Beauty Chained

So sweet in white you
bent to sniff to smell the
rose so red I sent you
this morning the dew on
your lip lick it
off and smile at me

So sweet in sweat I
see you bent and writhe in
pleasure ah my treasure all
slathered in creamy paint you
drip and slip it
off and smile at me

So sweet in chains you
pull and gnash and grasp the
links you slink I scratch you
seize your ache you
squeeze and slide it
off and smile at me

So sweet in black you
stretch and sigh and drift in
silken cream and paint I
glide and ride you
slip yes take it
off and smile at me

So sweet in sleep you
breathe and moan deep in
velvet bliss you cream me
yield and
blush rush lick it
off and smile at me

chains

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Beauty’s Calling

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Prince Blorigan heard of Beauty through one of his own servants. A cousin of a friend who knew a girl who had been to visit Beauty told the tale of a teenaged boy locked in a tower catered to by only women. It was a sin against humanity if ever Blorigan had heard of one. And so, curious, he plotted to see for himself.

Blorigan, with the aid of trusted woman in his household, went about dressing himself up as a young girl to gain entrance to Grim’s castle. Once inside it was simple. Gush over never having seen Beauty up close (as though anyone had seen him from afar) and tell of a cousin who had had the pleasure of Beauty’s company and it was only a matter of moments before Blorigan was in the presence of the beautiful young man.

The Prince had with him a fan which he held up to his face as he tittered with the six other girls who had been invited to sit with Beauty that afternoon. He hadn’t expected to find himself quite so enamoured of the young man. He was, indeed, very beautiful. Blorigan was quite nervous. For it was told that after court with Beauty was held, he would go around the room and kiss each of the girls on the lips, deciding which, if any, would have a place in his chambers to help him dress in the morning and undress at night. None of the girls lasted long, unless they happened to be in Beauty’s employ when one of the older women left, unable to give away a son of Beauty’s father, Grim.

As Beauty moved around the room, bending before each of the girls to give them each a chaste kiss on the lips and then straighten and smile, Blorigan began to tremble. Should he be outed by Beauty (who would surely be surprised to feel the roughness of his closely shaven skin) the consequences of his deception would be dire. He began to wonder what had gotten into him, thinking he could get away with it, let alone being well received by Beauty. So it was with nervous bravery that Blorigan lowered his fan and accepted Beauty’s kiss. Beauty, startled, pulled away just enough to stare at Blorigan’s lips before kissing him again. He didn’t smile. Without glancing away from Blorigan he ordered the rest out of the room.

“But Beauty!” exclaimed the lady who always accompanied the girls. “This is highly unusual.”

“Leave us!” Beauty commanded.

Blorigan heard the shuffling of feet and the soft thunk of the wooden door closing against its frame. Without a word Beauty reached under the Prince’s skirt and felt there a hardness.

“You’re like me,” Beauty whispered.

Prince Blorigan nodded, speechless.

“You must stay, and teach me,” Beauty breathed against the Prince’s lips. “Are you,” Beauty swallowed, “are you the only other one?”

“No, the world is filled with men as well as with women…”

Beauty cut off his words with another deeper kiss.

“Stay with me,” Beauty repeated with a groan.

“I can’t,” Blorigan said. “I have a kingdom to help my father rule. I am a Prince and must marry soon.”

“You will marry a woman?” Beauty asked, unbelieving as he pressed himself against the Prince.

“We will teach each other perhaps, before I go.”

“And you will return?” Beauty demanded, dropping to his knees for a better look.

“As often as I can,” Blorigan sighed, his head tipping back and his eyes closing.

Beauty’s Education

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Life in the castle was an endless cycle of excitement and monotony. For days on end Beauty was locked up in his chambers with his tutor, a nubile young woman of brains who carried her children with her (or lead them around depending on their size) where ever she went. All of the children were daughters – it was well known in the kingdom that Beauty’s father, Grim, would only have members of the gentler sex in his household, with the exception of Beauty himself. Whenever a male child was born it was given away – an agreed-upon expectation of the women who were privileged to be in Grim’s servitude and allowed into his bedchamber.

Beauty was hidden away from the world, an eyesore to his father but the glory of the domestic help who cared for him, for they knew he was destined for greatness. (They would whisper among themselves that perhaps Beauty would be even greater than his father!)

And so the women of the grand estate had a vested interest in Beauty’s education and his upbringing. They urged him to be like his father, though he had not his father’s direct influence. Therefore the consensus was that Beauty should be as they wished his father to be.

While monotony reigned over Beauty’s days, he would take in the vision of his teacher’s breasts as she nursed her daughters, unable to avoid licking his lips at the sight of her wet nipples. By night he would be alone, a slave to his dreams. Even as he grew into the age of double digits the scenery remained unchanged. Excitement had finally come when he gained the age at which he was allowed visitors; girls in training from other castles who would become his father’s servants. Only then was he allowed to touch. Only then did his education begin in earnest.

Beauty’s Beginning

Beauty

Beauty

Beauty was born without a mother. That is to say his mother died in childbirth, leaving him in the peculiar care of his father and his father’s servants. Since Beauty’s father was a soldier, he was often absent from the family estate. Beauty, therefore, spent all of his waking and sleeping moments with the women who cleaned, cooked, and cared for the castle in which he lived.

So uninterested was Beauty’s father in him that he even went as far as to allow the housemaid-turned-nursemaid (she gave birth to a daughter at the same time Beauty was born and was able to nurse him at her breast) to name the poor boy. Having used what she thought was the best name available on her own daughter (some said she was the spawn of the gentleman for whom the woman worked), and she couldn’t very well call the boy Adrianna two (or too, the woman knew not the distinction) she simply called him what he was.

From the time Beauty was a babe he learned the ways of women. They taught him to clean and to cook and to care for them when they were tired at the end of the day. Time and time again his father would return home from battle only to find his son rubbing the feet of a char woman. The more it happened the less his father expected of him.

And so Beauty went without the benefit of a role model. His father was the only man Beauty knew of, for his father surrounded himself only with women unless he was off to war. From his father Beauty learned only that if he was ignored, there would surely be a woman to take care of him.

Beauty my Beauty

Beauty tore down all the sheets that hung around the room. It was Beauty’s darling Step-mother who requested they be hung in the first place. Beauty didn’t think anything of it at the time, the sheets needed to dry. But five years later, when they had begun to fade in the sun, Beauty knew it was time for them to be taken down. Flowery sheets weren’t Beauty’s idea of beauty. He liked plain white ones.

“Oh Beauty!” It was Step-mother calling. She waltzed into his room as though she belonged there.

“Step-mother, I told you before that I don’t like you coming into my room without knocking first,” Beauty whined.

“Oh nonsense!” Step-mother cried. “Now where are the sheets I asked you to hang up?”

“That was so long ago, I took them down,” Beauty confessed.

“Alright then, get on your knees. Where is the whip?”

“Step-mother,” Beauty sighed. “I’m four and twenty years old. Aren’t we a little past this?”

“Well who else am I going to beat now that your father is gone?” Step-mother exclaimed.

“Alright then,” Beauty conceded. “But just this once.”

Beauty took the barbed whip from the wardrobe and handed it to Step-mother. He fell to his knees before her, his long brown hair hiding his face as he removed his shirt. Step-mother hissed when she saw the scars on his back.

“Who did this to you?” Step-mother questioned.

“You did, Step-mother. Last week. And the week before. And every week for the last five years,” Beauty counted.

“Liar!” Step-mother screeched and the whip came down upon Beauty’s back.

Beauty felt the sting of the whip cutting into his flesh, removing the few scabs from the last time. Within three lashes the blood was flowing freely.

“Oh!” Step-mother gasped. She stepped back and Beauty looked up at her, a grin on his face.

“What happened?” Step-mother asked.

“Nothing at all Step-mother,” Beauty chided.

“Then hang up the sheets!” Step-mother demanded, dropping the whip and leaving the room.

“Right away Step-mother,” Beauty submitted.

As soon as the door to Beauty’s bedroom closed he lay upon his white sheets and graced them with roses and adonis.

Beauty