Twisted Tales: The Complete Collection (Nine Adult Fairy Tales Of Extreme And Taboo Punishment) Read online

  Twisted Tales:

  The Complete Collection

  Jacqueline D Cirque

  * * * * *

  Published by J D Cirque

  Copyright © 2015 by J D Cirque

  Note: All characters are over 18 and not related by blood.

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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  Contents

  PUNISHING CINDERELLA

  PUNISHING SLEEPING BEAUTY

  PUNISHING SNOW WHITE

  PUNISHING RAPUNZEL

  PUNISHING THE ICE QUEEN

  PUNISHING THE LITTLE MERMAID

  PUNISHING LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD

  PUNISHING BELLE

  PUNISHING GOLDILOCKS

  PUNISHING CINDERELLA

  Why, Mother? Why did you have to die and leave me at the mercy of such cruel creatures?

  My only reply is the hollow breeze that creeps down the stairwell. I pull myself into a tight ball against the cold. The cage I’m forced to sleep in offers little protection against the elements, the basement of the castle offering not heat, nor respite from my perpetual torture.

  Every day I visited my mother’s grave. I would bring her flowers and water them with my tears. I was still inconsolable when my father found himself a new wife.

  With my stepmother came two stepsisters. They wore the finest garments I had ever seen, clothes of lace and silk embedded with exotic jewels. They were beautiful, in a way, but from that very first day I could see the malice lingering in their eyes, for I too was beautiful, and the sisters were not used to sharing.

  One day Father announced he would be leaving for abroad on business and would not return for a period of three years. He promised I would have money, that he would send me a letter every week, kissing me on the forehead as he did when I was a child. When he rode away, all hope went with him.

  So began a new chapter in my life: Humiliation.

  I was treated like a servant. Firstly, I was made to eat my meals alone in the basement. Secondly, I was stripped of all clothes and forced to roam the castle naked. The shame was overwhelming. My young body had only just ripened and I was yet to get used to its many new curves and secrets. The castle staff would watch me closely, especially the men and boys, often whispering behind my back, complimenting and criticizing my body.

  Soon the basement became my bedroom, my bed replaced with a cage. I could not stand in it. I could not lie down. Each sister had a key and would take turns locking me in at night. I shed tears constantly, wishing with all my heart they would turn into a river and whisk me from the castle walls.

  *

  Agatha, the eldest sister, pulls the collar tightly around my neck. The tough leather bites into my tender skin. She stands back to admire her handiwork, picking up the chain and commanding me to crawl.

  The second sister, Lizel, watches on with glee. “Oh, Agatha! It is like having our very own dog, or pony!”

  Agatha laughs. “A dog would be far more obedient. This one will require much training.”

  Lizel claps her hands together. “Can we take her to the playroom, pretty please, Aggy?”

  Agatha tugs on the leash and I cough and splutter, the collar choking me of breath. “A fine idea.”

  I’m led to the sister’s playroom built with the money my father has been sending for me. Rather than toys of joy and childhood, this playroom is filled only with implements of torture and bondage especially constructed for my debasement. My stepmother saw personally to its construction right down to the blood-red color of the walls and the room’s centerpiece: a giant wooden cross.

  Agatha commands me to stand before the cross, arms by my side. I go to speak, to ask for mercy just this once, but she slaps my face soundly. “Dogs do not talk, Cinderella.”

  I stare at her with wet eyes as she cups my aching jaw.

  “Kneel.”

  I kneel before her.

  “Mother said you are ours to use however we please, and what would please me now is for you to lick my pussy.”

  I wince when Agatha places her heel on my shoulder, pulling up her skirts and drawing the crotch of her silk underdrawers aside to reveal the dark slit of her sex. She squats and lowers herself over my face.

  “Lick it good, Cinderella, or there shall be no leftovers for a week.”

  I extend my tongue hesitantly and run it into the narrow between my stepsister’s folds. I gasp and try to pull away at the tart taste, but she takes my head and pulls me tight against her, suffocating me with the slippery heat of her cunt.

  “Lick, damn you!”

  I comply, lapping at her pussy like a kitten would a bowl of milk.

  “Harder.”

  She presses me firmly, fingers clawing into my skull as my tongue is forced into her hole. Juices flood my face, dripping from my chin as the pungent scent of her sex fills my nostrils.

  Agatha’s voice becomes husky. “Very good, Cinderella. Now kiss my jewel.” She lifts her hips slightly and my lips enclose the small bundle at the top of her gash.

  “Oh, yes,” she cries, clawing into my head harder and thrusting her hips against my face. “Suck it, suck it right into your dirty little servent mouth.”

  I close my lips and suck at her jewel, feeling it grow in the hot chamber of my mouth. Before long Agatha is bucking furiously against me.

  I can’t breathe, sucking and licking and doing whatever I can to bring this torture to a swift end.

  “Yes, yes!” Agatha suddenly stops, her entire body stiff as a sword. Her pussy twitches against my chin, pulsing there as she lets out a long sigh, shaking. I almost gag as a flood of fluid fills my mouth and flows in a trickle down the back of my throat. I swallow, closing my eyes and squeezing tears out to mingle with the desire that coats my face.

  Agatha pushes me away, letting her skirts down and smoothing them out.

  Without your glamourous clothes, your jewels and face powders, I think, you would be nothing.

  Lizel approaches. “Is it my turn now, Aggy?”

  A cruel sneer slides across Agatha’s lips. “Oh yes, Lizel. We are far from done yet.”

  *

  Six months pass and still there comes no word from my father. I wince as I try to spread myself out in my cage. My pale skin is covered in bruises and welts. It is no longer milky white but patchy and red, blanketed with the color of pain.

  My stepmother descends into the basement, her heels clicking on the stone.

  “Cinderella!” she beams mockingly, ghastly face lit by candle. “I hope I did not wake you.”

  She unlock
s my cage and attaches the chain to my leash. “Come.”

  I tremble as I’m led, but not from the cold. My sisters are well-versed in cruelty, but their mother makes it an art. She is patient, compounding the pain and distress over time until I am little more than a puddle of tears and limp limbs. She takes great pleasure in it. She makes me call her Madam.

  I fear the cross most of all. Tonight, I am bound to it facing in, arms and legs spread wide and my poor sex open and exposed. The soft skin of my belly presses against the wooden center of the cross, metal clamps holding my ankles and wrists tightly in place. Movement is limited. I can look ahead, but I cannot turn my head fully. I can press outwards, but this only increases the pressure against my wrists and further exposes my bared ass to my stepmother’s chosen tool of torture.

  Tonight it is the flogger.

  I can hear her fingers separating the ribbons.

  She brushes the handle very lightly over my buttocks. I immediately jam forward hard against the cross, pelvis pressed tightly against the blackened wood.

  “This flogger was a gift from my dear friend the Count of Montero, a very wise and most discerning man who collects such objects from all over the globe. Do you know him?”

  “No, Madam.”

  “A shame. He would enjoy a nubile thing such as yourself.”

  “This flogger is made of crocodile leather. Have you ever seen a crocodile, Cinderella?”

  “No, Madam.”

  “How uncultured you are.”

  Her fingers come against my rump and I flinch once more. She caresses the velvety gloves cool to the touch in the musty air of the playroom. Her fingers lift away and I know what is to come. I squeeze my buttocks together.

  Stepmother brings the flogger down on my bottom with all the strength she can muster. The leather strips span out, the pain blooming fast on my behind and back.

  Another blow comes as Stepmother grunts with the effort, a sharp snap followed by an echo and scarlet sea spreading out over my skin.

  I hold back the tears.

  I shift in vain, trying to evade the next blow, but it’s impossible rigged up on the cross as I am. I stop and remain passive, letting her have her fill for tonight.

  Stepmother beats and strikes at the flame-red globes with both arms, laughing with sadistic amusement as she thrashes me over and over.

  I cannot hold it. I squirm in the restraints.

  Three blows come in quick succession and finally I plead for mercy.

  But my stepmother is deaf. I can hear the flogger coming back and then moving forward with great speed. It collects with my behind with a dry smacking sound. I release a tearful cry as the hemispheres of my ass contract together. Four, five, six times the noise comes again, perhaps more terrible than the pain itself.

  Finally, huffing with quick breath, my torturer is spent.

  I gasp as she slides the hard butt of the flogger between my legs, splitting the pillow-like lips of my pussy until the end of it comes against my the tight package of nerves just past the opening to my bladder.

  “Yes, that’s the way,” Stepmother chides, as I squirm again, but this time with reluctant pleasure. My body is responding, my pussy growing wet and damp against the handle of the flogger. Before long I’m pressing myself down upon it, growing restless and needy.

  “You are such a dirty whore, Cinderella, a whore just like your mother.”

  The sensation becomes too great. I come, convulsing against the flogger and turning it slick with my juices.

  Stepmother leaves, coming around to the back of the cross and making sure I can see the way she cleans the handle of the flogger with her lips and tongue.

  “Mmm,” she purrs, laughing, leaving me to hang on the cross in the dark and cold until sunrise.

  *

  As usual, I’m on all fours on the floor, my stepmother’s feet perched on my bare back. I am her footstool when she has guests to entertain.

  Agatha and Lizel enter the room, taking a seat together, preening and primping themselves as always. To my eyes they have always resembled strange birds. No amount of face paint can hide the sharp ridges of their cheeks, for one.

  “Girls,” starts Stepmother, “you have been invited to the ball.”

  Agatha gasps. “The ball!”

  Lizel is equally exuberant beside her. “What is the ball, Mother?”

  “The ball is a great gathering at the King’s castle where the Prince will select a bride. I don’t have to tell you what that would mean for our family.”

  I have heard of the Prince before, though never seen him. Word is he is extremely handsome and kind.

  “Wonderful, wonderful!” Lizel is standing, clapping her hands together. “Can we take Cinderella as a pet?”

  Stepmother laughs. “And bring shame upon our good name with her foulness and dirty skin? I don’t think so. Besides, she has no clothes.”

  I swallow back a sob. Father, where are you?

  With a foot in my ribs, Stepmother kicks me over onto the floor. “Come, girls, for we have much to prepare. Find your way back to the kitchen, Cinderella. There are plates to be cleaned.”

  The three women leave and I notice the invitations to the ball on the table. Watching the door, I tentatively pick them up. I’m shocked to find one is addressed to me.

  The Grand Prince Alexander requests the company of Cinderella Duchamp for the annual bridal ball.

  I can’t believe what I’m reading until a sharp pain in my side causes the invitation to flutter to the floor.

  Stepmother scoops it up, tossing it into the fire where it curls into nothingness. “You will forget you ever saw it, slave, for your place is here, and here alone. You are nothing. You have no right.” With that she drags me back to my cage hungry, leaving me to sunrise and the new horrors it will bring.

  *

  It’s the day of the ball and the girls are fluttering about trying to arrange dresses and jewels while I kneel quietly in the corner of the room. My nipples are hard in the cool castle air.

  I wait until my stepmother is alone before making a final plea. “Please, Madam,” I beg her, “will you not let me attend the ball?”

  I expect her to kick or slap me, but instead she smiles. I’ve seen that smirk before. It never bodes well. “Go to the stables,” she instructs, “and find the stable master. If you can complete the task he sets, I will allow you to come.”

  I grasp her leg. “Oh, thank you, Madam! Thank you so much!”

  She shakes me away. “Go.”

  The stable master is alone in the stables when I enter. He’s an older man, thick of belly with coarse black hair covering his face. I kneel before him and he leers down at me. The hay is soft under my knees, a welcome relief from the hard castle floors. “Yes, child?”

  “Madam said you have a task for me. If I complete it, I shall be allowed to attend the ball.”

  He sneers. “Is that so?”

  He takes a set of cut reins, weighing the leather in his hands and then striking me hard across the breasts.

  I grunt and flinch as the band of pain marks my skin, but I’m well used to such thrashings now.

  The stable master backhands my stomach, a line of hot red coming to the surface. I shake, teeth gritted, but I do not make a sound.

  Again, he whips my breasts, flicks at my nipples with the tip of the reins. He disappears behind my back and strikes at my buttocks and heels, never striking the same spot twice.

  I’m burning all over when he places the reins back. A horse neighs from his back.

  “So, a task, you say?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll give you a task.”

  The stable master begins to undo his pants. His cock is a thick sausage as it flops out. He holds it with one hand and with the other grasps my ponytail and draws me to him. “You will suck my cock, child, suck it until I come, and let me tell you, that is no easy feat. Even a horse’s cunt can’t make me lose my load.”

  I cannot believe wh
at this vile creature is asking. He presses at the back of my head and strokes his meat before my terrified eyes. He strokes my cheeks with the head of his member, running it across my lips.

  I have no desire to take the stable master’s cock into my mouth, but I am also desperate to attend the ball and meet the Prince. It has to be done.

  “Yes,” I submit.

  The stable master yanks my head back and shoves his cock deep into my mouth. I gag almost immediately trying to accommodate his length. He holds my head and rocks it over his cock, my mouth and jaw stretched wide as he muscles himself into my tight throat.

  He groans, eyes rolling into the back of his head. I use my tongue to lathe his shaft, trying my hardest to ignore the slimy fluid that oozes from his slit and drips down the back of my throat.

  “Oh yes,” he exclaims, “what a wonderful cock-sucker you are!”

  My jaw widens a little further and I relax the muscles in my throat to allow more of his length inside. His sack presses against my throat, his cock flexing and his body beginning to jerk and twitch.

  He rocks my head silently back and forth, looking down into my almond eyes and the tears that streak over my dirty cheeks.

  I begin to cough and choke as he shoves his dick deep into my throat, starving me of air. He erupts, a copious load of burning cum filling my belly. I swallow to survive, swallow his filthy seed until there is no more and he pulls out flustered. His limp prick hangs in his hand wet.

  “You can tell that whore you completed the task.”

  Shaky, I stand, the taste of the stable master’s semen still in my mouth as I rush back to the castle.

  I find Stepmother in her bedroom.

  “Madam,” I begin, “I have completed the task.”

  She seems surprised. “Oh? Was the stable master pleased?”

  “Very.”

  She considers this. “That is well, but I’m afraid I have changed my mind. You are far too dirty to attend the ball, and what would you wear? Rags? A sack?” She laughs.

  Her words pierce right to my heart. Tears flow fresh down my cheeks into the shallow between my shoulder and neck. I wish she was dead.