Click HERE for The Fairy Godmother Was A Pimp (PART 4)
My people, the gear we are entering now is PG25. So, if you know you are here, and your mother taught you or your pastor preached to you that sex before marriage is bad, then stay put. Lol. You’ll need the enlightenment.
And so, the ghen-ghen moment is upon us.
“May I kiss you, milady?”
“Yes, you may, my Prince.”
And all things quiet and divinely present watched with bated breaths as the Prince lowered his head to Cinderella’s.
He gently pulled her to him. As his face drew nearer to hers, she could feel his heated breath fan her face. And then he brushed his lips against hers once and then twice before finally meeting them for good.
The kiss was gentle at first, a teasing of lips, a darting of tongues. Cinderella stood very still, absorbing every sensation, allowing the heat to build, layer by layer. Then she raised her hands to his shoulders, clinging to him as she kissed him with everything she had, everything she wanted to be. She heard a soft murmur of contentment from him as he slid his arms tighter around her. His tongue, arousing and probing, was warm and soft as satin, and all at once, she knew that they were right for each other, that what was happening was the right thing for both of them.
Suddenly, standing still was no longer an option, not with those strong hands moving up and down her back, pulling her closer, as though he wanted her inside of him.
She pulled back from the kiss, and breathless, she said, “Make love to me, my Prince.”
The Prince lifted his head and looked at her. “Only if you promise to marry me, if you promise to be really and truly mine,” he said hoarsely.
And thereafter, there was no longer any need for words. They fumbled with buttons and zippers and snaps as they stumbled toward a divan in the room.
They fell into the divan and their bodies arched toward each other. Cinderella’s legs went up and wound themselves around the Prince’s hips, pulling him in, closer. He was buried deep inside her, and every stroke pushed her higher, closer to the pinnacle, up to the peak where earth ended and heaven began.
His mouth was at her ear. She heard a throaty murmur of his claim of her, felt a warm rush of his breath, inhaled the scent of his skin – and then, she was there, in that hot, sweet world where only this man could take her, a world where boundaries dissolved and souls had wings and the time was always now.
Gradually, slowly, she floated back to earth, back to an awareness of the divan beneath her. The Prince rained kisses across her face as she opened her eyes. He was looking at her with such tenderness that her heart swelled.
“Milady.” He said the word softly, almost reverently, grazing her lips with his. “That was amazing.”
Cinderella smiled, feeling a twinge in her heart as she thought of the lie she was. But she was determined to claim and nurture this bubble of happiness. “It was,” she agreed.
“I never want to leave your side.”
She chuckled. “You have guests. I reckon they have started to wonder about us.”
An impatient look fleeted past her lover’s face. “I do not care about all those other women. I have found the one – I have found you.” His brows drew forward and he seemed to realize something. “That’s it. That is what I must now do. I must tell Father that I have found the woman after my heart.”
“You should get on with it then,” Cinderella said, the beam on her face reflecting the sunshine in her heart.
“But I do not want to leave you just yet.”
“You won’t be leaving me, my Prince. You’ll just be gone a little while, and I’ll still be here, waiting for your return.”
They exchanged a smile, and he dropped another soft kiss on her lips before pulling away to right himself. Cinderella sat up as well to put herself back in order.
The Prince kissed her once again, and with a smile, he murmured, “Do not go anywhere, my love. I’ll be right back.”
And he was gone. And with him went the warmth of his nearness. Cinderella felt a slight shiver run through her body, and she clasped her hands about her to preserve his impression on her body. She felt aglow with the love she felt for the Prince.
But the glow was nothing compared to the incandescence that suddenly filled the room, startling the young woman. She stared as a figure bathed with light emerged into the room. The beginnings of a smile turned up her lips as she realized it must be the Fairy Godmother coming to know how far the night had progressed. Or perhaps she already knew and was here to express her approval.
However, the smile stayed incomplete when the brilliance dimmed and she found herself gazing up at a form that was unlike the visitor she’d had earlier that night. There was the silvery-bright skin and the gossamer-like wings that fluttered with gentle grace; that was where the similarities ended. The figure was male and youthful, tall and golden, with eyes that flashed upon a gravely expression.
“Cinderella,” the angel said, the one word conveying icy reproval that had the girl suddenly trembling.
“Who are you?” she stuttered, not knowing why this creature brought foreboding when the Fairy godmother had brought magic.
“I am he who bears a message of comeuppance for your actions tonight,” the angel said.
“Comeuppance?” The girl was horror-stricken. “But…but what have I done to deserve such a turn in the bliss that has been this entire night?”
“You debauched yourself. You lay with a man. You forsook a lifetime of purity and gave up your chastity in a moment of passion –”
“For love!” Cinderella cried out, the words sagging under the weight of her distress. “I lay with the Prince because I love him. And he loves me too.”
“Love.” The angel said the word slowly, as though savoring it. He didn’t seem entirely pleased by the taste. “Love is no excuse for weakness, but it is a reason for leniency. And so shall it be that what was once given shall be taken away. Upon the stroke of midnight, everything bright and beautiful that was bestowed on you will be stripped away. At the stroke of midnight, everything will return to the way it was. For love does not require any artifice for it to truly exist.”
“Oh goodness…” Cinderella choked out, clutching at her heart.
“Midnight, Cinderella,” the angel said, his words resonating with solemn finality as he slowly evanesced. “At midnight, the magic will cease to be.”
And soon, the room was back to normal, with its fluttering linens and polished tiles. However, there was nothing normal about the way Cinderella was feeling. The realization that her happiness was threatened by the cessation of this magical evening was like a sickness ravaging her insides. She slid to the floor from the divan, holding herself tight, as if her heart would break out of her.
“Oh my Prince, will we ever survive this night?” she said in an anguished whisper.
Just then, a sound, which in reality was no louder than a footfall, jarred through the bereaved girl like the peal of the bell at the town square. Startled, she looked up in the direction of the sound, to the ornately-carved, ormolu clock hanging from the marble wall, behind whose gilt-framed bland face the time had just struck for a quarter of an hour to midnight.
At midnight, the magic will cease to be.
The solemn voice of divinity imparting that dire warning echoed through Cinderella’s consciousness, crystallizing her purpose and galvanizing her into action.
Gathering the pearl-strewn, royal-blue folds of her dress, she tottered to her feet and darted to the large, cedar doors of the living room. She slipped through into the hallway, and looked wildly around, feeling the music swell from downstairs. She experienced a brief surge of panic at the thought of cutting her way through the guests, the confident noblewoman who’d made such a grand entrance now hastening for a frantic exit.
Tamping down on the rising panic, she made for the stairs.
Feeling her heart spring to her mouth, she whirled around. The Prince was walking down from the other end of the hallway. His eyes sparkled as brightly as ever and his gait was just as jaunty as it’d been when he left her earlier, his attitude like nothing had changed.
But something had changed. Everything had. Cinderella knew this, and coming face to face with the Prince so soon after this realization caused a hard, hurting fist to clutch her gut, bringing with it the sinking feeling of sadness and fear.
“My Prince…” she croaked.
“Where are you off to in such a hurry, my love?” He was drawing close to her.
“I…I…” She turned a quick look to the revelry as a burst of cheers surged upward.
“You said you would wait for me.”
He stopped before her and she was captured again by how bronzed and handsome he was, the intense appeal of his face enhanced by the azure of his eyes and the cowlick that had fallen so attractively over his temple. Her body still echoed from their passion of several moments ago, and the memory of the hunger and urgency of it fleeted through her. Her impassioned responses had unleashed from him a wild possessiveness. She remembered the way his hands had moved over her body, claiming it, the intensity with which he had thrust into her, and how jealously he’d held her afterward.
She wondered now if he’d hold her just so if the magic was stripped from this moment and she stood, a mere servant girl, before him.
The thought, the sheer terror of it, drew a small cry from her.
“Milady…” The Prince was instantly full of concern.
“I have to go, Your Highness,” she rasped.
“Your Highness?” His elegant brows lifted. “Whatever happened to –”
“Goodbye.” She said the word softly, under the weight of her breaking heart, before turning to flee.
But Cinderella progressed down the stairs and into the ballroom. She began to shove her way through the revelers, ignoring the Prince’s calls as he bounded down the stairs after her, a scene that soon caused a stir to ripple through the room. The Prince had led the noblewoman out of the room several moments earlier, and now he was pursuing her! Speculation rode the waves of rapid interest as bodies parted first before the stricken noblewoman, and then before the ruffled prince.
Cinderella drew up short at the threshold of the ballroom to the blinding sight of lightning streaking through a bruised sky, its flashes illuminating the heavy sheet of silver falling from the sky. At some point in the evening, it had begun to rain. Cinderella hesitated, flinched from the downpour as a small gust of wind blew pellets of cold on her.
The call of the Prince firmed her heart again and spurred her forward into the rain. Within seconds, she was drenched as she sped down the glistening stairs, her progress bogged down by the heavy fall of her skirts and glass-shod feet. What had once felt and looked regal now threatened to keep her from escaping with her dignity.
“Wait! You cannot leave!”
The Prince chased after her into the rain. The knowledge that he was willing to come after her, in spite of the bad weather, gave her a fresh burst of speed she was not prepared for. Her right foot twisted on the wetness of the marble step, and with a choked cry, she was pitched forward. The dress billowed, cushioning her fall as she stumbled down a few steps. When she came to a stop, she looked up from her undignified heap, preparing to rise and carry on with her escape.
Then a sight above her made her gasp. The slipper which had been on her right foot was right up there, where she’d begun her tumble, a solitary glass habiliment appearing to give off a myriad of silver lights under the beating of the rain and the flashing of lightning.
As she got to her feet, she made to go back for it, but she could see the Prince dashing down the stairs, flanked by two palace guards. Panicked, she wheeled around and sped the rest of the way down the remaining flight of stairs.
As though her urgency had earlier communicated itself to her service, the carriage was waiting at the bottom of the stairs for her. A footman had the door open, and was gesturing hastily at her. The horses were neighing impatiently, tossing their manes with each snort, as their hooves clopped the pavement, barely restrained under the lash of the coachman’s whip.
They too must sense the doom of the impending hour.
Cinderella disappeared into the carriage. The door was slammed shut behind her. The coachman’s whip cracked through the damp air, and the carriage jumped forward. Cinderella only had a moment to glimpse the Prince as he stood where she’d fallen, her glass slipper in his hand, cutting a dejected figure that caused a lump of sadness to block her throat.
“I’m sorry, my Prince…my love…” she whispered to the diminishing sight.
She was crying now, very hard, and silently. She was looking downward while the tears simply fell. She heaved and shivered from both the cold and her misery, swaying side to side to the motion of the carriage bearing her home. She stayed abject in her grief for the longest time, oblivious to the passage of the familiar terrain of her neighbourhood.
“Cinderella…!” came a panicked croak from the window.
She was roused from her sadness by the footman’s call, simultaneously startled when she heard the slight squawk that came from the front of the carriage. Even then, she could feel a stir around her, a series of sensations horripilating across her body.
Realizing what was happening, she shoved open the door of the carriage. It was losing its hard, metallic feel, and her hands encountered a softening as she barged through and threw herself out of the carriage. She hit the ground for the second time that night, barely bruising herself on the sodden ground.
Seconds later, under a bright burst of silver dusts, the magic was gone. The horses collapsed into rodents, who scampered off in a squeaking litter into the night. Behind them, the carriage had dropped to the ground into a pumpkin that split into chunks, scattered on the road. Unseated now, the coachman squawked and flapped its wings, a very outraged geese, beside lizards that had darted into a nearby underbrush.
Left on her own, Cinderella finally looked miserably down on the ragged linen of her servant clothes, the tatters and tears replacing the shimmering silk she’d been clad in moments ago. Sadness pulled her shoulders into a slump and longing formed a knot of self-pity in the bottom of her stomach. Wiping at her freshly moistened eyes, she made a rise, and then gasped to a stop.
She had thrust her left foot forward, and the sight of the glass slipper it was shod with snatched away her breath. Everything was gone but the slipper. Reverently, she slipped her foot from it and took it in her hands, knowing with no shadow of doubt that one other was holding the other pair in his hands, just as he had her heart. Raddled glee and divine melancholia chewed at her at the same time as she got to her feet.
She’d been wrong. The magic wasn’t gone – at least not all of it. There was still the magic of hope left.
And that rounds up my revelations of what truly happened that night.
But relax. Disney didn’t entirely lie to you. Every other thing that happened in the following days happened. The Prince found Cinderella. Her leg fit into the glass slipper. They kissed. They wed. And then they lived happily ever after.
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