Fairytale: Cinderella

"The Royal ball is tonight! It's so exciting."

"I can't wait to see the handsome noblemen! Perhaps one will favor us with his attentions!"

"My lovely girls. I expect nothing less than to hear that a nobleman has taken a fancy to one of you. Be sure to be on your best behavior tonight, and perhaps we'll finally be able to quit this wretched hovel my late husband left for me."

"Pity Cinders is too busy to go. Not that anyone would want to touch her; they'd be covered in soot!"

Cinderella's sisters and haughty stepmother gossiped and laughed as they prepared for the dance.

"Do you need me to fetch any gowns?" Cinderella asked meekly when there was a lull in the conversation.

"No," her stepmother snapped. "Go finish cleaning up from breakfast. Bring us some tea, and otherwise leave us be."

The young woman left to do as she'd been bidden, filling the cauldron with buckets of water lugged in from the well and starting a fire beneath it. While the water warmed, she prepared warm bread and jam, and a kettle of fine black tea imported from distant lands. Her father's house was only a hovel to those who were discontent with their lot, and greedily sought more. There were more than enough bedrooms for the four women who lived there, as well as two elegant studies, a sitting room, a downstairs parlour, and a smoking room, in addition to the massive kitchen and servants' quarters. But there were no servants now: only Cinderella.

Several hours later, Cinderella watched her stepfamily depart for the Royal ball. She stood in the columned courtyard and watched them ride away, cloaked and hooded in the cool, damp night air.

"I wish, just for tonight... Oh, how I wish I could go to the ball. I wish I could be the most beautiful woman there. Just to know, once in my life, how it feels to be something other than a drab."

"Are you certain that is your wish?" a woman's voice asked from behind her.

Cinderella spun around, her hand raised to her throat in shock. "What...? Who...?"

"I'm the village witch. You needn't fear me. Like you, I am misunderstood, reviled, despised. And while I could work magic upon myself to attend the ball... I would rather bestow that gift upon another. But only if you are certain that this is your truest wish."

Cinderella eyed the hunch-backed crone with her long, wart-dotted nose, her gnarled hands half-hidden in the folds of her robe. "I... what price would I have to pay?" She breathed a sigh, recalling from the old stories to be wary of making bargains without knowing all that was entailed by the agreement.

"I would ask for no payment in return. Not now, and not ever. I will give you a gown and clean you up, and provide you with transportation to the ball. The rest will be in your hands."

Cinderella took a deep breath. "Then with gratitude, I will accept your offer. If there is some way I can assist you in the future – so long as the demand is within reason – I will repay you." She thought that should be a safe enough offer, and generous enough to show her gratitude.

The old woman smiled, and her teeth were yellowed and sharp. Cinderella shuddered, but forced a smile to her lips in return.

Within moments, a pumpkin from the garden had been transformed into a coach, mice into footmen and horses to pull it, and Cinderella's grubby skin had been miraculously scrubbed clean. Her customary rags had been replaced by garments that felt strange, soft and snug, shimmering in the evening light. The witch threw a long cloak over her shoulders and tied a cloth mask – the same color as the dress – over the top portion of her face.

"There, my girl. Now off to the ball with you, and may you enjoy yourself."

"Thank you," Cinderella called as she climbed into the pumpkin-coach. "Thank you, dame."

Cinderella mounted the steps to the banquet hall. A porter smiled at her and pulled open the door. "What name to give, Miss?" he asked, bowing her through the doorway.

"Uh... Ella," she said, thinking quickly. "Ella... of House... Dorn." She had been tempted to give her father's name, but then everyone would know who she was – that she was really Lady Beatrice's lowly stepdaughter, Cinderella.

"Ella of House Dorn," the porter announced, and Cinderella caught her breath as she gazed around the crowded room. The ball was nothing like what she had been expecting. There was music, and there was a long table piled high with delectable treats along one wall. But those gathered at the center of the room... She would not call their movementsdancing, unless one used the term very loosely indeed.

There was more bare flesh than she would have imagined. Some of the men in attendance wore nothing but loincloths or strange, snug bands tied around their loins. A few had straps of black leather crisscrossing backs and chests. Most everyone wore masks of some kind – feathered, gem-studded, satin, or of rougher, coarser cloth. Many of the women seemed to have removed their gowns. She saw corsets with holes, allowing rosy nipples to show through, or corsets laced lower than normal, thrusting breasts up, fully exposed. A few women still appeared to be wearing their skirts, but as Cinderella gazed in stunned amazement, she saw that the skirts were slit up to the waist, exposing pale legs and glimpses of curly hair, rounded buttocks.

"What...?" she breathed, frightened and intrigued and disturbed, all at the same time.

A number of masked faces turned to study her entrance. The porter and several others chuckled, and slow, mocking applause broke from a group of men standing nearby.

"Ah, a modest guest. It's always a delight to initiate a new member into society." One tall young man broke away from the crowd. He was dressed, as she had expected, in long black trousers, a white shirt, and a frock coat over it.

He took her hand and led her farther into the room, past half-naked men and women. "I personally oversee the introduction of newcomers."

Cinderella's eyes flicked back and forth; she was too disconcerted to study any individuals, but she stumbled as she recognized her elder stepsister's distinctive birthmark. Giselle stood facing the center of the room, her back pressed against a middle-aged man's slight paunch. His thick, well-muscled arm was around her waist, fondling her breast through the hole in her corset. His other hand seemed to be holding her groin from behind. Giselle was on her toes, her legs visible through the slits in her skirt, her hips twitching. The older man's lips were sucking at the birthmark that colored her left shoulder and collarbone.

"I want to see what's under that dress!" a man called from the crowd, followed by other cheers.

"Patience," her guide called back, smiling. "I'm sure she'll be well worth the wait!"

"Who..." Cinderella croaked, then swallowed, trying to bring moisture back to her dry mouth. "Who are you?"

"I'm Antonin. Your Prince. You will call me Highness, and follow my every command, yes? Ella of Dorn? Or should I call you Cinderella? Oh, I know who you are. And I will allow you to remain a beauty of the realm, so long as you obey me. Cross me, however, and you will be exposed as a servant girl, and used accordingly."

Cinderella trembled. Prince Antonin turned his smile upon her once more. "Do not fear. If you wish to, you will experience incredible pleasure here tonight. I have even heard from the servants that they enjoy themselves thoroughly at these annual balls. Now, step up here."

They had reached the dais, and he pulled her up next to him. "My fellow hedonists. I present to you the young Lady Ella of Dorn. But this gown is far too modest for our purposes here tonight. Let me see..."

His hands were suddenly at her breasts, skimming across the pale cleavage above her neckline as he pulled on the ribbons of her new gown. She shuddered, and he chuckled, a dark, rich sound. Moving around behind her, he continued to unlace her bodice.

In a low voice, his breath warm on her neck and ear, he asked, "Are you a maiden, my dear Ella?"

She nodded almost frantically in the hopes that no one would ruin her virtue here tonight, tarnishing her and preventing her from one day marrying and escaping her stepfamily.

"Oooh," the Prince crooned. "Ooh, what a treat!"

The gathered nobles applauded and shouted their approval as her bodice fell open, exposing her corset. She felt herself blush crimson, both at the Prince's words and her dismay at finding her own undergarment mutilated as the other women's were. Her nipples hardened as the cool air of the room struck them.

"Look at these beauties," the Prince crowed, grabbing a pink bud in each hand and pulling straight out. She almost fell forward, jerking at the unaccustomed pain. She tried too late to stifle a cry, and many of the men chuckled.

"Here," a woman stepped forward from the crowd. "Highness, these would match her mask and jewels perfectly." On the woman's outstretched palm were two small metal objects, the ends adorned with pale blue stones that did, indeed, match what remained of her gown.

"Lady Odessa, your generous gift honors you," the Prince returned, reaching around Cinderella to take the proffered items. "Now, my lovely Ella, stand very still." Once again the Prince grabbed her nipple, and Cinderella tensed as the metal pressed to her tender flesh. She shrieked as the thing clamped down on her bud, raising her hand instinctively to pull it away. But the Prince's hand was there, catching her wrist and holding her firmly.

"Remember, my Cinderella," he breathed, his voice still velvet, but underlain with steel. "You do as I bid you. Now be still and let me affix the other."

Whimpering, Cinderella let her arm fall back to her side. She barely bit back her cry as the second clamp was attached. The nobles cheered. She wondered why nearly everyone had turned their attention away from their own liaisons and was watching her.

"You are the shining star of this ball," Antonin told her, as if reading her mind. "Only once we have finished initiating you will other activities resume."

"What... What else...?" She was as afraid of the answer as she was of not knowing.

"Oh, we'll not spoil the surprise! That's half the fun!"

Running his hands over the nipple clamps, Antonin caused her to moan, and she wondered why the shocks of pain were tingling through her groin as well as her breasts. His hands stroked lower, along her ribs and stomach, coming towards the tops of her thighs. He rested them there for a moment, his face pressed against her neck. His tongue flickered against her earlobe, stroked down the column of her throat. She shuddered again, again feeling sparks of some unknown sensation in her lower belly, and he brushed at her skirt.

Cool air caressed her legs, and she gasped as she realized he'd found a slit in her skirt and had pushed it to either side, baring her to the crowd from the waist down. Her knee-high stockings and delicate satin slippers were her only covering. The coarse hair of her mound, darker than her golden hair, did nothing to cover her plump nether lips.

"Lord Bryon? Will you and Lady Odessa come up and examine our guest of honor? Tell the Court your verdict!"

A distinguished man – like the Prince fully clothed – his face covered by a plain white mask that contrasted elegantly with his silvering black hair, strode forward, joined at the dais by the woman who had provided the nipple clamps. Lady Odessa's full breasts – a dark, olive color tipped with mahogany nipples – rested atop her burgundy corset. Her skirts were pulled back at the thighs to frame her shaven mound, and yet she walked with utter confidence, showing none of the shame Cinderella felt.

Lord Bryon bowed his head to the prince, then fixed grey eyes upon the young woman on the dais. "Are you frightened?" he asked. His voice was commanding, strong, but not unkind.

Cinderella nodded.

"Of what?"

She thought for a moment. "Of...of being seen, publically."

"Are you ashamed of your beauty?" Lady Odessa asked.

"N-no. Not... I didn't... I didn't know I was beautiful."

"Then tonight we will show you that you are." Lord Bryon made it a pronouncement.

"What else are you afraid of?" Lady Odessa asked.

"Of being ruined," Cinderella whispered.

The Prince chuckled once again. "My dear girl, no one here will mind in the least if they've had you before your wedding night. So long as you are picked to wife by a man here, these amorous indulgences will not matter in the slightest. In fact, many here are married, and continue to share one another's company. Only if you seek a husband outside this court will your reputation be tarnished."

Cinderella sighed in some relief, then jerked as Lady Odessa pushed her hand down into her corset. "We really should get this off you. It's covering too many of your assets. You can wear one next time, if you wish, but as the star of tonight's ball, you really should be bare for all to see."

Lord Bryon immediately took the Prince's place behind her and within moments, the corset dropped to the floor at her feet.

"So much better," purred Lady Odessa. She took Cinderella's breasts in each hand and began to knead them. The nipple clamps jostled and pulled, and Cinderella shrieked in half pleasure, half pain. She felt hands at her hips, and Lord Bryon was pulling away the slashed skirt, letting it pool atop the discarded corset. His strong hands circled her waist, skimmed lower, and pulled her thighs apart.

Then suddenly they were both gone, stepping back, and she was alone on the dais, naked but for her stockings, slippers, and the glittering blue nipple-clamps.

She swayed, feeling even more exposed now that there was no one sheltering her from the eyes of the crowd.

"Lady Ella."

Cinderella looked round and saw the Prince standing beside a table, empty and covered only by a simple white cloth, which had been brought before the dais. He gestured towards the table, and she made her slow way down the dais steps. Lady Odessa moved to her side and whispered, "Would you prefer a man or a woman be the one to examine you before the court?"

"I... I don't know...?" She was too confused to answer, to even know how she felt about this shameful exhibition of her body.

"We'll let Lord Bryon do it, then. He's one of the best. Nearly all of the women love his hands on them. Allow yourself to enjoy his touch, child. We'll all enjoy it more if you do."

Cinderella was lifted onto the table, laid on her back, and her legs were pulled apart to drape over the sides. Her arms were raised above her head.

"Some women enjoy being tied down – would you prefer that?" the Prince asked. "They feel less shameful if they're unable to stop what's happening to them. They feel...allowed... to enjoy themselves."

Cinderella shook her head.

"Then be certain you behave," Prince Antonin whispered, leaning over her. "Be very, very good, my sweet Cinderella."

He kissed her lips, tenderly, sweetly, and Cinderella felt tears well behind her eyelids. The kiss was so achingly wonderful, it drove everything else to the back of her mind. All she knew was the soft lips moving against hers, the tongue lightly stroking her lips. She gasped, and he swallowed the sound, deepening the kiss into something more insistent, claiming her. His tongue swirled around hers, touching, exploring her mouth. His teeth closed around her lip, tugging, and she moaned.

Then a large hand was cupping her breast, flicking the clamp, squeezing and pressing. Lightning of pleasure and pain crackled through her, and she wondered if she was going to survive the night. The Prince's mouth was gone from hers, suddenly, and she moaned, desiring nothing but his return. She opened her eyes to find him leaning over her other breast, opening his mouth to suck at the tender flesh around the nipple-clamp. He licked and kissed his way around her areola, then began to squeeze and knead the sensitive flesh in time with Lord Bryon.

"Very firm, soft, and exceptionally responsive," Lord Bryon declared, turning to look out at the crowd.

With one hand he continued to pluck at her breast, twisting the metal clamp until tears of pain sprang to her eyes. The other hand delved between her legs, pushing apart her nether lips. She jerked her hips, shocked by the sudden intrusion, but just as suddenly he was gone.

"She's as wet as a spring rain," he announced, raising a hand to show glistening fingertips.

"Open your mouth, sweet," the Prince commanded from above her head. Lord Bryon rested his fingers against her swollen lips, and she could smell her own musk. Hesitantly, she did as bidden, and licked her own juice from the nobleman's hand.

"Are there any others who would like to sample this delicacy?" Prince Antonin asked. "She smells fresh and ripe as a summer peach."

Then his hand was at her nether lips, his fingers strumming her folds like a harper his strings. She moaned and bucked her hips, unfamiliar sensations cascading over her as he sought her core. First one and then a second finger thrust into her, then just as abruptly were gone.

Antonin licked his fingers as though savoring a treat.

"I should like to taste," a young noblewoman said, approaching the table.

"My dear Clarissa, do so!"

This time the fingers plunging into her were smaller, softer, but with longer nails. Cinderella groaned as the woman stroked her most intimate places.

"Sit up," Lord Bryon instructed her. She did so and he sat behind her on the table, his legs stretched out beside hers. "Keep your hands on my thighs; don't move them no matter what."

He reached between their bodies and gripped her backside. As he had her breasts, he kneaded her flesh, pulling the globes apart. His fingers stroked along the cleft between her buttocks and she jerked, driving another nobleman's fingers deeper into her intimate place as he stroked to take his own taste of her nectar. She felt Lord Bryon's laugh against her back, heard Lady Odessa and the Prince's amusement as she groaned, her head falling back to rest on Lord Bryon's chest.

"Everyone take a taste, one at a time, and let's see if we can't help our lovely new guest to fulfillment, eh?"

One hand after another stroked along her most private places, voices clamoring above her. From time to time a hand would brush her breast, flick the nipple-clamp, grip and press on the soft mounds. The hands on her buttocks continued their clutching, squeezing, mauling motion.

"Very firm, very muscular and strong," Lord Bryon rumbled. "But deliciously untried, soft and smooth."

Cinderella squealed as one finger pressed against her rear hole, slowly forced its way inside her. She gripped Lord Bryon's strong thighs and fought against the intrusion, even as another noblewoman stepped up between her legs and plunged two fingers into her moisture, flicking them in and out in rapid succession.

"She needs some more practice with this hole," Lord Bryon chuckled. "My Prince, should she submit to this before she is rewarded, or will that be a lesson for next time?"

Cinderella cried out as pleasure jerked through her, severing her moorings to reality. The strong hand pressing against her mound pulled away, leaving her momentarily bereft before another took its place, throwing her closer to the ultimate pleasure that loomed just on the horizon. Then there was nothing and she cried out in longing. "Please!"

She felt Lord Bryon's finger again probe her backside. "Let me in, and then you can fall," he whispered, his lips against her throat and her ear.

Another small wave of pleasure crackled through her, and she tensed, aching for release. "Please..."

"Let me in."

The pressure against her hole grew again, and she tried not to fight it. "Yes," she made herself say, promising that her body would do as he bid, though she felt it utterly beyond her control.