Gaston Song (Beauty and Beast)

LeFou was leaking drool from his lower lip: the strong smell of Gaston's sweaty skin (and especially his armpits, which he had neglected to wash for weeks, for the sake of hunting) almost made him faint.

The Marquis de Beauxmontes d'O placed a leather bag on the table, gesturing to the girls.

Immediately, those knelt before the three travelers, peeking their nipples out of their barmaid shirts. They were very low-cut shirts, which already under normal conditions allowed drunken patrons to see and touch everything (as seen in countless paintings and engravings of that era): but to see six nipples in a row, in front of the three strangers, was exciting for everyone, even those who did not have to compete in the challenge.

Some hands began rubbing bulges in their pants. It is not every day that a passing marquis pays three barmaids to get facials in front of everyone.

The three began to jerk off with studied slowness. Black Jack's penis seemed smaller in size perhaps because he had a very large hand: instead, the Chinese man's fingers were thin and tapered, making the cock look like a street lamp post.

Gaston had removed his shirt and pulled down his tight pants, rolling them over the edge of the wide leather musketeer boots.

Walking with difficulty on the hunting boots, exposing both his hairy buttocks and erect cock to all, Gaston stood beside the trio of riflemen.

But a fourth girl was missing. The space in front of Gaston was empty.

It was certainly not Gaston's fault. Math had never been his favorite subject. One, two, and three are easy concepts: me and you and me and you and another person meaning "many" (or as the poet says: "two is company, three a crowd").

LeFou stepped in to save the day. Like Gaston, LeFou had also unbuttoned his shirt. But unlike Gaston, he was completely hairless: no hair either on his chest, shoulders, or forearms. Yet he was already almost 21 and a half years old! No mustache, and no beard on his chin. But LeFou did not care what people said: his father and grandfather were also hairless and had lived happy lives.

Happy was LeFou whenever his fingers ran over the silk ribbon he used to tie his long hair into an eighteenth-century ponytail (similar to those of so many heroes of the Revolution of 1776). Each time his fingertips touched the silk, it felt to him like becoming one of those fairy tale princesses. A long mane of hair, ready to overflow like a raging river as soon as he had untied the knot that alone held back all the vast amount of emotions and feelings that for the moment were still immovable, like the reservoir of a lake until the dam is still closed. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a mouse coming out of a closet door: but LeFou shook his head and thought, "Not Today," like an English princess from the long Two Roses civil war that pitted the Stark and Lannister houses against each other ("Not Today" sounds good: they could print this phrase on T-shirts, using the same ink press that printers use to print pictures in books).

Undoing the bow, with long strands of hair covering his face, LeFou knelt beside the third girl and said, "Don't worry, Gaston: it's just to allow the competition to run smoothly. As per the rules just stated, only the amount of semen on the target will count. I will be here as target and collector: don't think of me as a person but only as an object of the furniture." A little tad of Furniphilia? Not Today, please.

The competition had already started and people were loudly encouraging the contestants.

In the crowd, some were distracted by personal needs involving stained hands and pants.

Others were focused on the bets already placed within moments on the different contestants: the Black, the Yellow, the Green (Marquis Beauxmontes d'O, because he wore a green cape), and Red for Gaston because everyone knew it was the color of the military tunic he often wore.

Paul, the Yellow, cum first. The girl in front was very defiant and kept inciting him, moving her tongue across her gaping mouth.

A moment later, the marquis cummed as well.

Black Jack laughed. "Ha, ha, maybe I have a shorter cock, however, it lasts LONGER, ha, ha!" and merry because of this very bad joke, he also cum.

Gaston started to masturbate with vigor and rhythm, but he was distracted. Like every hunter (or perhaps, like every male), Gaston was very visual: but at that moment his eyes were clouded by the anger caused by that damn Belle Dubois. Now, he was not looking at LeFou in front of him, but somehow at the three Bimboes with their nipples exposed. But the position was uncomfortable, and the light dim; and six bare female nipples could not succeed in distracting him from the obsession of being rejected. There existed no nipples: only his Ego existed. Amid the crowd, but alone with his thoughts, Gaston did not hear the noises of the tavern: he heard only the laughter and sassy response of that Belle. But who did that girl think she was? Pretty, sure, but strange and weird! She was always focused on reading those nonsensical books: once he had opened one, and it contained no pictures! What is the use of a book, thought Gaston, without pictures or conversations? This concept was first expressed in 1726 in a tavern during a facializing contest and later taken up by many writers, including Lewis Carroll in 1865.

Gaston never listened to anything or anyone. At that moment, he did not even listen to the uproar of the crowd, which encouraged him to spurt.

Seeing that Gaston was very distracted, LeFou touched the skin of his pelvic bone with one hand.

LeFou murmured in an inaudible whisper. No one heard it: not even Gaston (who would not listen anyway). "Gaston? Gosh, it disturbs me so much to see you looking so down in the dumps... This guy here, he'd love to be facialized by you, Gaston..."

Gaston's ears heard no words. But the skin of his hips felt the touch of a hand: the hand of a fond in-love partner.

Hips don't lie.

And an early cock always sings as soon as the sun appears.

Gaston was indeed a premature ejaculator. In each of those road brothels, he used the time by telling hunting exploits or old war anecdotes, and the prostitutes' screams were usually for some scaring scene in which he recounted mutilation and flaying. Then the women would laughingly unbutton a single button, then pretend to groan as an actress learns to do, eating any dishes in any poor restaurant (as in the French fairytales "Quand Henri rencontrait la jeune princesse Sarah," 1589, talking about the impossibility of a boy and a girl being just friends).

That touch on the hips had been enough to spray the whole load. And it was a significant load! He and LeFou had been hunting in the forest chasing the tracks of a deer herd for three consecutive days (maybe four), and he had never had time to masturbate. His plan had been to stop at some brothel on the road, but when he had run into Belle, he had made the Proposal, convinced that she would accept and that she would welcome into her virginal womb all the load of semen collected in three days.

Gaston looked down. The long hair of the person kneeling before him was a mess of whitish semen. The nose was unrecognizable: completely covered with cream, like a mountain after a snowfall. The cheekbones rounded by cum, the jaw hidden by the cum, which dripping from the chin also hid from view the Adam's Apple in the neck.

Forgetting where he was and who was there, Gaston thought, "Wow, what a gorgeous sight! Under the whitish glazier created by me, there could be a Jeanne d'Arc or an Elenoire Queen of Aquitaine..."

The marquis distracted him from contemplating the silent work of art that Gaston had just painted with his white furry brush.

"We have a winner! I don't know how he ejaculated last, because these three girls were hot as hell! But I can admit defeat. Farewell, nice people of this little rural village: the three of us are leaving and I don't think we'll ever see each other again! But you have a Hero next door, who never misses a shot! Follow him and always imitate him!"

Gaston looked up and saw everyone clapping joyfully (all those who were not yet jerking off: how loud is one-handed clapping?).

Then Gaston looked down and in the middle of the mess, he recognized two doe-eyes he had known for a long time.

Gaston sighed and said, "LeFou, go wash up..."

"Oops... too much?"

"Yep."

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An eighteenth-century-style Happy Ending.

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### My contribution to the "Karaoke 2023" Author Challenge.

Do not try to imitate characters from the tale! All the performers in the scene act as professionals (some are a hazardous activities, don't try it at home).

As you may have noticed somehow, English is not my mother tongue, so please forgive the mistakes. ###