WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.
This book is for sale to ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.
All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover Design: Valerie Tibbs
Cinderella Club © October 2010 Mia Natasha
eXcessica publishing
A Smashwords Edition
All rights reserved
Cinderella Club
By Mia Natasha
Dedication
For Jake
Acknowledgments
Thank you so much to Selena Kitt and www.excessica.com for agreeing to publish Cinderella Club. Thank you to Simon Lowrie, for being an amazing editor. I wish to thank Laurel, Manu, and all of my friends at www.literotica.com for their feedback emails and comments on the bulletin board. Special thanks to Jaymal, a brilliant writer whose advice, nurturing, and friendship make writing fun.
Prologue
She’d been kidnapped and christened a sex slave. They’d taken her, she thought. She’d not gone willingly, but still she took responsibility for harboring the lewd thoughts which had provoked her fate.
Now, as she helplessly dangled like a human crystal from the castle chandelier, Miller Smytheson thought about the path that had led her to this moment. Ten minutes ago he’d blindfolded her and adorned her in black; in the leather wrist cuffs lined in shearling, a velvet stomacher exposing her breasts, and satin ballet slippers whose laces matched those securing her waist to waspish proportion.
Her wrists ached; her shoulders burned. The pain intensified. The corset kept her breathing shallow and her thoughts helped her veer focus away from the impending agony. Had she agreed to this?
“I changed my mind,” she said. “I’m not…I’m afraid. I might dislocate my shoulder. I might fall...”
“Milly, my love, I won’t let anything happen to you,” he replied confidently before he slid his tongue into her mouth one last time. Then he replaced it with the ball gag.
“Sh, sh, sh,” he whispered when he sensed her protests. He lifted her arms above her head so he could connect the hook to its place on the chandelier’s knobstick. Her imprisoned body ascended. Her supple recently-fucked body exploded with sensations: goose-bumps from the cool air, wet semen slithering from her cunt. And, in her helplessness, Miller was his captive in luxurious bondage one last time.
Chapter 1: Rumination
He was a man from London, a 6’3” thirty-five-year-old. Athletic, handsome, charming, and wealthy. He’d acted very direct that first day, exceptionally warm for mid-October, when he entered the Smytheson’s gallery, The Tiger’s Eye, on Madison Avenue in Manhattan, a few blocks over from the Whitney. She was dusting the tip of a sculpture and looked up when he walked up to the window. He looked at her with a sense of recognition so she pressed the hidden button that unlocked the door. He muttered something to himself, something to do with timing.
“Good afternoon. I spoke to a gentleman earlier in the week about a lithograph,” he said with authority. He wore a dark and impeccably tailored suit, a crisp white shirt, and a burgundy tie with the outline of a quirky key embroidered in a golden thread. Miller’s brown eyes focused on that key as though it had hypnotic qualities.
“Yes. That would be my father, William Smytheson? He told me someone would be stopping by but I was expecting someone...”
“Someone less interested in sweeping you off of your feet?”
Miller Smytheson blushed. She could feel the heat in her cheeks as she imagined this man fitting into her fantasy of the perfect relationship. She rubbed her sweaty palms down the length of her vintage Halston and hoped the black silk jersey fabric could take the added friction. Why hadn’t she spent more time on her hair that morning instead of popping it into a high ponytail, so that she would have appeared more sophisticated to him? Miller calmed herself. Her eyes darted around the room until they settled on his. They looked like polished amber.
“I’m Miller Smytheson,” she said, “Milly to my friends. I was named after...”
“The artist Ribbonsfield Miller?”
“Yes, how did you know that?” How did he know that?
“Lucky guess,” he smirked, “Your father may have mentioned it.”
“Fader did? Wow, usually I have to go through this whole explanation you know, most people think it’s the beer or whatever,” she rambled.
“Delighted,” he nodded as he took her hand and gave it a firm handshake, “My name is, Colin, Colin Duncan.”
She stared at the freckles on his regal nose, freckles that matched his light brown hair, which, Miller thought, made his face kind, and trusting. And he had the cutest little dimple on his left cheek when he smiled.
Colin broke the silence. “So, the lithographs?”
“Well,” Miller replied regaining her composure, “We have three Picasso lithographs in stock. I have them in the back room. I’ll get them. Feel free to look around. We call this exhibit Disgraceful Beauty.”
The gallery’s current exhibit included Egon Schiele nudes on the walls and Nathalie Jasper’s penis sculptures, the ones cast in bronze, not the more familiar rakus, resting on mirrored pedestals. Miller, particularly fond of this show, was instrumental in its installation. She’d worked with the contractor, making sure the small halogen bulbs in the ceiling spaced evenly throughout the narrow but deep venue. She had the walls painted the perfect light Naples yellow to coordinate with the paintings and the new benches upholstered in tasteful pewter brocade shantung to match the tabletop of Fader’s mid-century modern desk. The Picasso lithographs slumbered in the humidity-controlled back storeroom, waiting to be shipped off to the Connecticut warehouse.
Miller took three trips to carry the pieces. The frames were somewhat heavy but Fader didn’t like patrons handling the merchandise. She placed the lithographs side by side on the far wall beneath the Schiele cunt close-up, and then approached her customer.
“I’m impressed,” he said while admiring the largest penis in Nathalie Jasper’s exhibit. “This looks familiar.” His gaze turned back to Miller. “Who’s this artist?”
Miller suppressed a giggle. She grabbed the artist statement from Fader’s desk and returned with the information.
“Fader, my father I mean, found her in Paris,” she informed. “She’s a protégé of Jacques Sanguine.”
“How long has she been working in this medium?” Colin asked, staring at the large bronze cock, its patina looking like drips of semen.
“Not long, actually,” Miller said. “I believe she’s a 2001 graduate of Central St. Martins in…”
“London,” they both said in unison. Miller giggled.
Colin turned his attention to the lithographs, smiling mischievously as he took in the images. He pointed to the one on the far right, to the erect cock on the bull and then to the exposed breast of the woman, and he said simply, “That’s me and that’s you. Let’s get a cup of coffee and work things out.”
They went across the street for coffee at Peparki, a Mediterranean deli where the red leather booths curved into romantic alcoves. They sat close together as they sipped their cappuccinos. He smelled fantastic; a subtle fragrant cologne.
“So, Miss Smytheson,” he said, “What brings you to the world of erotic art?” He said ‘erotic’ with a titillating sense of the naughty, she thought.
“It’s a family business,” Miller answered, information spilling from within as it frequently did. “My parents, Tay and William Smytheson? They started the gallery when they were first married. I wanted to be an artist. I mean, I guess being around art is great and I do want to help out Fader; naturally it’s the responsible thing to do. It just wasn’t supposed to be this way. My mother died in a plane crash. Do you remember that plane that crashed over Scotland?”
He exclaimed, “How dreadful! You poor darling. You must have been...”
“I’m twenty-seven. I was seven when it happened. It was worse for my sister though.” She took a quick sip of the warm coffee and cleared her throat.
“How so?”
“Thyme was older than me. She ended up having to repeat sixth grade because she was a mess after Mammo died. Later she started doing drugs and getting into a lot of mischief, you know, promiscuous sex…”
“Milly, it’s not necessary to...”
“…staying out all night, running around with an older crowd,” she continued, “It wasn’t pretty. In fact, she kind of went a little coo-coo? Fader said the doctor diagnosed her with schizophrenia, and I guess that sort of eased my pain of losing her, you know? When she died in that fire.”
“Fire?” He emptied his cup and patted his lip with the white linen napkin then signaled the waitress for a refill.
“There was a fire at this bar,” Miller added. “It was in Spanish Harlem. Ugh! I don’t even know why she liked it there. None of it makes sense.”
“But you said her death eased your pain?”
“I guess. I mean that now she’s at peace, you know? Like I truly believe she’s in a better place.”
“That’s a bit of drama, isn’t it?”
“I’m sorry. It is isn’t it?”
“You seem to be coping rather well.”
“I’ve had a lot of therapy,” Miller answered bluntly. “The thing that helps the most is sorting out problems in dreams, which didn’t seem to work for Thyme, and I guess I’m a rational thinker so, you know? Thyme was more artsy. I don’t actually know what I’m talking about. There’s still loads of pain, and I miss Thyme. I miss them both. I’m sorry, am I gabbling?”
“No, you’re fine,” he smiled.
“Well, my friend Evie might not agree with you there. She says I tend to gabble on a bit now and then. I can’t help it. I keep a lot inside and sometimes, you know - I feel like I’m going to explode. It’s nice to find a good listener. I’m doing it again, aren’t I?”
“It’s quite all right,” he whispered.
“It’s a tremendous burden to be the only one left to carry on the gallery. If anything happens to Fader I’ll probably have myself committed to a dark cell somewhere.”
Colin kissed her hand and pulled her towards him. He placed a finger under her chin and grazed her lip with his thumb. He lingered there and kissed her mouth. Miller felt his tongue meet hers and it tickled sending shivers down her back.
She’d only known him for two hours but she found herself in a passionate embrace, kissing him as though he completed the puzzle of her soul.
The waitress interrupted the moment. “Can I get you anything else?”
“Just the check,” Colin replied, his eyes never leaving Miller’s. She tilted her head and accepted another kiss from this beautiful man. He pulled away gently.
“I didn’t come looking for this,” he said, “but I’m glad I found it.” He paid the check and left the waitress with a twenty-dollar tip. They exited into bright sunshine and faced each other on the sidewalk. Miller’s feet felt glued into position as she waited for her future to unfold.
“We ought to get back to the gallery so I can pay you for the lithograph,” said Colin.
“I think I should tell you…well, it’s not cheap,” she replied, hesitating before adding quietly, “We’re talking about six figures.”
“I wouldn’t worry your pretty little head about that, milady,” he answered. “I’ve been searching for one to match the Picasso my father keeps in his study. We operate a business together. Money is no object.”
Miller waited for him to elaborate and he seemed to take his cue.
“Overseas shipping. It’s highly confidential work. Mums the word.” Colin put a finger to his lip.
“Well, it seems pretty profitable,” Miller replied. “Whatever you’re selling, you must be very good at it.”
“Indeed.”
They walked back to the gallery where Colin paid for the lithograph with a cashier’s check.
“Let me take you out tonight,” he offered. Miller had just returned from the back room with a large piece of brown wrapping paper and a small basket filled with a roll of duct tape, a pair of scissors and a spool of jute, a roll of bubble wrap under her arm.
“A date?” she said, and couldn’t control her smile. Inside her head Miller was already naming the children she’d have with this man, the first intelligent, confident, and attractive man she’d met since spending her college years crushing on her best friend’s future husband. She placed the paper on one of the benches and the basket on the floor and then walked to retrieve the lithograph.
“I’ll pick you up at your place,” Colin suggested.
“I’m in the Darcy building, do you know it? Apartment 1053-B.” Miller began to wrap the artwork carefully, starting with the bubble wrap and then successfully covering the package with the brown paper. She fancied herself adept at predicting how much paper she’d need and was always spot-on.
“Seven o’clock? I’ve two tickets to the ballet.”
“How did you…? But it’s opening night!” Miller said breathlessly. “It’s Cinderella!” She tied the jute rope around the package, quickly twisting it, then flipped it over and secured the rope with a knot.
Using this particular brand of jute combined with duct tape always reminded Miller of her kinky fantasy, the one where a handsome stranger captures her, ties her up and fucks her. She blushed, grateful her pornographic mind was safely locked away inside a daydream. Colin would run for the English hills if she unleashed her hidden freak.
“There’s my little slave,” he said, referring to the package, indicating the rope as a form of bondage. Miller giggled a little too loudly as she did whenever she thought someone could read her lewd thoughts. Colin tucked the brown paper package under his arm, took her hand again and kissed it tenderly. Then Colin Duncan winked before he left The Tiger’s Eye.
Chapter 2: Colin
Miller tried to contain her excitement as she prepared for the evening. Her apartment was neatly kept and required only minor tidying. She’d decorated with a combination of styles with white walls to keep the large illusion going. There was a tan microfiber sectional from Pottery Barn in the living room filled with an assortment of kilim pillows in a combination of tans, blues and rust. At the windowless wall a large built-in bookshelf supported her great collection of coffee table art books. She collected keys, mostly of an antique variety, and kept them in a silver box on the Stickley Mission coffee table. She loved to sit in her denim slipcovered chair while watching television on her LCD wall-mounted set or reading reluctance erotica on www.literotica.com on her laptop, huddled in a cashmere blanket near the decorative-only small fireplace.
Miller especially loved her antique mirrored sideboard, the one she kept in the entryway. It had been Mammo’s favorite piece, one she’d had imported from France, and Fader allowed Miller to take it from the house in Connecticut, an unusual gesture of kindness, especially since he was so possessive of things associated with his wife’s memory.
She furnished her bedroom with flea market finds like the antique iron bed she’d had since her teens. A Lane hope chest filled with sweaters resided at the foot of the bed. There was enough room in the small space for the lingerie chest, another Stickley piece, and a rattan dresser. On the wall above the bed Miller had placed a painting she’d done in college, an abstract oil of entwined lovers in a swirl of colors with the word Blackout scrawled in oil pastel at the bottom.
At seven, the short knock at the door said her visitor had arrived. Miller was dressed in the emerald green Donna Karan gown she’d picked up from Barneys with her commission money. She wore it with her colored stone-encrusted sandals and the emerald jewelry Fader gave her last Christmas. She felt like she’d stepped out of a John Singer Sargent portrait. Why had she told Colin she aspired to be an artist? Decorating her home and adorning her body; these were currently her only art forms, and she hoped she was good enough for him; she hoped he approved.
She opened the door to find Colin wearing an Armani traditional tuxedo; his hair slicked back with gel. He carried a bouquet of multicolored roses.
“You’re breathtaking, Miller Smytheson. I’d ravish you but I don’t want to ruin your make-up.”
Ravish?
“Thank you, sir,” she giggled, “And, thank you for the flowers. They’re beautiful.” He kissed her delicately on the cheek.
Miller went to the kitchen to get a vase and then placed the bouquet on the coffee table. She found Colin on the sofa.
“I love Cinderella,” she told him. “It was Mammo’s…my mother’s favorite fairy-tale, and mine too.”
“And mine as well,” he said, “We should go. Curtain call is eight o’clock.”
“I called the box office. It’s at nine,” she said. “I wanted to show you something. It’s the program from our last art exhibit at The Tiger’s Eye. It’s on the nightstand in my bedroom. I’ll go and grab it.”
Miller went to retrieve the colorful brochure. She sat on the bed and rummaged until she found it. She looked up to find that Colin had followed her. Although her motives were innocent, she’d hoped he would and now there he was. Miller felt her heart swoon. She was really nervous.
“Your apartment is…charming…like you,” he said as he sat down next to her on the bed.
“You’re charming,” she said. Miller looked back through her small pile of papers. “Oh, this is what I was looking for.” She held out the Ribbonsfield Miller postcard first and then the booklet. On the postcard was a painting, a nude of a famous actress.
“This is for a show he’s doing in London next month. He’s good, isn’t he?”
“Yes, it’s wonderful,” he agreed. Colin perused the program from The Tiger’s Eye exhibit next.
“Mr. Miller helped my parents a lot when they first started out. They were basically immigrants who started a successful business. I’m really proud of them. It must have been scary but they persevered.”
“With this man’s help, your namesake?”
“Yes.”
Maybe it was his cologne or the sincerity of his interest in all she’d shared, or simply because he was a sexy man sitting on her bed. Whatever the reason, Miller turned to him and suddenly her lips were on his. She attacked him with kisses, controlling amount and pressure. Her fantasy of becoming an automaton of sexual desire hit her full-force. Without hesitation she brazenly unzipped Colin’s fly and produced his cock, uncircumcised and resembling the large Jasper sculpture, just as he’d claimed. How had it fit in his pants? Miller placed her lips upon it and hoped she was doing it correctly. It felt very natural to suck cock. Stretching her lips as far over the shaft as she could muster she pulled back again and again. She used a technique learned from watching Real Sex on HBO. Miller used her hand to move about the base of his great shaft, while licking and taunting the head. Although it seemed a bit like a chore she enjoyed the feel of his strong thick cock, and how nicely it fit into her mouth. She thought about a conversation she had with Evie over cocktails at Charm School Pub in Soho.
“Giving head’s my best thing,” Evie had said.
Miller had asked, “How do you know?”
“Because Mark can come after only a five minute suck. He moans, then grunts, and then spurts.”
“Really?”
Miller stopped suddenly. She didn’t want Colin to come before her vagina was explored.
He began, “Miller, I...”
“Call me Milly,” she whispered. She released his cock from her clutches and noticed its lipstick-stained and saliva-soaked head throbbing for relief.
She lay back on the bed and reached for him. This was the moment she’d been waiting for. She’d desperately wanted to become sexually active but it just never seemed right before and this seemed as perfect as a fairy-tale. Miller pulled up the skirt of her gown and waited for him to enter her in the missionary position. He seemed to hesitate.
“Don’t move,” he said.
He left the room. Miller slid off the gown. Naturally she didn’t want it to get soiled if she intended to wear it to the ballet. When Colin returned he was bottomless and wearing a condom.
“Miller Smytheson, I didn’t know you were such a Jezebel. I pictured you more like Cinderella,” Colin said smiling.
“Just get over here,” she commanded. She knew that her cunt was already wet but was it juicy enough to allow easy penetration?
“Wait,” she suggested, “Maybe you should take off your shirt and tie?”
Miller watched him undress. Colin had a beautiful body, she thought, very well proportioned except for his giant cock. He seemed too beautiful to be romantically available and she wondered whom else he might be fucking. They hadn’t talked about his life and perhaps things were moving too fast? Of course they were. As much as she knew that conversation was warranted, Miller decided to forego those details. A handsome naked man stood in front of her and she felt like the luckiest girl in the world.
Colin threw back the bedsheet. She shyly guided her fingers to slide open her labia gates. He assisted, positioning his sheathed cock into her keyhole. She felt a slight pain as the big thing stretched itself all the way inside.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Of course. I want this. I want you.”
“Am I hurting you?”
“No.”
Soon they were fucking, the straight missionary variety. Miller felt the full onslaught of Colin’s manhood and smelled the pungent fragrance of her cunt mixed with latex. Sex wasn’t at all painful. Why had Evie said the first time would be? She felt ebullient and unburdened of her pesky virginity. Why had she waited so long?
“Oh my god…oh my god,” she mumbled.
“Are you all right, my darling?”
“I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m better than all right,” she answered and laughed between moans, happy to be fucking at last.
I’m fucking, Miller thought. The pounding continued, not like an assault but more of a comfortable rhythm, a relaxing momentum. Miller lifted her bottom and squeezed her insides, attempting to tighten her grip on her lover, hoping her performance might win her another go around in the future. Evie had shared her first time with Mark by revealing that he’d prematurely ejaculated, he’d been that excited. Then he’d followed it with five successive fucks of a longer duration. Was Colin that excited? He didn’t say anything. He grunted a bit, keeping his eyes shut tight. Perhaps he was concentrating?
Miller reached for Colin’s lips and he complied. She felt as though she led the kiss and he passively accepted, but then a rhythm developed and she sensed his growing passion.
“Milly, I don’t want to hurt you,” he said after reigning in those promising advances.
She wasn’t sure if he was referring to physical or emotional hurt. Did he mean to vanish from her life pending this quickie one-night stand? Miller thought she should take it upon herself to make this a night to remember. She’d remember the feel of his strong body on top of hers, and the smell of his skin against hers.
Suddenly Colin lifted her from the bed and kissed her passionately, her body tottering in his arms. It was as if a jolt of energy had been released. In one quick movement Colin flipped Miller around to be on her hands and knees. Miller silently complied with his very welcome forcefulness.
“I want to admire this beautiful arse,” Colin said. He kissed the freckle on her right ass cheek and proceeded to kiss his way up her back as she moaned in anticipation. She felt the air circulating near her cunt and waited patiently for it to be replaced with Colin’s member. Once again she parted her own pussy lips to make way for the landing. Colin entered and Miller was so wet for him he slid in quickly. Having a cock inside her made Miller feel complete, as though it belonged there in the way that the United States interlock in a Jasper Johns map painting, everything was in its place including the calculated drips simulating semen. He took her from behind smacking his pelvis onto her bottom and making a thwacking sound with the force. She was certain she could orgasm this way.
“Kiss me,” she whispered.
He obliged again, twisting her around while still maintaining his cock’s hold on her. Then she felt his spasm and she knew she’d brought him to orgasm. He lingered inside her for a bit, but withdrew as soon as his penis was fully flaccid. Then he cleaned up in the bathroom, flushing the condom and washing his hands. Colin returned wearing his tuxedo pants.
“Was that okay?” she asked innocently once they’d reorganized their clothing. It would be her first sexual critique. She accepted the fact that her first sexual experience was officially over and that she’d been denied an orgasm. Miller harbored disappointment but hid her feelings from Colin. His happiness predicted the future of this relationship, not hers.
“More than okay,” Colin said with a mysterious smile. “Now let’s see how Cinderella fares.”
The ballet brought Miller’s evening to a stunning crescendo. Cinderella! Twin Russian ballerinas, both equally lithe, one dressed as a pauper, the other a princess, portrayed Cinderella and took their turn dancing with a fair-haired Prince. Miller awakened into a storybook romance, she the ever hopeful and kind Cinderella and Colin the charming prince of the castle. Colin had found her and now she could begin her life. When the evening was over and Colin asked for a second date, it didn’t matter that he’d been a little selfish the first time. Miller knew she’d fuck him again and that the sex would improve once they became more familiar with one another.
* * * *
“Happy Thanksgiving, darling,” he said upon entering her apartment with a bottle of wine. Miller, in a short red silk bathrobe and red mules, a red headband holding her hair up and back, had spent the morning decorating for the holidays as she did every year on Thanksgiving. She’d pulled out the vintage silver tinsel tree and placed it in front of the window next to the mantle. Small canvases of geometric designs painted in metallic colors adorned the tree. Miller had made them during the summer after graduating from college. Around the room she’d used glass candlesticks to place vanilla scented candles on every flat surface. There were two stockings dangling from the mantle this year done in pale blue velvet and a crème-colored cotton patchwork with russet buttons, both found at a street fair in Brooklyn, on an expedition originally meant to locate more keys.
Colin kissed Miller’s waiting lips. He said, “You’re not dressed. Am I early?” He noticed the platter of sushi on the coffee table and the pillows scattered on the floor. “You celebrate an American holiday by turning Japanese? Do you at least have a tuna roll? I’m starving.” Colin removed his tweed jacket and placed it over the back of the sofa.
“Tuna, yuck, that’s like eating cat food,” Miller replied. “I don’t usually celebrate a traditional Thanksgiving, sorry. Fader is always away on business and Evie and Mark spend the holiday in Colorado with Mark’s family. I’m really glad you’re here, Colin, because it’s fun to finally have a reason to celebrate.”
She immediately wished she hadn’t said that. She didn’t want him to think her too needy, friendless and alone. That was like a relationship deal-breaker, she thought.
“God, I’m sounding pathetic. I’m not usually this...”
“Charming?”
Colin hugged her and kissed the top of her head, much to her relief. Perhaps it was his European upbringing but Colin seemed different from the shallow American guys in her acquaintance. Nothing she said ever angered him or bothered him in any way, and there had been times when she knew her rambling was annoying. He was the Saint of all boyfriends. She put her arms around his neck and hopped up on him, securing her legs around his waist. He carried her to the bedroom and when he set her down on the bed her robe fell open. Colin kissed her salmon pink erect nipples, her navel and her eager cunt. He slid off her robe.
Naked and extremely excited, Miller moaned in anticipation of what she hoped would be a fuck pounding. He licked a bit more and moved his attention to her nether region. He began to fingerfuck her while they kissed. Miller watched Colin undress, removing his aqua cashmere polo, gray trousers and white boxer-briefs and folding them neatly on the hope chest alongside his argyle socks; his brown oxfords left on the floor. She admired his strong physique and bone hard cock. She smiled as he positioned the condom he’d carried in his pocket and then straddled her. Easing gently inside of her, Colin grunted softly.
Miller honestly didn’t know why he liked her. Didn’t she bore him with her dissertations about her friends and family, and about the goings-on at the gallery? She hardly had the sexual experience a man like him deserved. Colin’s British reserve seemed to cause him to hold back, Miller thought, and she wondered how she could sway him towards his promise of ravishing her without appearing too forward.
She said, “It’s okay. I won’t break.”
“Milly, you dirty little darling. Be careful what you wish for, my dear,” Colin said.
Miller wanted him; she wanted to be in love, the kind of love that Evie and Mark shared. She thought experimenting with a variety of positions learned from Anne Hooper’s Pocket Sex Guide would help her achieve her goal. Miller now chose to take control, thinking Colin preferred it that way. She forced her way on top of him and then raised his arms up over his head hoping she’d successfully mirrored her desire. She allowed Colin’s cock to penetrate her deeply as she fucked him this time parading up and down his thick shaft rubbing it against her G-spot. It was time to introduce the new position. She slid her left leg around then rotated carefully so as not to damage Colin’s outstanding package.
“What the hell are you doing?” he muttered.
“I just want to try something…”
“Hey, watch the family jewels. I need those.”
“…there.”
She was now sitting on Colin but facing away from him. Colin held her forearms back to keep her from falling forward. She let her mind slip away and enjoy the new sensation. Miller saw herself impaled on a pole, her arms bound together with rope. She relished her fantasy and felt her cum-juice squish like Jackson Pollack dribble alongside Colin’s condom-wrapped cock. This felt incredible - real sex coupled with mind-altering fantasy. It was exactly what she needed to reach the brink and fall over the edge. Now Colin flipped her over and thrust into her from behind. The abrupt change startled Miller and she lost the dream. Still, being taken from behind mimicked that same helpless feeling and threatened to finally catapult her into orgasm.
“Do you know how beautiful you are?” he asked. “You have an incredible arse.”
Miller felt Colin’s cock burst out of her cunt and ram back in, all the way out and... “Hey, what’s going on back there?” Miller shouted. “Slow down!” Was he trying to fuck her ass?
“Sorry,” he answered. Colin rested on top of her and slowed to a stop. He seemed to finish rather abruptly.
“Did you come?” Miller asked.
“Uh-huh.” He went into the bathroom with his underpants in hand. When he came out he had them on. “Let me take you out to dinner, darling,” Colin said, smiling.
“Okay. I’m going to take a quick shower, if you don’t mind waiting. At least have some sushi as an appetizer.”
Miller showered and threw on her new dress, a Michael Kors mini with dolman sleeves in cream and beige with eggplant colored scrollwork lining the hem, and her caramel colored knee-hi boots. She carried her white Burberry trench coat into the living-room. Colin stood by the front door. Miller saw that he’d eaten the sushi. A fork lay on the empty platter on the coffee table.
“Wow, you really were hungry,” she said. “I’m sorry. I should’ve planned this better.”
She handed Colin her coat and then took the platter to the kitchen. Miller’s tiny galley kitchen consisted of old white appliances, butcher-block counters, white cabinets with blue gingham curtains hiding storage space under the sink, and a narrow bookshelf holding pristine cookbooks Miller bought but never used.
“You’re not a big fan of chopsticks,” she said, “I love them. It’s what makes eating Asian food so fun.” She began to wash and rinse the large white platter and then the fork.
“I’ll remember that for next time. That is, when I’m more of a gentleman and don’t take your share.” He watched her pick up a dry towel and wipe down the platter, placing it behind the gingham curtain. “Are you ready?” He had his jacket on now, and had draped her coat on the mirrored sideboard. Colin fished into his inside pocket. “I almost forgot,” he said, “I got you a little something. Kind of an early Christmas present I imagine.” He handed Miller the small plum-colored phone. “It’s a BlackBerry, the latest model. It’ll keep you organized.”
“Thank you, Colin. I don’t really need anything fancy, though.”
“You never know, Milly. This mobile has email, text messaging, and internet, and it works internationally.” Colin illustrated the features as he spoke.
She picked up the pillows and let them take their places on the sectional.
“I don’t really travel,” Miller admitted. “I’ve never even been out of the U.S.” This was because Fader had never permitted it. He’d wanted to protect her, didn’t want to lose her as he had Tay.
“Milly, that’s got to change,” Colin replied. “One day your father will need you to go with him on a trip, perhaps to meet one of the artists for the gallery. Didn’t you say that cock-maker lived in Paris?”
“And you travel to London a lot,” Miller said quietly. She began to imagine seeing the world with Colin, and meeting his family. She thought they were probably über-polite and reserved, the way Britain’s Royal family was portrayed in the media.
“Promise me you’ll get a passport,” Colin ordered.
“Evie travels tons,” Miller answered, “She goes to Milan a lot. And she studied for a semester at St. Martins. We’ve talked about going to London together someday, before she and Mark have a baby, that is.”
“So is that a promise?” he reiterated.
“Okay Colin. You’ve convinced me. I’ll go…tomorrow.”
“I’ve programmed my number. See?”
“Colin, thanks. Thank you. You’re so thoughtful.” Miller kissed him, took possession of the BlackBerry and slid it into her small Gucci purse. “You’re a great boyfriend,” she said as she looked into his eyes, which looked more green than hazel this day.
At dinner over a turkey feast at the Bull and Bear, Colin was full of questions. Miller talked so much she barely swallowed.
“Tell me more about you,” Colin said, “I want to know everything. You said you want to be an artist. What’s your medium?” Colin didn’t take his eyes off of her even when he sipped his Guinness. Miller felt like a princess when he looked at her this way.
“Colin, I don’t know why I said I wanted to be an artist,” Miller replied. “I want you to know I am happy working with Fader. I don’t want you to think I’m not grateful or anything. And I make a comfortable living.”
“But if you could sell your own art, would it be erotic?”
“I don’t know. I’m not talented like Thyme was. She was the true artist in the family.”
“Oh? How so?”
“She won a scholarship to college through a national art contest. She was supposed to go to London.”
Miller finally took a bite of her turkey club sandwich and looked around the restaurant. There were a lot of older couples and she thought she spotted Paris Hilton’s parents.
She said, “I’m sorry.”
“Why?” Colin asked. He placed his left hand on her wrist in an attempt to comfort her, she thought.
“For burdening you with all this drama. And boring you with all this talk about dead people.”
“Hardly, darling. It’s your family. I’m happy to hear your thoughts, especially when it comes to Thyme,” he said, “Please, continue.”
“I’ve always felt partially responsible for Thyme’s death, and…it’s in the past, you know?” Miller replied, fighting a tear developing in her right eye. “It happened a long time ago. We can’t travel back in time and change things.”
Colin said, “But if you could go back in time, then what would you have done differently? To save her I mean.”
“I don’t know. I guess I would have tried to stop her,” Miller pondered. “But she was completely out of her mind. She talked to herself, talking about people looking for her, chasing her or something. It’s weird though. She died on the creepiest night of the year, Halloween. On her nineteenth birthday. And I have no recollection of what I was doing that night.”
“What does that mean? No recollection?”
“It’s like my mind was erased.”
“Erased?”
“Yes! Like drugged or something? I know it sounds stupid. But Colin, that’s the night I got this scar on my temple. Do you see it? Here?” Miller pointed to the tiny scar at her hairline.
“There’s nothing there, Milly. Remind me never to take you to a scary movie.”
“I know. You don’t believe me. Ha, ha. But I’ll never forget how strange it was to wake up in the morning, in my own bed with stitches in my head. And that’s why I never go out on Halloween.”
“You’re a strange bird, Milly Smytheson.”
“And you’re pretty perfect, Colin Duncan. I honestly don’t understand why you put up with me.”
“Milly, you remind me of someone I knew a long time ago, someone very special to me. You’re very special to me. I hope you know that.”
* * * *
Two weeks before Christmas Colin met Miller at Bungalow 8. She’d been looking forward to this evening for weeks because she would finally meet some of Colin’s friends and he hers. Evelyn and Mark Gregorovich, her best friends from college, promised to meet her this time. Evie frequently canceled plans citing work, either hers as an Accessories Designer at Ralph Lauren, or Mark’s. She really hated entering a bar alone; it didn’t seem lady-like and it reminded her of Thyme again, and that seedy bar to which she used to go.
Colin exclaimed, “Darling!” when he saw her walk towards the bar. Miller removed her floppy hat and tossed her long hair about in order to tame it. It felt warm in the congested space and Colin helped her with her Burberry trench coat to reveal her Anna Sui beaded top and new dark denim Earl Jeans. He kissed her tenderly on the cheek and then led her to a small table by the front window.
“Milly, I’d like to present my friends. This is Jon-Jon, Scotty, and Hank. Guys this is my girlfriend, Milly.”
Girlfriend. It was the first time he’d said it.
“Hi,” Miller said, “It’s nice to finally meet some of Colin’s friends. I’ve heard a lot about all of you.” She placed her beaded clutch on the table and climbed onto the tall stool.
“Hello Milly,” said Scotty. He offered a firm handshake. Miller noted a British accent.
She asked, “Are you from London, too? I thought Colin said he met you at the health club.”
“A coincidence, and I’m Irish, by the way,” said Jon-Jon. “I believe we all fell into a vortex of ex pats congregating on the Lower East Side.”
The three men all laughed then clinked glasses and drank. Colin left to navigate his way to the bar.
“There’s a slew of us, a whole bloody rugby team,” said the very dark-haired one with blue-gray eyes, Hank.
“So, you and uh, Colin,” said Scotty.
He stared at her making her a tad uncomfortable. His short, strawberry-blonde hair had been combed forward to hide a receding hairline, she guessed, but also to give the appearance of a modern day gladiator. She imagined that his body was every bit as taught as Colin’s although she couldn’t tell with the table in the way. What was taking Colin so long? She felt a little embarrassed, probably because they were all great looking men and they surrounded her like she was the most beautiful woman at the bar. Jon-Jon resembled Hugh Jackman with his warm brown eyes and Chicklet smile. They all dressed in expensive imported fabrics: dark cashmere, fine Merino wool, and Egyptian cotton. She thought of the disco anthem It’s Raining Men. Where had any of them been her whole pathetic love-life? They all stared at her now seemingly awaiting her reply. She felt like a specimen to be studied.
Miller said, “Colin’s a great guy. A keeper.”
“A keeper,” Scotty and Hank said in unison and they clinked their glasses of Guinness together. Jon-Jon moved closer to Miller.
“You smell delicious,” he whispered. Before she could respond Colin returned with a mixed drink for Miller and a Guinness for himself, which he’d already half-finished.
“Thanks Colin,” she said, noting his excellent timing. He kissed her quickly on the cheek and secured his place standing beside her.
“I got you a Bellini, darling,” Colin said. “You know the very best place to get a Bellini is at Harry’s Bar in Venice. But I’m sure this one has a special punch. You’ll like it.” He winked.
Miller didn’t drink alcohol often, but she didn’t want to appear prudish. She sipped the cool, peach-flavored drink. It tasted less like a cocktail and more like fruit punch.
“Oh, and speaking of faraway places,” she said, “you’ll be happy to know that I had my passport picture taken. I should get it soon.”
Colin smiled and kissed her temple. He asked, “Are these wretched beer-guzzling magpies behaving themselves?”
“They’re very nice,” Miller replied. She took another swig at the mention of Colin’s ogling friends. She looked at her oversized watch and said, “I wonder what’s keeping Evie and Mark.”
“I’m sure they’ll be here,” Colin encouraged. He turned towards the entrance looking like he was scanning for her friends; perhaps he’d recognize them from the photographs she’d shared. Miller spiritedly picked up her glass again, nearly emptying it.
“Colin tells me Evie and Mark are your college chums?” Jon-Jon said. “Where did you go to school?”
“We went to Brown University,” Miller replied. “I studied Art History, which helps a lot with my work at the gallery. Evie was my roommate freshman year and Mark Gregorovich...”
“Don’t tell me,” Hank said, “He was the gay side-kick? Am I right?”
“No!” Miller admonished immediately, “Nothing like that. I do have a gay sidekick, though, that is, sort of, my neighbor, Ben. Mark’s a lawyer. He works for the D.A. He’s amazing. He pursued Evie soon after they met and now they’re married. They’re planning to move to New Jersey and start a family.”
Jon-Jon said, “A lawyer, eh?”
Miller felt tired all of a sudden, very relaxed at first and now a little bit dizzy. “Whoa. I think I’m…I’m coming down with something. Wow.”
She saw eight men surrounding her when there should have been only four. She thought maybe the sushi she’d had at lunch coupled with her inexperience with alcohol had triggered this, and she was embarrassed. Now Colin’s friends would think her a rather juvenile match for her boyfriend and they’d probably beg him to cut the cord. And who would blame him? It was true. Miller didn’t drink or smoke or do drugs. For an erotic art peddler she seemed revoltingly vanilla, and perhaps her sexual skills reflected that as well.
Miller said, “Colin, I’m so sorry, I didn’t want to ruin your time with your friends.” She stood up from her position in the tall stool against the window and almost fell over. She felt Colin’s strong arms supporting her. She very nearly passed out. Or maybe she did because the voices didn’t make sense.
“What did you give her?”
“Oh, a little stupefiant for some fun before I leave for the holidays.”
“Shush, she can hear you.”
“Stupefy,” she mumbled.
Had she been hexed with a magic wand? Miller began to feel aroused. This sensation engulfed her like flames around the heart of an Ed Hardy tattoo design. It separated her mind and body as though her cunt and throat had become the Gemini twin to the rest of her.
“Colin, make love to me,” Miller heard herself say. “Force me. Right here. Right now.” She heard a gaggle of cackling laughter.
“Don’t laugh. Colin, please, please fuck me.” Had she said this out loud? Miller fell into a daydream. It was a powerful rendition of the dream she’d had ever since her teen years, the one where the powerful and handsome fair-haired man abducts her from her bedroom and takes her to a dark room and ties her up, binding her with thick rope. Had she felt like this before? The dizziness mixed with desire sparked a familiar and yet frightening loss of control and inhibition. Now the man in the sexy fairy-tale was Colin, lifting her like a bridegroom carrying his bride over the threshold.
Miller was vaguely aware of Colin carrying her to a black Cadillac and then lost consciousness again. She came to briefly and found herself in her bedroom, lying comfortably on her Martha Stewart sheets with the comforter at her feet.
“Milly, darling,” Colin said, “You’re going to make your Cinderella debut tonight.”
Miller felt his hands on her, gently unbuttoning her jeans and sliding them off. She lifted her bottom to assist him. Her cunt was absolutely on fire with need. She reached for him, but found her arms couldn’t move. The room began to spin like a psychedelic cartoon. Hurry Colin, I need you to fuck me or I’ll die. Miller wanted to say this but she’d been prohibited somehow. She couldn’t get the words out and she didn’t know why. Had she come down with laryngitis? She heard him speak but it didn’t make sense.
“Cinderella, you’ll do well to obey. Come, come, darling.”
She tried to scream for more but she was somehow gagged. Her legs - bound together? - were lifted above her head and she felt the pumping of a thick, fat cock grinding her vagina in a way that should have caused bruising. She could hardly breathe in this position, her legs had been crushed to her chest by the force of the man fucking her. It felt enormously erotic, dangerous, and lovely.
And then, before losing her battle with consciousness the elusive orgasm, pure and potent rocked her thoroughly, making her shudder and buck against the luxurious restraints, feeling exponentially stronger than anything her hand could have ever administered.
Miller awoke the next morning, naked in her own bed. Her head felt the pounding of a migraine and she wanted to find her ringing BlackBerry and throw it out a window.
“Hello?” she managed.
“Milly, it’s Evie. We were at Bungalow 8 last night but you weren’t there. What happened?”
Miller responded, “I got sick. We left early. I think. Colin’s great. He must have brought me home and tucked me in. And I had the most incredible dream...”
“Dream? What about?”
“Something about being Cinderella. Don’t laugh.”
“Do you want to reschedule for next Friday?” Evie asked. “I think it’s time I met this mysterious Colin Duncan or I might start believing he’s simply a figment of your imagination. He sounds too good to be true.”
“Colin’s going to be away until after the New Year,” Miller admitted glumly.
“That’s a shame,” Evie said. “Oh hold on…Mark wants to say hi.”
“Hi, Milly. I guess we missed you last night.”
“Hey, Mark, I missed you too.”
“I’m back,” said Evie. “We’ve got to go, but let’s try to get together as a foursome before summer.”
“Deal. I’ll call Colin right now.”
Colin didn’t answer the phone, forcing Miller to leave a message.
“Hi. It’s Milly. I can’t stop thinking about you,” she said. “I’m counting the days until I see you again. Oh, and I’m fine, I don’t know why I got so sick last night. Colin? I’m really sorry. I don’t remember much for some reason. I hope I didn’t make a mess of things. I’m tied up in knots over it.”
She really wanted to hear his voice and be reassured she hadn’t blurted anything inappropriate in front of his friends. The events of the previous evening were hazy at best and Miller felt extremely insecure about her behavior. How much of her fantasy had she divulged?
Her frustration with herself turned into annoyance with Colin and his stupid unavailability. Wasn’t the point of a cell phone to be able to contact loved ones in an emergency? No, it wasn’t urgent but it could have been. Who gets a twenty-four hour bug after only one drink? She held her liquor like a fifteen-year-old, for goodness sake. The least Colin could have done was check up on her. Her boyfriend, the man she fucked on a weekly basis, the man she linked to happily ever after, should have found out if she was all right.
* * * *
It was late on a week night in January when Colin came by unexpectedly.
Miller announced, “I’ve been dreaming about you…”
“You have, have you?” Colin replied cautiously.
“…Ever since that night at Bungalow 8,” Miller added.
“Milly, I can explain that.” He removed his camel dress coat and Miller hung it in the coat closet by the front door.
“Why there’s nothing to explain. Don’t worry, Colin, I’m not going to tell you about it,” Miller responded. “It’s like Mammo always said…”
“Oh? What advice did Tay Smytheson give you?
“You say that like you know her. But how can you, right? She’s been dead for twenty years. She always said, ‘Fantasies were better left inside the privacy of your own private-ness.’”
“And what propelled Tay to say this to a six-year-old?”
“I used to say that I wanted to be rescued like Cinderella.”
The minute it came out of her mouth Miller wished she could have swallowed the words right back up. She immediately began to feel that her mother had been right. Maybe Miller was better off keeping her private fantasies to herself rather than allowing Colin the chance to ridicule her for them. What was she thinking, talking about Cinderella? She needed that imaginary skeleton key to lock up her thought ASAP.
“Rescued, eh?” Colin said facetiously.
Back-peddling she said, “It’s silly, I know. I shouldn’t have said anything. So much for my private-ness. But, Colin?”
“Yes, darling?” Colin unbuttoned his dark suit jacket and folded it neatly over the sectional. He loosened his tie and untucked his blue shirt. Miller reached for his lips for a quick kiss and then held his hand.
“If you follow me to my bedroom I’ll share my privates...” That seemed to do the trick. She’d successfully swapped her thoughts for her cunt. Colin swept Miller into his arms and carried her into bed as though she were a damsel in distress.
“Don’t move,” Colin commanded with a finger to his lips as he left the room. She was aroused by the order, which he’d used before. Don’t move. Was he planning a ravishing attack meant to capture her with lust?
Miller waited a moment then heard Colin’s voice, talking to someone on his cell phone.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” she heard him say. “Now is not the time. I really cannot comment ...”
She scrambled to remove her flannel pajamas and hopped back onto the rumpled sheets.
“You moved,” Colin said when he returned. “Ah, Milly, what am I going to do with you?”
Colin removed his clothing efficiently, Miller admiring his chiseled form. With his wavy hair sort of messy like that and his commanding height he reminded Miller of Michaelangelo’s David. He slid next to her and gathered her hair from around her neck, held it gently before kissing her, a long lingering kiss that made her feel secure. He released her hair with a slight tug.
“Ow!” she exclaimed.
He clamped his mouth back onto hers and gave it a more forceful exploration, a saliva exchange with a dominant vibe. He continued with some quick jolting tugs of her hair, which felt sexy and dirty, and caused her some confusion. Did he sense her explosive need for a little more kink? Colin held the condom wrapper in his hand. Miller took it from him, ripped it open and started to organize it onto his enormous cock. It was rather cumbersome. She thought it would glide right on but it got a little stuck. Colin let out a yelp. He put his hand up, a time-out of sorts and took hold of the thing. He seemed irate.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “You know, we don’t really need condoms. I’m on the pill. That is, unless you’re sleeping with other women. We haven’t actually had that talk and I think maybe we...”
“Let’s just be safe, shall we?” Colin said abruptly. “Now step up here and let me admire that gorgeous body.”
Colin managed to ease himself into the condom without breaking it, and Miller tried not to be so clumsy when she climbed on top of him. He grimaced, as though half-expecting some other painful consequence of her awkwardness.
“But this body only wants to mesh with yours,” Miller said. “I think we fit together perfectly.”
“You do, do you?” Colin responded.
“Yes, of course I do.”
He sighed the moment his cock engaged with her willing cunt. They kissed with Miller in the more dominant position.
“A perfect fit, huh…” Colin whispered, “but I can barely say the same for your bed, darling. It’s much too small to accommodate me.”
With that, Colin grabbed her bottom and rotated her so he could pump her from above. Miller loved the missionary position because it allowed her the most passive posture, and she could inhale his light cologne and feel like his prisoner. She wrapped her arms around him and held on tightly for the ride. She thought of his comment about her bed. It was cozy and warm, the mattress underneath was firm, but the feather mattress cushy and rather snugly. Should she buy a new one more to his liking? Would that make him come over more often? Would he think she was a slut or a nymphomaniac if she wanted to have sex every night?
“Next time we’ll go to your place then,” she said.
“Someday, darling, I’m sure you’ll see my place, but not just yet. It’s being…renovated.”
Miller envisioned Colin’s home to be one they’d share together someday, filled with his contemporary sleek style and her eclecticism. She let the vision of their future unfold with every thrust of Colin’s abundant package. With a sudden burst of energy Miller flashed to a picture of a castle in a country setting, the castle in her Cinderella fantasy. With Colin’s assistance she rolled on top again without changing position, only this time she lay with her head on his chest and her legs directly over his. Colin tamed her turbulence and kept his cock on course. The instruction book called this the reverse missionary, and it offered the best momentum to stimulate Miller’s G-spot. Now Miller imagined herself the princess of that castle. Was she going to orgasm?
Someday, darling, she thought, someday.
* * * *
St. Valentine’s Day started as Miller’s best to date. She and Colin strolled down Fifth Avenue near Central Park, past Versaci and Trump Tower to Tiffany’s. The windows had been decorated using vintage Valentine cards and a smattering of candy hearts, the kind with the cute messages; the diamond rings resting on clear glass pedestals and blinding Miller with their brilliance. They walked arm-in-arm on their way to an outdoor theater production of William Shakespeare’s The Taming of the Shrew in the park.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, darling,” Colin said.
He pulled out a small velvet box from his inside coat pocket and handed it to Miller. To open it, she removed the sage green cashmere mittens she wore to match the beret Evie had brought back from Milan as a Christmas gift. Her hands began to tremble. This was only their eighth date since Colin returned from London; Miller could hardly expect an engagement ring. Is that what she’d expected?
“Do you like them? I wasn’t sure if you wear hoop earrings or if you had any allergies to metals. They’re eighteen karat gold, so they should be comfortable.”
“Thank you, Colin. They’re perfect.” Miller removed the silver studs in her ears and replaced them with Colin’s, checking to make sure they were secure.
“I love them,” she said.
Colin placed his arm around her shoulder as they continued to walk near the park. His arm clad in that double-breasted camel coat kept Miller warm. He looked very GQ, especially this day with that furry J. Crew hat with the flaps and aviator sunglasses. Wasn’t this a perfect relationship? Miller had nothing with which to compare it. She thought about her fantasy again and let it spill into the conversation.
“I hear that Nora Rush is getting great reviews as Katherine.”
“Terrific, I look forward to it then,” Colin replied.
“She was in this movie I saw last year, did you see it? About the girl who’s kidnapped by a gang of computer nerds?”
“I don’t remember that one.”
“Frankly, it just didn’t seem feasible,” Miller continued.
“What part?” Colin goaded. “The abduction or the men involved?”
“Both, I guess,” Miller answered. She touched the earrings again to make certain they were tightly clasped. She adjusted the left one until she heard the click. “It just seemed like the girl, Nora’s character, was so naïve. How could you let someone abduct you like that? I mean, why on Earth would the audience believe a woman would be stupid enough to walk alone in a dark alley without a cell phone? And then she falls in love with her captor, a creepy geek. I mean it’s hard enough to find love in a regular relationship.”