Cinderella: Bound for the Prince

by Powerone

  She couldn’t stop her hands from trembling as she leaned forward in the chair. In spite of just having an orgasm, she felt her arousal grow once again. She unbuckled the belt on his pants and opened the buttons on the front of his trousers. They already started to fall down, but she didn’t notice right away. Her eyes were glued to the large bulge in his undergarment and the wet spot on it that grew as his prick heaved in the tight confines. When she looked, his pants were almost to his knees, but she slid them until they were around his ankles, but she was eager to get back to his prick.

  Straparola said nothing as he stood there, his prick straining to get free. He watched her small, dainty hands grip the top of his undergarment, but then, she released it. Has she changed her mind? The next sound from her mouth was a soft moan as her fingers went to the front of his undergarment and curled around the shaft as she outlined it and trapped it. The touch of her fingers made him too excited, and her fingers became bolder and more demanding as she tried to grip his spastic prick, but the more she touched it, the worse she made it jump.

  It came alive as soon as she touched it, unable to contain it in her fingers as though it tried to escape, but the only sounds from Straparola were his moans of pleasure. Her fingers grew bolder as she squeezed the thick shaft, feeling the muscles beneath her fingers jerk in such pleasure. The more she squeezed the shaft, the more the spot of wetness grew. Her fingers weren’t to be denied as they slid up the shaft until she felt the thick head at the top. She squeezed it, and her fingers touched the wet spot to feel the warm, sticky juices that stained his undergarments. She had to see it. She went back to the job of pulling his undergarment down; this time, she did it hastily until it fell around ankles.

  Naked, his prick bounced in front of him at a sixty-degree angle until her soft fingers moved back and gripped it. This time, her fingers curled around the shaft to trap it and hold it up as she inspected it.

  She didn’t think it would be so hot, hard to tell when her feet touched it, but her fingers were more sensitive. The shaft had veins that ran up and pulsated with his blood, but there were tiny bumps on the wrinkled and slack skin of the shaft. The head was different, not only smooth, but a deep red as though the blood was pushed into the head and trapped. It had a darker ridge around it where it met the shaft, but beneath it was pink skin. Her eyes were drawn to the tip of the head, a tiny hole that was covered with the glistening juices that leaked out. As she moved her hand on the shaft, more drops leaked. With her thumb, she ran over the head, feeling the hot, sticky juices that escaped. She rubbed her wet thumb over the head until it glistened. When her finger touched the thick ridge, his prick jerked uncontrollably. One finger explored just beneath the ridge and got a cry of pleasure and a spurt of juices that flowed from the tip from her exploration. She ran her fingernail over the soft, pink flesh and was rewarded with more of his juices. She couldn’t believe how easy it was to get him to leak out, but she knew when he had an orgasm, it would be much more. Straparola had cum profusely over her feet.

  Straparola couldn’t control his prick as her inexperienced fingers explored him so completely. Soon, she had him leaking profusely as she held him tight for her intimate exploration. Unexpectedly, her other hand went between his legs and cupped his testicles. She hefted them up as if she was weighing them, but her touch was soft and gentle as if she knew how delicate they were. Then, her fingers sought out his reluctant balls as she chased them around in the bag until she could capture one. Her fingers became more demanding as she squeezed his testicles, and he rewarded her with an unexpected spurt of precum that spilled from his prick.

  Hanging between his legs, she searched out what her toes had explored before, but her fingers were more aggressive. He had a thick thatch of wiry, black hair that covered them, but the bag was wrinkled, yet heavy. Inside, she felt them try to escape as she sought out the elusive testicles until she could capture one. She inadvertently squeezed it too tight, but from the spurt of his seed that spilled from his prick; it wasn’t painful enough to deny his pleasure. She knew she had to give him an orgasm, but she wouldn’t ask how. She’d learn by trying as she already did.

  Her fingers curled around the shaft of his prick and began to stroke him with such skill. Her fingers would tighten and relax just enough as she pulled the loose skin taut. Her other hand still cradled his balls, but she began to grip and tighten on them as though she knew that it would make him drip more cum, which he did. She held his prick out in front of her face, stroking it back and forth without thinking of the danger of him cumming on her face.

  More and more of his juices flowed out, and she realized that when she tightened her fingers as they ran over the head, it extracted such pleasure from him. Her stroking grew quicker, and her fingers clenched on his testicles, knowing that was where his seed would come from. Drops dribbled from the head with more certainty, and she pushed his prick to the side as he neared his pleasure. She wanted to see him spurt, but she didn’t want her face covered in it.

  “Yes, yes,” he cried out as the pleasure raced up from his balls and shot out his prick with such pleasure and force. She’d moved it to the side so his thick crème shot out and splashed on the barn floor, but her hand never stopped moving, stroking up and down the growing wetness that flooded from the head and dripped down the side.

  It made it easier to stroke him, his seed slippery. She watched his seed fly by her head and smack hard on the floor, but he was insatiable, shooting out repeatedly as she continued to stroke his orgasm. She began to feel him lose some of the hardness as the last of the juices flowed from his prick. Her hand was wet with his hot juices as she finally stopped stroking his prick.

  She released his prick when she emptied him, but he was surprised by her boldness. Her wet hand went to her mouth, and her pink tongue pushed out her lips to tentatively touch his cum on her hand. She grimaced from the first taste, but her tongue pushed out once again to take a broad stroke along her hand to gather up more of his juices. The same grimace appeared on her face, but he saw her throat move as she swallowed.

  She tasted his juices, thick and salty and a bit acrid. The slightest drop in her mouth refused to mix with her spit, but it spread its foul taste as if it was a gallon that flooded her mouth. She wouldn’t spit it out, too unladylike, but it was difficult to get it go down her gullet. Straparola pulled up his undergarment and his pants. The chair was gone, and he was dressed like a beggar once again as if none of this happened, but the taste of his seed still flooded her mouth.

  “The carriage will pick you up down the road at seven fifteen so no one will see you. Don’t forget, back by twelve or you’ll suffer the consequences.” And then, he was gone.

  Chapter 4

  Hellfire Club and Elizabet

  The household was in turmoil all weekend as Elizabet began to get ready for Monday. Her mother got her a new dress, it looked too formal, but Elizabet wouldn’t defy her mother again. Once was bad enough. As the hour approached for the carriage to arrive, Cinderella helped her into her tight corset until her body was forced into the hourglass figure she desired. Elizabet never understood why she grew aroused when the corset was tied too tight, but she was ashamed to ask anyone.

  “You look good, Elizabet,” Cinderella tried to compliment her.

  “What do you know,” she quickly dismissed her.

  Cinderella stayed out of sight until the carriage picked up Elizabet. She made one appearance with Lady Browning. “Do you need anything for the night? I’m not feeling well and I’m going to bed.”

  “Be off with you,” Lady Browning ushered her out of the room. “I’ll attend to Elizabet when she comes home.”

  Cinderella heard Lady Browning tell Mary before she was out of hearing range. “She’s jealous of Elizabet and Prince Michael.”

  Cinderella went to her room but only stayed for a minute. Then, she rushed silently out the kitchen door and raced down the road in the dark. Her heart sank when she saw nothing but the black nigh
t envelope the lonely road.

  “Over here, Cinderella.”

  She raced over to the side of the road when she heard Straparola’s voice as her heart raced. She’d been afraid he’d forget her or he couldn’t make the magic he did before. “Where’s my carriage?”

  “Don’t hurry; I must find you something nice to wear to entice Prince Michael.” He tapped her head, shoulders and buttocks with his wand, and the mist rose from her toes until it covered her head. When the cool night breeze blew it away, she was dressed.

  Straparola was impressed with her dress. She wore a white dress that had buttons that ran from her shoulders, under her arms to the hem that held it together. Her lean, long legs were encased in white lace stockings that went to her thighs and were tied with pink ribbons. Prince Michael would be appreciative when he saw them. She wore no corset, none needed with her young, nubile body. Her undergarments were made of the finest silk, laced with ribbons to pull them tight in all the right places. On her feet were the same glass heels she wore before, the four-inch heels left her calves taut and shapely. Her hair was pulled behind her and went half way down her back. Her lips were painted an enticing red, and the sweet scent of jasmine filled the night air. He had one more thing, a white mask. “You’ll need that.”

  He had the carriage laid out in the road, and with a flick of his wand, there her silver carriage with six black horses, coachman and driver appeared from an apple, cockroaches and rats. The door opened and Cinderella stepped inside, eager to see Prince Michael. “Thank you, Straparola,” was the last words she said as the carriage leaped forward to the castle.

  Elizabet arrived at the prince’s castle, not decorated like the ball. It was dark except for the torches that lit the entrance, but the yard was filled with carriages, the coachmen smoking among themselves as they waited for their masters. The door opened, and she got out. She was greeted by a woman that she didn’t know. Her heart sank; she expected Prince Michael.

  “I’m Lady Oates. You must be Lady Browning. Prince Michael asked that I meet you.”

  “You may call me Elizabet, Lady Browning is my mother.”

  “Address me as Lady Oates. Come, Elizabet.”

  “Where are we going?” They didn’t head to where Elizabet heard the sound of voices and music.

  “I thought I might help you dress more appropriately for tonight,” she said rudely.

  What is wrong with the way I dressed? She should have defied her mother and picked something more appropriate. She followed her to a long hallway, and they went into a bedroom. Lady Oates was a distinguished-looking woman about the same age as her mother, but her body seemed to be more seductive and enticing. Her full breasts were pushed up high, and she left a generous amount of white cleavage revealed. Her waist was slim, but her hips were full. Her bottom was round and firm as if she was young and nubile. She walked smartly as she moved with such precision for each step she took.

  “You have a lovely body, Elizabet, such that any man, including Prince Michael, would desire, but you don’t show it to the fullest. Take off the terrible dress so I can see what I have to work with.”

  Elizabet didn’t know why she did it so easily, but she obeyed without question, though it was difficult to get out of the dress without any help. She stood in front of Lady Oates in her corset.

  “Do you enjoy tight lacing, Elizabet?”

  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “Your corsets, do you enjoy being put in tight corsets and your body squeezed?”

  This is what she never mentioned to anyone else, but Lady Oates seemed to know exactly what she felt. “Yes, the tighter the better.”

  “Does it make you excited, Elizabet, sexually excited?”

  She should be ashamed to admit it, but it was as if she felt the same thing. “Yes, it makes me tingle, but I wish it was more.”

  “I can help you, Elizabet, Would you like that?”

  “Yes, I can’t talk to my mother about such things.”

  “I know what you want more than you do, just trust me. Prince Michael will love it.”

  She opened up the dresser and rummaged through it until she found what she was looking for. Elizabet was a bit on the plump side, so she needed a big-enough corset to contain all of her flesh. “Here it is; take off your corset. This one will be much better.”

  She had a blush on her face, but she obeyed without question, stripping off her corset until she only had on the silk undergarment, standing almost naked in front of her.

  “Turn around.” Lady Oates began to help her into it. It was made out of the finest silk but was thick to keep it from tearing. It covered the lower half of her breasts and went to the top of her mound.

  She felt it go around her, but this one was strange. There were straps hanging down from the bottom of it, many of them in the front and the back. She didn’t know what they were for, but Lady Oates already began to lace up the corset. It began to compress her waist but also her breasts. She looked down to see them squeezed so tight, but the top parts of her breasts were pushed out until they looked like they’d explode. Lady Oates continued to tighten the corset, top and bottom, and Elizabet struggled to breathe as her waist was severely constrained. Cinderella never made it this tight. She groaned, but Lady Oates never stopped.

  Lady Oates showed Elizabet her reflection in the mirror. She had a perfect hourglass figure, a slim waist at least eight inches smaller. Her buttocks flared out, but it was her breasts that were exaggerated so boldly. They pushed out the top confines of the corset, and they looked twice the size. Elizabet’s face was flushed as she struggled to fill her lungs, but she couldn’t take a deep breath. “What do you think?”

  She gasped as she tried to speak. “I love what you did.” She felt wetness between her thighs, and even though her nipples were trapped in the corset, they were hard and throbbing.

  “Are you aroused?”

  “Yes, Lady Oates,” she shamefully admitted. “What are the straps for?” They hung down and rubbed sexily along her thighs as if they were a man’s fingers that stroked her arousal.

  “Stand up straight and spread your legs, Elizabet. I’ll show you.”

  She felt no shame as she spread her legs willingly. Strange hands touched her between her legs, but instead of protesting, she felt her juices begin to flow. The straps began to tighten over buttocks, one on each side. They met between her legs and then they were pulled around the front. Fingers adjusted them as Elizabet struggled to contain the growing arousal. When the straps tightened on her backside, it pulled her buttocks open. She tried to clench them tight, but she couldn’t. She knew the crack of her backside was gone and all was exposed. It was as if a man’s hands yanked them apart to expose them to his prying eyes. The straps met on her perineum as if they were strapped together, but then, they parted. In the front, they found the soft pedals of her quim, and as the straps moved up and tightened, they pulled her lips apart. She felt the pressure as they dug into her soft lips and trapped them. She looked into the mirror and saw that her quim was exposed lewdly, the pink, wet inner lips exposed from the swollen pleasure button to the dark hole of her quim, all uncovered to the bright lights. Elizabet couldn’t imagine how it would feel when she walked.

  “I’m not finished yet,” but Lady Oates could see the flush of arousal on her face. There was one more strap to attach.

  Elizabet bowed her legs out as another strap was pulled between them, but this time, it started along her spread crack and went through her legs and back up through the pulled-back lips of her quim. It ran around to the front of the corset, and then, Lady Oates began to tighten it. This was more than a strap. It was thicker than the others, and she felt something hard and bulging on her anus. As it tightened, her anal ring began to expand to accommodate the thickness, but at the same time, another thickness pushed into her quim and a third rubbed over her pleasure button to push it harshly into her pubic bone. When Lady Oates finished tightening the strap, it felt like she was p
enetrated front and back.

  She wouldn’t let her walk until she was completely dressed and unable to stop it. “This is a much nicer dress for the occasion.” The dress accented her full breasts, cut low so both of her breasts almost spilled out the top. It was designed to be worn with the corset and molded across her body to highlight her hourglass figure. It went to the top of her knees, and Lady Oates helped her into the four-inch heels that fastened around her ankles with straps to keep them from coming off.

  Elizabet couldn’t deny that the dress was much more stylish, and she couldn’t believe how her body had taken shape. Her figure looked perfect, though Elizabet still felt dizzy as she struggled to fill her lungs. Her body tingled with excitement without moving the least bit. She felt the pressure on her bottom and on her quim. It was as if she waited to be stroked.

  “One more thing and then you’re ready to go, Elizabet.” She handed her the mask. “Put it on, everyone has one. Your identity won’t be revealed.”

  She gasped when she took the first step. It felt like her anus was pierced by something thick and demanding, at the same time her quim felt like a prick had entered her. It wasn’t pain she felt for her pleasure button was flattened and rubbed in such a way. Her body grew flushed and the wetness between her legs spread. By time she got to the door, she struggled not to have an orgasm. Her buttocks and quim was spread open and rubbed by unseen forces, all determined to make her orgasm.

  “Do you like that, Elizabet?” She knew she did. She wore no undergarments, naked except for the straps that incited her lust.

  “Yeess,” her voice trembled. They stopped at a door, and Elizabet heard the loud voices of men inside.

  Prince Michael tried not to look anxious, but he waited impatiently for Ella. He knew nothing of her, but he was infatuated with her. He’d soon find out if she was sexually compatible with him. He hoped that his efforts to appease her revenge against Elizabet would help, for she had to believe that it would involve her taken sexually in front of everyone. That is what the Hellfire Club was for. He finally saw the carriage arrive, the black horses snorted loudly when they came to a halt. It was as though they came from the gates of Hell.