Hypnotic Adventures of Cinderella Ch. 03

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."

"Bonnie'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 Bonnie, 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, Bonnie was already there, running on elliptical machine, 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.

Bonnie 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 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 Bonnie 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," Bonnie 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 Bonnie 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 Bonnie's arms, but her weight was too much for the other girl, and they toppled back into a heap on the floor.

Bonnie 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?" Bonnie laughed, pointing to her chest. Cindy obviously didn't understand. "That bra would be great to wear to the prom," Bonnie 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!"

Bonnie 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 Bonnie!" 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. "Bonnie! My shirt!" she squealed.

"Fuck you and fuck your shirt," Bonnie 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!" Bonnie accused her 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," Bonnie 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. Bonnie, 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 millennium!"

"Oh, Bonnie," 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. "Bonnie ... I don't know what to do. I don't know ...."

Bonnie 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, Bonnie ... I would be SO grateful! And I promise! I give you my word!"

Bonnie'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. Bonnie 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," Bonnie 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, Bonnie 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. Bonnie 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 Bonnie 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 Bonnie had uttered so far, but she continued to pant like an overheated hound. Long after Bonnie 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 he spun her effortlessly to one side, so that his arm was now around her; 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 eye, 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 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 his 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.