Cinderella - Sex Stories

Cinderella

... Then Emma put down her broom, curled up in a corner of the greasy restaurant kitchen, and cried so hard she shook. Oh God, what is this? Flu? Ebola? Emma dragged herself out of bed, whimpering as pain shot through her spine. My nose feels like someone’s punched it. And my head, Jesus! Such a pounding! She held a hand to her temple, trying to dull the sound - and then heard the shouts. “Ahem! Madam! You’d better open up, or I will be cross .” The pounding in her head transformed into a pounding on the door. That voice... Emma’s face broke into a huge, disbelieving smile. Ran to the door; opened it with shaking hands. “Oliver!” “I told you I’d make it here eventually! Darling, come here.” Emma fell into his arms, laughing, not even attempting to hold back the happy tears. “Jesus, you’re burning up! Get an aspirin down you. I've got a day planned.” “Oh, sweetie.” Emma stepped back, face falling. “ I've got work.” Oliver snorted. “No, you don’t. Phone?” Emma reached for her mobile, handed it to him - half terrified, half curious about what would happen next. Two years since… that place, and he hasn't changed a bit. Impulsive, bossy - brilliant. She leaned against his shoulder, smiling. “Hello, is this Luigi’s? I’m Doctor Roughwood, personal physician to Miss Emma Hart - who am I speaking with? Ah, Brianna. What a beautiful name.” Emma collapsed into silent laughter. “I’m forbidding Emma from coming in today; she’s showing symptoms of meningitis. Yes, yes, I know. Serious. Until ...

... we've ascertained that it’s not , well, she’s under quarantine… I’ll send your best wishes along, shall I? Super. Have a blessed day.” As he hung up, shoulders shaking, Emma burst into laughter. “You haven’t lost your touch.” “Barely even a lie, really,” Oliver said, “I mean, there is a Doctor Roughwood. She can look him up, if she likes. She just doesn't know it’s my dad. Now get some clothes on, darling, we’re going to brunch. My treat.” Emma looked at his car; the engine was still running. “Oh, Oliver. What would I do without you?” “Be very bored, of course.” Oliver winked. “Just call me your fairy godmother.” “It’s carrot and ginger. It’s good for you. Drink it.” Emma obeyed; no use arguing when he’s in one of these moods. He’s already brought me a breakfast I couldn't ever afford. She looked around the low-lit bar, full of expensively scruffy patrons - and then at Oliver, polishing off a smoked salmon bagel, looking at her with concern. “Darling, you should have told me. Your letters are all sunshine and rainbows, then I arrive and find you’re slaving away under the thumb of the most cosmically cunty -seeming woman -” “It’s ok. I can handle it.” “That I don’t doubt.” Oliver smiled. “You could always handle everything. Even two hours of group therapy a day and a nine pm curfew.” He looked down at his plate. “And a terrified guy on your tail, falling apart and looking for a big sister. You got me through.” Emma blushed. “So let me do something for you now. A friend helping ...