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Chapter Text

The chandeliers blazed refracting off the gilded mirrors and polished marble like a room full of applause. Laughter echoed as the music flowed, a waltz, proud and sweeping. Nobles spun in silks and velvets, perfume curling like smoke. Thunder rolled beyond the stained glass but the storm couldn’t touch the chateau.

Atop the grand dais, the prince slouched in velvet red and gold, legs arrogantly spread and a wine glass hanging from one hand. He looked down at the dancers with the satisfaction of a man who had everything and knew it. A servant knelt silently to refill his cup without a word.

He didn’t thank them, he never did. Why would he thank furniture?

When a cloaked figure entered the hall, drenched and uninvited, the music faltered and the strings began to hiss. She walked straight across the marble, soaked hem trailing, rain dripping in her wake.

“You there,” the prince barked, standing now, affronted. “No beggars. Get out.”

The woman only stared at him, calm, ancient and terrifying. “I ask for shelter only for a night and offer you a gift.”

“Then you ask in the wrong tongue,” the prince sneered. “I don’t speak charity.” He turned to wave her away.

“Then you will learn another language.” The words were not shouted, didn’t have to be. Lightning cracked and the curse tore through the air.

The ballroom erupted in screams as the storm entered inside, green fire shattered glass, the ceiling writhing, chandeliers bursting in clouds of molten gold. The frescoes above twisted into nightmarish visions, eyes and mouths moving across paint and plaster and at the epicenter, the prince collapsed.

The transformation hit him like a fever.

He screamed, deep and feral. His limbs swelled with unnatural bulk tearing through velvet and gold thread. Bone cracked as his legs bent backward and his feet split into clawed paws that shattered the tiles beneath him. Fur spread across his skin like wildfire. His torso ballooned as his muscles mutated grotesquely and he heaved forward, claws digging into the marble but it was his cock that made the room go silent.

It exploded out of his breeches. Thick, red and alien in sheer scale. It throbbed obscenely between his legs, dragging his ruined breeches down with it and his balls swung like cannonballs, heavy and veined, grotesque like some god had decided to mock virility itself. He fell to all fours, snarling, panting, drooling. Slick dripped from the tip of his cock, pooling beneath him as he twitched from the curse’s cruel heat.

He was no longer a man.

Around him, the staff awakened as the furniture he deemed them. The very people he had ignored, insulted and used. The butler. The maids. The stableboys. The cooks. The steward. Each warped into enchanted form and each watching.

Mrs. Potts, no longer soft, no longer docile, floated forward with a porcelain calm that made his spine curl. Babette now a feathered blur, smirked knowingly, her delicate limbs suddenly sharp. Lumière’s face flickered in flame, his voice low. “Your Highness…” and then a new presence appeared.

Small. Cold. Gold. A band of metal floated toward his leaking cock. It glowed and spoke. “You always looked down on me,” said the voice he’d once known as Cogsworth. “Now I’ll hold you up. For the rest of your miserable, leaking life.”

The cockring clamped down. Hard. “The name’s Cocksworth now, your Grace.”

The Beast howled as the ring latched behind his shaft and balls so tight it made his hips jerk forward involuntarily. His cock kicked like it had its own heartbeat, spurting a jet of precum across the floor.

The witch hovered above it all, arms outstretched and spoke her words final. “You shall remain here, trapped by those who once served you and every time you release truly, a petal shall fall to break you...” She conjured the rose midair, glowing red and ethereal, impossibly alive as it hovered above them pulsing with magic. “...and when the last petal falls…you will lose everything.”

With a final shudder she vanished in a gust of dark laughter and the grand doors slammed shut. The candles re-lit and The Beast, still panting and leaking, was exposed and surrounded.

“He’s hard already,” Babette whispered, amused.

“He’s always been easy,” Lumière said.

“Not anymore,” Cocksworth purred as he clamped down for effect. “Now he gets to learn.”

The last echoes of the witch’s laughter had barely faded when Cocksworth pulsed at the base of his cock and The Beast jolted, head snapping back and claws scraping deep gouges into the marble beneath him.

CLENCH.

The ring tightened just enough to make his swollen cock twitch violently, like it had felt insulted and was demanding attention. It kicked against the floor with a heavy wet thud. His balls churned, overripe and cruelly full, the weight of them dragging down like molten iron. His body ached not just from the transformation but from pure primal heat.

Every nerve was alight with an unbearable itchy arousal. His skin was hypersensitive, his cock burned with a desperate, stupid urgency that overrode every thought.

He tried to grunt a protest but the servants were already upon him. “Hold him down,” Cocksworth snapped, voice gleefully clipped and superior.

The old chaise lounge, once his favorite footman foot rest, twisted behind him and sprouted arms that yanked his legs apart, lifting his ass up just enough to expose him to the entire room. He thrashed once, a violent, powerful movement that cracked stone but it didn’t matter.

Babette sauntered up to his face and crouched low, her feathered limbs curling like claws. She tilted her head. “He’s drooling already.” She wasn’t wrong. Saliva dripped from his open mouth, strands glistening across the marble. His eyes were wild and glazed, begging but already starting to unfocus.

Lumière flicked flame from his finger, close enough to singe the fur along The Beast’s inner thigh. His cock twitched again, violently, spurting a fresh line of slick across the floor. “Sensitive,” Lumière noted. “Let’s ruin him.”

The moment he said it Babette pounced, dragging a feather up The Beast’s shaft with surgical slowness. The Beast roared, a full bodied pathetic noise, hips lurching forward nearly throwing the chaise across the hall. His cock slapped her feather with a wet noise as another spurt of precum shot out coating her wrist. She didn’t flinch.

“He used to make me sweep the stairs on hands and knees,” she purred. “Always watching. Now look who’s on all fours.”

“Tick tock,” Cocksworth chimed and tightened. The Beast let out a shuddering gasp as the ring pulsed again, locking him right at the edge. He was there. Right there. His whole body shook. His cock pulsed so hard it slapped the marble floor and left a dent. His thighs flexed as his claws scraped sparks from stone. His balls heaved and then nothing.

The orgasm didn’t come.

Only the ruin.

A pathetic jet of cum erupted from his tip as his cock spasmed in confused agony. The noise he made was half sob, half growl, deep and broken.

Babette leaned in, brushing her feather along the underside again. “Did you think we were going to let you cum? No, no, mon chou. That…was a lesson.”

“Another,” Cocksworth said, unrelenting. The chaise adjusted and The Beast’s hips were raised further.

Mrs. Potts rolled into place beside them, elegant and composed, steam venting gently from her spout. “I believe it’s time we dealt with this...swelling,” she said, directing her steam straight at the base of his balls. The moist heat hit like a shock and The Beast twitched violently, nearly convulsing as his cock shot another line of precum straight onto Lumière’s face.

Lumière laughed, wiping it with dramatic flair. “I should bottle this.”

CLENCH.

Another pulse from Cocksworth, another ruin. This time, he howled. His cum drooled down his shaft, too ruined to shoot properly. His cock didn’t soften, it couldn’t, the curse wouldn’t let it. It pulsed and flexed, angry, needy, denied.

The servants surrounded him. They weren’t laughing, they were smiling. “You are not the master of this house anymore,” Mrs. Potts said calmly.

“You are the house’s toy,” Babette whispered, stroking his cock as another bead of precum twitched out of him.

“And I…” said Cocksworth, squeezing down like a vice so hard The Beast let out a scream, “...am your keeper.”

He didn’t know how long it had been. The candles burned low then high again. Thunder gave way to silence and the grand clock above the ballroom had stopped ticking hours ago but his cock never did.

They didn’t let it.

He was on his knees now but not by choice. The chaise had tipped him forward, collapsing under the weight of his own leaking body. Arms bound behind him by a set of enchanted napkins, lace and satin once used to dab royal lips now twisted cruelly around his wrists, keeping him perfectly upright as the servants closed in.

His chest heaved and his jaw hung open as drool soaked the floor beneath his face.

His cock stood like an obscene monument between his thighs, fur slick and purple tipped, shaft glistening with constant precum. His veins throbbed as his monsters, obscenely, huge cock flexed with every beat of his ruined heart.

He was sobbing softly but even that didn’t slow them down.

CLENCH.

Cocksworth squeezed again tight and sharp and The Beast’s entire body jerked. “That’s ruin number five,” said the cockring, smug as ever. “We’re making good time.”

“He’ll beg soon,” Babette purred. “They always do.”

Lumière was crouched behind him now, dragging a feather lightly between The Beast’s swinging, heaving balls. Every pass made him twitch and leak harder. The Beast tried to form words but all that came out was a throaty, cracked groan.

Ruin number six.

It was barely anything now, just a sad pulsing squirt as his cock spasmed and thighs trembled. A weak dribble spilled out and pooled on the floor below. His legs buckled but the restraints held him upright.

“You look tired, mon roi,” Lumière cooed, flicking the tip of his cock with just enough spark to make him howl. “So dramatic. So…needy.”

The Beast was panting like an animal, tongue hanging out, he tried to thrust but there was nowhere to thrust to. Just the air, just their eyes and the feeling of needing to cum so badly he thought his brain might boil.

“P…pl…please…p…” he croaked.

Everyone paused.

Mrs. Potts looked up from polishing a silver tray. Babette tilted her head, pretending not to hear. Cocksworth tightened. “Say it again, pet.”

The Beast groaned, tears streaking through his fur. “P…please…please, l…let me…c…cum…”

They all smiled and then they ruined him again.

It was a blur after that. A montage of madness. Hands. Feathers. Magic. Steam. Tongues. Teasing. Each time he got close, so close, Cocksworth would pulse or tighten or flare in a way that just barely kicked him into ruin and it never stopped, not once. Babette mounted his cock like a teasing throne, never riding only grazing, pressing her feather tips around the base like a halo. Lumière slid between his thighs, dragging flickers of flame too close to the curve of his balls as Mrs. Potts sent careful puffs of just hot enough steam over his slit each time it drooled too much.

An enchanted tray reflected his face, wild, sobbing and utterly ruined, forcing him to watch every failure.

CLENCH. Ruin.

A shudder.

SPURT. Ruin.

A gasp.

TWITCH. Ruin.

He begged. He howled. He wept. At some point he tried to thank them, which got him ruined again.

“Oh, he’s learning manners!” Cocksworth cackled.

“Shall we reward him?” Mrs. Potts asked sweetly.

“Absolutely not,” Lumière laughed, dragging his hot wax fingers under The Beast’s balls.

CLENCH. Ruin number fifteen.

By the time they slowed he had nothing left to give. His cock stood just as hard as when they began, angrier now, swollen and punished. His balls looked painfully tight like they’d been edged with pressure alone.

The floor beneath him glistened as he twitched in his restraints, unable to speak.

“Shhh,” whispered Babette, brushing his soaked cheek. “That was only your first night.” Cocksworth pulsed one last time just enough to make The Beast twitch and spurt one more ruined drop. “Sweet dreams, your Majesty.”

Chapter Text

He woke in his own cum.

It clung to his fur in dried ropes, matted and crusted down his belly and thighs. His cock stood tall and twitching in front of him, still hard and leaking. The stale scent of his ruins was thick in the air, layered over the musk of his own sweating body.

He tried to move but he couldn’t. The chair held him.

His old throne, once regal and towering, carved from polished oak and lined with crimson velvet had been remade. The gold was tarnished and warped by magic. The velvet was dark with sweat and slick. The seat beneath him throbbed with warmth, pulsing softly in rhythm with his cock.

It had grown limbs, flexible, living extensions that coiled around his wrists and ankles. His legs were spread wide and pinned, pulled up and apart to expose everything. His arms were drawn to the side, locking his torso open in a helpless sprawl.

It wasn’t a throne anymore, it was his training chair.

His cock pulsed violently in the morning light, already hard and soaked. Already ruined.

“Good morning, pet.” The voice was smug and polished, all too familiar. It came from the ring locked tight around the base of his cock. “I trust you slept well or at least…long enough.”

Cocksworth.

Who was once his steward was now a band of gold that gripped his cock like a shackle. A constant presence. Watching. Listening. Clenching. His heartbeat wasn’t his own anymore, Cocksworth pulsed with it and whenever The Beast got too close…He clenched. Hard.

The Beast groaned, trying to shift but the chair adjusted, lifting his hips a few inches off the seat and arching his back slightly more. His cock kicked as precum dribbled from the tip. His balls looked painfully full, swollen and low and aching with need.

“No escape,” said Cocksworth. “Not from the routine.”

There was a routine now. He didn’t know how many days had passed but the pattern was burned into his ruined brain. He was edged before sunrise, always, awoken by soft strokes and the cruel tightness of the ring. Then came training from morning to noon, they drilled him like a disobedient dog. Thank the staff when denied. Beg only when told. Ruin properly or face punishment.

If he thanked them too soon: ruined. If he forgot to thank them: ruined. If he hesitated before breaking: ruined harder.

He’d been taught to climax with gratitude, he could barely remember how to speak without choking on “thank you.”

The throne jolted beneath him.

A padded ridge rose up from the seat and pressed against his balls, lifting them slightly, cradling them with obscene care. The arms of the chair uncoiled then slithered back into place with velvet precision. The setup was familiar now.

“You’re scheduled for a wake up ruin,” said Cocksworth. “Don’t act surprised.”

From the sides of the chair soft enchanted cloths unrolled and they moved slowly like the ghost hands of maids he used to ignore and began stroking his cock but it wasn’t enough, not a full stroke just teasing featherlight pressure. One cloth danced around the head, the other circled his shaft in tight, deliberately incomplete spirals.

He started to moan, low and guttural. The chair adjusted his angle again forcing his hips to tilt forward. His cock throbbed, his toes curled, his thighs trembled and just when he thought it might…might…be real…

CLENCH.

Cocksworth tightened.

He let out a broken groan as the orgasm hit then faltered. His cock kicked once. Twice. A pitiful string of cum drooled from the tip as his entire body trembled and he sagged in the restraints. “Wake up ruin complete,” Cocksworth said brightly. “We’ll continue your obedience drills shortly.”

The Beast whimpered, chest heaving.

His cock didn’t soften. It couldn’t. The curse kept it hard, leaking and ready. He was always ready and the day had only just begun. It started with a single command. “Say thank you.”

The Beast didn’t answer at first. He was panting, drooling again, head slumped forward. His cock stood twitching between his thighs still aching from the ruined orgasm they'd milked from him moments before. The enchanted cloths hovered nearby gently teasing the base like they’d never stopped. His balls pulsed visibly, swinging low and so unbearably full.

He was halfway gone already but Cocksworth’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and expectant. “Say it.”

The Beast snarled softly, shaking his head. A drop of precum beaded and rolled down the thick, veined length of his cock.

CLENCH.

He gasped, eyes going wide. “T…thank you!” It broke out of him in a hoarse moan, involuntary and desperate, wrenched from his spine as his cock twitched violently, spurting another ruined ribbon down his shaft without permission.

“Very good,” Cocksworth said smoothly. “Again.”

The cloths began again. Soft. Rhythmic. Gentle enough to make him hope. The Beast’s head lolled back, hips bucked slightly against the restraints and his thighs flexed. He was close. So close. Too close. Every muscle in his body tightened with the threat of climax.

“Say it.”

“Th…thank…” he gasped, but it was too soon—

CLENCH.

He twitched again and ruined before he could finish the sentence. “No, no,” Cocksworth tisked. “You don’t get to rush gratitude.”

The Beast let out a pitiful moan, leaking down his balls now. His cock kicked like it was trying to protest. The throne shifted him higher, angling his hips more. Babette appeared beside him, feather in hand, dragging it up the inside of his thigh so slowly he shivered.

“You always made us say it,” she murmured. “At every meal. Every task. ‘Thank you, your Grace.’ Even when you never deserved it.” She brushed the feather against the underside of his cock, flicking beneath the head and he let out a wet, broken sound. “Say it properly this time.”

The cloths moved again, curling around the shaft, twisting just enough. The Beast shook in the restraints, chest heaving, hips thrusting up into empty air and His cock was so red it looked raw, the pleasure was turning into agony.

“Say it.”

He held it this time, right at the edge, tears in his eyes.

“Thank you,” he sobbed.

It was perfect.

Babette leaned in, feather dancing and Cocksworth did the rest. He always did.

The Beast’s voice grew hoarse. By the fifth ruin, it was more reflex than language. By the eighth, he moaned “thank you” through clenched teeth before they even told him to. That one got him a long, slow ruin that made him sob openly.

“You’re learning,” Cocksworth said, sounding genuinely pleased. “So good for us now,” purred Babette.

By the end of the session The Beast was drooling down his chest, cock still hard and leaking, his balls looked abused, heavy and pulsing, veined like he might burst. His thighs trembled constantly. He hadn’t cum properly once but he whispered “thank you” to the air.

To the chair. To the ring around his cock. To no one at all.

“We’re going to see what you’ve really learned,” said Cocksworth, voice low and deliberate. “No hands. No help. Just your body and your voice.”

The Beast was trembling, bound to the chair but now it had changed shape again, flattening into a frame that lowered him onto all fours.

He was held like an animal.

Arms stretched forward and thighs spread wide. Hips harnessed into a set of living restraints that controlled every slow grind of his lower half. His obscenely humongous cock drooped heavy between his legs, slick with precum and leaking onto the already wet floor beneath him.

The marble beneath his cock shifted as a small rise formed, barely curved, smooth but unyielding and then the thrusting began.

They made him hump.

At first, it was slow. The chair moved him with practiced cruelty, grinding his cock against the raised stone with slow, maddening friction as the sensitive underside dragged again and again over the ridge. His balls swung low, barely brushing the cool surface. “When you feel close,” said Lumière from somewhere above, “you speak.”

“If you hesitate,” added Babette, “you ruin.”

“If you lie…” Cocksworth’s voice was a hiss at the base of his shaft, tightening slightly “...we punish.”

He tried to hold himself steady, he lasted all of ten thrusts. “C…close,” he gasped, voice cracking. The chair stopped instantly and his cock twitched desperately for release but denied.

“Very good,” Cocksworth said. “Again.”

The motion resumed.

Each cycle was worse than the last. The marble grew slicker with his own precum, heightening the drag, turning every pass into a perfect pressure point. His cock flushed darker, throbbing violently, his thighs quivered, jaw hung open, panting.

“C…c…close,” he moaned.

Stopped again, not quite ruined just yet but close enough to hurt.

This went on for what felt like hours. The Beast was nothing but raw nerve and ruined restraint. At some point, he slipped. He didn’t mean to. The grinding felt too good as his hips bucked and he forgot to speak in time. “U…unhh!”

CLENCH.

Cocksworth tried to catch it but the ruin hit too late. A string of cum spilled from The Beast’s tip, heavy and hot, pooling under him and his entire body twitched and collapsed. He sagged forward in his restraints, whimpering. They didn’t speak, didn’t let him recover, they just kept going.

The marble shifted, repositioning to target the head of his cock more precisely and the chair tilted his hips higher, stretching his body tight. “You don’t get to rest after failure,” Babette said softly. “You’ll stay sensitive until you learn.”

Then the post orgasm torture began. They forced him to hump the ridge again, now unbearably slick, each grind sparking white hot pain. He sobbed. Moaned. Twitched. Tried to crawl away but the restraints tightened each time he hesitated.

“Say thank you,” whispered Cocksworth.

“T…thank you,” The Beast moaned, voice wet with shame.

CLENCH.

Another ruined drop spilled out of him, weaker than before. “Again.”

They kept him there.

Sore. Sensitive. Straining. Forced to grind himself to the edge again and again and ruin every time he faltered. By the end, he wasn’t even trying to resist. He was crying. Humping. Thanking them with every ruined gasp and when it was over he was left leaking.

Still hard and utterly broken.

Chapter Text

They didn’t let him sleep.

He didn’t know how long he’d been lying there, on his back, cock still hard, thighs trembling, drool crusting into the fur at the corner of his mouth. The floor had long cooled beneath him but his shaft burned, twitching with every shift of air. His balls felt swollen beyond belief, full and angry and sore from ruin after ruin after ruin.

Then he heard her voice. “Morning again, mon chou,” Babette said sweetly. “Or whatever passes for morning in that twitchy monstrous cock of yours.”

He opened his eyes and found her perched beside him or rather above him.

His arms were already pinned, legs, too, spread open and upright in a different contraption now, angled like a display. His cock stood exposed in the center of the frame, fur slick and matted around the base. His balls hung low, heavy and dark with unrelieved tension and in Babette’s hand was a feather.

Delicate and ivory white, it looked almost innocent. “Let’s begin,” she said, twirling it in her fingers and he flinched before it even touched him.

The feather dipped forward, brushing softly against the underside of his shaft just above the root, teasing that hypersensitive strip of nerve that made his toes curl.

He growled and Babette grinned. “Still so sensitive,” she whispered. “It’s almost as if your cock doesn’t know how to rest anymore.” She dragged the feather in slow swaying circles brushing beneath his head then down over his balls. It was maddening, light as air but enough to make him twitch, flinch, drip.

“We’re going to edge you soft today,” she murmured. “No strokes. No pumps. No pressure.”

The Beast whimpered and his cock jerked again, a heavy glob of precum splashing onto his furry stomach.

“Close already?” she said, raising an eyebrow. “Tsk. You’ve gotten so pathetic.”

She circled the feather in tight loops around the rim of his head, barely grazing it, as his thighs kicked weakly against the restraints. His breath hitched. He snarled through clenched teeth, eyes already wet.

“Say it,” she whispered.

“I..I’m…” he choked. The feather traced a line along the seam of his balls, curling around their edge. “I’m close!”

CLENCH.

Ruined.

His cock jerked violently and heavy pulses of cum splattering across his chest followed by weak, useless dribbles. His entire body spasmed and his claws scratched helplessly at the air.

Babette watched, delighted. “One down,” she said. “Let’s see how many you can take before you start begging.” She didn’t even give him a minute. The feather came right back, dancing across his twitching, oversensitive cock, trailing through the mess he’d just made and smearing it along the shaft. She dipped lower, feathering the edges of his balls, tickling them just enough to make him tremble.

“No, n…no, no…” he gasped. “Please…please not again…”

“If you’re close,” she said flatly, “you better say it.”

“C…close!”

CLENCH.

Ruin number two.

He sobbed but the feather never stopped, even after the second ruin or the third. Babette’s touch was merciless in its delicacy, slow and circular brushes around his cockhead, teasing his slit, dragging through the filth she’d helped coax from him. His body trembled like a string pulled too tight.

He whimpered, low and sharp, as she brushed just beneath the ridge again and again, always exactly where he was most sensitive.

“You’re making such a mess, monster,” she cooed, watching another ruined spurt drool from his tip. “You’d think after three spills you’d run dry. But no…” She dipped the feather into the mess across his belly. “You’re leaking like it’s your only job.”

The Beast sobbed as his cock jerked again, raw and pink and furious. Still hard.

“It is your only job now,” came Lumière’s voice from the shadows.

He stepped forward, elegant and smug, his flames were low and controlled but burned a deep orange. “Feather and flame,” he said, gesturing with a flourish. “Let’s see how much sensation this beast can process at once.”

Lumière didn’t speak again. He didn’t have to. He just tilted forward and let a slow drip of wax fall as it hit The Beast’s left pectoral with a wet slap. He twitched violently, roaring out through gritted teeth, not from pain but from shock, the sting, from the new, burning heat that competed with Babette’s feather, each stroke now mirrored by a fresh hot kiss of wax.

Another drip, lower, across his ribs.

Another right on his hipbone.

The wax hardened instantly against his fur, cooling, tightening, while Babette’s feather slid through the puddle on his stomach and smeared it along his shaft.

He was moaning nonstop now. Sensory input stacked on top of itself. Hot. Cold. Sharp. Soft.

“C…c…close,” he sobbed.

CLENCH.

Ruin number four.

His cock convulsed as another slick pulse dribbling out.

“Again,” Lumière said smoothly and again the wax dripped onto his chest, his stomach, his inner thigh.

“S…stop…” The Beast panted, voice wrecked. “I…I can’t…”

“You can,” Babette whispered. “You’ll learn to beg later. For now…” She flicked his tip with the feather. “You leak.”

The next wax drip landed right at the base of his shaft and his whole body bucked but the restraints held firm. He screamed as another ruin tore through him, weak and shameful.

His balls tightened reflexively and the feather kept working, wax still dripping. He didn’t know how many times he’d ruined. His cock was ruined and angry red, so overstimulated he couldn’t feel straight with the feather still circling his shaft in long, patient strokes, never stopping. The wax came in slow drips, hot pinpoints of pressure along his chest, belly, thighs. His fur was matted and curled with sweat and heat.

His mouth hung open as she arrived. “It’s time,” said Mrs. Potts from somewhere behind him, her voice calm and cruel. “He’s ripe for it.”

He couldn’t lift his head. He couldn’t speak. The feather had never stopped. The wax had never stopped and now there was the hiss. A sharp burst of air like a sigh. He barely had time to register the sound before the steam hit his cockhead and he screamed.

It wasn’t boiling, not enough to burn, but it was wet, hot, direct and sudden. The soft skin of his tip flared violently, his whole body arched, restrained only by the chair’s unforgiving grip. “One more puff,” she said, “right on the slit.”

He sobbed as another pulse of precum shot out in response, spilling down his shaft. Babette’s feather caught it and smeared it again. Lumière tipped the wax over his hip. Every inch of him was a target.

Then came the next burst.

And the next.

And the next.

Each one timed perfectly, right as his cock tried to twitch, right as his body begged for a break.

“P…please,” he rasped. “Please…no more…” but the feather didn’t stop and neither did the wax. The steam kept coming in little jets against his tip, each one coaxing a twitching dry ruined orgasm.

“He’s going dry,” Lumière noted, amused. “And still hard,” Babette whispered, stroking the base with the feather. “Isn’t that funny, beast? You’re dry and your cock still wants to be used.”

Another hiss.

“P…please,” he moaned. “Don’t…don’t touch…don’t touch me anymore…”

They all laughed. Gently, almost Affectionately, like he’d said something sweet. “Begging not to be touched?”

“After everything we gave you?”

“No, no, mon chou,” Babette whispered, sliding the feather under his balls again. “You haven’t earned silence yet.”

The wax dripped again and the steam hit once more and his monstrous spellbound cock, betraying him completely, twitched in its restraint and leaked another ruined drop onto his heaving belly.

“Say thank you,” Cocksworth murmured from below, tightening around the base to make his point.

“Th…thank you…” The Beast sobbed.

Chapter Text

They posed him like a courtesan.

It was a chaise lounge but not like any he remembered. It had changed, enchanted, transformed, fused with bindings and intent.

Pale velvet stretched tight across the frame as it cradled him at a slight angle, thighs wide and arms stretched. He wasn’t just bound, he was displayed like a statue of something obscene. His cock lay heavy, dripping idly and twitching every few seconds.

The servants took their time admiring the view.

“Très belle,” Babette murmured, circling him. “Like a beast waiting to be painted. Or devoured.”

“Or both,” added Lumière, adjusting the cuffs around his ankles. “Perfect angle for noise.”

Because that was the point of today’s lesson. Not humping or thanking. Moaning.

“You never made a sound when we served you,” Cocksworth said flatly. “Never let us know if you enjoyed a dish. A performance. A gesture. You sat in silence while we poured ourselves out.”

“But you’ll make noise for us now,” Babette purred but he didn’t answer, couldn’t. His jaw hung open from exhaustion, his cock hadn’t softened in days, weeks, not since the curse. The chaise’s angle made it worse, pressing his gigantic balls swollen down tight and giving every twitch of arousal nowhere to hide. He was panting before they even touched him.

Then the lounge began to move. It started slowly, a rolling pulse beneath him barely perceptible with a low mechanical shift that rocked his hips and made his cock bounce lightly against his stomach with every breath. The velvet below was soft and warm, it teased his back, his thighs, the edge of his sac and then came the real torture.

A flat panel rose up from the seat perfectly contoured and pressing up against his perineum, not strong enough to stimulate but strong enough to remind.

“Moan for us, Beast.”

He clenched his jaw and bit down a snarl, cock twitching violently in protest, slapping against his belly as another fat drop of precum slid down his side. The bench responded immediately, tilting his hips lower, forcing him to grind down slightly against the warm pressure point, making his whole body twitch.

“Moan,” came the command again. “Or we take it away.”

He growled low and guttural, as a response the stimulation cut off and he roared in frustration, hips jerking upward, desperate for anything but the chaise gave him nothing. His shaft ached, fully exposed and completely untouched, bobbing in midair.

He panted.

“Try again?” Babette said lightly.

The stimulation resumed, pressure, angle, warmth, not enough to satisfy just enough to hope.

“Now,” said Lumière.

The Beast groaned softly, barely more than breath and the chaise continued.

“Louder.”

He let out a real moan this time, open, hot and involuntary as the pressure ramped up and The Beast shuddered, cock slapping wetly against his belly again.

“Good boy,” Babette whispered. “Now moan like that every time you get close.”

The Beast moaned again, louder this time and the chaise responded, pressure adjusting underneath him, rocking his hips just enough to send a wave of grinding friction up through his spine. His cock bobbed, flushed purple at the head and weeping constantly now. Every moan bought him more movement. Every second of silence, less.

“That’s better,” said Babette, perched above him on the back of the chaise. “Such a noisy little beast you’re becoming.”

She traced a single finger along his inner thigh and his hips jerked up in response. “Not a growl,” she warned. “Not a whimper. Moan.”

He tried, he really did as a wet sound escaped his throat, half gasp and half sob. His chest heaved and his claws dug into the restraints as the stimulation ramped up. The bench pulsed harder beneath him. A tiny jet of warmth struck just behind his balls, sending a fresh spike of urgency through his core.

He moaned again. The pressure kept building. “Oh?” Lumière murmured, stepping to his side. “Is that a real one?” He reached down with two hot waxy fingertips and pressed them to The Beast’s twitching shaft just enough to send it lurching.

“C…close…” The Beast gasped. “I…I'm g…gonna…gonna…”

“No, no,” said Cocksworth and locked himself tighter at the base of The Beast’s cock. “Not until we say.”

CLENCH.

The Beast screamed. His body spasmed and shook as his cock flexed desperately but nothing came out. No ruin. No spill. Just the vicious, burning ache of stolen climax.

“Try again,” Cocksworth said, his voice low and mechanical, final.

The bench repositioned his hips higher, cock now directly in Babette’s line of sight. She smirked, leaned forward and twirled around the tip as The Beast wailed. “Where’s your moan?” she whispered. “You want us to touch it again?”

He moaned raw, ugly and needy.

The chaise responded as pressure pulsed again under him and the warmth returned. Lumière drizzled a perfect stripe of wax down his sternum and Cocksworth stayed clenched. The Beast’s voice rose. Moaning, panting, whimpering.

Each sound matched by tight control and exact restraint. Every time he gave the perfect moan, he got exactly close enough to suffer.

“That’s how you earn your manners,” Babette said sweetly, stroking his balls with her feather. “Not by wanting it but by performing.”

He moaned again, desperation turning to shame then to obedience. The chaise bucked his hips once more and Cocksworth pulsed.

CLENCH.

No ruin.

No relief.

He moaned the same full body scream but silent this time, voice wrecked from overuse. “Oh dear,” Lumière said with a little grin. “He’s learning.” They stopped praising his moans, that should have been the first clue. The Beast was still trying, hoarse and trembling, voice cracking on every breath but now no one responded. The chaise rocked but the pressure stayed too soft. The servants stood around him like judges at a failed audition.

“It’s not good enough anymore,” said Lumière, tilting his head. “He’s faking now,” Babette said. “Moaning just to buy seconds.”

“So take them away,” Mrs. Potts offered, voice cool. “Take the seconds, the mercy. Take away the game.”

Cocksworth clicked painfully tight at the base and the chaise lifted him entirely. It tilted and extended, elevating The Beast a few feet above, cock now exposed in full, pointed downward, massive and flushed with angry need. His limbs were still restrained, he couldn’t even thrash. He was just helpless, dripping, twitching and then Cocksworth said grimly. “For four bad moans.”

He didn’t wait.

CLENCH.

The Beast erupted, cum spraying hard across the velvet below and his whole body convulsing mid air. His back arched so violently the chaise had to catch him with a secondary brace.

CLENCH.

Another ruin.

This one weaker, less force and more shame.

CLENCH.

The third one came with a sob, his balls twitched as cum dribbled in strings across the soaked velvet and his shaft jerking involuntarily with every useless spasm.

CLENCH.

The fourth was barely visible, just a shudder, a dry spill, a single broken whimper of breath as his body sagged forward and the chaise released him.

He dropped straight into the slick mess he’d made, landing flat on his face in the ruined velvets, cum splattering across his chest and face, soaking into the fur on his belly and thighs.

“Look what you’ve done,” Babette said, grabbing his chin and rubbing his face against the cum soaked seat. “No composure or discipline, you’re just moans and messes now.”

He whined a low cracked sound. It wasn’t a moan so they ignored it.

“Back to the task,” Cocksworth said.

“Until he moans perfectly,” Lumière agreed.

The chaise began to grind his hips again. Harsher. Endless. Methodical. His cock stayed hard against every law of nature.

No breaks.

No stops.

This would go on for days.

Chapter Text

He knew the ballroom by heart, knew its chandeliers, its towering windows, the deep marbled floors, he’d walked it countless times in human form never dancing, never bowing, never truly looking at anyone but himself.

Now, he was strapped to the center of it nude, hard and panting. Arms pulled behind him and his legs spread wide as his thighs trembled from overuse and ruin but he wasn’t alone, not even close.

The portraits had been waking for an hour.

One by one, the gold frames glowed and shifted. Painted figures stirred inside them, nobles, courtiers, family members, old guests and young lovers, rising from centuries of oil and pigment to bear witness.

They weren’t ghostly and they certainly weren’t polite. They were laughing.

“Is that the prince?” one scoffed from a tall canvas.
“No, couldn’t be. This one’s drooling.”

“Look at his cock,” murmured another, leaning out of her frame. “I remember when he wouldn’t even kiss a girl below his station, now he’s humping air.”

“Beast indeed,” chuckled a powdered nobleman from over the fireplace.

“He’s certainly rutting like one.”

The Beast moaned softly, trying not to look at them but he couldn’t hide. There were dozens, maybe hundreds, of portraits encircling the room. Each one alive and smirking. Some whispering while others simply watched, eyes locked on his shaft as it twitched helplessly, leaking for them.

“Shouldn’t he be… entertaining us?” one asked. “He looks rather still.”

“He won’t be,” came Lumière’s voice, stepping forward, “for long.” He approached the central restraint. Behind him, Babette carried the now familiar feather and Mrs. Potts rolled in slowly, steam already beginning to hiss from her spout.

“This is his showcase,” Lumière said aloud, speaking to the crowd. “Let us demonstrate what your little prince has become.”

The restraint post tilted forward slightly and The Beast groaned as his position shifted, cock now more upright, head tilted back to force him to face the painted gallery. His thighs spread even wider, exposing everything obscenely.

“Say hello,” Babette whispered, brushing his jaw. “Use your words. Or use your moans.”

He whimpered. Humiliated and barely audible.

“Not good enough,” Mrs. Potts muttered as a burst of steam hissed across his cockhead. He jerked violently, cock flexing midair as a fat string of precum dripped from the tip and spilled onto the ballroom floor.

“Now he’s performing!” The portraits cheered.
“Oh, how far he’s fallen…”
“Let him beg! I want to hear it!”

Lumière leaned in close as the first drop of wax fell and the moan that followed was louder.

The chandelier had never moved before. It used to hang, still and majestic, over the ballroom, crystal dripping from every arm like icicles of royal splendor but now it descended with purpose as its golden arms curled down to hook the restraint rig like it had been waiting.

Chains locked in place and The Beast was lifted into the air.

He rose above the marble floor, high enough that every portrait could see him and every eye in the room was watching him. Legs wide. Cock hard. Balls hanging heavy and full. Chest heaving. Fur matted. Face burning with shame.

“There,” said Babette, stepping back to admire. “Now the gallery can really enjoy the view.”

The chandelier didn’t sway gently, it rocked him back and forth. Each slow sway made his cock swing and leak long strands of precum that rained down to the floor like obscene confetti.

“Put on a show for us,” Lumière called up. “Moan for your ancestors, Beast.”

He tried to stay quiet, he really did but Mrs. Potts’ steam hissed up again with a jet directly to the head of his cock and his body convulsed in the air, hips bucking involuntarily.

CLENCH.
Cocksworth squeezed.
Ruin.

A thick burst shot from his shaft, suspended in midair, and spattered downward, landing with a wet slap across the ballroom floor.

The portraits cheered.

“Look at that shot, gods, he’s like a fountain!”
“Disgusting. How many has he done already?”
“Doesn’t matter. He’s still hard.”

“Again,” Cocksworth ordered.
CLENCH.
Another twitch. Another ruined load, powerful and no less shameful.

“He can go all night,” Lumière said proudly, gesturing upward. “Witch’s gift. No rest. No mercy. Only moans and messes.”

The Beast sobbed but it only seemed to egg the portraits on. “Look at him cry!”

“He used to demand silence at dinner parties. Now he moans for it!”

“No wonder the staff turned on him. They knew he’d make a better toy than a prince.”

He ruined again with a fat, spurting drop spraying upward before falling back down. He moaned louder this time and the chandelier rocked harder. His fur was slick with sweat and seed, thighs trembled in their bindings.

“Say sorry,” Babette called up. “Apologise to all your guests. One for each ruin.”

He sobbed again, breath hitching. “I…I’m s…sorry…”

“Louder,” a portrait barked. “Apologize like your cock’s not still leaking.”

The chandelier lowered him slowly like a failed performer being brought offstage but there was no applause, just laughter and mockery and a lake of cum waiting for him on the ballroom floor.

He hit the marble with a wet slap and his cock splattered and rubbed against his own ruined seed. Every inch of him was coated, belly, thighs, chest, even his face streaked with ruined bursts from his time in the air.

He groaned weakly and the portraits were still watching.

“Back on the ground where he belongs,” said one.

“Look at that puddle! I don’t remember him producing that much when he bedded me,” came a sharp voice from an old lover’s canvas.

“Oh, he’s learned so much,” Babette cooed mockingly. “Now he’s quite the fountain.”

The chaise lounge was gone and the restraint post dismantled. All that remained was him, the floor and the ocean of cum he’d made with his own failures.

“Start apologizing,” Cocksworth said, his voice low and stern. “By name.”
“Every guest you humiliated. Every servant you ignored. Every ancestor you disappointed.”
“You wanted to be the center of the ballroom,” Lumière added. “You are now.”

A pair of enchanted chairs seized his arms and legs, dragging him forward through the slick mess and they positioned him face down in the cum drenched floor with his hips raised slightly, cock still twitching, balls hanging heavy and sensitive. They began to grind his bound hips uncontrollably.

“Start with Lady Ambrienne,” said a voice from the wall. He turned his head, eyes locking with the portrait of a woman in a lilac gown, painted mid curtsy. “S…sorry, Lady Ambrienne,” he groaned.
“Why?” she snapped.
“F…for not dancing with you…when you asked…”

CLENCH.

He moaned as another wet spill shot from him, dribbling into the existing pool.

“Is he even sorry? Or just trying to cum again?”

“Next,” said Cocksworth. “Lord Mathieu.”
“I…I’m s…sorry, Lord Mathieu…”
“What for?” Lumière asked.
“F…for…calling your son a ha…nghh…halfwit…at c…court…”

CLENCH.

Another ruin was stolen from him as The Beast whimpered, face now smeared in his own release, cock rubbing against the marble against his will, humping slowly, endlessly, but he couldn’t stop.

They kept going.

Portrait after portrait.

One name after another. One confession, one ruin, one moan, one sob. The floor became slippery, hot and disgusting.

“Look at him go,” Babette whispered. “Still hard. Still sorry.”
“Still not forgiven,” said a portrait coldly. “Not yet.”
“This continues,” said Lumière, “until he means it or he breaks trying.”

The Beast moaned once more, a soft broken noise, barely human as his cock twitched with another spill and another apology.

Chapter Text

He was already on his knees when they brought the box out.

A velvet lined container opened with reverence and placed on a low pedestal in front of him. Inside it was the enchanted rose.
It looked so delicate. So soft. Each petal glowing faintly with restrained magic preserved in mid bloom like time itself bowed to its beauty.

The Beast whimpered the moment he saw it. He knew what it was but he didn’t know what they were going to do with it.

“Do you remember what she said?” Babette asked, voice like silk. “That when the last petal falls, the curse becomes permanent.”

“So what do you think happens when one falls early?” Lumière added, grinning.

He tried to speak, he begged but his words came out as slurred, panting nonsense. Cocksworth had kept him painfully hard for days. Babette had emptied him again before this started and now his cock was trembling, swollen and hypersensitive, the skin taut, the head flushed and wet.

He could barely breathe from the pressure and he still hadn’t softened, he never did anymore.

“We’re going to put it inside you,” Babette said gently. “Just the stem.”

“Right through that needy slit,” Lumière whispered. “Let you feel the weight of it. The shame.”

He shook his head and pleaded, mouthed no but he didn’t fight, he couldn’t. He was not in control anymore and he never will again. He was locked down in a new position, thighs wide and knees planted to the floor, arms pulled and restrained behind his back, neck and chin tilted upward by a collar ring.

The rose stem hovered, thin, smooth and enchanted.

“Hold still,” Lumière said. “It would be such a shame if it tore…”

The insertion was slow. Precise and agonizing. The stem slid into his urethra snug inside, the delicate base of the rose blooming directly from the tip of his cock.

He howled.

It didn’t hurt like metal, wasn’t cruel like a spike, it was worse. It was beautiful, soft and completely degrading.

“Look at him,” Babette whispered, cupping his face. “Sprouting something so delicate from something so filthy.”

“Maybe this will teach him what beauty feels like,” Lumière added. “Or what it means to lose it.”

The rose pulsed just once faintly but his cock jerked hard.

“You’ll stay like this for a while,” Cocksworth said.

“Let it settle in, let it root, feel how close you are to being ruined.” They left him there, watched and inspected, but untouched for now. His cock, monstrous and veined, now crowned by the single most important object in the castle. He balanced his fate inside his own cock, alone and naked. The rose stayed planted in his slit, pulsing faintly with magic every time his cock throbbed from the strain.

By the time they returned his hips were rocking without permission, grinding against the air, leaking down the length of his shaft and onto the floor and he was begging, softly, over and over.

“P…please…d…don’t make me…don’t make me c…c…cum…p…please just ruin me again…again…again…”

“Isn’t he polite now?” Babette mused.

“All that arrogance gone,” Lumière said, circling him slowly “just a filthy beast, begging to be ruined.”

Cocksworth returned to his place at the base as the chaise reformed to hold The Beast’s hips steady. The others surrounded him like vultures around a sacred feast.

“Tell us what you want,” said Mrs. Potts.

“R…ruin,” he sobbed.
“Say it louder.”

“Ruin me! P…please, ruin me ...I can’t…I can’t…if the petal…p…please!”
“Then don’t cum,” Babette smiled, dragging the feather up his inner thigh “you’ve been trained for this.”

“You asked for this,” Lumière reminded him “now let us oblige.”

The edging started slowly, soft strokes and deliberate touches, just enough pressure to bring him screaming to the brink and then CLENCH Cocksworth cut it off as The Beast wailed and ruined.

A thick burst spilled up the shaft and coated the rose, soaking the stem in a milky glaze. His thighs trembled, balls twitched violently, spurting his useless relief into the air.

“One,” Babette counted, licking the feather clean. “You needed that one, didn’t you?”
“More,” he gasped. “Please…again…again…”
“Of course.”

The second ruin hit harder.

More cum. More shaking. His cock jerking under the cursed bloom, the flower glowing slightly brighter now pulsing in time with his twitching shaft.

By the third, he was moaning like an animal not even pretending to hold back. Rutting air, drooling, twitching with abandon. His cock had gone beyond exhaustion.

“You don’t want to cum for real, do you?” Babette taunted.
“No!” he sobbed. “I c…can’t…I’ll lose…I’ll break…I…”
“Then let us break you the safe way,” Lumière whispered.

CLENCH.

Ruin four.

The rose dripped, completely glazed now, cum clung to the petals like dew and the magic inside it seemed to hum louder.

“Look how much he’s drenched it,” Mrs. Potts said, watching a drop fall from the flower’s edge.

He sobbed again, hips still moving not by choice, his body just wanted it now, needed the ruins or it would explode.

“Not yet,” Lumière said, gesturing toward the rose. “Let it steep a little longer.”

“He needs to feel it,” Babette agreed. “Before he breaks.”

He didn’t know how long it had been. How many ruins from spasms of half felt overstimulated pleasure, all he knew now was begging. His voice cracked but his hips never stopped and his cock was coated in its own filth, pulsing endlessly with the cursed rose still lodged inside.

“Please,” he moaned again. “R…ruin me. I…I need…I need it, p…please…”

“No,” Lumière said softly. “Not this time.”

That made him stop just for a second, eyes wide and mouth open, cock twitching violently.

“W…what…what d’you?”

“We’ve ruined you enough,” Babette whispered. “Now we’re going to let you feel everything.”

The stem pulsed then began to move as the rose started to thrust. Not deep but just enough.

A gentle, controlled sounding motion pushing into his slit and pulling out in rhythmic pulses each time pressing on his most sensitive inner nerves.

He screamed.

“You’re going to cum like a man,” Cocksworth growled. “Not a beast but a cock drunk, whimpering thing.”

Stimulation started everywhere. Babette dragged her feather down his spine. Mrs. Potts hissed hot steam across his cockhead as Lumière teased his nipples with flickering warmth. Cocksworth adjusted himself perfectly at the base, not to deny but to build pressure and the rose kept moving inside him, gliding and pressing and massaging the slit from within like it was plowing his very soul.

“N…no…p…please…I’ll cum…I…I’ll c…cum...please, I c…can’t lose!” He cried out.

“You will,” Babette said sweetly “and you’ll love it.”

His body shook violently as his cock flexed once then twice twice and then it happened. He came. A full, natural orgasm. Not ruined or interrupted. It was taken from him with stimulation so perfect it felt holy.

The orgasm ripped through his gut, deep and endless, his balls emptying violently and cock jerking like a beast trying to break free, cum erupting in thick endless spurts soaking the rose, the floor, his thighs, his belly.

The orgasm erupted, detonated through him like a primal force so massive, his vision went white as he came harder than he ever had, more than he ever thought possible.

The first spurt rocketed out of him, thick, hot and explosive, coating the rose and blasting across the floor in a single, arcing ribbon.

Then another and another. Each heavier than the last, drawn out by full, merciless stimulation. No break. No mercy. No control.

“Oh gods,” Babette whispered, feather frozen mid air.

“Look at it all,” Lumière gasped. “it’s every ruin he never finished. All at once.”

He screamed because for a moment it was bliss, it felt perfect like peace or freedom, until he saw it floating down, soft and slow.

“There it is,” Lumière whispered.
“The first,” said Babette.

His cock pulsed like a firehose as ropes of seed splattering everything, his belly, his chest, the rose. One thick stream even splashed across a nearby portrait, making the figure inside recoil with theatrical disgust, the room filled with the hot, musky scent of spilled release.

The rose was drenched, its stem glistened, its bloom trembled and then finally a single cum soaked petal detached.

It floated. Slowly. Beautifully. Then landed, silent, in the obscene pool beneath him.

“The first petal,” Cocksworth said grimly.
“Soaked in everything he was trying to hold back,” Lumière added.
“And he’s still twitching,” Babette smiled.

The Beast whimpered once before collapsing forward, utterly spent and shattered. Still hard but for the first time since the curse began, he was empty.

Chapter Text

The rose still pulsed faintly from its pedestal with a single petal gone and The Beast, shaking and ashamed in his own mess, hadn’t spoken a word since.

He looked hollow, like something in him had cracked.

“One petal,” Cocksworth said, “because you forgot your place.”

The Beast flinched at his voice. He turned his head and saw the familiar gold and brass gears of the enchanted cockring stepping forward, glinting in the low torchlight.

He looked colder now, less ornamental and more instrumental. There was no forgiveness in his tone, only purpose. “We trained you,” Cocksworth said, circling him. “Dozens of ruins. Hundreds of edges. You were starting to understand.”

“And then you let it go. You chose to feel it.”
“And now look.”
“A petal has fallen.”

The Beast opened his mouth but nothing came out, just a low, pitiful whimper.

“No excuses,” Cocksworth snapped. “You’re not here to feel pleasure, you’re here to be broken properly.”

The chaise reassembled behind him and the chairs moved on their own. In seconds, he was restrained again, on his back, legs up and arms pinned behind his head, his cock was already stiffening, cursed to stay hard.

Cocksworth locked himself on again, clamping tight at the base with engineered precision. “No more full orgasms,” he growled. “Not for the rest of the season. Maybe longer.”

“You’re going to learn control again.”

The Beast squirmed once, already aching and twitching when then the first stroke hit from a living glove, enchanted for perfect edging, tight, textured, incredibly skilled.

The stroking was fast, too fast to be casual, but never merciful enough to let him tip over just yet. Each pass up his shaft stopped just shy, the grip twisting with mechanical precision. Cocksworth watched the trembling body beneath him the way a craftsman inspects an unfinished piece, cool eyes searching for flaws.

“Close?” he asked coldly.
“Y…y…yes! Nnnhhh…pl…please!” The answer came in a wrecked gasp.
CLENCH.

His cock spasmed violently with no control left as the orgasm tore out of him broken and unsatisfying, his hips jerking as if to chase something that wasn’t there.

Ruin one.

Seed shot high and then rained back down onto his own chest, hot and humiliating. He cried a little knowing what he wasn’t allowed the release he craved just this twitching, useless spill as the strokes kept coming.

“Nnnnghh…nononono, ffffuuhhhckk…ahhhhnnn!” The wet slap of his own mess only added to the rhythm. The glove was unrelenting, like his body’s protest meant nothing. The wet slap of his own mess only added to the rhythm, smearing across his cock.

“Again,” Cocksworth barked. “Faster.”

The glove shifted, squeezing tighter and stroking at a brutal new tempo. The Beast's breath hitched, chest heaving. “W…wait! N…no, no, please…j…just a second, I…I can’t!”

CLENCH.
Ruin two.
“No! NnngghhhhaaAAAHHHhh…ahhhhnnnnnn!”

His cry broke into a strangled moan as his cock convulsed, spilling helplessly, his whole body jerking like a puppet on strings. It wasn’t pleasure, just another ruined spasm forced out of him before he could even hope to catch himself. This one landed on his throat sticky and humiliating. Still no softness, his cock stayed furiously erect, trembling from the overstimulation.

“How many do you think it’ll take?” Cocksworth mused. “Ten? Twenty?”
“You’re going to ruin until you stop leaking lies.”

“P…please…nghh…train me…don’t let me cum again…don’t…d…don’t let me fail!” The Beast moaned.

“That’s better,” Cocksworth growled. “Now shut up and ruin for me.”

By the second day, he stopped begging to cum. By the third, he stopped speaking at all. Cocksworth called it “The Correction Cycle” an endless rotation of edge drills and ruins on command, stimulation thresholds, cock control test, endurance drills and worst of all “denial resets” a two hour window every night where he’d be edged to the brink and then not allowed to ruin just so he’d remember what he wasn’t allowed anymore.

“You’ll ruin when I say, not when your body wants to,” Cocksworth growled. “You lost that privilege when you let that petal fall.”

He was kept on a schedule from early morning until late night, his day was divided into measured stimulation blocks each crafted for a different purpose.

Cocksworth stood at a podium, stopwatch in hand, demanding reports. “Rate the pressure. Was that ruinable? What about now?” They forced him to describe his orgasms aloud, even as they were being ruined.

“L…losing it! N…not g…gonna…nghhaaaAAHH!”
Clench. Spill. Shame.

“Louder. What did that ruin feel like?”
“F…fire…nnggghh…heat…emptied but n…not…p…p…please, a…again…”

By the fifth day, his cock began to twitch before they touched him. By the seventh, he was edging himself in his sleep, moaning, humping the air, locked in a cycle of phantom stimulation.

“Good,” Cocksworth said, nodding as The Beast thrashed mid ruin during a sleep test. “He’s integrating.”

“We’ll make a soldier out of that cock yet.”

By now his balls were constantly swollen, filled faster than they could empty him. Each ruin shot heavy and desperate, viciously thick but never satisfying. He began to shake before each one, terrified they might accidentally let him cum fully again.

They didn’t, not once and he started to love them for it.

The ballroom reassembled itself automatically. Floor polished, lighting low, the chandelier adjusted back to where it was and around the perimeter, the portraits stirred to life.

Dozens of them.

Elegant and cruel, smirking faces painted in oils, former lords, visiting dukes, aristocratic lovers with disdainful eyes. All of them were ready to watch.

In the center of the room, The Beast knelt. Naked. Restrained. Hard. Again.

His arms were bound behind his back by enchanted silk, thighs forced open by cursed chairs and his legs kept wide. His hips suspended just slightly above the ground, humiliatingly on display as if posed like a model beast in heat and clamped tight at his base, ever watchful was Cocksworth.

“Today,” Cocksworth barked, “you show them what you’ve learned.”
“You will edge, you will ruin and you will not cum.”
“You’ll do it again and again until they’re convinced you’re no longer a failure.”

The Beast didn’t speak, just nodded once because he was ready.

“Begin,” Cocksworth commanded.

He exhaled slowly then started to thrust with restrained movements, carefully angling his cock against the air in rhythmic pulses.

The portraits murmured, some smirked, others scoffed and a few licked their lips. “Look how eager he is,” muttered one ancestor in lace.

“He used to be proud,” said a powdered noble. “Now look at him, masturbating in front of paintings.”

“Is he leaking already?” asked another voice. “Shameful.”

The Beast whimpered from the pressure, the exposure, the unrelenting truth of the shameful spectacle he was reduced to. His cock twitched violently, every thrust into the air sending a pulse up his spine and even with the useless air that he thrust into he could feel it building.

Cocksworth pulsed once around his base. “Tell me,” he barked. “Are you close?”

“Y…yes. C…close!” The Beast gasped.

“Then ruin. Now!” He exclaimed with an ever tightening grip on the monstrous base.

The Beast obeyed with a choked moan as his cock jerked hard and a burst of hot, heavy cum splashed onto the ballroom floor, thick, roping and shameless. The audience applauded with mocking theatrical claps.

“He still makes such a mess,” someone laughed.
“Animal.”
“Again,” Cocksworth said coldly.

He started again immediately. Hips moving and muscles shaking as his cock refused to soften. There was no rest, no delay, he edged himself again faster this time, desperate and dripping before he even began.

“Tell me.”
“C…close!”
“Ruin.”

Another splash this time on his own thighs.

“He’s good at this,” a duchess murmured from her portrait. “Disgustingly obedient.”

“Is he even aware we’re watching?” another laughed “or is he just that cock drunk now?”

“Again.”

Third ruin.

Then fourth.

His voice cracked, moaning and pleading, no real words just wrecked sounds spilling out of him. He was learning this was all his cock could do now.

By the sixth he was gone, gasping raggedly. “Hnnnhhh…r…r…ready…ahhh…nnnnnghh…r…reaaady!”

“Ruin.”

The cum spattered across the ballroom tile, messy and seemingly endless. His body shook, glazed in sweat and slick with spend twitching and exposed but Cocksworth only looked pleased. “He’s ready.”

“Good,” said the portraits in eerie unison. “Let’s keep going.”

Chapter Text

The Beast had just started sleeping again.

Light sleep, haunted, but without stimulation, finally. Cocksworth had allowed it, short rest intervals after high ruin counts, he’d earned it and the bed had been familiar and warm, even comforting, which is why it betrayed him so easily.

It began with a stretch then a twitch. He tried to roll over only to find the sheets winding around his limbs like snakes pinning him tight.

“Wha…w…wait…what are!”

The mattress pulsed beneath him as the headboard shifted. The bed was alive. Soft, lush velvet cuffs tightened around his wrists and ankles pulling him into a perfect spread as he struggled pointlessly and then came the voice from the shadows.

“My, my…” Her voice, smooth as velvet and cruel. The witch was standing in the corner of the room now, watching as the bed restrained him more tightly. She looked pleased with how her spell seemed to have worked so far. “I heard you were being a good boy lately,” she said, circling slowly. “All those ruined little dribbles, those pretty choked moans.”

“I thought I’d reward you.”

The Beast shook his head immediately. “N…no, please…d…don’t…don’t reward me…I’ve been good! I…I don’t need…”

“Oh, darling,” she cooed, leaning down. “Poor thing still thinks it has a choice….” She snapped her fingers and from under the bed sliding up slowly on delicate enchanted legs came a new object.

A velvet and ivory cylinder, carved like a lavish ornamental scroll case, trimmed in gold and silk. Elegant at first glance, it pulsed and its center opened revealing a slick wet interior, faintly glowing and purring with arousal.

“Your new little companion,” the witch smiled.
“N…p…please…I’ve b…been good! I’ve b…been g…good!” He cried.
“Don’t worry, it’s quite eager to please.”

The Beast started shaking; he knew what this meant and despite it his cock twitched. He struggled harder. “Please, not that…d…don’t let it…just ruin me again, please!”

The witch laughed outright. “Oh, my sweet beast,” she said. “Begging not to cum properly.”

The bed lifted his hips as the enchanted device slotted into place, its opening inches from his cockhead. The air itself seemed to grow warmer, more charged and he knew that if it was allowed to stroke him he wouldn’t last, not after a week of ruin, after everything.

“Hold him steady.” the witch whispered, “let’s see how long our little ruin pet can last without a ruin.”

The first stroke was a whisper. Soft and warmed by magic but tight enough to make his back arch immediately. The enchanted device purred around his cockhead, pulling just slightly then gliding back and leaving him aching.

“N…no…please, not…stop, not like this! Please!” The Beast screamed into the mattress.

The witch sighed theatrically. “All this fuss over a little reward.”

The bed kept him pinned. He tried everything, pulling at his bindings, bucking his hips, even holding his breath but the bed adjusted in real time, forcing his hips into place and keeping his cock locked right inside the velvet soft device.

Another stroke then another. Slow. Measured. His body reacted automatically as his hips jerked forward and that monstrously huge cursed cock swelling even more, precum leaking obscenely.

“P…please! Please just…just ruin it, p…please! D…don’t let me…don’t make me!”

“Oh,” said the witch, cocking her head. “You really are terrified, aren’t you?” She laughed. “Delicious.”

The fleshlight gave him a full unrelenting stroke, slow and squeezing, gliding from root to tip like it knew his every weakness. He thrashed and moaned trying not to rut forward but there he had no real control, no rhythm he could predict or safe interruption.

The enchanted toy wrapped around the head, pulsed once and twisted on the downward glide.

“Nnng! No…s…something’s happening!” The Beast choked.

“You’re close,” the witch said. “And that’s the point.”

His balls ached as everything inside him clenched. He could feel the orgasm building and for the first time in days there was no Cocksworth ready to ruin it.

“I…I’ll b…be good…aaahhh, I c…can’t…nghh…can’t!” he cried out, voice cracking.
The witch leaned in.
“D…don’t let me…don’t…aaahhh…please, I’ll be good! P…please, nooo!”
She whispered against his ear, slow and cruel. “Then why does your cock look so happy?”

The toy shifted again, faster now more deliberate, unstoppable. He was going to cum and he knew it.

“N…no…don’t…nghhhaa…don’t take a petal…please…I can ruin, I swear, I can!”
“Too late,” she said sweetly. “You’ve already lost the moment.”

“NnnngghhhhaaAAAHhhhhh…p…pleaseee…ahhhhnnnnnnnnnn!”The Beast moaned, long and broken, as the cursed device continued to stroke him. His cock pulsed with unbearable pleasure, each movement of the toy sending him spiraling closer, closer, closer and there was nothing to stop it.

No Cocksworth clench or feather to knock him off the edge. No voice barking “Ruin!” Just pleasure. Thick and warm. Uninterrupted and cruel.

“No! nngghaannnno…pleasepleasepleaseplease!”

He tried to hold back, tried to lock down but the toy knew his limits and his body betrayed him. It pulsed once around the base tightened near the tip and then it triggered the climax.

“N…nooo, nnghh…p…please, I was g…good, I was gooood! Don’t…ahhhHHhhhnnnnNNNNhhh…nooo, please, please, I was good!”

The first shot exploded out of him with so much pressure that a scream as it left his body. Then the second. Then the third. Violent. Thick. Endless. His hips jolted as he spurted into the enchanted toy, the bed holding him completely immobile, the bindings digging into his wrists.

“AAAHhhHHhhhhhhnnnnNNNGhhhhh!!”
The toy didn’t stop. It milked him over and over and over again
“Nnnnghhhhaahhh…st…stop, s’too…please…ahhhHHhhhnnnnnnNNhhhhh!”.

His cock was throbbing with every pulse, stomach streaked with seed, his thighs were sticky with his own spend as was his chest was dripping but his mind was completely shattered.

“There it is,” the witch whispered. “The truth.”

“You can be trained, you can obey but in the end your cock still belongs to the curse.”

He whimpered, twitching violently, tears pooling at the corner of his eyes. “I…I didn’t mean to…”

“I know,” she cooed. “That’s what makes it so beautiful.”

She stepped toward the pedestal as the rose glowed soft and red. The first petal was still gone and now the second fell. Slow and swaying. The Beast turned his head and sobbed once, silently, too empty to speak.

“Don’t worry,” the witch said, already turning to leave. “You’ve still got petals left, but not many.” She chuckled.

The enchanted toy withdrew with a wet kiss, slowly sliding off his twitching, drenched cock and it cleaned itself with a magical shimmer. The bed shifted but didn’t release him, he remained restrained and soaked in his own failure.

One petal gone.
Now two.
The second petal fell slowly, drifting through the air like it had weight beyond its own.

The Beast whimpered and something in him cracked. He didn’t just sob this time. He growled, low and guttural like an animal.

The witch paused at the door. “Still plenty of petals left,” she said lightly. “But each one takes something with it, doesn’t it?”

“GhhrrrnnnNNNggghhhhhhrrraaaAAAHhhhhhhnnnnnnn!” His teeth bared slightly, muscles twitched like he was about to lash out but he couldn’t move.

“You’re not quite you anymore, not quite a man, soon there’ll be nothing but cock and instinct and hunger.” She smiled softly and vanished into the hall, her laughter echoing through the chamber.

The Beast lay there, still restrained by the bed, dripping. He didn’t cry, didn’t speak, he just breathed heavily, animalistic and guttural like The Beast he was becoming and sobbed.

Chapter Text

The villagers feared the castle.

Dark woods, an endless winter and a monster who’d once been a man. They said the thing inside had claws like blades, fangs like spears and eyes that could see into your soul, so naturally, Gaston came alone.

He entered at dusk, musket slung over his shoulder and boots echoing against marble. The castle loomed overhead, eerie, elegant, rotting and open. “No locks? No guards? Don’t mind if I do.”

He stepped into the hall, muscles flexing under tight leather, hunting knife gleaming at his hip. He expected silence instead, he heard him.

“Ah…n…not again…no, d…don’t…hhhnhhh…pl…please! GgghhhrRRRRrrrhh…nnnnh…” A growl but wrong. Too breathy, rhythmically broken. He followed the sound down the corridor and past torn tapestries toward the ballroom and there, sprawled in the center of the floor, was The Beast.

He was enormous. Towering muscles and coarse fur matted with sweat. His cock was monstrous, twitching and an angry red shade, it swung obscenely between his legs, leaking uncontrollably. Chains held his limbs in check and he was humping. Desperate. Frustrated.

“RrraaaAHHH…ggghhhh…HHHhhhnnn…”

He snarled into the floor but it wasn’t rage, it was need. He thrashed once trying to chase sensation only for the chains to yank him back with a heavy clank. Something glowed faintly around the base of his cock, locked tight.

“Hrrghhh…wh…who…nnnh…who’re…”

Gaston froze. His first instinct was to aim, his second was confusion. “What the hell am I looking at!?”

The Beast growled again, nostrils flaring, he could smell someone new and his muscles tightened. He looked up, eyes blazing. “RrrHHHNNHH…wh’rr yhh…get…nnn…GGGRRRRHHHH!"

Gaston stood there, arms crossed and eyebrows raised. “This is what the village fears?”

The Beast tried to growl again but moaned mid-sound as another wave of edged pressure overtook him.

“Nnngh…no…please…don’t let me…aahhhh…I’ll lose!”

Words half garbled through heat, not slurred because he was weak but because he was changing. Less man, more instinct and completely wrecked.

Gaston took a slow step forward and the castle creaked softly, portraits shifting in their frames and the chandelier above shimmered.

The castle was watching.

The Beast lunged forward with a savage snarl only for the chains to hold him firm. His body jerked mid growl, a tremor of pleasure overtaking him, ruining any threat he meant to show.

“…d…don…nnhh…plsss…rrhhh…”

His cock jerked uselessly as he moaned, or rather growled, humping the floor.

Gaston blinked. “...Huh...”

He circled him slowly now, inspecting the trembling, overstimulated creature. Not dead, not aggressive, just ruined. “You were supposed to be a monster,” he muttered. “Instead, you’re a cautionary tale.”

He ran a finger down The Beast’s back, just to test, and the creature shuddered, cock twitching in the air.

Gaston turned toward the chandelier, toward the watching portraits. “You did this to him?” No one spoke but the shadows pulsed in acknowledgment.

The Beast looked at him, shaking, trying to find focus. “D…don’t…don’t listen to them…don’t…they’ll…they’ll ruin you…”

Gaston reached out and dragged a finger along The Beast’s cock as he trembled and humped forward barely stopped himself from coming.

“Pl…please no! N…no…nghhh…please don’t…n…not like this…”

“You poor bastard,” Gaston murmured. He stood and turned to the chandelier. “Let’s talk.”

The ballroom felt colder than before or maybe it was just the sweat drying on The Beast’s fur. He was on his knees, arms and thighs held apart, clamping down at precise angles. His cock pointed straight forward, twitching helplessly in the open air.

“P…please…please not…not in front of…” The Beast begged, still panting.

Babette, feather in hand, just smiled. “But mon cher,” she purred, “you look so beautiful when you’re ashamed.” She dragged her feather beneath his balls, making The Beast whimper, his hips shuddering as the tension in his cock built again.

Cocksworth was pulsing tight at the base, already clamping down once then twice then again and again.

“R…rghnn…don’t make me…d…don’t…nnnhh…”

He spurted another ruin as thick ropes of cum shot out in violent, twitching pulses, spattering the marble floor beneath him. He growled and whimpered at the same time, humiliated beyond reason.

Gaston stood across the ballroom, watching with arms crossed, he didn’t look disgusted to The Beast, he looked intrigued. “So this is what he’s become,” Gaston said finally. “A snarling brute who begs not to cum.”

The chandelier glimmered faintly overhead and the curtains ruffled, though there was no wind. The castle was listening. “You’ve broken him,” Gaston continued. “Impressive. But you’ve got a long way to go if you want to keep him broken.”

He began to pace slowly around the edge of the room. “What you need is someone who understands performance. Structure. Showmanship.”

He looked back toward The Beast, who was trying to steady his breathing but couldn’t stop twitching under Babette’s teasing. “Someone who can turn all this into a system, not just random torment.”

He stopped beneath a twisted, melted candelabra. “I can help you run this place. We can keep The Beast ruined, the village afraid or maybe, eventually, admiring again.”

The furniture didn’t respond in words but a velvet chaise lounge slid across the floor toward him slowly, welcoming him as the chandelier flickered in quiet approval.

“So,” Gaston said turning to the trembling creature moaning through another denied orgasm in the center of the room “Do we have a deal?”

The chair tightened slightly around The Beast’s wrists and thighs and Babette leaned in, kissed the tip of his cock mockingly. “Say yes for us, monstre,” she whispered. “You know you’re happier this way.” The Beast didn’t answer, he couldn’t. His head hung in shame as his cock still leaked.

Gaston grinned and stomped closer to the chair where The Beast still sat, restrained, thighs shaking and arms pulled taut, his cock twitched in open air, red and swollen, gleaming with ruin after ruin. “I’ve seen pathetic men,” Gaston muttered, rolling up his sleeves.

“But this…” He crouched in front of the trembling mess. “You’re something else.” The Beast tried to lift his head, his eyes were half lidded and feral, wet with tears. “Nnnh…don’t…pl…please…don’t make me cum…n…not again…”

Gaston’s brow lifted. “What, afraid it’ll kill you?” He laughed, one hand already wrapping around the base of that monstrous cock. “I’m not here to save you, creature.”

The furniture stayed silent and the chandelier dimmed slightly. Babette stepped back, flicking off a stray droplet off her feather with a smirk.

They all knew what would happen if he cums, they all watched and said nothing.

Gaston’s grip was brutal, strong grip and a ruthless pace. “Let’s see it. C’mon then.”

“Be a good monster.”
“Nn…no…nnononghHHHAAaaAA!” The Beast screamed in raw, white-hot pleasure.
“Show me what you’re made of.”

His body arched violently, muscles shaking and the chains pulling him taut. The Beast stared at Gaston wide eyed, his breathing got heavier and his mouth hung open slightly. “Nnnh…p…pet’l…no…n…nn…s…s’rry…” he slurred as his tongue lolled.

The furniture said nothing, Babette smirked, Cocksworth pulsed as the chandeliers flickered around them.

“S…s’rry…nngh…tried…tried be g…good…hhnn…” The Beast moaned again, lower and more animalistic. His fingers twitched like paws and his eyes were glassier. He tried to form words but they came out soft and broken. “No m…more…pl’s ruin…j…jus...”

Gaston raised an eyebrow at his earlier moans “Petal?” He turned to the furniture. “What petal?”

The chandelier just swayed above him as the rose glowed more prominently in the corner and The Beast began to drool, he was twitching, cock red and veiny, already having leaked out ruin after ruin onto the ballroom floor.

He sat slumped in the animated chair, wrists and thighs spread wide and his chest heaving from overstimulation as Gaston stood before him, jacket tossed aside and his sleeves rolled up.

“Never seen a cock do that before,” he muttered, grabbing onto the cock harder. “Ruin after ruin and you’re still hard.” He slowed his strokes and as his calloused hand went to The Beast’s ruined cockhead. “You’re disgusting.”

The Beast whimpered. “N…not again,” he rasped. “D…don’t…don’t fall…please…” His eyes locked onto the rose tucked into the corner of the room still glowing under its glass.

But he didn’t say why, he couldn’t, the magic didn’t let him. “Please…don’t make me cum.”
Gaston blinked. “Don’t make you cum?” A slow arrogant grin curled across his lips. “Why, beast…is there a consequence?”
The Beast swallowed thickly, tongue dry. “P…promise I’ll behave. I…I’ll let you…do…do anything…just…p..please…”

He was trembling from the aching tight pressure in his balls. “R…ruin it….p…please ruin it…don’t…don’t make it…”

Gaston’s voice dropped, amused. He reached his other hand down The Beast’s spread thighs, passing by his enormous twitching thighs. “You’re a monster in heat.” He dragged two fingers through the cum pooling under The Beast’s balls still warm from his last ruin. “And I’m going to finish you.”

“No…nngh…please…don’t…don’t…RUIN IT! PLEASE!”

Gaston wrapped his other hand around that gigantic cock, already slick with cum between his palm and the shaft. He jerked with purpose, tight strokes and perfect rhythm. No mercy.

“Rrrgh…n…no…stop…please…can’t…don’t!” The Beast thrashed but the chair didn’t move. His balls swelled and his thighs twitched.
Too late.
“S’too much…gonnghHHhhna…g…gonna cum…no…nonnnnNGGHHAA!”

The Beast screamed a sound somewhere between a howl and a sob as his cock exploded.
Shot after shot.

Endless hot ropes of cum spattered across his abs, his thighs, Gaston’s boots, the floor, the chair, the chandelier above. His back arched violently and his whole body jerked like it had been shocked as his jaw dropped open.

Gaston backed away slightly, impressed. “Well,” he muttered, wiping his hands on his pants. “Guess I hit the spot.”

The Beast didn’t answer, just panted and twitched, eyes glassy and moist with tears. His voice came back after a long moment “n…no…” just as the third petal fell. “No n…no no nonono…” he slurred, eyes locking onto the glowing rose.

Gaston turned. “The fuck is that?”

The chandelier flickered ominously as he noticed the portraits moving, staring harder.

The Beast’s jaw hung loose, saliva slipping from his lip. “You…you made me…I begged…”

He whined. “Didn’t… n…now I’m…” A low, guttural, shameful sound.

Babette gave a low chuckle from the shadows. “What a good little beast,” she said, stroking the feather down his thigh. “So obedient…even when it breaks you.”

Gaston stood there, grinning darkly, in the cum drenched ballroom staring at the rose realizing there were rules here that no one told him.

Chapter Text

The old west wing was thick with dust and silence. Velvet drapes half eaten by moths, a broken piano and there, hung askew on a crumbling stone wall was his family crest. Gilded gold and blood red enamel, the emblem of a once proud line.

“What’s this then?” Gaston muttered, brushing the dust away with the back of his glove. The gold still gleamed underneath. A roaring lion with a crown and an inscription nearly faded: Fortis, Nobilis, Regnum.

He grinned.“So it’s true, you were royalty once.”

Behind him, The Beast groaned through a muzzle, restrained by four enchanted chains, arms and legs splayed against the cracked marble floor.

“Nnngh…d…don’t…pl’s…n…not that…” he whimpered, voice slurring with panic.

Gaston lit the torch. “What better way to break a king,” he said, stepping forward with the flame, “than to burn his name down?”

The crest ignited as the flames licked across the gold, slow at first then hungrily consuming the velvet banner beneath it. The Beast screamed into the muzzle, thrashing. “Nnnghh…NO…d…don’t! N…not that, please..G…Gaston…rrrnhh…s..st…STOP!!”

“Oh, stop whining.” The fire roared higher and Gaston turned. “You want to save it?”

He reached down and gripped The Beast’s cock, leaking and somehow still heavy, pulsing from endless ruin training.

“Then cum, beast.”

“Put it out.” Cocksworth clenched as he let go and The Beast moaned. His hips jerked forward involuntarily trying to hump the air. Cocksworth pulsed once again, tightening just enough to make him ache.

“What’s wrong?” Gaston chuckled. “Not fast enough? Need help?” He knelt beside him again stroking with firm rough hands, not edging this time, encouraging.

“C’mon now. Be a good beast.”
“Gnnnhhh…n…no” The Beast sobbed through the muzzle.
“Shoot those gallons of monster cum all over your legacy.”

He didn’t want to but his cock was already twitching. “No…p…please…don’t…don’t burn…”

Gaston angled The Beast’s cock toward the burning crest as it twitched.

“Ffffuuuuhhhckkkk…rrrhhhhhAAAAAAHHhhh!” The Beast groaned as massive ropes of cum exploded from the tip as Gaston jerked his hand sideways at the last second and the load missed.

Splat.
All over the stones.
“Oops.”
SLAP.
“Try again.”

The Beast jerked in his chains, roaring as Gaston’s palm smacked the underside of his twitching shaft. “That shot missed too,” Gaston sneered. “You’d think a monster like you could aim better.”

The crest burned brighter as the embers crackled, velvet edges curled into ash. The Beast was drooling and twitching, all brute muscle and pathetic overruined whimpers as Gaston gripped his cock again. “One more try.”

He angled it up as The Beast strained, snarling and sobbing. “Nnnhh…g…gonna…try…please…j…just one!”

The cock twitched again then erupted as thick ropes of cum launched into the air and Gaston jerked the shaft sideways and slapped the tip twice, fast and cruel.

The cum went wild splashing uselessly on the floor. “Tsk. All that build up and still not enough.”

“N…no…NO…rrrghhh…c…can’t take…nngh…let me aim…let me…aaaahhhimmmmhhh…” The Beast screamed in overstimulation, his thighs flexing wildly against the magical restraints but Gaston just laughed. “You think I care if it goes out?”

He slapped the cock again, this time across the slit and The Beast howled, his back arching from the raw sensation.

“I’m just here to watch you fail.”
SLAP.
“Again.”
SLAP.

“Come on, monster. Show me what a disgrace you really are.”

The Beast tried, he really did. He tried so hard. Muscles shaking. Cock twitching. “J…j-just…nnrrhhhhh…one…one…prohhhpperrr…nnnnghhhrrhh…pleeasssse…l…let…meeee”

SLAP.

Another ruin. Another miss.

By now his cock was red and raw, abused at the tip, slapped cruelly with every denied success. “That crest’s almost gone,” Gaston said, arms crossed. “Better make the next one count.” But he wouldn’t let it because this was never about saving anything, it was about breaking The Beast’s last shred of purpose.

The last gold edge of the family crest crumbled as ash fluttered to the marble floor and The Beast was trembling, cock purple and slick, strapped down and howling as Gaston crouched beside him again. “Well. That’s it.”

He gestured to the ruined pile of scorched velvet, melted enamel, and fresh puddles of cum around it. “Your family’s honor, your name, your crown…”

“Gone.”

“C…could’ve sahhhv’d it…j…jhhhrhhhst…needed one…p…promise I could’ve…y…you didnnnhhh let…mmeeerrhhhhh…you…nnnnnrrhhhhh…” The Beast moaned, voice low and ragged.

Gaston grabbed his cock hard. “Still blaming me?” He jerked it once, hard enough to make The Beast’s entire body flinch. Then again. “You had your chance.”

“Now?” He stood. “Now you’re going to finish this.”

The enchanted restraints shifted. The chair holding The Beast tilted forward, angling his hips toward the smoking pile of ash. Chains pulled at his arms, guiding him down as his cock head hovered over the blackened remnants, dripping ruin wet.

“Hump it,” Gaston ordered. “That’s your kingdom now.”
“P…pleasshh…d…don’t…nnhhh…not…like thhhsshh…” The Beast whimpered.
SLAP.
Right to the tip.
“Hump it!”

He obeyed with slow, jerky thrusts as ash and soot stuck to his cockhead gasping through each ruined hump.

“Faster.”
He thrust harder.
“You’re gonna cum on it.”
Harder.
“On your failure.”

Cockhead raw, ash clinging to the shaft, smearing the crest’s remains in sticky ruined shame.

“G…g…gonnnnhhh…n…nhh…n…nohh…d…don’t…plhhzzh…rrruinnnhhh it…plhhzzh…nnhhh…don’t l…let thhh petaaahhlhh…”

SLAP.
SLAP.
SLAP.

He was made to cum yet again and it was monstrous. The load shot straight into the ashes, splashing black with white. He howled and cried, bucking wildly, body twitching with overstimulated agony as the crest disappeared completely beneath a final massive ruin and The Beast collapsed in it as the restraints went slack.

He panted against the floor, cock still leaking, balls still heavy. Ash clung to his face and his tongue lolled. He moaned, low and broken.

“You’re not a prince anymore.” Gaston crouched again, running a finger through the cum slick ashes and he smeared it across The Beast’s furred chest.

“You’re just a dumb, leaky animal.”

Chapter Text

The ballroom had been cleared. No more shattered furniture, no more ash from the crest, just a single polished floor and a training circle of candles.

The Beast hunched in the center, arms shackled behind his back, kneeling, cock already hard and desperate as always thanks to the curse and cocksworth.

“We’re going to start over,” Gaston said, pacing slowly behind him. “You’re not royalty. You’re a pet.”
“Nnnhh…c…can be…g…good…pl’se…j…just tell me h…how…” The Beast’s claws twitched against the stone.
“That’s the spirit,” Gaston smirked. “Let’s begin.”

“Command one: Present.” He snapped his fingers and the restraints reconfigured, lifting The Beast to all fours back arched and ass high, cock swinging low and leaking. “You will hold this position any time you’re told. Back arched. Head down. Cock ready.”

The Beast groaned. The posture exposed everything and somehow made him even harder. Gaston circled him slowly, inspecting every twitch. “Good.”
“Command two: Beg.” He snapped his fingers again.

A feather duster floated down, Babette no doubt, and lightly flicked across The Beast’s cockhead.

“Nnnhh…p…please…need it…n…need...ruin…pl’se let me…”
“That’s a good pet…” Gaston smirked. He circled again. “Command three: Hump.”

“H…hump?” The Beast whimpered.
“That’s right. Show me.”

He started slow. Controlled. Trying to be obedient, to please. Gaston watched, arms crossed and cock twitching in his trousers. “The prince of the castle, reduced to this…”

“A drooling beast humping the floor like a dog.”

The Beast whined as his hips stuttered. “Rrrh…s…sorry…t-tryin’…jhhhst…wanna…wanna do g…good…” But Gaston wasn’t done. He held up a gold plated clicker that clearly gleamed with magic. He clicked it once. “New command. When you hear this?”

“You stop everything. Immediately.”

The Beast flinched and the humping halted, his poor cock throbbed in mid air, denied again.

“Perfect,” Gaston said, voice low. “Tomorrow we start ruin drills.” He snapped once more as the restraints released and The Beast collapsed. “You’ll beg to be ruined by the time I’m done with you.”

“And you’ll thank me for it.”

The training floor was dim now, candles forming a glowing ring as The Beast was in ‘Present’ posture, cock fully erect, panting. Gaston walked slowly in circles with a small riding crop in his hand and the enchanted clicker in his other “Now we train for ruin control.”

He stopped in front of The Beast, gaze sharp. “You’ll edge to my count. No more, no less.”

“Y…yes, Sir…nngh…t…trying…” The Beast whined as Gaston tapped the cock with the crop, a light snap right on the tip as The Beast yelped into the floor.

Cocksworth gleamed, tight and golden, clamped right around the base of that thick monstrous cock as Gaston raised the clicker. “If you disobey…he’ll handle it.”

“N…no…n…not him…h…he makes me…nnnghh…r…ruin too fast…can’t think…” The Beast whimpered but Gaston only smiled. “That’s the point Beast…”

“On my count, you grind.” He stepped back. “Ten thrusts per set. If you stop early…Cocksworth ruins you.”

“Set one. Go.”
The floor beneath The Beast hummed again, slick and pulsing with gentle magic as he began to thrust.
One. Two. Three…

“Good beast.”

But his pace faltered, hips trembling. “7…nnnhh…8…s…sorry…n…no, I can…”

He collapsed forward, twitching. “9…10!”
Click.
“Rrrhgghhhhhh…Nnnhh…nnNOOOHHhhrrhhh!”

Cocksworth locked tight as The Beast screamed as his cock was forced into a ruin without warning as cum spurted across the floor, completely out of sync, his brain whiting out from the overload.

“Bad timing,” Gaston said coldly. “Again.”

The Beast was a wreck but still obeyed. Again and again. Each time he hesitated, Cocksworth activated, clamping and pulsing and forcing ruin after ruin until The Beast was gasping and sobbing.

By the fourth set, he was crying. “C…counting…1…2…pl’se…d…don’t clamp…3…m…making it…4…5…nnhhh!”

He made it to 10 and Cocksworth didn’t activate. The Beast collapsed, trembling but smiling weakly through tears as Gaston crouched beside him. “Good.”

“You learn fast when your cock’s on the line.”

Over time the ballroom had changed again. Tapestries redraped and candles polished, all along the walls hung Portraits. Hundreds of Lords and ladies. Ancestors. Old guests. Former lovers. All of them watching.

In the center, The Beast was restrained upright but not gagged. His mouth was free because Gaston wanted to hear everything. “Today,” he said, arms crossed behind his back, “we test obedience before witnesses.”

A chair adjusted The Beast’s posture. Back straight and knees wide, cock already hard, Cocksworth gleaming cruelly. His chest heaved as the room stared and Gaston raised his voice. “Present.”

The Beast dropped to all fours, ass raised and cock swaying, drooling ruin onto the marble floor as the portraits snickered, some whispered others openly laughed.

“Beg.”

“Pl’se…pl’se…n…need it…need ruin…p…promise I’ll b…be good…”

Cocksworth pulsed faintly, not punishing, just reminding.

Gaston stepped closer. “Hump.” The Beast began to thrust, grinding against the warm magical tile beneath him, measured and obedient. “Ten strokes.”

“Count. Out. Loud.” He said, impatience lacing his voice already as he gave a sharp smack to The Beast's balls.

“O…one! Two…nnngh…three…four!”
The portraits chuckled as one elderly woman painted in lace and pearls leaned toward her neighbor. “That used to be a prince.”

“Six! Seven…e…eight…”
His hips faltered briefly at their laughter.

“Nine…ten!” He panted.
Gaston nodded. He circled again. “Edge.” He tapped the shaft once with a gloved finger. “One hump. Then hold.”

The Beast obeyed, thrust once then held still, as much as his body may tremble or his cock may twitch.

“Hold.”
“Hold.”
“Hold.”
Click.
Cocksworth gave a warning pulse as The Beast whimpered.
“S…s…still holding…p…pl’se…”

“Now! Ruin!”

The Beast jerked his hips forward, cock exploding across the tile in a perfect ruin with no stimulation, just a messy pathetic release. He didn’t roar, didn’t growl. He moaned and the room went quiet, even the portraits were stunned. The Beast lifted his head slowly, eyes glassy and mouth slack, cum dripping from his chin as he whispered. “Th…thank you…master…”

Chapter Text

The cobbled streets of the village square hadn’t seen the castle’s master in years.

Vendors stopped mid sale, a dog barked and ran off, because down the road pulled by glowing chains and flanked by enchanted torchlight came The Beast. Muzzled, collared, leashed and restrained. His massive furred form was crouched in a magical rolling display cart rigged like a cage on wheels as his limbs were spread wide, held in place by glowing restraints. A chain leash ran from his thick throat to a golden handle in Gaston’s grip.

The crowd gasped at his cock. Obscenely exposed and throbbing, held in place by the gleaming clamp of Cocksworth, ever present. He was huge. Monstrous. Muscled and panting, eyes dazed behind the heavy leather muzzle. A royal beast now paraded like a trophy or a pet.

“Good people of Villeneuve!” Gaston strutted ahead of the cart, arms wide.“You’ve heard tales of the monster in the castle, haven’t you?” The crowd murmured. Faces stiffened. “Prepare to witness the taming of The Beast!”.”

A low growl came from the cart as The Beast strained, tugging at the chains, humiliated as Gaston yanked the leash.

“Present.”

The restraints adjusted, magically shifting The Beast’s body forward, his ass lifted and hips rolled, his gigantic cock pulsed helplessly in the air, twitching in public.

Gasps again.
Then laughter.
The baker’s wife spoke up. “That…used to be a Prince?”

“Fear not, he’s been trained.” Gaston grinned and circled behind him, gesturing toward The Beast’s drooling cock. “To obey. To beg. To leak on command.”

“And if he disobeys…” He pressed the golden clicker and Cocksworth pulsed.

“rrrRRRGhhhHHhh! F-fuuhhhkkk…NNNNggghhhhhaaaaAAAAHH!” The Beast roared violently, back arching as his cock twitched and exploded in a massive raw ruin as thick ropes of cum splattering across the floor of the cart.

The crowd screamed, some turned away, others laughed louder. The Beast whined into the muzzle, eyes glazed and misty, still hard.

“See? Completely controlled.” Gaston said proudly. “But there’s more.”

“This beast once ruled over this land with arrogance and cruelty.” He turned to the villagers. “He turned away when asked for help, sneered at the poor and shamed anyone beneath him. So now…The Beast serves you...”

Whispers spread. A young man elbowed his friend. “Is he serious?”

“He’s gonna let us…play with it?”

Gaston smirked. “Step forward if you wish to try a command.” The Beast let out a panicked moan through the muzzle. He knew what was coming.

It began with just one. A man, cocky but wide eyed, stepped forward with a crooked grin. “M…may I try?”

“By all means.” Gaston grinned. “Say the command clearly,” Gaston instructed, “and he’ll obey.” The man laughed nervously then turned to The Beast. “Uhh…okay…present?”

The Beast’s restraints activated immediately and his limbs tensed by reflex. His back arched and his muzzle pressed to the floor, his cock swaying low and leaking ruin.

Laughter rang out as more villagers stepped forward.

“Beg!”
“Hump!”
“Whimper!”

They shouted the commands with giddy glee watching the once proud Prince twitch and obey each command with instinctual degrading precision. Each hump made his cock throb harder. Each moan from behind the muzzle was more desperate. In his moments of weakness, when he hesitated Cocksworth activated as a violent pulse shot through the enchanted ring.

“NOOOHHhhrrhhh…rrrhgghhhhHH!” The Beast collapsed, shaking through a forced ruin so intense that cum splashed against the front of the cart and pooled at his knees.

The villagers cheered.

One of the town’s seamstresses cupped a hand to her mouth in mock sympathy. “Oh dear. Did the little prince make a mess?” Gaston raised a hand. “You’ll notice…monters stay hard...”

Gasps.

Indeed, The Beast’s cock hadn’t softened at all. In fact, it pulsed even harder precum dripping freely again from the sensitive slit.

A villager poked forward. “Do I just say it again?”
“Go ahead.” Gaston smirked. “Command him to ruin.”
“O…okay. Ruin!”

Click. Pulse. Another explosion.

“Ccchhhannn’t…rrrRRRGhhhHHhh…taahhhkkkeee…” The Beast howled through the muzzle and his body jerking violently as another massive ruin tore through him, puddling beneath the cart.

He twitched, gasping for air and still leaking, cock angry and purple as Gaston turned to the crowd. “Anyone who wants to participate… line up.”

The villagers surged forward. Farm boys. Tailors. Old widows. A smithy’s apprentice. All grinning. The Beast couldn’t look at them, couldn’t speak, he could only pant and moan and obey. By now, the crowd had swelled, giddy with power and in front of them, bound and restrained in the cart, The Beast was nothing but a ruined display.

Muzzled. Collared. Sobbing through yet another ruin, cum puddling beneath him in thick, steaming ropes forced out of him on a whim.

“Let’s keep it moving,” Gaston barked. “One command each. Let’s see how well he follows.”
The line began moving.
“Present.”

The restraints yanked him back into perfect position, shoulders down and hips up, his muzzled face pressed to the wooden floor as Gaston pressed his boot to The Beast's furred face.

“Hump.”
He thrust pathetically against nothing, cock swinging, smearing against his own mess.

“Moan.”
“Nnnnghhrrhh…dnnnhhh…P…plhhsshh…nnnhhh…d…don…nnhhh…” Through the muzzle, he sobbed.

“Ruin!”
Cocksworth pulsed as another ruin exploded from him, splashing wildly thick and endless as if he’d never be empty.

The crowd cheered as another stepped forward, an older woman with a crooked smile.

“Beg.”
“P…pl’se…pl’se…don’t…pl’se…nnnhhh…n…nohh…” The Beast whimpered, eyes half lidded and blurred with tears.

“Ruin...”
Click.
Pulse.
Another ruin.

“RRRRAAAAUUUGHHhhhhnnnnnnnnnnggghhhh! Hhhhhrrrhhhhh…nnnnhhhh…hhuhhHH!” He screamed through his muzzle, quivering in his restraints.

“This is how you tame a monster.” Gaston stood tall above the display, arms folded like a king as his boot pressed the crying monster's face cruelly into the floor.

“With obedience.”
“With shame.”
“With ruin.”

The Beast’s tail twitched, his knees buckled and yet he stayed hard. Aching and on display.

“How many’s that?” a villager asked. Gaston smirked. “Who’s counting?” Commands blurred together.

“Present.”
“Hump.”
“Stop.”
“Moan.”

“Ruin.”

“Hold!”
“Leak.”
“Rise.”

“Ruin again!”

Each one obeyed. Each ruin louder, more desperate. By the end the cart was sloshing with his own seed and The Beast’s eyes rolled back, barely conscious and dazed, drooling into the muzzle.

A public pet. Broken. Owned. Displayed. Gaston walked around the crowd basking in their frenzy, he reached down and cupped The Beast’s chin, forcing him to look up. “Say it.”

“Th…thank y…yuhhhnnhh…” The Beast trembled. “F…f…for r…” he faltered, breath ragged and slow “hhhnnnnhhh…m…master…” he barely got out before he completely collapsed to the floor as the crowd erupted in cheers and Gaston smirked, planting one boot back onto the now unconscious Beast’s head.

Chapter Text

The platform groaned under The Beast’s weight.

He was massive, restrained by thick enchanted stocks with his knees forced apart, arms locked overhead and tail bound tightly to the wood. Every time he shifted his cock swung heavily, twitching helplessly. The enchanted rose hung in the air, glowing, around The Beast’s furred chest.

No muzzle tonight. His moans were part of the show.

Gaston paced before the crowd. He turned and gestured dramatically toward The Beast.

“He’s learned to beg.”
“He’s learned to hump.”
“He’s learned to ruin. Again. And again.”

Laughter rose from the villagers, some of them already held enchanted straps, rings or brushes made from transformed castle goods.

Gaston nodded. “Tonight…we see how far gone he really is.”

He reached forward and ran a finger along the rose’s stem then flicked The Beast’s cock, watching it twitch violently.

“Nnnhhh…n…nooo…d…don’t…plhhzz…” The Beast groaned, chest heaving.

“No petals drop tonight. Not unless he fails.”
“So ruin him.”
“Test him.”
“Show him what it means to be tamed.”

The first villager stepped forward. A butcher’s apprentice with thick arms and a shy smile.

“Uh… Present.”

The restraints pulled The Beast forward as more followed. Commands barked and stimulation added, each time he bucked Cocksworth flared expertly ruining him just before release.

He grunted. Moaned. Tried to speak. Tried to thank them or beg them to stop. His cock was bright red, aching but hard even after a dozen ruins were forced out of him.

The rose bounced with every thrust.

“Don’t you dare cum,” one villager hissed. “You’ll lose a petal.”
“You wanna lose that mind of yours, beast?”
“Want to go full animal?”

“N…nnnhhh…noohhh…” The Beast shook his head violently “r…ruin me…p…pl’se…d…don’t…the p…petaahh…n…nooo…nnnhhh…””

For hours, they edged him. Mocked him. Mounted him with enchanted furniture pieces or had him hump air, hump stocks, hump his own mess and still, he obeyed.

The sky was deepening to twilight but The Beast's torment showed no signs of stopping. His restraints gleamed, reacting to each villager’s command. His body jolted and twitched, drooling fresh ruin after ruin but never finding peace and now the moans had shifted.

Low, deep. Animalistic. “Rrr'aaaa! HNNNGH! RUUuuhn mehhh…”

A half snarl tore from his chest, his voice was starting to slur, brain foggy with overstimulation and barely forming words.

Another villager approached, a stable hand this time. “Say it for me, Beast.”

“P…pl’se…r…rr'...rruhhhn meee…” The creature cried and Cocksworth activated.

A ruthless pulse of magic at the base of his cock.

“RrRAAAHH!” He roared raw and ragged. Another ruin. Another violent gush shot forward, splattering across the stocks and his legs as he convulsed in the rattling restraints.

Gasps and laughter.

“He's still got some beast left in him.” Villagers stepped back, startled, but Gaston simply grinned. “Let’s drain it.” They kept going.

“So needy, prince.” Babette hovered nearby with enchanted brushes, teasing his inner thighs, his heavy balls that were no doubt already overfilled again despite a dozen releases. “Still trying to hold it together?” She whispered. “Still afraid of one real release?”

“Ghhhnnnnhhh…” The Beast groaned. Eyes wet and chest heaving, his tail trembled in its bindings.

The rose swayed. A petal looked dangerously loose.

“Should I try to pop it off?” One villager, Gaston’s own cousin, stepped forward with a mocking smile and pointed to it. “Maybe if I suck the cum off it real slow…”

“n…nhh…n…nohh…n…nuhhhnn…” The Beast cried again struggling in the bonds. His thighs shook as he collapsed against the stocks, chest sliding through the puddle of his own seed.

He gasped as the rose trembled in front of him but no petal fell.

Not yet.

The air had turned fevered.

Hot. Humid. Sticky with the stench of cum and sweat.

The villagers, flushed and panting themselves now, had begun to chant.

“Ruin.”
“Ruin.”
“Ruin!”
“RUIN!”

Each time the word rang out, a command pulsed and The Beast had to obey.

“P…puhh…pl’se!” His body bucked and muscles trembled, cock launching ropes of his ruined orgasm into the air, across the boots of those gathered near the stocks.

“R…ruinnhhh…r…RARHHhh…” He was mindless, his voice breaking.

A petal fluttered slightly but held. “h…hurhhts…c…can’t…d…don’t lehh mehnnghhh…don’t…d…don’t…”

“You should be thanking us, Beast.” Babette brushed his cheek with a feather soaked in his own seed. “You’d be mindless already without us keeping you at the edge.”

Another ruin.

He collapsed forward and his tongue lolled out. He was growling between sharp feral whimpers but he still held back, that’s when Gaston stepped forward again.

He didn’t speak at first. He just gripped The Beast’s cock tight in his fist as the crowd gasped and The Beast screamed.

“RRRRRRAAAAAAAAA!”

“You want it?” Gaston said calmly as The Beast’s body arched, tail thrashing, legs kicking. His balls looked swollen, cock twitched violently in Gaston’s grip. “You want to feel that last petal drop?”

“N…nnnhhh…nohh…n…nnnggh…” The Beast whimpered, throat too hoarse to speak anymore. He just shook his head, eyes wide, leaking tears and precum.

Gaston let go as Cocksworth pulsed and clenched so hard on the monster’s base his body seized up violently..

“HhhhhrrrhhhHH! Nnnnnhhhhhhuhhhhhh!” The Beast screamed again, sobbing as he collapsed in the stocks, face pressed to the wood and his body trembled like a broken ox.

“Tomorrow.” Gaston stood before the crowds and raised his hand. “The final petal drops. Tomorrow…we slay The Beast.”

The crowd cheered as The Beast just lay therein his tears and cum. Ruined and muzzled by his own exhaustion.