A Rose for Cinderella

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Double Penetration

This is not a quick read, nor is there lots of gratuitous sex. There’s some depictions of sex, but as this is a story of love, the sex is more of an extension of that love, than a simple physical activity. So, if a quick stroke piece is what you’re looking for, this is not the read for you. The characters are all above the age of 18.


No one knows why my sister Marcy is so shy. We think it may be because she was held back a year in 3rd grade when she took sick with pneumonia. Her case was severe and took her to deaths door. She spent two weeks in the hospital, four days of which were in intensive care, and eight weeks to recover at home.

By the time she was strong enough to go back to school, there were only 10 days left in the term, and as she’d been too weak to do her lessons at home, mom and dad decided to keep her back. She cried for hours, but eventually accepted the fact she’d need to repeat the grade.

Marcy’s a good student. She’s also a great daughter and a wonderful little sister. We adore her and had her illness taken its final toll, it would have destroyed my mother. They’re more like sisters than parent and child.

We live on a farm, about five miles out of the nearest town. About a year after I was born, dad invented something that all computers use and as a result of its financial success, we’re what you would call very well off. So, in their late 20’s mom and dad bought a huge spread in a stunning part of the Pacific Northwest, and retired to learn farming.

They’re the perfect mixture of urbane and bumpkin. Though they can and do travel the world every other year, I think they’re much more comfortable with small town festivities than anything else. If the town banker didn’t know my folks financial situation, it would be hard to tell how wealthy they (make that we) are. But despite the wealth and the trips mom and dad have taken Marcy and I along on, in public, either here or abroad, Marcy is shy. But not at home.

At home, especially with the livestock, Marcy runs around giggling while doing chores, dances while she feeds the chickens, and sings to the cows when she milks them. On the farm, she’s a hoot.

But in town, and from what the teachers have told us, she’s withdrawn, almost to the point of concern. If it weren’t for her superior intellect, perfect attendance, and highest marks, we’d all be more worried, but as it is, we figure, she’s never gotten over the awkwardness she feels around her younger classmates. You’d think one year shouldn’t mean that much, but apparently, in Marcy’s case, it does.

No one at school or at church has ever asked Marcy on a date and as a result, I became her go to guy for male companionship. We’d go on picnics, to movies, and make runs across the state to check out livestock options as Marcy had a knack for picking undervalued specimens she knew she could nurture to become prize winning animals.

Two and a half years ago, when Marcy was 16, I left for college. In a letter mom wrote to me (she still writes letters), she said Marcy was morose for a week. But when mom showed her the receipt for all the airline tickets they’d purchased for me in advance, tickets that would bring me home for all holidays and some weekends, Marcy’s spirits picked right up.

As it turned out, Marcy and I became seniors at our respective schools in the same year. But during the Christmas/New Years break, I sensed something was wrong with Marcy. I even took the unusual step of asking her. It was unusual, because up to that point, I’d pretty much given Marcy her privacy when it came to matters of emotion.

She said “nothing” like someone who doesn’t want to talk, so I didn’t follow-up on it. But then, a week after I got back to school, I got mom’s letter.

Sam, mom wrote. I need a favor, a big favor.

I finally got Marcy to open up. You know she tells me everything. You also know she’s never dated. Well, it seems there’s a big Valentine’s Dance at school, and she’d like to go, but no one has asked her.

I told her, she should ask someone, but you and I both know that won’t happen.

I suggested you’d be okay coming home to act as her date. I thought she’d balk at the idea, but she looked at me with so much hope in her eyes and asked if I thought you’d do it.

You guys are close, at least as close as anyone can be with our shy little Marcy. Do you think you could take a few days off from school and help out? Even though Valentine’s Day is officially on Tuesday, the school is having the dance on Friday, the 10th.

Let me know your thoughts. If you say yes, I’ll start on her dress right away.

Love Mom…

Wow. My sister wanted to go to a dance. She must want to go really bad, or she wouldn’t consent to let her older brother take her. This was a new side of my sister I’d not considered. It took me about an hour to work through the pros (many) and the cons (a few) and fashion my affirmative response.

I called mom (I don’t write letters). “Okay,” I said. “I’ll do it.”

Mom was grateful and promised she’d surprise maraş seks hikayeleri me and guaranteed the whole family would be smiling every time in the future the Valentine’s Dance would come up in conversation.

I made arrangements with my professors to get a week or so off and on the 8th, I flew home. I needed to be home a couple days before the dance. I wanted to get fitted for a tux and have the florist in town make a special bunch of flowers for Marcy. If I was going to do this, I was going to make sure Marcy had the best time I could provide.

Dad picked me up at the airport like he always does as it’s our time to bring each other up to date on our 3 hour drive home.

But we mostly talked about Marcy and though she was trying to hide it, dad said he could tell she was excited.

“You know she adores you?” dad asked.

“And I adore her,” I answered.

“No. I mean, you are her world. She has the sweetest crush on you, and though she tries to hide it, your mom and I think it’s wonderful and just love how you treat her, how you protect her, and how you are willing to spend time with her. It means the world to Marcy. And,” dad paused. “It means the world to your mom and me.”

Goodness, I thought. I’d never really considered the implications of being nice to a younger sibling. I guess, as we were growing up on the farm and somewhat isolated from the other kids in our school, it seemed as if our friendship may have developed out of necessity as well out of mutual love and respect for one another. But a crush?

When we got home, mom and Marcy were waiting on the porch. As soon as I got out of the car, Marcy came running up to me, jumped up into my arms, and gave me the biggest hug and wettest kiss on the cheek, she’d ever done before.

After I squeezed her and kissed her back, I let her down. Then I hugged mom, and we went inside to have lunch.

For the next two days, there was much hustle and bustle; so much so, an outside observer would have thought we were getting ready for a wedding, or some other grand celebration. But I guess for Marcy, preparing for the dance was a lot like that.

The night before the dance, Marcy and I had climbed up to the roof of the barn and laid there looking at the billions (trillions Marcy would say) of stars that blanketed our night sky.



“Thank you.”

“Are you kidding? Thank you. I feel like a school kid going to their first dance.”

“No you don’t.”

“I do. I’m going to a dance with the most beautiful girl in a thousand mile radius of where we live, I got out of class to do this, and dad said I could take you in the ‘vette.”

“We’re taking the ‘vette?”


“Will it turn into a pumpkin at midnight?”

“No. Dad said, as long as we don’t drink, we can stay out as late as we want.”

“You want to push some boundaries?”

“What boundaries? What are you talking about?”

“You’ll see.”

For some reason, (I think a shooting star distracted me) I didn’t follow up with more questions.

We climbed down off the roof, and walked back to the house. As we were approaching, Marcy stopped, turned and gave me a hug.

I gently pushed her back a step and looked at her. The glow from the lights inside the house caused her eyes to sparkle.

Then Marcy took my hand and shook it.

“Thank you Samuel, for a most delightful evening,” she said in her affected 40’s Hollywood movie star’s voice. “But there will be no good night kiss this evening.”

With that, she turned and went into the house. I just chuckled.

The day of the dance, I went into town to retrieve the floral arrangement for Marcy. I saw a few of the high school guys who I guessed were from Marcy’s class, buying flowers for their dates. I looked at what they were buying, and suddenly realized I’d gone way overboard in what I’d ordered. I hoped it wouldn’t embarrass my sister.

Over lunch, mom suggested we take a nap while she put the finishing touches on the dress. Marcy had mentioned we may stay out late, and mom wanted us to be rested and alert if we were taking dad’s “fun” car.

When I woke, it was after 5:00. I took a shower, shaved, dressed and went down stairs.

Dad was at the dining room table. There was a big plate of fruits, cheeses, and a charcuterie of meats for snacking from which he was picking. He gestured for me to sit.

“You look dashing Samuel.”


“What are you doing waiting here?” I asked.

“Your mom said I needed to be here for the big reveal.”

“The what?”

“We went to two towns and one city looking for a ball gown Marcy could wear. We came up with nothing.”

“What do you mean – nothing?”

“We couldn’t find anything any of us liked. So Marcy went on line and showed mom a couple dresses, one cost almost three thousand dollars, and I guess they picked out something that would, and I quote: ‘rock everyone’s boat’ but it needed to be made from scratch.”


“It gets better.”


“Your mom took Marcy’s measurements, ordered some fabric she said would highlight her eyes…”

“Marcy has beautiful eyes,” I interjected.

“Yes she does, so then she made a pattern that was very much like the dress they liked on line, and she’s actually spent the last week sewing, modifying the pattern, and adjusting the fit with Marcy. She promises unveiling a work of art.”

So we waited.

About 20 minutes later, mom came into the dining room and motioned for us to follow her. She led us to the back porch. When we stepped outside, Marcy was standing off to the side where the last of the setting sun’s rays illuminated her. It was a vision mom, dad, and I would remember for the rest of our lives.

Marcy’s eyes are green. The dress was green, the deepest, darkest most beautiful forest green.

Marcy has deep, dark, red hair and a smattering of freckles and the dress complimented her coloring perfectly.

Marcy has a spectacular body. She and mom had chosen a dress design that featured all her assets, especially her breasts, and though there was more than a hint of cleavage, it was not enough to cause one to stare.

The swell of her breasts, the cleavage, the chocker around her neck, her red hair and exquisitely beautiful face, all sat atop a dress that could have been inspired by a Rene Lalique vase cicada.

This was a vision of perfection, and perfection was standing just a few feet away from us.

Now I’m ashamed to say what my thoughts were at that moment, but I couldn’t help it. It was too much for a local high school dance. But I couldn’t say anything could I? Well could I? But I had to, for if I didn’t, Marcy would sense something was on my mind and it might ruin her evening.

I walked up to her and extended my arm. She took it and we walked back to mom and dad. It was then I spoke.

“Marcy, mom, dad, I need to ask a favor.”

“What is it Sammy?” Marcy asked.

“I’m going to suggest something that may at first blush seem rude of me, but I want you to hear me out.”

“Okay,” mom said. Dad nodded.

Marcy turned and looked up into my eyes with just a hint of anxiety.

“I don’t want to take you to the dance wearing that dress.”

“Why Samuel…”, mom started to say but went silent. Dad tensed up.

Marcy pushed away from me and looked as if I’d just killed her favorite pet.

“Please, please,” I begged. “Hear me out.”

The three of them just looked at me like I suddenly had contracted leprosy.


“What’s on your mind, son?” dad asked.

“Let’s go inside. I think you will find out I’ve got a better offer.”

So, we went inside to the dining room. As Marcy started to sit, I stopped her.

“This won’t take long,” I offered.

She stayed standing but mom and dad had taken their normal places at the table.

“Why don’t you want to take me to the dance?” Marcy asked.

I could tell she was on the verge of tears.

“Because I want to take you to the symphony,” I answered.

“What?” mom asked with a slightly raised voice.

“What symphony?” Marcy queried.

“The one in San Francisco,” I answered.

“Samuel, have you…” mom began.

“Please everyone. Hear me out.”

I paused, and waited until I had their full attention.

“Marcy, if I take you to the dance and you’re wearing that dress, you’re going to be remembered as a goddess who floated down from some place high on Mr. Olympus. I’d bet there’s not a single person who’s going to be at the dance tonight, that will appreciate just how beautiful you are as a human, and how exquisite that dress highlights all of who you are, inside and out. In fact, some of your classmates may think you’re showing off.”

“You think I’m beautiful?” Marcy asked demurely.

Before I answered, I turned to dad and spoke to him man to man.

“Dad, I bet when you first set eyes on mom, you had the same feeling we’re all having right now. You were in the presence of ethereal beauty and I bet you had trouble catching your breath.”

“I remember,” dad started to say, but I cut him off.

“And mom, you have fashioned a true pedestal for the work of art that is your daughter. I can’t imagine a more beautiful dress in the history of high fashion.”

Mom started to smile.

“So, what I’m proposing is, you take off the dress, change to something nice, we’ll go to the dance, but not stay late.”

Everyone stayed quiet.

“Then tomorrow morning, we’ll leave for the city, check into that hotel mom and dad like so much, have a couple days to explore, and then on Valentine’s Day, we’ll go to the symphony and go dancing afterwards.”

“The Mark,” dad stated.

“Yes, that’s the one,” I confirmed, “The Mark Hopkins.”

Again, everyone went quiet, thinking about my suggestion. And while they had their own thoughts, I couldn’t believe what I was suggesting. Where was all this coming from?

For the next fifteen or twenty minutes, Marcy, mom, and dad, started talking about my idea. I stayed silent.

I think it was mom who broke the silence when she said to Marcy, “you know it’s your brother who has put you on a pedestal, and I’m beginning to agree, you need to be seen by people who can appreciate just how beautiful you are.”

“You’re stunning,” I added, hoping Marcy would understand my intentions were sincere and that I wanted to give her a singular version of a coming out event; a high society function, so to speak. Well, at least that’s the fantasy I had in my mind.

But as it turned out, Marcy had a slightly different idea in mind.

So, we changed into some decent evening clothes and I took her to her school’s Valentine’s Day dance. And that is exactly what we did. We danced.

When it was over, we went straight home. Marcy was grinning all the way up to our drive way. Then she got practically giddy.

“Oh my god, Sammy. We’re really gonna do it.”

“That we are my Cinderella. Only, this time, there’s no midnight curfew.”

When we got home, mom and dad told us all the arrangements had been made for us to stay at the Mark. We’d have to share a room, but we weren’t uncomfortable about that one drawback as everything else fell into place.

They’d also secured seats for us at the symphony. Though they apologized for the seats being in the balcony, the purpose, at least as far as I was concerned for us going was not to hear the music (that was icing on cake), but to have Marcy make an appearance amongst other “beautiful people”, because in my mind, and I believe my folks mind as well, Marcy was the epitome of beauty.

In a way, I had fashioned a slightly different version of a Cinderella type of story line. The girl from the country comes to the big city, and wows everyone with her beauty. Only this time, she wouldn’t lose a slipper, and her Prince would know exactly who she was.

After, the symphony, they’d suggested we go to the top of the Mark for drinks (at least for me) as the windows in the room with the “City by the Bay” as backdrop, would be the perfect frame for me to photograph Marcy in her dress.

I felt responsible for transporting a rare work of art across a great land to be seen at a royal ball. Her gown, was indeed crafted with such love by our mother, I fantasized that its last thread sealed a secret in the spaces between all the other threads, a magical secret which was woven into the garb. It was to be revealed, when the first person, besides the three of us, commented on the beauty it contained.

The next morning, we packed our bags into the “vette” as dad, playing along with the Cinderella theme, said it was appropriate for us to traverse the highways of our two states in a real chariot.

I know, corny huh. But, though we’re rich (remember dad invented something he still gets gargantuan royalties from), we’re not snooty, so we play these little fantasy games from time to time. But we only play them amongst ourselves.

And then we were on our way.

As we drove across the State line into California, I looked over at my sister in the passenger’s seat. She was looking out through the window, across the blue of the Pacific Ocean.

“Whatcha thinkin?” I asked.

“I’ll let you know tonight at dinner,” she answered.

“A mystery, huh,” I surmised aloud.

“No,” she answered. “More like a plot.”

I chuckled and pressed the accelerator. The car leapt ahead in a burst of power.

We made very good time, and I didn’t get a ticket. Lucky, huh? But when we pulled up to the Mark, we were both a bit weary after the long 8 hour drive from Pistol River.

After checking in, Marcy unpacked and headed for the shower.

“What about dinner?” I asked, wondering if we going to nap before going out.

“30 minutes,” she answered. But before I could say anything else, I was drowned out by the sound of the shower.

Marcy emerged from the bathroom wearing a towel wrapped around her. She went straight for her suitcase and started holding up bras and panties, trying to decide what to wear.

“What do you think?” she asked, holding up a black lace bra and matching thong.

“Why would I care?” I answered a bit confused by her actions.

“You’re my date. I’m supposed to make myself beautiful for my date.”

“That may be, but I’m still your brother.”

“Not on this trip, you’re not,” she said with the beginnings of a mischievous grin at the corners of her mouth. Then, without seeming to give it much thought, Marcy dropped the towel and began stepping into the panties.

“Marcy,” I yelled.

“What?” she answered while pulling up and adjusting her panties covering what looked to be a freshly shaven mound.

“Put some clothes on.”

“I am,” she stated, as she reached for the bra and walked to the window to see her reflection.

“Now, Marcy. I may be your brother, but jeez girl, your beauty unveiled would give anyone a heart attack.”

“I notice you haven’t looked away,” she answered, turning around while slipping her arms into the bra straps.


“Do you think I’m okay to look at?”

“You’re toying with me, right?” I responded.

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