5. Shackles Closing Around My Dick
Chapter 5
Shackles Closing Around My Dick
CHARMING
S talking is not a word I like to use, but following is a somewhat acceptable term.
I follow Cinder’s trail to the Common World.
That trail being the glass slipper Cinder left behind.
As I hold it up, I marvel over the tiny, delicate footwear. The guy I know who helps me with random jobs from time to time had commented on what a terrifying thing to put on one’s feet.
Then he did a little research with some forbidden tech to get me details on where my missing lady might have magically disappeared to. Judging by the energetic thrum I feel whenever I touch her shoe, I suspect it might have played a part in helping her flee.
The Poison Apple is more than a bar, it is the heart hub of Boston. While I’ve never been before, I’ve heard of it. Not in Midnight, but in my semi-regular escapes to the Common World.
The humans-only establishment has a line wrapped around the block, but I easily make my way past the velvet ropes. It’s a talent and a gift that most any prince probably knows how to wield. Though I make sure not to smile too wide and give the security guards too good a look at my fangs.
I step out of the crisp autumn chill and into the warmth of an establishment with wooden beams, gleaming gold metal railings, and a bar that rises several stories high. The back-lit liquor bottles are transformed into glowing jewels. Overhead is a beautiful, complex network of windows that make for quite the glass ceiling.
Off to one side is a massive live tree that stretches over several red tufted couches. Golden bistro lights weave through the upper branches while Chinese lanterns hang over the patrons who drink and laugh. Perfumes and something sweet, like ripe apples, waft in the air as I make my way through the crowd.
Packs of young women decked in sparkling glitzy dresses that barely touch the tops of their thighs writhe on the crowded dance floor, while men with gelled hair drink their beers on the outskirts. It’s like a scene from a nature documentary I know all too well. The key is to grab the eye of one of the females and then separate her from the pack, so none of her girlfriends interfere.
Though in my case, I can often reel in an entire pack at a time.
More than one set of eyes tracks me as I cross the bar, and I feel the gravitational pull of the unspoken invitations. But I’m not here for that tonight.
I'm here to see a girl about a shoe.
A shoe currently half-buried in my shallow back pocket that is beginning to be a literal pain in my ass.
Searching for a certain violet-eyed human, I push my way up to the bar, surprised to find it completely untended. I set my hands on the bar and lean in, looking side to side, waiting for someone to show up.
“Don’t worry,” a woman sitting at the barstool next to me says even as her attention is fastened to the book she’s reading. The subtle scent of rose perfume lingers around her.
“I’m sorry?”
The woman looks up at me through a pair of black-rimmed glasses. She’s heavyset, giving her face a full and smooth look. The woman's skin is creamy porcelain. Chestnut brown hair is pulled back into a low bun, and she wears a tasteful black turtleneck that downplays yet complements her generous bosom. Something about her reminds me of a librarian, though her fire engine red lips suggest with some light persuasion she could easily be the naughty kind.
Big brown eyes blink up at me and I know she didn’t expect what she found.
I traded out the ornate ensembles I wear in the Midnight Kingdom for a more casual suit jacket and slacks. The white button-down is only halfway fastened, allowing for the tattoos that expand across my chest and up my neck to be on display. Metal rings adorn each of my fingers, spike earrings dangle from my lobes, and the piercing that loops over my lower lip is back in.
Titanium jewelry of course. I don’t much fancy a silver burn.
Her eyes catch on my bare chest, her red lips parting a moment as her eyes glaze over. Or maybe she’s looking at the opal gemstone I wear on a chain. With my own teleportation key hanging from my neck, I don’t have to go through the castle checkpoints to travel from the Midnight plane to the Common World. The perks of being a prince.
Cinder’s not the only one with tricks.
Then the woman’s attention snaps back to the blue bound book in her hand. “I said don’t worry. You’ll get a drink in a minute. They are making their midnight entrance.” The woman's voice is soft but confident, her words reaching my ears with a soothing tone. If she recognizes me, she doesn’t let on.
Before I can ask her anything else, the lights dim and the crowd’s murmur dips into an anticipatory hush. A spotlight ignites, centering on a small stage near the bar where a man stands, his presence as flamboyant and vibrant as a peacock. His suit, a riot of colors that somehow doesn't clash, glitters under the spotlight. His smile is wide and infectious.
“Ladies, gents, and creatures of the night, welcome to the sanctuary of The Poison Apple, where the lost are found and solace is brewed in a cocktail glass. Under Rapunzel's watchful eye, our bar has become a haven for souls seeking refuge and a bit of magic. Tonight, let me introduce the enchantresses of our bar, the guardians of gallantry, handpicked by Rap herself. Once adrift, each has found a home here, weaving spells of comfort and courage with every pour. Celebrate with us the artistry and allure of our bewitching belles, as they guide us through the night's revelry.”
A soft pink glow emanates from the stage, casting a warm and inviting atmosphere. With her head held high, a woman confidently struts forward onto the bar, exuding an air of self-assurance. She is a plus-sized woman with tanned skin that glows under the lights. Her blonde hair cascades down, providing a striking contrast to the daring pink leather jacket. Underneath, a shimmering black dress playfully flirts with every step she takes.
“Here's Goldie, a vision in pink and leather,” the genie announces with all the drama of a talented MC. “She’s our goddess of the golden pour! Don't be fooled by her sweet exterior—her mixes are as bold as she.”
Goldie winks at the crowd, her presence captivating yet playful.
The spotlight spirals away only to land and bathe the other end of the bar in an ethereal blue light which enhances the next woman’s eyes. They are two frozen lakes, piercing and alive. Pure white hair frames her ebony face and sets off the deep, beautiful cool undertones of her skin that shimmer under the spotlight.
“And here's Snow, our petite powerhouse with a gaze as piercing as ice and a feral spirit. She might look like a winter fairy, but her concoctions will warm you to your core!” Snow's ice-blue eyes scan the crowd with an intensity that promises adventure and a hint of danger.
Dressed in a cerulean velvet corset and leather mini skirt, she lifts a middle finger, nails painted bright candy apple red, and kisses it before lifting it out to the crowd.
They go wild. I can’t help the chuckle that escapes me. I love a good show. Usually, it’s me putting on the theatrics so this is an unexpected delight.
The spotlight turns violet and sweeps away to the other end of the bar yet again.
“And now, the enchantress of the evening, Cinder,” the genie's voice, laced with a hint of awe, fills the space. “With her bewitching gaze and a touch that can spark a flame in the darkest of hearts, she's the gothic princess who reigns supreme over the night. Her creations behind the bar are as mesmerizing as her legend, each one a spell waiting to be cast.”
Cinder steps into the light, sporting impossibly high platform boots covered in massive metal and rubber spikes.
My chest seizes.
I’ve always been drawn to Cinder, when we were young and when I saw her across the ballroom, but it’s only now that I feel I’m looking at the fullest expression of her. Before me is a spooky goth babe, a creature from another world. With each step, she draws me up into her hypnotic spell. Invisible shackles close around my ankles, wrists, and not too surprisingly, my dick.
Her razor-straight bangs fall over her brows and the rest of her hair falls in silken waterfalls from two high pigtails. Those slim arms that were once concealed by long dressy sleeves are now exposed to show off exquisite ink designs of skulls, cherry blossoms, and imagery I’m way too keen to get a closer look at. Embedded on her shoulder is the Poison Apple logo of a half-skull, half-apple mashup with crossbones and the words ‘Pick Your Poison’ around it.
A heavily chained and spiked dog collar wraps around her delicate neck. Facial piercings glint as she moves, each one a star in the constellation of her face. My heart races, my body heats up despite the cool air in the bar, and I thicken in my slacks. Tonight, her perfect cupid’s bow mouth is covered with a sheen of glossy purplish black lipstick that is absolutely forbidding.
Everything about her screams look but do not touch .
Rebel I am, I am seized by the extreme need to kiss it anyway and smear that glossy sheen over her face. Or to see that moody color smudged over other more intimate places.
But what the fuck is she wearing?
And why does it have such an intense effect on me?
The baggy violet cargo pants sit so low, the top half of a black string thong shows. A partial corset that cinches her already tiny waist encases her middle with a plethora of belts, buckles, and zippers. A strip of pale flesh is the only buffer between that and the tiny string bra she wears. If one were to remove the boots and pants. . .
Bad prince. I’m not here to get her out of her pants. I’m here to get her in on my plan.
My cock sticks its proverbial fingers in its invisible ears and starts yelling lalala! very loudly, unwilling to hear my command as it swells further against my zipper.
While I’m caught up in the complexity and forbidden effect of her outfit, her face remains completely placid. As if she couldn’t care less whether anyone else was here or not.
But that indifference only adds to Cinder’s allure, only enhances her mystique in a shroud of enigma that surrounds her.
Everywhere I go I command the attention of the room, whether I’m a prince or simply a man who exudes sexual confidence and power. But at this human girl's boots, I’m nothing. I’m no one. And she is everything. All that matters.
The power I’ve always innately held slides over until she sucks it up like a sponge, absorbing it all.
And for some reason, I find that impossibly and unforgivably hot.
“As enchanting as they are elusive, our Lost Girls,” the genie declares, his arms sweeping toward the three girls with dramatic flair. “Each night they weave magic behind the bar, serving concoctions that dazzle and delight. But beware,” he adds, his tone dropping into a conspiratorial whisper, “for their charms are potent, and their tales are as intoxicating as the drinks they pour.”
The crowd cheers, riled by the introduction as the Lost Girls dance and sway, urging them on. Goldie raises her arms over her head as if commanding the beat that controls the room like a living pulse. Snow leans over and pours liquor directly into someone’s mouth.
Cinder clomps several feet across the bar before dropping her ass like it’s hot. The move is so fast and slick it acts as a defibrillator to my heart, jolting it so hard I think it might actually beat. She rises slowly from the crouch, her slim hips rolling.
A guy reaches out and clamps a hand on her boot. Cinder’s head snaps in his direction, violet eyes narrowing with danger. She tilts her head slightly as if considering the man at her feet. Then she pushes a single finger into the center of his forehead, pushing him back until he stumbles away, releasing her. She struts off without looking back.
Using the stairs on either side, the Lost Girls descend and take their positions behind the bar. In an instant, the atmosphere shifts from anticipation to exhilaration. Bottles fly, liquids swirl and glasses clink—a dance of spirits orchestrated by the trio.
As the genie steps down, blending into the background from whence he came, the bar erupts into a whirlwind of activity, the Lost Girls at its heart.
A whoosh of air flows over my face. Once, then twice.
I turn to find the hot librarian chick fanning me with her book. “Thought you could use a cool down after that.”
Hot librarian is right.