One ugly sister has collapsed in a arm chair, her skirts pulled up around her knees, almost faint from her exertions to prove herself the rightful beau to the prince. The other ugly sister reclines on the chaise longue, her skirts up around her waist, legs spread wide, also worn out from her efforts. Their mother fans first one then the other with her shawl, unable to determine who is in more dire need of her maternal comforting and whether she should feel more concerned about the health of her daughters, or the fact than neither have managed to pass the prince’s test.
The courtiers of the prince’s entourage trade dumbfounded glances at each other. Nobody knows how to advise the prince.
The prince sits with his head in his hands. Every eligible young lady in the land has been tested. He had left the two ugliest girls to last, but even they have failed to prove themselves to be the one who has stolen his heart.
Nobody knew what they should do next.
Shiny stiletto heels step into the silent room.
The prince lifts his head from his hands. His eyes continue upward, but his mouth hangs open, as he drinks in the sight of the rubber clad goddess who has just entered.
Glossy black latex seamlessly coats her like a second skin, flowing up from her stiletto heels along her sleek calves and tights. Curving over her buttocks and hips, the black rubber tightens around her slim waist sweeping over her flat stomach and up over her pert breasts before it circles her elegant neck and flows down her slim arms and hands. Her face is pale against the black gloss, her blue eyes set with a slight mischievousness in her inscrutable face, golden tresses pulled into a tight braid that hangs to the middle of her back.
Click, click, click. She casually walks to the centre of the room.
Cinderella’s step-mother is livid. She steps forward. “Where did you get that outfit?” she hisses.
“Let’s just say,” Cinderella gives her a theatrical wink, “that my fairy godmother gave it to me.”
Cinderella’s step-mother gathers herself to unleash her full fury.
But Cinderella walks past her without a second glance, click, click, click, straight up to where the prince sits surrounded by his royal entourage. “Good afternoon, your royal highness,” she gives a little curtsy. Then stands legs apart, hands on hips looking down at him. “I believe you have something that belongs to me.”
The prince can but stare open mouthed at her, frozen by her sheer physical presence.
A footman pulls himself together and presents a satin pillow to the prince.
The prince is unable to take his eyes from Cinderella.
Cinderella holds out her hand.
The footman, unbidden by the prince, scurries over to present the pillow to her.
Cinderella smiles down at the object nestling on the soft satin for a moment before picking it up.
The footman bows and backs away from her.
Cinderella considers the glass phallus in her hand, hefting it’s weight for a moment and turning it a little to let the sunlight glisten within it’s depths. “I believe,” she still regards the phallus, “that this has been tried out by every eligible young lady in the land.”
The prince barely nods.
She lifts her gaze to the prince, “And they’ve all been found deficient in its use.”
Again the prince nods.
Her smile widens. “Perhaps they’ve been missing the other piece of the puzzle,” she holds out her other hand and lets a tangle of leather straps dangle.
The prince catches his breath.
Slowly Cinderella steps one foot, then the other, into the tangle of straps. She pulls the straps up her sleek tights and over her pert buttocks. With an almost coquettish smile she slips the phallus into the straps, before pulling them tight into her crotch and around her slim waist, settling the base of the glass phallus firmly against her smooth mound.
“I nearly ruptured myself pushing that thing inside my cunny,” the first ugly sister complains.
“You!” the other interjects. “I fucking stuck it up my ass!”
But nobody pays them any heed. All eyes are on the tall, slim girl with the glass phallus standing at the center of attention.
The prince opens and closes his mouth as if he is about to say something. But he can think of nothing to say to the magnificent beauty that stands before him.
“So, your royal highness,” Cinderella speaks to him as if there were no one else in the room, “why don’t you bend over and take it like you did at the ball.”
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