A Dickgirl Fairytale

Ella brought the sponge down to Druscilla's cunt and watched her sister shudder. The sponge left a trail of bubbles down the center of her chest, over her flat belly, to her step sister's fat, juicy lips. Ella washed her now, back and forth, slowly and deliberately. She watched as Druscilla's body convulsed. She vibrated as she was touched by two of them. The sounds that came from her weren't even human. These sounds were more desperate, something like the whinny of a mare, an animal in heat. An animal with no thought other than to mate and rutt and fuck.

Anastasia's fingers picked up the pace and worked in and out of her sister, faster and faster, fucking her without mercy. Ella's hand on the sponge followed Anastasia's lead and worked back and forth over Druscilla's swollen bud as the scream that had been building and building inside finally came to the forefront. Ella could see it in Druscilla's eyes, the lust and the heat and the culmination of their forbidden caresses. Druscilla clamped both hands over her mouth and fed the desperate scream back inside as her body shook from head to toe.

The water rained down Ella's blouse and puddled in her lap. The beefy dick that throbbed there burrowed into the wet spot and wore her clothes like a second skin.

Ella was frozen in place as she felt Druscilla's orgasm run the length of her body. Frozen with a mixture of fear and want. Parched with desire and frightened to death that she was about to be found out.

She couldn't bear to think of them having that kind of power over her as well.

The three of them heard footsteps in the corridor and simultaneously knew that they were in danger. The girl's eyes darted back and forth over the evidence. Druscilla quickly plopped back down into the water to cover her nakedness. Anastasia pulled her fingers from their wicked exploration and busily washed the evidence from her hands in the soapy water. Ella's cock was so afraid of her stepmother that it deflated, it crouched and hid in the skirt. It drooled and longed for the comfort of a soft hand but it softened a little more and a little more with every click of Margery's heels on the stone.

"Ella," her stepmother called out her name as she pushed open the chamber door, "you mean you haven't finished bathing them yet?" She was tirelessly impatient and Ella never finished anything quickly enough.

Ella stared down at the floor. Her face was warm as her mind ran over all of the intimate details of the reason why the girls weren't clean yet. "No, ma'am," Ella called Lady Hastings her preferred title in the hopes that the bitch wouldn't linger too long. Perhaps she and her stepsisters could get back to their sensual adventures.

Margery huffed, "Little useless princess." She was about to lose her temper, Ella could tell by how quickly she strode across the floor and the slam of her heels. "Get up," she pulled at Ella's arm and tugged her to her feet. "You're needed in the kitchen," she told Ella, practically pushing her toward the door.

"But mother," Anastasia's whiny voice sputtered, "who is going to wash us then?" Ella wondered as well and longed to go back even if her stepsisters were cows and she hated them. It wasn't fair that the two of them would be left here alone to satisfy the other with no prying eyes to roam over every inch.

Their mother curled her lip at her daughter and shook her head, "As if you didn't wash yourself before, you ninny." Margery wasn't much nicer to her own flesh and blood than she was to her stepdaughter and Ella felt the ache inside once again for her own mother, who was the epitome of kindness and light. To Ella, she hissed, "I have something more pressing for you to do."

It must be important as Margery practically ran down the corridor and back down the stairs. Ella could barely keep up with the woman and found that she struggled herself to catch her breath once she arrived back in the kitchen. A man sat at the table who appeared vaguely familiar, a broad, beefy hulk of a man who wore a blood-stained tunic. He had a beard that half covered his large belly and his scent was thick in the air. He smelled of animals, of the stable and something heavy and meaty clung to his clothes. Ella stopped as soon as she saw him. There was something about the glitter in his dark eyes that played in the glow of the fire, something dark and lusty and frightening. Ella felt the hair on the back of her neck stand at attention as she hunkered into the corner shadow and hoped to hide from view.

Margery would have none of that. "Come here, girl," she snapped at Ella and gestured with an impatient hand to indicate where she expected Ella to stand. "You'll have to pardon my stepdaughter," Lady Hastings said with a half bow of her head, "she's slow and stupid but comely enough, don't you think?"

The man touched the back of Ella's hand with a thick finger, as if he were testing meat. "If she will do as she's told, then let's have at her, ma'am." The man muttered and grunted like a beast.

Margery assured him with a nod after she looked over her shoulder at Ella with a thin, evil smile. "She'll do anything she's told, sir." Her stepmother clicked her fingernails on the table, "but anything more than the wench's mouth and you'll have to pay with a coin."

"Fine, take your beef you old bitch," the man shouted at Margery and waved her away with a thick, tree trunk of an arm. That's who he was, the memory came back to Ella suddenly. He was the butcher in the village. She recalled watching the man carve up animals. He would hand over a shank to the cook when Ella would accompany the old lady on her errands.

Lady Hastings approached Ella and spoke just above a whisper in her ear. "Your father ran out of coins in the drawer. In order for us to have meat, you'll have to get on your knees and service him with your mouth."

Ella made a face. She had no idea what her stepmother was referring to but she would do no such thing. She was a duchess. She would never get on her knees for a man, let alone one so coarse and vulgar as the butcher. He reeked of blood and meat and the heat of a stall and the sweat on his body. "No, I will do no such thing," she drew her shoulders back, determined to stand firm.

Margery added, "Shall I tell him what you have between your legs then, little princess? How long do you think it would be before the whole village was at our doorstep?"

Ella felt the sickness pass through her, her heart raced at the thought. She felt the heat of shame on her face and she hadn't even yet been discovered. Damn this bitch, Ella choked down the words that were about to spill like the tears that she wanted to shed. "What do you mean, service him with my mouth?" She felt hysterical and the word mouth was almost a cry.

Her stepmother glanced over at the butcher and made a disgusted face. "Just get on your knees and open your mouth, dear. They're all the same, it won't take long." Ella wondered as she watched the woman walk away with the beef hefted over her shoulder if this hadn't been how Margery had paid for things before finding such a vulnerable patron as Lord Hastings.

Ella's mouth had just been sold to buy food. The reality washed over her as she walked to the table and she could feel her knees tremble with every step. She'd never even been kissed. Would the meat smelling, fat man want to kiss her mouth? Would he want to take her blouse off and touch her bountiful curves? Ella's pole seemed to have perked up its ears, as if it had been listening all along.

Dammit, she thought, how could she be excited at the thought of pleasuring such a disgusting beast of a man?

He smelled of straw and animals and when Ella was within arm's reach, the butcher yanked her by the forearm. "Your stepmother claims that you're a very talented whore," the butcher said with a smile as he watched Ella slowly drop to her knees in front of his chair. "I've been thinking of it since she came up short for the meat," he touched her shoulders almost tenderly. "I remember you when you were a girl," his voice was heated from the memory. It was perverse to hear him talk of her like this, with the thing that throbbed in the front of his britches. It clearly reached for Ella. "Now that you're a woman, that mouth is even more beautiful," he almost moaned and Ella had to admit that she was thrilled to watch his muscular thighs shake in anticipation. "I can't wait any longer," the butcher's eyes were riveted on Ella's mouth as he made quick work of the cord that closed the opening in his clothes.

He wanted her.

His musk was strong and she could smell his salt and the heat and Ella sighed when he revealed himself to her with trembling fingers. His cock was thick and short, no match for her own by any means. The bulbous head of his dick was almost purple and the shaft was veiny and pulsed. It watched Ella. It ached for Ella. It dripped the same clear liquid that Ella's dick dripped when it beckoned to her in the morning. She scooted forward and placed her small hands on his inner thighs and bowed her head and inhaled him deeply. The butcher moaned as her breath caressed his shaft and pink balls and his wrinkly sack that had drawn up tight to his body. The man was already almost ready to climax for her. Lady Hastings was right, Ella knew from comparing this to her own orgasm that it wouldn't take much.

She looked up and saw the need on his face. Ella looked the man in the eye as she licked the silky, clear liquid up. She lapped it up and tasted his hot saltiness. She felt his hot ooze linger at the center of her throat. Ella's own dick begged to come out. Her manhood wanted to be revealed, to relish in the sensation of her hand right in front of him. Even better yet, Ella's cheeks burned as she thought of it, in his hand. She wondered what it would feel like with his huge hands wrapped tightly around her throbbing pole. She longed to watch him, wrestle it, jerk it and bring her to the brink with his strong fingers. The thought of being manhandled like that was at the forefront of her mind and her desire for the man wet her mouth.

Ella drooled for the butcher's flailing dick as she opened her mouth wide and sucked him entirely inside her sweltering mouth. Her nose was buried in the thicket of his hair and she drank down his manly sweat smell along with the briny taste of his manhood. The butcher's thighs trembled and he began to bleat as he pushed and pulled and dripped inside her. "Yes," he hissed as he fed her the full length of his cock. "Yes," he sounded as if he were begging. Ella wanted to assure him with her lips and tongue that she was ravenous and she had no intention of letting go.

Ella closed her lips even tighter around the base of his dick. She slowly brought her mouth up the full length of him, to the purple, slippery tip. Her tongue lavished his slit and teased the juices from it. Ella was delighted to taste an absolute river of his want flow freely from him. Her mouth traveled back down to the base of his cock. She took in every aching inch of him. The tip of her tongue followed the line of his thick vein. She could feel his pulse there and for a moment, Ella wondered if his heart wasn't about to explode in his chest to the pleasure and wonderment of her lips.

His scream reverberated through the kitchen and with it came a jet of thick, creamy cum. The butcher's fingers curled around the arms of the chair as if he needed to balance himself. The rush was too powerful and threatened to unseat him. There was another pulse and another hot, sticky mouthful of his pleasure. He continued, another pant, another moan and with it, another needy twitch of Ella's dripping dick.

Her face grew warm as she drank and swallowed and drank some more. She chugged it down. Ella greedily sucked his release from him as if it were her sustenance and she could only think that a whore would do such a thing. Ella reveled in the sounds of his pleasure, each moan seemed to come from her as well. She had drained the last few droplets and his softened cock just rolled and dripped on her tongue. It was spent and happy as her own dick longed to be. The butcher whispered "Yes" one more time in a far away voice. Ella was sure that the sisters and her stepmother had heard all of the ruckus before and knew that the man was taking his pleasure from their dirty whore of a maid.

She really was Cinder Ella.

The butcher pushed her off his cock and pulled back. "Enough girl. My god, your stepmother was right. You are exceptional at that." He heaved and sounded very weak, as if just the effort to pull his britches back into place might be more than enough to undo him. "Tell her that I'll have the boy bring round a chicken to roast as well," he winked and the fat rolls under his eyes squeezed them almost shut, "for a job well done."

Ella moved back and watched. She was still on her knees but gave the man space to pull his trousers up and lace them. Once he was gone and she was alone in the kitchen, she licked her lips and realized that the rumble in her stomach had been sated with the man's orgasm. Ella pressed her left hand to her face and smelled the traces of his scent left behind as she groped herself through her skirt with her right. She could feel that her skirt was soaked through. Between the bath and the cock that she'd just had in her throat, she had covered herself in her essence.

Ella wanted more.

She didn't have words for what she wanted but she had pictures of it and the sight of men and hands and breasts and pink, open lips and thighs was overwhelming.

She gripped the head of her dick through the skirt. It was immediate and there wasn't even time to pull up her clothes and to get at herself. Her back arched with a pulse that came from deep in her belly, the same place where her aching balls seemed to have drawn up into. Without even touching herself, still on her knees in her whoring position, the dirty, little duchess came in thunderous waves that wracked her body from head to toe. Ella tried to hold back the scream of her release with her left hand, but nothing could stop it. The echo of her climax seemed to ring like another bell throughout the house.

With a gasp and a moan, Ella fell to the stone floor and panted, desperately trying to catch her breath. The footsteps approached. Her stepmother's heels clicked across the floor and if Ella weren't so spent, she would have quickly crawled to the corner to stay out of sight. As it was, there was no escaping the woman's wicked eye.

Something clanged on the table and when Ella peeked with one eye, she saw it was a plate. Lady Hastings told her in a triumphant tone, "Now you can eat."

***

The baker's name was Bartholomew and he smelled of yeast and the hearth. His eyes were kind and his belly was large and soft as dough. Since the first time that Lady Hastings had sold Ella's mouth for bread, he had returned almost daily with warm loaves straight from the oven and a small but very hard cock for Ella.

This morning, Bartholomew had a sack under one large arm and a flower in one hand as he waited for her by the back door. Ella couldn't help but smile at him. His eyes always sparkled with excitement and the flower gave him the air of a young man who'd come courting a girl. Ella could pretend that he wasn't a fat man in his prime who had come to use her for a few minutes of gratification. She took his flower graciously as he handed her the rose in full bloom. "Here you are, my sweet," the baker said affectionately as he gave her his present. "Something beautiful for the most beautiful girl in the world," he said tenderly. The man stared at her with heat and longing and Ella already knew that if she let her eyes drop to the center of his britches that she'd see how he ached for her.

She teased him though. Ella teased him every day and always hid away the extra bread that he brought. "Back again, Bartholomew?" Ella asked, all the while she fluttered her long lashes at him. She flipped her honey colored hair over her shoulders like a coquette. "Don't you have a wife at home?" She whispered as she stood on her tiptoes to breathe in his wheat scent.

"Ah, my dear, you're so much more comely than my wife," the baker held her hand to his mouth and tickled her fingers with his beard when he kissed her knuckles. "Besides, that mouth of yours," he only exhaled, as if there was nothing else to say. He had words for it but those were saved for the heat of the moment when he writhed, almost in pain, but really lost in pleasure. The baker would be consumed so completely in her ecstasy. Bartholomew sighed and added, "there are things that you do with that mouth of yours that my wife would never do."

There was the simple truth of it.

It was a fact that Ella had learned over the last two months of trading her mouth for goods and services. The tradesmen were in a hurry to get back to their houses or their shops. They offered little in the way of conversation. Most of them would prefer nothing more than a nod or a grunt of recognition. They wanted to drop their britches and be received in her welcoming embrace. They wanted to thrust a few times back and forth. Then they would shudder and whelp as they unloaded as deeply and completely as they were able. Then they wanted to lace up and scurry away, often without even looking Ella in the eye and hardly ever to even offer a word of gratitude. They were happy to barter for her with Lady Hastings though.

Bartholomew was the only customer who spoke to Ella as if she were anything more than a mouth. Ella set her rose down on the table and waited for him to hand her the sack under his arm. Once he did, she opened it and let the comforting smell of freshly baked, crusty bread waft up. It was a heavenly scent and even though Ella had graduated from pig slop to food once more, she was still almost always on the verge of hunger. Bartholomew always packed away a small enough loaf, really just the size of Ella's hand, that could easily be tucked away in a pocket. She did so again before she set the sack on the table. She asked him, "Are you sitting down or shall it be right up against the wall this morning, sir?"

Ella had become such a whore that it didn't matter which he picked.

The baker blushed a deep red, almost the same color as his little, twitching appendage was sure to be. "Ella, my sweet, will you do the honors?" he asked in a voice that delved down into a baritone and suggested all of the secret longings that the baker's wife had no idea of. Bartholomew backed up against the kitchen wall and stood. His feet were a little further apart than necessary but he knew he needed to make room for Ella to cup his balls.

She crawled to him. She felt the familiar twinge of longing between her thighs as her slender fingers traced his erection through the front of his trousers. He was so hot there under the fabric. He was hot and his erection strained to get at her. His cock was full for her, anticipating her liquid caress. Ella's fingers quickly loosened his restraints and the baker's britches fell to his ankles. His hairy thighs were muscular from his work and so were his thick arms. His belly was soft and warm and comforting for Ella to press her forehead against while she lazily tugged him inside with just her lips. Today, for the extra bread and the flower and the warmth in his eyes, Ella thought that he deserved her best.

Her small fingers wandered through his bristly hair on his balls. Ella blew on his dark pink mushroom head as he curled his body up and then forced himself up against the wall. He stood with his back straight so that he could look down and watch Ella's head move with his pelvis. She kneaded his sack in her hand and took in the manly scent of his need as it rose from between his thighs.

All this time that she had serviced him and it never dawned on him that she might have a cock as well. Ella occasionally wondered what the men would do if they knew how much larger her cock was? Sometimes the thought made her giggle, sometimes it made her stroke herself that much more furiously.