A Strict Seduction (18 page)

‘Yes! Yes!' Belle cried.

The Beast rose silently, its cry of triumph shaking the very foundations of the castle. It stood over Belle and marked her as its own, a pure silver liquid gushing from it's hardness, spraying over Belle's nakedness, making her body shimmer and sparkle under the candlelight. Belle lay back, letting the hot liquid bathe her body, splashing onto her reddened nipples, onto her belly, into her sex, sighing with a secret pleasure as she did so. The Beast anointed her with the silver rain that jetted from his hard animal maleness, directing it from head to toe, to cover Belle in his essence.

Then Beast fell upon her, turned her over once more and pressed his hardness deep into Belle's aching sex. Belle cried out, mewing like an animal, letting the pleasure pierce the shell of humanity. She was part beast too now, part animal and part woman. The stiff tool filled her, pressed the damp walls of her sex, going deep to the heart of her pulsing cunt bud.

‘Harder! Harder!' she cried, the eruption building inside her as the Beast covered her body. She screamed, her body froze, her back arched and her reddened buttocks pressing hard against the mat of hair that covered the Beast's body. She had crossed over, she was part of him now, no longer Belle, but the Beauty that Beast had desired.

Exchange

Edward had expected to find Mercedes curled up in front of the TV when he returned home early from work. The world of afternoon television seemed to be endlessly fascinating to her, a world peopled by bronzed Australians facing moral dilemmas which were tackled with a cup of tea and lots of hugs. There was nothing like it on French television, and it had seemed to Edward that Australian soaps were the highlight of Mercedes' visit to England.

He slipped off his coat and stashed the briefcase in the study on the ground floor. The house was silent and he savoured the peace and quiet, a haven compared to the hustle and bustle of his office, or the organised madness of the motorway. Perhaps Mercedes had gone out for the day, she had spoken a number of times of visiting central London and he had supplied her with travel details and timetables. He hoped she had in fact gone out, it would leave him an afternoon of peace and quiet to enjoy.

Back in the sitting room he poured himself a scotch and looked around. As usual the evidence of Mercedes' presence was all around: the shoes she had kicked off casually and left in the middle of the room, a Parisian magazine left lying on the sofa, an empty coffee cup on the floor, waiting to be accidentally kicked over. It was annoying that she was so untidy because Jennifer had left strict instructions about it before she had departed. At the time Mercedes had listened gravely and assured Jennifer that all her instructions were to be followed to the letter.

The drink felt good, the warmth oozing down Edward's throat and spreading through his body. The strains of the day were beginning to fall away, and again he closed his eyes to appreciate the heavy silence of the house. The exchange visit had been Jennifer's idea, and though reluctant at first, he had finally agreed to it. His wife had decided to pick up on her French again, and had enrolled for classes at the local college. It had been a good idea; Edward often travelled to France on business and though he could order a meal and make himself understood to taxi drivers he could not hold a conversation with his French associates. There was no time for him to take classes, but Jennifer was a good teacher and she was soon helping him with the language too.

The exchange visit was the perfect opportunity for her to take a break in Paris and to practice the language with the natives. However, they had both imagined that the student she would exchange with would be of a similar age to Jennifer, in the late twenties. Mercedes had turned out to be not yet twenty and able to speak perfect English. Still, she was keen to travel to the UK and her own family just as keen to have Jennifer visit them. Perhaps, Jennifer had joked, it was the family that wanted to learn English, and not Mercedes.

It was too early for a second drink, and besides, there was probably still time for him to call Paris. He picked up the empty coffee cup from the floor and walked across to the kitchen. There again Mercedes had left her mark, a sink full of cups, sauces and plates, an open jar of coffee left on the counter, the kitchen table strewn with newspapers and breadcrumbs. Why did the girl never clean up after herself? He was certain that she was very different at home; Jennifer had described Mercedes' family as very nice, with a large house full of people that was somehow always spotlessly clean. By their own reckoning Mercedes was a bit of a tearaway, an impulsive, bright, inquisitive sort of girl who liked to do things her way.

Edward sighed. He would have to have another long talk with the girl. But he feared it would go the way of all the talks they'd had: she would listen sombrely, nod in all the right places, call him
monsieur
in a voice of utmost respect, and then carry on regardless. Still, it had to be done. The only consolation was that the first week had passed and that she would be gone in another.

He ascended the stairs wearily, wishing that the week would pass quickly and then things could return to normal. Next time, he promised himself, he and Jennifer would go away together.

The unexpected noise from his bedroom made him stop in his tracks. He pressed himself against the wall and inched towards the door. If Mercedes was out, then who was in the room? Very slowly he pushed the door open, the bright sunlight from the bedroom spilling out into the hallway.

Thankfully the door failed to creak its normal complaint, and as it opened slowly he could see clearly what was going on. The wardrobe door was open, the mirror on the inside of the door catching the light. Mercedes was standing by the wardrobe door, rifling through the hangers heavy with clothes, examining closely the contents of the shelves and the rack on the door.

‘What the hell are you doing in here?' Edward demanded angrily, pushing the door open completely and bounding into his room. He was furious. Mercedes was staying in the guestroom and she had no business whatsoever going through his and Jennifer's bedroom.

Mercedes stepped back, mouth open and blue eyes wide with shock. The colour had drained from her face, and for the first time since she had arrived she was completely speechless.

‘This is our room,' Edward cried, his anger undiminished, ‘you have no right to be in here. What were you doing? Well, girl, what were you doing?'

Mercedes gasped for air, her full red lips opening and closing and unable to form coherent speech. She was dressed casually in loose T-shirt and a short black skirt, slit at the back. Her eyes were made-up, long fluttering lashes, eyebrows pencilled darkly to frame her pretty blue eyes. Full lips outlined in red lipstick that contrasted with the slight golden tan of her skin.

‘Well? I'm waiting,' Edward continued, advancing a step towards her. His glance fell on the open wardrobe and he understood at once what it was that had drawn her attention.

‘I was looking for something to wear, monsieur,' she managed to say, her voice soft and nervous.

‘You have your own clothes, what did you want?'

‘I wanted to travel to London, monsieur, but I did not have a summer jacket to wear with this… I thought perhaps that Madame may have had something appropriate…'

‘Is that why you were looking in my wardrobe?' Edward demanded, pointing to the rack on the open door. It was lined with belts, canes, a heavy black paddle, all reflected in the bright light of the mirror.

‘I… I…' she struggled for an explanation, but instead her eyes became fixed on the implements of punishment so neatly laid out.

‘You were stealing,' Edward decided suddenly, his voice losing the harshest edge of anger but becoming lower and more devious.

‘Non! Monsieur! You are mistaken… This is not true…'

‘Perhaps, perhaps not,' Edward said. ‘But how would it seem to your college if I rang them and explained these circumstances? Even the suspicion would look very bad for you.'

‘Please, monsieur, I am very sorry for this. I did not come to steal. I was here to search for a jacket… in the beginning.'

Edward nodded. He could see that the truth was going to come out, she was not a thief but neither was she always truthful. If Mercedes had really been looking for a jacket she would have looked on the coat rack downstairs, or else she would have looked in Jennifer's side of the wardrobe. As if to prove the point he opened the other door of the wardrobe to reveal the closely packed hangers full of Jennifer's clothes, all of them apparently undisturbed.

‘The full story, girl,' he told her firmly. He closed the second door of the wardrobe but left the first one open, noting the way the young French girl's eyes kept returning to the long leather belts and the canes hanging from the rack. How long had she been studying the various instruments of punishment in his collection?

‘I was looking for a jacket but when I opened the wardrobe I saw these things… I was fascinated by it, monsieur… They are not for wearing?'

Edward smiled. ‘No, they are not for wearing,' he admitted. ‘They are for using, for punishing bad girls who should know better.'

‘Like me?' Mercedes asked, her voice barely a whisper. She looked at Edward strangely, her eyes filled with fear and excitement in equal measure.

He nodded. ‘You have taken advantage of my hospitality, young lady. This has been the last straw. I have a good mind to send you packing this instant, and to inform your family about your behaviour while you have been here. Do you think they will be pleased to hear this? Will it make them proud?'

Mercedes shook her head slowly. He could see the implications filtering through her imagination, the horror of it dawning slowly. Her eyes returned to the instruments of punishment, and the fascination she felt was self-evident. Any other woman would have ignored them, closed the door, not even noticed them, but not Mercedes. Just the look of the long bamboo cane with the curved handle seemed to attract her gaze and attention.

‘I am truly sorry, monsieur,' she whispered, looking up into his eyes appealingly.

He reached out and took the cane from the rack, swished it once through the air for effect. She swallowed hard but did not try to run away, she did not even cry out in horror.

‘You know what this is for,' he told her calmly.

She nodded, and then, without bidding, she turned her back to him slowly. She began to bend over at the waist, moving as though in a trance.

‘No, across my knee young lady,' he commanded. ‘You've acted like a silly child and that's how I'm going to punish you.'

She did not know what to do or how to react. She walked across the room towards him, stopped in front of the mirror, and waited. He sat on the bed and motioned for her to join him, pointing to a spot six inches from his feet. When she was ready he put his hands under her short skirt and pulled her knickers down, the pretty white bundle of frills sliding down her smooth thighs to her knees. Her face was bright red with embarrassment and her eyes resolutely avoided his.

Her skin was soft and warm, and he could easily guess how it would react to a few firm strokes. He bent her over his knees, positioning her so that she was well placed and balanced over his lap. She made not a murmur of protest, moving as though in a dream. Her skirt went up slowly, the strong afternoon sun warming her smooth legs as the hem was pulled over her waist. She had firm round bottom cheeks, pert and well shaped, the groove between bottom and thigh deep and attractive.

‘Please, monsieur… Please…' she whimpered, finding her voice at last. It was too late. She was spread across his knees, her delicious derrière displayed completely in the clear orange light. She tried to kick out but her panties held her feet together.

‘This is no time for tantrums,' he told her gruffly.

The first heavy smack of hand to bottom silenced her completely. He looked down and saw her softly tanned skin marked red with the imprint of fingers and palm. His guess had been correct; she had the sort of soft, mellow skin that would colour intensely at the softest spanking. His fingers rubbed the redness, tracing the slightly raised shape of his own hand on her hot skin.

The second hard spank matched the first on the other bottom cheek, marking her symmetrically so that the terrible smarting pain would be balanced. It was her first time, he was certain of that, and he intended to make sure it would not be an experience she would easily forget.

He began to spank her rhythmically, smacking fully with the flat of his hand, first on one cheek and then on the other. Her golden orbs clenched and unclenched as he beat her soundly, tanning her skin until it glowed red all over. He dealt swift blows at the top of the thighs also, and then aimed several between her buttocks so that she shook all over with the impact.

‘Well?' he demanded, forcing her to her feet.

When she did not speak he grabbed her by the shoulder and took her to stand by the mirror. She looked over her shoulder at the punished globes of her backside, patterned a deep even red all over. Her eyes widened as she was displayed, her backside still quivering with pain.

Her nipples were hard, dark points pressed suggestively against her white cotton shirt. Her lips were slightly parted and her eyes misted over slightly. She had enjoyed her punishment, though he did not think she had ever expected to receive such chastisement.