Susan Brown.

Originally published in 2000, this story has been reworked, tidied up, edited a bit more and hopefully made readable.

Please note that this story is a bit naughty in places and girls of a delicate nature should not read it without smellings salts to hand.

Once upon a long time ago lived a young spotty boy. His home was deep, deep in the wood.

He had had a short but very traumatic life, having seen his Grandma being eaten by a flea infested wolf. His sister and brother Hansel and Gretel, being rather greedy, had eaten a large proportion of a gingerbread house, not realising that it was well past its sell by date and they had perished as a result of gingivitis and engorged stomach syndrome. If this wasn't enough, the boy and his aged father had been evicted from a lovely cottage, which had been overrun by porridge eating bears.

To add to the boys’ misery, he had a number of personal issues including a bit of a complex about three little pigs, seven dwarfs and a strange encounter with a giant who lived on top of a huge beanstalk.

The net result of all this was that he had developed a nasty case of the hiccups.

His father, who just happened to be a woodcutter; with a thing about carving boy puppets with long noses, decided to take the young boy to see the magician known to all in the woods as Merlin.

Merlin, on being confronted with the hiccupping youth, stroked his long white beard, considered the matter at great length, dusted off a couple of ancient magical books and then said a few strange, unintelligible words.

There was a puff, a whiz and a bang and the smell of burning toads. To anyone rash enough to be within fifty metres of the area, the smell was really quite toxic.

The magic didn’t work.

Merlin tried other things involving smoking potions of various colours, entrails of numerous creatures of the forest and other unseemly and unpleasant things.

None of those things worked.

He called on the Gods to help him; his staff crashed on the ground and there was a great flash of lightning and a roll of thunder.

The Gods were out and not available for comment.

Merlin tried many other things, too many to mention but, whatever he tried, it didn't help the poor boy; who was still hiccupping at seven per minute.

The old magician sighed and said, 'It's no good. Magic won't work in this case because it's all in the mind. What he needs to do is see a shrink.'

The old woodcutter couldn't afford a shrink, as they charged thirty groats an hour plus tax, so he led his poor son away and took him to see the wise old owl, who had one redeeming feature, he was cheap.

Deep, deep in the woods, lived the wise old owl in question.

On being confronted with the poor lad, the owl said, 'there are two sure ways to get rid of hiccups; the first is to hold your breath for ten minutes.'

'But he'll die!' cried the woodcutter, concerned about losing his only son and the only potential breadwinner of the future.

'Yes, yes, but at least he won't have the hiccups! The second way is to be shocked by something so terrible that it will frighten the hiccups away.'

‘What sort of shock?’ asked the woodcutter.

‘One that will stop the hiccups,’ replied the owl smugly.

With that less than helpful advice, the owl flew away further into the woods to finish off the tasty mouse that he had kept for his supper, leaving the sad woodcutter to lead the poor lad home, not really any wiser than before.

The unfortunate boy hiccupped all the way. The poor woodcutter tried shocking him, he tried shouting at him. He even tried blowing raspberries at him, but to no avail as the lad was still hiccupping now at eight per minute.

As they came up to the pond at the end of lane leading up to the tent that they now called home, they heard a 'ribit' and then another 'ribit'. They both looked at the pond and in the middle, on a big lily pad, sat a large green frog, looking dolefully at them with big sad eyes.

'Oh hic, what a sad looking frog, hic, hic,' said the boy as it swam over to them.

The frog stood dripping in front of them and seemed to purse it's green, slimy and wart covered lips.

'I bet it's really a princess that's hic, been put under a hic, nasty spell by some smelly old witch. If I hic, kiss her, she might turn into a hic, lovely princess and marry me and I'll hic, live happily and richly, ever after.'

'Don't touch it. It's probably got mad frog disease or something.' said the alarmed woodcutter. But the educationally challenged youth, like most teenagers, thought he knew it all and he scooped up the frog, hiccuped three times and then gave the frog a full frontal French kiss.

There was a pop and a bang, plenty of coloured smoke and then in front of them stood the most ugly duck you could ever see. It wasn't a swan, it was a duck. To be sure, any sane person would not want to meet the thing at night in a dark wood or even on a sunny day in the middle of a town, for that matter.

Apart from being incredibly ugly, it stood six feet tall, had bad breath, knocked knees and distinct and rather unpleasant body odour.

Suddenly, there was another green and slimy pop and bang. The woodcutter hid his eyes behind his gnarled, trembling hands. He heard a high-pitched scream. With trepidation, he looked up and saw that his one and only son and the flawed apple of his eye; the boy who was going to continue in the family business, was now, in fact, a girl!

The duck quacked with alarm and flew heavily off in the direction of Ye Olde Wishing Well, in the vain hope of being changed back into a frog.

The old man fainted with shock and the boy who was now a girl swooned (as girls are prone to do in this sort of situation).

The girl was awoken rudely by his (her) father.

'Hubert, Hubert. Wake up. Oh woe is me. My son is now a girl. What am I to do?'

The girl opened her eyes. She looked up at her fathers' warty old face.

'What happened? Where am I? What am I?' said the girl in an anxious yet high pitched voice.

'You have been turned into a girl?'

'You cannot be serious!'

She struggled to sit up, feeling a strange and heavy sensation coming from her chest region. She looked down and saw that the fabric of her jerkin was straining against her bosom. She crawled over to the edge of the pond and looked at her reflection. What she saw made her gasp. She was a young girl; a pretty girl, with long blond hair, blue eyes and a button nose. She stood up shakily, leaning on an old tree for support. She felt the weight of her chest as she stood there. But she also felt as if something was missing. What was it?

Hubert felt him...sorry, herself. A thrill ran through her now nubile body as her hands strayed onto an erect nipple. Her hands travelled downward towards her nether regions. She gasped as she could feel, not her rather little willy, but a gap were it should have been nestling happily between his, erm, her legs.

'Ooooh,' she exclaimed as her hand touched a place where no one should.

Hubert was a bit backward where matters of a sexual nature were concerned.

Quite frankly, dear reader, he had never felt anything quite like it in his short, if quirky life. As he fondled himself, he felt a quiver through himself that defied belief. Her (as we must now call the gender-changed teenager) body arched and she screamed with ecstasy. Never before had the youngster experienced such an intense feeling. Her body was racked with pleasure for what seemed an eternity.

Finally it was over and she lay down panting with exhaustion.

'Hubert, are you all right?'

Hubert opened her eyes and said, 'Gosh father, I feel a bit queer. At least my hiccups have stopped!'

Her father sat down beside her and said, 'Never mind the damned hiccups, It must have been a magic spell. We have to go to the wise owl again. We need to change you back to a boy. I need you to work with me. You are no good to me the way you are now. For Gods sake stop touching yourself there!'

With that the woodcutter and the girl went deep, deep into the wood again to find the wise old owl.

The girl marvelled at the sway of her hips and the fact that she could feel her titties against the roughness of her still male clothing. Her hair was blowing in her face and she struggled to keep it out of her eyes.

They eventually found the wise old owl finishing off a vole that had strayed too far from the safety of its home.

'What do you want now?' asked the owl, spitting out a small bone with annoyance.

'Oh wise owl, one who knows all and...'

'Cut the crap, what do you want? I haven't all day.'

'My son kissed the lips of a frog who turned into a big ugly duck. There was then a puff of smoke and then he changed into this, this girl!'

The owl twisted his head around and looked Hubert up and down.

'Well, what do expect when you kiss frogs in enchanted woods?'

'How can I change her back to my Hubert, oh wise one.'

The owl looked at the woodcutter with suspicion, You aren’t the same woodcutter that had a lying wooden kid that wanted to be real, are you? You know, the child had a long nose and had a strange friend called croquet or cricket.'

'No, never heard of him. Now can you change my poor boy back to his full manhood?'

'You can't; it's a one way thing. The Wicked Witch of the West caused all this. You know the one; has a den on the Yellow Brick Road. She caused Snow White to eat that dodgy apple. Serves the silly girl right for living in sin with seven gold grabbing, weird and afflicted dwarfs. Anyway, you had better change her name to something more feminine. Hubert won't do, you know. Anyway I'm off as I need to have some pudding and I can hear something rustling in the undergrowth over there.'

With that the owl flew off.

In the distance they could hear a rustling, then a screech and the sound of a very squeaky voice saying, 'Don't eat me. I'm a poor defenceless mouse called Mickey...' then a crunch, cutting off the voice for ever.

Probably a good thing.

The Woodcutter and Hubert blanched at the senseless killing and turned sadly for home, stopping off on the way at Ye Olde Charity Shoppe for some more maidenly clothes for Hubert.

Hubert took off her old smelly boys clothes in the changing tent. It was strange, now he was now actually a she, the new girl objected to wearing smelly clothes and being grimy. Before, the teenager barely did anything that involved improving personal hygene; satisfied with just washing once every six months or so and changing clothes only when they were too small to wear.

As Hubert pulled off her woollen vest and pantaloons, she looked at her young virginally body with pert titties and mysterious crack between her legs. She had never seen a naked girl before and it was a bit of a shock to see the difference between what she used to be and what she was now.

She wanted to explore her femininity further but her father called impatiently for her to be quick. They needed to be home before dark or the goblins, bandits, orcs or worse still, tax collectors might catch them.

After washing in a bowl of brackish water, she was surprised to note that her skin was actually a creamy, pinkish sort of colour, rather than the grey/muddy tint that she was used to.

Still marvelling over the alabaster clearness of her skin, untroubled by the acne that had covered it before, Hubert pulled on her long green woollen dress and leather sandals. She then put on her maidens scarf to keep her wild blond hair in check and went out to her father.

'Quick girl there is no time to be lost. The sun is nearly down!'

They rushed down the cobbled street of the small hamlet. At the far end, by the grassy knoll, was where their tent was as pitched and they hurried as fast as Hubert’s skirts and oscillating breasts would let them.

Suddenly, they heard the clatter of hooves on the cobbles and before you could say whothehellisthat, they were both knocked off their feet. Hubert banged her head, saw stars and then fell into a sort of deep dark blackness, thingy.

She awoke to find herself on the back of a cart with several wailing men, women and children. Her father was nowhere to be seen.

She looked up and saw that they were travelling on a dirt road on the outskirts of a walled town. They passed over a drawbridge, through a huge arch with massive studded doors and into a large square. The girl saw that there were shops aplenty. Butchers, bakers, candlestick makers; all manner of wares were being sold. The din was great, so great that she was not able to think clearly. All manner of people, richly and not so richly clothed, walked and rode the dusty road. It looked like market day.

There were market stalls everywhere but Hubert only had eyes for the centre of the square. On a raised platform stood a man shouting loudly.

'Get your new slaves here! Bargains galore. Need a serf? We have plenty. Want a maid? We have the best stock in the district. All have been washed at least once a month and fed on only the best gruel. Come and get a bargain before they are all gone. Fifteen percent off if you buy two.'

The cart, in which Hubert and the others were being carried, arrived at the platform. Hubert realised with a sinking heart that he was going to be sold into slavery. The others already knew this and that was why they had been wailing all the time.

The bemused girl and the others were roughly taken off the cart and were put into a queue, awaiting the time when they were to be sold.

Hubert felt as if she was in a nightmare. Everything seemed to be going wrong. She liked her new body, true enough, it felt orgasmicly gorgeous, sensuous and downright horny. Even if she did not know the meaning of what these adult terms were yet. She knew in the heart that nestled under her pert yet wobbly titties, that she was going to lose what freedom she had and that she would be forced into slavery, working her slender fingers to the bone.

Suddenly Hubert was thrust up some wooden steps and onto the platform.

'What is your name?' hissed the man in her ear.


'Don't be funny with me girl.'

'But it is!'

'Oh God, another simple one,' he whispered. 'Keep your mouth shut or you will be whipped.'

'My Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen, what do you bid for this young pretty wench. Her name is erm. Katrina and she is the pick of the bunch and is strong of wind and limb and she even has teeth! The girl is compliant and a very willing worker. She is thin, so she will not want much feeding; a bargain at any price. What say you, 20 groats?'

'I'll give you 10.' said a gruff voice from the back.

Any more bids for this bargain buy?'



'Going, going.'

A ladies voice spoke up at the final instant, '15 groats.'


Hubert, I mean Katrina looked up and straight into the eyes of her new mistress.

'Oh God what an awful old lady,' thought Katrina.

She was dressed in the finery of a Lady. She wore silks and satins and jewellery dripped off her. But what Katrina saw was the cruel mouth and eyes that were like black coals.

'I want to go home!' wailed Katrina as she was pushed down the steps to the carriage of her new stern and severe mistress. The curtains were drawn, so at least she was shielded from the eyes of the horrible woman within.

All she got for complaining was a clip round the ear from a manservant. 'She can go on the top,' said the manservant, bundling Katrina up onto the roof of the coach.

All at once the coach and four moved off at a cracking pace.

Katrina hung on for dear life as the horses were whipped up to a frenzy. She was knocked and bruised and bashed about. Her dress was up around her ears and even she, a very new girl indeed, could tell that it was not very ladylike to be in this position. However, while the coach was moving so much under her, Katrina had to forget her modesty and spend her energy in trying not to fall off.

After what seemed an hour, but was realistically on a few minutes, the coach pulled up in a small courtyard.

A man in the clothes of a butler, butled out of the impressive front door and helped the Lady out of the carriage.

The Lady looked up at the bedraggled, disorderly and thoroughly shaken Katrina with a frown and said to the butler, 'clean her up and send her to me in the drawing room in fifteen minutes. Check her for lice and fleas.'

'Yes, Milady.'

The Lady swept into the house as Katrina was bundled off the roof of the carriage and taken to an entrance at the back of the big house.

Before she knew it, her clothes were taken from her and she was plunged into a hot tub. Her hair was scrubbed and her face was scrubbed. In fact everything was scrubbed cleaner than ever before. Katrina had never been as clean as this in her life or even Hubert’s life. To tell you the truth, dear reader, it was a fact that in those dark times, washing was considered to be a bit of a luxury. It was very unusual for your average surf and his family to wash more than once a year and that was only if you had too much pig manure sticking to you.

The long and the short of it was that in less time it takes to tell, Katrina was very red and very clean. She was given a clean brown woollen vest and pants to put on (they made her itch). Following this, a black dress of a rough material that went down to the floor was placed on her. Her hair was then roughly dried and brushed and a scullery cap was put on it whilst it was still damp. Clogs were put on her feet and she was rushed out of the room, up two flights of stairs and into a huge room, the largest she had ever seen.

Sitting in a large winged chair near a roaring fire was the Lady. Standing next to the Lady were two girls a bit older than Katrina.

But oh what girls. They were ugly, so ugly that Katrina winced. They had warts on their faces, large noses and big feet protruded from under their long gowns. They were dressed in fine silky clothes, like the Lady, but to be frank and honest they looked as if they were trying to be mutton dressed as lamb, but the lambs had given up the ghost and reverted back to mutton. In short, dear reader, they lacked prettiness.

Katrina was put in front of the Lady who looked her up and down with some distaste.

One of the hags... I mean girls said, 'Oh Mama, what have you bought her for, she's ugly and horrible. In fact she looks a lot like Cinderella.'

'Oh Anastasia, do be quiet, Mama knows best.'

'Don't tell me to be quiet, Drizella. Mama, tell her not to be horrid to me.'

The Lady looked up at her girls and smiled.

'Now now my dears, you know that if you argue, you will give me one of my headaches. Now this girl is called, erm, Katrina. She will take the place of Cinderella, who as you know, died suddenly.'

'Mama!' squealed Drizella, 'I didn't push her off the battlements, I swear, she just sort of dropped.'

Anastasia giggled and whispered, 'With a little help.'

'Be quiet girls, you know that walls have ears.’

Katrina looked about. She couldn’t see any walls with ears...

‘Now Katrina,’ continued the Lady, ‘you have been pulled out of the gutter where you belong and out of the goodness of my heart I have bought you here to live with us. Unfortunately, due to an accident my stepdaughter Cinderella was tragically killed.'

The Lady sighed and wiped the corner of her eye with a fragrant lace hanky.

After a few further sighs the Lady continued, 'I feel keenly the loss of my stepdaughter and my two girls here,' she waved regally at the simpering ugly sisters, 'also feel the same way. Now listen very carefully. You have a passing resemblance to Cinderella and because of this and to remind me of my dear sweet stepdaughter, I have decided to adopt you into our happy family. From now and henceforth you shall be known as Cinderella. If ever you are asked, you will always have been Cinderella and I am your stepmother. You should know that your father died tragically, shortly after he married me and adopted my dear sweet daughters Anastasia and Drizella.'

Katrina or Cinderella had listened to this with some confusion. She was a simple girl. Changing her sex had not improved her mental capacity, but even she could smell something fishy about all this.

'Erm.' She said.

'Yes child, speak up, you are one of the family now.'

'Erm, how did your husband die?'

The Lady coughed delicately, smiled hideously and said, 'Oh, it was something he ate.'

Cinderella shivered. What had she let herself into? Not that she had much choice. Ever since she kissed the warty lips of that yucky frog, things had been out of her control. She almost missed what her new stepmother said next.

'Pay attention Cinderella. Now that you are my beloved step-daughter, you must help everyone wherever possible. It is very expensive paying staff and running this place and jewelry doesn't grow on trees you know. You cannot comprehend the amount of groats it takes to keep your stepsisters and me in the luxury that we so richly deserve.'

Cinderella didn't like the sound of this and her eyes grew wider and wider as she heard what duties that she was expected to do for her new family. 'You will get up in the morning at five o'clock sharp and clean out the grates. You will then clean the floors and dust the furniture. Once this is done, you must help cook to make our breakfasts and bring them up to our rooms. Once that is done, dear Cinderella you can have your breakfast. But you must be quick as we all need help getting dressed and ready for the day. Do you understand, child?'

'Yes Ma'am.'

'Call me Step Mama. You are family now.'

Cinderella should have kept her mouth shut, but it appeared that her mouth was not connected totally to her brain.

'Erm Step Mama.'

'Yes child, speak up.'

'Will I be getting some nice clothes like my stepsisters?'

Cinderella's new family hooted with laughter. It was a full three minutes before they had wiped their eyes of tears.

'No Cinderella. I cannot afford to pay for additional clothes and jewellery for you as well as us. Anyway, you will not need any fine things as you will be far too busy working your fingers to the bone.'

The awful old lady pulled a cord next to her and the butler crept in almost immediately.

'Oh Smithers, take Cinderella to her room and then show her the duties that she will need to perform.'

'Yes, Milady.'

Cinderella followed the butler out. Her new family ignored her as she left. They were too busy planning where they would go that day and what the less than eligible girls would do to get suitable husbands for themselves.

Many days passed. It was like a nightmare for poor Cinders. She worked from morning to night. Her family treated her like a slave.

'Do this.'

'Do that.'

‘Do the other.’

'Wash my clothes.'

'Brush my hair.'

'Where is my breakfast, you lazy girl.'

The days were like a horrid blur. There were only two good things about her terrible situation.

Firstly, she made friends with the birds and the mice that scurried here and there. She had a kind and warm heart and she fed them what small titbits she could spare from her pathetic meals. The little creatures loved her for her kindness and her gentle, if strange ways.

Secondly, when she finally went to bed, she was able to explore the hidden depths of her new, somewhat nubile body. Every night, she stripped off her work clothes and lay naked beneath the rough sheets and fondled herself in various and diverse places until shudderingly, after peeking with ecstasy, she fell into a fitful sleep.

She got used to being a girl, quite quickly. Her old days of being Hubert faded into the background. Cinderella sometimes wondered what her old father the woodcutter was doing, but in her heart of hearts she knew that he was only interested in her as a boy who could work at being a woodcutter and take over the family business when he became too feeble to do anything. Even now, she thought, he was probably attempting to make another wooden boy to fill the void left by Hubert...

Cinders loved the feel of her body, though it was grubby from constant work. Her smooth skin was a revelation and the orgasms that she had after her frequent fondling sessions under the bedcovers were beyond belief. Of course, dear reader, being somewhat backward in matters sexual, she did not know that she was having orgasmic experiences, she just thought it was one of those mysterious girly things that men are not privy to. She did scream the house down at the first visitation of her monthly cycle, thinking that a murderous attempt had been made on her body during the night, but cook told her certain home truths that, although unpleasant, the new girl accepted as the price to pay for being a girl.

One day, about three months after her capture and enslavement into her new 'family', Cinderella was cleaning the brass knob on the huge oak front door, when a special messenger arrived from the palace. He carried an envelope for the mistress of the house.

Cinderella took the envelope to her stepmother. Anastasia and Drizella were there too and squealed with delight when their mother read the invitation that, by royal command, all eligible maidens were to attend a ball.

'Step Mama,' said Cinderella timidly.

'Yes, yes, what is it!'

'Erm I think I am invited too, as it says that every eligible maiden is to attend, by royal command,'

Both stepsisters laughed or possibly cackled at the idea of Cinderella going to the posh ball, dressed as she was in apron and tatty hand-me-down clothes.

However the wily and sly stepmother just smiled and said, 'Of course you can go, as long as you finish all your work in time and get a suitable dress.'

Of course, what with helping her family get dressed and ready and working at her endless other chores, Cinderella was not able to make a dress suitable for the occasion.

As Cinders watched the carriage take her stepmother and sisters to the ball, she just ran up to her room and cried her soft heart out.

Suddenly she heard a poof or possibly a plop from behind. Fearful that it might be a frog or a large duck or something else materializing, Cinderella hid her eyes in terror.

'Fear not sweet Cinders, you shall go to the ball,' said a squeaky, matronly voice that sounded as if she had been at the helium.

Cinders looked up and saw a kindly lady dressed in gray standing about two feet above the ground, sort of hovering; a neat trick, if you can pull it off. She had an unearthly glow about her and gossamer wings sprouted from her back that were flapping gently, creating a bit of a breeze.

'Who are you?' said Cinderella, who by now was not easily shocked at seeing strange and wondrous things.

'I am your fairy godmother. I have seen the raw deal that you have had here and I think you deserve a little bit of fun. Now say nothing dear. Just go downstairs, get a pumpkin and gather up a few of your strange rodent and flying friends and we will see if we can get you to the ball.'

In a daze Cinderella did as she was told and in two shakes of a donkey’s tail, they were in the courtyard.

It was beginning to get dark and the stars shone brightly, but enough of the artistic peripherals, as this story has a word limit. The FGM waved her wand and the pumpkin turned into a carriage. The mice were metemorphathingied into horses. Bruno, her faithful dog who I haven't had time to mention before, was changed into a footman. A cat was dragged off the street spitting blood and fur and changed into an elegant, if somewhat puzzled coachman.

The FGM then turned to Cinderella, who at that moment looked as if she had been dragged through a hedge backwards. To be frank she had let herself go a bit.

A wave of her wand and a few Disney copyrighted spells later and Cinderella felt herself change.

Firstly her old and tatty clothes evaporated leaving her naked and blushing deeply. Then she felt as if all the dirt and grime that had accumulated on her body lift away, leaving her as fresh as a daisy.

Everyone ogled and drooled at her somewhat gorgeous naked form, but not for long because in an instant or perhaps a trice, she felt a tingle and suddenly she was clothed again, but not as before. She looked down and saw that she was wearing a beautiful long white satin gown. Her arms were encased in long satin gloves. She dripped with jewellery in all the right places and wondered how much she could get at the Ye Old Pawn Shop, if she could managed it later...

She was her father’s daughter .

Cinders could feel the smooth satin fabric of her undergarments as her bosom heaved delicately under her pretty gown. Her feet were encased in glass slippers. Why glass; who knows? Anyway, Cinders hair was curled and beribboned and she looked like a princess. Judging by the whistles and catcalls coming from the coach, it looks as if she was going to make a big impression at the royal ball!

'Now Cinderella, stop fondling yourself, it’s not ladylike and listen very carefully, I will say this only once. You must leave the ball by midnight, for you will turn back into what you were previously when the clock strikes twelve. Your mice and other animals will go back to their original forms and your coach will once again be a pumpkin. Do you understand?'

'Yes, I understand. Oh thank you kind Fairy God Mother for doing this for me.'

'That's OK, it's my job.'

In less time than it takes to tell, Cinderella was travelling in the coach towards the Great Royal Ball.

As she sat in her satin and lace finery, she marvelled at how she looked and felt. Before now she was dressed as a mere scullery maid and did not fully appreciate what it was like to be dressed as a lady. The FGM had made her feminine and to be frank, drop dead gorgeous.

She felt slightly ashamed at her previous thoughts of selling the jewellery to a pawn broker; she really wanted to marry into money as posh girls managed to do. But she had to get through that evening first and then she could dream of the future and what surprises that it might bring. Maybe she wouldn’t be a maid of all work for ever?

A girl could dream...

Very soon, the coach pulled up at the palace and a lecherous and salivating footman assisted Cinderella from the coach, using more hands than strictly necessary.

She went up the palace steps and marvelled at the strange feeling of the silky fabric of her gown flowing against her alabaster skin. Hair long hair felt heavy yet soft against her neck. All in all she felt a million miles away from the snotty nosed boy whose father was a woodcutter. She felt and looked beautiful, but is also true to say that she was scared almost out of her wits.

As Cinderella entered the palace, her glass slippers making a strange tinkling sound as she walked, she went up to the doorway of the gaily-lit ballroom, she saw that the ball had already started. She stood in the doorway mouth agape as she saw the ladies, gentlemen, courtiers and other important hangers on, in all their finery, standing in a long row facing and awaiting introduction to the prince.

The prince himself was bored. He had seen so many faces, some of them plain, some of them mildly interesting, most of them hideous. Like the two pimply girls in front of him now, what were their names? Anastasia and Drizella. God they were awful, he had pigs in the sty that looked more appetising than these two. He made a polite comment about the weather and stifled a yawn and was about to move on when he looked up at the great clock above the entrance to the ballroom.

'Two hours to go,' he thought, 'I can't stand much more of this, I could murder a flagon of ale and a buxom wench.'

Just then his eyes fell on the beautiful girl in white standing hesitantly in the doorway. What a vision of loveliness. She made everyone else in the room look ordinary. She had a wonderful face, gorgeous body and a shy smile that melted the prince's heart in an instant.

Cinderella was about to turn around and leave. This wasn't for her. It was stupid coming here anyway. No one could possibly be interested in someone like her.

Their eyes met across the crowded room. He flashed a fifty-megawatt smile that put the chandeliers to shame. The room went quiet as the Prince forgot everyone else and walked purposefully over to where Cinderella was standing.

It was lust at first site for both of them. Cinderella almost wet herself with desire and he felt so horny that his Manhood nearly broke free from the confines of his jodhpurs.

He held her hands and said simply, 'Will you dance?'

'I don't know how.'

'Fear not sweet one, I will show you.'

With that she sighed and was taken to the middle of the floor for the first dance.

The orchestra played and they danced the night away. Apart from treading on his feet several times, Cinderella soon learned to dance and be led by the handsome strong prince.

The time went quickly and the modesty and the chastity of the lady forbids me to say what they discussed in any detail, but be assured, dear reader that it was very proper, quaintly charming and faintly boring to everyone except themselves. They were in love, the first love for both of them. True the Prince had wenched, like most Princes’ do several times a week (twice on a Saturday, none on a Sunday). But it wasn't the deep intense passionate love that he now had, after such a small space of time, with this lovely, wonderful girl.

For her part, Cinderella was literally swept off her feet. The fact that she was once a boy did not enter her pretty head. She frankly fancied this strong virile man so much that she nearly swooned in his arms. She wanted very much to get more closely acquainted with the Prince and his equipment and was just about to ask him a pointed question about the bulge in his jodhpurs, when she heard the clock strike.

She looked up in horror. It was midnight. She had to leave. With a sob, she tore herself from the arms of her prince and ran out of the ballroom, without uttering another word. The prince was too stunned at her behaviour to say anything to stop her. In a trice she was gone.

The prince ran out of the ballroom and down the steps as the clock struck twelve, he saw in the distance a coach and four hurrying with all speed through the drawbridge out into the night.

He sadly turned back and walked up the steps of the palace. Suddenly, his eyes caught site of something shiny on the steps.

The prince stooped down to pick up the delicate glass slipper that had fallen off of Cinders tiny feet in her flight from the palace.

The Grand Duke came over and said, 'Can I do anything to help, Sire.'

'Yes Duke, this tiny slipper belongs to the girl that will become my wife. Ensure that every maiden in the land, without exception, tries it on. If it fits exactly, then I will have found her.'

‘What if there are two maidens with such tiny feet Sire?’

‘Choose the prettier of the two, of course.’

Meanwhile, you may be wondering what had happened to our heroine.

Cinderella had just managed to get out of the grounds of the palace when she was back in her ragged clothes. The coach turned into a pumpkin again and the animals reverted to their former selves, feeling disorientated and traumatised, but none the worse for that.

Cinderella sadly returned home knowing that she would never dance with her handsome prince again and she cried the tears of pain at the loss of her loved one.

The very next morning, the Grand Duke started the search for the lost, mysterious, stunningly beautiful lady. He tried the little glass slipper on many thousands of left feet; they were either too large or very rarely, too small. Some had bunions or calluses, others had not been washed in many a day. More than a few had a certain cheesy smell about them; putting the poor Arch Duke off gorgonzola for years after.

Eventually after a week, the Arch Duke arrived at the house where Cinderella lived. He looked at the names on the list and nearly didn't bother. He remembered Anastasia and Drizella and shuddered at the thought of meeting those two dreadful girls and their horror of a mother. But duty was duty and he found himself trying to force the shoes on them.

'Oooh look mother, it fits!' said Anastasia who managed to get her big toe in, but not much else.

'I am afraid not closely enough, let me try erm Drizella, is it?'

Drizella, huffed and puffed and nearly pulled the house down in her attempt to cram her misshapen foot into the delicate glass slipper, but of course it was no good, as her feet were a good ten sizes too big.

The Grand Duke crossed them both off his by now dwindling list. He bade the ladies good bye when once again glanced at the list.

'Wait a moment I have another name here, Cinderella. Where is she?'

'Oh she is just a scullery maid,' said the wicked stepmother maliciously.

'My orders are for all maidens, without exception to try on the slipper.'

With bad grace, Cinderella was called. She sat on the stall in her filthy rags and placed her foot in the slipper. Of course you know dear reader that it fitted her perfectly!

Bells were rung throughout the kingdom and a public holiday was pronounced on the day of the marriage.

Cinderella walked down the aisle in a full white wedding gown on the arm of her real father, the woodcutter. Cinderella's train was fifty feet long and held up by twenty bridesmaids and pages and she looked like the fairytale princess that she was about to come. The woodcutter, of course, mentioned nothing about Cinderella once being Hubert. He may have been poor, but he wasn't stupid.

As she stood at the altar, looking through her fine veil into the eyes of her husband to be, Cinderella marvelled at the adventures and hardships that had occurred leading up to this happiest of moments.

She was once a boy and now she was the luckiest woman in the world, wearing the finest of clothes and feeling the loveliest woman alive.

Cinderella looked forward to her wedding night with apprehension and excitement. She had been told by one of the ladies in waiting, the relevant facts of the bedchamber and after a few “ew’s” and an occasional “yuck” she could not wait to take her delicately laced knickers off to see for herself. She wasn't sure what was going to happen, but she was sure that it was going to be a night to remember. When the bishop pronounced them man and wife, she lifted her veil and kissed her prince to the cheers of one and all.

The wedding banquet was a splendid affair and the centerpiece was a duck. In fact the largest duck ever to be seen in the kingdom. It was served by three new maids, who just happened to be Cinderella's former stepmother and sisters. She might be pretty, but she was pretty vindictive as well.

On the wedding night, Cinderella awaited her new husband in the huge four poster bed.

Her ladies in waiting had prepared her. It was still strange that she had others washing, dressing and doing other things that previously, she had to do for herself for all of her relatively short life.

'I could get used to this.' thought the now pampered princess.

She lay on the bed wearing a long white satin nightgown, some perfume, ribbons in her hair and nothing else.

Being a virgin, she was, by tradition and custom, nervous. What would it be like? Will it hurt? Was his manhood big? If so will it fit in the hole OK?

All these questions helped make Cinderella so nervous that she began to think that being a girl might not be all plane sailing after all.

Just then the prince came in from his dressing room, wearing only his nightshirt. He took one look at the princess in the bed, smiled and said.

'Are you ready for me, my love?'

'Oh yes, darling, I cannot wait another moment.'

He threw off his nightshirt and there he was in all his glory...

Cinderella’s eyes widened and said, ‘is that for real?’

He just gave a cocky smile and climbed into bed beside her. He folded her into his strong muscular arms and it was all Cinders could do to prevent herself swooning.

He expertly stripped her of her nightdress and within seconds, their naked bodies were pressed against each other in a passionate embrace.

‘I...I have never done this before,’ gasped Cinderella.

‘Neither have I...with you.’

Cinderella's eyes widened as, when she grasped his member, she found that the prince’s manhood was indeed kingly in its dimensions.

Moments later she felt his hot throbbing lance enter her and take her virginity. It was a wonderful moment that she would remember for the rest of her long and happy life because dear reader as is the custom with fairy tales, they both lived happily ever after.

Not so her false step mother and sisters, who, on failing miserably at being maids, were sent to the market and sold as slaves to a certain Wicked Witch of the South...but that’s another story even stranger than this.


Copyright 2000 and 2015 by Susan Brown.

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