Daydreams & Distractions ☼ Beauty & the Beast

Beauty & the Beast
An Erotic retelling by RedBud

  • When I wrote the erotic rewrite of Little Red Riding Hood, I wanted to capture the archetype of all boys and men becoming and being wolves and of all girls, as they become women, awakening to the dangerous and darkly wooded path of their own eroticism. The erotic retelling has turned out to be the most popular of all my stories. Beauty & the Beast strikes me as a similar tale. The erotic suggestiveness may or may not have been intended, but this is how the story is read by many if not most of us (being human and being erotic creatures). In the rewrite I wanted to capture the sense that many of us experience at one time or another: the feeling that all men are Beasts and all women are Beauty. To me, the erotic element in Beauty and the Beast is the idea of the woman’s acceptance of man’s bestiality (and it’s necessity). The boy who has become a man has, like the Beast, learned to control his bestiality; and though he is a Beast in appearance, he has learned (one hopes) the gentleness and generosity of a man. When a woman is captivated by a man’s gentleness and generosity, then she will feel safe to pursue the Beast that so terrified but also intoxicated her at a younger age. Beauty is absurdly innocent in this retelling, but it’s an erotic fairy tale. Beasts don’t exist and neither, by in large, do such absurdly innocent young women. That said, enjoy and be sure to comment. Give your loyal erotic writer some feedback on this one. P.S. If you like this and Red Riding Hood, you may like Leda & the Swan.

Once upon a time, as a merchant set off for market, he asked each of his four daughters what she would like as a present on his return. One daughter wanted a brocade dress, another a pearl necklace, but the last, whose name was Beauty, the youngest, prettiest and most innocent of them all, said to her father:

“All I’d like is a rose you’ve picked specially for me!”

When the merchant had finished his business, he set off for home. However, a sudden storm blew up, and his horse could hardly make headway in the howling gale. Cold and weary, the merchant had lost all hope of reaching an inn when he gradually noticed a bright light shining in the middle of a wood. As he drew near, he saw that it was a castle, bathed in light.

“I hope I’ll find shelter there for the night,” he said to himself.

When he reached the door, he saw it was open, but though he shouted, nobody came to greet him. Plucking up courage, he went inside, still calling out to attract attention. But he quieted at the sight of the castle’s strange design and adornments. Phalluses were carved into thick oaken balusters. The capitals of the pillars were chiseled into the stretched figures of women. Their arms were raised above them and their hands supported the castle’s vaulted ceilings. They were themselves supported by cocks that penetrated them between their opened legs. The men were upside down, their hands ringing the base of the capitals.

Everywhere he looked, carved in furniture, chiseled in stone, sown into the draperies that covered the windows and decked the chairs and tables, were images of men and women, some entwined, some arched in pleasure, cocks erect, the slender and youthful legs of women were open. They were portrayed on their hands knees carved into the supporting archways, penetrated from behind by the flying buttresses of elongated men.

The castle’s craven craven images frightened the old merchant.
He would have fled the castle but for fear of certain death in the howling gale and his gnawing hunger. On a table in the main hall, a splendid dinner lay already served. This was more than the merchant could resist. He shouting, one last time, for the owner of the castle. But no one came; and so the exhausted and starving merchant sat down to a hearty meal.

Feeling safer and more courageous on a full stomach, he ventured upstairs, where a corridor led into magnificent rooms and halls. Like the floors below, tableaux of erotic pleasure, now in silver and beaten gold, glittered on the walls, in the door handles, and candle sticks.

The marble floor was inlaid with images of women, their lips rounded by the cocks of men. The backs of the men were arched, their mouths closed around the sexes of other women. The images were like an elaborate puzzle, each figure interconnected, maze like.

At last the merchant found a room where a fire crackled and a soft bed invited him. It was late and the merchant could not resist. With eyes already half-closed he lay down on the bed and fell fast asleep, his dreams filled by the images of the castle. When he woke the next morning, an unknown hand had placed a mug of steaming coffee and some fruit by his bedside.

The merchant had breakfast and after tidying himself went downstairs to thank his host. But, as on the evening before, nobody answered his calls. As eager as he was to thank his host, he was also eager to flee the castle lest an old man be tempted by something more than lifeless images. Shaking his head in wonder at the strangeness of it all and glad to flee such intoxications, he went toward the garden where his horse was tethered to a tree. Suddenly, a large rose bush caught his eye.

Remembering his promise to Beauty, he bent down to pick a rose. Instantly, out of the rose garden, sprang a horrible beast, wearing a splendid purple gold fringed frock coat and boots. But for the coat, he was unclothed but covered in the rough fur of a beast. Two lion-like eyes, gleaming angrily, glared at him and a deep, terrifying voice growled: “Ungrateful man! I give you shelter, protect you, give you food and wine at my table, the comfort of my own bed; but now, for thanks, you rob me of my favorite flowers! I shall put you to death for this slight!”

The merchant trembled with fear and fell to his knees before the Beast.
“Forgive me! Forgive me! Don’t kill me! I’ll do anything you say! The rose wasn’t for me, but for my daughter Beauty. I promised to bring her back a rose from my journey!”
The Beast dropped the paw it had clamped on the unhappy merchant.
“I shall spare your life, but on one condition, that you bring me your daughter!” The terror-stricken merchant, faced with certain death if he did not obey, promised that he would do so. When he reached home in tears, his three daughters ran to greet him. After he had told them of the Beast’s dreadful threat, Beauty tried to put his mind at rest.

“Dear father, I’d do anything for you! Don’t worry, you’ll be able to keep your promise and save your life! Take me to the castle. I’ll stay there in your place!”
“But there is much that I haven’t told you,” replied the Merchant. “You are innocent, dear girl; and I fear what the Beast could do to you. Daughter, such things as you will see are beyond your imagining. Dear sweet, innocent beauty, I could not bear to imagine you, my daughter, in such a place!”

“I can take care of myself,” said Beauty defiantly. “Whatever could he do to me?”
“Innocent girl.” The merchant sighed and hugged his daughter. “I never did doubt your love for me. For the moment I can only thank you for saving my life.” So Beauty was led to the castle. The Beast, however, had quite an unexpected greeting for the girl. Instead of menacing doom as it had done with her father, it was surprisingly pleasant.


The day she arrived she wore a yellow cloak with the rose pinned to its lapel.

Her father accompanied to the castle and called for the beast. As before, there was no answer, but the tall entry doors magically opened as they approached. Beauty’s father reluctantly led his young daughter into the castle, but was startled and relieved to discover that the craven images men and woman were nowhere to be seen.

“Welcome,” said a deep voice.
Both visitors turned, startled, the beast descended the last stop of a broad staircase that sided the even wider and grander entry hall.
“Sir,” the old man started, “if I may…”
“You may go,” said the Beast brusquely. “Your daughter will reside with me now.”
“My daughter…” But if the old man quieted as the great beast approached. He quickly bowed, as terrified as before and hastily retreated through the entry doors. He saw his beautiful daughter glance at him before the doors magically closed. He had never imagined surrendering his youngest and most beautiful daughter like this. With a broken heart, he mounted his horse and fled the thorny, gnarled woods.

Beauty stood her ground.

The beast smelled of soil, smoke, summer, his thick fur and a musk that she hardly recognized. She stood her ground though she was terrified. This was not what she had expected.
“I won’t eat you,” growled the beast.
“Thank you,” she answered, her voice shaking.
The beast walked next to her, then behind her. She felt his heavy, hot breath against her neck. Then, though he stood behind her, he turned his back to her with a quick motion and rumbled softly, “Go. Your room is upstairs. You will find it suitable to your needs. If there is anything you desire, you shall have it.” Then he left the room.

She watched him leave, baffled.
Though Beauty was frightened of the Beast and shuddered at the sight of him. She soon found that, in spite of the monster’s terrifying appearance, her horror was gradually fading. She had one of the finest rooms in the Castle and sat for hours embroidering in front of the fire. And the Beast would sit, for hours on end, only a short distance away, silently gazing at her. He always wore the same splendid frock coat and boots, and nothing more. As often as he would visit, however, he would abruptly and almost violently leave without a word. At such times, she would only see the back of him as he left the room or the garden path as he accompanied her on her walks through the garden.

And at such times, there were strange twistings and turnings in the room or the garden.

She almost believed she could see human forms in the black and white marble floor, or in the ornamental carvings of the wood furniture, or the stonework of the castle’s architecture. The forms would be sinuous, would join and part and Beauty’s breath would grow shallow. A strange flighty sensation would draw her hand to her belly. Her nipples would grow stiff and her lips would part as a strange heat would cause her eyelids to falter and her back to arch.

If she were sitting, she would tremble, she would grasp the armchair and then the powerful spell would pass. She would blush. She would peer hesitantly to be sure she hadn’t been seen. The girl would be ashamed. Her legs would be parted and a strange warming pleasure radiated from the base of her belly where she pressed back, arching, against the seat of the chair.

She was baffled by this strange behavior, though not terrified or frightened.

And she was baffled by the Beast’s behavior. But for those times when he left without a word, he was always polite and kind and had even began to talk with her. She was amazed to discover that she actually enjoyed the beast’s conversation though they would always end the same. His voice would grow heavier and, as if in sympathy with whatever agony he suffered, her own speech and thoughts would become interrupted by a breathlessness that started as an ache in her belly, an ache she had never known before.

As the days passed, Beauty and the Beast became good friends.


The Beast’s favorite pastime was tending to his garden.
Beauty was always eager to accompany him. He knew the many plants and flowers, explained to her their names, their benefits and their dangers. He was always patient with her and always gentle. She liked, especially, to smell each and every flower. She would bend over and draw a rose, two fingers at the stem, to breathe in the delicate scent.

“Where are you going?”
As she bent over, the Beast had quietly tried to excuse himself. “Forgive me,” he answered, his back to her.
“Why must you always depart when we begin to enjoy ourselves?”
“Please,” answered the Beast, “I will have a fine dinner prepared for us this evening.”
“I don’t want…” Beauty paused. “Turn around. Why do you keep your back to me?’
“Beauty… ” His massive back and broad shoulders heaved. “Please.”
“Turn around. Look me in the eye.”
The Beast turned just his head.
“No,” the girl demanded. “Turn around. Is it me? Have I offended you?”
“Never,” answered the Beast. “but your Beauty…”

Beauty reached and gave a mighty tug. The Beast turned and Beauty stumbled backward. A giant prick, like the kind she had seen on horses, rose full, huge, and erect from the Beast’s groin. It arched upward and it’s bulbous tip was red and as large as the girl’s fist. Beauty felt the same revulsion as on the first day she had seen the Beast – but now she truly thought of him as a Beast.

She couldn’t speak.
“Forgive me,” said the Beast.
“You’re a monster – truly, a Beast.”
“Your beauty…”
“What is my beauty to you?” she blurted. “What has beauty to do with that thing?” His prick was huge, the length of her forearm and as thick. Then she marveled that she had never seen the thing before, having been hidden by the long locks of fur that covered his body. He only wore boots and a frock coat, perhaps the only clothing that fit him.

“Your presence…”
“Can you make it go down?” she interrupted, unable to take her eyes from it.
The Beast groaned. “I cannot. I am…” He hesitated. “Only one who is willing to touch me.”
“You degrade me!”
“Please Beauty,” the Beast replied. “I shall excuse myself.”
Beauty watched the giant back of the Beast and had already begun to regret her impatience. At no time had the Beast threatened her. He had been as gentle and patient as always. She soon wondered at her own reaction. She could not drive the image of the Beast’s cock from her mind. Was she like a mare to him? She was both repelled and strangely curious – wondering at the thing that appeared and because of her. Why?

Her belly felt feathery light.


The next morning the Beast did not join Beauty for breakfast.

Nevertheless, the table was just as carefully prepared and the food as delicious as always. Beauty could scarcely eat. She nibbled and sipped and finally, impatiently, first searched through the castle, then returned to the garden. She found the Beast tending his Rose bush.

“They are lovely.”
“They are my most cherished possession,” said the Beast.
“A Beast who cherishes Roses,” mused Beauty. “I was the monster, not you.”
The Beast picked a Rose from his bush, the finest and most beautiful of all the roses. He lifted and gently tucked it between her breasts and the fabric of her dress. The girl was lightheaded with the gentle and brushing touch of the Beast’s paws against her breasts. She shuddered.

“You could never be a monster.”
“Oh, poor Beast,” Beauty answered, “you put too much trust in beauty.”
“Not too much trusted,” replied the Beast, “but too much desired.”
“Why say such terrible things?”
The Beast left her with an abrupt gesture.
“Did I insult you?” Beauty asked, following him.
“Come.” He lifted his arm. The girl quickly caught up with the giant creature and placed her slender arm on the Beast’s. The Beast led her to another part of the garden that was tucked into a recess of the castle walls.

There among the vines, the morning glories, silverlace, maypop and honeysuckle, the Beast guided Beauty to a stone bench set into an alcove. The nook was fragrant with the warmth of the morning sun and flowers. The Beast reached for some of the silverlace that twined through the castle’s stonework. As he did, Beauty furtively glanced at his abdomen, seeing nothing but the long locks of fur that hid what truly made him bestial. Then she was ashamed that she had looked. Even so, her stomach felt lacy as the Beast began gently braiding the flowery vines into her hair.

“Are you…” she asked, hesitating.
“Yes, Beauty?”
“Are you cursed?” she blurted. “I mean… you said… my beauty is the cause of your agony?” The Beast grunted, but Beauty thought his snort sounded almost like a laugh. “Does my question amuse you?”
“Your beauty is not a curse,” he answered.
“I meant…”
“And I take great pleasure in your beauty, not agony.”
“You say my beauty is not a curse, and yet…” The girl hesitated again. “What is it about my beauty that stirs you so, and if it is not agony, then what is it?”
“And agony.”
“Now you give me riddles?” Beauty crossed her arms angrily. “Or you tease. You mock me. We can talk about the weather if you prefer.”

“A curse too,” the Beast snorted.
“Now I know that you mock me.” Then she gasped for she saw the first stirrings of the Beast’s prick. Tumid, but not rigid, the great purple tip of the Beast’s prick was appearing just below the longest locks of the beast’s curly hair. Her stomach felt like a wave in the sea.

“Am I beautiful to you?”
“Forgive me.”
“No,” Beauty answered quickly. “It cannot be helped. But why?”
The Beast snorted again. “Your feistiness.”
“My feistiness?” the girl retorted. “I shouldn’t call that beauty.”
“Then the fault be mine,” answered the Beast, “whose fault is to find perfection in yours.”

“I don’t know whether you insult or praise.”
“Praise.” The Beast lifted her chin in both his paws as if appraising his work, the flowers twining her hair. “Who you are.”

“Who I am? This stirs you?”

“Yes,” said the Beast, his voice growing more gravelly. “And your lips, your eyes, your hair…”
“And what else?”
“Your…” The Beast hesitated. “Your breasts, your hips, your legs,  your waist.”

She glanced at the purple head of the still tumid prick. Her voice was breathy. “My breasts?”
“Bring you pleasure?”
Beauty, with shaking hands, began to part the bodice of her dress.

“Beauty…” the Beast groaned.
“No,” the girl grasped the Beast’s wrists, his paws still under her chin, “stay!”
“I should leave you. I shall be unseemly.”
“Stay.” Beauty, again, lowered her hands to her bodice and slowly parted it, revealing her breasts, then her nipples. Her breath shook. The Beast’s prick was filling, rising, thickening and lengthening. She was still seated. The end of his cock rose just past at her lips. She gasped at the ridged and powerful underside.

The Beast seemed to shudder.

His paws moved downward and enclosed her breasts. Beauty shuddered with surprise. She hadn’t known her nipples were flush and knotted but she felt them against the leather of his palms with a pleasure that made her breath falter, her eyes rise, her back arch and made her wish to stretch, to part her legs and open her arms. She felt pleasure, but also an agony. Is this what the Beast felt? Would he feel such pleasure at being touched?

His prick was swollen, arched rigidly upward. Beauty smelled the same bitter, musky smell that she had smelled before. The fingers of the Beast’s paw closed around her slender rib cage as the nails of his thumbs pressed into her nipples. Her feet arched to their toes, her head rolled back and her eyes closed as a burning pleasure pulsed in her nipples and coiled at the base of her belly. She felt a confusing heat and wetness between her legs.

“Beauty,” the Beast groaned. “Beautiful girl!”
His thumbs and their thick black nails continued to press and knead the girl’s nipples. She gripped the Beast’s wrists but she wanted him to enjoy the same pleasure.

Her gaze met his and slowly, as if fearful that he would forbid her, her hands moved to his prick. The Beast shook with a deep, shuddering moan. The fine fur of his cock was impossibly soft and warm. The skin slid smoothly over the rigidity beneath and when she grasped the thickness and slid the skin backward the giant creature threw back his head and howled. Is he so vulnerable? she wondered. She felt a sharp spasm and a spurt of clear fluid shot from the tip, streaking her hair, her eyebrow and lip.

She quickly withdrew her hand and leaped away from the bench.
The Beast fell to one knee, one hand support him on the marble bench. He gazed up at Beauty. Beneath him, his great cock twitched and a long strand of clear fluid slowly slipped from the end of his glistening cock.
She wanted to return to him but felt suddenly ashamed.
“Beauty,” the Beast sighed. “You will find a new dress in your room. If it pleases you, Beauty, please wear it. And if it pleases you, Beauty, please join me for dinner.”
“I will,” answered the girl, her voice cracking, before she turned and ran into the woods, her thighs as wet as the Beast’s prick.


That night, just as promised, Beauty discovered a beautiful dress laid out on her bed.

It was purple, like the Beast’s Frock Coat, and gold fringed. She eagerly and excitedly removed her father’s dress, which had grown increasingly uncomfortable, tight in the hips and bust. But there was a strangeness to the dress that baffled Beauty, like so much else in the castle. There were finely tailored holes where the girls nipples poked through and the dress was stitched with a gold trimmed opening in front of and behind the meeting of her slender thighs.

She found this arrangement exceedingly strange but the dress fit so comfortably and beautifully that she could almost forget it’s tailored oddity.

A fire was warmly flickering in the great hearth and the Beast was already seated at the head of the table when Beauty descended the castle staircase and approached the table. The Beast gazed at her and his breath deepened.

“You are beautiful,” he said, his voice strained.
“Someday you will tire of telling me so.”
Beauty blushed. “What is my beauty to you?” she asked, as if pretending the morning had not happened. “There are so many things for us to talk about: The places you have been, the lands, the people, the wonderful books you have read, their music and their art. Tell me all about these things. You make me want to travel to…”

The girl’s words faltered as the Beast stood with her approach.
His prick stood engorged and full, arching upward over the plate at the table.
“Please,” said Beauty, sparks in her belly. “Be seated.”
“Forgive me,” answered the Beast, “I have looked forward, Beauty, to your company.”
Beauty sat at the corner, next to the Beast who sat at the head of the long table. The most delectable food was arranged at the table: fruits, vegetables, meats. But again and again the girl’s gazes wandered to broad head of the Beast’s prick, rising upright from beneath his belly.

The air on her bare nipples was both cool with air and warm with the fire.

Her stomach was light and tingling. Her breasts felt heavy. Her nipples thickened and strained in the Beast’s presence, stretched forward through the holes of the dress. She was embarrassed but also wanted him to see her own pleasure and agony. And when the Beast openly gazed at her nipples she lowered eyes as if in modesty.

The strange pleasure of his gaze both confused and intoxicated the beautiful girl. Then the Beast broke their mutual and heavy silence. His voice was thick at first, but soon he was regaling her with conversation. Her nipples burned like the candles. She shuddered and the Beast paused.

“Forgive me,”said Beauty, her breath shallow. “I seem to have trouble breathing.”
The Beast groaned again. “Do you not know how I desire your beauty?”
The girl could not answer. She leaned forward with her midriff against the table. Her hands hands tightly gripped the arms of the chair and her nipples each extended over the plate beneath her. The Beast reached, his conversation forgotten. The massive fingers of his paw gently touched and squeezed beauty’s nipple through the opening of the bodice. Beauty closed her eyes, her head fell back and she moaned with the strange pleasure that coursed through her belly.
She pressed her breasts forward.
“Beauty,” rumbled the Beast. “All my riches will be yours. My treasures will be yours.” Beauty heard him stand. She opened her eyes as he pulled her out of the chair. She gasped. His fantastically large anatomy stood stiffly and thickly from between his powerful legs. She shook with fear but also a desire that she couldn’t understand.

A music filled the air as though musicians invisibly played.
The Beast swung her and turned her and as he did so his paw or the locks of his forearm brushed her vulnerable nipples. They were tender and swollen, But she ached for the pain and the pleasure. He drew her against him. She felt small and fragile against him, but also safe. She pressed her cheek against his chest. “I could teach you such pleasure, Beauty.” He lifted her as they danced. She felt the tip of the monstrous Beast against her abdomen.

She gasped and her fingers tightened in the fur of his chest.
He danced with her between and through the pillars of the great room. Beauty thought she saw movement in the castle’s stone, as if instruments were being played. But the Beast moved too quickly through and between the pillars.
He returned her to the center of the room and spun her so that her back was turned to him.
She pressed against him. “Let me teach you,” he murmured in her ear.
He took two rings from his pocket, unlike the rings that fit a woman’s finger. With his other paw he held Beauty’s slender and slight form gently at the base of her abdomen. “What are they,” asked Beauty. “They are beautiful.”

“They are a gift,” he answered. “They are magic.”

Then, because of the finely tailored opening at the front of her dress, the Beast easily slipped a finger just at the opening of her sex. He found the young woman’s clit. She rose up to her toes. Her back arched. Her nipples heaved. She reached above and behind her, taking a fistful of the Beast’s mien.

Her other slipped back and grasped the frock coat at her hip.
As Beauty arched with pleasure, he brought the beautiful golden rings to her stretched nipple. She felt a sharp but brief sting. Her eyes fluttered. She cried out. She rose to her toes and almost fainted with the pleasure and pain.
The Beast safely held her and before her next intake of breath the other ring hung glittering and golden from the other breast. A trickle ran down the girl’s thigh and ankle, wetting the floor between her legs. The Beast’s fingers continued to swirl wetly over her clit.
Her breath came in short gasps, each shorter than the one before, Her mouth opened, her legs parted and her head fell back against the Beast’s breast. She felt the Beast’s large prick at the small of her back and spine.

“Beauty,” the Beast rumbled in her ear, “come for me.”
But the girl could say nothing. The Beast tugged gently at her vulnerable nipples. Her body was stiffening like a frightened doe. She felt a burning and pleasurable agony spreading vine-like tendrils through her abdomen. She felt as though a deep and mysterious secret were being summoned from her body. She could not hide it. Her voice rose up, helplessly, to speak its name.

“Yes, Beauty,” the Beast whispered.
Beauty’s eyes rolled.
Her secret sprung from her throat. She could not contain it. Her most private and secret word. She cried out and her slender frame convulsed on the Beast’s finger. She thrust herself back against the Breast as if to fully surrender her pleasure to him. For the first time in her life the girl came. Her cries, strangely bestial even to her own ears, echoed in the great room.

When the Beast let her go, she fell to her hands and knees.
Her breasts tingled and the golden rungs glittered and hung from her nipples.
Her lips remained parted as she recovered. Her eyes focused on nothing. Her knees were parted and her hips raised. The Beast groaned with desire but instead, one paw at her hand, the other at her waist, helped her to stand.

“Beauty,” he murmured. “Will you marry me?”
Taken by surprise, Beauty did not know what to say. Marry such a Beast? How? And then what? How could they be married? And what did he intend with the giant anatomy that seemed so intent on finding it’s way between her legs? How could they marry? He would kill her! But she didn’t want to hurt the feelings of one who, after all, had been and continued to be kind to her. She also remembered that she owed the Beast her own life as well as her father’s.
“I really can’t say yes,” she answered shakily. “I’d so much like to…”

The Beast kindly let her go and acknowledged her refusal with an abrupt gesture.
“I quite understand! And I’m not offended by your refusal!”

That night the rings at her nipples seemed to tug and remind her of the Beast and of his whereabouts.


The next morning, Beauty was awakened by a knock at her door.
She went to the door in her nightgown and when she opened the door, the Beast seemed determined not to gaze at her. Instead, he presented Beauty with a magnificent magic mirror. “You won’t feel so lonely now.”

“You mock me,” said Beauty. “Am I thus to keep myself company?
The Beast snorted with that tremolo that was so much like a laugh. “Look in the mirror, Beauty.”

When Beauty peered into it, rather than her own reflection, she could see her father far away.
Beauty invited him into her room but the Beast refused. “You are my guest and I have already been too forward.”


Several days afterward, the Beast found her weeping beside the magic mirror.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, kindly as always.
“My father is gravely ill and close to dying! Oh, how I wish I could see him again, before it’s too late!” But the Beast only shook its head with a vehemence she had not seen before.

“No! You will never leave this castle!”
“I must go!”
“You must not!”
“My father dies.”
“And what of me?”
“You?” the girl laughed.
“You think of nothing but yourself!”
“I think of my father!” Beauty answered with a dripping scorn. “And what of you? Do you think on anyone but yourself?”

“I have had nothing but myself to think on.”
“And now I am to be trapped because you are afraid to be alone?”
“I am not afraid!” the Beast roared.
“You need a girl to keep you company.”
“Yes! No! You are more!”
“You…” the Beast’s voice became strangely gravelly. “I watch you. I need you. I want you. Your thighs, your hips. the place where they meet, and your nakedness.”
“A Beast! Is that all I am to you? Breasts? Hips? You are a Beast! Truly!”
“Then what of these things – my hips, my breasts, my nakedness?”
“Yes, what of them?” the Beast answered, exasperated. He loomed over her. “I’ll show you!”
She backed against the wall, frightened but also responding to his anger in a way she didn’t fully understand. Her nipples hardened and her belly ached with a churning wetness that flushed her cheeks.

The Beast lunged.
His black lips met hers. She felt his massive fangs against her lips.
She licked their smooth enamel. She trembled but met his kiss with an angry passion of her own. His paws were at her slender waist. He picked her up and his mouth closed around her breast. Fire shot through her abdomen. She threw back her head and knotted her fingers in the fur of his chest.
She yanked and pulled out fur between her fingers. His fang pierced the nipple ring and he pulled. She cried out and arched. She beat his shoulders with her fists. What did she want? He released her breast from his mouth.

“Thankless, girl!” he bellowed.

He roughly turned her round, one paw in her hair, yanking her head back, the other driving her to her hands and knees. He lifted the back of her dress. Then she cried out when his rough and leathery palm struck her buttocks. Again and again she cried out. “Beast!” she cried. “Monster!”
Her cries only fired the Beast’s anger.
And yet the harder he spanked Beauty’s young buttocks, the more she seemed to lift and offer her slender hips, the wider her knees spread to support the Beast’s powerful palms, and the deeper was the voicing of her cries – Savage! Beast! Monster! Fiend! – until her cries turned to moans.

The Beast fell to his knees behind the girl.
“Open your legs, girl!”
She did. Beauty felt a warmth that felt cool, after the heat in her ass, against the opening to her belly.

She waited. She would be punished. She could feel the intake and exhalation of the Beast’s powerful breathing at the end of his cock. The massive and soft head of him pressed and easily part the slickened lips of her opened legs. He went no further. The rings hanging from Beauty’s nipples seemed to tug with an extra weight.

“Please…” she begged, but she no longer knew what she wanted.
“Marry me, Beauty,” the Beast groaned. “I cannot. Please, Beauty, be my wife.”
She felt his heat, the breadth of him, the pressure just parting the lips to her belly. The emptiness in her abdomen was a panging ache. She felt a confusing and pleasurable ache in the muscles that spread her thighs.

“I…” she finally breathed. “…cannot.”
He released her. His cock slid up to the smooth crease of her buttocks.
She felt a slippery and warm effluence collect at the small of her back. Then she only felt his absence.
He had backed away, back against the wall.
“I cannot,” he said. He seemed in agony. His giant prick was dripping with a clear and stringing effluence. “Forgive me. “If you swear that you will return here in seven days time, I’ll let you go and visit your father!””

Then the Beast turned and ignored Beauty’s cries.
The young woman stood. She reached behind her, fingers at the small of her back, and rubbed the sticky, smooth effluence between her fingers.

Then she ran.
She ran as fast as she could, back to her room.
She was ashamed of what she had done, that she had so willingly opened her legs, that she had herself almost behaved like a beast. Yet once in her room, she threw herself onto her bed, turned onto her back and opened her legs. She rubbed the Beast’s effluence between her forefinger finger and thumb.
Compelled by a desire beyond understanding or control, she lowered her finger to the opening of her belly, smearing the Beast’s effluence into her own wetness until the wetness of her belly smelled of him – her Beast.

The room filled with whispers and groans other than her own.


In two days time she had returned to her father’s house.
She found her father ill and bedridden. She hurried to his side and, as if the sun risen after an impossibly long night, his eyes brightened and color returned to his brow. He hugged his youngest daughter and rejoiced.

“But what are these clothes you wear?” he asked.
“Father,” replied Beauty. “The clothes you provided me no longer fit.”
“But change them, my girl,” he said. “And let us celebrate! I shall invite your three sisters to rejoice with me!”
In reality, the merchant had fallen ill from a broken heart at knowing his daughter was being kept prisoner. When he embraced her again, he was soon on the road to recovery. Beauty stayed beside him for hours on end, describing her life at the Castle, and explaining that the Beast was really
good and kind, but her father always seemed worried that there was more she didn’t reveal. What else had he done to his innocent daughter? What else had she enjoyed? He was crazed by thoughts and imaginings. “Why don’t you braid your hair again,” he said. “Discard these clothes the Beast has given you.”

Beauty did as her father requested and his eyes beamed to see his little girl returned to him.

The days flashed by and at last the merchant was able to leave his bed. He was completely well again. Beauty was happy at last. However, she had failed to notice that seven days had gone by. On the eighth day her youngest sister visited her. She came with a young man.
“Who is this man?” Beauty asked.
“He is my lover,” her sister laughed. “Do you not have a lover yet?”
“No,” said Beauty. “My duty is to my father.”
The youngest of Beauty’s elder sisters laughed at her. Then she went with her lover to retrieve water for the evening meal. Beauty spied on them. Her sister could hardly keep her lips from her lover’s lips. She could hardly keep her hand’s from her lover’s hips. In like manner, her lover always took joy in her sister’s breasts, hips, and the V at the base of her belly. He delighted in picking her up and swinging her powerfully as if in dance.
Before they returned, Beauty was horrified to see her sister kneel at her lover’s feet and take his beast into her mouth. Yet her own breathing faltered when she saw the pleasure her sister gave her lover.
And her heart raced when she saw a white pearlescence, the apogee of the man’s pleasure, spill from her sister’s lips. Her sister was radiant.
“Were you not ashamed?” Beauty later asked.
“He is my lover!” she replied, as though no further explanation were needed. “Beauty, your father deceives you. He is selfish! He would jealously keep you here. He forbade that we ever speak to you of your mother. If you love the Beast, you should return to him.”

On the ninth day, Beauty’s second oldest sister visited.
She was newly married and Beauty felt a pang of longing at the sweetness of love displayed by the newlyweds.
“Tell me of the Beast,” said Beauty’s sister.
Beauty told her second oldest sister all that had happened, even those parts she hid from her father.
“Beauty,” said her oldest sister. “The Beast is kind to you and loving. The things he does are such as all men do and ours to desire. Why do you not marry him?”
“I cannot,” said Beauty. “My duty is to my father!”
Her sister laughed at her and, after a long evening of food and drink, retired with her husband to a room of their own.
Beauty spied on them. Before they slept, she saw her sister kiss her smiling husband as he lay in bed. She sat next to him. She kissed his throat and chest then lower until Beauty was shocked to see her husband’s large prick, like the beast’s, rise from his belly.
Her sister straddled her husband and with her head-raised in a sigh, lowered her belly onto her husband’s prick. All the while, her husband smiled and undressed his new wife so lovingly and joyfully, as she rode up and down on his prick, that Beauty gasped with a strange tugging at her breasts. Her nipple rings!
She glanced again and saw her sister’s husband arch in ecstasy .
Where did his fluids go? In her belly? She could hardly breathe and the next morning she asked her sister if she were not ashamed to so give her body to a man.
“He is my husband!” she replied, as though no further explanation were needed. “Beauty, your father deceives you. He is selfish! He jealously keeps you here. He forbade that we speak to you of your mother but you are no longer a girl and a young woman’s heart and soul cries for a different kind of fulfillment! Do you not feel a tug at your breasts? If you love the Beast, you should marry him. The joy of marriage is mutual!”

On the tenth day Beauty’s oldest sister came to visit.
She did not hold her husband’s hand but the hand of a beautiful young boy. The little boy swung between her and his father. Beauty was so charmed by the little boy and felt such an inexpressible pluck at her heart strings that, at first, she only wanted the company of the little boy.
“How has the Beast treated you?” Beauty’s sister finally asked.
Beauty told her everything and all that her other sisters had revealed. “But he is a monster,” she said when she finished all her telling.
“But all men are beasts,” her sister laughed.
“But how so?”
“Oh Beauty… because your Beast wears his beastliness on the outside, you think he is different from other men. But he is no different. My husband wears his Princeliness on the outside, but you do not see his beastliness as I do. A woman yearns as much for the Beast as the Prince.” As her sister spoke the nipple rings hidden beneath Beauty’s girlish dress seemed to tug and pull at her. She held tightly to her sister’s hand and gasped.
“What is the matter sister?”
“I think the Beast is in danger,” Beauty answered. “I think he calls me.”
“Then you should go to him!” said her eldest Sister. “Your father has deceived you. He is selfish! He jealously keeps you here when you should be with the Beast. He makes you a girl when you are a young woman. A young woman’s heart and soul cries out for fulfillment! The tug you feel at your breast is not magic but love! If you love the Beast, go to him. Marry him! A love such as his will bring you such pleasure and reward! Give yourself to him, Sister, and what he gives to you will bring a lifetime of joy.”

That night, Beauty spied on her eldest sister.
Between her eldest sister and her husband slept the little boy. Their sleep was so peaceful and sweet that Beauty’s heart was filled with a yearning that made her weep.


She woke that night from a terrible nightmare.
She dreamt that the Beast was dying and calling for her, twisting in agony.
In the darkness of her room she thought that she could hear whispers and see strange, shadowy movements. An invisible hand seemed to tug at the rings of her breasts.

“Come back! Come back!” he was pleading. She remembered the solemn promise she had made to the Beast.
She could wait no longer.
She kissed her sleeping sister, husband and little boy good-bye. She woke her startled father. “Father,” she said. “I cannot stay.”
“Stay!” he cried. “Or you break my heart!”.
“Another heart breaks,” she answered, “and my own with it. I cannot stay.”

She left the house without another word.
“Hurry! Hurry, good horse!” she said, whipping her steed onwards toward the castle, afraid that she might arrive too late. She rushed up the stairs, calling, but there was no reply. The rings at her nipples tugged at her. They tugged her out of the castle. Her heart in her mouth, she ran into the garden and there was the Beast, legs stretched, his back against a tree. His eyes were shut as though dead. A rose lay in his open hand.

Beauty threw herself at him and hugged him tightly.
“Don’t die! Don’t die!”
“Beast,” she pleaded, “I love you. I will never leave you again.”
“Beauty,” he answered weakly. “Forgive me.”
“No,” Beauty answered. “Forgive me! My Beast, I love you. I will marry you!”
As those words a spark of joy and life returned to the Beast’s eyes. “Beauty!” he intoned.
Beauty kissed his lips. “Live!” she said. “Live!”

She licked his long fangs and kissed the locks of fur that was both soft and rough at his throat.
She kissed his shoulders, his broad chest and downward, downward until she could smell his cock. She pushed aside the Beast’s purple and gold fringed frock coat. “My lover,” she said and kissed the head of his cock. It began to swell in her hands.” Oh my lover…” she said again and sucked the head of him between her lips. The Beast groaned with a passion she had never heard before. His lifted his massive paws to her cheeks and gazed at her with a gratitude and love that made her heart burst. “Will you have me as your wife,” she asked.

“Yes,” he answered. “Yes!”
Beauty returned to her lover’s cock as it hardened and filled with life, arching upward. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “Once upon a time,” he said, “there was a young prince who coveted wealth and beauty. He took without asking. He claimed what wasn’t his to claim. He filled his treasury with stolen beauty.”

Beauty smiled. Her knees were to either side of his legs as she pushed herself upright with one hand against his muscular abdomen. With a shift, first left, then right, she pulled off her father’s dress and cast it aside. A deep rumble of approval shook the Beast’s breast. He smiled! His hands rose to his wife’s flat belly, then upward to her breasts and the lovely rings that glittered in the sunlight. “Yes,” she said, and she placed her small hands over his. “Enjoy your wife’s breasts. Enjoy your wife’s hips and waist. Enjoy me”
But her breath shook.
She shuffled forward on her knees until his cock arched upward between her thighs. She held him, his girth too thick for her hand, and slowly lowered herself. Her husband’s paws rested on her hips.

She felt the soft touch of his purple fringe and the opening to her slick belly.
Dread seared her as she feared whether his girth could ever fit into her slender hips and waist, but she was determined to hide her dread from her husband. She pushed and felt and her head snapped back as the lips of her body were opened for the first time by a man’s presence. The pleasure of the Beast’s warmth, the sudden promised fullness, only exacerbated the pang and ache of her belly’s emptiness. She returned her gaze to the Beast’s and her lips parted as she let her body slowly be filled by the giant presence of her husband.

She let herself go. She wanted all of him inside her. She groaned loudly and the spread lips of her opening met the heavy locks of the Beast’s groin. She had taken him! She marveled at the design of nature, at how perfectly she could take her lover insider her, with such intimacy and pleasure. Why had she ever doubted that was meet for a man? But most of all, she reveled in the pleasure of her husband’s fullness between her legs and in her belly. She reveled in the pleasure he took in her. She smiled. She began her rise and fall, just as she had seen her sister do.
“Oh wife!” The Beat groaned, life and joy powerfully returning to his frame. “I was cursed! For my avarice and rapaciousness I was transformed into the Beast that you behold. My cock became the symbol of my avarice. I could not hide it. The price I must pay. One day, I was told, a most precious beauty would come to my castle. In all that time, I learned patience, kindness, and gentleness. Those who beheld me only saw my outward form, my beastliness, but I would have one chance to prove that I had mastered the Beast within.”

Beauty’s eyes half closed as she rose and fell ever more quickly on her husband’s cock.
“And in all that time,” said the Beast. “I could never enjoy the pleasure I had so enjoyed before my transformation. Only the touch of another’s love, acceptance, and forgiveness could bring forth that pleasure. Oh Beauty…dear wife…” the Beast groaned. “At last, I’m coming. At last, my joy, my life.”
“Yes…” Beauty leaned forward. Her belly didn’t cease it’s slick rise and fall, its tight tug and pull at the thing inside. She kissed the Beast. His pearlescence, his smell and taste would soon be released deeply inside her. He would be hers. Forever. He would belong to her. His smell would be hers. “Make me your wife,” she breathed. “Come in me. Claim my belly. Make me yours. I give it to you!”
The Beast stiffened, powerfully arched and howled. Beauty drove him deeply inside her, wanting to claim all of his release. She wrapped her legs and arms around his massive shape and held him as she felt the first powerful pulses filling her. How right it all felt! This is where he belonged! His powerful contractions were slow and long after centuries of desire.

His powerful spurts filled her with life.
When the last spasm shook him she collapsed in his lap. She leaned her cheek against his broad chest and enjoyed the feeling of his slow slipping out. She recalled her eldest sister’s word and already desired the return of the Beast’s  fullness. His juices poured out of her belly and warmly soaked the fur of his crotch. She joyed in their mutual smell – the small of their love. Her belly felt warm and pleasurable. He was her Beast now. Her smell soaked and matted the fur of his belly. Hers.

“I am sorry,” the Beast murmured, though with contentment. He gently twined Beauty’s hair in his paw.
“Whatever for,” Beauty asked, sleepily.
“Because this is not like other fairy tales and you have not transformed me into a Prince again.”
“Oh my Beast,” she answered. “What a shallow fairy tale that would be! I love you just the way you are. I fell in love with your heart, my husband.”

The Beast drew the young woman tightly against himself and the two happily fell asleep in the warm sunlight of the garden.


There was no need for a wedding.
As they had made love for the first time, rings had magically appeared on both their fingers.
The curse was lifted.
The Beast’s subjects, trapped in the walls of the castle, were finally freed. They too celebrated with merriment and lovemaking, finally freed from their long imprisonment. The women among the Beast’s servants were all rosy cheeked by the end of the day, their hands lightly rested on their warm and liquid wombs. The men walked joyfully and loosely.

It wasn’t long before the Beast’s joy in his new young wife overwhelmed him.
She wore the beautiful clothing he provided for her. Her nipples and aureole were bare and her dress was open in front and back. Beauty understood the reasons for the design and hardly resented it. After all, her husband only wore boots and frock coat and could not conceal his frequent desire for her.

That very evening, he introduced her to the room they would share.
Beauty approved of this curtain and disapproved of that bedsheet until her husband grew irritated with her sudden disdain. All the while, Beauty smiled to herself, hiding her mischievous pleasure. She remembered her eldest sister’s words: A woman yearns as much for the Beast as for the Prince. She drove the Beast to such distraction that he finally bellowed with anger, easily picked up his young wife and threw her to her hands and knees on the bed.

Without so much as removing her dress, he spanked her lifted ass.
She mewled and whined and rebuked him until her knees could hardly spread any wider, until her cheek was pressed against the matters, until her back arched, until her fingers were tightly twisted in the bedsheets and she obediently and submissively raised her buttocks.

“Husband!” she begged.
He snorted. “You are my little minx!”
“I am a terrible wife,” Beauty groaned into the bedsheets. “Please,” she lifted her sex in offering and contriteness, “this time you needn’t stop. Take your pleasure. I give it to you in penitence. Surely there is no other way. Take what is yours, my husband. Take your wife!”
The Beast growled with desire.
He needed no other prompting. He moved behind her, on knees, and mounted Beauty. She loudly exhaled, crying out, as her husband’s massive cock, this time,  sunk into her from behind, through the opening of her dress, possessing her belly with a bestial joy.

She couldn’t move.
She was forbidden. The Beast’s broad hands mastered his wife’s slender hips. She swam, half faint, with the pleasure of the thing moving in and out of her. She snared the bedsheets between her teeth. She grunted. She reveled in the raw, physical beastliness of being taken from behind.

And she loved her husband with an animal fierceness.

Nothing or no one would ever draw her away from him again. Her pleasure mounted until she finally felt her husband draw from her belly the profound secret that, this time, she wished to freely give him. “I come for you, husband,” she cried. Her slim muscles clenched, released and clenched her husband’s cock.
The Beast roared.
She felt new life pouring once again, spurt after spurt, into her young belly. She knew he was childing her belly. When the two lovers fell exhausted side by side, her back to him, she snuggled happily into her husband’s musky and warm fur.

“I shall give you beautiful roses” said the Beast.
“And I shall give you a beautiful son and daughter,” smiled Beauty, sleepily. “We will call the boy, Thorn, and the girl, Rose.”

And that’s why, to this day, the castle is known as the Castle of the Rose.

☼ Will Crimson
February 13 2011

Rejected Scene:

The Beast did not come to visit the next day or the day afterward.

Beauty remained in her room or walked alone in the Beast’s beautiful garden. But the strange shapes and forms that had only been sensuous shadows before began to take the shape. Compelled, she plucked flowers. She lifted them to her lips. She let the flower’s dew sugar her tongue. She pressed the petals’ softness against her cheek and smeared her lips with their effluence. When she returned to her room, the carved armrests of the oak chairs had each changed into the length and flare of phallases. She began to recognize the forms of men and women in the tapestries and the checkered floors.

How had she missed them before?
That night, even the lock of the door had changed.
Instead of a bolt, Beauty saw a rigid silver cock. Instead of the silver plate that received the bolt, she saw a little woman on her hands and knees made out of beaten silver and copper. The tiny woman was melded to a plate which was bolted to the jamb. She was turned so that f Beauty slid the bolt, it would slide into the woman from behind.

“Please,” said a voice. It was just a whisper. Had she heard it or imagined it?
“Please,” said the voice again. With a trembling hand, she touched the cock-like bolt. It was hard, like metal, but also warm. She slid the bolt toward the women. It seemed there was nowhere for the bolt to slide, but when she pushed, the woman’s belly opened and the cock slide into her. The legs of the tiny women widened and her head lifted. Beauty heard a gasp of gratitude and a low wooden groan from the door.

She quickly withdrew her hand but the little woman now seemed as metallic and lifeless as the cock that had seamlessly penetrated her.
She was frozen in pleasure.
Why there? Beauty wondered. Why? And yet her own thighs throbbed.

“No,” she said. “I am not like that!”

  • On the illustrations by Camille. I no longer have the exact links to these line drawings of Beauty & the Beast, however, you can see more of this erotic artist’s works by going here: Camille MM Images Erotique.
  • One of the most enjoyable books about fairy tales is From the Beast to the Blonde by Marina Warner. I read up on Beauty & the Beast when working up my retelling. Nothing about my eroticized  retelling is particularly new. I only make explicit what is implied in many other retellings (including Disney’s movie).  An interpretation similar  to my own, in spirit, was made by the poet Ted Hughes. The father is crazed when imagining what might be happening to his daughter. Like my own heroine, the heroine is eventually liberated and freed to experience her own eroticism. Warner writes:

In 1982, the poet Ted Hughes dramatized ‘Beauty and the Beast’ for television. His script developed the fantasy, implicit in the classical myth of Cupid and Psyche, that Beauty’s passionate desiring summons the Beast to her side, and that, after she has lost him, her yearning for him brings about their reunion. ¶ The Hughes version, though it was made for children, does not scant the heroine’s erotic fantasy as the dynamic of the story. It begins with the father crazed with worry that every night his beloved daughter the princess is visited by a monstrous and unnameable terror which takes possession of her. Doctors are put to watch by her side, and they too are overcome with horror as what they feel, though they see nothing – one specialist’s hair turns white overnight. Then a wandering musician with a performing bear comes to the palace at the king’s wish, to entertain the melancholy and even mad princess – and the bear charms her. She dances with the beast, and the king her father rejoices that the bear seems to have lifted the mad darkness that was oppressing her. But then, as they are dancing, the bear seizes her in his arms and carries her off.  ¶ When, after a long search, the hunting party tracks them down, the princess begs them not to hurt the bear. They would him, and she weeps – and then, as in other versions, her tears, the proof of her love, fall on his pelt and he stands up, transfigured.

Latest Comments

  1. paul1510 says:

    willcrimson, a truly beautiful rendition, I shall offer it as a Valentines gift to some friends of mine.

  2. willcrimson says:

    Thanks Paul, I always appreciate your reading.

  3. Marie says:

    This is a wonderful remix of Beauty and Beast. I enjoyed how you added the sexual element to story while building the chemistry and relationship between Beauty and Beast. I found the story rather sweet…and in my eyes, I thought it was the perfect ending to a “fairy tale.”

    • willcrimson says:

      Thank you Marie. According to WP, this is your first comment here?

      If so, then your visit is doubly appreciated. :-)

      I tried to put the erotic elements at the service of the characters. I didn’t want the “erotica” to feel forced but, maybe, an inevitable part of the fairy tale. Maybe I succeeded. Most love stories are also sexual stories and there ought to be rapture in both parts.

  4. ewoman88 says:

    mmmm… this was…. I’m blushing like mad!
    Really, really well done! Well-balanced and thought out, no jarring moments or out-of-place scenes. You win the fairy-tale rewrite crown once and for all!

  5. Deliriumtree says:

    You kicked the Disney versions ass! And I adore the Disney version. But, I think I like this one better. The beast really is the best part of a man. Thank you Will! I enjoyed your take on this very much!

    • willcrimson says:

      Do you think they’d make a movie out of mine?

      In truth, I’ve always thought the Beast’s sexuality was what frightened Beauty. But thanks so much for your comment and a big welcome. It makes the writing worthwhile.

  6. Squeaky says:

    Will, this was *beautifully* told, and a true, in-the-bone fairytale. told as they should be.
    the repetition of

    “Your father has deceived you. He is selfish! He jealously keeps you here when you should be with the Beast. He makes you a girl when you are a young woman.”

    amused me greatly, being the stepmother of a beautiful young woman, i know just how fathers can be with their daughters… *grin*

    bravo, sir! masterful! :)

    • willcrimson says:

      Thanks Squeaky, and just when I was feeling down.

      Being a stepmother isn’t always easy.

      And the thought of another man ‘stealing away’ a father’s daughter, his beautiful young woman, can make Beasts out of fathers.

  7. Thalia says:

    Excellent! I like the story development & the pacing, the descriptions are vivid but not verbose. And the erotic writing, hot and sweet! So evocative of the ache, the sweet piercing, the raw galloping need.

  8. Margaret says:

    this is wonderful!
    Beauty and the Beast IS the most overtly erotic fairy tale I know, but your version has so much power – my heart is racing, my temperature did rise some degrees and some other parts are affected too ;)
    Thank you for your writing – and please go on, there are such a lot of stories to be told, I´m sure you are just withholding them…

    • willcrimson says:

      Thank you, Margaret. Consider me buttered. :-) Your comment and all the others really, really do matter to me. More stories are on the way and they’ll be for each of you.

  9. Margaret says:

    my english is quite good but I had to look for the expression buttered. No, I did not intend to just flatter you – I really love your language, but most of all your fantasy and your way to describe in a way that no pictures are needed – there is a movie playing in my had and it will stay there. Tonight I have to look out for the beast in my partner and urge it to overtake the prince even if dont consider myself Beauty, just a woman with my own wild side!

    • willcrimson says:

      :-) If you know how to praise someone then, as the expression has it, you know what side of the toast to butter.

      The expression isn’t necessarily negative. If you butter someone up, the reasons can be quite sweet and honest. Butter on toast is a good thing.

  10. Margaret says:

    In this case your story is the strawberry-jam on top that makes the toast perfect…

  11. AtALoss says:

    Thank you, for another fantastic retelling! “Leda & the Swan” is actually one of the first of your stories I read (I discovered you when Monocle joined forces with you here) and is one of the reasons I keep coming back. Thank you, and keep it up!

    • willcrimson says:

      Thanks AtALoss. I enjoy the erotic retellings, especially because it’s fun to draw out the implicit eroticism in many of the “fairy tales”.

      Right now though, I’m working on Bluebeard. [Blinks] This one is a challenge and I’m not sure what compels me to retell the story except that it’s so famous. I’m almost at a loss.

  12. mehryinett says:

    What an excellent tale. I was wondering how you would work it into an erotica piece and it was absolutely seamless. The sex was completely at the heart of the story; a great success. I’ve always known it was an important theme of Beauty and the Beast but it just made more sense that way.

  13. Jennifer says:

    I usually try to lurk… but I have to speak out here. Beauty and the Beast is my favourite fairy tale, and always has been… and this. This, this has been a marvel. I took as much pleasure in the story as in the lovemaking; the sex was merely a beautiful detail in a beautiful story, instead of having a story merely to be the vehicle for the sex, and what sex it was. Bravo~

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