The Diary of Cinderella
Part I

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Romantic, Fiction,

Desc: Erotica Sex Story: Part I - A filthy orphan girl gets transformed into a goddess, makes a prince fall in love with her and search till he finds her, then they live happily ever after? Give me a break. A more realistic story about Cinderella. Mice? We don't need no stinkin' mice. Part II greatly expanded 9/24/06.

Dear Diary,

Monday, 23rd day, 8th month

My "sisters" came home filled with excitement today. The Prince has announced he is in search of a princess. There will be a great ball at the palace this Saturday eve and each is confident she will be the chosen one. Methinks they are both overly optimistic. Bertha's nose is too sharp and is the first thing that catches one's attention when gazing upon her face. And I've heard that the Prince has a fondness for breasts, so that eliminates Gertrude from the start.

Dear Diary,

Wednesday, 25th day, 8th month

"Mother" has joined the fantasy. She has convinced herself that the Prince can do no better than a woman of over 200 pounds with two grown children. I admit she has a sizable bosom, but I don't believe that is the only requirement of the Prince. I had to leave the room so as not to laugh out loud as her daughters attempted to reduce her size by forcing a corset for a much thinner woman upon her.

Dear Diary,

Friday, 27th day, 8th month

These are truly evil stepsisters I have. Today they had me covered in filth as I washed the old horse my father used to pull his plow and wash and paint the buggy he drove to deliver the milk to town. The fool from the farm next door has been cajoled into dressing up in finery I have been requisitioned to fashion out of our front room draperies by Bertha. Her nose may be long and sharp but it doesn't prevent her from taking a one-eyed wonder in her mouth and sucking the custard out of it. I wonder how attractive the Prince would find her if he could see her on her knees giving suck to that pimply faced brat's blue-veined trumpet.

Dear Diary,

Saturday, 28th day, 8th month

I am weary. I have not had any sleep since a full day, being up all night fashioning livery from my mother's fine curtains. Tis good she is long in her grave so as not to witness it. When I tried to quit to my mattress, I was informed that I would be required to help the three of them to pretty themselves for the ball. One truly cannot fashion a silk purse of a sow's ear. Tis a wonder to hear them yammer of what they believe the Prince will find attractive. They went off satisfied they had been made beautiful, though I've seen barns with more subtle red paint than the three of them wore. And Gertrude looks worse with her bodice stuffed with rags than she does with no bosom at all. As I write this, it is two hours past the dinner hour and I am finally able to retire to my bed as my stepmother and stepsisters having just pulled away in their "carriage."

Dear Diary,

Sunday, 29th day, 8th month, very early morning

I had been asleep for less than a quarter hour when I was awakened by a vision. Being of sound mind and not wont to foolishness, I assumed I was still dreaming.

"Cynthia," the vision said, "You must needs get ready for the ball. Else you shall never meet your true love."

I gazed upon a woman of indeterminate age. "Who might you be, my lady?"

"I would be your fairy godmother."

"I would blame you upon spicy food had I not fallen into bed before having a chance to feed myself," I said. "In its stead, I shall call you a nightmare."

"Have you not wished to depart this place? To live in finery, to have all in the kingdom honor you? To have the very Prince of the land kneel at your feet?"

"This is a very fine dream, my lady, but I must needs sleep to make up for that which was lost. I am but a poor girl, indentured to my dead father's wife. No prince would want me."

"Cynthia, get out of bed. The time has come for you to meet your destiny."

Of a sudden, I was on my feet, lifting my arms as my nightclothes were pulled over my head and off. She directed me to a golden tub, filled with lavender scented water, the steam rising as I watched, enchanted.

I sat in it as she washed the dirt and grime from my body. The brush made my nipples stand up as she scrubbed my bosom and my nether nipple escape its shield when she swiped between my opened legs.

"No time for that." she said, lifting me by both arms. "There will be plenty of time for those games after you catch him."

"Catch who, my lady?"

"The Prince. The Prince. Get your head around it, Girl, tonight you ensnare the Prince for your very own."

It seemed a lovely dream and I resolved to go along with it as long as it lasted.

My "fairy godmother," as she referred to herself, was powdering me with a feather duster dipped in lavender powder. The feelings as she drew it between my legs and the cleft in my arse rivalled those I could create under the covers at night with my fingers and the odd vegetable I was able to sneak into bed with me.

She stood in front of me and shook the feather duster as if it were a staff or wand. Of a sudden, I was clothed. Clothed not in the rags I normally wore, but in such finery as I'd never seen. Finery as beautiful or even more so than that I'd seen the Prince's mother, our queen wear, on the rare occasion I'd been privy to witness her and her husband out amongst the common folk in their golden coach. My godmother, as I truly believed her to be now, waved her duster and a glass appeared in front of me. I appraised myself and was astounded by my beauty. My blond hair was piled on top of my head, a crystal tiara holding it in place. The dress was blue. Not a dark color, but a blue best described as wispy. Teamed with the bluish hue of the crystal, my blue eyes drew my attention as if a magnet. The bodice of the dress was modest yet revealed that I had a bosom to be admired, proving it to be real but not displaying it to the view of all. A present to be opened by the man I chose to give that privelege to.

My godmother, as I now started believing her to be in my mind, held her chin in her hand, a look of consternation upon her face. "Those shoes lack something."

I pulled up the hem of the gown with its petticoats and gazed upon my feet. The shoes were finer than any I had ever worn, a dark blue in color with heels that raised the back of my feet from the ground.

She waved her duster and the looking glass in front of me shrank, then flew toward my feet, suddenly transforming to slippers. My feet could be seen as if they were bare. While these had heels even lengthier than those of the blue slippers, these were thin and tapered, not thick and squared as the others. I felt something strange on my face and discovered a mask, also of crystal, around my eyes.

The clock over the fireplace chimed the nine o'clock hour and I turned to look at it.

She held my chin in her hand and turned my face towards her, holding on to me and moving it to emphasize her instructions.

"You have but tonight to entice the Prince to marry you. I have done all I can; it is up to you to dance and beguile him with your beauty. But I warn you, my dear. When the midnight hour strikes, all of this will vanish and you will be dressed in your rags. You must accomplish the seduction before the twelfth chime of this clock. Do you understand me, my child?"

I nodded my head and found myself to be standing at the entrance to the ballroom at the palace. A uniformed guard touched my arm and asked "Who should I announce, my lady?"

I looked at him, not understanding his words or where I was.

"Your name?"

"Cynthia." I thought of my stepfamily and their reaction if they knew I was in attendance. "Cinderella. Cinderella of Exley."

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I present Cinderella of Exley."

Some of the crowd turned to gaze upon me but for the most part they continued their conversations as I made my way down the long staircase to the ballroom floor. That is, until none other than the Prince made his way up the lower two steps and took my hand in his. A gasp rose from many on the floor as if from one.

"I would never forgive myself if you were to stumble, my lady."

"You are very gracious, but I have been walking by myself for many years, your highness." Where I got the courage, the brashness to speak in such a manner to my prince is beyond me.

"Tis certain you have," said he. "I must tell you, I but chose that as an excuse to take your lovely hand in mine." At that point, he knelt on one knee and brought the hand to his lips, barely brushing them upon my fingers.

This had two effects. First, the collective crowd in the ballroom, all of whom were watching the two of us by now gasped as one, moreso than they had when he first took my hand. The second effect was of a more personal nature and I was pleased that my fairy godmother had seen fit to supply bloomers when she costumed me.

The Prince rose to his feet and declared "I wish to dance." A path was opened up to the center of the floor and he led me there, never relinquishing my hand. He took me in his arms and the orchestra started to play.

I had never been held by any man but my father, and that was before he died seven years ago. The pimply faced lout had tried many times, lifting my dress in an attempt to bare my arse for his pink trumpet but I'd always managed to avoid his grasp.

This was like no other. He held me as a feather. I felt safe and secure in his arms but almost untouched. The slightest pressure and my body would glide in the direction of our dance. It was like floating, we were as one, becoming the music.

The music played and played and we danced and danced and then it was silent and I was standing in front of him, his arms still holding me. His face was red and covered in sweat, as I am certain was mine. The thought came to me that it was not unlike the way we would be after sex. Not that I knew firsthand since I was untouched by hands other than mine. But I knew we would be tired and sweaty and out of breath and exhilarated after rutting like animals, just as we were now. For when I looked at this magnificent man as he held me in his arms, rutting is what I envisioned, not the gentle lovemaking I had always been taught was the ideal between a man and a woman.

He leaned toward me and I opened my mouth, welcoming his. The room was full of people but his mouth and his tongue were the only things on my mind. He crushed me against him as his tongue delved into my mouth, striving to clean my teeth and massage my tonsils. I did battle with it, partially for the shear enjoyment of it but also to keep it from choking the breath from my lungs.

He released my mouth and glanced over at the orchestra, immediately causing another song to be played. We danced again, the crowd watching, moving out of the way as he moved me about the floor. The crowd was extravagant, as needful as a milk sac on a stallion and yet they stayed, not knowing how to react to the Prince's attentions being solely directed at me.

The music ended and he was ready to dance again. "Even a plowhorse gets watered and rested, your excellency."

He bowed and brought my fingers to his mouth. "Forgive me, my lady. We desire champagne!," he shouted to the room.

He led me to the front of the room, the crowd dispersing to allow us progress. He bowed, my fingers still in his hand, his other hand describing an arc, pointing out the throne that comprised the only furniture on that side of the room.

"Please be seated, my lady."

I sat on the edge of the throne, another gasp being raised from the crowd as I invaded an area reserved for royalty. If I had taken it upon myself to so much as touch that seat without his permission, I could be taken to the courtyard and been separated from my head. I had never heard of anyone not a member of the royal family being allowed to do as he bade me.

A steward ran up to the Prince's side with a bucket on a stand, a large bottle of champagne nestled in ice within it. He set it upon the floor and pulled out the bottle, hastening to remove the wire and then the cork. A pop was sounded and the cork flew off to the crowd, the lucky ones in the vicinity scrambling to catch it ere it hit the ground. I was surprised to note that my stepmother was the one who ended up with the prize, holding it up for all to see, her face grotesque with the paint she'd required me to install, her belly straining obscenely at the material of the corset around her frame.

A second steward was at the ready with two flutes for the champagne. The Prince waved him away.

"Allow me, my lady," he said as he once again got down on one knee to the accompaniment of another gasp. He lifted my right foot and slipped the slipper off, bringing my toes to his lips and treating them as he had my fingers yet more, taking each in his mouth in its turn and sucking it. A shock made its way from my toes to the apex of my legs, acting as fire and causing my body to provide its own fluids to extinguish it.

Staying on one knee, he held the slipper up to the steward with the bottle. After a slight moment of confusion, he held the brim above the slipper, allowing the liquid to flow out of one glass container and into another. The Prince held it in his hand, his palm under the arch, the spiked heel between the primary and mid fingers and brought the back of the slipper to my lips. I opened my mouth as he tilted it so the champagne could flow from the slipper to my mouth.

I sipped, the liquid refreshing me, replacing some of the fluid our lovemaking had used up. I know it would be referred to as dancing in polite society, but I also know that neither he nor I was under the illusion that what we had engaged in was anything more than sex without benefit of a bed. True, there was no penetration, but both of us knew the dancing was just a preliminary to that action.

As he lowered the slipper, I extended my tongue, wetting it in the sparkling liquid, then beckoning him to me with my eyes. As a moth drawn to a candle, my prince came to me and sucked the wine from my tongue. He was surprised when he kissed me to discover I had retained some of the intoxicating liquid in my mouth as it made its way to his mouth. From the look in his eyes as he swallowed the sparkling wine, I knew he was anticipating the same action with a fluid other than champagne.

"Exley," he said, "I know not of it."

"It is to the north. In France."

"But France lies to the south."

"The north of France. Of course it is south of here."

"No matter. I'm certain we shall determine exactly where it lies after we are married."

He leaned toward my lips when the great clock began to chime the hour. I turned my head to discover both hands covering one another, pointing straight up. I could not believe the time had passed so quickly but it had, without a doubt.

The warning of my fairy godmother came to mind and I knew I must needs depart before the twelfth gong sounded or I should be dressed in rags. At that time, I knew I had dallied too long and failed. I could not direct my prince to come to our cottage and when he searched for me in Exley, he would discover that it was purely an invention of my mind.

I pushed against his chest, causing him to fall over backwards, sitting down on the hard floor and splashing himself with the remaining champagne from the slipper. Now I had two reasons to run. To prevent anyone from seeing me as I really was and to prevent them from chopping off my head for pushing the Prince onto his royal rump.

The third gong sounded as I got to the staircase. I heard the Prince's voice yell "Stop Her!" The remaining slipper caught and I twisted my leg. I bent over and pulled off the offending crystal, tossing it over my shoulder. I saw it hit the floor and break into a multitude of pieces, all of which vanished as they flew up from the floor.

My ankle was tender but my survival bade me to ignore it as I ran up the stairs. So many stairs. The clock went off three times ere I reached the landing.

Two sentinels stood at the top of the stairs, wicked axes on long silver poles at the ready. If they were successful, there would be no head left upon my shoulders for the guillotine to remove.

I ran towards the one on the left and he raised his weapon to strike me. At the last moment, I feinted to the right and dug my hands into that guard's gonads and squeezed with all my strength. He buckled over from the pain and got the axe from the other guard between his shoulders for his trouble. I was able to go around him on the right and escape before the left guard could remove his axe and follow me.

I was in new territory once I exited the entrance to the ballroom. Earlier, I had been in my home one moment, then at the top of the stairs the next, never entering the palace or making my way in. I frantically looked around and spotted two large doors twelve paces in front of me. The clock had struck thrice more whence I arrived only to have two doormen bow as they swung the doors open for me. I heard the clock again as I made my way down the marble steps and into the grass covered drive, where the eleventh chime sounded. I ran down the drive and past the bushes surrounding the palace as I heard the final gong signaling the transition from one day to the next. To me, it signaled one life to the next as I transformed from a queen to a waif. A troop of guards passed me by, one of them halting as he saw my rags, telling me I had no business being there and to remove myself.

I walked the six furlongs to our home, arriving before anyone else.

Dear diary, I chose to record these adventures rather than repair to my bed in the hopes that when I wake up in the morning I will discover that these events are true and not the ravings of a madwoman.

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Story tagged with:
Ma/Fa / Romantic / Fiction /