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 drinkin 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, shedraws 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 screamslook 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 yellinglalala!very loudly, unwilling to hear my command as it swells further against my zipper.
