Authors: Nicole Dreadful
Beauty and the Beast
An Adult Fairy Tale
Skookum Creek Publishing
All rights reserved.
Cover photo by
Cover design by
This story includes explicit sexual content
and is not intended for readers under 18.
Once Upon a Time...
There lived a rich merchant whose only misfortune had been the death of his wife, who left him alone with three daughters and two sons. To make up the loss of a mother, the merchant was always willing to let his children have everything they desired. His sons were well known in the gambling halls, while his daughters were always dressed in the latest fashions, even the youngest, who had hardly begun to develop the curves to fill out a dress.
One day, however, the merchant's luck turned. His ships were lost at sea; fire destroyed his warehouses. A dusky call-girl turned up at the back door carrying a baby with the same dimples as his eldest son, Elliot. It cost to keep that quiet, and to pay his sons' gambling debts. One thing led to another and finally the merchant was forced to sell his remaining properties and move his family from town to the country.
Several years passed and not a day went by when the children did not reminisce about their former life. Only the merchant's youngest child was truly happy. She remembered the silk and satin dresses her older sisters had dressed her in – for they had always treated her as their own plaything, laughing and calling her Beauty, instead of her own name – but those memories faded as she climbed trees, played with the cats in the hayloft, tended the little garden before the cottage, and learned to ride with her second brother, Daniel.
One day word came that a few of the merchant's long overdue ships had limped into port, laden with cargo. The merchant made ready to meet them while his children thronged about him.
"Father, bring me a new set of traveling clothes so I can return home in style," said Beauty's eldest sister, Mariela.
"For me as well," the merchant's second daughter, Angeline, put in. "And make sure you visit the Hill Street milliner."
His sons clamored for saddles, fine riding boots, and horses to go with them. Elliot wanted dueling pistols, for who knew what slanderous gossip about the family might be circulating?
Only Beauty stayed quiet, rubbing the velvet nose of her father's horse. "What about you, Beauty," the merchant asked. "Is there anything you would like?"
Beauty considered his question. She didn't have any use for the fine dresses her sisters wanted, for she had grown comfortable wearing her brothers' castoff clothing, but she could see she had to ask for something. She glanced around the little garden and pointed at the sagging white blossoms near the cottage door. "Bring me a red rose, Father," she said. "Then we'll have a pair."
"Is that all?" the merchant asked.
Elliot grabbed his sister's shoulder, pulling the baggy shirt tight against Beauty's body to reveal the curve of her breasts. "Bring her a dress, too, Father," he said. "She can't look like a boy when we go back to town, or we'll never find her a husband."
"I'll bring something for everyone," the merchant promised as he turned his horse's head away from the cottage and down the lane. It might be an empty promise, but he loved his children. Let them have a little hope, who had lost so much.
In the city, however, things went badly. After the costs of the long voyage had been paid, the cargo brought only a poor profit, and when word spread that the merchant had a little in his pocket, the old debtors appeared at his door, hands outstretched.
After six months' trouble, he had no more money than when he started. It was winter, and as he rode out of town, he thought sadly of his children. He could not even fulfill Beauty's simple request for a rose, much less the more practical dress for her growing body. All three girls were of marriageable age, and there was no husband for any of them. He might send his sons to work for other merchants and gain their own fortunes and wives, yet he needed their help on the farm to keep their sisters fed and clothed.
Lost in these morose thoughts, he hardly saw where his horse went. When he looked up, he did not recognize the road. It had begun to snow and the tracks behind him were quickly becoming as obscured as the way ahead. He dismounted and led his horse, following the line of the road while he could see it. The snow grew thicker and he began to despair.
The merchant stopped to stamp his feet, trying to warm them. As he leaned into his horse's sturdy shoulder, he caught sight of a distant light in the cold gray gloom. Hoping for shelter from the storm, he turned his steps towards it and soon came to a tree-lined avenue. He could see the path clearly, for each snowflake that fell upon its stone slabs immediately vanished.
At the end of the avenue, an ornate gate swung open as he approached. The merchant hailed loudly as he walked through the gates, but a whicker from his horse was the only answer. Inside, he found a large garden surrounding a manor. The air was warm and he could see oranges and lemons hanging in the trees.
When no one appeared to greet him or take his horse, he walked through the gardens and found a stable. There were neither horses nor grooms, but he found grain and hay, and made the faithful beast comfortable before returning to the manor house.
As with the gate, invisible hands opened the door before him. Inside, he walked through the candlelit salons, finding each one more elegant than the last, but without a single inhabitant. At last he came to a small study, where a roaring fire danced on the grate. "Surely the fire has been prepared for the master of the house," the merchant said to himself, "to welcome him when he returns from this snowstorm."
As he spoke, one of the chairs moved to a place near the fire. The merchant looked around, but he could detect no living creature other than himself in the room. However, he was too weary to worry; he sank down into the chair and was soon asleep.
When he woke, he was still alone. The pale morning light showed a small table near his chair, set with a generous spread of food. He ate his fill and walked out to the stable. He found that the saddle and tack he had left hanging were well cleaned and oiled, and the few small tears in his saddlebags had been neatly mended. Now he was certain there was magic around him, for he had never known human servants to be so thorough and thoughtful. "Thank you, my invisible friends," he said, bowing low to the empty air, "for the kindness you have shown to me and my horse."
In the afternoon, he explored the house, finding the rooms as well-furnished as any he had seen. The curtains were all of velvet, the carpets were thick and soft, the paintings on the walls were tasteful depictions of well-known acts of bravery and love throughout history. At the end of one hallway, he came to a room decorated in white and blue. In the middle stood a large four-poster bed, hung with a delicate lace canopy. Long white tapers stood in silver and sapphire candlesticks and garlands of fresh flowers adorned the walls.
The merchant stood in the doorway and remembered another bedchamber filled with flowers, more than twenty years ago. The way his young bride had laughed, nervous and yet somehow coquettish as he fumbled with the complicated fastenings of her dress. He might easily have tumbled her back onto the bed, lifting up her skirts as he'd done with girls in haylofts and taverns, but he had wanted to see her. He had worked for the prestige to marry a wealthy man's beautiful daughter and now he would run his wondering hands along the whole of her.
The laces defeated him; his hands trembled with desire and drink, and so he sat back to watch as she undressed herself, layer by layer. Each item removed revealed more of her creamy skin: a pale shoulder, the line of tendon behind her knee. He sat on his hands to keep from tearing the clothes from her body. His bride turned away as she let her shift fall--unnecessary modesty--and pulled the pins from her hair. A long tangle of red brown curls tickled the small of her back, but did not hide the curve of her hips, the firm, round bottom. "Turn around," he whispered, and she did, her hands straying now towards her breasts, now towards the soft, honey colored mound between her legs, caught between shyness and obedience to her new husband.
Even the memory made him weak in the knees; he caught at the doorframe and looked around. There was no one to see, but he hesitated to make a mess on this fine bed. He returned to what he'd begun to think of as his room. The remains of the last meal had been cleared away, but there was a glass and a decanter of wine on the table now, and a soft linen napkin. He settled down in the chair and unbuckled his pants as he slipped back into the memory.
He stared until she began to blush in earnest beneath his wandering gaze. It occurred to him that she was surely as ignorant of the shape of a man as he was of her body. His cock throbbed, eager to make her acquaintance, and he undressed, trying not to rush. Her hands had stopped their fluttering; now they rested on her stomach, below her round breasts, as she watched him through her long lashes. He felt he might blush himself, but he held her gaze as he removed his clothing. Perhaps her eyes widened as he untangled his stiff cock from his trousers, letting it jut out from the dark tangle of curly hair.
She came to him when he was naked, and would have laid on the bed straight away, but he caught at her hands and held her in front of him. Her nipples were long; they grazed against his chest as they stood face to face. The touch was sweet fire, sending heat coursing through his body.
"Ellen," he said, when he found his voice. He was about to tell her she was beautiful, that he would always be a good husband to her, when his hard cock grazed against the softness of her thigh and she jumped.
"He can hardly wait, my soldier, to meet you," he said, and earned a shy smile from her. He put his hand down to stroke her thigh, the silken skin, and then to gently hold his cock, directing her gaze downward. "He's been standing at attention all night."
Now she reached with one tentative hand to touch him. Her light fingers sparked the heat as easily as her nipples against his skin. He felt it radiating from his groin as she hesitantly wrapped her hand around the warm shaft. His wife--he rolled the new phrase around in his mind--touching his cock. A moan of pleasure escaped his lips and she pulled away, looking at him. Her lips parted, had she done him some wrong?
His passion--no, he had the wisdom of years now to truly label it--his
swept away his resolve to be gentle, to not frighten her, and he pushed her onto the bed. Her pert breasts pooled and flattened on her chest and he bent forward to suck on one distended nipple as he pressed her legs apart. She cried out as he pushed into the softness of her, as he sent his soldier into the field to claim her, to plant the pennant that would become Elliot.
He slept, then, and dreamed of his wife. Eight children she had born him, though only six survived, and she had followed the eighth into the next world. His dreams turned to his children, and he woke with their names on his lips.
He had been away from his family too long, the merchant thought. Today he would leave this place, wondrous though it might be. His horse would be well rested; they would return to the road and discover their way home. Thus resolved, he ate the breakfast which had appeared before him and prepared to depart.
The Merchant and the Beast
As he led his horse through the gardens he remembered Beauty's request. It was not difficult to find a rose bush with several scarlet blossoms amongst the trees and shrubberies of the lush grounds. Mindful of the journey ahead, he chose a small bud, as yet unopened, and used his knife to free it.
As he tucked the blade back into his belt, there was a thundering rumble. His horse shied in fright, rearing and slashing at the air with his hooves. The merchant turned to soothe the animal and found himself face to maw with a most hideous Beast, snarling with rage.