Chapter 1: Cinderella's Seduction

Startled, Cindy looked up from her seat as the inner door opened and an incredibly beautiful young woman emerged. The girl looked miserably sad, shaking visibly, her lower lip trembling. She also looked ... perfect; her blonde hair long and flowing, her eyes large and round and evenly spaced on her ideal face, her nose pert, her lips full and red. She had the figure of a supermodel, with firm bosom and hips framing an almost impossibly slender waist. The girl was suddenly startled to see Cindy sitting there, waiting, and after a second's pause, she burst into tears and fled through the room, sobbing.

Cindy sat there, aghast, and a single word flooded out all other thoughts: Why? If a girl like THAT had been rejected, then why even consider putting herself through something that was bound to be the most embarrassing ordeal of her entire life? Why take up the valuable time of the interviewer? Why delude herself any further, thinking that her silly dream ... her silly fantasy ... had any chance at all of coming true?

She rose to go, then stood rooted to the spot as the inner door opened again.

"Cindy?" the woman asked. She was holding a yellow legal pad in one hand, a pencil in the other. This woman was beautiful, too, with coal-black hair streaming past straight, thin shoulders that caused her generous breasts to point accusingly forward, as if saying, "Mine are firmer than yours, little girl ... These are the breasts of a REAL woman." Everything about this lady was proud, feminine, demanding. When she smiled, like she was doing now, her eyes were almost gleeful in their depth and knowledge and self assurance. Cindy stood mute, nervous, her hands by her sides, twitching nervously, the form she had filled out rustling and fluttering as she clutched it. "It's a yes-or-no question," he woman said patiently.

"Yes," Cindy squeaked.

Without another glance, the woman turned her back and walked back into the inner room. "Come in and have a seat, please. And close the door."

Cindy was thinking so hard about bolting in the other directions that she stumbled as her feet, seemingly acting on their own, began shuffling after the woman. She paused momentarily to close herself into the room with the strikingly pretty lady by gently shutting the door, then she hurried to the chair in front of the desk and perched her bottom precariously on its forward edge. She gulped nervously, trying to fathom what the woman wanted. She was holding out her hand toward her, palm up. With a start, Cindy lurched forward and deposited the form she had filled out into the outstretched hand, before once again taking her seat. The woman's lips twitched slightly into a bemused smile, though it was obvious she was trying to remain serious-looking.

"Breathe," the lady muttered.

Cindy blinked. "What?"

"Take a breath, girl. Don't pass out on me."

With a conscious effort, Cindy took a gulp of air. She tried to will herself into calm alertness, but instead found her thoughts flitting around like wild birds.

"So, Cindy," the woman asked without looking up. "Why do you want to be a sex slave?"

All at once, the room seemed to shift unsteadily. So ... there is it was. The phrase had finally been spoken. It was suddenly ... real. She tried to swallow, but found that her mouth was too dry to accomplish the task. Her lips parted to answer ... closed ... opened again, soundlessly. She was suddenly concerned about tipping forward out of the chair, and tried to push herself back in the seat, only succeeding in scraping the thing backwards on the floor. "I ... uh ... I think that ... um ... I ... think that ... maybe I've made a mistake," she finally said, haltingly. She stood up.

The woman glanced up at her with a placid look on her face. "SIT!" she barked. Cindy sat. Hard. "Put your knees together!" the woman continued firmly, without raising her voice. "Hands in your lap! Sit up straight!" She paused and scanned the form. "Now," she continued mildly, sweetly, "what makes you think that you've made a mistake?"

Cindy' speech rushed ahead now. "The girl that just left ... she was ... beautiful."

"Yes," the woman replied. "Yes she was, wasn't she? Exceedingly nice figure. Very experienced, too. She had been a sex slave before, to a dominant couple out east, near Lexington. Very submissive. And VERY pretty."

"But ... I'm not," Cindy insisted, earnestly. "I'm NOT pretty. And I DON'T have a nice figure. And I'm NOT experienced as a s-s-sex s-s-slave. I can't even SAY it! I'm plain and I'm overweight and I'm dumpy and I'm clumsy and I'm sitting here wasting your time because I want ... I want to ... um..."

"I will be the one to decide whether or not you're wasting my time," the woman interrupted. "Now, I will ask you some questions, and you will answer them. Is that clear?"

Cindy blushed and lowered her gaze to her folded hands. "Yes, ma'am."

"Is this form completely honest? Are all your answers absolutely true?"

"Yes, ma'am," Cindy answered earnestly, looking up.

"You've entered your first name as 'Cindy.' That can't be absolutely true, can it? It's a nickname, isn't it?"

Cindy was suddenly taken by the woman's serious tone. "Yes, ma'am. I didn't mean to ... I mean, everybody's always called me Cindy."

"I insist on attention to detail," the woman enthused. "So ... what is it? Cynthia?"

"No, ma'am. It's ... Cinderella."

The woman blinked up at her. "You've got to be kidding me."

"My mother was ... um ... rather fanciful."

The lady's lips twitched again and she put her hand over her mouth and coughed gently. "Fanciful." She looked back down at the form. "Okay, you win. We'll leave it as Cindy." She finally looked up, giving Cindy her full attention. She pushed her office chair back and crossed her slender legs. "Alright, Cindy, let's try a different question. How did you hear about our little ... opening here?"

"I saw it in a magazine," Cindy answered.

"Which one? I put the ad in three, plus on a couple internet sites."

"It was called 'Velvet Chains," Cindy answered quietly.

"Do you read that particular publication often?"

"No, ma'am. I'd never heard of it before. I didn't even know there WERE such magazines!" Cindy paused and took a breath. "There were five of us, up in a hotel room in Toledo. We were there for a big debate team finalist tournament at the University. I'm not a debater ... I'm just a researcher. Anyway, there were three of us in one room and two in another, and one of the girls had gotten a bottle of wine, and the five of us got together in one of the rooms, and we were each having a glass ... just sitting around talking. And Rhonda said that perverts were always reading porn magazines and leaving them in hotel rooms, and they always thought that they were leaving them in places where no one would ever think of looking, but they always left them in the SAME places! And so she started looking between the mattresses, but there weren't any there, so we were really starting to get on her case. And then she pulled out the bottom drawer of the bureau, and she had to play with some little catches on the sides to get the drawer out ... but sure enough, there were a couple of girly magazines on the floor, under the drawer.

"Well, two of the girls started reading them out loud, taking turns; things like "letters to the editor" and stuff. And then Rhonda shrieked 'Listen to THIS! Here's an ad from a couple in Louisville! Who wants a SEX SLAVE!' And she read the ad, and the other girls were all laughing and giggling that somebody in our home town would write something like that. But ... you just wouldn't believe how that affected ME! Because, you didn't use the words 'sex slave' ... you just used the word 'slave.' And sure, it was in a sex MAGAZINE, and so sure, it was naturally assumed that sex would be an important part of it ... but I mean... 'slave.' Just 'slave.' That means so much MORE than sex. That means ... everything! And it took just about all the willpower I had to keep from just moaning and crumpling up into a little ball on the floor, just THINKING about it!

"But then, it was time to go out for dinner, and so Rhonda hid the magazines again and we all went downstairs. But I told them that I'd forgotten my money and that I'd meet them at the restaurant, and I ran back up and looked at the magazine again, because Rhonda hadn't read the email address for contacting you."

"What did you do?" the woman asked, interested in the story. "Did you copy it down or tear the ad out?"

"Oh, I COULDN'T do either of those. The others might find a note. And they'd DEFINITELY notice that the ad was gone if they read the magazine again when we all came back. No ... I memorized it."

"Memorized it? The whole thing? It was a pretty long ad." The woman thought a moment. "Do you still remember it?"

"I don't think I'll forget it as long as I live," Cindy replied, "even if I DON'T get your ... um ... position." She closed her eyes, thinking back. "WANTED. SLAVE. Louisville, KY Area. No experience necessary. We desire a young woman who will live with us for the rest of her life. We offer protection and guidance. In return, she will surrender her heart, body, mind and soul ... forever. She will be trained through the use of ultra-deep hypnosis. Her commitment must be total, complete and unequivocal. Contact mzdominant4541@velvetchains.net."

The woman leaned back and didn't try to hide the smile that graced her red lips. Cindy had recited the mantra without looking up, and now, she kept her eyes submissively on her hands.

"Stand up," the woman ordered. Cindy did so, still keeping her gaze lowered. "Take off your blouse, please. Quickly."

A shudder went through Cindy's whole body, but her fingers immediately went to the top button of her blouse. One by one, she undid them, having to pull her blouse free of the skirt to release the bottom two. Blushing crimson, she slowly slid the garment off her shoulders, and stood for long moments with it in her hands, uncertain whether to drop it or hold it. Finally, not receiving any further orders, she folded it and laid it across the back of her chair, then turned again to face her interviewer. It took every ounce of her inner strength to allow her arms to fall to her sides.

"Good Lord, girl, what have you done to yourself?" the woman asked. Cindy looked up, puzzled. "That bra has got to be two sizes too small!" the lady continued. "Take it off! Now!"

For a moment, the room swam around her, but then Cindy slowly raised her arms, reached behind her, and worked for several long seconds to release the catch of her brassier. It finally let go with a dull, twanging sound, and the restraining undergarment sprang forward around her body, one end trapped under her arm. Cindy couldn't keep the contented sigh from her lips as her breasts were released from their prison, and she stood, swaying slightly, wondering if she was about to faint from the raw feeling of embarrassment. She looked up, blushing, nervous. The woman was holding out her hand toward her again. Cindy reached out and gave her the bra. Then, she drew her arms upward, crossing them near her chest, before she noticed the stern stare the woman was giving her. She swallowed, took a deep breath, and lowered her arms again to her sides.

"34C?" the woman asked, accusingly. "Are you out of your mind? Why do you DO that!?"

"It's the size I've worn for years," Cindy said defensively. "I know I'm getting larger. I know I weigh too much. I know I'm a ... a cow! I'm grotesque! I sag!"

"Well, of course you sag a little, Cindy. You're BIG! Learn to live with it!"

"When I'm old, I'm going to be one of those women who is so massive that all people can think about is her tits!" Cindy almost wailed. "It's the chicken!"

The lady spat out a bark of a laugh. "It's the what!?"

"Chicken! Poultry farmers are putting more and more growth hormones in their chicken feed. Breast meat is more expensive than dark meat ... so they breed their chickens with bigger and bigger breasts. They've grown them so disproportionate that some breeds can't even stand up, their breasts are so large! And the hormones are finding their way into our food supply. In the past twenty years, the average American bra size has gone from 34C to 36D! The average girl starts her period eight months earlier! She's sexually active sooner!"

The woman was laughing gently now. "Because of chickens," she said.

Cindy calmed down. "I eat a lot of chicken," she said, shrugging.

"Well, whether it's chickens or hormones or a divine gift, it's no reason to smash yourself into a bra that's too small, girl."

"You don't understand," Cindy muttered miserably. "You're beautiful. You're slim. When you're fat and plain, then having monster boobs only adds to the perception that you're ... NOT slim and beautiful. It means that..."

"Enough!" the woman barked. She surveyed Cindy for a long moment, then seemed to make up her mind about something. She put the bra down and pressed a button on the corner of the desk. "I want you to stand right there. Keep your hands at your sides. Do not move. Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," Cindy whispered. She heard footsteps outside the door and suddenly understood what the button did. "Oh my!" she muttered under her breath. The door opened.

The man who walked into the room was the same man who had shown her into the mansion and led her to the room beyond the door ... the one who had given her the form to fill out. She had asked him a pleasant question: Had he worked here long? But he had just shrugged and remained silent. Now, the reason for his unresponsiveness became evident. He didn't know English. "¿Si, Señora?" he asked as he entered, and then sucked in his breath at the sight of the topless young woman standing in the center of the room. Cindy's arms trembled at her sides. The woman behind the desk was speaking in quick, fluid Spanish, writing on a piece of note paper as she did so. Reluctantly, the man tore his eyes off Cindy's bare breasts and he moved to the edge of the desk. The woman handed him the paper and pointed emphatically at what was scrawled across the top, enunciating "Victoria's Secret!" The man nodded and repeated the words. "Sustantivos. Quatro. Underwire. 38D," she emphasized, pointing again. He continued to nod, knowingly. The woman then handed him three one hundred dollar bills and waved him away, dismissing him. "Si, Señora," he repeated, walked to the door, gazed daringly at Cindy for another long moment, and was gone.

Cindy breathed a ragged, shuddering sigh.

The woman leaned back again. "Very good, Cindy. Very good, indeed." She waited for a long minute, studying her, while Cindy continued to gaze resolutely down toward her toes, which she was sure were still down there, somewhere beyond her swollen breasts and painfully erect nipples. "Put on your blouse, girl. Sit down and please keep quiet. I have a phone call to make."

Without the confining bra, the buttons on the blouse were under much more pressure than the garment's manufacturer had intended them to be. Still, there was nothing more that could really be done at this juncture, so Cindy said a little prayer to the gods of textile tensile strength and resumed her seat.

The woman was on the phone. "Roxanne? I'm sorry, but the position has been filled. Yes, I know. I'm sure that you will find someone who will give you the control you crave. Now, please don't cry. I just know you're going to make someone a very good sex slave, very soon now. Yes, that's an excellent place to go. I'm certain there will be plenty of men there who will just love making you do all sorts of things. Yes. Goodbye, dear." She hung up.

She looked up from the desk. "Congratulations, Cindy. You have the position. Now, before we begin the process of your permanent enslavement, I will grant you a single question. I will answer anything you like. One question. Fire away."

Cindy was stunned, but she didn't hesitate. "Why didn't you take the girl before me ... the pretty one?"

The woman gazed at her almost wondrously. "Of course, I'll answer you," she said quietly. "But let me just get this straight. You know that I am about to enslave you, completely and forever, right? You know that I'm about to hypnotize you ... change you ... control you, right? Don't you want to know what is about to happen to you? Aren't you just a little bit anxious about that?"

"I'm petrified," Cindy replied. "But ... if I don't find out now ... I may never know. I need to know why. My whole life, 'why' has been the most important thing. If this is to be the last question I can ask of my own free will ... then that is the one I want. Why?"

The woman smiled and nodded. "I get the impression that life with you is going to be much more interesting than I would ever have guessed," she commented. "Very well, I will tell you, though I know that you're going to find it is a very, very simple answer to what you assume is a very, very complex question." She looked Cindy in the eye. "You wrote on your form that you often do housework. Do you scrub floors?"

Cindy blinked. "Yes, we're given days when we have to help clean. I scrub floors in the dining room on Thursdays."

The woman looked confused for a moment, then shrugged. "Well," she continued, "let's face it ... no one is perfect for ANY job. Some adjustments ALWAYS have to be made. The girl before you was beautiful, but beauty was simply not one of the requisites for the ... position in question. I see in your form that you have no experience with sex. She had LOTS of experience with sex. On the other hand, she had never really worked a day in her life. I would have to provide personal training, in one way or another, with either of you. I would much rather have to teach you how to have sex than have to teach her how to scrub floors." Cindy sat, staring at her. "I told you it was a simple answer," the woman persisted.

"Yes," Cindy said quietly. "Yes, it is."

"Now, what did you mean that you have to help clean on certain days? You mean at the..." the woman looked back down at the form, " ... Academy Arms Apartments, where you live?"

Cindy suddenly looked panicked. "That's the Arms Academy," she told the woman, "not the Academy Arms. It's not an apartment building ... it's a school."

"You're in college?" the woman asked, concerned. "You're a student?"

Cindy squirmed. A button popped loose on her blouse. "I'm in high school. The Arms Academy is an orphanage. I've lived there my whole life."

The woman gawked for a moment, then looked down and searched the form frantically. "I didn't put in a question about age," she muttered, mostly to herself. "It didn't matter to me." She looked almost pleadingly at Cindy, who could no longer maintain eye contact. "How old ARE you?"

"I'm going to be eighteen in just four months," Cindy cried pleadingly. "I can just work for you until then, if you want. Or I CAN have sex ... I KNOW I can! Most of the girls in my senior class have been with guys ... have had sex. I mean ... I'm the only one I KNOW who HASN'T done it yet! And I know that it's going to be alright, because whenever I think about things like your ad in the magazine ... I get a fluttery feeling in my tummy ... and I get..."

The woman held up her hand for silence. "Yes, dear, I know. Thinking about sexual submission always makes you fluttery in your tummy ... and anatomical regions south. But now, I need you to sit there and shut up, please." Despite the order, Cindy drew a breath to further argue her case, but the lady held up a warning hand. "Quiet! Can't you see that I'm having an epiphany?"

Cindy pressed her lips together and tried not to lean forward in anticipation. She was riding an emotional roller coaster. She had been so sure, when she had first entered, that this woman would not grant her wish for being dominated ... but then, she HAD! And now ... The woman was lost in her own thoughts for many minutes, but suddenly seemed to come to her senses again. She turned her chair toward the computer sitting at one side of her desk, and she began clicking frantically with the mouse.

"Where were you born?" she asked, never looking away from the computer screen. "How long have you been in the orphanage? You said you've been there your whole life, but that isn't accurate, is it?"