. He watched her carefully as she delighted in the pleasure she was giving him.
Urgently she struggled to take him as his thrusts became harder and faster, but when he was about to release himself she drew back, just as he had done with her. At that moment their eyes met, and she saw the silent demand in his. Hypnotized by his powerful gaze, she arched her neck in a submissive gesture, voluntarily taking him, and actually savoring him.
When he was finished, Bluebeard once again placed his wife’s head gently upon the table and fastened her neck as before. Then he walked out of the room.
His wife waited in absolute agony for his return.
He returned at last, carrying a small container. Once again he positioned himself at the foot of the table. She waited breathlessly while her husband prepared the next course of discipline for her.
All at once she felt a cold sensation creeping into her body. Frantically she tried to move away from it, but Bluebeard quieted her, holding her firmly with his free hand. Something was piercing her! Something unbearably cold!
She slowly realized that it must be some kind of large object made up of frozen liquid, for she could feel the sharp cold penetrating her, and the subsequent wetness as it slowly melted.
The cold awakened her senses, making them more acute, so that the longing she felt was quickly becoming painful. Yet before the pain yielded into pleasure, the object melted away to nothing. She whimpered as her husband slowly repeated the process, again and yet again, laughing occasionally over her obvious distress. But she was aware of nothing aside from the delightful torture between her legs.
This continued until Bluebeard’s wife was feverish and trembling. Seeing her thus, Bluebeard abruptly stopped the agonizing procedure and once again left his wife alone in the room. She moaned softly. There was an excruciating ache pulsating throughout her body that her position made it impossible to recover from. It throbbed painfully at the juncture between her legs, slowly rippling into her torso and limbs. She knew that she would have to wait until her husband chose to relieve her. And she waited.
At last Bluebeard came back into the little room, bringing with him another small container. She held her breath again as her husband resumed his position.
This time it was Bluebeard’s hands that she felt, gently caressing her. She moaned in pleasure, but a few seconds later she felt a searing heat where he rubbed, and she cried out in frustration. Bluebeard again quieted her and held her still, but the movement of his hand became more brutal, furiously probing her until she was aware of nothing but the scorching place where he rubbed. But this pain, too, soon gave way to pleasure, and she meandered between screams and moans, one moment shaking her hips furiously in an attempt to escape his tormenting caress and the very next moment working her hips against his hands to enhance the pleasure. But always he stopped when he perceived her pleasure and, scooping up more of the mysterious ointment, he once again began the process, spreading her apart and mercilessly forcing the heat deep inside her.
Finally, the poor lady had endured all she could and she began to weep miserably. Not liking to see his wife so unhappy, and thinking she had been punished enough, Bluebeard quickly unfastened her limbs and lifted her from the table. He held her tightly in his arms and kissed her wet face repeatedly, all the while comforting her with words of love. But she continued to sob.
Perceiving what his wife required, Bluebeard quickly drew her to him and filled her aching body with his own. He made love to her tenderly, and for as long as she wished him to. They remained there, in fact, for the rest of the day, and this time he pleased her over and over again, until all she had suffered earlier was completely forgotten.
As were her promises to obey her husband forgotten, and I daresay they have had occasion to visit the little room again!


Cat and Mouse
The game of cat and mouse is legendary, and is a favorite subject for novelists. What is it that draws one into the game, at once so fascinating and so antagonistic? It is a complicated matter that is ever being examined by the philosopher. I, too, have made many attempts to solve the riddle.
It seems to me that the game was more enjoyable in ancient times. Nowadays it is decidedly less satisfying. Somehow, as the stakes got higher, the players became more menacing and the game more ruthless. In truth, it is no longer even played the way it used to be. For one thing, the object of the game has very nearly been eliminated.
It has long been established, for instance, that Cat is physically stronger than Mouse, but Mouse has nevertheless been a worthy opponent by virtue of her superior instincts and faultless determination. Over the years, however, Cat has accumulated many unfair advantages over Mouse, taking the fair play out of the game. This development has had the peculiar effect of making the game all the more enticing for Mouse, while rendering it tedious and dull for Cat. Such are the circumstances of Cat and Mouse as I begin my tale.
In the story I am telling, supremacy belongs to Cat. Mouse has much less power in most respects: she earns and keeps less wealth, she has a much smaller voice in world events and, in short, she has fewer advantages than Cat. As would be expected under such circumstances, Mouse has lost much of her spirit, and Cat feels the loss without acknowledging it. And so, when he encounters one of those few delightfully tenacious mice who refuse to accept these terms meekly, this new breed of Cat is too frightened to respond appropriately.
Meanwhile, Mouse has lost respect for Cat, thinking him lazy and spoiled by those mice who have acquiesced to his superiority. The game, then, has reached its final stages of existence, and only in the rarest cases, as in the story described here, is it played with the vigor of ancient times.
As my tale begins, Mouse is keeping a low profile in a little hole in the wall in Cat’s world. She is dressed in a flimsy rag, which is the modern fashion for the mice in Cat’s world, but which barely covers her nakedness and leaves her always feeling exposed and exploited. Still, our Mouse feels relatively safe from Cat because of her rebellious attitude, which his kind interprets as coldhearted spitefulness. This suits Mouse perfectly, for Cat disgusts her.
“Ha! Cowards!” laughs Mouse, as yet another cat scurries past her little hole in the wall, hastening to get away from the hostile creature therein. “How fearful those big, strong cats become when they encounter anger from a powerless little mouse! I shall easily escape the fate of my sisters with mere animosity as my defense.”
Indeed, it was not difficult for her to bring forth feelings of animosity. She hated being exploited in this cat-dominated world, never being understood or appreciated for her intelligence and sensitivity. And yet, whenever a cat stopped at the opening of her little den to look her over, she was seized with strange sensations that were both disturbing and frightening. But she refused to let the cats see her fear or, more especially, her secretly harbored hope that she might someday meet a real cat, like those she had read about in romantic novels. So she hissed and cursed at them, laughing to herself as they nearly tripped over their own feet in their hurry to escape her.
She set her face in an expression of haughty disdain as she heard another cat approach. He was much larger than she was, as were all the others, but she reminded herself that size wasn’t everything. She was certain that her will was superior to his.
She struggled to remain composed as the cat stood in the entranceway, his eyes moving leisurely over her body. The usual agitation burned in her. By what right did cats think they could ogle mice in that rude way? How did it get to the point where this was considered normal behavior? If she behaved like other mice, she was now expected to be flattered to have been honored with his attention! She jerked her chin up even higher and met Cat’s eyes with a look of disgust.
He was uncommonly handsome, she grudgingly noticed. It was indeed unusual these days for a cat to care about his appearance at all. They were generally so scraggly and unkempt that it offended one to be anywhere near them. But then, the mice were so busy worrying about their own appearances that it rarely occurred to them to notice that the cats were not worth all the trouble.
This cat, however, was one of the few who would be considered worth the trouble. But that was all the more reason to avoid him in Mouse’s opinion, for the good-looking cats were worse than the slovenly ones. They were in great demand and they knew it, and it was hard work indeed to win their affection for a single moment, let alone to achieve any kind of long-term devotion. As she looked at this cat’s self-assured expression, Mouse realized he probably had a number of mice at his beck and call. She forced herself to look past his physical beauty.
But it was impossible not to note the thick hair that fell in short dark waves around his face, or the faultlessly chiseled features that arranged themselves into an expression of absolute confidence and poise. His muscular body moved with singular grace and ease. Mouse’s sharp instincts warned her that she had better get rid of him quickly. She drew her most effective weapon in ridding herself of cats: her tongue.
“Look all you like, pig,” she snarled. “You will never be allowed to touch.” For at the very least, this strange world in which she lived would not permit a cat to force a mouse to submit against her will. Indeed, there was not the slightest temptation for them to do so anyway, since mice were offering themselves up willingly to be the eager slaves of the undeserving louts!
To Mouse’s astonishment, Cat actually smiled at her remark and then slowly reached his hand into her little hideaway. Very carefully, so as not to touch her skin, he took one agile finger and lifted the ragged material of her covering up to her shoulders, exposing her body completely to his view. With an angry hiss she slapped his hand away.
“You did say I could look all I liked, did you not?” He laughed.
Now, Mouse had one weakness, and it was that she was highly competitive—especially in matters of wit and will. Hers was a character that was easily drawn into the game of cat and mouse. The cat’s clever retort, combined with his easy demeanor and absolute disregard of her bad-tempered manner was sufficient enticement for her to ignore her apprehensions and change her mind about her earlier resolution to get rid of him immediately. It might be better to torment him a bit first.
Her eyes held his with sudden interest, and one corner of her lips turned up in a smirk. She shrugged her shoulders and tried to assume a look of casual indifference. “I was only thinking of you just now,” she rejoined with mock sincerity. “I would hate your ego to suffer the singular blow of being refused what you desire.”
“It’s sweet of you to be concerned for my welfare,” he replied with a grin. His eyes burned into hers as he added, “But on that matter we both know you don’t need to worry.”
She wondered if his remark meant that he did not find her desirable, or if he was just so confident that she would acquiesce to him if he did. He saw her confusion and laughed.
More curious than ever now, she took the coy approach, saying, “I suppose you have too many mice to choose from to become overly excited about any single one, what with the harem of slaves you must have lined up to do your bidding.” She said this as if she was complimenting him, but the message was clear enough. One of the things she detested most about this modern cat’s world was the way mice were always so willing to debase themselves by selling their flesh to the cats as willing sex slaves. And yet, she knew it had to sting the cats’ pride to know that, even though they could buy virtually anything they wanted from the mice, they were, nevertheless, obliged to pay for it. In her remark, she was insinuating that he, too, would have to pay for favors, even though she suspected that it probably wasn’t true in his particular case.
Cat was not put off by her remark in the least, however, and with a cool and steady composure he answered, “Even so, I am willing to give you the opportunity of being my slave if you ask me nicely.” He loved the way her eyes flashed in anger at his remark. He was enjoying goading her immensely.
“I most certainly do not want to be your slave!” she huffed. How could he twist everything around so completely? She wished with all her heart she could wipe that Cheshire Cat smile off of his face!
“If you didn’t secretly wish to be my slave you would not have brought it up to begin with,” he argued.
His arrogance aggravated her, and her eyes flashed as her smirk became a sneer. “Could you really be so conceited that you think what I meant by my remark was that I wanted to be your slave?”
“I would bet my tail on it.”
“As confident as that, are you?” she challenged, looking for an opportunity to make him see how wrong he was. She was too inexperienced in the game to realize that he was baiting her.
“Shall I prove it to you?” he asked, returning her challenge.
“Prove—!” His audacity was really too much. An alarm of some kind flashed a warning inside her brain, advising her to be cautious but she was too provoked to heed it. Besides, it was exhilarating to finally meet a cat with a little bit of backbone and such a quick wit. Ancestral courage welled up within her in response to his challenging posture. She felt it was her duty to put him in his place, and so without another thought she blurted, “If you can prove anything but my utter disgust for you, I will be your slave for this very evening!”
As soon as the words were out she felt a flash of terror. Had she really just said that? And when had she stepped out of the protective shelter of her mouse hole?
It didn’t matter. She would never give in to him, and he would eventually be forced to leave her with his tail between his legs, unsuccessful and humiliated. This thought made her smile.
Cat was smiling, too, thinking, just when it seemed that all the mice were docile little fools, ready to submit to anything put before them, he finds this little gem. Why, she was exactly what he had been searching for his entire life. And to think that he had nearly avoided her, at the advice of the many other cats who had rejected her. “Bitchy,” they all called her! What fools! As exquisite as she was, it was to be expected that she would instinctively want a cat that was willing to put up a fight for her. He recognized this because he came from that same species of animal as she, who prefer a struggle before mating. He needed to continually prove his right to possess his partner, while she needed a mate that was worthy of her and unafraid. Through instinct he knew that they both felt these things, though he also knew that she did not fully understand them yet.
Cat stepped closer to Mouse and lightly brushed her hair to one side. She felt his warm breath on her face as he murmured, “How shall we put it to the test?”
She sucked in her breath and held it. A thought or two crossed her mind but she remained silent. She was utterly stumped.
“Perhaps a kiss,” he suggested finally, after allowing her thoughts to wander a bit.
She sighed in relief. All she had to do was withstand one kiss without swooning over him. She was certain that she could do that. How sweet it was going to be to send him packing after he did his damnedest to impress her with his best kiss. She nearly chuckled at the thought.
He looked in her eyes and saw the amusement there. So she was already congratulating herself on her victory, was she? Good. He needed to catch her off guard. But he warned himself to be careful. She was one-of-a-kind in their world, and he was not about to let her get away.
Confident now, Mouse tilted her head back in anticipation of Cat’s kiss, all the while looking expectantly into his eyes. He stared back at her while his lips hovered directly above hers for what seemed like an eternity. An uncertainty came into her eyes, and suddenly she was impatient. Was he going to do it or not? What kind of a simpleton says he’s going to kiss you and then doesn’t do it?
His lips remained so close that they were almost brushing hers. “Well,” he finally whispered, “where would you like it?”
“What?” she whispered back.
“The kiss,” he explained. “Where would you like me to do it?”
She stared at him in shock. Images that made her dizzy entered her brain, but she instantly forced them out of her consciousness. And yet she was trembling. She once again reminded herself that the wisest course would be to get this over with quickly.
And just how was she supposed to answer his question without sounding like she wanted him to kiss her? He really had an infuriating way of setting her up. What she would really like to do is— Suddenly she had an idea.
“I think the least-offensive place would be my foot,” she said at last, with an eager smile.
“Your foot it is,” he replied without disappointment. He had expected no less of her. Besides, his suggestive question had had the desired effect. He had noticed her loss of composure, if only for a few moments.
He went down on one knee before her in a deceivingly submissive gesture. As she prepared for her attack, Mouse felt a peculiar disappointment that he had allowed himself to be beaten so easily, and a strange regret that it would all soon be over. It occurred to her that, from somewhere within herself, she had hoped he would be smarter or stronger or something…but immediately she reproached herself for being so foolish, remembering that it was her pride and her freedom that were on the line here.
Cat gently picked up her foot and placed his warm mouth on it for a lingering kiss. Immediately after the kiss was concluded, Mouse yanked back her foot in a swift motion, with the intention of kicking Cat in the face—an act that would once and for all show him her utter self-possession and lack of response to him. But as she swung her foot forward to deliver the blow, his hand flew out with razor-sharp precision and caught her ankle, holding it in a grip of steel. She gasped at this unexpected turn of events. The strength she felt in the grasp he maintained on her leg sent a thrill through her. She tried to shake him off but he held her with as little trouble as she might have had holding a butterfly by the wing. All at once she was completely disarmed.
Suddenly she lost her footing, balancing and struggling on the one foot as she had been. With arms and legs akimbo, she fell, bottom first to the floor. With the swiftness of a panther, Cat reached out and caught her, breaking her fall with his hands. She was at first relieved and then horrified. His hands cupped her buttocks. She moved to get up, but he held her.
“We haven’t determined the effect of the kiss yet,” he said with smile.
“What do you mean?” she asked, still struggling to get up and away from his hands.
“What I mean,” he explained calmly, “is that I want to see if I was able to inspire ‘anything but your utter disgust’ for me with my kiss.”
“Oh…well I can assure you that disgust pretty much sums up my feelings,” she lied, trying to appear calm and unaffected. But it was difficult with his strong hands holding her the way they were.
“I don’t believe you,” he replied. “And I like to verify things whenever possible.”
“Well, it’s not possible,” she snapped back. “So you’re just going to have to take my word for it.”
“But it is possible,” he argued. “It’s not only possible, but it’s also simple and painless.” So saying, he removed his hands from beneath her and pried open her legs.
At last she realized what he meant to do. A persistent tingling had been building up between her legs since before the kiss and now her desire was all but throbbing within her. “No,” she protested. “No.” She shook her head back and forth as she struggled desperately to close her legs.
“If it’s as you say,” he said in an annoyingly reasonable tone, loosening his hold on her legs for the moment, “after one brief inspection I will leave here and never bother you again. But if you’re lying, as I suspect, you are rightfully my slave for the evening.”
She gasped in horror. When did the tables turn and he become the victor?
“You can admit your desire for me directly if you’d rather,” he said patiently.
“Never!” she nearly shrieked.
“Well then, you have nothing to hide, have you?” he asked.
His eyes locked with hers, and it was as if she were hypnotized as she allowed him to open her legs wide. His fingers gently touched her, probing her. She cursed her treacherous body even as she shuddered with pleasure when his finger slid easily into the telltale wetness. He let out a hoarse groan and drew her into his arms.
“I win,” he said, just before his lips claimed hers.
Her pride was crushed but she could no longer deny that he had won the battle. Still, she conceded grudgingly. Her eyes flashed with anger and she bit his tongue when he pushed it into her mouth. This did not disappoint him in the least; it was again what he had expected from her. He willingly permitted her to vent all her rage on him. After all, he understood how annoying it could be to lose.
He gently held her arms down until she ceased her clawing, all the while continuing to kiss her tenderly. She struggled to fight off her feelings of attraction to such a worthy opponent; but gradually she began to submit to the warm feelings he kindled in her, and finally she accepted her defeat and returned his kisses with a passion that matched his own. She wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his body. But he only reveled in her total surrender for a moment. He had already decided that he wanted much more from her than one night of forced servitude. It was time to raise the stakes in their game.
Cat pulled himself away from Mouse’s embrace and asked her, “How is it that I, your master, am here servicing you, my slave?”
She was too stunned by the rude interruption to respond. She had thought that her utter surrender to him would satisfy his need to dominate her, but it seemed that she had been mistaken in that. He wasn’t waiting for a response from her, however. With a quick motion he slapped her buttocks, saying, “Up, slave.”
With burning cheeks Mouse abruptly stood up, attempting to straighten the disheveled cloth she wore, useless though it was. She glared at Cat, silently vowing to find a way to get even with him. But he went on as if he hadn’t a care in the world.
“Follow me, slave,” he said, leading the way. But before she had taken her first step he added, “On your knees.”
She gaped at him, nearly choking on her words with the horror she felt. “I will not,” she finally managed.
“You, what?” he asked, feigning shock at the outburst. But it was again what he had expected. He knew it would take heaven and earth to get her on her knees. And as luck would have it, he just so happened to have the power of heaven and earth over her at that particular moment, for he knew her pride would never allow her to renege on a bet.
“You heard me,” she remarked, standing rigidly before him.
“Are you, then,” he said slowly and evenly, “refusing to make good on our deal?”
She paused at that. “I will serve as your slave for the evening, but not on my hands and knees.”
“You agreed to be my slave, and a slave is obliged to do everything as indicated by her master,” he reasoned shrewdly. “Furthermore, I can assure you that it is quite usual for a slave to be required to take that position…and many others.”
At this Mouse was silent. She had never been a slave before.
“Tell me,” he continued, “if I were your slave, would I not be on my hands and knees at this very moment?”
Mouse again remained silent, because she could hardly deny that she would give much to see him on his hands and knees at that moment. Cat felt it was the perfect time to set Mouse up for another game.
“You were the one who proposed the stakes,” he reminded her. “Now unless you wish to demand a rematch to win back your freedom, you are bound to serve me however I wish.”
It only took a second for her eyes to flash back to life and for her to grasp the hook he had dangled before her. “A rematch?”
“Yes,” he said smoothly. Then, pretending to change his mind, he added, “I mean, no. I don’t think I could be enticed to agree to that. After all, I’ve got a pretty good deal here with you as my slave for the evening.”
He almost smiled as she uttered the words he had been waiting for. “But we could go double or nothing!”
“Why should I wager two potential nights of slavery for the one definite night I already have?” he asked. “No, forget it. You’re wasting time. On your knees, if you please.”
“What do you want, then?” she demanded.
“Well, to consider giving up my evening as your master, I would need the opportunity to win something of even greater value to me, say…you as my wife.” He was as shocked as she was when he said it, for he had only been intending to make her stay with him for an indefinite period of time. But once the words were out he knew he meant them. He loved the feeling he got from her challenging nature. They had the perfect chemistry, and he knew they would keep challenging each other for the rest of their lives.
But when Mouse heard his words she almost laughed. “You expect me to wager one night of slavery against an eternity of it?” she asked, incredulous.
“As my wife, you would hardly be a slave,” he rejoined. “But it is flattering to know that your first instinct is to assume that you would be the loser.”
This irritated her pride, and she grumbled resentfully, “It was only by using trickery that you won the last bet. It was completely unfair, and I can assure you that it will not happen again.” Although she could not help remembering his prying hand, and wondered how she could make true her rash statement.
“Am I to understand that you wish to undergo the test again?” he asked with a taunting smile.
“No!” she blurted, mortified. She tried to hide her blushing cheeks by turning her head away from him in an arrogant gesture. “What I mean is that I dispute the accuracy of such a barbarian test.”
“Oh, I can assure you that it is a more accurate way to find out the truth than by your words,” he argued. “What I felt there was definitely not ‘disgust.’”
She was annoyed and embarrassed by the reminder. “If you had the impact on me that you suppose, it seems that you could somehow have extracted the truth from my lips.”
“Is that another challenge?” he asked.
“I…well,” she stammered, a little more wary this time. But all at once she seemed to make up her mind. “Yes!”
He held out his hand to her. “So, you accept the terms—namely this night of slavery against becoming my wife?”
“Those terms are not fair, and you know it!” she protested.
“Whether it’s fair or not, I cannot say,” he replied. “But it is for me, as the reigning victor, to set the terms, and there they are. Take ’em or leave ’em.”
Her jaw was set in an obstinate expression as the anger flashed in her eyes. She would be damned if she would agree to his outrageous terms. “Let’s get this night over with,” she snapped.
He sighed, silently debating over how long it would take him to break her down to the point where she would accept his terms. He was torn between two and three minutes. He placed his hand on the small of her back and pushed forward gently. “On all fours then, slave,” he reminded her.
She took a deep breath, assuring herself that she could do this. But her first attempt failed. Her limbs felt unusually stiff. It was as if they possessed a will of their own, and refused to bend under the present circumstances. Her face was scarlet when she was finally able to force her body to submit, and at length she found herself prostrate before the arrogant cat, on hands and knees.
The position was new to her. She was overcome with shame and mortification. But there was something else. She felt agitated and inexplicably high-strung. Unwelcome tears filled her eyes. She struggled to stifle her sobs so that her tormentor would not know the extent of her discomfiture. He, meanwhile, positioned himself behind her. Though she pressed her legs together as much as possible, she knew that in this position she could not hide herself from his view. The strange stirrings this provoked within her caused the tears to flow faster. She was in a dangerously emotional and excitable state.
Cat’s hand caressed her exposed area possessively. He chuckled as he once again felt her wet desire. She gasped, on the verge of panic. I must regain my composure, she thought. But there was such turmoil within her that she hardly knew where to begin.
Her captor slapped her buttocks lightly, saying, “Forward, slave.” Awkwardly she crawled forward, hating him more with every advance. He walked behind her, enjoying the view, but not really liking to see her so subjugated. He felt that she was definitely at her most magnificent when she stood in a posture of authority.
Tears threatened to gush forth again, but Mouse blinked them back as best she could, determined to maintain an appearance, at least, of internal composure. But with every movement she felt more debased and was quickly giving way to despair.
“Left here, if you please,” Cat instructed cheerfully.
She abruptly stopped.
“But that leads outdoors into the public,” she protested in horror. By some miracle they had avoided seeing anyone in their travels so far, but she knew that the likelihood of seeing other cats and mice would increase tremendously if they left their current shelter. Surely this fiend who was to be her master for the evening would not be so depraved as to force her to accompany him out there!
“I know where it leads,” he was saying. “I have a desire for some fresh air, and you shall accompany me.”
“But there are cats out there!” She would not—could not—possibly go out there, where everyone would see her in this position and henceforward think of her as a slave. What was she to do?
He saw the look of wild desperation on her face, but he could not let up now—not when he had come so far with her. He was determined to have her submit to him fully, and he knew that the only way to accomplish that was to win completely. He was amazed that she had lasted this long. But he knew she could hold out no longer. She would rather do anything than to serve him publicly on her hands and knees. And he certainly had no intention of allowing the other cats to see her so demeaned.
With an air of impatience he gently nudged her forward with his leg. “Onward, slave!” he demanded.
She didn’t budge. Tears were running down her face. He fought the urge to stop the game and take her in his arms. But there would be plenty of time for that later, and he forced himself to give her another nudge. “Let’s go, wench.” But his voice was losing its authority. He was astounded by her stubbornness. Take the challenge, he mentally implored her; you will stilllose, but at least you’ll do so with a little more dignity.
“I’ll take the challenge,” she choked between sobs.
He let out a sigh. “Stand up, then,” he said, feigning indifference. “Unless you’ve grown to like it down there.”
Mouse shot up like a rocket. She was trembling with relief and busied herself with dusting off her hands and knees as she tried to regain her composure. It occurred to her that she had put herself through all that humiliation for no good reason. What did she care that the wager was unreasonably high? She would not—could not—lose to him a second time, for this time it would require a confession from her lips, and she still had full command of that organ, if not the other parts of her body. No, he could never make her utter in words the same admission her body had given.
Cat led Mouse to his quarters, which, of course, were far superior to her little hole in the wall. It irked her that the cats always had so much more than the mice, especially since the reality was that mice worked just as hard, if not harder than the cats. She looked at him, agitated and uncertain.
“So all I have to do is remain here with you without—” she paused “—without…”
“Without confessing your true feelings for me?” he suggested with a grin.
“Without confirming your illusions regarding my feelings for you,” she corrected, becoming more hopeful and composed now. “And for how long do you plan to keep me here?”
“Will two hours, do you think, be sufficient?” he asked sweetly. “It will by no means take me the full two hours to have you issuing forth a confession of your desire for me, but still, I find two hours to be the amount of time I most prefer to spend in this particular pastime.” He walked casually toward the window to hide his countenance from her. He could only defeat her if she took the bait.
“I don’t care a fig about your personal preferences,” she stormed, wishing that she could just once make him lose his smug self-assurance.
“Is that your way of asking for three hours instead of two?” he taunted.
“Two hours is more than enough time to have to endure your presence,” she replied. “And you will be the only one ‘issuing forth confessions’ of any kind.”
He congratulated himself on his ability to lure her in, yet again. She would indeed be a dangerous opponent if she were not so hotheaded. He removed the smile from his lips and turned to face her. “Another challenge?”

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