Chapter 4: Cinderella's Sacrifice

And so, Cindy's life slowly began to form a set pattern. After dinner that night, she had begged Stepmother to allow her to work at night, after dinner, but her request was firmly denied. It became evident that she would be working Sunday, as well ... and most probably, EVERY Sunday. She went back to her room, stripped, put on her robe, and curled up in her chair, thinking about her day. The exertion from the workout, however, had left her very tired, and so she rose, set her alarm clock, hung up the robe, and climbed naked into her bed. As soon as she closed her eyes, she imagined her metronome, and she was almost instantly asleep.

Breakfast the next morning (and every morning after that), consisted of a small bowl of high-fiber cereal with skim milk, non-fat yogurt and fresh fruit. Lunch was a salad. The workout was, if possible, even worse than the day before. With the addition of the sports bras, she worked out hard on the tread mill, the stair machine and the elliptical ... but at a pace that had her stopping every few seconds ... then starting again ... and again ... and again. Her stomach muscles were so sore that she couldn't do ANY crunches ... but that didn't stop her from trying ... over and over and over again. It was agony!

And now, on top of everything else, she was hungry. Almost all the time. She complained to Betty, but her pleas fell on deaf ears. Betty pointed out that she could eat all the carrots and celery sticks she wanted. But Cindy HATED celery ... at least, she DID hate celery. Just after the next "Mental Conditioning" session with Stepmother, she decided to try it just one more time, and oddly, it wasn't nearly as bad as she remembered. So now, she found herself eating an awful lot of celery.

Every Wednesday night, Cindy bathed in scented soap, primped in front of the mirror in her bathroom, and presented herself to Daddy in his room, where his lovemaking would be exquisitely tender and gentle, and he would always make her cum using his stroking fingers or lapping tongue.

Twice a week, Pablo would find her at odd times during the day, usually while she was cleaning, and he would lead her to his rooms below-stairs and make love to her savagely, taking her with an intensity that left her breathless and tingling.

The best part of her day, by far, was the hour she spent in Stepmother's office, floating, dreaming, thinking of absolutely nothing at all, not caring a bit if her thoughts or actions were being manipulated. After the second week, Stepmother loaned her a book ... a romance novel ... the type of book she normally didn't enjoy; but she read it twice during the next week, dedicating an hour after dinner, before bed. She was worried that she might not get another when she returned it, but she was always given a replacement ... a book chosen by Stepmother ... and she was always reminded that this was a privilege that had been earned by her dedication and loyalty. Cindy didn't mind. To her, reading was heaven.

This was who she was. Work, sex, surrender, pain, hunger, submission. And, oddly, this was EXACTLY who she wanted to be. On and on her life went. Day after day. Week after week.

The change was so gradual, she didn't see it coming until it was already there. The reason for that, of course, was that her workouts never got any easier. They were ALWAYS painful. They ALWAYS left her panting and shaking and drenched. She would work on the stair machine as long as she was able, and be forced to stop when she absolutely could go no further. On the treadmill, she would run, seemingly at a sprint, for as long as she could, and she would only stop when it was positively impossible to go on ... knowing that she would have to start again ... and again and again.

And so, it was with a sense of absolute shock that, sometime after she had been doing this for almost a month and a half, she had reached the end of a cycle on the treadmill and realized that she had not stopped even once! Within the week, she had accomplished the same feat with the stair machine and elliptical. And she could now do at least fifty of the dreaded crunches! She didn't mention these things to Betty ... she didn't boast or revel in these achievements for fear that her tormentor would simply increase the speed ... would demand more and more.

But Betty DID notice, of course. Cindy hadn't really discerned when it happened, but Betty had stopped calling her the endless string of derogatory names, though she never really called her by her REAL name, of course. And now, sometime nearing the two-month mark of her time here, Betty told her to follow her after the workout session, and took her to a room she had never really noticed before; one that was adjacent to the laundry room where Cindy spent at least an hour every day cleaning the family's clothes. She had always assumed the door led to a storage area, but it was a sewing room! She hadn't even known it existed!

"You know how to use one of these things?" Betty asked her, her hand resting on a sewing machine.

"Yes!" Cindy responded, checking out the attachments.

"Well, you need to take up all your blouses. They're too big on you. And probably all the waistbands in the skirts, too. You know how to do that?"

"I can do the blouses," Cindy responded. "I've never done a waistband."

"Well, go get one. I'll show you how. There's a little trick to it. It'll take two of us, anyway. You'll have to try it on while I pin it up."

And so, flabbergasted, Cindy ran up and got one of her skirts and brought it back, and she and Betty worked ... worked TOGETHER ... at a common task. She stood, in just her panties, sports bra and the skirt while Betty pinned and marked the garment, and then she was sent scurrying back up to her room to change into one of her regular bras so that she could model properly for the blouse, while Betty did the same for that. It took almost two hours ... two hours that Cindy would have to make up on Sunday ... but it was worth it. Oh my, it was worth it ... to be working WITH someone ... to experience a little companionship with someone near her own age.

The next day, at the end of an intense exercise period (that was painful but oddly satisfying), Betty asked Cindy if she could see her room. This proved embarrassing, somehow. Betty, living in the other wing of the upstairs section, and staying almost exclusively in her room, obviously had no reason to venture into this area of the mansion. And despite Cindy's having been there for two months, Betty hadn't been down this section of hallway since her arrival. "What the fuck happened to your door?" she asked, walking into Cindy's room.

"I'm not allowed a door," she explained patiently, blushing despite herself.

"Not allowed... ?" Betty for once, was obviously speechless. She looked around at the bare walls, simple bed and dresser. She picked up the book on the small reading table beside the chair. "Nurse's Dilemma," she mumbled, reading the title, her lip curling slightly into a sneer. She walked to the only window, and looked out on the driveway below, while Cindy followed and stood beside her. "Why do you do this to yourself?" Betty asked quietly. "Why do you let her do this to you? Take away your privacy? Your freedom? Your happiness?"

"She's given me my happiness," Cindy replied soberly. "This is who I want to be. I want to serve. I think I always have. I want to surrender. I want to please others."

Betty shook her head. "You and I are complete opposites, you know that? We have ab-so-fucking-lutely NOTHING in common! I think a woman should be strong, independent and autonomous. You want to be meek and docile and submissive and compliant."

Cindy smiled. "We each know that there are BOTH types of women in the world. Just because we've chosen different paths doesn't mean we have nothing in common." Betty gave her a quizzical look and finally nodded "Oh my!" Cindy exclaimed, looking out the window.

"What is it?" Betty asked, following her gaze.

Cindy watched the man walking across the broad lawn toward the house from the entrance of the estate."Pablo," she whispered.

"What about him?"

"He's been working in the flower beds along the driveway. It's Friday. He knows that I'm through exercising about now. He's going to want me."

Anger flickered across Betty's face, but she breathed a sigh and obviously tried to make herself see things from Cindy's perspective. "You ALWAYS give yourself to him when he wants you?"

"Yes," Cindy replied meekly.

"Do you ... like it?"

"Yes ... I mean ... yes. He's very ... um ... strong and powerful and ... um ... forceful. It's really hard to explain the things he makes me feel. Yes, I like it."

"You hesitated," Betty accused. "What is it you DON'T like?"

Cindy blushed. "Well ... when he's been working in the flowerbeds, like now, he's always dirty and sweaty. I guess I don't really like the way he smells sometimes ... or the way he tastes."

"Tastes? He makes you suck him?"

"Oh, yes," Cindy said, almost dreamily. "He really likes that."

"Well, DUH! Of COURSE he likes that! What guy DOESN'T like that?" Betty regarded her companion in silent contemplation. "Do you ALWAYS do what you're told?"

"Yes."

Betty was thinking hard now. "Do you do what ANYBODY tells you?"

"Yes."

"Will you do anything I tell you to do?"

"Well, of course," Cindy replied, smiling. "I've been letting you put me through Physical Education Hell for these past two months, haven't I?"

Betty blinked at her, then looked back out the window. Pablo was almost to the house now. "Strip," she said.

"What?"

"Quick! Take off your clothes! Now!"

Without any other questions or comments, Cindy stripped out of her sweat-stained clothing, leaving them in a heap on the floor. She stood, arms at her sides, fidgeting nervously in front of the other girl, but Betty seemed to be paying no notice. She had her face pressed against the window pane, watching Pablo enter the house. Then she ran to the other side of the bedroom, grabbed the bath towel hanging on the wall, and held it out to Cindy. She suddenly found herself staring openly. "Holy shit!" she said. "You've really got knockout tits!" Cindy blushed crimson and took the towel, saying nothing. She wrapped it around her, covering herself from breasts to just slightly below her crotch.

Betty shook her head as if to clear it, then advanced to the gaping doorway and motioned for Cindy to join her. "Okay, here's the plan," she told the almost-naked girl. "When I tell you, you go down the hallway toward the bathroom, like you're on your way to the shower. You're going to act surprised to see Pablo as he comes the other way. Here ... hold the towel this way ... right here, like this, so that one nipple is sticking out ... sort of by accident, you know? He, of course, is going to want to take you right away and fuck you half to death right on the spot. But YOU are going to beg him to join you in the shower, got it? Tell him ... um ... oh, I know! Tell him you need him to scrub your back ... and your breasts. Tell him you want to know what it's like to have his soapy, slippery hands on your tits! Yeah, that's it! And then let the towel slip and fall off you!"

"But, Betty!"

"Shhh! I hear him on the stairs. You SAID that you'd do what I told you, right? Get ready! GO!"

And Cindy suddenly felt herself propelled out the door and down the hallway toward the oncoming butler. She stumbled, then righted herself and looked back at the bedroom doorway, but Betty had obviously hidden herself inside. She kept walking, and when she looked forward again, she found herself in Pablo's arms. "Oh my!" she said, startled.

"Ah, mi Cindita," the man growled, raking his eyes up and down her lush figure, his gaze stopping at the nipple peeking shyly up at him. "I think it is time, no?"

Cindy swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and then batted her eyes at the man's leering face. "Please, Pablo ... please let me take a shower first. I want to be all clean and fresh for you. I know! Let's shower together! Please Pablo! Please shower with me!" The man frowned and shook his head slightly. "You could scrub my back for me!" Cindy rushed on. "Please? Of course, you could scrub my front, too, if you want. When my breasts get all soapy and slippery, they're ... uh ... whoops!" And her hand let go of the towel, exposing her entire body.

Pablo staggered back a step, and he bent to retrieve the towel, never taking his eyes from Cindy's naked form. Cindy was breathing hard and blushing. Pablo almost turned toward the other end of the hall when they heard what might have been a stifled giggle from the direction of Cindy's room, but Cindy grasped the man's hand and began tugging him the other way. "Please, Pablo! Come on ... please?" The man allowed himself to be led in the direction of the bathroom-without-a-door.

Once there, Cindy turned on the water to allow it to warm, and then began tugging at Pablo's clothing. It was obvious that the man was having a great deal of difficulty keeping up with the rapidly changing events. He looked dubiously at the missing door. "Oh, it doesn't matter, Pablo," Cindy told him. "Nobody is in this wing of the house at this time of day. And everybody knows that you're making me have sex with you whenever you want. It's alright. Here ... let me help you with your shoes. There. Come on, Pablo. Please?"

And finally, they were in the shower together, the hot water cascading down all around them, all over them, drenching them. Cindy grabbed a bar of soap and began rubbing all over the man's chest, sides, stomach, ass. She reached for his cock, wrapping her fingers around it, squeezing rhythmically. He wrested the soap from her slippery fingers and then got busy with her breasts, sliding his palms and fingers all over her pliable mounds. His cock gave a couple lurches and grew considerably harder. Cindy bent lower, sliding her soapy breasts slowly down his torso, until she was finally on her knees in front of him. Her soaking hair was getting in the way, and she paused only briefly to scoop it over her shoulder before she engulfed his manhood with her sucking mouth. He tasted clean and smelled of the scented soap. She brought her hands around and filled them with his buttocks, pulling him into her voracious mouth, letting him stroke forward into her ... pull back ... forward again. She glanced up at his face, and saw that his head was thrown back in ecstasy, then caught sight of a movement off to one side, and when he stroked back away from her again, she glanced that way and saw Betty peering around the corner of the doorway, watching them. Oh my, she thought, but decided that she should put all of her attention and efforts into the task at hand. It didn't last too much longer, anyway, and Pablo roared out his passion and flooded her mouth with more spunk than she had seen since that first day together. This time, however, the surging water washed away his effluence that had overflowed her mouth.

She rose to her feet and let him hold her bare form against himself. He was still hard (this had not always been the case, but on occasions, he DID take her twice during a session, as he had that first time), and he turned her away from him and bent her over. She allowed him to position her feet far apart, and she reached down and placed her hands on a low shelf in the built-in shower stall that was used to hold soaps and shampoos, supporting herself. She felt him position himself behind her, and he slid into her slippery cunt with a single, easy thrust. She had to brace herself with her hands as he picked up his tempo. He was taking her VERY hard now, and it was all she could do to keep him from pushing her head into the side of the shower stall. His hips were making a wet slap-slap-slap against her butt as he pounded her. The feeling of overwhelming helplessness was pervading her consciousness, as happened almost every time she was with him, and that strange, inevitable sensation was beginning again ... building ... building. She ducked her head slightly and looked, upside-down, at the doorway. Betty was still there. She's going to see me cum, Cindy suddenly thought. She's going to see what I'm like when I lose all control and cum. She's going to see it really soon now. Oh my! Here it is! Betty's seeing me cum now! OH! And she felt her pussy contract, jerking, squeezing. And now Pablo was roaring again, like a bull in a field, charging. And then she was dangling in his firm grasp. Helpless. Spent. Clean.

Betty wasn't in Cindy's room when she got back, and so she got dressed and spent the rest of the afternoon at her chores. Dinner that evening was the same as it always was, with Daddy talking about his stamp collection, and Stepmother saying that she was going out again this evening, as she seemed to be doing more and more often these days. Betty said nothing at all, and gave no hint about what she had made Cindy do upstairs, or of what she had seen.

Saturday was just another work day, as far as Cindy was concerned. She cleaned the rooms on her weekly schedule, spent an hour in the laundry room, altering another blouse while she was waiting for the wash cycle to finish, using the one she and Betty had done two days ago as a pattern. The exercise session was rigorous, but she again managed to finish her machine workout without stopping, and was especially pleased to pump out seventy-five crunches before she could do no more. Betty surprised her yet again by asking if Cindy could come to her room after she'd had her shower. Of course, she readily agreed.

She showered, went back to her room, dressed, and walked down to the other wing. She expected to hear loud music coming from the room, but there was none this afternoon, and the door opened immediately upon Cindy's gentle knock. Betty actually said "Hi, Cindy," and stood back to allow her to enter. The shock of hearing her use her name for the first time was only surmounted by the state of the room itself. It was immaculately clean. Cindy stood near the bed and slowly turned around in a complete circle, taking it all in, then couldn't help but burst into a fit of laughter.

"What's so funny, Cum-bucket?" Betty asked, but found herself smiling along with her.

"Why, you little fake!" Cindy accused. "Your mom thinks you keep your room like a pig sty. You keep it spotless just to spite her, don't you? Even though she doesn't have a clue ... you keep it this way, just to secretly prove to YOURSELF that she's wrong!"

"That's some pretty deep psychological shit you're spouting there, Ding-wad," Betty sneered. "Sit down, before you blow a gasket with all your heavy thinking." Cindy sat down on the bed, still chuckling and looking around. "Wanna watch some TV?" Betty asked. "Couldn't help but notice that you don't have one in that convent you call a bedroom."

"No. Thanks anyway."

"What kind of music do you like? I have sixty gigabytes of pure bliss, right here at my fingertips." She held up her iPod. "Name your poison. Anything but country."

"I really had my heart set on country," Cindy said, shrugging.

"Vintage rap it is," Betty said, plugging the thing into the charger/speaker system. She turned it down low, though. "So," she continued, lying down next to Cindy, "did you really cum in the shower yesterday, or were you faking it?"

"Oh, my," Cindy shuddered. "You really come right to the point, don't you?"

"Just the way I am, kiddo. So, was it real, or was it Memorex?"

"Oh, it was real, alright. I can't help it. I just start feeling all helpless and weak and ... feminine, I guess. Before I came here, I hardly ever felt that way. I think I wanted to, though. I think I wanted to feel that way almost all the time."

"You really get off on submission, huh?"

"Yes," Cindy said in a small voice, not able to look the other girl in the eye.

"Hey, Cindy, it's okay," Betty said, reaching out and putting her hand on the other girl's. "I'm different, but I understand. I've been with an awful lot of boys, and that's the kind of girl they all WANTED to have. It just wasn't ever me, you know?" She watched closely as her companion nodded to see if she really DID understand. She seemed to think Cindy was being sincere, because she let the subject drop and changed topics.

"Hey, want to see what I do in here all day?" She bounced up and went over to a draped easel. She pulled the cloth off of it and displayed a still-life oil painting of the bedroom window and the meadow beyond. Cindy got up and studied the picture.

"This is good. This is really good."

"You're not just saying that?" asked Betty, standing back and canting her head, studying it herself. She paused a moment, and went to the closet, pulling out another oil painting of the same scene. "What about this one?"

Cindy frowned. "You were having trouble with perspective," she answered. "But you've fixed it with the new one." Betty grinned, as if Cindy had just passed some sort of test. "Was Art your major in college?" Cindy asked, not looking away from the painting on the easel.

That earned a frown from Betty, though Cindy didn't see it. "No. I took a few courses. Aced them all, too. But Mom wanted me to major in Business. She doesn't even know I'm interested in this shit."

Cindy walked back over and plopped down on the bed again. "Do you really hate her that much?" When Betty didn't answer, she asked: "Do you want to hate her? I mean, if you could make things up with her, would you want to? Or do you think the relationship is just too far gone?"

"I'm not sure I like the psychoanalysis shit anymore, Cindy."

Cindy shrugged. "Sorry. Didn't mean to pry." She looked back at the painting. "Have you tried human form yet?"

But Betty just frowned and sat quiet for a long time, thinking. "Mom has never really hidden the fact that when I was born, it was a big mistake. I don't think she even has a clue who my real father IS."

"Yeah, me too," Cindy said, shrugging again. She spoke for ten minutes about her own mother, and how she came to be in the orphanage all her life.

Betty listened intently throughout the discourse. "That's some really deep shit." She gave Cindy a sidelong look. "Or are you just trying to win the awful-story contest?"

Cindy barked a laugh and stood up. "I'd better get back to work," she said quietly.

"Hey! You said that you'd do whatever anybody in this house told you to do, right? That includes me, right? If you can put out to all the guys, the least you can do is sit here with me and listen to some tunes and talk for awhile!"

"I've run out of Sunday," Cindy said, shrugging. "I have to work all day tomorrow, making up for the time I lost with Pablo ... and the time we spent altering my clothes ... and the time I've already spent here. I'd like to stay. I really want to stay ... no kidding. But I can't. I have to start in the morning at eight o'clock as it is. I'm sorry, Betty."

"And you won't even consider playing hooky, just for one day, will you?" Betty taunted. "You won't consider that, because you're all trustworthy, loyal, helpful, and all that other boy scout shit, right?"

Cindy smiled ruefully. "I'd REALLY like to stay," she said meekly.

"Get out of here!" Betty barked. However, when Cindy turned toward the door, she yelled: "Hey!" and then smiled. "Thanks for listening, Cindy."

And Cindy smiled, too.

But the biggest shock of all ... the biggest thing that had happened to Cindy in the two months that she'd been there, occurred the next morning at precisely eight o'clock, when Betty showed up just as Cindy was finishing the last of her fruit and non-fat yogurt. She was dressed in a ratty-looking sweat suit, and she had a pair of rubber gloves clutched in one hand. Once she could find her voice, Cindy protested rather stridently, but Betty was not to be dissuaded. And so, together, Cindy and Betty finished the rest of the weekly cleaning schedule. They talked as they went from room to room; sometimes whispering to one another as they scrubbed one of the bathroom floors, side by side; sometimes yelling over the roar of the vacuum. They shared a couple of gossip magazines as they waited for the dryer to finish with the last of the clothes. They talked through their salads at lunch. They talked while working out during their exercise period. And, since the work was all done early because of the helping hands, they had the whole afternoon together in Betty's room, listening to music, surfing the internet, reading magazines and just talking even more.

At the end of the day, Cindy couldn't think of one really meaningful thing that had been discussed, but she had NEVER talked to ANYONE so much. And, she had to admit, it had been just about the best day of her whole life! The one thing Cindy had never expected to possess had somehow, miraculously, come her way.

Cindy had a friend.

There had been no "mental conditioning" session on the weekend, but though she could never remember what was said during one of Stepmother's little sessions, she must have mentioned that Betty was helping with her chores. At first, the elder lady was beside herself to think that her daughter was working alongside the hypnotically enslaved house-cleaner. She also seemed to think that her offspring's friendship might somehow threaten her hold over Cindy. But, while Cindy sat in the office chair and listened to her rant after her "session," Stepmother seemingly began to talk herself into the idea that this wasn't such a bad course of events, after all. With a "friend" in the house, Betty was probably less likely to run away. And Cindy, herself, seemed just as dedicated and loyal as she always was. The house was certainly as clean as always, too ... the laundry was all done ... the two men seemed blissfully satisfied, sexually. Stepmother desperately wanted to talk to Betty herself, but still greatly feared another confrontation.

And so, a new "norm" had been established. Betty didn't help every single day, and she always "stepped aside" and let the men of the house have their sexual fun with Cindy when those "chores" needed doing. She also seemed to have a morbid fascination in these affairs, and pressed Cindy for facts following each of these little trysts, sometimes demanding particularly embarrassing details. There was never any doubt about who the dominant personality was in this odd friendship, but Cindy appeared to relish that part of the relationship, never arguing, always giving minutiae when pressed to do so (though usually blushing beet-red during those explanations).

Cindy's first outing came during the next week. Betty had helped her four of the six normal workdays, rewarding both girls with afternoons together in Betty's room, relaxing and doing "girl stuff," fixing each other's hair, doing each other's nails, reading, listening, talking. Even with the two hours Cindy lost servicing Pablo, they found themselves all caught up with the week's schedule at Saturday's end, and with the prospect of an ENTIRE Sunday at their disposal, Betty risked an argument by going to her mother and demanding that she and Cindy be allowed to go out together. Oddly, the woman had simply agreed. And so, they went riding at one of the nearby horse farms Sunday morning, went to a putt-putt golf course in the afternoon, and out to dinner and a movie that evening.

The first real crisis to the friendship came on Thursday evening during the next week. Following dinner, Betty had asked Cindy to come to her room to listen to some blues music and read the latest Hollywood gossip magazines. They had both taken off their shoes and were sitting cross-legged on the bed, reading, when Betty started the conversation that would eventually change things forever. "You've never asked me why I dropped out of college," she commented.

"You're right, I haven't," Cindy replied, not looking up from her magazine. She didn't say anything further, and the silence dragged on for a long minute.

"Most friends would be really curious," Betty pressed.

"I AM really curious," Cindy said, still not looking up. "You'll tell me when you're ready. If you're never ready, you never have to tell me. I can live with being curious."

There was another long silence. "I think I'm ready now," Betty said, barely above a whisper. "If I don't talk to somebody about it, I think I'm going to go crazy."

Now Cindy put the magazine aside and gave the other girl her full attention. "Whatever it is, I don't think it's as big a deal as you're making it out to be. Most things aren't."

"It's pretty fucking big." Betty took a deep breath. She was shaking slightly. "I tried to kiss my roommate."

Cindy regarded her curiously. "I take it from your expression that did not go well with her."

Betty barked a laugh. "Well, THAT'S an understatement. She screamed blood-fucking-murder and then proceeded to tell all of her friends ... AND all of mine. She even complained to a couple of the campus counselors. I left before anybody took any official action."

Cindy sighed. "Why did you try to kiss her?"

"I don't know. She was ... well, I THOUGHT she was ... giving me signals that she was interested in me. You know ... little smiles, little touches, an occasional hug ... that sort of thing. She was also acting really shy around me. Innocent. But afterwards, she wasn't shy at all."