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The Beauty and the Beast


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First, I want to apologise to anyone who may have been waiting for the continuation of my first story, "A Space Trip Gone Wrong". Seriously, guys, I'm sorry. I'm just not in the mood to finish it.

 

Instead, I started writing another one. It too has high chances to stay unfinished, but I'll at least try.

 

Now this part I'm posting here is supposed to be something of an introduction. It's also an experiment, this part and this whole story. I write it in a way, that is most natural for me, trying to keep true to myself as much as I can. That's why I'm not sure other people will like it or even understand some of the things I hide between the words. But anyway, since it's and experiment, let it start!

 

___________

***********

 

I press an UP button on a controller. Across the lecture hall, separated from me by other students, carefully writing down the professor’s words, a girl tenses up. A few minutes later I press the same button again. A glance at the girl. She shuts her eyes for a moment. Her cheeks are rosy, I can see it from here. Some more time and one more level up. I hear her quickened breathing, feel her heart thumping with excitement. One more press of a button. How long can she resist, I wonder?..

 

Now, while the girl still braces herself, probably distracting her now reeling mind with the professor’s droning voice, I feel I owe you an explanation, my dear reader. I believe I know what you have been thinking all through the first paragraph, but let me assure you – it’s not what you think. Well, not exactly.

Let me start by introducing myself. I’m Gerald. A usual student, not someone gifted with exceptional studying skills or good looks – that’s what you’d think should you meet me somewhere in your university. And would be just about right. However, what I look like does not matter for this story – just imagine some generic nerd and that should be enough. The girl, who is now desperately fighting against waves of various sensations, though, deserves special attention.

She is what one may call a “queen”. Best grades at school, brilliant progress at the university, natural beauty with long, dark hair, and a perfect body that has already seduced an almost impossible number of both males and females alike. And yet… And yet when the two of us first met, she was alone. No boyfriend, no lasting friends… And so she asked me out. Just like that.

You are probably wondering, how such thing can be and how can such a perfection as her fall for someone so average as myself. Well, here is the secret. A very dark secret, exposing which will most certainly make her cringe with shame.

She is a pervert.

Yes, just like that. And one of such scale, that those bold enough to try and start any relationship with her ran off in matter of days, not even having fully grasped the depth of her perversity.

What must you be thinking of me, now that you’ve learned this terrible truth? Actually, I don’t care. Because whatever you think is not true. I have absolutely no interest in that side of hers and yet, I do what you’ve seen me do – press buttons and watch her slowly moving towards the edge.

I hope, that as the story progresses, you will grasp the full meaning of this. For now however, let’s return to the lecture hall – the end is near.

Just as professor, as usual, begins asking, if all was understood, I look at the girl yet another time. She’s slightly shaking all over and visibly straining to keep her tearful eyes from rolling into the back of her skull. All that while covering her mouth with her hands, mind you. Students around her wear different expressions. Uncertainty, concern, poorly hidden glee and even open resentment. Despite her half-conscious state, the girl, believe me, percieves this pretty well, and it only fuels her excitement, threatening to flood her with emotions…

Knowing it won’t be long now before the floodgates (oops, did I say too much?) burst, I check if everything is ready. In this case things are simple – the door is where my trap should be set.

And sure enough, invisible to most, a fine spider web of a spell glistens in the doorway. All set. The final “UP” and the peak is reached just as professor gathers his things and all sounds are drowned by the students scrambling to get up.

I fight my way through the crowd across the lecture hall, turning the controller off as I move. There, a familiar scene – face down on the desktop, still shaking very slightly, saliva dripping from half-open lips, drawn in ecstatic smile. And the looks of shock, astonishment, mocking delight and outright anger, all turned towards me as I gently touch the girl’s shoulder.

“Til? Are you all right? What happened?” – I feign innocence, unnecessarily. A feeble answer, barely a moan. I shoo the spectators away, most leaving with only a few glances over their shoulders. The angry look stays, though, boring through me out of a pair of dark, attentive eyes, clearly unconvinced by my more than plausible act. But in the end it leaves as well. It always does, that look. Only to give way to a look of discontent and slight embarresment. “How long are you two going to do this?” – asks Til’s friend, Irene. The only one to remember these things.

“Don’t ask me” is my usual impassive answer. And she understand it, herself. The only other person except myself, who knows about Mathilda’s secret.

The last of the students are leaving the lecture room, but Til is still in her fantasy world and shows no sign of returning. Irene wants to leave, too, but stays, nervously glancing at the door, postponing the moment of passing through my spider web. Well, only one thing to do, then.

I put Mathilda’s things into her bag and hang it on my shoulder. Then stoop and pick Til up, making sure her skirt does not hang loose, thus hiding a thick and quite full absorbent undergarment Mathilda’s wearing.

“I still don’t get it, how you can carry her like that” pronounces Irene her usual phrase, meaning, of course, my less than muscular build. “It’s all in the mind, Irene” I answer customarily with a smile, stepping through the doorway and we both know it is indeed so.

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  • 3 weeks later...

Great start. I have so many questions I don’t know where to start. I guess the best place would be to just read more. That I am eager to do. This was well worth a like and I really am looking forward to reading more. 

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  • 2 weeks later...

Hi everyone! Chapter 2 is finally out, but, as before, I want to apologise. The thing is — this story isn't moving in the direction I want. It seems to be eluding the ABDL scenes and themes I would have liked to include, sticking mostly to unobtrusive and rare hints. As a result, many of you may find it rather boring (I hope it doesn't happen, though). Anyway, I also have no idea what's going to happen next, so if anyone has any thoughts on the matter — you're welcome.

Enjoy.

 

 

 

 

Chapter 2

 

How long will it take me to finally fulfill that girl's wish? A moment? Or maybe ages? Maybe I’ll have to stay with her all her life, watch as she ages and withers away, to finally pass, quietly, into a better world? Not that it matters, though. Time is, after all, one of the things I have in abundance. Still… Oh, don’t creep up on me like that, my dear reader. I’m sure you don’t want to listen to all those ramblings, do you?..

“Hey.”

Ah, right. There she goes again. Mathilda and I were in the middle of a serious conversation, when you walked up on us, you see. Well, stay, then. I’ll be your eyes and ears once again.

“Hey! Are you even listening?” – she’s getting angry, now leaning right over a not-very-large table, her face close to my own, her eyes burning holes in me. Her hair’s gathered loosely behind her, one lock hanging freely, almost touching a plate of thikly steaming sausages, that stands on the table between us.

“I am, I am, calm down.” – I say, anxiously watching that stray lock. She sits back. – “I get what you’re saying, you want something more lasting, want people to remember. Yet, look here.” – I point at the sausage steam, as it forms into a strange design, with otherworldly letters and symbols. – “You know I can’t do anything, that may hurt your reputation.”

It’s been going on for three weeks now. Mathilda’s complaining about how what she’s getting is not much different from anything she could get from any other boyfriend. If she could keep one long enough, that is. Several month passed since we first met and while she is quite happy with me (I’d like to hear her complain – all the Household Chores Etc. are my job, after all), with what I do, she wants more. Much more. Guess I’ll have to oblige, after all.

A few more minutes of bickering and Mathilda leaves the dining room, fuming. I watch her slightly puffy behind disappear in a doorway as she heads to her study/bedroom. The sound of her flopping down on her bed and the rustling of pages reach my ears. As far as I can judge, that’s this overly thick new book the whole city is reading these days. Must remind her to actually do some studying – that’s one of the few things I won’t do for her.

I look upon the design of steam, still distinct over the now cooled off sausages and it dissolves under my gaze. Something must be done, indeed…

Now, while I’m washing the dishes and otherwise clearing the aftermath of our meal, why don’t we go back in time and revisit (oh, pardon me, you will be there for the first time, I forgot) the moment Mathilda met your humble servant.

 

***

 

It’s late summer evening, the dingy street behind a popular theater is deserted but for some stray cats and a few cockroaches, scavenging for edible trash. Oh, there are other things around here, of course, but even sharing my senses you’ll have a hard time noticing them, so don’t waste your effort. Listen, instead, to the roar of applause, echoing from within the theatre on our right. And try to ignore the squeaking air conditioner over there. Now, listen closely – as some of the audience rises from the seats, more than happy to flex their limbs and get some snacks from the theatre’s expensive café before the next act starts, there is one seat, that creaks more violently, one pair of heels, that click more aggressively, one voice, no doubt recognizable to you, my dear reader, that almost shouts: “I’m leaving!”. I’m drawn to this voice. Much more, than to any others, smug, complacent or awed and excited. No, this voice, full of pain and resentment, it calls out to me, entices me, pulls me to it, as a morning smell of freshly baked bread would pull the attention of everyone, who senses it.

The heels click angrily down the stairs and across the entrance hall, pass the doors, respectfully and silently opened by the porter, and stop on the outer staircase in front of the theater. I hear the gentle sound of a few tears, falling on the stones of the porch. Some more minutes, some more clicking of the heels, now exhausted and defeated, rather than angry and her silhouette appears at the end of our street.

There are no lights here, so someone else may have trouble distinguishing all the little details, but we manage, you and I.

Mathilda is wearing a blue, wisp-patterned dress with a knee-long bell-shaped skirt, a white, fur boa (a bit outdated, but classy-looking) and high heels, the ones we heard. She has a purse in her hands, slightly bigger than something one would take to the theater, but small enough to look fine with the rest of the outfit.

Her face, though… The make-up is seriously damaged by tears and her wiping them away. Hair is tied loosely behind, in her favorite way.

The girl walks right below me, swaying slightly. I don’t think I can resist the temptation much longer, so I make up my mind, take form and step out into the cool air of summer evening. My footstep echoes in the now almost empty street – the cats crouch and turn their heads towards me, the cockroaches scatter, probably sensing the vibration… Mathilda tenses, clearly taken by surprise, even frightened. The sound of her racing heart fills the air.

“Anything I can help you with, young lady?” – I ask sincerely, drowning out all other numerous sounds and countless feelings, focusing solely on her. Something about me must have felt “safe” to her, because she slightly relaxed and turned to face me. Or maybe she was simply too tired to be afraid?

As she turns, something catches my eye about her figure, something… unnatural. She has a perfect body, I can see it clearly, but the skirt doesn’t hang entirely right for such build. Ah, I see. It’s what the girl’s wearing under that skirt that’s doing it. A rather thick undergarment, meant for absorbing liquids and keeping in waste, swollen from being used and dirty – an adult diaper, no less. And yet, I sense no flaw in this girl. She clearly doesn’t need to wear such thing. Normally, at least. Moreover, now that I know it’s there, I can sense Mathilda’s attention constantly focusing on her predicament as it’s making her somewhat uncomfortable, but at the same time… excited?

“How about we get you fixed first..?” – I say, lightly tapping my right palm with the fingers of my left hand and the girl’s eyes widen in shock, as the swelling at her bottom visibly deflates, settling in a slightly curvier shape than she would have in normal underwear. She doesn’t notice other changes, but her make-up repairs itself and her clothes are also slightly rearranged, completely wiping the look of distress off her appearance. Before she gets the opportunity to speak, I continue. – “…And move somewhere… (I click my fingers, entirely for show, and the scenery is immediately changed to a fashionable restaurant not far from our original location)… better suited for discussion?”

We are seated at a table near a large window, on which the name of the place is written, so that it could be read from the outside. Our table is pretty far from other tables, and although the restaurant is full of people, mostly couples in their late forties and older, no one notices our sudden appearance. It’s all part of the plan, you know.

A waiter arrives shortly, offering a menu. Mathilda still looks bewildered, but does her best to fight her surprise. As the waiter moves away, she leans forward and hisses almost inaudibly – “What does this mean? Who are you? What is this place?”

“This is a local restaurant, not far from the theater you just left.” – I answer calmly, unnecessarily adjusting the collar of my suit and a necktie, both of which, and much more of my present attire, I acquired the moment before we arrived here. – “You seemed distressed and not in your right mind, so I took the liberty of… inviting you to this place.”

I casually brush my hand over my dark-brown hair, now cut to the latest fashion. A tiny clockwork heart beats on my left wrist, dull grayish shine of it’s shell unobtrusively matching my cufflinks.

“I suggest you chose something. We shouldn’t keep the staff waiting too long, you know. Don’t worry, I’ll foot the bill.”

The girl seems to be processing the new developments, but she does pick the menu up and starts turning the pages, absent-mindedly. She ends up ordering two cakes from a dessert section and an ice-cream. I, in turn, ask for a chocolate dessert, and am delighted to know, that the restaurant has some six-year-old “Edmeades” Zinfandel wine, that turns out to be just the thing to go with this particular dessert. This is going to be a fine evening…

 

[To be continued]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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  • 2 weeks later...

Again this was very enjoyable and interesting. I am still looking forward to seeing how this all gets tied together. This last chapter was a start for sure but still left me looking for more answers.  Again I was happy to give it a like. 

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  • 5 months later...

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