Fairy-tale inspired piece written for a theme event on /r/dirtypenpals.
It is true/not true that there was a girl in a tower.
The tower was steel and glass, and stood in the center of the city, which spread itself out and was made modest only by distance. Sometimes she would watch it. Sometimes sounds would come to her: a horn, the buzz of traffic, sirens. Once, through a quirk of the wind, a voice. She fled inside and did not go back out for a week. Most of the time, she heard the wind, and the sounds of her tower.
It is true/not true that she was a prisoner.
The apartment took up the entire floor of her building. There was a pool in one room. The balcony had a lawn, and a garden. There was a bedroom, and a library, and a small theatre, and a kitchen, and a studio, and a small gym. And an office. She had a job. She had a paycheck, and a manager, and worked as part of a team. She sent and received emails and messages, and had one official reprimand on her record. Her colleagues thought her gifted, dedicated, and professional. There was also an elevator and a small dumbwaiter. Food, mail, and packages arrived via the dumbwaiter. Groceries. Take-out. Books. Clothes. She shopped online. She had a croquet set. She had once, as a test, ordered a bow and arrow. It arrived. She decided shooting it wouldn't be wise, and returned it.
The elevator opened into a foyer of tile and wood. There was a small glass panel on the wall opposite the elevator. Sometimes she looked at it, and she looked back at herself.
The mirror/panel was key and lock. If she put her hand on the panel, the elevator ran. If she took her hand off, it stopped. It took one minute for the elevator to reach her. Sixty seconds with her hand on the panel.
There was a sound, a chime. It meant "now". Another meant "ten minutes". Two of those meant "twenty minutes". And so forth. Then she would go, and put her hand on the panel, and wait for the elevator to arrive. If she did not, it did not.
Once upon a time, she refused to answer it. It rang again an hour later. And again, later. Six times the next day. Four the day after. Three. Two. Then four days of silence. A week. Then a month of silence. She was not punished.
It is not true there was a witch.
There was a stepmother, but she was good and kind and laughed and taught her how to play cat's cradle and tickled her. They lived in the country. She knew/did not know of the tower. They wrote letters so they could draw pictures in the margins, but one could and one would not go to the other. They loved from afar, as people have done for all the ages until now.
It is true there was a prince.
It is true/not true that when she saw him, her heart stopped. She did not die. She felt she did. She felt hot, and cold, and when he looked at her, she felt consumed. His gaze lingered for a moment. Something fell. She realized, later, that it was what she had been holding. She worked in an office then too, but a different one. With people. Her apartment was small, and there was a roommate she saw sometimes but not often. She did not sleep the night after seeing him.
She was called to his office the next day. She does not remember walking there. She remembers his finger lightly tracing the line of her jaw, like he wasn't sure she was real and might dissolve into a rainbow. He wanted her. She couldn't…there were no words. He got what he wanted.
It is true/not true that he was her captor.
She existed to give herself to him. He existed to take her. She was his treasure, his jewel. He was her purpose. She withered in the city, in the crowds, in the people who looked and touched. He could not leave it. He built her a place in the city but apart from it. He put her in the tower.
He was a prince in his city. She was a princess in her tower. She cannot leave; he cannot enter except by her will. He came every day, or more. Sometimes they held hands, or made dinner, or watched a movie. Sometimes they played croquet. She was better. He often struck the ball too hard.
Sometimes he took her. In the foyer, the bedroom, the kitchen, the pool, the office. He left marks. He opened her at will, used her mouth, her cunt, her ass. She had great shivering, wracking, orgasms. Sometimes he would tie her, and she would have orgasm after orgasm from him.
Sometimes she took him. She left marks. She would explore him, and ride him, and bite. She would empty him, and revive him and empty him again, until he had nothing left. Once she met him in the foyer naked but for a wolf mask and a tail, with her hand on the panel. He looked at her. She handed him a wolf mask and ran. He chased, they snarled, snapped with teeth, fucked. She was a bitch in heat.
Once, early, they fought. She grew angry. She refused to answer the chime, and eventually it stopped. It was silent for a month. Then it sounded, breaking time, repairing it, restarting it.
She managed to hold her hand to the mirror for sixty seconds. Then she fell. She had been weeping. She had not been eating. She tried to crawl to him. He was haggard, worn. There were tear tracks on his face. He went to his knees beside her, held her, clung to her. Eventually he carried her. There were calls, there was to be a doctor, but she would not, refused to, hold her hand to the plate and the doctor did not come up into her tower.
The prince in his city, the man in her tower, fed her, nursed her. He did not leave for eleven days, and then she was strong and healthy and pushed him towards the elevator and held her hand on the plate and told him to get out and stop bothering her and he was getting underfoot and she needed to do princess things and he wasn't to return for at least two hours and to bring the noodles she liked from the place she liked. Which he did.
It is true/not true that they lived happily ever after.
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/38mrbg/the_girl_in_the_tower_of_steel_and_glass_str8