title: Cinderella
author: tim4or5
universe: playdate
part: 3
summary: Strange things happen at the ball.
keywords: mf, cons

This story contains sexually explicit material.
Email comments to twalden4 at juno dot com with ASSTR in the
subject line.
Copyright 2014. All rights reserved.

Technical note: A gasp is a rapid intake of breath. In this
story, it also means a rapid expelling of breath, since it is
close to the sound I mean. Sigh, grunt, groan, pant and scream
don't work.



Cinderella


Ash

I told Bart I didn't care. My stepmother was never going to like
anything I did. It didn't matter how hard I tried or that she
never did anything. It was okay. She worked, and I didn't want
anyone else messing around in my kitchen. Bart didn't say
anything. He's a white mouse. My mother had run off with her
boyfriend when I was young. After she came back, I had decided to
keep living with my father. I did all the cooking and cleaning.
Cooking was mostly chicken or burgers or steaks, and vegetables,
frozen potatoes and whatever dessert we wanted. Cleaning was
mostly filling the dishwasher, wiping the counter, folding
laundry, and taking out the trash. My father made his own bed.
Sometimes I ran the vacuum. He remarried when I was twelve. My
stepsister did her own laundry, sometimes, but I thought she
ought to clean up after herself. Especially since we shared a
bedroom. She had never liked Bart. When MJ, my stepsister, had
first moved in she had said he smelled bad and threatened to turn
him loose. I said he didn't. He smelled like a mouse. And if she
did I would buy three more. Two for myself and one for her bed.

The other thing was that she told me to stop diddling myself at
night. She said it was disgusting. I tried to be quiet and wait
until she was asleep. I said it wasn't, and she did the same
thing. She said she didn't, but left me alone after that. Which
was a good thing. I had videos, in case she ever gave me any more
grief. You couldn't really see much except blurry shapes in the
dim light, but her movements were suggestive and the soundtrack
was unmistakable. We mostly left each other alone.

When I was fourteen I told my mother I wanted to take dance
lessons, like MJ. Except I wanted to take tango. I never asked my
stepmother for anything. She didn't pay attention to me, and my
father always seemed to be busy. My mother had remarried too and
had her own family, but she found time for me. We found a class
and bought some shoes. I wore my usual dark gray pants. I liked
them because they didn't show dirt. I learned to interact with
people more and made some friends. I hadn't really had any up
until then. I liked the lessons and went to some of the practicas
that were held at the studio, but the problem was that there
weren't enough boys. There was competition for them among the
girls, and I didn't much care for any of the ones that weren't
already taken.

When I was fifteen I heard about a milonga held at another dance
studio. It was for all ages but was mostly kids my age and older.
There would be different people and boys. Nobody would know me.
It would be a chance to try being somebody else. My father said I
could go, I just had to be home by midnight. I knew my stepmother
would tell him if I wasn't, but I didn't plan to stay that late.
I told my mother about it and asked for a dress. She was
surprised. I didn't wear them and don't think she had ever seen
me in one. I could pay for some of it. That saturday her husband
stayed with my half brother and her step kids while we went out
and looked at dresses in different stores. It wasn't easy. I had
a general aversion to all dresses and couldn't find anything I
liked. I didn't want a little black dress. They were all either
too cute or too boring. I wanted something more festive. It had
to have a skirt that was long enough and loose enough to dance
in, but not too long. I didn't want red. White or ivory looked
like a bridal gown. I didn't want lace, or frills, or sequins. We
considered some sort of dress pants, but they all looked stupid.
Finally I found a fairly plain mango colored dress. I wouldn't
have picked it if it was the first thing we'd looked at, but it
looked good next all the others. It would do.

I called my mother in tears the next day. I had tried on the
dress at home and it was orange! I looked like a pumpkin! After
everything we had gone through. She talked to me and calmed me
down. She said maybe it was just the light, and suggested I try
it on again after dark. If I still didn't like it, we could take
it back. So I did. I couldn't decide. I asked Bart. He couldn't
decide either. I called Chris, my friend from dance class, and
took the dress over to her apartment after school the next day.
She said she didn't know much about dresses. Robin was there. He
said he'd never seen a pumpkin that color, it was too soft a
shade. Chris's mother thought it looked fine. We all agreed there
was something strange about the way the dress seemed to change
color at night. I tried dancing in it with Robin. I decided it
would probably be okay. Afterward, while she and I and Robin were
hanging out in her room, Chris asked me why I wanted to go to the
milonga alone? I tried to explain about it being an adventure and
seeing what I could do when there weren't any expectations, but I
could tell by the looks on their faces that I wasn't making any
sense.

I thought since I was making changes I might as well keep going.
I dyed my hair a lighter shade. The box said blond but I didn't
think so. My mother had said she would do my makeup. I didn't
usually wear any. I wasn't sure what I thought of the result, but
agreed she hadn't used too much. And I didn't wear my glasses. I
got to the studio where the milonga was being held as it was
getting dark and left my coat on a chair. I wondered if anyone
would ask me to dance. A boy who was older than I was did. I was
a little nervous, but he danced at my level and I concentrated on
what I was doing. I did okay. Then somebody else asked me. I
danced with several people. I tried to be more outgoing than I
usually was and flirt back with some of the boys. I may have
sounded stupid but I didn't care. That was part of the point of
my being here. I could tone it down later. Or not come back.

Then a boy my own age asked me to dance. I said I would love to.
I had noticed him dancing with other girls. He was a little
flashy but moved nicely. I was afraid he would make me look
clumsy but he didn't. He made me look better than I was. He said
his name was Brett. I told him I was Nora. That was my real first
name. I didn't like it, so when I signed my name I used N Ashley.
I looked into his dark brown eyes and decided I liked him. During
the third dance of the tanda I let him know I was interested. I
stepped into him briefly when we went into close embrace and felt
his partial erection against my belly. My lower belly. He wasn't
that much taller than I was. Touching thighs was normal in tango,
but this wasn't. I had never dared try it at dance class, the
teacher was too observant. But nobody here knew me. It was only
for an instant, and then we moved slightly apart again on the
next step. If we tried to dance like that we'd trip over each
other. I didn't pretend it was an accident. I just pretended it
never happened. So did he. I think he was a little surprised, but
it was hard to tell.

We talked a little during the cortina and drifted toward the
door. Then he invited me down the hall. I hesitated, because I
wasn't sure what that meant and because I didn't want to seem too
eager. I accepted, because it was partly a kid's dance and how
bad could it be and because I was eager for whatever it meant.
Almost whatever. We went out the door separately. He went first
and I followed. We went past the bathrooms and around a corner.
He backed me up against the wall and kissed me. He was aggressive
but not overly so. Our lips and tongues meshed in a friendly way.
I melted. He put his hand on my breast and I felt it moving
around. He held my erect nipple between his thumb and the side of
his finger. He had already felt my breast while we were dancing,
sometimes both at once, but not like this. He moved his hand to
my hip and I felt his fingers working. I kept kissing him. Then
he had his hand inside my panties before I realized what he was
doing. I wouldn't have let him if I had, at least I don't think I
would have, but I liked it there once it was. What I had felt on
my hip had been his fingers pulling up my dress. Now they opened
me up and found my wetness. They went back to work. His erection
pressed a little more firmly against my other hip and started
moving. Or I did. I couldn't tell who was first. This was nice. I
began to be afraid he wouldn't have time to finish, so I lifted
up my leg to give him better access. It sort of bobbed there. Oh
yes. I was getting close. There, uh, uh, uh, ah. I resumed
kissing him while he slowed down, then lowered my leg back to the
floor.

I got scared when I saw another couple watching us. He took his
fingers out of me and wiped them on my panties. My dress fell
back into place. The other couple turned away and started
kissing, and I relaxed some. They were about the same age as us.
I guess older kids didn't need to use a hallway. We walked back
and exchanged a brief look before I went into the bathroom. I
dried myself off in a stall and then tried to fix my makeup. I
didn't really know what I was doing. I was only a little dazed,
but this wasn't one of my skills. I went over to the snack table
for some water when I went back inside. Then I took a deep breath
and put my glasses on to see what they had. There were grapes and
crackers and dip and some little cake things. The nuts were gone.
I snatched off my glasses when I heard Brett say something behind
me. I turned around and he asked if I wanted to dance? I thanked
him and said I wanted to sit this one out, then watched him walk
away and ask someone else. I walked over to a chair and sat down.
I looked at the clock a few moments later and panicked. It was
nearly eleven thirty and I was about to miss the bus. I grabbed
my coat and ran out the door.

I would have missed the bus if it wasn't late. They usually were,
except when they were early. I should have noticed when I was
digging out quarters, but didn't realize my glasses were missing
until after I got home. My father came into my room the next day
and said my stepmother had told him I was late getting in. He
asked if I was okay? I said yes, the bus had just been late. He
said that was what he'd thought. He asked if I'd had a good time?
I said yes, it was nice dancing with new people, but I hadn't
really had a chance to talk to anyone. People mostly just danced.
He asked if I had met any boys? I said some. There was one I sort
of liked. It was fun dancing with him but I didn't know what he
thought about me. I saw my father trying not to look at me but
his eyes kept drifting back. I knew he cared about me even though
we had never really been able to talk to each other. I seemed to
make him nervous. I don't know what he saw in my stepmother, but
they seemed to get along. It was just me she didn't like. He said
he was glad I had enjoyed myself.

I called the dance studio and got my glasses back a few days
later. I washed the dye out of my hair. Girls changed their hair
color often enough that nobody thought it was a big deal. I put
away my dress. I told Bart I was too embarrassed to go back. I
didn't tell him it was from what I had done, from letting him do
it, from people seeing us, and from running out without saying
anything. He didn't have my phone number and I didn't have his.
Would he have asked for mine if I'd stayed? He'd had a chance.
Maybe I would have been sorry if I'd given it to him. I didn't
know. At least now I wouldn't have to wait for him to call. It
was a good thing he had only had his finger inside. I would have
ended up looking like a pumpkin, with or without my dress.

Brett

She left first. I followed a minute later and waited. We went
down the hall when she came out of the bathroom. I backed her up
against the wall and kissed her. She responded well. I had to
back them up quickly enough that they got excited, but not so
fast that they felt overly threatened. I put my hand on her
breast. She didn't object. I felt her softness and yielding
nature. Her nipple got hard quickly. At the right moment I moved
my hand down and tickled her hip. I kissed her a little harder to
distract her and started pulling up her dress. When I reached the
hem I slid my hand into her panties before she knew what I was
doing. This was the critical point, but since I had already
gotten this far she would probably let me stay. She did, and was
getting excited before she had time to change her mind.

She had shaved everything off. Nora had left all or most of her
hair in place. It had felt incredibly sexy. Other girls shaved
themselves into cute patterns. But sex was about how a girl felt,
not about how she looked. How she looked was for signaling. If
she looked too good it meant she was. You were allowed to look a
little but not touch. Girls who were really interested let you
know by how they moved, even if they didn't realize it. But it
had to be a subtle movement. A slight pout meant you could kiss
her, a little jut or jiggle of the breasts meant you could feel
her up, a twist toward you or hint of sway in the hips granted
you access, a gentle thrust meant she would go all the way.
Larger movements warned you to stay away. They were just supposed
to get you excited.

I had looked for Nora when I got to the milonga, and been more
disappointed that she wasn't here than I had expected. I had
danced with other girls and waited. When she didn't show up I had
invited someone else down the hall. And now here I was with my
hand in her underwear and thinking of Nora. She wasn't the first
girl I had invited down the hall, and obviously not the last. But
there hadn't been a lot. My ideas were more speculation than
actual experience. Most didn't let me put my hand up their dress.
They figured out what I was doing or moved away too quickly. None
of them would give me their phone number. This one thanked me
after she came and went back to the dance. I washed my hands and
followed.

I kept thinking of Nora. Why did I like her? Other girls had
bigger breasts and more powerful orgasms. Why would she like me?
I was just some idiot who took advantage of her. And why hadn't I
asked for her phone number? I asked another girl to dance, but
when the tanda ended I asked if she knew Nora, a girl who had
been here last month? She said she didn't. I tried the same thing
a few more times with no better results. By then everyone must
have known I was looking for Nora. People talked and rude
behavior wasn't well tolerated.

I had about given up when a girl came over to where I was sitting
and asked me to dance. Girls don't usually ask boys to dance the
tango, but there is no rule against it. I led her out onto the
floor. I had seen her dancing and noticed that she was new here.
She said her name was Chris, and I said I was Brett. You don't
get much chance for eye contact during the dance, I had to watch
where we were going, but I saw her looking at me while we were in
open embrace. I smiled back a little. Afterward I asked if she
knew Nora, a girl who had been here last month? She said yes, she
did, and invited me to sit with her.

After I did I asked her for Nora's phone number. She said she
couldn't give it to me. I asked if she would give her mine and
ask her to call me? I wanted to see her again. She said if I was
so anxious to see her, why had I taken another girl down the
hall? I hesitated. There wasn't any good answer for that. I said
I had looked around for Nora but hadn't seen her. I hadn't
realized how much I liked her until I was, um, committed. I
didn't see any point in denying what I had done. I said I was
sorry. She said really? I looked at her. Then I sort of shrugged
and said well, no, not really. Only if it messed up my chances
with Nora. I asked if she would give her my number? She said she
would do that and turned to borrow her friend's phone. Afterward
I asked her what she thought my chances were? She said fair. I
found that encouraging and felt relieved. I smiled and thanked
her. Then she said this was Ash. I should ask her to dance. So I
did.

She moved well. She felt familiar, but I had danced with lots of
girls. I kept thinking of Nora. I apologized for being distracted
and said I would try to do better. She said it was okay. Her
voice sounded a little strange. During the third dance she bumped
into me when we went into close embrace, and I felt her belly
pressed up against my erection. I stopped. The world kept
swirling around us. I looked at her. She was wearing glasses, but
I reached up and took them off. I was the one who was blind. She
had on a pale blue shirt and dark gray pants. She wasn't wearing
any makeup and her hair was a darker shade. And she hadn't looked
at me until just now. Her eyes were the same olive green. She
said Nora was her first name, but she didn't use it much. We
stepped apart so we could dance into the center of the ronda,
then stopped again. I already had my arms around her. All I had
to do was kiss her. So I did. Maybe if I had tried this with all
the girls here I would have found her sooner. Wasn't there a
story where a man went around sticking something into something?
I closed my eyes but had to open them again. The room spun around
so much I thought I was going to fall over. Ash suggested we go
find a wall somewhere to steady ourselves.



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