SPELLBOUND: An Anthology of Erotically Retold Fairy Tales
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Soon after, Brody went in search of the men’s restroom and felt the slither of a chill across his flesh; that sense of being watched from somewhere across a room. It wasn’t until he emerged from the head that he identified its source.
“Oh boy,” Corinne called.
She stood in a pose meant to be seductive, with one knee bent and a booted foot bracing the corridor’s wall. Take away the meanness, the ugly internal toxins leaching through her pores and surrounding her in a dark cloud, and Corinne Zahn might have appeared stunning. But in that pose, and having gleaned some of what she said to Lily, she reminded Brody of a stone gargoyle leering down from an ancient European rooftop. Adding to the imagery, Brody retained enough from his two years of high school German to remember that her last name meant ‘tooth’.
“If you’re referring to me, I officially ceased being a boy a decade ago,” he fired back.
“Yes, you sure did,” she sighed, licking her teeth. Brody half-expected to see dripping globs of crimson the next time she spoke. “Sorry, it’s an old habit. I call every man that, including my doorman, and he’s in his sixties.”
Brody’s eyes narrowed. “Something I can help you with?”
“You do work for Yum, I assume?”
Brody’s lanyard, hanging around his neck by a red cord, had fallen backward behind the flap of his vintage leather jacket. “I suppose.”
Corinne unhooked herself from her winged gargoyle pose and clip-clopped several steps closer. Her jagged scent burned in Brody’s next breath. “How about you help me with some of my needs? I have things that need to be carried in.”
“Didn’t you bring your own assistant?”
“Her?” Corinne huffed. “No, these are the kinds of ingredients that require a man’s special touch and strong hands. Things to be kneaded, pulled, stuffed. I could use a man of your obvious…talents.”
Corinne’s gaze tumbled down Brody’s chest to the crotch of his faded blue jeans, lower to his big feet in their old construction boots, and back up to his eyes. She snorted a terrible sound that doubled her ugliness. “I’d like you to look after my wishes. A man as handsome as you will only make me appear invincible leading up to my inevitable victory.”
Face stony, Brody fished out his pass and turned it around. “Sorry, but I work for Team Lily. And my gorgeous girlfriend’s going to kick your scrawny ass back to whatever house it is that you haunt.”
* * * *
“Oh, fuck her,” Lily pouted.
Brody, standing at the door to the hotel suite’s bathroom dressed only in a towel following his long, hot shower, said, “Not with a borrowed dick. I bet her snatch has teeth.”
“Fuck me, then?”
A lusty smile spread across Brody’s freshly-shaved face. Reaching beneath the towel, he gave his cock a tug and found it swelling. “Now you’re talking, Babe.”
Lily tossed back the top sheet, revealing cherry gumdrops stacked over each nipple and leading in a line down the center of her chest to the bright red dollop of butter cream frosting piped in the shape of rose petals around her clit.
“I don’t even want to know the flexibility required to create a design like that there,” he said. “Then again, maybe I do.” Brody ate his way to the flower. Lily shook in giddy delight as he nibbled. Neither suspected Corinne was several doors away, scheming to destroy them.
* * * *
Corinne brooded, fingering herself. I will destroy them, she told herself. I will obliterate the gluttonous pig, and stand victorious above her groveling, handsome boyfriend. That he would willingly fuck something so inferior when he could serve me, disgusts me.
Corinne dipped two fingers into her cunt, imagining Brody bound and bruised, bleeding from where she struck him across the lips; a broken man on his knees begging for mercy. Rubbing her clit in clockwise circles, Corinne fantasized about him denouncing the little piggy, devouring Corinne’s pussy and declaring it sweet while calling Lily’s as sour as salty pickles.
“Salt,” Corinne hissed aloud.
Visions of forcing Lily’s boyfriend to perform for her sexually didn’t make Corinne orgasm, but this magic wrinkle to her plan did. Suddenly, it was all so clear and would be so wickedly easy to pull off. It wasn’t the first time she’d chosen the dark side to take out the competition.
Confusing salt for sugar was a chef’s worst nightmare; and such a simple mistake to make. Even simpler when, under cover of shadows, Corinne slipped to Lily’s side of the kitchen set and switched one for the other.
* * * *
Lily was a natural, according to the show’s host Myles Cobert. He declared her a force to be reckoned with as she prepared her decadent blueberry coffee cake.
“This one’s sure to be pure yum,” the jocular, everyman’s chef-lebrity said.
But all it took was one look at the sour faces of the judges to see it was anything but following the conclusion of the first round.
“I feel like I just ate a mouthful of olives and blueberries,” one gasped, reaching for her water glass.
“It’s an easy mistake,” Myles talked at the cameras. “But it might have cost the newcomer the competition.”
Corinne took bragging rights to the first leg of the event with her caramel and apple strudel. Brody noticed the smug grin on her lips and a light went off.
“I don’t think you screwed up, Petal,” he said, pulling Lily aside.
She gazed into his eyes. “I did, and in the worst way possible!”
“No, I don’t think it was you, Babe. I’ve seen you in action. I know how talented you are. I think that bitch set you up.”
Brody tipped a glance toward the right side of the kitchen, where Corinne was busy organizing for the next round.
“Be careful,” Brody whispered. “And remember that I’ve got your back.”
Lily nodded and got to work.
The cappuccino butter cream cupcakes turned the tide in her favor. The pretty treats, each capped by a single chocolate-covered espresso bean, charmed the judges. They proclaimed Lily the comeback kid.
“Luscious, beautiful, and oh-so-sweet at the center, you can’t help but fall in love,” Myles declared. “And the same can be said about her cupcakes, too!”
Lily’s cupcakes notched the second round over Corinne’s triple-fudge devil’s food trifle, leaving the women in a dead tie going into the final stretch.
* * * *
The dreadful little porker fell flat on her ass in the first round exactly as planned, Corinne mused. The woman was disappointed by Lily’s rebound. It killed Corinne to see the joy on the enemy’s cherubic face, to watch her handsome companion embrace her, lifting her off the chubby turnips of her ankles and swinging her around, seemingly with ease. Corinne’s only comfort came in the knowledge that his back would surely pay for it later after the cameras stopped taping and the lights dimmed.
Enraged after the results were announced, Corinne opened her oven door and slammed it as hard as she could, barely caring when the crowd gasped or when Myles Cobert commented on her outburst.
“Queen Corinne’s obviously feeling the pressure,” he said.
This Lily is in my way, Corinne fumed, nibbling away at the walls of the sweet culinary empire I built from the ground up. Corinne’s first attempt to dispose of Lily hadn’t done the trick. It was time to turn up the heat.
* * * *
Corinne planned carefully.
She delivered specific instructions to her assistant. The young woman behind the horn rims was to knock over a glass mixing bowl the instant Lily moved away from her stovetop and toward her refrigerator. Corinne gave no further explanation and made it clear there would be no negotiating these terms. If the mousy young woman refused, Corinne would demote her. Or worse.
A symphony of breaking glass drew every eye and camera lens toward Corinne’s station, providing enough time for her to sneak away. She twisted the knob on top of Lily’s stove, conjuring a spark of electric blue flame before tweaking it down
to the barest flicker.
The empty baking pan Lily planned to use to create her gingerbread sat atop the burner, growing hotter and more dangerous to the touch as Corinne dropped down to help pick up the pieces and order was restored.
* * * *
Brody watched Lily prepare her ingredients. Her motions through the kitchen were pure poetry, a kind of choreographed foreplay set to a delicious melody of brown sugar and cinnamon. He was hungry for her cooking, but seeing Lily waltz through the initial steps of her recipe left him craving her more than her delicious creations. Brody’s cock hardened in his pants. Eyes half-closed, he willed it to soften; to lower even as Lily’s gingerbread house was destined to rise. When she trounce the witch and he jumped up to embrace her, he didn’t want the audience to see his erection—basic cable numbers or not.
Brody daydreamed of what would happen after: the eating and fucking; the construction of a beautiful bakery for Lily. He’d bought a ring. It was in their hotel room even now, hidden in his suitcase, the ruby center stone as big as a gumdrop. Later that evening, when Lily could focus on something other than the pressures of the competition, Brody planned to drop to one knee and ask her to be his.
A shimmer of neon blue light teased Brody’s narrowed gaze. He opened his eyes fully and tracked the source to Lily’s oven, just as the object of his affection reached toward her cake pan. She was clearly unaware it had cooked for the better part of a minute on top of a lit burner.
She turned toward the cake pan, intending to grease the inside.
Any moment now, Corinne thought. She fought the urge to smile while opening her own oven. She had preheated it to 350 degrees; but to her surprise, the oven sat cold. A faint smell of gas assailed her nostrils. Corinne’s grin evaporated as the situation became clear: Banging the oven door shut was enough force to blow out the pilot.
“Oh, you filthy little whore,” Corinne grumbled beneath her breath. If she called a timeout and they connected her earlier outburst with the malfunctioning oven, she’d be penalized. There isn’t time to debate minutia, she thought. Not if I want to take home the prize. Corinne reached for the long fireplace lighter nestled among her spatulas and whisks and leaned down.
As had happened so often on the ice with his hockey buddies, Brody’s legs glided forward at an unthinkable speed. In one fluid motion, he grabbed a metal spatula from Lily’s station, reached around her, and flung the pan like a puck. It sailed through the air, ricocheted off a refrigerator with a loud ping, and struck Corinne Zahn squarely on the butt just as she leaned down to light the pilot.
There came a flash of orange flame and a puff of smoke as the witch fell headfirst into her oven. Brody clutched Lily protectively as stagehands pulled Corinne out. The witch shrieked in outrage. Tendrils of smoke poured out of her hair. Her eyebrows were reduced to ashes. Cameras zoomed in on the terrifying image, making Corinne’s ugliness clear for all to see.
The competition, the money and a bright future all went to Lily. She and her love lived handsomely ever after.
Sasha and the Seven Rosetti Brothers
By Kelly Wade
Sasha King knocked on Jay Mirror’s door, hoping he had an acting job for her. There was no answer. She walked in. The first thing she saw was a signed, framed photograph of Aiden Prince having lunch with Jay at Sardi’s. Sasha stared at the picture and smiled. She remembered being 18 and watching every movie Aiden made. She also recalled the multitude of erotic fantasies she played out in her mind involving him. Sasha had taken a dozen lovers since, but never lost her heart. She was about to call out to Jay when her attention was caught by another photograph. It was Sasha’s 13th birthday party with her father, Redmond on one side and Jay on the other.
Although they were as different as chalk and cheese, Jay was her father’s agent for more than 20; even after Jay’s car accident, when the part of his brain monitoring thoughts was damaged and he blurted out whatever came to mind. The injury had caused Jay to lose many of high-profile clients. But Sasha’s father had a healthy ego and nothing to prove. He stuck by Jay out of loyalty and laughed at his faux pas.
Tears stung Sasha’s eyes. Her father took a new bride a year earlier. Moira was a top model who had been on the cover of every fashion and gossip magazine. Having snared Redmond King, Mr. Broadway himself, she pretended to love his daughter as well. Sasha tried to like Moira for her father’s sake but suspected behind Moira’s smiles and gifts lurked a jealous, greedy woman. But Sasha hadn’t counted on Moira poisoning her father’s mind while she was away studying acting at UCLA.
Sasha’s father six months earlier left a cast party early, complaining of a headache. Moira arrived home three hours later to find his body crumpled on the black and white tiles in the hallway. Life changed overnight for Sasha. When the will was read, Redmond had left everything to his new wife, believing she would know best how to administer the estate. He took it for granted that she would provide for his only child.
Moira had her own plans. The New York City skyscraper overlooking the Hudson, which had been Sasha’s home, was no longer welcome to her. Moira dumped Sasha’s belongings in the lobby and issued orders that the young woman not be allowed upstairs.
The staff at the apartment complex was appalled at the callous treatment of their beautiful Sasha and muttered curses in Spanish, Russian and Greek about the witch in the Penthouse. But they had no choice but to follow orders. Sasha shuddered at the memory of that horrible night. Numb with shock at her father’s blindness and betrayal, Sasha stepped in puddles, past honking traffic and jostling pedestrians to a friend’s studio walkup, where she crashed on a lumpy couch. Depressed and angry, she couldn’t handle anything more complicated than working at Starbucks to pay the rent on a share with four others, in a dreary area near Chinatown. She sighed. The lethargy and mindless television- watching had finally lifted; replaced by an overwhelming need to act again.
Jay stepped out of his inner sanctum, interrupting Sasha’s thoughts. “Darling, it’s you! Look at you.” He twirled her around. “All grown up and gorgeous!” His red, simian face with slanted, green eyes and sensual lips smiled at her as he kissed both her cheeks.
“Your message said you might have something for me,” Sasha prompted once they were seated.
Jay picked up an antique letter opener—a one of many gifts from grateful clients—and ran a finger along the edge. “I do Sweetie. I do.”
“But,” Sasha sighed. “I hear a but.”
“It’s a wonderful play. A small part.”
“You know there are no small parts,” Sasha said.
Jay sighed. “Your stepmother is backing the play.”
“What!” Sasha stood up. “That’s not funny.” She headed for the door. Jay caught up and put an arm around Sasha’s slim, resistant, shoulders. “Hasty makes wasty.”
“Jay, whatever possessed you—”
“Aiden Prince signed on. He’s playing opposite Moira.”
“You’re kidding.”
“A real coupe. Aiden Prince is a huge name in Hollywood even after a two-year hiatus. And I hear he’s huge in other areas, as well.” Jay chuckled. “Wouldn’t it be nice to find out if the rumors are true?”
Sasha blushed. “You’re incorrigible.
“I know. I also know you used to have a crush on him.”
Sasha turned at the door. “Moira will never go for it. She hates me.”
“Of course she hates you. Look at you. You’re young, sexy and talented. Those purple eyes of yours and pouty lips. Cheekbones I’d kill for.”
Sasha laughed and opened the door. “You’re a riot, Jay.”
“I didn’t say it would be a piece of cake. But you won’t be in any scenes together, and if you keep out of her way, it’ll work.”
“Ha!”
“I sent off a touching publicity announcement this morning to all the industry rags in town about how Moira’s helping her stepdaughter by giving her a job and the pied-a-terre above the theater for the durati
on of the show.”
“You’ve lost your mind.”
“A piece only. Moira has dreams of acting. If she refuses, she’s seen as mean and nasty by people in the industry. People who count. And you know how ugly the feeding frenzy can get when the gossip is fueled by her enemies, of which she has many. You’re a shoe-in, babe.”
* * * *
A week later, Sasha watched the play in rehearsal from the darkness of the interior. Her eyes were on Aiden. She felt a powerful attraction to the six-two, tanned actor with the beautiful voice and deep blue eyes. Her eyes strayed to the front of his jeans and she smiled, wondering if he was as huge as rumors said. Aiden peered into the shadows as if he sensed Sasha’s thoughts. She moved further back.
Moira couldn’t remember her lines. The play’s writers sat in the back of the auditorium moaning and clutching their hair as she massacred their work. Aiden seemed frustrated, but it was clear Moira was attracted to him. She kept tossing her blonde hair, gushing over him, touching his arm, the buttons on his shirt, ruffling his black hair.
Moira stumbled over her lines yet again. “This dialogue is ridiculous!” she exploded. Walking into a chair, she lost her balance, threw her script down, and screamed. “I almost broke my neck. Is someone trying to sabotage me?” Everyone looked away.
The director called “take five,” and pulled Moira aside. Aiden walked away. Moira caught sight of Bill Hunter, who was in charge of props and stage management. “I want that man fired!” she shrieked. He’s a moron.” The more Bill apologized, the more abusive Moira became. Ron sighed and shook his head at Bill, who stormed off in Sasha’s direction muttering under his breath.
As Bill passed her, Sasha said sympathetically, “You’re doing a fabulous job.”
Bill stopped and turned back. “Thanks. I need the work or I’d tell that witch where she can shove it.” Sasha stepped into the light and Bill flushed, realizing who she was. “Sorry.”