✧ 66 | Dress-up Game ✧
Ilya trembled beneath Beast's watchful eyes. His legs felt like jelly; they could barely hold him when Beast landed that sentence on him:
"I'll dress you."
Beast's smile radiated twisted energy. His teeth showed traces of tuna meat between them. And those yellow eyes had that evil glint in them. His mouth drooled, a direct cause of the lustful thoughts of seeing the boy in the scandalous maid uniform, let alone dressing and touching him himself.
Beast had watched his fair amount of porn to invent his own dirty scenarios. Ones he couldn't wait to play, along with Elliot, the cute little maid.
Beast took one step forward when Ilya raised his palm to stop him from getting any closer.
"Wait!" he blurted. "I can dress myself."
"It's too late for that, kid." Beast shook his head. "I'm getting dirty thoughts already."
Ilya felt lightheaded at that revelation. He clung to the sink, afraid his knees would buckle beneath him. It was all too much for him to process.
Then the realization hit him: Beast loved Ned, just as Billy did.
That truth had once worked in his favor whenever charming and polite Billy was around. But with Beast, it meant something entirely different—it was a recipe for disaster!
Without giving Ilya another second to react, Beast seized his uninjured arm and yanked him hard against his chest. The force knocked the breath from Ilya's lungs, trapping him against the monster's broad frame before he could even think to struggle.
Then Beast began dressing him. First, he pulled the blouse over Ilya's head, then slipped his arms through the sleeves while Ilya thrashed and kicked, desperately trying to break free from his grip.
"Ow! Stop it!"
Ilya cried out as Beast grabbed his broken wrist and forced it through the sleeve.
"Stop! You're hurting me!"
Beast paid no attention to his pleas. Instead, he cheerfully whistled a tune, as if he were nothing more than a little girl dressing up her favorite doll.
Ilya winced, every movement sending another stab of pain through his wrist. But the dress-up game wasn't over.
Not even close.
His stomach twisted as Beast reached for the rest of the outfit. The realization settled over him like ice. Beast wasn't going to stop until the game was finished. Ilya dreaded what was coming next—the dress. And in order to wear that, Ilya must lose his pants.
"No..."
The word barely escaped his lips.
Beast didn't shy away from pulling Ilya's sweatpants down.
Ilya fell on his butt with a groan. His pants slid past his thighs and down to his ankles, until Beast waved them in the air as a triumph.
"Yee, haa!" Beast hollered then tossed the pants. "Now it's a party."
He stared at the half-naked boy shamelessly. He parted his lips and slowly ran a long tongue across them. He became more touchy, more grabby, giving poor Ilya a jolt of dread and disgust.
"Stop touching me!"
Ilya pushed Beast's hands away from him.
"Hold still. I need to get you in this dress."
Ilya scrambled backward, pushing himself across the floor with one hand and his heels. His injured wrist screamed every time it brushed against the ground, but he kept moving.
Everything went downhill from there.
Beast caught Ilya by the ankles before he could crawl away and dragged him across the floor until he was under him. He breathed on his exposed creamy skin all the way up to his neck, just sniffing that fresh scent of fear, and savoring the sweet wave of pheromones in that scattered black hair.
The situation escalated quickly.
Beast found himself aroused, with his bulge pressing against the boy's crotch.
But his sexual hunger had to wait—he had a game to play.
Panic crashed through Ilya. He glanced at Beast's erection, then looked up at his dark eyes.
"Get away from me!"
He punched with his free hand and twisted, but Beast didn't even seem to notice; he simply leaned closer, studying him with unnerving fascination.
"You're a feisty little human, aren't you?"
Fear was intoxicating to Beast. Every terrified glance filled him with a rush of euphoria. He enjoyed playing dress-up with this frightened boy, but playtime was over.
Without a hint of remorse, Beast seized Ilya's uninjured arm and growled, "Hold still, or I'll break this one too."
Ilya yelped as Beast's grip tightened. He could feel his bones shifting inside. He looked up into those yellow eyes and found himself staring at a smile that made his blood run cold.
This is real, Ilya feared. He's going to break my other arm.
Ilya's heart hammered so violently he thought it might burst from his chest.
To Beast, he wasn't a person.
He was just another toy.
With that single threat, every ounce of resistance drained from Ilya's body.
Ilya stood frozen as Beast finished dressing him in the last piece of the maid's uniform.
Every second felt like another layer of his dignity being stripped away.
Shame burned beneath his skin, and he couldn't bring himself to look down at what he was wearing.
He could still feel Beast's eyes on him.
Not a glance.
A stare.
He was practically drooling over him.
Ilya's stomach churned, and he wrapped his arms around himself as much as his injured wrist allowed, desperate to make himself smaller. A soft blush spread across his cheeks. Tears welled in his eyes, turning the green and gold of his irises into a shimmering sea.
Then he blinked.
The sea became a river, spilling over his thick lashes and carving glistening trails down his cheeks.
Beast stepped back and admired his work. A broad grin slowly spread across his face, and his eyes lit up with childlike delight.
Beast whistled.
"You look nice," he said, dragging out the last word.
Without warning, Beast strode toward him.
Ilya flattened himself against the wall, his pulse surging as the towering man closed the distance. There was nowhere left to retreat. Nowhere left to run.
Beast bent down, reaching for something between Ilya's legs.
A violent shiver ran through Ilya.
He wanted to shout 'Back off!' but something caught in his throat. A scream. A sob. But he held them in. He refused to let Beast hear either.
Instead, he drew a slow, unsteady breath and forced himself to stand as tall as he could.
To Ilya's surprise, Beast simply reached for a bucket of cleaning supplies.
"Take this." Beast handed the bucket to the boy. "I'm going out, hunting for dinner. I want this place spotless when I come back. Understood?"
Ilya let out a sigh of relief, then nodded.
But Beast wasn't satisfied with that answer. He leaned to meet Ilya's face.
"You're my maid now. You answer me by saying: Yes, sir."
Ilya lowered his head and replied, "Yes, sir."
"Good. Now, gimme a twirl."
Ilya blinked his eyes at that weird demand. He took a moment to think it through before he remembered that Beast would always get what he wanted.
He had to twirl.
His whole face was red now. He wanted to cry, but his sobs were burning in his chest, refusing to come out. His teary eyes raced his outfit. He looked like a ladyboy with lean arms and skin as white as cream. This was a new low to him, to be in a girl's dress, a maid in Beast's den.
He finally made the twirl.
The dress swayed nicely against his smooth thighs, exposing a patchwork of scratches and bruises that stained his pale legs in colors of a rainbow, as though a deranged artist had used his body as a canvas.
Beast was proud of his art. Once the kid finished the twirl, he slapped his butt, getting a yelp out of him, then directed him towards the room.
"Now, start cleaning."