A Beast's Belle Read online

  “The client who bought them sent me a letter; he is coming in tomorrow, and I wanted to chat with him about the designs. He seems interested in buying some more from me; though it might be useful to review what he ordered before.”

  “He’s very wealthy, then?” She paused; they didn’t usually talk about money beyond the simple logistics for contracts and what they needed to buy food, lumber, and metals. “I mean, if he can afford something like this, and he has somewhere to keep it, then surely he has a manor of some sort. He isn’t a pauper.”

  Her father smiled, “he has a good deal of money, and his family have been very generous patrons over the years. We haven’t done business with them in a while, but hopefully that will change soon. It would certainly be nice to have additional work, and an opportunity to work on something new and a bit different.”

  As far as Isabel knew, her father was always a sparkling and engaging person, but there was something particularly fantastical in his voice as the last bits of the thought slipped out. She never thought of him as bored with the constant process of invention and creation, but there must be something particularly special about these sorts of projects. That should not have surprised Isabel, given her own rapt reaction to the drawings, but it did strike her. It was fascinating to see him even more excited at the prospect of working on these ideas again.

  Chapter Two

  Isabel looked over the designs with her father, and the two chatted a bit about how to build them. The torture devices, and their clever exploitation of different bodies, excited her; she could tell that her father enjoyed working with the designs, too. He was always enthusiastic, always energetic when processing new designs and developing new ideas, but there was something particularly striking in how he talked about these designs. It was not just a matter of the clever design, not a discussion of safety or efficiency, the sort of improvements that gave a clear value to the patron purchasing the device; it was about the way that these machines would enhance the experience, would pull at the limbs or create a particular feeling of helplessness and vulnerability. There was something particularly evocative in thinking about designs in terms of a human experience.

  Perhaps this was something that the two could consider more widely, and there were moments where Isabel and her father talked in those terms when it came to working on a machine. They wanted the patrons to enjoy using any device that they bought; that sort of experience was always important. Somehow, though, this was still rather different. The focus was concerned primarily, even solely, with those features of the subjective experience, ensuring that a whip or cane could be used on a victim bound down against the wooden supports.

  Neither of them talked explicitly about their own projection, but it was sort of a tacit understanding that selling to this new patron would involve talking through the experiences themselves, and that their own enthusiasm and creative investment would make a difference. Isabel could not help but imagine the way that these complicated machinations, with shifting parts that allowed them to hold victims in various vulnerable positions, would enhance the stories in her more invigorating books. Stretching the limbs of a victim, holding skintight over a bare ass to be beaten and bruised hard by the sharp contact of a belt or whip. It was a wonderful thought, and the exploration felt like an opportunity to apply her own imagination to these sorts of complex designs in a particularly exciting way.

  Her father noted that they would close the store a bit early in the afternoon to prepare for the visit from the patron; he was a wealthy and notably reclusive figure, and did not want their meeting to be disturbed with ordinary retail business. This was a very strange way for them to handle business, and Isabel was sure that the children who came to browse the toys and games would be disappointed to be denied in that afternoon, but her father was quite insistent that they respect the needs of this particular patron, as strange and inconvenient as they might be. It would be well worth the slight inconvenience, he was sure.

  As Isabel closed the door for the afternoon, she regretted not going out to enjoy some time in the sunshine that morning, but only for a moment. Certainly, the time spent learning and exploring these ideas was more rewarding than the private moments of masturbation in the forest, and she would have the ability to indulge later in the privacy of her room, though she might have to stifle her own noises. The sky was the softest blue, and the sunshine skipped beautifully over the tops of the trees and the cobblestones, leaving only temporary shadows that would shift and dance with the breeze. She closed the door and hung the sign indicating that they would not be reopening for business that day, and went back in to continue her conversations with her father.

  Before she was able to settle into the conversation with her father, there was a heavy knock on the door. She got up and moved to the front to open it, quickly. She knew that the only person who would do such a thing was someone who knew that his knocking would be recognized and answered. Other townsfolk would no doubt be polite enough to leave the door alone.

  Sure enough, standing in the doorway was a hunching man in an embroidered cloak. It was strange to see the cloak pulled so tightly around the body in the middle of such a pleasant day, though Isabel was sure that this was a part of the privacy that their patron wanted to maintain. Behind the patron were two manservants, both well dressed, with pressed blue pants and shirts with even collars and polished shoes, but their clothes had little adornment and their distance from the patron suggested the substantial difference in their status.

  “Would you like to come in?” Isabel did not ask for his name, but simply stepped out of his way to allow him into the shop, a gesture that she hoped was simultaneously polite enough and not too forward a recognition of his status. He moved into the room, nodding to thank her. The servants did not move, and Isabel closed the door behind the patron when it became clear that the servants were going to remain still outside.

  “Good evening; it’s been so long!” Her father greeted the patron with excitement, rising up and reaching out to shake the cloaked man’s hand. It was something of an unprofessional gesture, given that the man was clearly very wealthy, but it was a refreshing interaction, as Isabel was somewhat nervous about the patron’s visit as a source of income, and her father’s ease was disarming.

  “Not so long,” a deep, husky voice teased from under the tight hood of the cloak. “You still have all of the childish energy I remember.”

  “Well, it is important to maintain feeling young, even and especially as time moves inexorably forward.” He gestured to a chair pulled up by the drawings. “Have a seat, and we can talk about some of the designs. No need to wear the cloak in here, as it is just us.”

  The patron gestured over his shoulder towards Isabel, as though to express some concern about her presence.

  “My daughter, of course, will stay. She has been helping me a great deal over the last several years.”

  He nodded, and shrugged the cloak back over his shoulders. Isabel did not gasp, as her manners were more disciplined, but she did shift a bit with discomfort and took a moment to study the patron’s face as she went to sit with her father.

  Thick, dark hair trailed down the crest of his head, but instead of stopping to reveal a clean face, it did no such thing. The hair covered every inch of his face and down his neck underneath the area covered by the cloak. The structure of his face, cheekbones and nose, were all lost underneath the thick layer of hair, but his eyes, a piercing green, stood out against the sullen brown. Cast against ivory whites, the emerald green of his iris was clear, studying her as she moved about to sit across from him, aware of her discomfort.

  “I do not like the reaction most have when they see my face,” his voice was dignified, unduly polite for his feral frame. “Hopefully the reason for my odd wardrobe choices is somewhat obvious. My affliction is unfortunate, but the cloak and the niceties of my station make things much easier. They make it easier to carry on my life as it might have been otherwise.” He directed the commen
ts at Isabel, as it seemed clear that her father was already familiar with the delicate nature of the social situation. “At any rate, I look forward to seeing what machinations your mind has developed. I am sure they are quite interesting.”

  Her father pulled open the drawings and presented them, offering some rough description of their various punitive, recreational, and sexual uses. The patron sat, attentively, rarely asking questions about clarification and (unlike most clients) never asking about the cost of these various mechanisms and the sorts of materials that might be used in their manufacture. He was polite, which took Isabel aback both because of his rugged appearance and because, knowing his station, she expected him to be more pompous and obnoxious. In her experience, it was the men who were most accustomed to a high station who were most likely not to act in accordance with the standards of their station.

  As the last of the dozen or so designs her father had presented concluded, the patron looked up to her. “Is there anything in particular that you find striking or appealing?”

  “I—” She could not contain her surprise, at having a question of preference directed at her rather than her father.

  “I assume that since you have seen all of these designs and contributed in your way, you have some thoughts on them and their use. I have heard your father’s thoughts and curiosities, and would be interested in yours.”

  Isabel flipped through the papers to a few sketches, one in particular that had stood out to her in browsing through them before. It featured a tall, lean wood and steel frame that could be adjusted to extend the arms and legs of a subject up and out, either apart or together, to create as much tension in the subject’s body as one desired, and any angle. The thought of being positioned and controlled in and about without ever being unbound, subject to all manner of depravity, pain, and arousal, was exciting for Isabel. She didn’t voice her own excitement at the prospect of being subjected to such a device, but instead expressed the various virtues, her admiration for the design, and the utility of the piece. “It seems to me that the best devices are ones that lend themselves to the creativity of the user, and that’s precisely what the goal is with such a piece.”

  “This assumes the user is creative,” his lips curled into a wicked smile, though Isabel could not tell if this was the result of the deformity in his face or something deeper.

  “It is hard to imagine someone interested in such a piece who lacks such creativity,” she shot back, in her most polite, complimentary way. It was banter, but the banter of sales, meant to flatter and draw in a prospective customer rather than elicit some more substantial reaction.

  “I suppose so,” he nodded at the sheet, taking it up in his hands, “though sometimes form belies function and having something that lends itself to so many different possibilities can be overwhelming. I suppose I’ll have to find out.” He made a note of this contraption, and another rig, a more conventional looking bench with a cage and restraints underneath. “I think these two will likely serve my imagination well for quite some time.”

  Her father nodded, and wrote down a small quote in price for the patron. It was fairly typical for prospective customers to attempt to negotiate the price a bit, especially on larger items that required time and effort. The patron did no such thing; he simply tucked the quote into his coat and nodded.

  “I look forward to seeing the pieces in person; I am confident they will be quite beautiful, and I expect to be back in the next few weeks to pick them up.”

  “That’s quite a quick turnaround,” Isabel noted. Her father simply smiled and nodded, so Isabel left the thought in the air. She hadn’t expected her father to argue over the timetable, but she also knew that sometimes such requests were not realistic, and this seemed like such a case.

  “It was a pleasure to see you again,” he bowed to her father, a surprising thing from someone with a noble background. “And it was a pleasure to meet you.” He extended his hand to Isabel, which she took and bowed over, politely. He picked up his hood and wrapped it tightly around his head as he left the shop.

  Her father made a short series of notes on the two drawings, and then looked up and smiled at Isabel. “So, are you looking forward to working on these, then?”

  Isabel nodded; she was, and the opportunity to explore these rather different designs and do some of the fabrication and building herself was always exciting.

  “Good, we’ll start tomorrow, then. We can make some notes tonight about what you need to go out and get in terms of lumber and parts.” The two chatted, worked together over the designs, and had some late evening tea. It was a different feeling, not entirely new, as Isabel had often helped her father make shopping lists, but it felt somehow more collaborative, her excitement at the prospect of building these devices heighted. It was not immediately obvious to her why she so liked these ideas, but as the tea relaxed her mind and drew her attention away from the technical details and towards sleep, she realized that the excitement was over the prospect of the uses, imagining stringing up a beautiful, feminine creature from her wrists, tying the girl’s ankles out to the side, spreading her legs wider with the pull of a crank. Then, as the girl was helpless and exposed, Isabel imagined running her fingers and lips over the girl’s body, probing her nipples, contouring her ribs and hip bones, gently teasing her pubis and the hair on the mons, then over the labia. It was an intimate thought, and relaxed Isabel’s posture and breathing until the conversation with her father was finished and she could move to the privacy of her bedroom, lay back, and enjoy taking that digital exploration even further.

  * * *

  The next morning, Isabel woke and started breakfast waiting for her father to wake. Once he was up and about, and the two could eat quickly, she took the shopping list in her hand and ventured out into the market. Even as she ate, her thoughts were already on the concepts involved in fabrication and the details of production. Her mind had rested in the evening, but sprung up quickly, like a child anticipating some celebration. She and her father reviewed their shopping list briefly as they ate, making some notes of particular dimensions on the metal and wooden pieces, and having some short discussions about the exact volume and some of the design choices, though there was very little to discuss at exactly that moment. Once the list had been completed, her father smiled and told her that he looked forward to starting on the projects today, and that he would cover the shop if she would like to take the lead on their design; she smiled a bit at the thought, her mind turning over with even greater excitement.

  List in hand, Isabel went out first to pick up lumber. The engagement she and her father had with Bronn, an aging but sturdy craftsman, was pleasant. When she arrived, she quickly read off the requests she and her father had for him. He made some notes; sawdust littered his thick red-silver mustache and beard. The beard hung to his collarbone, and his thick, though greying hair, was tied back so that the tail could only barely be seen hiding behind his shoulders. Bronn was a kind man, and smiled as he looked through the list.

  “It’ll take me a few hours to put all of this together on a cart for you; if you’d like to come back then, you can look it over and make sure it meets expectations.”

  Isabel knew that it would meet her standards, and her father’s. Bronn had a longstanding relationship with them, and had never so much as required a slight modification to the order. It helped that she was always very specific about their needs, but even before she had learned the differences between soft and hard woods, Bronn had been quick to clarify potential sources of confusion. She smiled at him and assured him that she would be back around midday to pick the order up and help escort it over to her father’s workshop.

  The metalwork was always a bit more complicated, as things like screws and hinges had to meet a narrower band of requirements. Isabel and her father could do some metalworking in the shop, but they were not as capable of making changes to the details as Ralph, the aging smith. He, too, was a familiar face for Isabel, body older and frail, but
his hands still somehow inexplicably strong and rugged; he was always laughingly flirtatious and polite, a widower with a face of leather, he took her hand up to his mouth and kissed him with his bristled lips, marked by a thinner beard than Bronn’s, but similarly long and unkempt.

  He walked her through a selection of screws, rods and hinges, various bearings for doors of different sizes and various agricultural needs. Ralph was a careful craftsman, admired by his apprentices and beloved by those in the town for his willingness to send an apprentice to install a screw on a table or a hinge on a door when necessary, or even as a matter of convenience for a stressed mother. The pieces that he made for her father were always done by his own hand, sturdy but elegant, sparkling in bronze or silver tones with his own creative etchings in the surface to ensure that they were his, and not the experiments of his young apprentices. He need not do that, Isabel knew, but she and her father always paid in full for the product and always used it in ways that Ralph appreciated; he would often visit the shop and examine the way his pieces were used in a trinket. He was particularly close with Isabel’s father, a professional admiration for her father’s creative mind.

  When they had settled the account, he sent along his best wishes with Isabel. “I’m sure they will be used in creative and wonderful ways,” he winked at her, after she acknowledge that she would be doing a fair amount of the work on this new commission. “I hope I might have the opportunity to see the product before the lucky patron sweeps it away.”

  Isabel kissed his cheek and assured Ralph that she would let him know before the project was sent off to the patron, sometime later in the week. He smiled, a near blush filling his grey cheeks, and thanks her kindly.