The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Cindy awoke to her alarm at six-thirty, and she found that if she put 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 four 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.”

“Betty’s about to run,” Cindy said quietly.

“Run? Run where? Run to what?”

“Girls usually don’t run TO anything,” Cindy explained meekly. “The few that do, usually run to a myth … to something that isn’t really there; like ‘true love,’ or a relationship where she thinks she’s going to be ‘respected.’ MOST of them are running FROM something. Usually, THEY don’t even know what it is … they just want to get away. And that’s Betty, too. She’s going to run. She’s going to run soon.”

“And what makes YOU an expert?” Stepmother said accusingly; and even before Cindy replied, she realized the answer to her own question.

“I’ve seen it a dozen times,” Cindy said morosely. “Two dozen. More, even. I saw the look in a girl’s eyes. The same look. And then, she ran. Sometimes, she’d come back … but sometimes, we’d never hear from her again. And sometimes … sometimes, we’d hear that she … she ….”

“What can I do?” Stepmother cried, and when Cindy looked up at her, the woman had a slender hand at her own throat; tears were in her eyes. “What can I say that I haven’t already said? How many times must I tell her that I love her? We always wind up fighting!”

“You can’t SAY anything,” Cindy told her, feeling her pain. “You can’t DO anything. You can’t help her find what she wants, because she doesn’t KNOW what she wants. She needs your attention to find a reason to fight with you. She needs to fight with you to have an excuse to run.”

Stepmother shuddered a single sob. “So, you’re telling me that I shouldn’t do ANYTHING?”

“Yes. After awhile … maybe a long while … she will discover something that will divert her … interest her … make her a part of you and your family again. But if you try to point something out to her … even a slight suggestion … she will use it to rebel; because rebellion is the easiest of all emotional states. Don’t do or say anything to her … unless it is to enforce an idea that is clearly her own.”

“Thank you, Cindy. Leave me now, please. I have to think.”

Without another word, Cindy rose and went back to work. After another hour, she found herself right on schedule. This fact pleased her immensely. Time now for her two-hour “exercise period.” She put the cleaning cart away, went to her room, changed into her shorts and tee shirt, and walked into the special work-out room in the basement. To her dismay, Betty was already there, running on one of the treadmills, reading a book and listening to an iPod. First, Cindy decided, she should get permission from her grumpy stepsister to share the large facility. She didn’t want to spark a confrontation. She moved into the other girl’s field of vision and waved meekly.

Betty gave her a sour look and took off her headphones. “What the fuck do YOU want, fatty?”

“Do you mind if I work out here, too?”

“Lot of good it’s going to do you! Suit yourself. Just stay the fuck away from ME!”

Cindy gave her a little smile, and then finding herself ignored, she went to the other treadmill. She got on, read the instructions, got it going, and adjusted the speed to a pleasant walking pace. She had never worked out much, but this was going to be okay, she decided. She’d walk for an hour, and then she’d easily finish her schedule for the day. She was debating whether or not to ask Stepmother if she could “work ahead” in her agenda, when she suddenly became aware of Betty standing beside her machine.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing!?” the girl barked.

“I’m … uh … exercising. I’m supposed to … um … exercise for an hour … and then ….”

“BULL-SHIT you’re exercising! You’re not even breaking a sweat! Didn’t you take PE in school?”

“Uh … no … I was in band.”

“I was in band,” Betty mimicked in falsetto. She shook her head and tapped a few buttons on the console of the machine.

“Aaahhh!” Cindy yelled, as the treadmill suddenly picked up speed. She stumbled, and would have fallen if Betty hadn’t put a hand at the small of her back and given her a forward shove. All at once, she was running. “Too fast!” she protested. She was running as fast as she possibly could. And then, to her utter humiliation, her heavy breasts began picking up a harmonic, bouncing up … down … up … down, coinciding with her churning legs and heavy footfalls. This rapidly caused her to lose balance, and she was more or less catapulted backwards off the machine. Somehow, she found herself in Betty’s arms, but her weight was too much for the other girl, and they toppled back into a heap on the floor.

Betty was laughing hysterically, but stood up and reached down to help Cindy. “That was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen!” she chuckled. “Take off that tee shirt! Do it now!”

Cindy was breathing hard, but, despite her embarrassment, she peeled off the shirt.

“Where in hell did you get THAT?” Betty laughed, pointing to her chest. Cindy obviously didn’t understand. “That bra would be great to wear to the prom,” Betty told her, shaking her head, “but you can’t EXERCISE in it!”

“I got it yesterday,” Cindy explained, gasping. “I’ve got four of them now. They’re all the same. They’re all I have!”

Betty gave her a sour look and muttered something under her breath that couldn’t be heard. “I’ve had just about enough of my dear, incompetent mother!” she screamed, snatching the tee shirt out of Cindy’s hands. “You come with me! She and I are about to have this out once and for all!” She spun on her heel and strode out of the room, letting the door slam behind her.

“But Betty!” Cindy yelled, starting after her. Outside the door, she looked up and down the passage, then ran after the slim brunette, trying in vain to cover herself with her arms. “Betty! My shirt!” she squealed.

“Fuck you and fuck your shirt,” Betty said, mounting the stairs to the first floor. In the massive marble entryway, she headed for the grand staircase that led to the second story. “You’re too busy either kowtowing to my mother or fucking the old man,” she griped. “Showing a little skin isn’t going to kill you!” She finally walked purposefully into her mother’s outer office, and without pausing to knock, she barged into the inner room. Stepmother was at the computer, and now she looked up, startled, as the two girls entered.

“This is the last straw, Mom!” Betty accused at the top of her lungs. “You’re forcing this girl to work out every day, but you don’t tell her how, and you don’t even DRESS her properly!”

Stepmother’s face was a mass of confusion and outright fear. Her eyes were wide, and slowly, she began to shake. It dawned immediately on Cindy that her earlier comments about her daughter running away had made a huge impact on her. “I … I thought that … I mean, those shorts cost fifty dollars a pair,” she stuttered weakly. “I thought they were good ones. I didn’t mean ….”

“The BRA, Mother!” Cindy screamed. “Don’t you know ANYTHING?!”

Stepmother blinked in uncomprehending shock. “The bra?”

“Thirty-minutes a day on a treadmill, and in a month, those big old titties of hers are going to be hanging around her ankles!” her daughter screeched. “She needs a sports bra, you nincompoop!”

“Oh,” Stepmother said meekly. “Oh, of course. You’re right, of course. I’ll make sure she gets a couple.” She looked at Cindy for a moment. “Will two be enough, do you think?”

“She sweats like a pig,” Betty said sternly. “Better make it half a dozen, or she’ll be doing laundry every other day.” Stepmother nodded and made a note. She obviously didn’t trust herself to comment further. Betty, having had the momentum of her anger suddenly halted, seemed to be trying to think of some other source of confrontation. “And exercise alone isn’t going to do anything for her, you know! She’s going to need a diet, too.”

“South Beach?” Stepmother suggested quietly.

“Oh Puh-leez! That is SO right out of the last decade!”

“Oh, Betty,” the older woman pleaded, actual distress in her eyes, “I don’t know ANYTHING about it. Could you …?”

“NO YOU DON’T, Mom!” the girl howled. “You’re not going to drag ME into your little adopt-a-plaything scheme!” The fire in her eyes had resumed its rage.

Stepmother’s shoulders slumped. She looked miserable. “I’ll look something up on the internet.”

“That stuff is just a bunch of shit! She can’t have just a diet … or just an exercise program … she’s got to have a whole lifestyle change!”

The older woman looked totally defeated. “Betty … I don’t know what to do. I don’t know ….”

Betty suddenly sighed and seemed to deflate. She sat down hard in the chair facing the desk and seemed to be struggling with some inner demon. “If I do this,” she began firmly, her voice low, “if I take on this task … then you have to promise that you won’t interfere … AT ALL! What I say GOES! I’m in charge! Period! Is that what you want?”

Apparently, Stepmother had been holding her breath, for now, she let it out in a long, uneven exhalation. “Oh, Betty … I would be SO grateful! And I promise! I give you my word!”

Betty’s nod seemed to be an attempt to convince herself that she had made a correct choice. Finally, she stood back up and flung the tee shirt at Cindy. “Your ass is MINE now, lard-bucket,” she hissed. “Put on your fucking shirt! We’ve got work to do!” Cindy nodded, turned, and walked out of the room, struggling into the shirt as she went. Betty paused before following. She turned back to the woman. “You okay, Mom? You look sort of … um … strange.”

“I’m fine, thank you, dear. And thanks again for your help with Cindy. I just want you to know ….”

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” Betty groused, and walked out of the room.

The next sixty minutes were the worst of Cindy’s entire life. She had never known such agonizing, unendurable pain. The treadmill was deemed off-limits until the sports bras arrived, and so the Stairmaster was called into play … once again at a pace that seemed physically impossible to maintain for more than a few seconds at a time. But Cindy tried … and tried and tried, until her legs ached miserably and her lungs screamed. On and on she went, Betty chiding her constantly for doing it improperly. And when, at long, long last, the time on the machine was over, Cindy was introduced to something called “crunches,” which was a half-sit-up sort of maneuver. Betty demonstrated by doing a hundred in quick succession, but when it was Cindy’s turn, she could barely do five. And from that point on, she could only try … over and over again, her stomach muscles on fire. There seemed to be variations on a theme of torture, for there were other exercises: touching elbow-to-knee, sit-ups, some sort of thing that mimicked rowing a boat.

Finally … finally … it was over, and Betty slapped her on the ass and said “Nice first effort, Grease-wad.” Cindy was lying on her side, gasping and wheezing uncontrollably, her muscles shaking and cramping. She wanted to say something … and she waved her hand slightly to acknowledge the closest thing to a compliment Betty had uttered so far, but she continued to pant like an overheated hound. Long after Betty was gone, she lay on the floor mat, thinking that she would never catch her breath, but at last she tried to stand, her knees weak and rubbery. There was a damp stain on the mat under her, and her clothes were drenched in sweat. She stood, swaying slightly, and made her way to the water cooler, where she downed cup after cup of cool water. All she could think about now was a shower. But when she opened the door, it was blocked by something very large and muscular.

“Pablo,” she gasped, looking up into his lust-filled eyes. The man reached out, grasped her firmly by the arm, pulled her toward him and spun her effortlessly to one side, so that his arm was now around her, and he was leading her toward his living quarters at the other end of the lower level. “Pablo, I just finished exercising. I need to clean up … to shower first. I want to be clean for you, Pablo.” He seemed not to have heard her … or at least, not to have understood, and he didn’t seem to care at all that her body was wet and slick with sweat. For the first time, Cindy became aware that HIS body wasn’t too clean, either … his hands were filthy, the knees of his trousers were dark with caked-on soil. He had obviously been working in the garden.

He was maneuvering her into his room now, and he used his foot to swing the door shut behind them. They were alone. He reached down and grasped the lower edge of her tee shirt, then pulled it up her body. She gasped audibly, shivered for a moment, looked up into eyes that she could only describe as savage, and then slowly lifted her arms over her head. He pulled the shirt free, lifting it over her upraised hands, and threw it on the floor, where it made sort of a wet splat when it landed. Her bra, too, was soaked, but he made short work of it, spinning her away from him, fumbling only a second with the latch at her back, and it was on the floor, as well, before she could lower her arms again. He drank in the sight of her breasts for long seconds, and then began pulling down her gym shorts. Tears trickled from Cindy’s eyes, but they were probably unnoticeable on her moist cheeks, and she doubted if he would be swayed by her crying, anyway. He gave her a little shove backward, and she sat down hard on the bed. His hands had shifted as she fell back, and his rough hands had slid from her waist to her thighs, taking her silk panties with them. Another shove, and she was lying on her back while he worked on her shoes and socks. Thirty seconds later she was completely naked. His eyes never left her as he began disrobing.

“Pablo,” she said in a shaky, scared voice, “I know you want me … and I’m going to surrender to you … completely. But please … please go slowly. Tell me what to do … tell me what you want. Let me be a part of this … don’t just take me. Please.” He acted as if he hadn’t heard her at all. His shirt was off now. He toed off his work shoes, then hopped a little as he stood on one foot at a time, removing his socks. He unbuckled his belt. “Why do you DO that?” Cindy asked, a trace of exasperation in her voice. “Why do you pretend not to understand? I KNOW you know English! You’ve been in this country seven years! Half of your cookbooks are in English! You’re an excellent driver! You KNOW! Why do you pretend otherwise?”

His pants were down around his ankles now, but he paused and looked at her quizzically. She sat up, her breasts bouncing as she did so. “Is it so you can just take me, and do whatever you want to me, and force me, and not be bothered to explain what you’re doing or why? Well … it’s not going to work! You WILL take me … and you CAN do whatever you want to me … and I WILL surrender to you … anyway you want me to. But please, Pablo … please talk to me. Please tell me how I can please you.” Before he could react, she had reached out with both hands, seized the waistband of his boxer shorts, and pulled them down.

“Oh … MY!” she said, gawking, shrinking back from it, despite herself. It was MUCH bigger than Daddy’s had been the night before. She sat there, staring, contemplating its size, its hairiness, the blue veins running down its straining length. It seemed to be pointing, accusingly, right at her. She swallowed and took a deep breath. “Wh … what do you … um … want me to do with it?” she asked shakily, peeking for only a second into his eyes before her vision was once again drawn to this phallic club.

He reached out, grabbed her firmly by one shoulder, and pulled her forward, so that she staggered and fell to her knees in front of him. “Suck it, my little Cindy,” he growled.

It was inches from her eyes, now. She could smell it … and didn’t like it. Reluctantly, she reached out and wrapped her fingers around it and brought it to her mouth, sticking out her tongue and giving it a lick. She wondered if she’d be able to do this, but found that there were no other options, as he bent down, put his fingers in her damp hair and pulled her forward toward it. She closed her eyes and opened her mouth as far as she could. “No teeth, mi Cindita,” he husked in a deep baritone. “Si … that’s it, my pet. Now, suck … suck it, mi Cindita!” She thought she was going to gag, but found that she was getting used to the monstrous thing … its flavor … its feel. She started sucking harder, then looked up at the man standing above her. His head was thrown back, an almost sinister smile on his face. Her hand was still wrapped around the base of the massive, soft/hard hairy thing in her mouth, and now, to her surprise, his hand came down to hers, urging it to move … forward … back … forward again. Soon, she understood, and she stroked him while she sucked. He seemed to like it more the harder she sucked and faster she stroked him, so she did both things. And with an animal roar, Pablo grabbed the back of her head and pulled it so that the phallus was thrust all the way into her mouth, pressing against the back of her throat. It throbbed … lurched … seemed to grow even larger in girth … and then it erupted. She swallowed automatically, gagged, swallowed again, and she felt the sticky fluid spew back out of her mouth, all around his shaft, dripping in great gobs down onto her chest and breasts. She pulled back, automatically, in a frantic attempt to breathe, and the thing slipped out of her mouth as she doubled over in a coughing spasm.

Pablo was shaking violently. His cock propelled another long, ropy string of white mucus that spattered on her upper chest and chin and then ran down between her heaving mounds. The man was moaning loudly. Cindy, in the meantime, had gotten her breathing under control, and was swallowing what fluid was left in her mouth. She looked down at herself. There was SO much of it! Pablo had fallen to his knees in front of her, and she reached out a tentative hand and placed her palm on his chest, only then discovering that it had a great deal of cum on it, too. She ignored it. “Are you okay?” she asked tenderly. He nodded and stood shakily, then turned and walked into an adjoining bathroom. She waited, still on her knees, and she heard water running for a minute, then Pablo reappeared with a washcloth. He helped her up, and tried to clean her, patting, swabbing, rubbing it on her face and chest and breasts; then he went back and rinsed the cloth out, returning again to clean her some more. She stood, arms akimbo, and allowed him to touch her wherever he wished.

At last, this task accomplished, he dropped the washcloth on the floor and pushed her backwards to the bed again. She tolerated his maneuvering without question or comment, until he had once again positioned her, flat on her back on the bed. He spread her legs, putting his body between them, just as Daddy had done the night before. His manhood had gotten much smaller than it was when he had gushed his spunk into her mouth, but even now, he was relatively hard. Still, she was surprised when he began pushing into her opening; and she was more surprised still to discover that it HURT! She was being stretched much more than she had been the previous night, and the tissues inside her ravaged body were obviously still tender and raw. She remembered Stepmother’s words: “Never let him hear you make a sound of pain, even if he hurts you.” So she moaned and put her palms on the man’s chest. “Please, Pablo, please let me do it! Can I?”

The big man paused, puzzled. Cindy took a deep breath and pushed herself up, impaling herself on his shaft. At least this way, she could control the pain, manage it. But the muscles of her abdomen were weak and rubbery from her workout, and she could only thrust herself upward another small inch. Pablo finally figured out what was happening, and he leaned his body heavily against hers, putting his lips next to Cindy’s ear. “Shhhh!” he hushed her, and began pushing again, slowly … slowly … pushing … pushing. Cindy gasped and shook in his grasp, looking up into his eyes. “Shhhh!” he repeated, pushing even more, until his pubic hair was grinding into her own.

Cindy couldn’t control the tears, but she smiled, despite them. “I got you in, Pablo. I got you all the way in!”

He smiled again, nodded, and began his steady, humping rhythm … up … down … up … down … up. Cindy shook beneath him for a long minute, when she suddenly discovered that the longer he did this, the less pain there was. At first, there was some friction there, but now there seemed to be none at all; and, despite his length and diameter, he was sliding in and out with almost no effort whatever. The truth of the matter was, now that the pain was gone, this felt rather good. In fact, it was beginning to feel VERY good. Pablo pushed his upper body above her, placing his hands next to Cindy’s shoulders, and her own hands just naturally migrated down to his waist. The rhythm was increasing now, and his cock was beginning to swell ever larger inside her. She was trying to remember what Stepmother had taught her the night before. Something about not keeping the sounds inside her bottled up … to let them out. But, she decided at last, it was too late to worry about that lesson … she seemed to be making all sorts of sounds already, thank you very much.

And now, the pace of his thrusts was increasing even more … and the strength of those thrusts was escalating, as well. In fact, he was pounding his body into hers, so that her breasts bounced and jiggled with each shuddering impact … more and more … faster and faster. And certain strange revelations were just beginning to dawn on her.

I am helpless, she thought. He is ravishing me, and I am helpless. He is POUNDING into me, and I am helpless. SO helpless! And he’s going FASTER, and I’m helpless. He is SO strong and SO hard and SO fast … and I am SO helpless. I am cumming, and I am SO help … OH MY!

And she was shaking uncontrollably now, and she felt her pussy spasming and clenching and clutching at him now; and now she realized that the fingers of both of her hands were digging into his ass, pulling him into her … deeper into her. And he was roaring like some savaged, trapped animal above her now. And now, she felt him swelling and jerking inside her … deep, deep inside her. And now, he had collapsed onto her, smothering her, nestling his body into her own … as if they were one.

In another minute, he rolled off of her, slipping out of her, lying on his back; so that if she wanted to maintain this closeness, she had to roll onto HIM, snuggling into HIM, her head on his shoulder. He sighed and stroked her wet hair.

“I must get up, mi Cindita. I must make dinner.” He lay there for another thirty seconds and got up, leaving her, and began picking up his clothes and putting them back on. Dreamily, she watched him dress, then she rose and began putting her own clothes on. They were sodden and cold, and she felt thoroughly sopping and sore and dirty and cum-soaked. She made her way back upstairs, realizing, as she went, that she was now two hours behind in her work schedule.

She wanted to spend an hour in the shower, but she turned it off long before she wanted, went back to her room, put on her “uniform” again, and went down to dinner.

Dinner was yet another shock. Betty had brow-beaten Pablo into a menu change. Cindy found that her meal consisted of a VERY small piece of roast meat (“Never any larger than a deck of playing cards,” Betty insisted) and steamed vegetables. Period. No starches. No bread. And no chocolate pie for dessert … ever again.

The others seemed to commiserate with her plight. And, in fact, when Pablo was serving Cindy the small bowl of fruit for HER dessert, he laid a tender hand on her shoulder and smiled down into her eyes. She smiled up into his, only to glance up in time to see Betty looking quizzically from her … to Pablo … back to her. Cindy blushed and looked away.

“OH! MY! GOD!” Betty yelled at the top of her lungs. “Has this whole house gone INSANE?!”

And she got up and stormed off to her room.