Chapter 3: Cinderella's Humiliation

Cindy awoke to her alarm at six-thirty, and she found that if she pu out her hand as far as she could, she could silence the thing by hitting the snooze bar at its top. She stretched languorously, relishing the feeling of the fresh sheet covering her naked form, the down-filled mattress pad beneath her, the feather pillows upon which her tousled hair was spread. She surveyed the room ... her room. Her very own room. She felt the towel, still between her thighs, and the previous evening's events came back to her. Tentatively, she reached a probing finger to her sex, and she groaned softly. She was sore there.

The alarm went off again, and this time, she sat up and wheeled around to sit on the bed's edge. Eventually, she found the switch that would permanently silence the offending clock, and only after that task had been accomplished did she remember her nudity and the fact that the room had no door. She stood and raced to the closet, where the robe hung on the hook where she had placed it the evening before when she had left the room for last night's shower. Finally relieved of her panic (which was getting to be an all-too-frequent feeling in her life), she settled her mind to the task of planning her morning. This was difficult, considering she had no idea what was expected of her. But there, on her dresser, was a hand-scrawled note from Stepmother:

Cindy,

You will awake each day (except Sunday) at 6:30. Eat breakfast on your own in the family dining room, where we ate dinner last night. Your workday begins at 8:00. I will find you then and discuss your duties. You made me very proud of you last night. And you made your new father gloriously happy.

- Your SM

She couldn't keep the smile from her lips. "You are a woman now," she told herself. She decided to make her bed first, and had problems smoothing out the lumps until she remembered the towel. It was stained, she found, with a rather small amount of dried blood and a rather large amount of dry, crusty white stuff. She wasn't so naïve that she didn't know what it was, but it was her first encounter with the physical detritus of the sexual act, and it intrigued her, especially the fact that there was so much of it.

But then she suddenly realized that there were two full shopping bags of things that had to be put away in her bathroom, so she slipped the robe off (she simply couldn't keep herself from casting nervous glances at the open doorway ... and she knew, somehow, that she never would get used to this), wrapped the soiled towel around her, tucking it firmly between her breasts to keep it in place, picked up the bags, and hurried down the hall to the bathroom.

The first order was to inspect the strange thing Stepmother had shown her here last night. A douche, the package said... "for vaginal irrigation." She blushed. How could she have lived in a building full of females her whole life and never learned about this? But a small slip of paper inside the box gave instructions in VERY graphic detail. She used it, then put it away, far in the back of the linen closet behind the towels, and stepped into the shower. Like last night, it felt marvelous! She scrubbed and lathered and rinsed, then spent five full minutes on her hair, using the shampoo and conditioner from the shopping bags. She dried herself with a fresh towel and used the new hair dryer in front of the mirror (which also let her see the hallway through the non-existent door behind her naked figure). She chose yet another fresh towel to wear back to her room.

It was almost 7:45 by the time she walked into the dining room, dressed in her "uniform," only to find that there was no one else around. Various cold foods had been set out on one side of the table, and there were eggs and sausages in a steam-warmer. Everything here was fabulous, she decided.

But at exactly 8:00, Stepmother appeared and waved a hand for her to follow. Cindy's life of servitude had begun. A three-page diagram of each of the three floors of the mansion was hers for the keeping, and she followed along as she was introduced, first to the laundry facilities and storage rooms in the basement, and then to the various rooms on the first floor. Many of these were used only once in a great while ... ballrooms, meeting rooms, that sort of thing. Stepmother spoke constantly, explaining this or that, what to do, what to avoid, what she must NEVER do ... take a vacuum cleaner into the Stamp Room, for example (Daddy had an extreme fear of one of his precious stamps getting sucked up by a cleaning device).

It was as they were leaving the Stamp Room that they bumped into the man himself, who bade them both a cheerful good morning and begged to have a quick word alone with his new daughter. Stepmother smiled briefly, more of a knowing grin, and walked out of the room, saying to please be quick about it. But upon her exit, Cindy found herself engulfed by his arms and practically smothered in a passionate hug. "Cindy, my love, I want you to know that last night was exquisite! But please, I beg for your discretion! Not a word to my wife of what we did! Ours must be a secret love! Do you promise?"

She couldn't help but laugh at his language, but when he drew back to look questioningly at her, she covered her reaction with another laugh. "Oh, Daddy, I'm just very happy, that's all! Of course I'll keep our love a secret. And I'll be ready for you again whenever you want me!"

He looked back down almost shyly, breaking eye contact. "I ... I want you constantly, my dear. But at my age, wanting you and having the ABILITY to take you are two entirely different things. I am afraid that I can only work up the physical strength for the act every so often."

Cindy smiled and kissed his cheek. "How often, Daddy?"

"Let's say ... um ... once a week?"

"Then Wednesday will be "our day," she told him, and snuggled herself into his arms again.

"Oh, Cindy, I can't believe the depth of your patience and understanding and passion and..."

"I love you, Daddy," she said simply.

"And we mustn't let her learn of our affair!"

"It will be our secret."

"Are you through giving Cindy instructions about cleaning the Stamp Room?" Stepmother's voice called from the hall.

"Yes, dear!" Daddy yelled back.

Cindy lifted her face and let him kiss her briefly on the lips. "Good bye, Daddy," she whispered, and then hurried from the room. Stepmother was just outside, and was laughing quietly. "You heard?" Cindy asked her.

"Oh yes. What a silly old fool!"

"Please don't say that," Cindy urged. "He needs me. I've never been needed by anyone before! And he really DID make me feel..."

"I don't mean to make light of your feelings, dear ... or of his. Please forgive my last comment. And you did wonderfully just now. You will find, however, that he never really lets up on the 'dirty old man' routine. He may only take you sexually once a week, but he is constantly going to be touching you, petting you, leering at you ... that sort of thing."

"Oh my," Cindy said, more to herself than her Stepmother.

But now, the instructions continued. There were ten bathrooms, but only four or five were ever used. Those must be cleaned daily. Six of the largest rooms would only be dusted and vacuumed once a month, since they were practically never used. Pablo cleaned his own rooms, below in the basement. And above, only three of the nine bedrooms were occupied, including her own. Next, Stepmother produced a schedule, indicating which bedrooms, common rooms, hallways, offices, etc, had to be cleaned on which day of the week. Two hours each day were set aside for exercise, including the shower afterwards. And one hour each day was reserved for "mental conditioning" in Stepmother's office, a chore which had Cindy almost gasping in anticipation. If Cindy missed doing a room on its assigned day, she could slide the schedule as necessary. Every Sunday was a "day off" for Cindy ... but any "sliding" of her schedule had to be made up on that day, so that Monday could restart the whole thing afresh.

"Any questions?" the older woman asked.

"Why would I have to slide the schedule?"

"Remember Rule Number One, dear. Wednesday night may belong to Daddy, but Pablo might easily waylay you for an hour at any time."

"Oh my," Cindy muttered again.

"Then, if that's all your questions, I suggest you start with Betty's room. She might not want you to, but please offer. She has never kept her room very neat, and I'm willing to bet that it hasn't been cleaned once in the three weeks that she's been home from college. We're still not sure why she quit school so suddenly. She won't talk about it. She's really been in a foul mood!"

Cindy stocked the maid's cart that Stepmother showed her in the cleaning closet on the second floor and pushed it to the door that her diagram indicated was Betty's. Acid rock music was coming from inside. She knocked softly, waited a minute, and knocked again more firmly.

Betty jerked the door open, making Cindy jump. "What the fuck do YOU want?" she howled above the music.

"Do you want me to clean... ?"

"WHAT!?" Betty screamed.

"Do you... ?"

"JUST A MINUTE!" Betty bellowed, and slammed the door in Cindy's face. A moment later, the music was suddenly turned off, and seconds after that, the door reopened. "WHAT?!" the girl screamed, startling herself. "I mean ... What?"

"Do you want me to clean your room?" Cindy repeated.

Betty gawked at her. "You mean to tell me that the old man adopted you yesterday ... and he's got you working as a fucking MAID today? Are you really as fucking dumb as you look?"

"I ... uh..."

"Wait a minute!" Betty said, holding up her hands. "My bad! Dumb question! OF COURSE you're as fucking dumb as you look! Listen, STEPSISTER: You keep your fat, ugly ass away from my fucking room, got it?"

"Sure, Betty," Cindy said softly, turning away. The door slammed behind her, but then opened again.

"HEY!" Betty hollered. Cindy turned back around to face her. "Why the fuck are you limping? You weren't limping yesterday."

"I ... um..." Cindy stammered.

"Did the old man hit you?" Betty asked, suddenly showing real concern. "Did that son of a bitch beat you?"

"No!" Cindy answered, stunned. "He's ... he's really sweet!"

"Oh, don't go defending the old perv! He's been leering at my tits for the last three fucking weeks. And he's always trying to touch me! Gives me the willies! I told the asshole that if he touched me one more time, I'd kick him in the nuts. That put a stop to THAT! Now, what did he do to you?"

"Nothing!" Cindy insisted imploringly. "I mean ... well ... we ... um ... I mean, we ... uh..."

"OH! MY! GOD! You fucked him! You fucked him, didn't you? You fucked him!"

"Well ... yes ... um ... we..."

"What a fucking WHORE!" Betty yelled, her eyes wide. "You're fat and you're ugly and you're a WHORE! Stay the fuck away from my room!" The door slammed once more. This time, Cindy didn't turn around. She only had to wait a few long seconds before it opened again. "So ... uh ... why are you limping?" Betty asked. Cindy blinked, not knowing what to say. "Is he ... is he really that big?" Betty implored. "Big enough to make you limp after you do it with him?"

"I ... I don't know how to answer that," Cindy replied

"Well ... I mean ... compared to other guys," Betty urged. "Among all the guys you've had, how did he rate?"

"Other guys?" Cindy asked meekly.

"OH! MY! GOD! He was your first, wasn't he!?" Betty screamed accusingly. "You gave the old perv your cherry, didn't you? You gave the fucking old man your virgin cunt, didn't you!?"

"I ... um..."

"What a fucking SLUT!" Betty ranted. "Keep your ass away from my room!" And the door slammed yet again. Cindy sighed and waited. The door opened. "Did he ... um ... did he hurt you?" Betty asked quietly.

"No," Cindy answered. "It was nice, really. I don't know what I was expecting, but it was a lot better than I thought it was going to be."

"No shit?"

"Really. He made me ... shiver."

"Shiver?" Betty asked, confused.

"It was like ... I started shivering, really mildly at first. And then, it just sort of built up and built up ... and then I just exploded in a really big case of the shivers."

"He made you cum, you idiot. He did that, just by fucking you?"

"No, he ... well ... I mean, yes, it happened when he was ... um ... doing it inside me. But the really big one ... was when he used his mouth."

"His mouth?"

"He licked me. He licked me, and I exploded in the shivers." Cindy told her.

Betty stood, not really looking at her, her mouth slightly agape. Unconsciously, she had placed the palm of her left hand against her flat midriff. She said nothing for many long seconds, her eyes unfocused. Finally, she blinked and looked at Cindy. "Stay away from my room, okay?" she said quietly.

"Okay, Betty."

Betty closed the door softly, and Cindy finally turned away and pushed her cart toward the first bathroom at that end of the East Hallway. Three bathrooms and two bedrooms later, she broke for a light lunch in the dining room. Pablo served her a tuna sandwich and some chips, but even though she tried again to engage him in simple conversation, he only shook his head and walked away. His lack of communication skills didn't seem to defray his interest in her breasts, however. He openly stared at them through most of the short meal.

After lunch, her task was the upstairs hallway ... vacuum the carpet and dust the pictures. And then ... it was time for her "mental conditioning" in Stepmother's office. The door to the outer room (the room in which she had waited for her interview the day before and where she was later hypnotized) was open, so she walked through it and knocked on the inner door. "Come in!" Stepmother called out. And as she entered, the elder woman told her to go back out and find the metronome and bring it in with her. Cindy handled the boxed instrument with a reverence deserving of an ancient religious artifact.

"If I ever decide to get out of the gold-digging business, I might take up photography," Stepmother said, smiling. "What do you think, Cindy?" She revolved the flat monitor of her computer to face the girl, who gasped loudly and almost dropped the metronome.

"OH MY!" she squeaked, staring. The photo WAS perfectly framed, she had to admit. Daddy was upright on his knees at one side of the picture, Cindy's legs were draped over his shoulders and hanging down his back. Her body was canted ever so slightly toward the camera, so that Daddy's pink tongue could easily be seen entering Cindy's pink, glistening sex. The girl's body was arched to such an extent that it formed a straight line from the upper right corner of the photo to the lower left. Her head was thrown back so that only the top of her cranium made contact with the mattress, her eyes clenched, her mouth open in a scream. Cindy's right arm (the one nearest the camera) lay along the surface of the mattress, touching Daddy's knee, while the fingers of her left hand were laced in his hair. The fingers of Daddy's left hand were spreading Cindy's pussy-lips, his right hand was clutching Cindy's left breast, making the nipple strain upward toward the ceiling. It was the most erotic picture Cindy had ever seen in her life.

"I'll make you a copy, if you want. Now, open the box, Cindy," Stepmother instructed. Cindy tried to calm herself. Hesitantly, she did so.

"Alright," the woman continued, "do you see how the thing is 'parked' by sliding the rod in the little gap up at the top?" Cindy studied the metronome for a moment and nodded. "And do you see the sliding scale behind the rod? The weight slides up and down the rod. See the little numbers? They're beats per minute. The higher the weight slides, the lower the number."

"That makes sense," Cindy said, nodding. And then she read the words that were inscribed along with the numbers. "Presto, Allegro, Andante, Adagio, Larghetto, Largo..."

"Do you know music, Cindy?"

"Yes, Stepmother ... a little. I played piccolo in the band, but the instructor never used a metronome."

"Conductors pride themselves on their rhythm ... they all believe they don't need one. Anyway, Cindy, YOUR subconscious lies somewhere in the Larghetto. Please slide the weight up until the top of it is exactly at 72. I'm sure you will remember that number from now on, won't you? Good. Now, wind it up using the little key in the back. Yes, that's enough. Now, release the arm, and then lean back in the chair, please. When you are as deep as you can go in you trance, raise your hand above your head. Good girl, Cindy.

The device began clacking, and almost at once, Cindy recognized the beat of the mechanism as her own personal rhythm. She couldn't keep her shoulders from slumping. Exhaustion engulfed her, and her eyes began watering as she followed the arm of the device back and forth and back and forth. She didn't understand the thing about raising her hand, but now, she was too tired to ask. Looking back on the experience, she couldn't decide exactly at what point she fell asleep. She only knew that she was dreaming again, standing near one of the room's walls, watching herself in the chair watching the metronome. The Cindy in the chair just sat there for the longest time, when, oddly, she raised her hand straight up above her head. Stepmother, sitting at her computer, noticed, and began talking to sleeping-Cindy ... but standing-Cindy couldn't hear what was being said. Sleeping-Cindy could, though ... that much was obvious, because she often nodded and answered: "Yes, Stepmother." "Yes, I understand." "Yes ... I will obey ... I will ALWAYS obey." "Yes, Stepmother." It was all very confusing, and it just seemed to go on and on and on.

But suddenly, Stepmother told her to wake up. And suddenly, standing-Cindy was back in sitting-Cindy's body again. And suddenly, she felt GREAT! Awake! Alive! Happy! She sprang from her chair, beaming a smile. "Oh, thank you, Stepmother! I feel WONDERFUL! I think 'Mental Conditioning' is going to be my favorite part of the day!"

That earned her a smile, but then Stepmother became serious. "Sit down, Cindy. We're not finished yet."

"Oh," the girl replied meekly, resuming her seat immediately. "Am I going to go to sleep again?"

"No. We need to talk." She paused, collecting her thoughts. "Cindy, have you ever heard it said that a hypnotist can't make a subject do anything that the subject doesn't really WANT to do?"

"I've read that in books ... but I don't believe it anymore. You could make me do ANYTHING, Stepmother. I'm sure of it."

"You're right, my dear, I can. But the only reason I have absolute power over you is that you WANT me to. That desire to submit ... that desire to surrender ... is just a part of who you are. It's an integral part of what makes you ... you. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

"I understand it, Stepmother, but I don't understand WHY you're telling me."

The woman smiled. "It's always 'Why' with you, isn't it, Cindy?" The girl grinned sheepishly and lowered her eyes. "Your new father is the same way. He was a master of business and industry in this area, but subconsciously, he longed for the control of someone else. But when I placed the other two members of this household under hypnosis..."

"You've hypnotized Betty?" Cindy asked, startled.

"For all the good it did me!" Stepmother grumbled. "She's just as headstrong and bull-headed when she's under as she is when she's awake!"

"Oh my," Cindy muttered, looking worried.

"But the point that I'm trying to make here is that Pablo was the same way! I had almost no control over him, either! I was able to learn a few clues about who he is, where he goes, desires and dislikes ... that sort of thing. But he almost violently resisted any attempt at actual control. He is a very strong personality. That's why I'm telling you this, Cindy. I'm trying to prepare you for what's about to happen."

Cindy swallowed nervously. "About to happen?"

The older woman sighed. "Alright, first of all ... a little history. My husband met Pablo while he was inspecting a deep-water oil rig off the coast of Southern Mexico. Pablo was the chef onboard. While he was there, some sort of pressure thingamajig malfunctioned and there was a big explosion that blew Pablo overboard ... and by 'overboard, ' I mean sixty feet down to the surface of the ocean. Believe it or not, your father jumped after him ... broke his right leg in the process, but still managed to save him. Pablo has been with him ever since.

"BUT ... I've been able to find out recently that Pablo is married. He's from this itty-bitty little Aztec village up in the mountains; and while he was on that oil rig, he was sending his paycheck home to his fifteen year old wife ... yes, fifteen! They had just been married in some sort of family-arranged thing. I had no idea that the Catholic Church would sanction such a thing ... and from what I've learned since, the church doesn't ... it just sort of pretends not to notice, I guess. Anyway, that was seven years ago. Pablo's been in the United States ever since, and your generous father has been paying him $4,000 a month, after taxes, and helping him send it all home to his wife."

Stepmother paused in her story long enough to sip from a can of diet cola. "I was recently able to contact this wife of his by email ... and then I phoned her and had a nice long conversation. First of all; evidently, that $4,000 represents about 90% of the GNP of that entire village. Little Mrs. Pablo hates her husband. Evidently, he was VERY rough with her that first month of their married life. But now, she takes half of everything he sends her and tithes it to the church, and then gives the rest of it to Pablo's brother, who is using it to start a farm-and-factory operation that produces Mescal ... and evidently employs most of the village's population. Also, Pablo's brother has shown his appreciation to his sister-in-law by giving her all the love she needs, along with two children ... and another one on the way. In other words, EVERYBODY down there wants desperately for Pablo's checks to keep coming ... and they all want just as desperately for Pablo to stay right here.

"Pablo, obviously, knows nothing about this, but he has been just a little anxious for female companionship. Your Daddy used to give him a couple hundred extra every week so that he could go down to the Red Light District and get his pipes cleaned out ... but recently, I put an end to that. There was a big article in the paper about a gonorrhea outbreak in town, and so I laid down the law. He argued, but I had also learned recently that his U.S. visa expired years ago ... so he's illegal. Anyway, I made him get tested, and he's clean, thank God. But I also told him that I was hiring a maid ... and I more or less guaranteed him that he would have sexual access to her." Stepmother shrugged. "And here you are. He's going to be very insistent with you, very soon now ... perhaps even today. Tomorrow, at the latest."

"He must be very lonely," Cindy said sadly.

"Lonely. Yes. But Cindy, he's also a very ... strong man. He has deep, underlying tensions. He is likely to be ... well ... forceful."

"Forceful?"

"You should be prepared for the possibility that he is going to be a very different sort of lover than your Daddy. And I won't be there to help or guide things. You're going to have to make do on your own. But ... if he EVER hits you, I want to know about it. Immediately. Understand?"

Cindy nodded resolutely. "I'll do my best, Stepmother."

"Alright then," Stepmother said, nodding. "And while you worry about the butler, I'M going to be having it out with my brat of a daughter! It's time we put a stop to her rudeness, and her insolence, and her..."

"Oh, no!" Cindy urged, interrupting. "You can't! You shouldn't DO that..." But she caught herself and fell silent. "I'm sorry, Stepmother. I shouldn't interfere..."

The woman was sitting behind the desk staring intently at Cindy, her face a mask of several conflicting emotions. She was silent for many long seconds. "Let's have it, girl," she said at last. "Say your piece."