Rating: Spicy!
Welcome to Cinderella Erotic Story Fantasy retelling of the classic fairy tale, but way more sexy, like it should have been. Warning! 18+ Adults Only. Explicit Sexual Content!
Chapter One: Cinderella Erotic Story: The Ball
The ballroom shimmered like a captured star, all crystal and candlelight and the hush of silk against marble. But Ella noticed none of it — not the orchestra’s waltz, not the jeweled masks, not the courtiers’ whispers. She noticed only him.
The Prince stood at the balcony’s edge, moonlight carving shadows beneath his cheekbones, his mask of beaten gold doing nothing to hide the hunger in his eyes. He’d been watching her since she arrived, since the enchantment wove itself around her like a second skin, transforming rags into starlight.
“You’re not from the court,” he said when he finally approached. His voice was smoke and velvet, curling around her like fingers against bare skin.
“No,” she breathed. “I’m… borrowed.”
“Then I should steal you while I can.”
He didn’t invite her to dance. Instead, he took her hand — warm, commanding, possessively — and pulled her through the parting crowd, past the orchestra’s swell, and through a door she hadn’t seen until he opened it. The library. Shelves towered toward shadowed ceilings, smelling of leather and old parchment and the jasmine that clung to her borrowed gown.
“Who are you?” he demanded, backing her against a bookshelf. His body pressed close, all heat and hard planes, the embroidery on his coat scratching deliciously against her exposed shoulders.
“No one,” she lied, and gasped as his mouth found her throat.
“Liar.” His teeth grazed her pulse. “You’re fire wearing silk.”
His hands were everywhere at once it seemed — holding her waist, sliding up her ribs, hands cupping the underside of her breasts through the bodice that suddenly felt too tight, too constraining. She arched into him, dizzy with champagne and magic and the scent of him, cedar, wine and male desire.
“Your mask,” he murmured against her collarbone, fingers finding the laces at her back. “Keep it on. I want to fuck the mystery of you.”
The word shocked her, thrilled her. She’d never been spoken to this way — never been wanted this way. The enchantress’s gift had given her beauty, but this… this was more than she had dared dream of, to be lusted after in this way. It made her legs go weak and the heat between them simmer.
He roughly freed her supple breasts from the gown’s constraints and swayed heavily. The air was cool, but his mouth was hot, closing around her large, thick nipple with a hunger that made her cry out. She tangled her fingers in his hair — thick, golden, soft, so different from the straw she’d slept on for years — and held him there, trembling, as he sucked on her nipple, hard.
“More,” she whispered, not recognizing her own voice. “Please.”
He lifted her easily, her breasts bouncing heavily, setting her on a reading table, shoving aside ancient tomes to make room. Her skirts bunched around her hips as he stepped between her thighs, the hard length of him obvious even through layers of brocade. She was wet — shamefully, achingly wet — and when his hand found her there, beneath silk and petticoats, she moaned loud enough to echo.
“Mmmm,” he groaned, fingers sliding through her heat. “You’re soaked and so hot…”
“Yes…” She bit her lip as he pressed inside, two fingers curling just right. “Fuck, yes —”
He worked her G-spot with practiced skill, watching her face, learning what made her gasp, what made her writhe. The mask hid half his expression, but his eyes — dark, blown wide with desire — told her everything. She was close, so close, climbing toward something she’d only touched in stolen moments beneath scratchy blankets in the dusty ashes of her fireplace hearth.
“Not like this,” he growled, withdrawing his fingers and gripping her hips with both hands. “I need to possess all of you.”
He freed himself completely then, and she saw his cock — thick, hard and impossibly perfect — before he aligned himself with her entrance, and drove into her in one deep, claiming thrust.
“Oh — fuck me —” she cried out, her head falling back against the leather-bound spines.
He didn’t pause. He set a brutal pace, pulling out nearly to the tip before slamming back into her hot, wet pussy, again and again, the sound of their bodies meeting slickly in a pounding rhythm. Her breasts bounced with each impact, swaying with the force of his thrusts. Her nipples were hard and sensitive, and ached to be tasted again. He watched them — watched her — with dark, possessive eyes, his jaw clenched with restraint.
He caught one swollen nipple between his lips and sucked it deep into his mouth, while his cock penetrated her so deep she thought she would faint.
“Touch yourself,” he commanded, voice ragged, as her nipple popped free from his mouth. “I want to see you come on my cock.”
Her fingers found her center, circling frantically as he pounded into her, hitting a spot deep inside that made her see stars. She was unraveling, her body taut as a bowstring, her tits bouncing from the force of his hips snapping against hers.
“That’s it,” he groaned. “Let go. Come for me, beautiful. Now.“
She shattered. Her orgasm hitting the utmost climax as her vagina muscles pumped quickly around his cock, her wetness soaking him as his own orgasm spurted deep inside her.
Then the clock began to chime.
One. Two.
“No,” she gasped, clutching his shoulders. “Not yet — ” Just a few more moments of bliss, she thought.
Three. Four.
His mouth was now on her lips, crushing her soft mouth with a brutal kiss. She struggled to get away, to break free from his steely grip.
Five. Six.
She could feel the magic fraying. The gown’s perfect seams started to become undone, the glass slippers pinching. If she didn’t run now, the enchantment would dissolve here, in his arms, and he would see her — really see her — in soot-stained rags, a servant… nothing.
“Seven. Eight.”
“I have to —” She pushed at his chest even as her body screamed to stay here in his arms. “I must go—”
“Nine. Ten.”
She slid off the table, her legs unsteady, her breasts still bare and glistening from his mouth. He reached for her, but she was already backing away, pulling her bodice up with trembling hands.
“Eleven.”
“Wait —” He looked desperate, beautiful, his arousal straining against fine fabric. “Your name. At least give me your name.”
“Twelve.”
The final chime shattered the spell, as she ran through the back door to the servants quarters.
Ella felt it happen — felt the silk dissolve into rough burlap, the diamonds melt away into chunks of coal, her beautiful updo fall down around her in tangled curls. She ran, bare feet slapping cold stone, one slipper lost behind her, the other clutched in her hand as she fled down servants’ corridors she knew by heart.
Behind her, the Prince held the single glass slipper, still warm from her foot, and swore he would find the woman who fit it.
Even if he had to search every bedchamber in the kingdom.
—
In the ashes of the hearth, come morning, Ella touched her swollen lips and wondered if fairy tales ever ended happily — or if they simply began again at midnight.
Come back to Part 2 of this story next month.
Want to help us write this story? Let us know in which direction it should go.
Should Prince Charming show his darker side and get into BDSM with his new love Ella?
Should Ella through a ball that turns into a swinger’s orgy featuring her step sisters and their new princely beaus?
Or should the couple take off and travel the world having passionate sex in exotic places?
Let us know which scenario you like most, or send us your own ideas!
