Chapter Three
Cinderella's Humiliation
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 and blanket 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 awaken 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, containing 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. Six of the largest rooms downstairs 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.
