by Ashlee Price
Every time we were together, he controlled me. Every flick of his tongue enticed me and made me forget everything but him. I wanted something more, and before I was completely wrapped up and lost in his web, I pulled away and watched his dark green eyes open slowly to meet mine. I wanted to watch his face as I moved down to take him into my mouth.
I had never tasted him before, never taken the time to wrap my lips around his long length, but I couldn’t wait any longer. I could already feel my need rising and wetness creeping between my legs that had nothing to do with the water streaming down from above. My knees shook as I moved in front of him, his hardness inches from my lips.
Looking up at him, I saw that Greg’s face was predatory. I knew that he wanted to be inside of my mouth badly. His tip was twitching in my face. Opening my mouth slowly, I moved to take him in, stopping when my lips were just past the head. I stopped his hips from moving forward and finally closed my lips around the silken rod. The growl in the back of his throat spurred me on.
Pulling my mouth away, I wrapped my hands around the base, twisting slightly as I stroked up. My lips and tongue licked and tasted down the underside of his thickness, my fingers rubbing the top in synch. Moving back up to the top, I slide my lips around the twitching head and suckled on the tip as my hand moved slowly on the slippery skin.
Glancing up, I saw that his eyes were closed. I could feel a stray hand on the back of my head, weaving into my wet strands. I needed more and moved him deeper against my throat. I tried to take him all in at once and was confronted with the tip in the back of my throat. Pushing my throat muscles back, I pulled him out and took a breath before doing it again. The only thing I could hear over my beating heart was the short groans coming from his lips.
As my pace quickened, the noise above me got louder. I could feel the hard end hitting the back of my throat, and his hips were moving forward to meet my mouth. I had given up on using my hand, taking both to brace myself against his rutting hips. His salty taste started to fill the back of my mouth, overpowering my senses and making me add suction to his length.
The grip on my hair tightened and the taste became a flood of need. There was so much that I had to swallow before my mouth filled with his seed and I wasted a drop. As more came out, I looked up into his emerald eyes. The look alone made my insides throb for him.
As he pulled back, I moved forward, not allowing the hardness to escape my lips. I wanted more. I wanted him hard again, and I quickly moved down the length with my mouth. Greg groaned, and the sound was pitched high compared to the previous ones. I knew that his tip was sensitive, but I only relented when he was finally full and ready for me again.
Standing up, I turned around and looked behind me. He needed no invitation, his hands gripping my waist and pulling me back to his waiting cock. I cried out when he pushed deep suddenly, filling me with his thickness as he stretched my insides to accommodate his girth. It had been so long that it felt like the first time, and I gritted my teeth to the challenge. It had been far too long since I had him inside of me, and I was sure that this was the closest thing to heaven on earth.
Greg was gentle with me at first. He had been since we got back together, but I didn’t want a soft touch, I wanted the man that I had first fallen for. More than that, I needed that man.
“Please, Greg, more.”
Knowing what it was that I needed, he growled into my ear, giving me exactly what I asked for. Everything that I needed was in Greg’s power to give me, and he gave it willingly. I had never been so content as at the end of that night.
“How did I get so lucky, Greg?”
He chuckled and told me that it was my name. “It just stuck with me. You were a parasite, worming your way in.”
I just sighed, and though it was the worst metaphor ever, it was still really sweet. Whatever it was, I was glad he was there with me now.
~The End~
Sinderella
A Dirty Fairy Tale Romance
By: Ashlee Price
Chapter 1
Sindy
I emptied probably my fiftieth dustpan of hair clippings into the bin and pushed my own waist-length blonde curls behind my ears. There was a Christmas Eve blizzard raging outside, but the salon was warmed by a dozen hair dryers, and I surreptitiously did a sniff test of my underarm. It had to be nearly a hundred degrees inside.
Then there was the overwhelming scent of hair coloring, bad breath, Christmas cookies and the women’s room door left open. Mouths clattered, spewing off Christmas purchases and expectations in a major battle of one-upmanship. It was just too much for my sensitivities, and I longed for relief.
“Sindy!”
“Coming…” I looked behind me to see who’d been calling my name and recognized Ethel’s gawky neck and the red Mohawk cut she’d fussed over for two days. I smiled to myself. She reminded me of a rooster about to lose his head to a Christmas chopping blade. She was giving me the evil roving eye, drawing my attention to the hair on the floor beneath her customer.
“Sweep it!” she mouthed in what would have been a shout if she’d thought it would help. I nodded and headed in that direction with my broom.
I’d nearly gotten there when “Sindy!” was barked in a gravelly voice to my left. It was Myrtle, and she was pissed. Her customer was a long-legged blonde with a perfect complexion who happened to be wearing the same blouse Myrtle had put on that morning. Myrtle’s face looked like a pockmarked pizza, and her coal-black hair was this month’s shade of preference. “Get me a smock!” she shouted, and now every woman in the salon had turned to see what the commotion was about, so her secret was out. She hunched, making the meaty bulk of her shoulders even broader. It was as if God had shoved her boobs into her shoulders and left them there.
I nodded and motioned to the broom in my hand. “Now!” she screamed, and that provoked Ethel into shouting my name over the top of Myrtle. I was torn between the two.
“Sindy…” came my stepmother’s voice behind me. She had the appearance of a hairless cat wearing scarlet red lipstick, and she seemed to hiss most of the time, particularly when pronouncing my name.
I looked to see what she wanted. “Do the hair first and then the smock, and when you’re done with that, take a twenty from the drawer and run to the deli and get my lunch.” Having spoken, she moved on like Kipling’s storied finger.
I got through the traffic jam, grabbed the twenty from the register and headed out front, relishing the biting wind. It was a clean contrast to the mess inside, and I walked slowly, that is until Clarabella, my stepmother, shrieked from the salon doorway, holding her sweater edges together. “Don’t dawdle! Your sisters will want their lunches, too!”
I lived to serve.
Chapter 2
Lance
Somewhere in the process of growing up, I began to hate Christmas.
I remembered the excitement of gift discovery, but now I could buy myself anything I wanted.
Right out of college, I’d borrowed money, gotten a couple of investors and started a mattress company called Royal Manufacturing. By combining a little tech with the use of a new conductive foam, we engineered a mattress with a frame that was as responsive as the human skeletal structure. Using an app, the user could elevate or lower any four-inch grid of the mattress, which made it great for busty or pregnant women who wanted to sleep flat on their stomachs. The temperature was likewise controllable, as was the firmness. It vibrated (with accommodating snap-on appendage toys), it changed colors, and best of all, with the tap on a button, it converted itself into a sofa.
To say the mattress was popular would be an understatement. We couldn’t keep up with the demand. Hotels, college students, lonely singles, young couples, the obese; anyone you talked to could find a reason to buy one, and buy them they did. I became a billionaire, literally overnight—pun intended.
By my twenty-ninth birthday, I had everything in the galaxy I could want, except a lady with whom to share it. I just hadn�
��t gotten around to that quite yet. But my folks wanted grandchildren, and the pressure was on. I would be turning thirty in January, and I had decided to rent a massive event venue and have a party. I hired a staff to plan it and to draw up a prospective guest list. They told me it would be the hottest ticket of the century, and as it worked out, it was, indeed.
My cell was buzzing. “Hello, Mom.”
“Lance, I’m at the designer’s picking out fabric for my dress. What colors will you be using?”
“Mom, it’s not a wedding. You can wear whatever color you like,” I told her. The moment I said it, I regretted it, because I knew she needed boundaries. Giving her choices left her flustered. “I always thought you looked great in blue, though,” I threw in.
“Blue? Oh, well… if you say so.”
This rattled her. “Any color is fine, Mom.”
“No, no, if you want me in blue, then blue it is. I really liked this green velvet…” she said, letting the air claim the rest of her sentence.
I loved my mother, but she drove me up the wall when she played this verbal tennis with herself. Why couldn’t women just choose something and get on with the more important things in life? “Now that you mention it, I thought that green outfit you wore last Christmas was great. Why not go with the green?”
“The green? I wonder if there’s enough on the bolt. I want a really full skirt.” She was back to the blue in her head, and I thought I’d blow a gasket.
“Mom, sorry, but I have to take this other call.”
“Oh? Very well, then. Don’t you worry. I’ll figure this all out on my own.”
“I know you can do it, Mom. I’ve got to go now.” I tapped the disconnect and sighed. Was I really sure I wanted a woman around my neck for the rest of my life? Especially if ’it was the same woman?
My cell buzzed again. It was Dane, the guy whose firm I’d hired to organize the party. “What’s up, Dane?”
“Hey, Lance. Listen, we’re brainstorming here, and we thought it might be kind of cool if we really go outside the box to get some publicity for the party. I mean, we both know it’s for more than your birthday.”
“What exactly did you have in mind?” Inwardly, I was cringing. I liked my privacy, but on the other hand, I understood that the more eligible women who were there, the better the odds I might find one I liked.
“Yeah, so this morning while the coffee was brewing, I picked up this local TV show for women. Mind you, it’s not the sort of thing I watch, but given our gig here, it caught my attention.”
“Okay, I get it. Go on.” I was rolling my eyes. I wished Dane would hurry up and come out. I knew he’d be much happier.
“So, there’s this woman whose name is Angela Brand. She’s developed quite a local following. I guess her gig is doing makeovers. She takes girls who could use some improvement and fixes them up for their prom, wedding, job interview; you get the idea. It raises their self-esteem. She’s picky, though. She doesn’t take anyone who’s a dog, to begin with. They just have to be that blossom that has yet to open.”
“So, get on with it, what’s your idea?”
“I got to thinking we could hire this Angela Brand. Do a little cross promotion, if you will. I’ll give her a call and tell her to pick out her own single girl. Someone who’s a diamond in the rough. We’ll pay her fees, wardrobe, transportation, and you get the idea. Do some before-and-after shots.”
“Wait a minute. You’re not saying you want me to pick Brand’s girl just for a promo, are you?”
“No, no, this would just be our way of getting into her customer database. Brand can let it be known in her circle that you have suddenly put yourself on the market and she might hold the golden ticket. She wins because it grows her clientele and we win because it makes it a competition and the losers will stay home. I also figure, what the hell, it could bring more customers to Royal. The whole thing would be a tax write-off, and you never know, you might find ‘the one.’ What do you think?”
“Remind me not to hire you to advertise my mattresses,” I told him with a sour expression. “That’s really lame.”
“I admit, there are some details to be worked out, but I think the more publicity we have, the better your odds. Face it, the worst that could happen is you dance with a beautiful girl all night. It doesn’t mean you have to marry her. Call her your lifesaver girl.”
I gave it a few ’moments’ thought and said, “Okay, I’m game. This whole thing is going to be such a farce, anyway. I’m planning to just get through the night to satisfy the folks, then I’m either staying single, or I’ll try a different closet.”
Dane drew in his breath. “Wait! Are you telling me that you’re gay?”
I was laughing inside, knowing he would be unable to resist the bait. “No, Dane, I’m not. I’m as straight as they come. Sorry.”
“Oh.” I could hear the disappointment in his voice.
I teased him some more. “You know, you could open that door and find yourself a little happiness for a change.”
“Let’s not go there.”
“Deal. Okay, so how am I supposed to know this girl?”
“I could say I hope it’s natural selection, but we’ll figure out something. I’ll let you know.”
“Got it. Bye.”
Chapter 3
Sindy
The sidewalk was slick, and I was having trouble keeping my balance. I was on my way back from the deli, my arms loaded, when I saw a black limo pull up to the curb in front of the salon. The chauffeur opened the back door, and one very long, very expensively dressed leg ventured out. It was Mrs. Brand, one of my favorite customers.
Even though I had my beauty license, my stepmother never let me take clients. She insisted I needed to spend more time learning from her daughters, Ethel and Myrtle. I knew from experience that Mrs. Brand never made appointments. She was a very successful, busy woman who couldn’t be held in check by silly things such as appointments. And I also knew the salon was crammed to the rafters and she would be in for a wait.
I stepped up my pace so I could make it to the door in time to hold it open. She swept through the entrance, tugging at the fingers of her glove and looking around for my stepmother. “I’m here!” she called out to the room at large.
I saw my stepmother, Clarabella, whirl around with panic on her face. Both of my stepsisters already had a stream of customers in various stages of progress. Some were under dryers, some sitting with coloring and a timer, and some had their hair cut on only one side of their heads. There was no way they could be freed up. Clarabella herself was not a stylist. She was just, well, Clarabella, the boss. Now, here she was faced with one of the most influential women in the city who, without an appointment, wanted immediate service. She scurried forward as I set the deli lunches down on the table behind the counter. I wanted to witness this.
“Clarabella, I’m here now. Please get me into a chair. I lost track of time and didn’t realize Christmas was tomorrow.”
“But, Mrs. Brand, we didn’t expect you. I’m afraid my girls are all tied up.”
Mrs. Brand pulled herself up to her full height, plus four inches extra from her stiletto heels, and raised her chin. “Am I to understand you are turning me away?” It was more than a question. It came closer to asking Clarabella whether she wished to die by the knife or the gun.
Clarabella panicked. She quickly scoped the room, looking for an opening in which to insert Mrs. Brand. Her mouth hung open, and she was panting with dread.
Mrs. Brand looked in my direction. “What about her?”
My stepmother snapped her head over her shoulder to look at me. “Do you mean Sindy?”
“I don’t see anyone else standing there.”
I looked at my stepmother, wide-eyed. I wanted so badly to help Mrs. Brand. It would be a gold star for me, and at the very least, I wouldn’t have to sweep for the next hour. I nodded encouragingly.
“Oh, very well. Sindy, would you escort Mrs. Brand to number
four styling station? Keep it simple and elegant.”
Mrs. Brand nodded and followed me. As it happened, number four styling station was in the back corner where it was quiet and out of the flow of traffic.
“Forget what she said. It’s Christmas, and I’d like a nice updo if you don’t mind.” Mrs. Brand was a good, but busy woman.
“I don’t mind a bit,” I told her, putting a cape over her expensive designer dress. “If you don’t mind stepping over here, let’s get your hair washed first.” She nodded and followed me.
I shampooed her hair and considered what sort of style I would give her. Since I was being given a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, I wanted it to be very special. Then I remembered an example I’d seen in a French stylist magazine that had come in the mail two days earlier. I remembered looking at it longingly and wishing I had someone on whom to try it. It appeared my wishes had come true, because Mrs. Brand had exactly the right hair length and texture to pull it off.
With Mrs. Brand in the chair, I began combing her hair into wet sections that I could trim slightly. I realized with some anticipation that she happened to have the perfect facial structure to support the style I had in mind. “With your permission, Mrs. Brand, I would like to try a style that is absolutely the newest thing from Paris. I saw it in a magazine two days ago, and while it’s a little too avant-garde for the normal woman who comes in here, I believe you could pull it off with some real panache. Would you be willing for me to try it?”
She nodded. “Surely, why not? If it doesn’t work out, only my family will see me tomorrow, and they all think I’m nuts anyway. If it does work out, I promise you more customers.”
“Deal.” I was busily working at shaping her hair properly when there was a commotion near the front of the salon. My stepsisters, each with a golden envelope in hand, were shrieking, their arms waving in the air.