Fifty Shades of Fairy Tales Omnibus (7 page)

I blushed profusely before I typed back: No, but I’m new to this.

PrinceCharming: We’ll start slow. Have you ever touched yourself?

My cheeks grew hotter and my fingers shook as I typed: Masturbated?

PrinceCharming: Yes.

I chewed my lip and stared at the chat window, hating how my face burnt with embarrassment. I was a grown woman, in college for crying in the sink, and this was ridiculous. Taking a deep breath, I told myself to
Buck up, Princess.
 

I typed: Well… kinda … sorta.

Frustrated with myself, I hit enter and hid my face in my hands. How I wanted to punch a wall, but I didn’t want to lose my damage deposit, or break my fingers.

PrinceCharming: Kinda?

His response forced me to take deep, calming breaths. What a ninny I was!
Okay, grow up Cindy and chat.

I typed: I’ve touched my clitoris. Never inserted fingers. No orgasm… yet.

What I didn’t tell him was my step mother taught me that sex of any kind was “dirty,” “wrong,” and only for procreation. Her words, not mine. But even though I disagreed with her, the woman raised me after my dad won custody and my mom, the natural wanderer, left. I had to live by her rules at one time, and those antiquated rules still played tricks on my less than perfect brain.

PrinceCharming: Will you play with yourself 4 me? Cum 4 me?

I swallowed hard, blinked at the screen.

I typed: I don’t have a cam.

It was all I could think of, and it was true. Not that I’m a toad or anything. I like to think I’m an average-to-cute geek girl. My short, black pixie ‘do makes me look almost elfin. But I’ve never been a fan of my chin, and my nose is just okay.

PrinceCharming: That’s okay. Type as you play. Tell me how it feels.

I quit brooding about my appearance and jumped when the message ping went off. What the hell? I decided. It was time to shed my uptightness. Besides, I was in the privacy of my apartment, and no one would see.

Taking a deep breath, I typed back: I could just lie. Tell you I’m doing it when I’m not.

PrinceCharming: I trust you. :)

My heart fluttered in my chest and I almost hated him for being so slick, so nice, but that wouldn’t be fair. This was my shit messing with my head, not his fault.

I typed back: So … how should I start.

PrinceCharming: Get naked for me.

I shivered as I shed my ash grey sweatshirt, black yoga pants, and red striped thong. My skin felt electric, as if unseen charged particles pinged out of my pores. I was terrified and thrilled all at once.

My nipples puckered, hardening until they hurt as I sat in the chair again, my clothes completely shed.

I typed: Okay, what next?

PrinceCharming: I wish I could see you. ;) Spread your legs. Get comfortable.

I did, then waited for his next message.

PrinceCharming: Stroke your clit. Pull the hood back and rub it. Tell me how it feels.

I skimmed two fingers up my soft labia then caressed the tiny bead of flesh. Sparks seemed to shoot through my every nerve. When I pulled the hood back to rub beneath, a tiny moan escaped me.

PrinceCharming: Feel good?

I stopped long enough to type: Yes.

Prince Charming: Slide your fingers between your lips. Get them wet.

I did as he instructed, parting my labia to slip two fingers down my slit. It glistened with my juices, and my pussy already throbbed so strong it was driving me mad.

Once my fingers shone with wetness, I rubbed my clit again. More electric shocks zipped from my sex to my brain, showering my whole body with delightful sensation. I could see how a person could become addicted to this sort of pleasure. I certainly didn’t want it to end any time soon.

PrinceCharming: Rub your clit. Fuck yourself with your fingers. Make yourself come, Princess.

My skin tingled as I ground fingers into my swelling clitoris. Tense muscles started to relax as pleasure flooded my body. My clit pulsed strong from the stimuli. The tingling threatened to drive me mad, and my opening throbbed so hard it hurt.

PrinceCharming: Details? ;)

I groaned as I pulled my fingers away from my sex, disappointed by the cessation of bliss. I had to collect my thoughts before I could reply.

I typed: I’m wet. On fire. I need to cum.

I stared in shock at my reply. It read so confident and wanton.

PrinceCharming: Tell me how it feels, how you feel? Bring me into your world.

My hands shook slightly as I typed: It feels … amazing. It’s like electricity zipping through my body, if getting electrocuted were a good thing. lol

PrinceCharming: I bet you feel like velvet. So soft. So wet. I can almost see it.

My cheeks flamed with heat and a smile quirked up the corners of my lips.

I typed: Now, can I get back to it? ;)

PrinceCharming: haha! Go for it.

This time, I positioned myself in the chair so I could slide fingers inside me while still playing with my clit. I closed my eyes and pictured him with me, imagined what he would look like. My fingers became his fingers.

I tugged my clit back and rubbed. My fingers were once more slick with my juices, and I gasped loudly as I drew his face in my mind. Hair so black it seemed to shine blue. Eyes the color of sapphires. Chiseled cheekbones and a square chin. He watched me with intense lust as his fingers skimmed up my labia.

I rubbed my clit harder, letting myself get lost in the daydream as my hips began to rock in a rhythm that matched my climbing ecstasy. My fingers slipped inside of me and I clamped down hard around the penetration. I cooed and bit my lip as the sensations amped up to mind blowing.

I’d read enough articles on sex and women’s health to know where the g-spot was located. I curled my fingers and found it quickly, stroking it in time with my clit. My pelvis tightened and my hips rocked faster. Soon I fucked myself in wild abandon as my entire focus zoned in on the need to come.

The orgasm exploded through my body and mind, leaving my trembling and gasping. Juices trickled from inside me and pooled on the chair cushion. I caught my breath and opened my eyes just as another chat ping went off.

PrinceCharming: So how was it?

I typed: Fantastic!

***

More cybersex meetings ensued, until he popped the question. No, not THAT question! The “do you want to meet” question.

My heart froze in my chest. I did want to meet him, don’t get me wrong, but the truth was we still had no idea what each other looked like. Sure, we’d exchanged life details, some stories, but I didn’t even know his real name yet and he didn’t know mine.

He suggested a restaurant, a local pub, somewhere open and public. This eased my apprehension somewhat. So I decided to suggest a meeting place: my mom’s bakery/cafe. But I didn’t tell him my mom owned it.

We agreed on this and told each other what we’d be wearing, so it would be easy to spot each other. Everything was set. My first date in over a year! Since that jerk Doug dumped me for some big boobed barista.

But the date came and went and I didn’t leave the house. Instead, I sat watching reruns of Battleship Saturn while eating a tub of double fudge ice cream. I hated myself through every episode and for bingeing.

I went to visit Mom two days later, my head hung low and my morale dragging. My real mom only re-entered my life about three years ago, when I turned 21. She’s a true bohemian, let me tell you. Picture a forty-five-year-old Beyonce Knowles wearing bell bottoms and you’ve got my mom.

She was worried I’d reject her when she returned, but we spent a lot of long nights talking. Eventually, I came to understand her reasons, and I love her for who she is. The woman bakes the best black forest cake in town, and she gives the best advice. She insists I call her Sadie, because Mom makes her feel old.

“
So, what did he look like?” I asked, after sulking my way up to the spotless display case.

Sadie gave me a sympathetic frown over the top of her tortoiseshell glasses. “He was gorgeous. Why didn’t you show up?”

I kicked the side of my running shoe. “Because I’m a chickenshit.”

Sadie laughed at this. “Hey, I made some mini black forest cakes. Go get yourself one.”

Smiling, I headed behind the display case without hesitation.

Business was slow that day, so Sadie led me out front and we sat at one of the little round tables topped with a red checked cloth. While I ate my mini-cake, we talked. I told her about Ruth, my step mom, and my step sister’s being paranoid about Prince Charming

“
Those women mess with your head,” she said, trying to sooth my worries. “Don’t let Ruth and the girls get to you. They mean well, I know, but they need to stop believing everything they watch on Pox News. And I’m sure your guy will understand.”

I smiled at her efforts. “I hope so, but I wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t.”

She shook her head at me, but her face was still full of compassion. “Don’t sweat over it too much, hon. You’re being too hard on yourself. He knows about your anxiety. You said he’s shy. He’ll understand.”

***

The next day, I had a email from Prince Charming waiting for me at Funtime Games. My heart beat faster when I saw it, and my mouth went dry. I felt a fool for such a reaction. Really, I hadn’t even met the guy yet!

He was worried about me. The email asked if everything was okay, and his concern touched my heart. But another part of me wondered if he did this to lure me into a false sense of trust … then into his basement, where he kept his other victims.

I slapped my forehead and cursed myself. I was letting my step mother and step sisters get to me way too much.

My fingers flew over the keyboard as I wrote him back. We arranged another meeting at mom’s cafe. Three days before Valentine’s Day. My head and heart thrummed with excitement. I even went out and bought a cute new red dress to wear. Something silky that showed cleavage and hugged curves. I felt confident and ready.

But I ditched PrinceCharming again.

And here it was, one day later. At least I hadn’t binged yet. Sadie had called, concerned that I’d once more missed my date and left the poor guy waiting in her café. She tried to make me feel better, but there was no lifting my mood this time.

I was a complete idiot.

My email alert played its tinny tune and I jumped, letting out a little yelp as the sound yanked me from my brooding. I slipped across the carpet in my socks and scooped my laptop off the small, white desk.

The subject header read: Rosewood Studios - YOU’VE WON!

Rosewood Studios was the network that aired my favorite show: Two Torn. It was a romantic dramedy about a woman who bounced between two brothers, but couldn’t decide which one she truly loved. Chaos and hijinks ensued each week in their on-again off-again relationships.

So what exactly had I won from Rosewood? I didn’t remember entering anything.

I double clicked it open and scanned the message. My heart did a backward somersault.

“
Holy shit.” I clamped a hand over my mouth and heard my step mom admonish me for swearing.

I’d won a date with Foster Wells, the star of Two Torn! The email informed me a limo would come pick me up at a specified address on Valentine’s Day at noon. I would receive a tour of the Two Torn set, also, with Foster as my guide. All I had to do was click on the Prize Claim link in the email and I’d surf to a page where I could enter my claim code, specify an address, and that was about it.

“
This has to be spam.” I didn’t believe it for a second, yet my fingers trembled as I accessed the url and entered my information. “A hoax. Probably cooked up by my step sisters.”

After I entered my claim code, the website flashed a CONGRATULATIONS banner, then a picture of the devastatingly sexy Foster Wells clad only in a speedo and his tanned, taut glory.

Nope, I didn’t believe this was real at all. But just in case, I decided to splurge on a new hairdo and a cute pair of polka dot pumps. Valentine’s Day was only a day off now, and I chewed my nails away in anticipation.

***

The clock read 11:45 when I checked myself in the hallway mirror a final time. Valentine’s Day had arrived. My hair and skin shone with a hint of glitter. I’d done my eyes up smoky and sultry. Applied a red velvet lipstick. The red dress suited me perfectly, molding to my generous curves and breasts. The polka dot pumps fit great and finished off the outfit with a dash of cuteness.

The buzzer next to my apartment door went off and I jumped, nearly spraining my ankle as one heel buckled. A table in the hall saved me from falling down.

I pushed the button on the intercom and spoke. “Hello?”

A rich baritone wafted through the speaker. “I’m here to escort a Ms. Cynthia Ellerton to Rosewood Studios.”

I cleared my throat, tried to keep the nervous squeak out of my voice. “I’ll be right down.”

***

The burly, bald limo driver held the door open while a beautiful businesswoman rushed toward the car. She wore a slate grey Gucci suit and her hair was piled in a loose topknot that burst with red curls. She flashed a brilliant smile as she held out a hand for me to shake.

“
Ms. Ellerton, congratulations,” she said, guiding me toward the glass doors of Rosewood Studios. “I’m Mr. Wells’ assistant, Gertrude Plum.”

I was led through a large foyer inside the oddly shaped building of glass and steel. Gertrude guided me to a metallic elevator and we were whisked up to the set of Two Torn.

In a lavish dressing room, complete with long mirror lined by globe lights, I met Foster Wells.

My breath caught in my throat as a handsome smile curled his lips. He was six-foot-two, in great shape, and had the face of a carved Greek god. His short chestnut hair gleamed in gelled waves. When the light caught it, it looked like a rich coat of sable.

His green eyes flashed with good humor. “Is this our little contest winner?”

Gertrude nodded and returned the smile. “It certainly is. I’ll leave you two alone to take the tour, but text me if you need anything.” She tapped a Blackberry clipped to her skirt then left.