A Cinderella Story

The only thing that I can think of as I am sitting on the hard, high-backed wooden chair is the fact that the welts my husband had raised on the backs of my thighs are still stinging. When most people think of a husband and wife alone with a whip, they have erotic images flashing through their minds. The only emotion that I can muster up is fear.

I suddenly sink into deep thoughts about the night that I will have to endure once I get home and start to tremble uncontrollably. Flash after flash of horror fill my vision and it takes all of my strength to remind myself that I’m at a party. I’m supposed to be having fun. It’s even more fun, an escape really, because he isn’t here.

Slowly, I get to my feet and glide across the white marble tile to the lavish bathroom. My ears barely register the sharp click of my black satin, Gucci heels on the tiles because I am so focused on my destination. There is a woman standing at the entrance to the bathroom and she happily opens the door for me, paying me a compliment on my dress. I smile because I know that I should, but I don’t really hear the compliment at all. The sitting room in the bathroom is carpeted with full length mirrors everywhere. I stand in front of one of the mirrors and stare at myself for a while.

My black dress is made of finest satin; halter top in style. The material clings to my body in all the right places and flares out at my hips to give me a look of elegance that I know I don’t deserve. Along with my black dress and shoes, my ears and neck are adorned with what seems like thousands of black pearls set in gold. The only thing about my outfit that is not black is the pair of elbow-length gloves that are starkly white with black pearls adorning them.

I deftly reach up to my head and tuck a shimmering, golden lock back into place before taking a final spin in front of the mirror. Finally, I walk steadily back to the bathroom door and walk out of it emitting elegance and self confidence.

As soon as I step onto the dance floor my eye is caught by a handsome man in the middle of a sea of women. He’s wearing white everywhere I look; white shirt, white tie, white jacket, white slacks. But his shoes are brilliantly shinning black. His hair is so dark brown that it could pass for black and his eyes are the color of a still pool of water after dark. By some miracle, we make eye contact. In that one mili-second he is able to take my breath away and I find myself unable to take my eyes off of him as he excuses himself from the throng of women and begins to make his way over to me.

When he finally reaches me he just stands there, about half a foot away, and we look at each other neither one saying a word, and neither one of us caring.

“Would you honor me with a dance?” He finally asks.

His voice covers me like a bath of warm honey and I can hardly answer him with, “Yes, of course.”

He takes me gently in his arms and begins to lead me effortlessly around the dance floor. As completely cheesy as it sounds, everything else in the room disappeared and we only have eyes for each other. Then he repositions his hand, brushing it on one of my welts. And I flinch. The look of concern that passes across his face is something so unfamiliar and beautiful to me that I almost gasp again in amazement.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No. No, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Who did? Please, tell me who would hurt you?”

I find myself talking to him, telling him everything. I don’t show any emotion because I am so used to having to cover it up anyway. He looks at me the whole time I am talking and I see the horror and hatred in his eyes that I feel every time I walk through my front door.

When I finish, he takes me into his arms gingerly and protectively. “I’m never going to let him hurt you again.” He whispers into my ear.

I pull back from him, his arms still around me and my left hand perched on his shoulder. I look at him with a mixture of awe and confusion on my face. “Why would you do that?” I whisper back. “You just met me tonight. You hardly know anything about me.”

“Prince Charming fell in love with Cinderella in a night. When she ran, he followed. He knew that she was the one for him.” A shiver goes up and down my back as he leans in to plant a kiss ever so gently on my slightly parted lips. “All that for the woman he knew he loved, when he didn’t even know her name.”