The Beast's Captive (Wicked Fairy Tales)

Arabelle lay in the enormous bed, curled up against herself. Dressed in a thin, faded pink dress, her body and spirit was sore from the day and its events. She pulled her silky brown hair forward and began to braid it, combing out the knots with her fingers as she sat in the giant plush bedroom that was her prison.  The room was luscious, spacious and elegant. It was exquisite, but it wasn't home and, worse, she was cold. The stained glass windows were huge, and in the distance she could see the lights from the town in the setting sun. Things here were so strange. She almost thought she was hallucinating as she was brought in. All of the servants were- well they were furniture! Some were nice, like the teapot who brought her dinner. Some... Some looked at her with a canine hunger. She didn't like that at all. At least she was alone now. But the thought of being alone well- Arabelle grabbed a pillow and forced her face into it, her tears lightly wetting the soft fabric. She wondered if she'd ever get used to sleeping here. She wondered what the future held entirely. Would she ever escape here? Could she truly risk bringing down the beast's wrath on her family? "Wow. The big boss sure has good taste." Said a husky voice behind her. Arabelle jumped. "Who- who's there!?" She asked. The voice just laughed. Out of the shadow stepped a brown, plush chair. It was a dark, mahogany wood with gold cushions. Horrifyingly, it had eyes and a mouth. "Why are you crying, pretty lady?" It asked with a sinister smirk, stalking towards the bed like a cat who caught the canary. Belle tried to scoot off the opposite side of the bed, but an armoire came to life as well, and moved to corner her. She was trapped as they climbed onto the bed. "No! No! No-" Beauty stammered. "No please- I- what do you want?” "You know how long we had to wait in here, pretending to be real furniture?" Gruffed the dresser. "And do you know how long it's been since either of us busted a load?" "We don't even know if we CAN still bust a load." Groaned the chair. "But we're sure as hell gonna try." He said, with a smirk on his cushion mouth. The doors of the armoire opened and fabric snaked out. It began to wrap around her arms and legs, pulling her from her spot on the bed and positioning her between the living furniture pieces. Arabelle tried to shriek, but the fabric slid like a hand under her chin, caressing her face as it covered her mouth. He positioned behind her, using the arms of the chair to grab her legs, wrapping them up, firmly in place in his rigid arm-rests. She squirmed and tried to yell, but she couldn't. "Now we know you're a Virgin." The chair said. "And we ain't stupid." Said the armoire. "Boss would use us as firewood if we took that pleasure away from him. So we won't." "Nope." Said the chair. "No, we're gonna use you another way." Two of the chairs legs, oddly shaped wooden things, slid up her dress. And pushed it till it was up around her waist. Then they pulled her dress top down till her breasts sprung free. "Look at those." Drooled the armoire. One of his 'legs' had grown a bit, and he was now stroking it with a coat from inside of him. "I'm gonna enjoy this." The chair said, as he raised one of his legs as well. It teased her clit, rubbed around in her folds. She was beginning to get wet, her body responding to the gruff treatment. She struggled, but it was no use. She was stretched out between the armoire and the chair, her knees buckling under her.  Her whole life her father had treated her like a princess, a delicate flower who had to be protected. Now she was captured, pinned between two hungry, sentient wooden monsters and getting ridiculously wet from it. The wooden d**k played in her juices, soaking himself before he lined up with Beauty's other hole. "Which one you think's tighter?" He asked jokingly. The wardrobe lowered his leg to her mouth. "You ready?" "Better make it fast before the boss comes." Said the chair. Beauty opened her mouth wide to scream, and momentarily, the fabric moved away. But before any sound could escape, another wooden 'd**k' slid into her mouth. "Mmmfph! Mmmfph!" She groaned, trying to fight as tears rolled down her cheeks and she choked a bit. Both pieces of furniture began ruthlessly f*****g her, the armoire in her mouth and the chair sliding in between her legs and right against her s*x. The scarf that had been covering her mouth moved behind her head to force her mouth down on the dresser's c**k. The chair began to rut against her like a madman, careful not to enter her. “So wet, little doll. So- uh-” he moaned, “wet.” Arabelle had never experienced anything like this. She doubted anyone had. Living furniture didn't exist, and it didn't force itself onto trapped women! But the wooden chair leg that slid across her virgin lips was hard and ridged, the knobs sliding down her folds and hitting every sensitive spot. Spots never touched before. And on the other end, the penile shape, hard in her mouth, felt achingly right. She felt feverish. This made no sense. But her head felt foggy and her skin felt hot and the room was filled with the panting cries of the furniture men. She wanted to fight back but at the same time- she didn't. “I don't think this mouth is a virgin.” Said the wardrobe, moaning as he thrust against her tongue. “No way- ah-” She put her hands out, pushing against the armoire. But it was no use. She dropped them. It was no use fighting, and it was no use lying to herself. This was starting to feel good. As she tried to pull her mind out of the s*x induced fog, she heard stomping. And growling. It got louder and her assailants slowed their thrusts. The armoire’s eyes grew wide as he locked gaze with the chair.  “Oh no.” He said under his breath, and then the door was thrown open.  The beast entered the room with a roar. The furniture dropped Arabelle, whose hands flew to cover her ears. They scurried, backing far away from the beast. He panted a low growl, his chest heaving in anger. Belle tried to sneak a look, but overwhelmed with fear she curled her head to her chest. “Who… do you think… you ARE?!” The beast bellowed between furious pants. She could hear the wooden furniture rattle as they shook in fear. Belle felt just as afraid.  “This… is MINE! How dare you even think of taking what is mine?! I OWN you!”  “Boss we're sorry. We’re so dusty locked up in this damn castle- please-” the plush chair shuddered. “We gave up our human lives when you did. Because of you- we just- we-” stuttered the closet.  “And we didn’t touch her maidenhood!” He stammered out. “Yeah!” The wardrobe agreed. “Yeah, she's still yours to deflower!” Belle braved a look again. She saw the beast taken aback for a minute, shock painted on his fur-covered face before he steeled himself. “OUT!” he shouted. “OUT! BOTH OF YOU! IF I SEE EITHER OF YOU EVEN LOOK AT HER AGAIN YOU ARE DEAD! DEAD!” They scurried out of the room quickly, passing the beast as he bore down on them and growled. He closed the door softly behind them. “Are you okay?” He asked gruffly.  Belle hid her eyes from him. “Yes.” She said, astutely.  “Is it true? That they didn't-”  “It's true.” She pulled the blanket closer. Every time she tried to look at him, her body shivered.  He was massive, almost half her height over and probably three times her weight. He hunched a bit, his jaw underbit. She could see his fangs and small curly horns that extended from between two animalistic ears and back. He was well dressed, the huge white tunic custom fit to his size, his pants belted around his waist, equipped with a slit for his tail.  They remained in silence for the next few minutes, until she heard him begin to move. She tried not to wince but his footsteps shook the room. She remained still, prepared for him to grab her, to touch her, to take her like his servants had. But he didn't. He walked around the room, she heard him open a few drawers. What was he looking for? But a few moments passed and he snorted before stomping towards the door. “Your room will be well guarded from here on out. I wish for you to sleep now.” He closed the door, locking it behind him with surprising gentleness. Arabelle sat up. “He’s not the boss of me.” She said, crossing her arms. But she was exhausted, and who knew what the following day would entail. She was a mess, but she resolved to clean up in the morning before breakfast. Soon her eyelids fell from exhaustion and she was drifting off, afloat on the giant, feather filled bed.  ---