Handsome and the Beast: An Adult Gender Swapped Fairy Tale E-Book

AJ Tipton

• Herausgeber: AJ Tipton
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

Love is the most powerful magic. 

In a magical kingdom far away, there lived cursed princes, warrior women, and mighty magic. Handsome and the Beast is a risqué gender swapped retelling of Beauty and the Beast where the heroes have become heroines, the heroines have become heroes, and nothing is as it seems. 

After beautiful Lady Sophie was cursed by an evil wizard, she became desperate to return to a normal life. But normal is hard to come by for a lady who constantly transforms into a hairy, fanged beast. Heartbroken by countless failures to break the curse, she despairs of finding a lover who can look beyond her beastly appearance and grant her true love's kiss. When the town drunk, stumbles into Sophie's life and offers her son as payment for her trespasses, Sophie can’t help but try one last time. 

The handsome Quinn has his own problems. After years of abuse at the hands of his mother, he is suddenly sold to a strange woman living in an isolated castle. His new home is as opulent as it is mysterious, and he soon finds himself in a world scarred by magic. Will Quinn pull off a daring escape from his imprisonment? Or will his feelings for Sophie become the key to his true freedom? 

This gender swapped fairy tale for adults features sexy FFM threesomes, beastly makeovers, and a tale that’s older than time. 

This STANDALONE novella is part of the "Sexy Gender Swapped Fairy Tale" series which can be read in any order. There are no cliffhangers, and each short ends as it should: happily ever after.

Leseprobe

Handsome and the Beast

An Adult Gender Swapped Fairy Tale

AJ Tipton

Illustrated byLydiaChai

Copyright © AJ Tipton 2015 The right of AJ Tipton to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 (or other similar law, depending on your country). All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the author, except in cases of brief quotations embodied in reviews or articles. It may not be edited, amended, lent, resold, hired out, distributed or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s written permission. Permission can be obtained from [email protected]

This book is for sale to adult audiences only. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers.

This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places and incidents appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is purely coincidental.

All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.

Cover art photos provided by BigStock.com, Morgue Files, Flickr.com, and Upsplash.com.

Created with Vellum

A rain-soaked figure kicked its way through the door, sending a spray of splinters and water across the newly-mopped floorboards.

“Welcome home, Mom,” Quinn said, not glancing up as he prepared a rabbit for dinner. He resisted the urge to sigh despondently at the now-dirty floor he’d have to wash again. Mother’s already riled up; there’s no need to set off her temper by complaining.

The home he shared with his mother was modest: only one main room that served as kitchen, living room and foyer with a small bedroom off the side. Quinn was proud he was able to keep it spotless, despite his mother’s constant efforts to be as abusive and inconsiderate as possible.

Quinn’s mother, Beatrice, was not to be trifled with. She was short and advanced in years, but had a mean streak and a way with a belt that had served her well as a widow with two children. She also had a history of selling off her kids when her bill at the pub went too high. Quinn barely remembered his sister, only a vague memory of angry, raised voices from the other room. But the day fifteen years ago when his mother left with his sister and came back with four goats and a victorious smile was always branded on his memory. He got a postcard from his sister every year or so, telling him she was all right, but she never answered Quinn’s pleas to take him in. After a few years, he stopped asking and instead concentrated on making himself so invaluable that his mother could never afford to sell him.

“Quinn, get that supper finished!” Beatrice growled through yellow teeth. She dropped her muddy shawl to the floor in a heap. “Listen while you cook. I’ve got some good news for you.” She turned her head to the side, wringing out her long grey hair. The puddle forming at her feet was muddy with a greasy sheen.

Shit. Quinn’s blood ran cold. The last time his mother used the phrase ‘good news’ was when he lost his sister. I can only hope she got at least six goats for me.

“Your old mother has come across an opportunity for you, my boy. I was having a lovely walk in the woods when that terrible storm struck.”

Quinn tried to keep his face neutral. Beatrice was a notoriously-frequent customer of the town pub. Her ‘walks in the woods’ weren’t so much a bit of fresh air and exercise as a misdirected drunken stumble and everybody knew it. Quinn knew correcting the point would only enrage her.

“I found an abandoned castle and took shelter until the worst of the storm passed.” She looked at the mud, the puddle, and the soaked cloak in the entryway and pointed with a gnarled finger. “Clean this up!”

Quinn jumped to action, mopping up the mess. “I’m glad you found shelter. That storm was beastly.”

“I’m sure you were worried sick.” Beatrice spat. “You didn’t even think to come find your own mother in such a thunderstorm. I was thinking of you!” She sat down at the small wooden table in the middle of the room and gestured for Quinn to bring her meal. “There was this top-notch bow mounted on the wall next to a full quiver of arrows.” Beatrice picked at her teeth with a dirty fingernail. “Can you imagine? Like some kind of useless decoration! Clearly it would be better used to put food on my table.”

Oh shit, she stole it. Quinn handed his mother a plate of rabbit and cooked vegetables, turning to wipe down the kitchen counters behind him. An impressive new bow would be amazing, but Quinn’s shoulders tensed. Beatrice was a wily old hag, but there must have been consequences to looting a stranger’s home.

“The storm settled down and I was done having my rest so I figured I’d just take the bow and go.” She shoveled food into her mouth as she spoke, sending bits flying across the table. “These people arrive out of nowhere. Some fancy broad with an insane temper...”

Look who’s talking. Quinn grimaced.

“...and that weirdo who’s always coming to town. Mira?”

“Mirror?” Hope rose in Quinn’s chest. Mirror lived somewhere out in the forest surrounding their town, occasionally visiting to shop for supplies. She was enough of a regular to be a familiar face, but enough of an outsider for the townsfolk to give her a hard time. Quinn always admired how kind and patient she was in the face of some of the more idiotic comments that came her way. The fact that Mirror was an absolute knockout certainly didn’t hurt.

“Whatever. Silly name, silly girl.” Beatrice stood and poured herself a glass of something brown and so strong it made Quinn’s eyes water from across the room. “Apparently the castle was not as abandoned as I thought, and the owner was unreasonably angry at my presence. Bitch.” She took a quick sip of her drink, her face contorting at the taste. “The Mirror girl said something about you and her mistress being a good match, so I figured, that was that.”

“What was what?” Quinn’s sense of foreboding grew with every word.

“You get to keep that fancy bow I wanted for you, but you just have to use it at the castle.” Another sip disappeared down Beatrice’s throat. “The castle where you will be living.” The brown liquid vanished in a gulp. “Forever.”

“You sold me for a bow?” Quinn wished he was surprised.

“No!” Beatrice smiled warmly. “No, my boy, of course not. I sold you for this!” She lifted a large pouch, heavy with shining gold coins.

That’s worth way more than four goats. It was a strange and sad victory, but Quinn was ready to take it. After twenty-five years of neglect and abuse, a change—even indentured servitude to a stranger—sounded like blissful relief.

“Fuck it,” he finally spoke, throwing down the dirty rag in his hand. “I’ll go.”

Sophie pulled the magnifying mirror close to her face and grabbed her tweezers like a weapon to pluck at the stubborn black hairs; they never disappeared, no matter how many times she grasped at them.

Fucking curse. Fucking wizard.

A lady didn’t speak such obscenities out loud, but she could think them plenty inside her head. Sophie’s mother had aggressively coached her in what a lady should be: beautiful, aloof, demure, honed. Like a knife. “A lady is like a scalpel: sharp, yet beautiful.” Not exactly the advice that every little girl expects to learn at her mother’s knee, but with her family long gone, all she had was the memories of guidance from long ago.

Nothing had prepared Sophie for the curse ten years ago.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. The words felt good inside Sophie’s head, the hard consonants punctuating her pulls at the last three hairs. She smoothed her fingertips under her chin, smiling at her reflection. Her brunette hair was piled in stylish layers on her head, her eyebrows twin sickle moons, and her bright red mouth looked petite and feminine rather than the maw of a drooling beast. Thank you, makeup gods. She sighed and put the mirror down. She had less than two hours to appreciate the feeling of being beautiful until the curse caught up and turned her beastly again.

“He’s riding up to the gate,” Mirror said, opening the door without knocking. Nobody else in the castle would dare to open her door, but Mirror was an exception to just about every rule.

“Are you sure about all this?” Mirror asked, pulling the door closed so nobody else would hear. “When I vouched he was a decent guy, I didn’t really think you’d make a deal with that horrible woman to buy him. Come on, do you think he could really break the curse? There have been so many suitors. They’ve all failed. Have you ever considered that maybe—”

Sophie raised a hand, cutting Mirror off before she started on the same old rant about how Sophie was misinterpreting the curse. Mirror hadn’t been there. Mirror could never understand what it felt like to live with powerful magic affecting every moment of her life.

“I know you mean well, Mirror, but please shut up about your theories.” Sophie took one last critical look at her reflection and stood, straightening the skirts of her dress so they fell in graceful silken waves. “This one is Number Thirteen. Isn’t thirteen a lucky number?”

“No, it’s not,” Mirror said, sighing deeply and crossing her arms as she frowned at her mistress. Sophie raised an eyebrow at her, an invitation for Mirror to speak her mind. The woman would be insufferable until she had the chance to say her piece.

“I just think this whole thing is a little barbaric. You seriously have to date these guys by having them imprisoned here? Wouldn’t it just be simpler to go into town, hang out at a few bars, or go to some harvest festivals?” She walked forward to massage Sophie’s shoulders, her fingers feeling amazingly persuasive, and Sophie let out a small moan as she leaned into Mirror’s hands. “You know, just meet people the normal way? Do you really have to keep up with this incarceration-until-love deal?”

Sophie pulled away from Mirror. “You forget, I’m not normal. I would be a revolting beast by the time I got to town, you know that. What man would possibly fall for something so hideous? I do what I have to do.”

Sophie could hear the sharp clop of horseshoes on the cobblestones leading to the castle. He was here. She clamped down on the butterflies that fluttered in her stomach every time a new potential curse-breaker arrived. None of the first twelve had broken her curse through acts of true love, and this one would probably be no different. Still, Sophie couldn’t stop the small ball of hope that grew in her chest as she dreamed about finally living free.

“You never know,” Sophie said, as much to herself as to Mirror. “He might just be the one. What’s this one’s name again?”

“Quinn,” Mirror said.

“I like it. Sounds like gin. I’ll remember that one.” Sophie couldn’t have another repeat of the debacle of Number Nine, when she screamed out Number Eight’s name in bed. So embarrassing. “Go open the front door, I’m ready.” Sophie said, heading out to the top of the stairs.

“Yeah, right. I forgot your dramatic entrance. Just don’t trip over your feet this time,” Mirror said, smiling slightly.

“I only did that once,” Sophie hissed. Number Five; she was never going to live it down.

“Twice,” Mirror said, skipping down the stairs on her practical flats before Sophie could pull Mirror’s hair in retribution.

Sophie ducked behind a column, listening to the sound of Number Thirteen—Quinn, like gin, she reminded herself—knocking on the door and Mirror ushering him in. [...]