BeautyAndTheBeast
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Beauty free porn video
Beauty
by BobH
(c) 2009
Today is my wedding day. And watching the hustle and bustle
as all those around me rush to get everything ready for the
big occasion I can't help but think back on my relationship
with her...with Rose. I first saw her one Friday night
sitting at the bar in a smoky basement club in London's Soho,
sipping a Scotch and smoking a cigarette. Dressed all in
black - high heels, stockings, leather skirt, tank top, a
leather jacket slung over the back of her seat - with long
dark hair to match. She was beautiful. Not just regular-level
beautiful either but Hollywood actress-level beautiful, with
a face and figure that took your breath away.
"Wow, who is that?" I asked Mickey, whose membership had got
me into the club. "She looks like Megan Fox!"
My work colleague and new drinking buddy - his previous
wingman, Terry, having been inconsiderate enough to get
married - chuckled loudly.
"That, Peter my old son, is the gorgeous Miss Brialey. She
could have her pick of any man in this club, and most of the
women too, and has. Fact is when she first started coming
here, about nine months ago, I thought she was a lesbian
since she only seemed interested in women, but after the
first month or two it's been all men."
"Is she an actress, or a model, or something like that?" I
asked. "Because with that face and that body she should be."
"Yeah," agreed Mickey, looking at her wistfully, "but she's
not. Seems she's independently wealthy and doesn't need
to work. Terry went out with her once, right before he met
his wife. Said she has a flat in a mews in Mayfair."
I let out a low whistle.
"Mayfair, eh? You've got to have serious money to live there.
So why does she hang out in a club like this?"
"Because she obviously likes sex - she might even be a nympho
- and this is a pick-up joint. I mean, no one is going to say
no to a woman who looks like that."
"I certainly wouldn't," I agreed.
As I watched her she took a final drag on her cigarette
before stubbing it out, threw back the remains of her Scotch,
then turned to face the rest of the club, scanning the small
crowd. To my surprise, her gaze alighted on me and a predatory
smile appeared on her perfect face. Rising from her bar stool,
she made a bee-line for me, stopping in front of our table.
"Dance with me," she said.
In a daze, with what I'm sure was a goofy grin on my own face,
I followed her on to the club's tiny dancefloor. The jukebox
was playing George McRae's 'Rock Your Baby' - the owner kept
it stocked with early-seventies music - and as we danced I
couldn't take my eyes off her. The next record was Michael
Jackson's 'Ben', and she immediately moved into my arms as it
started up. The incongruity of slow dancing with such an
incredibly beautiful woman to a song about a rat was not lost
on me.
As the song finished, she looked me in the eyes and said:
"Enough foreplay. Come back to my place now and make love to
me."
I didn't need to be asked twice.
"Gotta go," I told Mickey, not believing my luck.
I don't think he believed it either.
"You jammy bastard!" he laughed, as I followed her up the
stairs that led out of the club.
Mickey did not complain when we left together because he
understood the most sacrosanct rule of the Guy Code: if
your mate is going to get some then he will of course
immediately abandon you and you will wish him well, because
in his position you would do exactly the same.
"I don't know your first name," I said, as we exited the
club.
"Rose," she said. "Yours?"
"Peter," I replied, "it's Peter Cockcroft."
"Good," she replied, pulling a set of keys from the
pocket of her leather jacket. "Get in the car, Peter."
I looked in the direction where she had aimed the key fob,
and let out a low whistle when I saw the lights of a red
Ferrari flash in response.
"Wow! Nice wheels!"
"Yes. If a car isn't beautiful and powerful I won't drive it."
We climbed into the Ferrari on our respective sides, and the
instant I'd clicked the lock on my seat belt into place she
put her foot down and we shot out of the side street like a
bullet from a gun. This was clearly a lady who loved speed,
not that she was able to go too wild in the congested London
streets on the short journey to Mayfair. As she drove I kept
stealing quick, sideways glances at her, confirming she was
just as beautiful in profile, still not quite believing she
had chosen me. I was sure she only wanted me for a one-night
stand, but if there was any way of making this more than
that then I was going to find it.
It took fifteen minutes to get to her place. Once there, she
locked the Ferrari away in the garage and we climbed the
stairs to her flat. As I would have expected, her furniture
and decor all looked seriously expensive and on the cutting
age of modern design. Against one wall was the largest flat
screen TV I'd ever seen, with stack of DVDs piled up beneath
it. These were all major movies and stretched from the 1930s
to the present day.
"Movie buff?" I asked.
"Part of my project to give myself a full cultural education,"
she said. "You'll have already seen most of these over the
course of your life so far, but I'm playing catch-up."
There were a number of sculptures dotted around her lounge,
all of naked women, and on the walls were framed photos of
Rose involved in various high-adrenelin activities like
ski-ing, sky-diving, mountaineering, white-water rafting,
etc., usually in the company of one or more other women.
What really caught my attention however was the large
painting that dominated the wall opposite the TV wall. It
was done in a style similar to that of the pre-Raphaelites
and showed a young woman in a long, unadorned white dress,
with lustrous blonde hair that cascaded down over her
shoulders in waves. Her only jewellery was a simple, gold
pendant necklace with a curious design on its face
reminiscent of a Celtic knot. Various ladies-in-waiting
were fussing over her, as if preparing her to meet a
potential suitor. Her face looked pretty and innocent
where Rose's projected a confident, knowing sexuality,
and yet there was something similar about them, something
I couldn't put my finger on.
"Is she a relative?" I asked.
"Not exactly, no," said Rose, looking at the painting with
obvious distaste. "No, what she is is a reminder, a warning,
about being sweet and passive and accepting your fate without
a murmur."
"Oh," I said. "Nice painting, though. Where did you acquire
it?"
"It came along with me," she said, vaguely. I might have asked
her what she meant by this if she hadn't chosen that moment to
press her body against mine and slide her hand down the front of
my trousers.
"No more talk," she said.
"Okay,"I squeaked, leaning in to kiss her.
"And no kissing on the mouth," she added, turning her face away.
Before I could say anything further her hand closed around my
cock and she led me into the bedroom.
Naked, her body was every bit as magnificent as I'd imagined
it would be, and perhaps predictably we made love with her on
top. What was surprising was that as she squeezed my cock with
her pussy muscles she stared off into the middle distance,
almost as if she was gauging me in some way, as if she was
learning something deeper about me in the process. When we came
we came simultaneously, she yelling out "Yes!!" and smiling down
at me with a look of triumph on her face.
"At last!" she said.
"Glad to be of service," I grinned, assuming from her reaction
that I might be the first man who had ever actually brought her
to orgasm.
"Okay," she said, rolling off me, "you have to go now, but be
back here at three tomorrow afternoon. Don't be late."
Before I knew it - and before I had fully finished dressing -
she had bundled me downstairs out of her flat and into the
street. What a strange woman! I did not know what to make of
her.
*********************************
"So what are you going to do?" asked Mickey as we ate lunch
in a Soho pub the follwing day.
"Honestly?" I said. "I don't know. She may be bi, but if her
sculptures and photos are anything to go by she definitely
prefers women. Yet she picked me out. Why? And what the heck
was all that stuff with her all about, anyway? She's one weird
chick."
"Maybe so," said Mickey, spooning chicken tikka masala into
his mouth, "but she also looks like Megan Fox."
"There is that," I admitted.
"And since when has a girl liking other women been a problem
for any red-blooded, heterosexual male?"
"Well, yeah..."
"Peter, my old son, you *will* meet Rose at her flat at three,"
said Mickey, "and afterwards you'll give me all the juicy
details. Chicken out, and I will be forced to revoke your
straight guy license and take possession of your porn
collection, however personally distateful I might find it."
"Yeah, right," I laughed. "At least it would add some variety
to all that ladyboy stuff you drool over."
"A foul slur spread about by those jealous of my success with
women," he said. "Let us speak of it no more."
So it was that later that afternoon I found myself turning
into the mews where Rose lived. I was ten minutes early. If
I hadn't have been I might never have seen what I did. As I
rounded the corner, I saw Rose outside her flat with another
woman. They were all over each other and kissing passionately.
I stepped back out of their line of sight, and a few minutes
later the other woman, as stunning as Rose herself, walked
past me. I recognised her immediately as Sonya Hussein,
though that was hardly surprising since I saw her on my TV
every night, reading the news. So Rose didn't want me kissing
her but she was happy to lavish kisses on other women? She
was using me in some way I could not fathom, I was sure of it,
and for a second or two I considered turning on my heel and
walking away - but only for a second or two. Realistically,
how many times in my life was I likely to bed a woman as
beautiful as Rose? Not very bloody many. So if she was using
me then fine. I would just have to suck it up.
When she greeted me at the door Rose seemed happy, maybe even
excited, to see me.
"C'mon," she said, taking my hand and leading me up the stairs.
"Make yourself comfortable in the armchair," she said, heading
for the bedroom, "I'll only be a minute".
The armchair had been turned so that it faced the painting
rather than the TV, and the painting itself had been lowered
to the floor so that when I sat down the woman's painted eyes
were level with my own.
"What's with rearranging the furniture?" I asked when Rose
returned.
"It's only temporary," she said. "Look, I have a gift for you."
It was a pendant necklace, the same pendant necklace the woman
in the painting was wearing.
"Here, let me put it on you," she said, walking round behind
me and dropping the chain over my head.
The instant she did so, I became paralysed. My limbs and my
mouth were totally immobile. Only my eyes retained the
ability to move.
"That confirms it," said Rose, smiling approvingly. "You
definitely are a suitable candidate."
A suitable candidate for what? I tried desperately to move,
but I remained frozen in place.
"It never occurs to anyone we might have dreams, have desires,
beyond those they project onto us. But we do," she said,
smiling appreciatively as she slowly ran her fingers over the
curves of one of her sculptures of naked women.
What was she talking about, and why couldn't I move?
"My time awake was fully defined and mapped out for me, of
course, but when I was asleep I was free. And I was asleep for
a very long time. Why did no one ever wonder if I might dream,
do you think, hmmm? What, cat got your tongue? Well, no matter."
She poured herself a Scotch and lit a cigarette as I watched,
still unable to move or to express the panic welling up inside
me.
"Such a long time to dream," she said, wistfully,"time enough
in fact to dream my way out of my world and into yours, the
world that defines mine, the one whose existence I hadn't even
suspected. Time as well to explore this world, to dream my way
around it, to become totally familiar with it's ways, and to
know that this was where I wanted to be."
Her world? Was she saying she's an alien?
"Such joys to be found in this world, too; ones not even dreamed
of in mine," she said, taking a long drag on her cigarette and
exhaling with a sigh of pleasure. "Eventually I was able to dream
myself totally into this world as the person I wanted to be in the
life I wanted to live, to emerge from dream and take on physical
form here as reality itself shifted and adapted to accomodate my
presence and give me the wealth and lifestyle I required. I was
finally me, the person you see before you, the person I
wished to be. I admit the glorious freedom I now had went to my
head a little at first, and I had sex with lots of women in a very
short time. I was like a starving person suddenly confronted by a
feast, and I gorged myself on them. That's right - I'm a lesbian.
And I'll bet that's something no one ever thought I might be."
She paused to take a sip of Scotch and another long drag on her
cigarette, before giving me a look of cold amusement.
"Yes, I can see the realisation dawning in your eyes; that's why
no kissing on the mouth. I could just about manage sex with a man
if I had to, but not that. Sex with more men than I'd have liked,
actually, but finally I found the one I was looking for. Finally
I found you. The thing is, you see, that eventually, back in my
world, I have to wake up, and since I'm here now that would
involve pulling me back there. I'm never going back, not ever,
so the only way I can stay here is if someone wakes up in my place.
I knew I had a year to find someone, knew that someone had to be
a man, and as soon as we had sex I knew that man was you. A shame
that was the only way to identify a suitable candidate, but it
was. When I dreamed myself into this world I also acquired the
knowledge of the conditions that governed that transit and how to
have someone else take my place. I also acquired the painting and
the necklace, which manifested here along with me from who knows
where. They're the key to this. At the end of my first year here
they would have activated and sucked me back to where I came
from...if I hadn't found you. And just as reality shifted to
accomodate my arrival here, so will it shift to accomodate your
departure. No one here will remember Peter Cockcroft ever existed,
not even me. Goodbye, Peter."
So saying, she tapped the pendant once with her finger, and a
strange, warm tingling spread through my body. A peculiar humming
sound in front of me attracted my gaze in that direction. It was
coming from the painting. My eyes locked with the painted eyes of
the woman, eyes now mesmerically alive, and I was trapped. As the
humming grew in volume, filling the world, and as the warm tingling
increased until it pushed all other feeling out of my body, so my
gaze was held. Then, suddenly, I was tumbling forward into her eyes,
twisting uncontrollably and spinning, falling downwards as if from
a great height. Then I blacked out and knew nothing more.
Until someone kissed me.
I opened my eyes and there he was, a smile on his handsome face.
"My prince!" I sighed.
He offered me his hand, and as he helped me up I glanced down at
my female form, recognizing the simple white dress I was wearing
and the pendant necklace, nestled between my breasts and framed by
my long blonde hair. I was her now, the girl in the painting, the
one Rose had once been.
As my rescuer led me through the castle to see my father the King
and to request my hand in marriage so the place was coming back
to life all around us, it's inhabitants waking from the slumber of
years. The kiss that had finally woken me had also woken them. I
now knew who she was, of course: Rose Brialey - Briar Rose. And
now I was she.
I was filled with joy. I had no choice. Awake, I was now part of
a story and the power of narrative would keep me in my assigned
role, feeling and acting as the tale directed. Perhaps I would
have free will when I slept as she had done, but perhaps not even
then. Perhaps all that was left for me was to live happily.
Ever after.
*****************************
Rose Brialey smiled wistfully as she licked her fingers,
savouring the still-lingering taste of her lover, and gazed
at the empty wall opposite her television. It was a space
that cried out for a painting, but for no good reason she
could recall she had never hung one there. That was an
oversight she definitely needed to rectify.
Sonya had left for home twenty minutes earlier and Rose
had been really sorry to see her go. Perhaps it was time
she settled down, and perhaps Sonya was The One. The idea
of living together as one half of a couple was no longer
as scary as it used to be, and the thought of living with
Sonya actually made her happy. Yes, perhaps she would
raise the possibility during their next post-coital pillow
talk, but right this instant she wanted to watch a movie.
Going to the stack of DVDs, she pulled out an old favourite
and loaded it into the player: Disney's 'Sleeping Beauty'.
She had always loved the story, always related to it on
a level that was true for no other fairy tale.
But she could not have told you why.
The End.
************************************
This is the second time I've used 'Sleeping Beauty' as the
basis for a TG tale. The first is shorter than this, is
told in verse form, and can be found here on fictionmania:
Sleeping Beauty: The Real Story
Mikayla
- 25.03.2022
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