Cindy's Whims

"Alright, Cindy... alright. You win. I'll do whatever you ask of me so long as you don't tell anyone about..."

"About what? How you find other women attractive? Or just how you find me attractive? That's sick, Olivia, you disgust me. You should be thankful that *I* don't disown you. You're lucky I'm even letting you be in my presence after what I found out about you."

"I-I know, Cindy... I-I don't know what else to say. There's really no excuse I could give you, I'm just... I'm sorry..."

"Don't apologize with your words. You're going to have to earn your dignity. From here on out, you're indebted to me. Until I say otherwise, I own you. Understood?"

I nodded submissively. "...Yes. I understand."

"Now go change out of that stupid uniform before your mom gets home and sees you in it. I'm going to mull over some ground rules for our new relationship, but until then I still expect you to be at my beck and call."

"A-Alright... you know what, fair enough. Thanks for keeping this between us, Cindy... you... you don't know how much I appreciate it..." I couldn't believe I was thanking her for making me her bitch.

"Yeah, well, you'll have plenty of opportunities to show me just how much you appreciate it. And don't get too comfortable calling me Cindy, you don't deserve to address me like that. From now on, whenever you refer to me, it's Princess Cindy."

"Y-Yes Cind-- er, yes... Princess Cindy..."

"Good. Get used to it," she said.

I got used to it.

At first, I didn't expect our relationship to change much. I was already used to waiting around on Cindy, but if I thought she was demanding before, I hadn't seen anything.

Over the following weeks, I really did become Cindy's servant. All of her chores suddenly became my responsibility, and I routinely acted as her maid or waitress whenever she was hungry or needed something cleaned. I also found myself doing all of Cindy's homework, which was hard to pull off considering I was fairly acquainted with her tutor who still came by regularly to teach her.

I wasn't allowed to call her Cindy except when we were in the company of my parents, and even then she occasionally forced me to refer to her as "princess" in their presence, and I had to try my best to play it off sarcastically without upsetting her. When they weren't around, it was always "Princess Cindy" but she would have me mix it up from time to time with titles like "your majesty" or "your highness" and when she grew bored of those I was forced to get even more creative.

I was made to do demeaning things like giving Cindy manicures and pedicures as she sat over me in her armchair as if it were a throne, barking orders at me and being as bratty as humanly possible. When I was finished painting her toenails, I had to bow my head towards her feet and blow dry them myself. Sometimes she would lay one foot on my head like I was a piece of furniture, and at other times she even had me on all fours as her footrest.

One would think that there are only so many tasks a teenage girl could ask of a person, but one would be wrong. My service to Cindy began to take a noticable toll on my studies, as I had no choice but to prioritize her whims over my grades, lest I be forced to drop my classes altogether.

Cindy really was unreasonably lazy. If she could get away with not having to move at all, she would. And she did get away with it. If Cindy wanted the light shut, she wouldn't move an inch. She would yell for me to do it and I would have to walk all across the hallway just to appease her. If she was reading a book, she didn't bother to turn the pages herself, she made me sit there and turn them for her at the snap of her fingers. Or if she wanted a drink, I always had to bring the glass up to her mouth. And of course, I carried all her plates to her and back, and did all of her dishes.

All of this ridiculousness continued to pile up on me, until one incident in particular really broke the camel's back...

It was final's week, and I was cramming hard. If I had known Cindy would take me by the throat midway through the semester, I never would have enrolled in 18 credits. But it was too late to drop anything, so I was stuck with a workload. And that isn't even taking into account my obligations to Cindy, which, sadly enough, occupied a majority of my time.

At just about the same time, Cindy had a multitude of projects due with her tutor. The deadlines for those projects were vastly approaching, and Cindy had been nagging me to get them done for her throughout the week. Although I usually stopped what I was doing to appease her, this time I couldn't. Class had me stressing out hard, and I really didn't have a moment to spare. I told her that she would just have to do them herself.

Cindy didn't like that. Especially because she'd gotten so used to being catered to. I don't think she was being malicious in her intentions, but even at eighteen she hadn't exactly matured. She was like a child in her considerations of other people, truly convinced that the world revolved around her. So when it was my workload versus hers, she probably couldn't understand how much priority I had to lend to my studies. All she cared about was not having to do her own work.

It sort of degenerated into this tug of war, with Cindy continuously nagging me about her projects and me adamantly shrugging her off. I figured that despite Cindy's apparent power trip and for all of her threats, she didn't really have it in her to follow through with them.

The night before Cindy's projects were due, I was hunched away in my room, studying for a final I had tomorrow. I thought Cindy was fast asleep.

"How's my homework coming along?" she asked as she entered my room, not bothering to knock.

I didn't even respond. By that point I'd told her a million times that I wouldn't be able to get it done. I had to study. But Cindy just didn't get it.

"Answer me when I'm talking to you!" she exclaimed, stomping her foot.

"I'm not kidding around anymore, Cindy!" I replied back, swiveling to face her in my desk chair, "I have a final tomorrow, I need to study!"

"You've had all week to study! I've been patient enough with you, my projects are due tomorrow and I want them all done tonight."

"You haven't done them yet?!" I thought for sure Cindy would have gotten the picture and for once did something on her own when it was required of her. Obviously I was wrong.

"No. I told you I'm done with schoolwork. That's your responsibility, now. We have an agreement." She crossed her arms sternly.

"Look, Cindy, this 'princess' bullshit has gone on long enough. I've done more than enough for you already. I have my own work to take care of. So quit being a brat, get off your lazy ass and take responsibility for yourself just once in your life!"

Cindy didn't say anything. At that moment she lunged towards me, grabbed my ponytail from behind and pulled, causing me to fall back in my chair and onto the floor, humiliatingly.

"You think this is a fucking joke?" she said, promptly kicking me in the chest as I was down. "I am a princess, you disgusting cunt! Do you think I gave you permission to take hundreds of photos of me in my underwear and pleasure yourself to them behind my back?"

"Cindy, cut it out!" I tried to yell, only to receive another kick to the face. "CINDY!!"

"SHUT. UP!!" I felt her bare foot press down on my head. "You're so sick, Olivia. You should be down there right now kissing my fucking foot for forgiveness. You should be begging me not to tell your mom and dad what you did!"

"Fuck you!" In a fit of rage, I grabbed her ankle and pushed her over in retaliation. She fell to join me on the floor, but quickly tackled me down again, pulling at my hair and kicking me frantically and repeatedly.

It's hard to recall everything that happened after that. Eventually, we backed off each other. I heard Cindy say "you better have my projects done by tomorrow afternoon or you can kiss your precious tuition goodbye!" and then storm off.

I had fucking had it with Cindy. I wasn't doing her projects. She could go fuck herself. She didn't have the balls to tell my parents my secret. If she did, she would be forfeiting what she had against me, and the game would be over for her. Besides, there was no way she could really use my parents to get what she wants. They may have been easy, but they weren't that easy. I was convinced she would keep her mouth quiet.

I was wrong.

The months following that incident were the darkest moments of my life. I was disowned and evicted from my family's household. Cindy didn't tell them about the pictures I'd taken of her, but they weren't necessary. All she had to do was show them everything else, and it'd do the trick. The fact that I was a lesbian painted me as an abomination in the eyes of my parents. They wanted nothing more to do with me.

I ended up living with my best friend, Chris. He had an extra room in his apartment that he was willing to let me stay in until I could get a job. But when the semester ended, all I could think about was how I would manage to afford next year's tuition. There was nothing more important to me than my education, not even the approval of my family. I was completely stressed out and depressed. Cindy had taken my life away from me. I knew she was a bitch, but I never dreamed she would be capable of something so monstrous.

Several months passed before I received a call... from my old household. But it wasn't my mom or dad on the other end. It wasn't even Cindy.

"Uh, hello...?" I answered reluctantly.

"Yes, hi, is this Olivia?"

"...speaking," I confirmed.

It was Cindy's tutor, Mr. Johnson.

I was told that Cindy had requested my presence back at the house. Cindy requested my presence? I thought that was strange enough to begin with, but it only got weirder.

I was told that I would be allowed to return under a set of conditions. As long as I complied with the terms, I would have a house to live in again, and all my tuition for next year would be paid. It sounded too good to be true.

"What's going on?" I had to ask.

He started to tell me.

After you left, a lot started to change. Granted, these were just my limited observations from the time I spent tutoring her, but I immediately noticed a difference, not even a week after your folks booted you out of the house.

For example, there was one evening in which Cindy and I were sitting at the kitchen table, going over some equations. It was one of Mrs. Nguyen's off days, so she was around, but still busy. Cindy demanded that she bake her a batch of chocolate chip cookies, but your mother insisted that she was too occupied. Instead of leaving it alone, Cindy threw an absolute fit, knocking things over and screaming until she got her way.

If that wasn't bad enough, after your mother had finished baking, Cindy wasn't satisfied with the results. She insisted they were too burnt, and knocked the cookies right from underneath your mother's hands, demanding a second batch. Your mother didn't protest. She did what she was told until Cindy was satisfied.

This wasn't an isolated incident. On another occasion, Cindy demanded that your father drop what he was doing to go out and buy her a pair of these expensive shoes she decided she wanted on a whim. He tried to talk his way out of it, but ended up succumbing to her persuasion. Those shoes must have cost at least a few hundred.

I admit, I've been persuaded by Cindy from time to time. She's convinced me to let her slide on more than just a few assignments in the past. But in all the years I've tutored Cindy, it was never this bad. I'm almost ashamed to talk to you about it, but I suppose I have no choice.

I, uh, I have a foot fetish, you see. I tried hard to keep my thoughts from going anywhere inappropriate, but sometimes Cindy made it hard for me. It was impossible not to notice when Cindy would almost always go barefoot, crossing her feet on the table in front of me and wiggling and flexing her toes habitually.

When you left the house, this too changed. I'm not sure exactly when Cindy started to pick up on my fixation, but it wasn't long before she integrated me into her manipulation game. One evening, Cindy and I were at your home by ourselves. We were in the middle of discussing history, and suddenly she interrupted.

"Stop," she said, "I can't concentrate right now..."

"Are you feeling okay?" I asked.

"My feet ache. Rub them for me," she insisted, propping her feet up on my lap. I got hard pretty reactively, but I tried to keep it hidden. The strange thing was, Cindy was rarely ever on her feet, so the thought that they were legitimately aching seemed suspicious already.

"Are you sure that's appropriate?" I inquired. "We need to have gone over this by the end of the hour and we've just barel--"

"I said rub them. NOW!" She nearly slapped me across the face with her socked foot. I didn't know what to do, so I reacted on impulse and began to work my fingers into her arches.

"I can't feel anything, take the sock off," she directed, wiggling her foot in my face. Reluctantly, I did as I was told and slowly removed her black socks. "OK, now get to work."

I must have spent about fifteen minutes just rubbing her feet. Far from being an enjoyable experience, it was actually rather uncomfortable because I had to keep myself composed. Cindy sat back in her chair with her eyes closed. I wasn't sure how long she expected me to continue on for, but she eventually had me stop, and we got back on track.

But I knew I had joined the club for sure when Cindy had me rubbing her feet as your mother gave her a back massage. I was supposed to be tutoring her, and here I was, on my knees in front of your step-cousin, relaxing her.

These weren't the only times Cindy had me performing such tasks. In fact, it seemed to get to the point where almost every day she had me rubbing her feet as I tutored her. And of course, now I know it was one hundred percent deliberate.

Eventually she started getting really obtuse about it.

"Do you like this color on my toes?" she asked, holding her foot up to my face and clenching it in front of me. They were a bright pink.

"Uh... it's nice," I answered, uncomfortably.

"You don't sound too enthused..."

"They're very pretty, Cindy," I amended.

"I think you're lying to me. Now I'm upset." She crossed her arms and pouted a little.

"H-Hey, don't be like that, it looks good on you. Pink is your color, for sure."

"So you think they're pretty?" she asked slyly.

I nodded.

"Pretty enough to kiss?" She pointed her big toe at me.

"Oh, I-I don't know about th--" Before I could get my final word in, she plugged my lips with her toe, silencing me.

"Prove it to me, or I'll know you were lying, and I'll get very upset with you. You don't want to make me upset, Mr. Johnson."

At this point I was highly uncomfortable, my face was blushing red and I somehow managed to retain my stiffness. Without giving it a second thought, I pursed my lips and kissed the freshly-painted nail of her big toe.

"There. N-Now we should probably get back to work..."

"Again."

"Cindy, this is really pushing it, we need to get back on tr--"

"KISS IT!" She slammed her heel aggressively down at my crotch, completely nullifying my ability to comply with her demands. I fell to the kitchen floor in physical agony, and Cindy stood over me with her foot aimed down at my face.

"Do it."

I needed her to calm down, so I ignored the pain for a brief moment in which I planted a second kiss on Cindy's toes. Thankfully, this seemed to satisfy her.

"Good. See how much better it will be for you when I get my way?"

From that point forward, our relationship transformed completely. It was no longer professional. She had me by the collar, and would seduce me in this way frequently, finding new ways to prey on my fetish every week.

"I stubbed my toe earlier," she pointed out to me one week. "Make it better for me."

"Um, sure," I said hesitantly, giving it a light kiss. "All better?"

"No. I want you to suck it," she said penetrating my lips with her toes. I had no choice but to give in. We had gone this far. I was in deep water already. So I sat there sucking her toes like a pacifier, and every so often she would tell me to apply more pressure or to do it better.

Those experiences were only the beginning for my new relationship with Cindy. Things have changed dramatically even since then. Maybe they've gone too far... I don't know.

Cindy wants you here tomorrow afternoon to discuss the terms. You'll see for yourself what's become of things.

Coming home again felt surreal. It was now the start of August, several months since I'd last seen my parents or Cindy. I quite honestly didn't know what to expect. The idea that it was somehow by Cindy's authority that my presence was being requested troubled me. It wasn't Cindy who kicked me out, it was my parents. And it wasn't the photos that led to their rejection of me, it was my sexuality. I just couldn't see what part Cindy possibly played in all of this.

Unfortunately, I was about to find out. I approached the old front porch hesitantly, wondering if the journey would even amount to anything. Knowing Cindy, I was prepared for these "conditions" to be highly unorthodox. And that's assuming my parents had even consented to the idea of letting me back in the house. How did Cindy have control over my tuition to begin with?

After I rang the doorbell, I waited patiently in suspense, until finally, there was a response. Neither of my parents came to answer, nor did Cindy. Standing there was Mr. Johnson, looking run-down and tired. He looked like he hadn't slept or showered in ages. Immediately, I was worried.

"...Good God, Mr. Johnson, w-what happened to you? You look absolutely terrible..." I noted, anxiously biting my lip.

"Olivia!" he somehow managed to exclaim, a look of relief passing over him. "I'm so glad you're here, you have no idea. Cindy's been growing impatient."

"What are you talking about, what's going on?" I was puzzled. And somewhat scared.

"Uh... come see for yourself." He sighed, before guiding me inside.

The inside of my home was unrecognizable. It looked like a tornado had hit the place. The kitchen was an absolute mess. Counters were stained, flour was everywhere, and loose pots and pans littered the area. I barely had a moment to process the scene, in which I saw my own mother, far too distracted to notice my entrance, panicking near the oven. And that's when I heard faintly the sound of a bell, followed by a voice booming across the house.

Cindy's voice.

"DID YOU NOT HEAR ME?! I SAID, HURRY, UP!!"

I must have been dreaming. This felt like something out of a nightmare. With my jaw dropped, I sprinted over to my mom and shook her for attention, but her only response was to shrug me away.

"Please, I can't keep Cindy waiting!" my own mother yelled at me, with not the slightest regard, positive or negative, for my being there in the first place.

"What the hell is going on?!" I screamed, looking over to Mr. Johnson. The man looked absolutely scolded, as if he felt sorry that I had to see my family like this.

He waved at me to follow him into the living room, leading me forward. I was honestly fearful of what I would behold in there. Turns out, I was right to be...

The room had been completely refurbished. The couches were gone, and the desks cleared; I felt the overwhelming softness of a new, red carpet under my feet, and curtains of matching color adorned the walls on all sides. At the head of the room sat Cindy, cushioned snugly in an extravagant chair with her feet up, and atop her pretty little head was a crown. Cindy had effectively transformed my family's living room into a throne room.