The early beams of sunlight gently dance on the outline of a delicate female frame, sleeping under a thin sheet and worn blanket. Elle, a beautiful, wispy young woman, shivers in the chilly air filling her bedroom—otherwise known as the prison she's been sentenced to by her evil stepmother, Madam Luton. Baby birds land on the broken windowsill and chirp a happy tune, but all Elle can hear is the sound of the bell that commands her every waking move. Only in her dreams is she allowed to remember the girl she was before her mother died—when she was surrounded by love and her life filled with promise. She quickly dresses her cold, nude body into the dirty dress she's worn every day for the past two months—the handcrafted attire that once belonged to her dead mother, now stained and torn at the seams.
A crust of bread and a half glass of lukewarm tea is what Elle is granted for breakfast, before starting a task list of chores beyond reason. Madam Luton, the owner of a lackluster ring of prostitution, has brought the grand estate they live into near ruin. The only reason Elle is allowed to still live in her own home is because she's been reduced to a servant—a cheap maid for the greedy whores to use and abuse. To Elle, staying in the home is an ominous reminder of the happiness that died with her parents. It's now nothing more than a shell of decay and debauchery—a seedy whorehouse staffed with a few wayward women and the two middle-aged, homely daughters of the Madam. They run the “family business” from the left wing—a section of the house once reserved for dinners with Dukes and Duchesses and respected artists commissioned by the King himself. Elle's father was an Earl, and a well-known designer of custom made coats for royalty. A popular man amongst many crowds, he fell in love with a ballerina, who became his wife and the mother of his beautiful, only daughter. Elle was lovingly given an ample supply of whatever she wanted, but she didn't want extravagance. Beyond her prized horse, and a stable of other pets, Elle was content.
She instinctively followed in her mother's dainty footsteps as a prima ballerina and was hand selected to train with a legendary master of dance—the same man who led her mother to great heights. She even had the eye of the top male dancer in her troupe, and was asked to be his exclusive partner. The two traveled to towns and cities, performing for large audiences, far and wide. If she had known that her mother would suddenly and mysteriously fall ill, she never would have gone. As fate would have it, Elle received the news of her mother's death, and quickly left her troupe to be at her father's side. Nothing else mattered more than being with her father, as he was all she had left in the world. The loss too heavy to bear, her dance partner offered his shoulder to cry on. He'd hold Elle in his arms, then whisk her across the marble floors, kissing her neck while they moved in graceful circles. His belief that their dancing would ease the sharp edge of her pain, filled Elle with hope. Neck kissing turned to mouth kissing, as his hands held firm to the smallness of her waist. He untied the bow that hid her breasts, and slowly revealed her taut cleavage. Elle's hips glided with his, pressed against his growing firmness. How she wanted to take him, to spread her nimble legs and feel him slip inside her never experienced private spots.
The memory of his touch on her unexplored skin has become the fantasy Elle drowns herself in, day after day. No longer does she dance, too burdened by her tasks as the servant to an undeserving old lady and her two horribly unattractive daughters—scrubbing the careless wine stains from faded velvet couches and mending fine satin sheets ripped apart during the lewd acts of the Madam. Today, and every day since the Madam took control, a trail of strangers visit her home in seek of desperate pleasures. Elle keeps her head down, quietly staying out of the Madam's way.
As the rumor goes, the Madam had provided services to Elle's lonely father a few months after losing his wife, and was pleasantly pleased to find out he was a man of wealth. The business of selling sex wasn't as lucrative as she had assumed, mostly due to lack of desirable choices she offered the paying clientele. When the widowed Earl declined her invitation, not turned on at all by her ladies in waiting, the Madam offered herself at a discount. Even at fifty years of age, she wore her corsets proudly and tight, elevating her breasts to impossible heights, and cutting holes in her stockings so her dewy crotch could be fingered, if he wished to touch it. And he did, deeply, with four of his fingers—something his sweet flower of a wife would never do. Drinking from the purity of an angel had lost its virtue, preferring the rawness of stuffing his pulsing stiffness into the Madam's wet hole. The modest, controlled thrusts he gave to his wife were replaced by hard groin smacking with the Madam, who drank his juice and bathed in his sweat. She proved to him that overpowering lust is the greatest soother of a devastated heart. He paid her in generous tips and came back for more.
One early morning, after the Earl was given a night of doing what no man should—putting every inch into the Madam's tightest rear opening, repeatedly and without remorse—he observed the meager cottage she conducted business in with clear eyes. The sound of torrid acts wafted from one room to another, while soiled items piled up and littered the space. Although the smallness lent to a sense of privacy to be as lewd as one wants, the business should be held in better surroundings. Not in a strong state of mind since losing his wife, his judgment to move the business to his own estate was completely out of character. He decided the ladies of the night could each have their own rooms, away from the main house, with clean sheets and beds big enough for orgies to take place on a whim. The Madam agreed, but included a few terms of her own. She wouldn't want to be giving him her services for free in exchange for the room and board. What she had in mind was some form of contract. A marriage license was her first choice, to secure the deal with more than the memory of being ridden from behind. The Earl would make her the only woman he would enjoy, and together they would bring her business to a new level of success. Feeling as if marriage was the only proper way to justify his behavior, the Earl agreed.
A week before their wedding, the Madam was introduced to Elle for the first time. As though from the heavens, the young dancer appeared. The Earl had a beautiful home, indeed, but his daughter was unlike any beauty she'd seen before. Without a shadow of doubt, the Madam knew this girl needed to be under her sultry wing, to be taught about her womanhood, and prepared for her presentation. She'd rather plan the celebration of quivering innocence, auctioned off to the highest bidder in attendance of her coming out party, than her own wedding. But that plan was dead on arrival, as the Earl kept Elle in her own wing, cared for by an elder nurse, and protected from her father's questionable activities. Elle was told not to venture to the Madam's side of the dwelling, and to have little interaction with any of her women. The Madam reminded her soon-to-be-husband that she was already a mother and would love Elle just the same as her own, yet it didn't change his mind. Not at all happy with the Earl for keeping Elle from her, the Madam told him he would need to keep his distance during work hours, too. He respected her wishes, except for once or twice, and discovered that checking in on his soon-to-be-wife meant finding her with another man's erection in her mouth.
Worried about Elle still so traumatized over losing her mother, he didn't want to force a new one on her just yet. He encouraged his daughter to rejoin her dance troupe, now that he has found a new mate and won't be left alone. The Madam saw this as a pathetic excuse, a fearful tactic to keep his privileged child from the new family business. Ula and Mina, the Madam's daughters, would observe the pretty Elle trotting on her horse from the windows they gazed out of while taking the brunt of beastly thrusts. The ever-increasing line of men in need of their gaping holes meant they spent most of their days bent over furniture, with no time for anything else. Why was she allowed to be so innocent, like a precious gem not to be touched? The Earl hardly ever looked at the sisters, lowering his gaze when they strutted in front of him in sheer robes, swallowing down the remains of the jiz shot into their mouths. They'd ignore his lack of interest, preferring to snicker at the sight of Elle. One turned trick after another, Ula and Mina warped the left side of Elle's countryside manor into a raucous cave of sexual insanity.
It was a rainy, dreary morning when Earl and Madam wed. The garden ceremony moved inside as mud smothered the flower petal path that was to bring man and wife together as one. No one but house servants attended, as the Earl had been shunned by his friends for marrying far beneath him. Elle sung for them a song of love and devotion, but broke down in tears halfway through and didn't finish, haunted by her mother's face. Greatly insulted, the Madam regained her pride by making Elle curtsey to her before kissing her feet. A simple kiss on the cheek wouldn't do. She had to pay for being such a disrespectful girl. Elle quickly disappeared back to her wing, and hoped the dark clouds were nothing more than bad weather and not a sign of an unfavorable union.
The newlyweds pounded their flesh for days on end, not coming up for air until an urgent message was sent from Ula. An announcement had been made in the Kingdom that the Prince had returned from his year-long travels. An extravagant party would be thrown in his honor. Every eligible Maiden was invited to attend. Even the cum-covered tarts who lie around naked, degraded by relentless erections from far and wide, could go. No one had heard news of the gorgeously handsome Prince dating. Considering the strictness of the King's orders that the Prince must marry a girl of royal blood—and just a few young ladies of any worth remained unmarried—his choices were limited.
Elle was eligible, but her father wasn't ready to let his young daughter attend castle parties as a guest unescorted, and his own shame for choosing sex over mourning stopped him from approving Ula and Mina going either. The Madam pleaded with her stubborn husband to at least allow her daughters permission. They've been working very hard and deserved to dress up and perhaps persuade the Prince to come and explore what a young, endowed man should, for a price. In fact, the Prince might become their most frequent and highest paying customer, if only the Earl would agree to let Elle be an offering. The Earl refused to entertain any suggestion of his daughter being brought public in an outright way, to the Prince and his family. Of all the people in the Kingdom, the royal family must not know that the man who makes their finery is a supplier of wrongful, unmarried acts of sin. More importantly, Elle is not for sale. In a fit of rage, the Madam screamed at her domineering man, infuriated by his insistence, and disgusted by his absolute control.
No man, not even her husband, would enforce his will over hers, and to prove that she alone decided what was best for herself and her offspring, she retreated to her seedy wing with a devious plan in mind. Her body would be offered to anyone who wanted her. She wouldn't hold herself back from the deprived and good men who wept at her bosom. Any man who had the means could be smothered by the slippery cream between her thighs.
Ula and Mina were given the night off to dream of their fanciest dresses, because it was time for mother to indulge in an orgasmic feast. She waited in her tightest corset and black seamed stockings, toying with her nipples. Her wet tongue long enough to lick her own breasts, she sucked on her pouting tits as four men entered the mother slut's room. She ordered them to strip down and take her at once—fill her holes with wild abandon. Moaning with a pleasure she hadn't experienced since before she swore herself to the quick-cumming Earl, her quivering body exploded with primal pleasure.
The Earl, feeling terrible over fighting with his new bride, entered the unlocked chambers, ready to make amends. Shock seized him, at first not seeing his wife behind the blockade of male flesh. Then, lying there in a downpour of thick ejaculations, lapping at every spent tool, was the Madam. Her cold eyes met his—the good wife turned ruthless whore—and blatantly asked the men to fill her pussy again. With a yell loud enough to wake the dead, the Earl was struck with severe pain, as his chest tightened, unable to breathe. The sight of wedded bliss destroyed by shameless adultery, and a Madam whose needs were too extreme to stay quieted away by a man in fear of his reputation, proved lethal. He crumbled to the floor, clutching his heart, and gasped for air. In silence, she watched him wither, and crawled off the bed to hover her face over his. She kissed his mouth after he choked his last breath, and then sat back. The limp men were sent away, and the Madam—alone with her dead husband—experienced a whirlwind of emotions. Sadness, hysteria, loss and freedom, twisted into panic, pain and then release. The keys to the estate were in her possession and as a new widow, she and her daughters would finally live out from under the shadows, starting immediately.
Bathed by her nurse, Elle enjoyed the maternal touch of a soft brush cleansing her skin. Anxiously, she counted the minutes and days until her troupe's arrival. She'd packed her many costumes, tutus and ballet slippers into a traveling case. It was only a matter of time before she'd be reunited with her young love, and dance endlessly. A knock at the door startled her from a lucid daydream. Hearing the nurse shriek, Elle's stomach filled with dread, learning of the Earl's demise. The room grew dark and the walls spun around her. This isn't true, he can't be gone, too, not when she needed him so. The tearful eyes of the nurse spoke volumes. Elle felt her own life drain from her being, and fainted, almost drowning in the tub. The nurse fished Elle's frailness out of the water, and wrapped her nakedness with towels.
A hand touched the nurse's back, and made her jump. The Madam smiled at her, and explained the imminent changes. The nurse would be amongst the first household staff let go. After all, a widow burdened with expenses must cut back, and a capable woman like Elle was too old to be fussed over by a hired mother. Without giving a second to speak, the Madam took the nurse out of the room by her arm, and informed her to be out of the house before the day was done. And the same went for the cook, the maids, and the groundskeeper.
Evicted with small tokens of pocket money, the staff left to the sound of crooked laughter crackling out of Ula and Mina at the front gates. The once happy servants faded into the night. Estate emptied of the past, the Madam was set loose to do whatever she wanted. She ransacked rooms and closets never looked in, filled with treasures untold, all for the taking. Mother and her shallow daughters snooped through Elle's room first, and invaded her belongings, dumping out the neatly packed case. There would be no travels, no dancing, and no chance of ever escaping. If Elle refused to abide by the evil stepmother's terms, then she could leave without a cent. Elle decided to stay, not knowing what else to do, and the three nasty bitches led her up several flights of stairs, to a dark room covered in cobwebs and dust. On a shabby, broken bed, they left her, and then locked the door behind them.
Several grueling and painful weeks crept by before the tasks were given.
Having no choice but to succumb, Elle spends her days on the cold, marble floors, scrubbing on bruised knees, lost in her fantasies of a happiness stolen. In the distance, the cackles of the Madam and her awful daughters make her ill. The invitation to the Prince's ball arrived two weeks ago, amidst a flurry of absurd excitement from Ula and Mina, as if the hideous ones have a chance in hell at gaining the Prince's affections. Elle hides her hate for them, keeping to her tasks and chores, while plotting an impossible escape. The Madam has forbidden Elle from attending the ball. It was her father's wish she not go unescorted. Ula and Mina are plenty old enough to waltz in, adorning custom-made gowns, sewn from Elle's expensive dresses. As usual, the sisters fight over beads and pearls, clawing at each other.
Gratefully, the singing birds distract Elle from the madness, reminding her to go inwards, back to the memories of being guided by her dance partner, twirled by his strong hands, gracefully lifted up by her hips, and touched intimately in the trusted flow of a choreographed love story. She imagines the Prince's touch, too, his manly intensity, watching her dance for him. Would he join her, and move like her gifted partner with expert ease? Maybe he'd be a frozen soldier, lacking the skill or natural ability? What would she do if he kissed her with passion? Or what if nothing happened, only a nod from his throne without care or want? But how will she ever know, now that she is under the thumb of a heavy-handed mistress? Perhaps only at night, when it's safe to imagine the kiss of the Prince on her precious, private areas. Her hands cup her breasts at the thought, too afraid to explore any other part of her body—wanting to save herself for love's first touch, if ever she can break free of her captors.
The Prince stalks his castle without much care, a young man of twenty-one and still living without knowing the glory of a woman's touch. He's had nurses and nannies, but their hands don't count. His father speaks of war and domination, peacekeeping and financial power, and the Prince has no interest. His desire to pierce female flesh with his obscene erections has him gripped with overloaded balls. All this talk of a party, some grand plan to introduce him to every available maiden in the Kingdom, is nothing but a boring plan to fulfill his father's need to marry his son off.
Marriage seems like death to him. The last thing he wants is to be monogamous. He'd rather be out in the world humping hard on every pound of pussy he can get. That word, pussy, does not exist. Princes must think only of military action and being presentable at his father's side. His mother refuses to believe her boy is now a man, and babies him. The Queen has pretty things of her own to keep her busy. She has an entire court of young ladies that live for satisfying every, and any, whim she may have. They bathe, dress, feed, and massage her with exotic oils. Her maidens are well behaved and don't stray from the Queen's side. The Prince's attempts at flirting with them fell flat, rendering him out in the cold, his groin of no interest. His friends have all had their members played with and used by royal women, mothers and daughters alike. His men live a rather rowdy life, feasting on pleasures freely, as if sex were simply a game and easy to win. Being a Prince has a stigma and for ladies in the Kingdom, dating a Prince means chastity and reserved behavior. No kissing, touching, or looking—be polite and respectful and have no needs whatsoever of your own. The King wants grandchildren, and many. The only reason the Prince likes this idea is because he will have a great excuse to do wild thrusting all day.
For the remote chance that at least one of the attendees of the ball will let him feel her pussy, he agrees to go along with it. He's heard his men say that the King had affairs with the Queen's sisters when they were courting and well into their marriage. All five of his aunts have been pounded by his father. They don't seem to mind that he doesn't love them, and they're not worried about the Queen knowing that they spread wide for her husband. It's very strange that these marvelously vile acts go on around him constantly, and yet the Prince can't partake. When he finally does it will be epic, deep, full and intense. His first maiden needs to be ready to not take him in lightly. She needs to be willing to receive his full impact, several times, and not excuse herself until he is done.
That's what he thinks, anyway, but his naughtiest intentions dull when he faces the truth: he will have to dance with eligible ones, in front of everyone, with no erection, therefore, no desire. What could be worse but death? Perhaps he should walk out into the woods, lay down and die? But first, he will have sex. Somewhere out there in his Kingdom he will satisfy his ego and release his dripping dick. Let his father plan the party, as the Prince has more important things to do. He makes it his mission to find a tight little pussy, and sets out to conquer it.
Since the invasion of the whorish ones, and the unpublicized funeral of Elle's father, the noise level has been nerve wrecking. Chattering lunatics looting her closets and drawers, destroying the gorgeous clothes Elle's mother had custom made for her. They want, they want, they take and take, screaming the entire time that nothing fits right or is easy to screw in. Everything must be altered to fit their mammoth rumps and smallish breasts.
Today is different, though, there is quiet as Elle washes and hangs the mountains of laundry. The Madam and her daughters have been called back to work, finding that pirating the goods of another doesn't make them money and the house has quickly fallen into disarray. Without servants and only one girl to do all the cleaning, and cooking for women with ravenous appetites, the stately home is in decline. Money is running out for food, and the garden hasn't been tended to. While they were shoving their bodies into inappropriate wardrobes, their clientele trickled off, tired of waiting for the whores to open up for business.
In a state of desperation, the Madam journeys out, inviting the few men she sees for playtime. No one immediately accepts her offer, stating empty pockets or wives too close to sneak off on. Ula and Mina satisfy themselves, needing to restore vitality to their underused snatches, fantasizing about a potential gangbang at the ball, including the Prince and his men. The ultimate prize would be taking the King in a lascivious threesome, then having his wife for dessert. Spurts of ugly sister cum drizzle on their bushy lips, fingering their own twats while Elle sneaks through her home, abandoning her chores. She collects ripped fabrics, broken jewelry and stretched out shoes—taking back what she can and secreting it to her hovel. Hiding the materials in a broom closet, she peers out the small window, seeing a young man on horseback, a man too handsome and well-bred to be heading towards her house. Men of lesser stature were common, but this man is different. The birds chirp anxiously. Elle heads back for the main room, afraid of being caught. The Madam threatened to spank her senseless if she disobeys. It's not the pain or humiliation of punishment that scares Elle, but the horrifying thought of being touched by the witch herself.
The panting Prince covers a wet spot on his crotch as he trots past the gates of the estate. One of his men had visited this tawdry establishment on a few occasions and spoke highly of it. The Prince did not dare mention any interest whatsoever in going, he couldn't, because scandals are born from weakness in his Kingdom, and the leaders must be strong and flawless. He heard that a man could request anything he wants, as these women are perverted, and encourage outlandish behavior.
This is exactly what the Prince is seeking and suddenly face to face with. He expects the women to drop to their knees at the sight of him entering. They will remove his undergarments, and stick out their tongues, wrapping hungry mouths around his manhood. He'll thrust it down their throats, sliding in and out, excitedly watching them gag on his rod. Red fingernails will tease and tickle, then tug on his cock, begging him to pour every drop onto their cleavage. Tying his horse, he readies himself for this scenario to unfold.
Opening the door, he is confronted with a shocking view. Ula, with her dress hiked up, legs spread in the air over the shoulders of a profusely sweating man, pumping and dumping into her swollen holes. No mouthy maiden waiting for his arrival, but a used, guzzling tramp, trying to speak to him between thrusts. The Prince goes limp not liking the harsh explicitness. Ula yells for him to wait. Her sister, being banged ruthlessly up against the wall, will be happy to serve him shortly, or whenever her hot-blooded client finishes. He can have them both if he wants, as well as their mother, when she returns. Drinking a handsome man's jiz is a rare opportunity and none of the three nymphomaniacs want to miss out.
The Prince dissolves into a flood of excuses, backing up for the exit. Before he can run, he is halted by gripping hands on his groin. Over his clothes, he still clearly feels the Madam's fingertips trace along his length, turned on by his many inches, getting longer by the second. The Prince holds still, letting her pet him, tension easing, entranced by the unknown woman's hands stimulating his attention. She zones in on the perfect spot, the trigger on the shaft. Confident that she can make this bad boy spew, her stroking intensifies, causing the Prince to moan.
His moans are overpowered by the volcanic wails of the clients screwing their dicks into oblivion. Snapping back to the unsavory situation, the Prince sees the Madam's aged face heading down to take his goods. He pulls away, no longer interested in getting off, at least not here, and not with them. He barrels through the door he entered with, wanting to be free from this den of spent men. With a gust of tainted pride, he and his horse flee the premises. From the large window of the main room, Elle watches him go, relieved his stay was brief, hoping he still has his decency. The Madam chases after him, calling out for his return, but with no results. He waves her off, shuddering with fear over being found out. His big, dirty idea foiled by the stupidity of youth.
The day of the ball has come. For Elle, it's a day of ultimate defeat, but for the Madam and her daughters, this is the day they've been waiting for. A day to win over the Prince or threaten him with blackmail. Ula and Mina taunt Elle as she kneels at their feet. She's been hemming their gowns for hours, fingertips pricked and covered in blood. The sisters are outraged that she would taint their finery and bleed out on satin and lace so thoughtlessly. They kick and laugh at her, shooing her away like a bad dog. Elle shrieks, crawling from them, but she is pulled up by the hair, and brought to the outraged face of the Madam. The job must be finished. Only upon completion, and not until the three mindless whores have been carried off by Elle's prized horses, is she excused.
Back to work she goes, hands aching as if cut by knives, sewing the last few stitches before dropping in exhaustion. In a blur of cackles and clicking heels, Elle sees them fade from view, and waits for the sound of the door closing behind them. She manages to get to her knees, seeing the sea of fabric scraps and musters up her last bit of will. Equipped with needle and bloodstained thread, she randomly pierces, sewing the material together. Pouring every ounce of her suffering soul into this pathetic excuse for a dress proves cathartic. Every stitch is a symbol of empowerment, sewing together the shredded pieces of her existence, making sense of the avalanche of chaos she's been buried by.
Absorbed by her intensity, she's caught in the magic she so desperately craves to feel. Intentions set with a razor's focus on being presented to the Prince, swatches are seamed haphazardly. Their abuse can't suppress the beauty within her. Her goodness will shine through the amateur design! A gust of wind blows through an open window, taking with it the scraps, and the depleted Elle gives up. The ambitious project thrown out the window, discarded as worthless junk. She weeps uncontrollably, wrapping her wounded hands in the last of her finery.
Alone in her home, Elle moves as a thief, fearful of being detected. Carefully she opens the doors of her mother's private quarter—a dance studio where she practiced, and on special occasions, danced for her husband. Surprisingly, the room has been untouched by the interlopers, alive with a lingering scent of resin dusted wood floors. Her mother's dainty footprints trace the circles of her twirls, reminding Elle of who she is, of what more than anything she loves.
How this room went undiscovered is a true miracle. A painted box calls to her from the corner. Inside, are her mother's ballet costumes—the ones she wore as a star ballerina—and her last pair of toe shoes. Elle cradles her findings, spilling tears, until a loud clap rings in her ear. There stands Dante, the ghostly image of the intimidating master dancer her mother trained with. He commands Elle to strip out of her rags, right there in front of him.
Cowering with modesty, he demands of her again, like he did with her mother. One shoulder removed, then the other, too scared to take off her clothes any further, Dante clenches fistfuls of the lowly attire and rips it straight off, revealing her nudity. How is he to get her to the ball like this? Her entire troupe is waiting for her arrival, unable to carry on the show unless she is there for her solo. Tonight the Prince must be entertained, and Elle will be there to dance for him, the routine she dances more perfectly than any dancer before her.
Dante caresses her shivering skin without need for an invitation. Like an artist, she is his canvas for him to create. His hands sweep down her chest, over her taut nipples and softly breathing belly. Into the crevice of her pelvis and right between her thighs, he feels her muscular legs, lifting one. Bringing her toes to his mouth, with a wet tongue, he sucks. Elle flows with the sensual vibrations of feeling his tongue and then the silk of her stockings rolling up her shapely leg. Dante's hands grip her hips, guiding the stockings to rest upon her precious little cunt before pulling up her leotard and frilly tutu.
Dressing the descendant of the woman he so admired, the girl he brought to great heights of success, subdues his cunning stance, running his fingers through her golden hair. He could have her this very second, allowing the thick head of his cock to penetrate her innocence, but serving the good is why his karma has brought him here. She can see right through him, this apparition of lustful servitude, and lets him sit her down in her mother's gold leaf chair. The spell-bound toe shoes fit properly on her feet. Dante expertly binds her ankles with satin ribbon, ending in a tiny knot tucked in as to not interrupt the graceful lines of her primed limbs. Like feet possessed, she takes to the floor, on her toes.
Performing seductive moves, she dances for Dante, blushing at his bulging groin. The princess costume cups her every curve, beckoning to be soiled by an overeager mate. He gives her a pink robe and explains the details of the magical plan, and the catch that is embedded. Too elated to fully comprehend the strictness of the rules, she gleefully agrees, and sets off in the royal carriage awaiting her acceptance.
The Prince politely bows to the dozen eligible maidens presented to him. The King hits his son on the back, disapproving of his apathy. The orchestra plays waltzes, just the music to take a young lady for a test spin, and he should do so now, or else. Unable to deny his father, he looks over his selections, recognizing to his utter disgust Ula and Mina with the Madam, grinning crooked smiles. Shunned, the sister's jaws hang open, without a clue as to why the Prince would turn down their easy access stockings for a laced up prude. They watch as he and his first saintly choice face each other at a respectable distance, and move stiffly across the ballroom. Tediously, the music wears on, and Ula and Mina have managed to sneak off with two horny butlers. Straddling their pointed and loaded guns with ruthless screwing, the butlers will repay the lascivious favor by taking them behind private chambers, and arrange a sexy party for just the sisters and the Prince sometime before Midnight.
The pace of the music suddenly changes and the lights romantically dim. The crowd sits silently as the famed dance troupe takes the stage, and there in the middle is the star of the show, a young seductress bestowing angelic moves and breathtaking beauty. In dramatic makeup and costume, Elle weaves a tale of love with her body. She is strong yet endowed with tremendous grace, and holds the audience mesmerized, especially the Prince. Convinced she is the most beautiful creature he's ever seen, he drifts in an erotic fantasy of her dancing naked, out in the woods, glistening from the misty air. She enjoys the sight of him undressing as well, freeing his swollen member to be tickled by wisps of her cascading hair. But the fantasy warps as the Prince is hit on his side by his father, sitting next to him, stopping his son from touching his dick publicly, for the entire Kingdom to witness.
Highly embarrassed at his nearly lewd maneuvers, the Prince excuses himself to wait for the dancer backstage. Hiding in the shadows are the crazed lunatics, Ula, Mina and the Madam. They attack the love-struck Prince, throwing him to the ground, tearing buttons and clasps from his clothes, demanding he give up his coveted cock to their undeserving twats, or pay them for the services he wrongly abandoned. Wanting his virtue, his spoiled, pristine manhood, they'll take it to their insatiable content, or he can unload his monetary treasures instead, paying for his voyeurism. Imagine what a juicy slice of gossip that would be, flying through the Kingdom, horrifying the eligible ladies he's required to mate with! His pants off, the sisters pin him down with their bodies, ready to take his virile virginity, but the nasty ladies are pulled from the bucking, yelling Prince, loyal Guards having swooped in to save their leader. The seething sluts scream of being wronged, demanding to be set free. The Prince has no sympathy, ordering them under arrest and locked in the tower until further notice. The Madam sneaks away, having not been seen from her point of observation, disappearing beneath the radar of the rulers.
The Prince straightens himself out and rejoins the party. To his disappointment, he discovers the dancers finished the show. It was marvelous entertainment with a provocative finale, his mother informs him. What a shame for the Prince that he missed it. The Prince isn't pleased atall, and asks his father to arrange a private show in his chambers. The King brushes off his son's request, explaining there is an entire ballroom of guests who came here just for the Prince. How could he think of retreating to his chambers to be danced for again? Has he lost his mind? Besides, they've already left, rendering an encore impossible. The Prince flies into a panic, demanding they not be allowed to leave the property. They must be stopped and brought back until the Prince excuses them. At least the star must be told he would be honored to dance with her. The castle is searched and the troupe is caught just as their carriage was leaving the gates.
As much as Elle has longed for meeting the Prince, this is not the time, as the deal she made with the Master was critical. She could dance unscathed, and give the performance she was born to do. She could even dance with the Prince, but if he kissed her on the lips, if he dare touch her in areas best reserved for a husband, the spell would be broken, and he would learn the truth about Elle. A girl living in a brothel is no match for a man of royal blood.
She must somehow break from the troupe, escape down a passageway or find a hiding place, knowing deep down that the chances of the Prince losing his modesty with her would mount the minute their bodies moved together. The troupe is led down a corridor, and there she makes a run for it, dashing behind a curtain, having no idea where she's going. In a flash she is free, trying to find her way back outside, closing in on the exit. Then, Elle is caught by a protective guard, curious as to why Elle would be fleeing instead of honoring the Prince. He drags the reluctant and politely defensive girl back to the main room, putting her directly in front of the man himself, the other star of the ball.
The Prince's chiseled perfection gorgeously compliments her astounding beauty and before Elle can utter another excuse, he takes her hand and leads her onto the floor. The entire room is silenced, captivated by the sight of these two quivering virgins assuming a proper position. As the music starts, the Prince pulls her close, making her gasp. Their eyes lock as he calls upon his inner strength, his utmost bravery to dance with this heavenly woman as if his life depends on it. Twirls, sways, dips and a few shining moments of complex footwork, the Prince proves impressive, falling in love, hopelessly, with Elle's exquisite face. The music beckons him to draw her even closer—so close she can feel his heart beating through his chest and his swelling groin brushing against her. She was created just for him, he thinks, moving as two but feeling as one. Their eyes speak untold desires, heat building between them inside and out.
And then, the music comes to an end. The splendid moment fades as applause overwhelms the love-struck couple. Right there, for everyone to witness, the Prince holds her face in his hands, and kisses her soft, pink lips, deeply, for what seems like an eternity to Elle. Mouths release and Elle pulls back, flushed with attraction, before fear sets in. Her lovely tutu begins to shrivel, as the spell turns into a curse. The Prince can't believe what is happening, her stockings rip and fade, the entire outfit changing. Backing up, she again runs like the wind, shoving past the crowds of disturbed onlookers. The very confused Prince chases after her, calling out for his men to capture her, needing explanation, not willing to let her go.
Swiftly she eludes them all, slipping out of the castle, past the guards, unrecognizable from the ballerina who owned their fascinations. Jolting down the flight of front steps, her ballet slipper falls from her foot, still in perfect spell form. She jumps into the troupe's carriage and cries for the driver to take her home, claiming a sudden emergency. Elle miraculously leaves without being caught, only partially scathed by the spell, dreaming the entire way back to the estate of the Prince's warm, masculine mouth on hers, not suspecting for one moment that he would find her slipper and come after her in a full-fledged, hot pursuit.
The Madam scours the estate, furious over her daughters being arrested. She scrounges up whatever money she can dig out from under overused mattresses, planning to post their bail. She hides at the sound of a carriage arriving, afraid it's the Royal Police coming to get her, too. To her relief, it is only Elle, dressed in ragged clothes, stepping out quietly, discreetly entering her rundown home. Elle? What was she doing out at night? What was she doing riding a carriage in unpleasant dress, and just where did she go?
Different scenarios unfold in her brain, shadowing Elle, seeing her shoeless foot and the other satin slipper still tied on. Making a surprise attack, she pulls Elle by the hair, twisting her hands around the girl's neck, capturing her in a choke hold. Where was she and where did she acquire such clothes? Was she out slumming, trying to make a business of her own, boasting dingy rags and smudged face? Wailing on Elle's dainty rear, she doesn't pay attention to the clamor of hoofs kicking up dirt on a mad race up to the estate.
The Prince had followed closely behind Elle's carriage, but almost turned in the opposite direction seeing the sleaze-ridden establishment. For better or worse he continues to the door, disturbed by the faint echoes of a woman crying out.
The Prince snoops to the windows, avoiding the moonlight, peering in to see the Madam beating on a defenseless young thing. The righteous Prince jumps to action, barging in, yanking the Madam off of Elle. Without recognizing the fair maiden, he shoves the Madam into a corner, his strength overpowering her madness. Elle crawls away, not wanting to be discovered by the man she wants more than life itself. Out of sight, she runs, straight for her mother's studio, and locks herself in.
The Madam scolds the Prince, riffling off transparent excuses, but the Prince shows no mercy. This business of hers is to be shut down, never to be reopened, and the Madam sentenced to the Tower until further word. The Madam kicks his legs, clawing at his face, but within seconds his backup has arrived, Royal Guards storm the home, tying up the worthless hag, and gagging her filth sputtering mouth. The Prince turns to see who the victim of her flailing fists was, but not even a whisper of another is heard or seen.
Inside the dance studio, Elle washes her shameful self, stripping out of a costume that served its purpose, standing nude. She cradles the remaining slipper, drifting with memories still fresh and tangible. Covering her chilled body with a silken robe from her mother's closet, she waivers, scared to make a sound, but wanting desperately to be saved.
The Prince orders his men to search the place for anyone else. A stream of excited birds chirp in a frenzy, flying towards the studio. The men follow the wild fluttering, right to the locked door that Elle stands behind. The Prince orders the men to break it open, and with swift bodily maneuvers, the door swings, revealing Elle. Moonbeams silhouette her nudity, illuminating her body through the delicate robe. For a breathless moment, the Prince and Elle lock eyes, but she jolts, too afraid of his unknown intentions. The Prince yells out for her to stop, to identify herself as a captive or a voluntary member of the illicit operation. The Men barricade Elle from leaving. Her tearful eyes plead, forced to face the Prince, admitting the home is hers, grateful to be saved from the Madam. She shows him her slipper, and slides her foot in. The Prince dismisses his men, needing to be alone with the young woman.
In the stillness of a turbulent night, the Prince examines Elle, timid in his touch, opening her robe with the curiosity of a naïve lover, clumsily romantic, and lost in lustful passion. Elle is speechless, moaning softly with each touch, not feigning from his sudden imposition. He takes the shimmering slipper from her hands, and in an instant knows this woman is the one, the dancer from the ball. Lifting her body, she willingly wraps her legs around his hips. Droplets of her juice are felt as his hands cup her bare bottom. His middle finger traces the creases around her private lips, having never been spread apart by a rod, and in need of being filled by his.
Taking her down to the floor, he lays out his warm coat for her body to be protected, while his chest moves over hers. In a flash, the Prince's pants pull off his bulging, needy cock, placing the pulsating head right at her tiny opening. Elle lightly pants, frightened at what is happening, desire spun beyond their control. His handsome face kisses her chest, her trembling belly, before reaching her sweet offering—the dainty little mound that his tongue is now on, tasting the forbidden areas of a woman for the first time—a woman whose name he doesn't even know. Elle's back arches with the lunging of his tongue just inside her, stunned by the pleasure his warm mouth gives. Licking, sucking, sipping, tongue worshiping her innocent snatch, she feels her heart race as her thighs shake. Pleasure waves building with an unstoppable heat, the unearthly feeling overtake her body, releasing at a joyful peak. Then, the rush of intensity as his manhood plunges inside her mellowing contractions, inch by steady inch. The Prince is fully inserted, reserving his last inches for when she finally exhales, relaxing just enough for him to fit them in.
The unmarried duo devours this act of untamed lovemaking. Elle willingly opens her legs for him, as only a nimble dancer could, riding the line between the ache of his thickness and the wanting of more. He has no need to hold anything back, his erection thicker with each forward motion, secreting his own potent fluids steadily. Having gone as deep as his cock will go, the extreme tightness that squeezes him, sets forth a massive eruption from his loins. Entire body stiffly putting forth tremendous surges of ecstasy, he explodes his youth into his accepting angel, howling loud enough for the entire Kingdom to hear. The lovers bask in their impermissible act, neither able to utter a word, as he holds his heroic stature over her bosom. Finally, and with love, they kiss.
Daybreak rises over the castle as the King takes his throne. The bugles blare out into the morning sky, alerting all as to the arrival of the Prince. He brings with him a deserving beauty, radiant as the sun and the stars, dressed in a vintage gown worn by her mother on her day of wedded bliss. The Prince leads Elle down the aisle towards his father, where they both kneel at his feet. The King looks down upon his beloved son and his new found purpose, the woman he wants to take as his bride. With a nod of his head and a modest smile, he bestows blessings.
The Prince takes Elle's hands in his and kisses them, secretly smiling to his princess-to-be, still smelling the sweet scent of her pussy on his skin. He lifts her dress just enough for the King to see the coveted ballet slippers on her precious feet, and then informs him they will be in the Prince’s chambers, not to be disturbed, not even if his father impulsively decides to proclaim war. For he has found his true mission and has no intentions of ever having to do anything but what he’s ready to do again and again and again, from now until forevermore. And this is how they will live, happily ever after.
Kay Brandt is a seductive storyteller, award-winning adult filmmaker, and bestselling author, delivering a passionate blend of story and explicit, graphic content. Some of her most notable works include "The World of Cherry" e-book series, which has gone on to become the biggest budget lesbian adult films ever made. Since their release in 2011, they have been deemed erotic classics.