A Dickgirl Fairytale

That was never to be though, Ella chided herself as she opened her lips for the baker. She licked his shaft and slathered him with her tongue from his wrinkled sack all the way to his dripping head. Bartholomew moaned as he watched her. The muscles in his thighs clenched as he pushed back from the wall to enter her mouth a little deeper. He was small so it was easy to keep him buried inside. Ella sucked and licked and tasted him as the baker moaned and pleaded with her as he did every day. He liked to feel Ella's hands move from between his legs to his cheeks so that she could push him deeper down into her mouth. She supposed that he liked to think that she thirsted for his cock so much that she needed him to bury himself inside.

Her own cock would agree with that.

She licked and lapped and whimpered on his flesh. She swallowed his flavor as it invaded her throat. She gulped down his liquid. The baker was always sweet and tasty and her body responded to his passion with a perpetual drool down her inner thigh as she sucked him off. If only she could confess to him, if only she could show him what the taste of his manhood did to her own. There were many times that she had achieved a desperate orgasm just squeezing her dick between her white, creamy thighs and imagining that it was his hand.

The baker pushed harder. He was up on his toes to fill her as deeply as he could when he barked. His voice was hoarse and shaky as he spurt inside Ella. "Yes, yes, what a sweet, good girl you are," he whispered. His hands in her long, flaxen hair were tender as a lover as he caressed her and fed her his seed.

Once he was finished and softened though, the baker was all business. Bartholomew had his britches back up and in place before. Ella had yet to wipe the rivulet of his briny load from her chin, the bit that had escaped her lips. "My lovely, it's off to town for me," Bartholomew winked at her. He straightened himself so that no one would suspect that he'd just emptied himself in the generous mouth of the town whore.

Ella was still on her knees and thought briefly that there was hardly a reason for her to get to her feet anymore. For a moment, she felt a whisper of sadness. She felt fairly certain that if her mother could see her like this, it would break her heart.

So many things had changed since Lady Celestria had passed but one thing had remained constant; Ella still cared for all of her little pets. She just kept them out of sight. Since there were no other gentlemen callers waiting for her, she ran barefoot up the stairs to her little garret to feed her birds and squirrels and mice. They were her only friends in the world.

*Francis was a family man now and when he heard Ella enter the room, he practically danced in anticipation. "Well, good morning," she greeted him in the singsong voice that now she reserved strictly for her pets. "You must have missed me," she put out her index finger to chuck him under the chin and laughed when he rubbed his muzzle on her. "That's my boy," she called him and watched him scurry, turn, show her his round belly as he chased her hand to rub his back against her skin. "Alright, alright," Ella chuckled, "you've sung for your supper Francis." She reached into her pocket and tore off a bit of bread. She rolled the bit back and forth between her fingers to make crumbs. "Is this enough for you and the missus?" she asked Francis as he scurried back and forth. The breadcrumbs snowed over his little furry head.

There were many other mouths to feed and even with the extra daily bread, Ella was sometimes stretched thin between all of them. She left a trail of crumbs in the windowsill for the birds that trilled and clamored for her attention. "Yes, good morning to you also," she greeted one particularly boisterous bluebird. "My goodness, you're so handsome," she told him with a giggle.

The squirrel mother had just had babies not long ago and Ella gave her a little extra since the father squirrel seemed to have met with an unfortunate accident. "I know, you miss him," Ella told the mother and nodded as the little lady took bread from her hand. "Now go take care of those little ones," she murmured after a quick stroke with the back of her hand.

Time with the animals took her back to the childhood that hadn't been that long ago and had been cut short by tragedy. She had just been a girl, an innocent girl that had been sheltered from the cruel realities of the world. Now she was filthy and half-starved and her hair was a matted mess. Ella couldn't remember when the last time was that she had worn something clean. There wasn't time and there definitely wasn't money. Her mouth seemed to earn plenty of coin to keep her duchess sisters in more finery than they came with. Lady Hastings was suddenly much more grand now that she pimped out her dirty stepdaughter.

"Cinderella!" the voice peeled through the house and Ella winced. They'd made it her name. They'd made it her name and used it so often that even Ella found herself referring to herself by the name.

It was the perfect name for a dirty whore who enjoyed sucking cock. Just saying it sent a shudder of half want and half dread down her spine again. It was time to start another busy day.

***

It was a dreary, damp spring morning when Ella found him, breathless and still. She had tiptoed into his room, something she found herself doing less and less as her whoring duties became more and more time consuming. It was almost as if she were afraid that her father would know. Perhaps he'd even smell it on her, the smell of manly sweat and musk and cum. That would finally be the last thing, the last straw. It would break Lord Hastings' heart to know that his precious girl, the apple of his eye, had been brought so low.

She told herself that he hardly knew if someone was present. He always mistook the stirring of Ella's breath on his face for his dearly departed wife. Regardless, her shame persisted.

This morning though, he didn't stir when Ella eased herself down onto his mattress to greet him. "Good morning, father," she whispered in his ear. She felt the tickle of his white, bushy sideburns brush her lips as she placed a tender kiss on his cheek. He didn't respond, he didn't even murmur about Celestria this time. Ella cuddled him and pressed her cheek to his shoulder. It seemed as if almost no time had passed and the mighty had fallen so low. Her father had always been much larger than life. He was always a broad and beefy man, with shoulders and a chest like an ox. Now he was a sack of bones and his paper like skin was almost translucent. He seemed to be disappearing before her eyes. Ella couldn't help but wonder if it were really heartbreak. Was it all suffering the loss of her mother and the babies? Or had Lady Margery somehow used some kind of witchcraft to further her own wicked end? Ella was afraid she'd never be able to decipher the truth.

"Oh, father," Ella could feel the tears threatening to burst forth as she placed her hand on the center of his chest. "What has she done to you?" she asked wistfully. Ella froze in place as her fingers moved over the place his heart should have been.

Nothing, there was no heartbeat. "Father!" Ella called as she sat up and shook him a little. "Father, wake up!" she shouted in desperation. Ella knew full well that he hadn't stopped breathing because he was just napping, she knew the truth.

Her father was dead. The only person in the world who cared for her anymore was gone and even if he hadn't ever left the bedroom, Ella had liked to know that at least he was close by. She sobbed and tasted her own salty tears as she opened her mouth to let a pitiful, lonely howl out. The pain in her heart was sharp and it felt like something had squeezed out every last droplet of love.

"Whatever is this commotion?" her stepmother snapped at Ella. She must have entered the room in absolute silence, probably hoping to catch Ella and her father in conversation.

Ella held his cold hand. She had woven her tiny fingers through his blue ones and remembered all of the times that Lord Hastings would walk hand in hand with her. Back then, Ella danced and skipped beside him just to keep up with the long strides of his oak tree legs. "Father is dead," Ella told her stepmother in a bitter, sad voice. At least he would be happy to finally join the love of his life but Ella couldn't help but be despondent for herself.

He hadn't meant to abandon her but he'd left her in a den of thieves with only her sexual services to provide for her. She was supposed to be a duchess, she was supposed to be a fine lady. Ella had been raised to be someone's wife, practically a princess. Of course, she reminded herself, fine ladies didn't have huge cocks hidden underneath all of their lacy underthings.

Perhaps fate had chosen her path for her long ago.

Margery approached the bed slowly, almost as if she were afraid to touch him. He had supposedly been her husband and yet, she didn't even have tears in her eyes. "Well, it's one less mouth to feed anyway," in fact, her stepmother's eyes shone with greed. She was probably already calculating what the extra money could be spent on instead. "I suppose he'll have to be buried," the false Lady Hastings pouted. Her stepmother didn't want to have to spend the money on the man that she'd leeched from until, finally empty and spent, he'd just withered away. "There's the burial and the casket and the priest," she shook her head and curled her lip. "And I had so many other things that needed to be attended to today."

Ella was furious. She rose to her feet and walked slowly toward the woman. She was a predatory animal ready to pounce on the old hag and shake the life out of her. "You evil bitch!" she exclaimed, "you never cared for him one bit, did you?"

Margery clicked her tongue as if to scold Ella like she was still a child. "My dear, of course I cared for my husband. I cared for him almost as much as I care for you." She looked Ella up and down with her cold eyes just to prove the point that she cared for both Ella and her father as a means to an end. They were both just something to profit from until she had no further use for them. "I was thinking of you, dear," she hissed, "this will mean so much extra work for you over the coming days."

Ella was suddenly glad that her father wasn't alive to see what had been made of her.

***

Ella remembered Friar Charles from when she was a child and he still filled her with a vague sense of dread. There was something dark and disturbing about the man. He was bald under his hood and he had piercing, almost black eyes that seemed to be searching always to discern a liar. At the moment, she was much closer to him than she ever had been as a little girl and it was worse. The firelight reflected in his eyes and gave him a devilish appearance. The shadows and light on his face made him quite monstrous and the smell of his flesh that rose up from his brown robe was obnoxious. He smelled of piss and sweat and the barn and ale and the combination was vile. She just wanted him gone but the Friar wanted to discuss the mass for Lord Hastings that was to be held tomorrow.

"It's common talk in the village, my dear, that your father, God rest his soul," the Friar crossed himself and nodded, "was possessed by evil spirits."

Ella made a face. Of course, the townsfolk would say something that ridiculous. "Not at all, Father," Ella replied. She kept her hands folded graciously and kept her eyes on the table. Dirty or not, whore or not, she had been raised to respect the priest even if he repulsed her. "My father was grief-stricken after my mother passed. Losing her as well as their twins caused him to break with reality and eventually take to his bed."

The priest searched her in an intrusive way that chilled her to the bone. Ella could feel his eyes upon her and when she mistakenly looked up, she saw his lecherous gaze and she knew. Ella had learned something of men during the last few months, she knew what that look meant. Of all the repulsive men she had plied with her services, Friar Charles was by far the most grotesque. "That is a much nicer tale to tell, miss," if he remembered that she was the daughter with the title, he refused to use it. "But I don't think it's altogether true." He gave her a thin smile and reached across the table to capture her hand and pin it between both of his. "I would say based on what the good Lady Hastings tells me, that you, my child, are a liar."

"I am not," Ella's voice rose in defense of herself. She stuck her chin out defiantly and looked him dead in the eye despite his lewd gaze.

"Spoken like a liar," Friar Charles said with a wicked laugh. He was strong. Stronger than Ella would have guessed and although she struggled mightily to pull her hand from his grasp, he easily kept her pinned to the table. "And a whore," he whispered and licked his lips.

Ella felt the hair on her arms rise as if she were a hunted animal and trying to make herself bigger to scare off a predator. This wasn't her typical customer, this was something far worse. "I'm not a whore," she hissed and narrowed her eyes. She waited. She would be still for now and wait for him to relax his grip. She already knew that then she'd pull her hand free and grab the mallet on the table. She would bash him in the face with it. She didn't care if they said mass for her father or not. She wanted him out of her house right this instant.

Father Charles seemed to be able to read her mind and the man rose from his seat and easily pulled Ella to her feet with his wiry grip. "That's not what I was told, my pet," he smiled as if he relished the tension, as if he were pleased with frightening her. "That's not what I've been expecting," he insisted. His hot breath was on Ella's neck as he pressed her small hand into the center of his robe.

He had a large, anxious cock waiting for her. His swollen member felt like it was even larger than hers and he growled as he forced her to fondle him. "Stop," Ella tried to scream the word but her voice was suddenly hoarse and no sound came out..

Her hand didn't want to touch him. Her fingers didn't want to be forced to feel the heat that radiated from between his legs. Ella turned her head to convince herself that she didn't even want to look but if Friar Charles were to reach for her, he'd find that at least one part of her body contradicted everything.

The priest chuckled as he used her hand to stroke himself, as if Ella's palm were his to control. "Yes," he hissed, his wicked eyes gleamed with his perverse pleasure as he forced Ella to touch him. "Tell me that's the first cock you've touched," his laugh sent a chill down her spine. "Tell me that you're a virgin."

Ella couldn't catch her breath as the priest pushed her up against the wall. Her feet, normally nimble and quick, were slow and stupid and her knees knocked. There was no escape from his grasp. If he pushed up against her, if his body touched hers, if he could feel what was happening under her skirt, there was no hiding her secret anymore. "Let me go," Ella's voice trembled. She tried to hold her head up high. She tried to thrust her shoulders back like the lady of the house would have done but she shook too much. "Let me go!" she tried to snarl at him but it came out as more of a wail.

"No, you're mine, whore," Friar Charles said as he pinned her wrists to the wall. He rutted and thrusted against her hip. Ella bit her bottom lip so hard that she was sure to draw blood there but there was nothing else to do when she saw the evil light that danced in his eyes. He had felt her cock pulse, pressed against his through their clothing. "What sorcery is this?" The priest gasped as he released her wrists. He held her by the throat instead with his left hand as his right began to pull up her skirts. "Devil child!" the priest called her and although the words were meant to damn her, the desire in his eyes hadn't been quenched. Far from it, he was practically salivating for her thick member. "Show me!" he commanded with his hand at her throat. The priest appeared to be amused as he watched Ella squirm, determined to get away.

He was too damn strong and now that he was in heat, there was no escape from the fingers around her throat. Ella gulped hard. It was difficult to breathe and she was on the verge of tears. Trapped like a rat and the cat had waited a long time to devour the tasty morsel. Ella felt her body surrender. She looked away, the tears welled up in her eyes as she held up her skirts and exposed her cock to Friar Charles.

He trapped her shaft in his hand and inspected. "This is why I know you were lying, foul demon. Your father was possessed, clearly he and your filthy mother had a spawn of Satan. Why else would you bear his mark?" the Friar asked as he tugged on her cock.

Ella moaned. She hated that his hand on her, hard like that, gripping her tightly like that, sent a shiver of delight down her body. "Please stop that," she begged him as his hand continued stroking her up and down. It was exactly the way she wanted him to with all of her wicked heart. "Don't do that," Ella said the words but her hips moved into him involuntarily, as if her own body were intent on betraying her with the worst possible candidate.

He cackled, "As if you didn't crave more sin, you succubus." The priest moved his hand from her throat and pushed his index finger into her mouth like a cock. The man whispered, "is this what you're used to? The men that come to see you, they just fuck your pretty, young mouth, isn't that right?" His breath was hot and the finger filled her and then retreated. He filled her deeper once more as his other hand controlled her dick. The man was about to bring her to the brink of a shameful climax that Ella hated to have and yet needed desperately. "They think you're a girl, is that it?"

Ella sucked his finger, she sucked the taste off his skin and nodded yes. They did think she was a girl. They relished her long hair and her heaving bosom and the curvy behind that they caught a glimpse of from the shape in her skirt. They never knew that the best mouth that they had ever felt on them was unlike any other woman they had ever known. One tear ran down her cheek as she admitted it.

The priest had continued to stroke her deftly and with great skill until the desire was built up, almost to the point of no return. His hand made her drip her clear liquid desire. It was terrible to watch and to feel the steady, sticky stream that she was powerless to stop. "Lucky for me that I have no such illusions," he hissed in her ear and led her forcefully by the dick to the kitchen table. Friar Charles turned Ella around viciously, her bottom upturned to his throbbing pole. He kicked her tiny feet apart so that she had to bend to the table for balance.

Friar Charles pulled up his own robe and she felt his sticky, sweaty body touch hers. Ella screamed as soon as she felt the head of his dick push near her tiny, rear entry. "No, please," she bucked, desperate now to escape even if the feel of his hand on her cock was exquisite. "Please don't, don't do that," she moaned and clenched her cheeks together in an attempt to keep him out. Yet, all the while, her pink balls had drawn up close to her body as her shaft bobbed and pulsed in his hand. She ached for more.

Ella heard the priest spit and she cringed as his saliva dribbled and became a warm pool on her puckered sphincter. "That's it, my dear," he whispered as his saliva entered her body and snaked its way inside. "Pretend that it's rape while you're ready to burst in my hand, little whore." As he said the word whore, he thrust inside.

It burned.

He pushed Ella's face down to the table as he pinned her by the back of her neck. Ella wondered if he weren't about to tear her in two parts as he worked his way inside. The pain shot down her legs. She felt them shake and knock against the table legs as he began to move inside her. That wasn't all though. The Friar had something much, much worse in store for her.