Back in the bustling village, where the clamor of market stalls and the aroma of fresh bread filled the air, Isabella paced the worn wooden floor of their modest home, her long, flowing dark hair cascading over her curvaceous figure and porcelain skin like a raven's wing. At twenty-five, her emerald eyes sparkled with a bold intelligence that belied the sensual curve of her lips, always ready for adventure. When the frantic messenger arrived, breath ragged and voice hushed, describing her father's capture by the beastly lord of the castle, a fire ignited in her core. "I won't let him rot there," she declared, her voice steady despite the knot of fear twisting in her belly. Images of her father's weary face fueled her resolve; she envisioned his kind eyes pleading for mercy, and with a surge of protective fury, she gathered her cloak and set off into the twilight, her heart pounding with a mix of dread and unspoken curiosity about the enigmatic lord who held him.

As Isabella approached the opulent castle, its stone walls looming like a predator in the dim light, the massive oak doors creaked open on their own, revealing a dimly lit foyer adorned with antique furnishings draped in velvet and gold. The air inside was thick with the scent of aged wood and faint, intoxicating spices, and there, in the flickering candlelight, stood Lord Thorn—a towering, muscular figure with fur-covered skin that gleamed like burnished bronze, his sharp features and piercing golden eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her breath catch and his impressive manhood straining against his garments. His broad chest heaved under the weight of his curse, and though his appearance was fearsome, an immediate magnetic pull drew her closer, her body responding with a flush of heat that pooled low in her belly. She felt the weight of his gaze tracing the swell of her tits beneath her dress, her nipples hardening traitorously as a raw, primal desire stirred within her, challenging the fear that gripped her throat.

She swallowed hard, the fear in her throat battling the illicit heat pooling between her thighs, as she forced herself to speak, her voice a husky whisper that echoed in the cavernous foyer. "My lord," Isabella began, her emerald eyes locking onto his piercing golden ones, "please, I beg you, release my father. He meant no harm; it was just a rose. Take me instead—I'll stay here, serve you, do whatever you ask." Her words tumbled out, laced with desperation and an undercurrent of curiosity that made her cheeks flush, her curvaceous body trembling slightly as she stepped closer, the scent of his musky fur and the faint spice in the air intoxicating her senses.

Lord Thorn's lips curled into a predatory smile, his broad chest rumbling with a low growl that vibrated through the room. He didn't accept right away, his golden eyes narrowing as he loomed over her, his massive frame casting a shadow that made her feel both vulnerable and achingly alive. "And why should I trade one for the other, little one?" he purred, his voice deep and commanding, laced with a raw edge of dominance that sent shivers down her spine. "Words are easy. Show me why I should let him go and keep you—prove your devotion right here, on your knees."

Isabella's breath hitched, the command igniting a fire in her core that overrode her hesitation. Slowly, she dropped to her knees before him, the cold stone floor biting into her skin as she gazed up at his towering form, her hands trembling as they reached for the bulge straining against his garments. She could feel the heat radiating from his thick, fur-covered thighs, and with a mix of fear and fierce desire, she tugged at the fabric, freeing his enormous cock—thick, veined, and pulsing with need, the head already slick with precum that glistened in the candlelight. Her heart raced as she wrapped her fingers around his shaft, feeling its weight and girth, the velvety skin stretched tight over the rigid length, and she leaned in, her lips parting to take him into her mouth. The salty taste of his precum exploded on her tongue as she sucked gently at first, then deeper, her mouth stretching around his impressive size, her tongue swirling over the sensitive underside while wet, slurping sounds filled the air. She moaned around him, the vibration making his balls tighten, as waves of arousal soaked her pussy, her nipples rubbing painfully against the fabric of her dress, every inch of her body alive with the raw, throbbing intensity of the moment.

With a guttural roar, he took control, thrusting his hips forward and forcing his cock deeper into her throat, the thick length stretching her mouth wide as it plunged in and out with brutal rhythm. Isabella choked and gasped, tears stinging her eyes, but the overwhelming fullness only heightened her ecstasy, her pussy flooding with fresh wetness as she surrendered to his dominance, her hand slipping down to her own pussy to flick her clit. "Your hand!", he growled, "Give me your hand. You haven't earned the right to touch yourself yet", his voice a thunderous command that sent shivers through her body, his balls slapping against her chin with each powerful stroke. He held her hands above her head, preventing her from providing herself with the stimulation that her cunt so badly wanted. "Take it all, you greedy little slut," he growled. She slurped and sucked wildly on his cock, with her tongue massaging the underside as he slid in and out of her mouth. Finally, the vibrations started to push him over the edge, and with a final, savage thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, her nose being buried in his fur, his cock pulsing violently as he erupted, hot ropes of cum flooding her throat in thick, salty bursts while Isabella's pussy dripped and ached for release, as she swallowed greedily, the creamy warmth sliding down as she milked him with her throat.

As Isabella finally pulled back, her lips swollen and glistening with the remnants of his release, she gazed up at Lord Thorn with a mix of triumph and lingering hunger, her chest heaving as she swallowed the last drops of his thick, salty cum. He let go of her hands, as his golden eyes softened just a fraction, the beastly rumble in his throat fading to a satisfied growl, and he reached down, his massive, fur-covered hand cupping her chin firmly. "You've proven your devotion, little one," he murmured, his voice still laced with that commanding dominance that made her pussy clench anew. "Very well, I'll release your father at dawn. But you stay here, as my guest... and more." With that, he stepped back, his enormous cock still semi-hard and dripping, as he bellowed for his servant, "Lira! Attend to our new arrival. Take her to the guest chambers, draw her a bath, and see that she's properly attired. She'll be our guest for now."

Lira appeared like a shadow materializing from the dimly lit corridors, her ethereal silver hair flowing like moonlit silk around her enigmatic face, her eyes holding a knowing glint as she took in the scene—Isabella on her knees, flushed and disheveled, the air thick with the musky scent of sex. Without a word, the servant guided Isabella through the winding halls of the castle, the antique tapestries whispering secrets in the flickering torchlight, until they reached a lavish chamber with a massive four-poster bed draped in velvet. Lira filled the ornate bathtub with steaming water scented with exotic spices, the steam rising in lazy tendrils that caressed Isabella's skin as she stripped off her soiled dress, revealing her curvaceous body—her full tits bouncing slightly, nipples still hard from the encounter, and her pussy slick with her own arousal. Alone in the warm embrace of the bath, Isabella leaned back, the water lapping at her sensitive flesh, and her mind replayed the raw intensity of sucking Lord Thorn's massive cock, feeling it stretch her throat, the taste of his precum and cum flooding her senses. She licked her lips instinctively, as her hand slipped underwater, fingers tracing down her body to her aching cunt, parting the folds to find her clit swollen and begging; she circled it slowly at first, a soft moan escaping her lips as she imagined his thick shaft plunging into her, her pussy throbbing with need, wetness seeping into the water as she dipped two fingers inside, pumping them in and out with increasing rhythm, the slick sounds echoing in the room.

Just as Isabella's breaths turned to ragged gasps, her fingers thrusting deeper into her tight, dripping hole, stretching herself with a third finger to mimic the girth of his cock, the door creaked open—Lira stood there, her mysterious aura unbroken as she watched for a moment, a faint smile playing on her lips. "My lady, you seem... in need of assistance," she purred, her voice a soothing melody that belied the heat in her eyes, stepping closer with graceful purpose. Without hesitation, Lira knelt beside the tub, her long fingers joining Isabella's, sliding expertly over the slick folds of her pussy, teasing the entrance before plunging in alongside, filling her cunt to the brim. "Let me help you, as a good servant should," Lira whispered, her other hand cupping one of Isabella's heavy tits, pinching the nipple hard enough to draw a cry, their bodies moving in sync as Lira's fingers curled inside, stroking that sensitive spot deep within, making Isabella's hips buck wildly, her juices flowing freely to mix with the bathwater in a symphony of wet, squelching noises. Isabella moaned louder, the dual sensations overwhelming her, her clit grinding against Lira's thumb as the servant worked her with fervent skill, their shared breaths hot and heavy in the steamy air.

Their shared breaths hot and heavy in the steamy air, Lira's fingers plunged deeper into Isabella's dripping cunt, stretching her tight walls with relentless precision, the servant's thumb grinding hard circles over her swollen clit, sending jolts of electric pleasure straight to her core. Isabella arched her back in the tub, water sloshing over the edges as her full tits bounced with every frantic thrust, her nipples puckered and aching from Lira's earlier pinches, the pain blending into a delirious ecstasy that made her moan like a whore in heat. "Fuck, yes, right there—don't stop, you fucking tease," Isabella gasped, her voice raw and desperate, her hips bucking wildly against Lira's hand, the wet, squelching sounds of fingers pumping in and out of her soaked hole echoing off the chamber walls, mixing with the lewd slurps of water and her own juices coating everything in a slippery mess. Lira's other hand slid up to squeeze Isabella's throat just enough to heighten the thrill, her enigmatic eyes locked on Isabella's as she whispered filthy encouragements, "Take it, you needy slut, feel how deep I can go," forcing a third finger inside, twisting and curling to hit that spongy spot that made Isabella's vision blur, her pussy clenching rhythmically around the intrusion, the stretch bordering on painful but oh-so-fucking good.

As Isabella's climax built like a storm, her body trembling on the brink, Lira's fingers pistoned faster, the servant's palm slapping against Isabella's puffy lips with each brutal stroke, the friction sending waves of heat through her veins, her clit throbbing under the assault. "Oh god, I'm gonna cum—fucking make me cum!" Isabella screamed, her voice breaking into a series of guttural cries as her orgasm crashed over her, her cunt spasming violently around Lira's fingers, gushing fresh waves of slickness that overflowed into the bathwater, her thighs quaking and her ass clenching tight as the release ripped through her, leaving her panting and spent, every nerve ending alight with aftershocks. Lira slowed her movements, gently withdrawing her soaked fingers with a final, teasing rub over Isabella's sensitive folds, then proceeded to wash her properly, lathering soap over her quivering body, massaging the curves of her tits and the swell of her hips with efficient, nurturing strokes, the warm water rinsing away the evidence of their play as Isabella leaned back, still catching her breath.

Once clean and dried, Lira helped Isabella from the tub, wrapping her in a soft robe before guiding her to the massive four-poster bed, the velvet sheets cool against her flushed skin as she slipped under the covers. Isabella propped herself up on one elbow, her emerald eyes searching Lira's face. "What is this place? Who are you really, and what does he want from me?" she asked, her voice laced with curiosity and lingering desire. But Lira merely shook her head, her silver hair shimmering in the dim light, offering no words, her enigmatic smile unchanging as she tucked the blankets around Isabella and faded into the shadows. Alone in the vast bed, Isabella tossed and turned, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts—the beast's commanding growl, the taste of his cum, Lira's skillful fingers—haunting her dreams, her body twisting in uneasy slumber, sweat beading on her skin as nightmares of thorns and hidden desires clawed at her rest.

Morning light filtered through the heavy velvet drapes of Isabella's chamber, casting a golden glow over the massive four-poster bed where she lay tangled in the sheets, her body still thrumming from the chaotic dreams that had plagued her sleep. Her skin was slick with a light sheen of sweat, her nipples pebbling under the thin fabric of her robe as remnants of the night's encounters echoed in her mind—Lord Thorn's massive cock thrusting down her throat, Lira's fingers delving deep into her dripping cunt. A soft knock at the door pulled her from her haze, and before she could respond, Lira glided in like a wraith, her silver hair cascading over her shoulders, her enigmatic eyes holding that same knowing glint. "Rise, my lady," she murmured, her voice a soothing whisper that belied the undercurrent of command. "The Lord awaits you in the dining hall for breakfast." Without waiting for protest, Lira helped Isabella to her feet, wrapping a simple gown around her curvaceous form before leading her to the basin filled with warm water, allowing Isabelle to watch her face and revive herself a bit. Then Lira silently led her through the labyrinthine halls of the castle. The corridors unfolded like a tapestry of forbidden allure, ancient stone walls lined with erotic sculptures—carved marble figures locked in explicit embraces, their stone cocks buried deep in yielding forms, breasts arched in eternal ecstasy—that made Isabella's pulse quicken, her gaze lingering on the intricate details of veins and folds, awakening a fresh wave of curiosity that stirred the heat between her thighs.

As they entered the grand dining room, the air was rich with the aroma of roasted meats and fresh bread, a stark contrast to the dim, oppressive atmosphere of the halls. Lord Thorn sat at the head of a long oak table, his towering frame draped in shadows, his fur-covered skin glistening under the chandelier's flicker, his piercing golden eyes locking onto Isabella with that predatory intensity that made her core tighten. He gestured to a place setting before her—a single glass of water and a meager slice of toast—as Lira stepped back into the periphery, her presence a silent sentinel. Isabella's stomach growled audibly, the hunger gnawing at her after the exertions of the previous night, and she stared at the paltry offering in surprise, her emerald eyes widening. "Is this... all I get?" she asked, her voice husky from sleep and unspoken desires, a flush creeping up her neck as she felt the weight of his gaze tracing the curve of her tits beneath the gown. Lord Thorn's lips curled into a smirk, his deep voice rumbling like thunder. "Nothing is free in this castle, little one. You must earn your keep. Take the toast and water if you wish, or work for more. The choice is yours."

Isabella hesitated, her fingers hovering over the edge of the plate, the scent of the unseen feast taunting her nostrils, making her mouth water and her resolve waver. Her body still ached from the raw intensity of the night before—her pussy throbbing with a dull, insistent need, her lips remembering the salty taste of his cum—and the hunger clawed at her, sharper than she'd anticipated. She weighed the options in her mind, the humiliation of begging warring with the primal urge to satisfy the emptiness inside her, her curvaceous form shifting slightly as a bead of sweat trickled down between her breasts. Finally, with a deep breath that made her chest heave, she met his eyes. "I'm... I'm starving. I want more," she admitted, her voice laced with a mix of defiance and reluctant desire, her nipples hardening against the fabric as his gaze darkened. Lord Thorn's smirk widened, his massive hand gesturing lazily. "Very well. If you want a proper breakfast, show me what you're working with. Strip for me, and I'll see you're fed." Her heart pounded, a flush of humiliation and arousal flooding her veins, but she nodded, her hands trembling as she slowly untied the gown, letting it pool at her feet. Standing bare before him, her full heaving tits on display, nipples erect and begging for attention, her pussy already glistening with a fresh slickness that betrayed her excitement, she felt exposed in a way that both shamed and thrilled her.

He beckoned her closer with a curl of his finger, his golden eyes roaming over her body like a predator appraising its prey, and Isabella obeyed, her bare feet padding across the cold stone floor until she stood mere inches from him, the heat radiating from his fur-covered form making her skin prickle. He looked he up and down, pausing on her tits, then her mound, and then back up to her face again, all the while his face betraying no emotions. "Turn for me," he commanded, his voice a gravelly purr that sent shivers down her spine, and she complied, pivoting slowly, her ass cheeks clenching as she felt his eyes devour every inch—the swell of her hips, the curve of her waist, the dark thatch of hair framing her swollen cunt lips. "Stop," she heard from behind her, and she froze, holding her breath, unsure what she had done wrong. Then she felt it, his furry hand drawing a line down the small of her back, across her ass cheeks, then in the gap between her thighs. She gasped, drawing in the cool air of the dining hall, shuttering for a moment, surprised by his touch. She then felt his hand withdraw and a command issued, "Keep going."

When she faced him again, his massive hand reached out, rough fingers tracing the underside of her tit, weighing it in his palm like a merchant inspecting goods, his thumb flicking over the hardened nipple with deliberate force that drew another sharp gasp from her lips. The touch was humiliating, reducing her to an object, yet it ignited a fire low in her belly, her pussy throbbing with wet, aching need as he slid his hand down, cupping her mound possessively, his fingers parting her slick folds to probe the entrance of her cunt. "So wet already, you greedy slut," he growled, his voice thick with dominance, sliding one thick finger inside her tight hole, stretching her walls with a slow, deliberate thrust that made her knees weaken, her juices coating his fur in a glossy sheen. He added a second finger, pumping them in and out with a rhythmic force, the wet squelches echoing in the room as he curled them to hit that sensitive spot deep within, his other hand squeezing her ass cheek hard enough to leave marks, making her moan like a whore in heat, the humiliation blending into a heady cocktail of pleasure that had her hips grinding against his hand. Her legs buckled under her, and she nearly fell towards him, catching the table in the last moment.

Satisfied, Lord Thorn withdrew his fingers with a lewd pop, bringing them to his lips to suck her juices clean, his eyes never leaving hers, before gesturing to the table. "Sit, eat your fill," he said, his tone softening just a fraction, and servants appeared as if from nowhere, laying out a feast of eggs, meats, and fruits that made Isabella's mouth water anew. She remained defiantly nude, the cool air kissing her flushed skin as she sank into the chair, her pussy still pulsing from his touch, the arousal making her bold. As she devoured the food, the rich flavors exploding on her tongue, she tried to steer the conversation, her voice breathy from the lingering sensations. "Tell me about this place, my lord—about your curse, and why you're bound to this castle. I've seen things in the halls, sculptures that speak of ancient desires, and I feel... fascinated." But he merely chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through the air, his golden eyes glinting with secrets. "In time, you'll discover what you need to know, little one. For now, savor your meal and keep up your strength." His words were evasive, frustrating her curiosity, yet the way his gaze lingered on her bare tits, her nipples still erect and begging for more, kept the tension thick between them, her body humming with the promise of further explorations as the morning stretched on.

The servants cleared the table with efficient silence, their eyes averted from her nude form, but Isabella could feel the flush of exposure heating her skin, her pussy still slick and throbbing from his earlier touch. She shifted in her chair, the cool wood pressing against her ass cheeks, a reminder of the vulnerability she’d surrendered to, and as Lord Thorn rose from his seat, his towering frame casting a shadow over her, he extended a hand with a predatory grin. “Come, little one,” he growled, his voice laced with that commanding rumble that made her cunt clench involuntarily. “Let’s take a stroll in the garden. The fresh air might clear that inquisitive mind of yours.”

Isabella hesitated for a heartbeat, her emerald eyes flicking to where Lira stood in the doorway, the servant’s silver hair framing her enigmatic face like a halo of secrets. Lira stepped forward smoothly, gathering Isabella’s discarded gown from the floor and helping her slip it back over her curves, her fingers brushing lightly against Isabella’s hardened nipples as she tied the laces, sending a shiver down her spine. The fabric clung to her sweat-dampened skin, the low neckline doing little to hide the swell of her tits, and as Lira fastened the final knot, she whispered, “Be careful, my lady,” her breath warm against Isabella’s ear. Lira produced a pair of slipper as if out of thin air, helping her lady slip them onto her cold bare feet. With that out of the way, Lord Thorn led her forward, his massive hand guiding her by the small of her back through the castle’s winding corridors and out into the lush garden, where vibrant roses bloomed in riotous colors, their petals heavy with dew that glistened in the sunlight. The air was thick with the scent of earth and flowers, a stark contrast to the dim opulence inside, but Isabella’s mind raced with unanswered questions, her curiosity refusing to be quelled. “Please, my lord,” she ventured, her voice husky with lingering arousal, “tell me about your curse. Is it tied to this place, to those sculptures in the halls? I’ve seen things that make me wonder—what kind of desires do they represent?”

Lord Thorn’s pace slowed as they wandered deeper into the garden, the gravel path crunching under their feet, his golden eyes narrowing with a flicker of annoyance that made her stomach twist. “You ask too many questions, little one,” he replied, his tone low and edged with warning, his fur-covered arm brushing against hers and igniting sparks of heat along her skin. She pressed on, undeterred, her boldness fueled by the throbbing need still pulsing between her thighs, “But I need to know. If I’m to stay here, shouldn’t I understand what binds you? What happened to make you this way?” His grip on her tightened, guiding her toward a stone bench nestled amid a cluster of thorny rose bushes, the thorns casting jagged shadows on the ground. “Enough,” he snarled, his voice a thunderous growl that echoed through the garden, making birds scatter from the trees. “You are out of line and push too far, and I won’t tolerate it any longer.” Before she could protest, he sat heavily on the bench, pulling her down across his lap with effortless strength, her body draped over his thick, furred thighs, the gown riding up to expose her bare ass cheeks to the cool air of the garden.

The first smack landed with a sharp crack that echoed in the quiet garden, his massive hand colliding with her right ass cheek, the impact sending a jolt of pain through her flesh that made her gasp, her pussy clenching in a mix of agony and unexpected arousal. She gasped audibly, inhaling a sharp breath, frozen still by the sensation. She searched her mind to the last time her father, or anyone for that matter, laid a smack on her bottom as a child.

“This is what happens when you don’t know your place,” he growled, his palm striking again, harder this time, punctuating the spoken words, the force making her skin ripple and burn, a red welt blooming under his touch. Isabella squirmed across his lap, her tits pressing into his leg, nipples rubbing against the fabric of his trousers, each spank alternating between cheeks with unrelenting rhythm—left, right, left again—his fingers digging in slightly with every blow, leaving behind a stinging heat that spread like wildfire. She bit her lip to stifle a moan, but it escaped anyway, a needy whimper that betrayed how the pain twisted into pleasure, her cunt growing wetter with each strike, juices trickling down her thighs as the throbbing in her ass synced with the pulsing in her core. “Take it, you insolent slut,” he commanded, his voice rough with dominance, his free hand holding her down by the nape of her neck, the pressure firm and unyielding as he rained down blows, her ass cheeks turning a deep, angry red, swelling under the assault, the skin stretching tight over the forming bruises. His assault continued, echoing the slaps through the trees.

Isabella’s body betrayed her completely, her hips grinding involuntarily against his thigh, the friction on her swollen clit building a fire that she couldn’t ignore, even as tears stung her eyes from the pain. “Oh fuck, it hurts—so much,” she cried out, her voice breaking into a series of gasps and moans, the wet sounds of her arousal smearing against his fur as he continued, his spanks growing more deliberate, targeting the sensitive underside of her ass cheeks where the flesh was softest, each one making her asshole clench and her pussy throb with desperate need. The garden blurred around her, the scent of roses mingling with the musky tang of her own excitement, and she felt the pressure building inexorably, her body teetering on the edge as he delivered another vicious smack, his fingers splaying to catch the curve of her cunt lips slightly, sending shockwaves through her. “You’re fucking soaked, aren’t you? Such a greedy little whore,” he taunted, his voice laced with cruel amusement, and with a final, brutal series of strikes—alternating cheeks with punishing force—Isabella shattered, loosing all self-control, her orgasm ripping through her like a storm, her pussy convulsing wildly as she squirted uncontrollably, hot streams of fluid soaking his lap and dripping onto the ground, forming small puddles of her cum and juices around his furry feet, her screams echoing through the garden as her body bucked and trembled, the pain and pleasure merging into a blinding ecstasy.

He finally stopped, his hand resting possessively on her inflamed ass, chuckling deeply as she lay there, spent and shuddering, her cheeks a mess of red, swollen flesh dotted with bruises that throbbed with every heartbeat. “There, that should teach you,” he said, his tone laced with satisfaction, releasing her so she could slide off his lap, her legs wobbly as she tried to stand, the pain making her wince with each step. Lira appeared as if summoned, her ethereal form gliding through the garden paths, her silver hair catching the light as she approached, her expression unreadable but her eyes soft with understanding. She supported Isabella’s weight, guiding her back inside with gentle hands, the young woman’s body still buzzing from the intense release, a mix of embarrassment and thrill coursing through her veins. “I—I didn’t mean to push him, I didn't want to make him angry ... at me ...” Isabella murmured, her voice shaky as they entered the castle, her ass cheeks feeling like they were on fire, each step a reminder of the welts and bruises that made walking agony, yet there was something intoxicating about the way her pussy still pulsed with afterglow. Lira hushed her with a finger to her lips, leading her to her chamber and helping her onto the bed on her stomach, the sheets cool against her heated skin. The servant’s hands were soothing as she applied a thick salve to the abused flesh, her fingers working the cream into the swollen, red marks with careful precision, the minty scent filling the air as it eased the burn slightly. “Rest now, my lady,” Lira whispered, her voice a balm in itself, and as Isabella turned to ask more questions, the servant added softly, “You did good, my lady,” before slipping out of the room like a ghost, leaving her alone with her swirling thoughts and the lingering ache of desire.

As the door clicked shut behind Lira, the chamber enveloped Isabella in a suffocating silence, the dim light from the flickering candles casting elongated shadows that danced across the stone walls like specters of her own desires. Her body still throbbed from the aftershocks of the garden encounter, her ass cheeks a patchwork of stinging welts and bruises that pulsed with every breath, the salve's minty coolness only partially dulling the fire Lord Thorn had ignited. She lay there on the bed, her face buried in the soft pillow, soaking her tears and sweat, the cool sheets caressing her swollen cunt lips and the tender curves of her tits, but her mind refused to quiet, replaying the sharp cracks of his hand against her flesh, the way her juices had soaked his lap as she came undone under his dominance. "How could I lose control like that?" she thought. "And what was that escaped my pussy with such force and volume?" She didn't know she had it in her, as she has never experienced an orgasm borne of pain that intense- intense enough to make her squirt without being penetrated. Her head swooned and she closed her eyes, feeling the cool of the pillow on her face. She inhaled deeply and sighed.

Exhaustion finally dragged her under, her eyelids heavy with the weight of unspoken questions—about the curse, the erotic sculptures that lined the halls with their lifelike depictions of twisted pleasures, and the magnetic pull she felt

Enchanted Desires: Beauty and the Beast