Cindersmellya: A Dark Comedy Fairytale Romance

by Alexis Angel

  “I’m going to—Fuck, I’m close,” I hear Sloane say, and that wicked side of me jumps into action. Without even knowing what I’m doing, I jump to my feet and dart toward the table. I grab one of the glasses of water lying there and run back toward Sloane, kneeling by his side.

  “Cum, cum for me… Cum for us,” I whisper into his ear, once more grabbing his cock and stroking him. The glass is in my other hand, and I place it right under Sloane’s cock, tilting it toward him.

  It happens fast; Drake gives one final and violent thrust, grunting, and Sloane’s cock throbs against my fingers. A fraction of a second after that he starts gushing his seed into the glass, and my mouth hangs open as I realize just how much Sloane is cumming. I’m using a tall glass and, once he’s done, the glass is half-filled.

  He tumbles forward, collapsing on the floor with a grunt, and I turn my attention toward Drake, holding the glass right in front of his cock. And I do it just in time, because he starts cumming in no time. I curl my fingers around his cock as the first strand of cum flies out from it, and I angle it down so that it all goes inside the glass.

  My heart races faster as I see the glass filling up with his translucent seed, and all it takes is a few seconds for it to be brimming. Drops of it drip down the clear surface of the glass and onto my hands, and the last strands of cum Drake shoots hit me across my forearm.

  “Now this is impressive,” I whisper, holding the glass in front of me as I go up to my feet. Drake just looks at me, breathing hard and not knowing what to say.

  “What’s that for?” Sloane asks, going up to his feet and standing side by side with Drake.

  “What do you think?” I reply with a question of my own, twirling the glass in front of me and watching their cum blend until I can no longer tell to whom it belongs. Drake doesn’t respond, but the expression on his face is a reply of its own; in his eyes there’s surprise and excitement. And all that just intensifies as, without taking my eyes off of his, I raise the glass to my lips and let a mouthful of cum drip into my mouth.

  Their saltiness coats my tongue with all its raw flavor, and I just do what instinct tells me to: I swallow. Their juices go down my throat easily, and that makes me lose all control. Throwing all caution to the window, I open my mouth as wide as I can and tilt the glass down.

  Their cum slides from the glass into my mouth in a fountain, cascading over my tongue like a never ending river. I feel drops of it splattering my face, and a few strands drip down my chin as their juices fill me up to the brim. Once the glass is empty, I let it slip from my fingers and onto the carpeted floor; still holding all that cum inside my mouth, I grab Drake and Sloane by the hand and pull them into me.

  Their mouths fly straight into mine at the same time, and we share a kiss that transcends this dimension we live in. Seriously, it’s so amazing it’s hard to believe that I’m not dreaming.

  The three of us are kissing now, our tongues dancing and wrestling together as cum flows from my mouth and into theirs. I feel it go down my neck, large drops leaving a glistening trail on my skin as they hike over the curve of my breasts.

  Grabbing my own tits, I smear their cum all over my naked body, wishing for this kiss to never end. Because now I’m sure that we aren’t just fucking. This isn’t just sex.

  This is something else.

  Something better.

  I may never need to use my toys again.

  Wait!

  Oh.

  My.

  God.

  My toys. I might know a way out of this mess! I might have the answer!

  But I can’t tell you till I’m sure. Sorry, babe. You’re going to have to be patient. No sense in raising your hopes. But Linda problems could go away so fast.

  Don’t pout. Just give me some time, okay?

  Drake

  Emails are pinging and my entire staff is frantically shuffling around the building. The phones have been ringing off the hook, non-stop. I answer the one on my desk.

  "Hello, Drake speaking."

  "Mr. Carlton, it's Michael from Capital Bank. I have some difficult news. I'm calling to inform you that we are withdrawing financing for all normal operations."

  "Wait, you don't need to do that."

  "I'm afraid that this is non-negotiable. It's a unanimous and final decision."

  "I can explain, I—" I begin to say, but it's useless. The banker on the other end of the call hangs up and ends the conversation. The finality of it is deafening.

  Just fucking great.

  In the last 24 hours, the media backlash has been a difficult pill to swallow. I'm being swarmed and blindsided from every fucking angle. And if I'm honest, sometimes I feel like I'm downright choking. I'm sitting in my office as my staff crowds around the large television mounted on the wall.

  We're all hanging on its every word, listening to the news reporter.

  "The so-called 'Shark of Wall Street' is creating a national frenzy. In a move highlighting the arrogance, degradation, and downright corruption of Wall Street's elite, sources have revealed that CEO Drake 'The Shark' Carlton, and CEO Sloane Hardman of Hard Times have been engaged in a bizarre and taboo sex ring with business newcomer, Natalie Vanderhill. It remains to be seen how a series of corruption charges will derail the careers of all three individuals, as well as affect a slew of private investors."

  My entire staff turns to me, trying to read any emotions revealed on my face. Even Eric is sweating; I can see armpit stains pooling under his arms and seeping through his button-up shirt. I don't give in to it, and instead remain stoic.

  The reporter continues, "Photographs of the three have been retrieved that show a lewd, crude, and completely degenerate trio. Less than 24 hours after the news of this broke, Capital Bank's VP of Public Affairs took to Twitter, and had this to say: 'We refuse to turn a deaf ear to this scandal & frankly we refuse to financially back Carlton, Hardman, and Vandherhill any longer.' It remains to be seen whether or not the trio can ever regain investor confidence. The public has expressed a myriad of reactions to the allegations, many viewing it with shock and outrage. One stockholder called this a 'breach of trust.' And in further developments, Carlton and Hardman are each being indicted on alleged stock manipulation charges. This news organization strives to be fair and objective in it's reporting, however, in this instance, it's fair to say that we feel this trio should be punished to the full extent of the law."

  CJ breaks our silence. "This package just came for you," she says.

  She hands me a large, unmarked envelope, and I immediately open it. Inside, I find a handwritten note that reads:

  "I told you not to fuck with me."

  There is no name attributed to the package or the note, but its source is no fucking mystery; I immediately recognize the tight, closed loops of the letters that slant to the left.

  This is Linda's work.

  CJ looks more distraught than usual. "What are we going to do? It's everywhere I look—on the TV, on the Internet, and even on the front page of today's New York Daily Journal," she says, pointing to the paper lying face up on my desk. She says this in one flustered burst. "If we don't fix this, we'll all be out on the street."

  I look down at the paper and the headline reads, “Scandal and Corruption on Wall Street.” The article goes on to read:

  "The hard-charging so-called 'Shark of Wall Street' is being faced with a new kind of blood bath. Allegations are swirling of sexual favors for insider trading information. One source, who prefers to remain anonymous said, 'I understood immediately what was going on, which was that both Mr. Carlton and Mr. Hardman, with the aid of Ms. Vanderhill were sharing non-public information to conduct trades for the company, Dirty Lil' Angels.' Regulators are determining whether investigations will be needed."

  I remove my eyes from the paper and pull my cell phone from my pocket. I need to speak with Sloane and Natalie. I dial Sloane first and listen to my phone ring. It rings and rings and rings, and then goes to voicemail.

>   Fuck. He's not answering.

  Then I dial Natalie. Again, I wait and listen as the phone continues to ring until I'm directed to another voicemail box. Instead of hanging up, I decide to leave a message.

  "Natalie, it's Drake. Listen, ignore the papers, ignore the news, and give me a call; we need to meet. All three of us need to meet. It's important. We can get through this."

  And just in case she doesn't get to her voicemail, I follow up with a text.

  "Plz call me bc it's important."

  I take a deep breath and shove both of my hands in my pockets for a moment. Should I keep calling? Should I email them? Would any of that even help in this very moment?

  It's clear I'm not going to be able to meet with Sloane and Natalie fast enough. With my best guess, it would take several hours at least. I think about Natalie and all of her work with Dirty Lil' Angels. I think about how much the company means to her, and how she's poured every ounce of her resources into the venture.

  I look around my office, at all of the confused faces staring back at me. As their CEO, I need to do something about this, and I need to start moving now. I need to fucking lead, and I know exactly what my next step is going to be.

  I turn to CJ.

  She's staring at me wide-eyed, and waiting to hang on my every word.

  "Set up a press conference for tomorrow … and tell everyone about it."

  She nods her head and disappears.

  Sloane

  I don't know how Drake got any fucking sleep last night.

  I mean, sure, shit was bad in the morning, but the level of fucked up-ness as the hours went by just seemed to get worse, you know?

  Don't look at me like that. Don't shake your head. There wasn't anything I could do at that point.

  The only think I could think of doing was talk to Natalie. Just a quick phone call.

  Obviously, it probably wasn't a good idea to go to her place, or have her come to mine. Not with all the reporters I was seeing camped out on the sidewalk outside of One57.

  Turns out there were reporters outside Natalie's apartment too.

  I mean, it's not hard to tell why. A reigning king of Wall Street, the daughter of one of the most prominent politicians in New York City, and a venture capitalist like me, all having sex with each other?

  You can't make this shit up. This is like one of those books that Alexis Angel comes up with. It just doesn't happen in real life.

  Until it's happening now.

  All of a sudden, people are seeing this happen right in front of their eyes and they can't get enough of it.

  The news has been nonstop about this on television. They're waiting for the press conference to start.

  It's being held outside Carlton Capital's headquarters and I decided to come see for myself. There's a pretty decent crowd standing on the steps of the building. It's reporters in the front and middle with regular people crowding to see what's going on too.

  The newspapers followed the television stations this morning with more scandalous headlines.

  "Three's a Crowd? Not Anymore!" said the Daily Post. I don't know what the New York Daily Journal said.

  I don't really fucking care at this point.

  I mean, it really seemed like we were getting somewhere, you know?

  I know we had the threat of Linda Vanderhill over our heads the entire time after Python, but it seemed that we were getting stronger. It seemed that we were going to overcome this.

  What I think we never fucking realized was how fast and how strong the negative backlash was going to be. How quickly it spread from breathless gossip to negative fucking judgment.

  No one has recognized me yet, and I don't know that I really care about that.

  I know, I know. I shouldn't be fucking ashamed of the people that I love.

  And I'm not.

  Really. If someone has a problem with Natalie they can come tell me to my face. Then they can watch as I proceed to break that fucking face.

  Even fucking Drake. Anyone has a problem with him and I, then they better get the fucking undertaker ready.

  Like I said, I'm not gay. But you assault my family—the people I consider to be my lovers—and you better be ready to face the fire that is Sloane Hardman.

  But that's not why I'm staying on the edges of the crowd today.

  This is Drake's show. This is his shit.

  His firm is the one that got the brunt of the media scrutiny. That basically had the rug pulled out from under him.

  The banks stopped lending to Carlton Capital. Jesus fucking Christ. Talk about mixing morality with business.

  So it's Drake who has to do whatever he's gotta do to get this shit back on track.

  Personally, I would've gone to the newspaper office and beat the shit out of the Editor In Chief. Probably gone to jail, but I would've fucking smiled and written a check for the assault charges. Bought that fucker a new wardrobe and told him it was worth every fucking penny.

  But that's why I do venture capital. Because I don't have to deal with negative consequences for a lot of my actions. I don't have regulators from Washington D.C. crawling up my ass like they do for an investment bank.

  So Drake probably had to do the more civilized thing to defend himself. And I know the guy. I know that even though he's calling a press conference, deep down he wants to go and kick some ass too, literally.

  "Ladies and gentlemen," a woman who probably handles the press relations for Carlton Capital says into the microphone. "Thank you for attending today. Mr. Carlton will be making a brief statement. And then taking questions."

  There's silence and a few clicks as the woman steps away from the podium and Drake comes out of the doors from the inside of the building and takes her place.

  "Thank you," Drake says.

  Silence. Flash photography. I take a step closer. Yeah, you got me. I'm fucking curious.

  "Yesterday, the news media had a feeding frenzy unlike one I've ever seen before," Drake says. "Accusations were lobbed. Allegations were made. Assumptions were taken and reputations were smeared," he continues.

  Photographers begin to click their cameras. They don't fucking care what he's saying. They just want to capture the moment for history in case he fucks it up pretty badly.

  "I want you to know that the effects of this action touch not just me, but my entire company. And through that, it has touched over $1 trillion dollars of investments that are managed for pension funds, teachers unions, and everyday retirement accounts. You're not just hurting me, but yourselves," Drake says. I gotta say, he sure knows how to put it down.

  "On top of which, the allegations from yesterday represent a surprising invasion of my personal privacy, as well as the privacy of my stepdaughter and stepson," Drake begins. "While I understand that Linda Vanderhill running for public office is something that places our lives in public scrutiny, I am here today to tell you that Linda and I are divorced. Both Sloane Hardman and Natalie Vanderhill are consenting adults. And free to run their own lives."

  The reporters are starting to stir.

  "I'm not here today to confirm or deny any allegations," Drake says flatly. He's got a fucking challenging tone that basically says that if you fuck with him, he will cut you down. "What I am here to do is to personally vouch for the integrity of Natalie Vanderhill."

  Right. That's the key component of this entire mess.

  "There exists no quid pro quo relationship between the funding of Dirty Lil' Angels and Carlton Capital," Drake goes on to say. "There is no unholy alliance between Hard Times and Carlton Capital. In fact, at the very beginning, I pulled the funding for the initial investments because I was concerned about the viability of Ms. Vanderhill's company products. I am no longer concerned."

  Flash bulbs intensify. Now we're getting somewhere.

  "I categorically denounce anyone who has the audacity to claim that sexual favors were traded for favorable investment services," Drake says into the microphone as he looks into the crowd. "S
ince that violates at least 20 different regulations and implies criminal conduct, if you are planning on making that accusation, I plan on bringing at least fifty lawyers to that conversation."

  Mild laughter. We might actually get through this. Motherfucker might actually pull it off.

  "If we are clear on this, then that concludes my statement," Drake says and then gives a sigh of relief as he says, "Any questions."

  There's a momentary pause and I think that the worst is over.

  Fuck. I've never been so fucking wrong in my life.

  "Mr. Carlton, do you believe your shareholders would approve of your sexual relationship with your stepdaughter and stepson?" a reporter from the front asks.

  "I don't think they'd care," Drake says quickly. "Everyone is an adult."

  "Mr. Carlton, was there any coercion involved with Ms. Vanderhill?" another reporter piles on.

  "No," Drake says. "None."

  "So you are in fact confirming that you do have a simultaneous sexual relationship with both of your step-children?" another reporter adds in, and now I see Drake is taken aback.

  "What does that have to do with anything?" he shoots back, snarling.

  Wrong move, Daddy-o.

  The flash from the camera bulbs is intense. Like a thousand fucking suns just descended.

  "Mr. Carlton," a reporter shouts. "How long have you been sleeping with your stepdaughter?"

  "How long have you been sleeping with Sloane Hardman?" another one yells.

  "Where was the first place you had sex?" another reporter shouts out.

  "Have you thought of resigning from your position due to the scandal?" comes yet another fucking question.

  This time Drake looks worried. The last question came out of nowhere. But the reporters are just snowballing now. They're leading themselves on. And the story is writing itself.

  "Do you believe you've violated criminal laws?" the first reporter yells.