Where She Belongs: Luxury Goddess

Jessica seamlessly blended grace with power as she dashed about the court, cleanly striking the balls the machine shot at her. Her designer sportswear was damp from sweat and her toned legs glistened. Her stamina showed no sign of stalling.

"Hi there," said Cindy cheerily, approaching from behind. Jessica remained focused on her game. Cindy continued. "I'm a...friend of your mother." She knew Eleanor had never claimed her as a 'friend' but it seemed less awkward to introduce herself like that as opposed to Eleanor's...what? What exactly was she to Eleanor?

Dread prickled. What was she doing? She was too old to be running around at the snap of Eleanor's fingers. Back in high school, she possessed less self-esteem than a worm, but this wasn't high school. She was not that same scared, pathetic girl who felt the need to apologize when her shadow encroached upon Eleanor's space. She had a husband, a daughter, a mortgage, and a job. It might not have been much, certainly not as much as Eleanor, but it was still hers.

It had been a struggle for Cindy to overcome Eleanor after high school. She had spent her time sitting in her parent's living room, staring at their phone, leaping for it each time it rang in case it was Eleanor. She couldn't eat or sleep. She stopped bathing. All that mattered to her was the call from Eleanor that never came. She squirmed and tore at tissue paper, resisting the urge to call Eleanor herself. She had never been allowed to call Eleanor directly. There was no reason to. Eleanor told her what time she needed Cindy to do things and Cindy was expected to do them.

Cindy knew she needed to remain respectful of Eleanor's privacy. Eleanor was busy preparing for Yale. If Eleanor needed her, she would call. Although, Cindy had hoped Eleanor would call for help decorating her house for her leaving party, or to help serve drinks. Cindy understood. Eleanor had plenty of other dorks to summon. Cindy was unimportant.

She tossed and turned, unable to sleep. She had bought a Yale sweatshirt for Eleanor as a departing gift. She knew it was only an excuse to see her one last time. She would regret it if she didn't at least try. Her entire senior year had been spent obsessing over everything Eleanor did, said, and demanded. The pull was too strong to ignore.

That morning, she cycled to Eleanor's house with her gift to find Eleanor already sitting in her Mercedes as her parents packed her car with suitcases. Eleanor blasted her horn and her parents picked up their pace. Cindy waved and approached her closed window.

"Hi, Eleanor," she said, waving.

Eleanor did not see her. She was too busy investigating her eyebrows in the rearview mirror. Cindy cleared her throat and tapped lightly on the window. Eleanor turned to her sharply and Cindy backed away from the hate.

"S-sorry, Eleanor, I just wanted to wish you good luck before you left."

Eleanor stared through her.

"I...um, got you something?" She held up her gift. Eleanor continued to stare. Cindy smiled nervously and unwrapped the paper herself and showed the Yale sweater.

Eleanor sighed and began to blast her horn again. Cindy looked over to Eleanor's parents who put the last of her cases on the backseat. Her mother moved next to Cindy and waved through the closed window, an anxious smile affixed to her adoring face.

"All done, Princess," she said.

Eleanor turned the ignition and without a second glance, sped down the road, blaring Hip hop, and leaving both her parents and Cindy coughing from her exhaust.

It was the last time Cindy had seen her. She had put all her high school effort into helping Eleanor graduate with top honors and left nothing for herself. She could never have gone to college. She had no friends. She had never been kissed. She developed agoraphobia, an eating disorder, she contemplated suicide. It had been a struggle, but once she overcame her depression, she determined to never return to those dark days. She was happy now. Well...she was content. Wasn't she?

WHACK.

A tennis ball slammed into her eye. She clasped her cheek and collapsed onto her knees. It took a moment for her face to adjust to the pain. She blinked through dislodged water and saw Jessica pointing her racket down at her.

"Bitch! You distracted me!"

Cindy whimpered. She flinched as another ball flew over her head.

Jessica smashed her racket against the grass. "I was like four shots away from breaking my record." There was a crack. She screamed in rage and thrust her now broken racket at Cindy's face. "Fuck! This is your fault. Look what you did."

"J-Jessica, I think I need some help. M-my eye."

"Don't you dare change the subject. What about my racket?"

The cannon exploded, firing another ball. Cindy instinctively recoiled. She clambered to her feet and moved away from the line of fire. Jessica hunted her, brandishing her broken racket like a sledgehammer. The greens of her eyes were raging like a forest fire.

Cindy cringed and held up her hands to protect herself from an attack. She backed away from the advancing Jessica, unaware she was so close to the edge of the pool. She whelped as her momentum took her over.

Her lungs filled with warm water. She splashed to try and keep herself afloat. She had never learned to swim. She knew on a psychological level that she needed to remain calm, but as the chlorine stung her injured eye, she found herself thrashing around like a drowning kitten. Jessica watched, chuckling to herself.

"Please," said Cindy as she fought to keep her head above the surface. She coughed up water. Her erratic leg and arm swipes were of little value. "I can't swim."

Jessica strolled to the emergency life preserver and lazily unhooked it, spinning it in Cindy's general direction and bopping her on the head.

Cindy desperately lunged and collapsed over it, spluttering and panting for breath.

She saw Alison and Eleanor had vacated the manor to see the commotion. Alison's cheeks were dimpled as she giggled at the scene, videoing the whole thing on her phone.

Eleanor held her thumbs within her Gucci belt. Her breasts shook as she chuckled. "What in the world is going on here?"

Jessica showed her broken racket. "Look what she made me do, Mom. She owes me a new one."

"Now, now, baby, she can hardly buy you a new racket if drowns in our pool, can she?"

Jessica scoffed. "She was just being dramatic. She wasn't actually drowning."

Alison giggled. "I don't know," she said, placing her phone in the back pocket of her jean shorts, "it seemed pretty real to me."

"Whatever," said Jessica. "I threw her the life preserver, didn't I? And I notice the ungrateful bitch hasn't thanked me for it yet."

Cindy looked up at her through the stinging blur in her eyes. Was she serious?

"Language," warned Eleanor. "I'm sure Cindy will be more than happy to make it up to you, baby."

"She'd better."

Cindy trembled despite the warmth of the water.

"Yes, well," said Eleanor, pouting. "You girls head on inside. I'll deal with this."

Alison sighed. "What about my lemonade?"

"It ought to have cooled by now, sweetie."

"This isn't fair. Why should I have to get it just because some dumb bitch fell into our pool?"

"Alison," warned Eleanor, "language."

Alison rolled her eyes and stomped inside.

Jessica walked around the pool to join her mother.

Eleanor looked at her lovingly and rubbed her arm. "It's okay, baby," she said and kissed her forehead.

Jessica glanced angrily at Cindy before following her sister inside the manor.

"You've caused quite the scene," said Eleanor to Cindy once they were alone.

Cindy blushed. "I'm sorry, E-Eleanor," she said without thinking as if Eleanor had pulled a string on her back.

"Maybe I'm not the one you ought to be apologizing to?"

Cindy hesitated. The ball striking her eye had been an accident. And honestly, her vision was starting to return. Perhaps she had been a little overdramatic? And it wasn't as if Jessica had pushed her into the pool. Cindy was the fool who fell in. In fact, Jessica had saved her life. There was no reason to be upset at Jessica. She hadn't done anything wrong at all. Cindy nodded.

"Okay," said Eleanor, "you can stop floating around now and get out. You may stand on the patio until you've dried off. And I don't want to see any of that trash left behind."

Cindy looked around and saw her phone and some paper bobbing across the water: her receipts. They would be unreadable now but that was okay. She doubted she could have found the courage to ask for reimbursement after this. All she wanted now was to go home.

*

Cindy walked through the kitchen on bare feet. She had left her socks and shoes drying in the sun. She would never risk leaving marks on the expensive marble. She tip-toed across the tiles and through the archway into a corridor. Modern artwork hung on Venetian-style walls. Golden side tables housed vases filled with vibrant flowers. She avoided standing on the plush rugs for fear of sullying them with her touch.

She heard chatting from a side room. She wavered, nervous to approach further without an invitation. Should she wait in the kitchen until summoned? She shook her head and laughed at herself. What was she doing? Yes, Eleanor's home was luxurious and intimidating. Yes, this corridor alone was probably more expensive than Cindy's whole house. Yes, Eleanor and her daughters' were beautiful women. Yes, her pussy tingled just thinking about them...she gulped. The urge to get home, crawl under her sheets, and masturbate just as she did when was eighteen was strong.

She poked her head through an open archway to find a stylish lounge. A large U-shaped sofa faced a seventy-five-inch plasma TV hanging from a wall above a fireplace. The room was illuminated by natural light. Outside the large windows, a sun deck was surrounded by a jungle of exotic flowers and plant life.

Eleanor lounged at one end of the couch, resting her perfect posture against a stack of cushions. One of her arms was sprawled over the headrest while she sipped her green tea.

Alison slouched in the middle of the couch. She had her feet crossed over a maple wood coffee table. She drank her lemonade slowly through a glass straw while thumbing over her phone screen.

Cindy felt relieved the two of them seemed satisfied with the beverages she had prepared.

Jessica sat at the far end of the couch. She had showered and changed into a matching Balenciaga sports bra and sweatpants. She turned from the TV to stare hatefully at Cindy's approach.

Cindy cleared her throat and shuffled before them, placing her hands behind her back. She felt herself shrink under their stares.

Eleanor placed her cup and saucer on the coffee table. "I believe you have something you'd like to say to my daughter?"

"Yes, um, I uh, wanted to apologize to you, Jessica. It wasn't right that I ruined your game like that."

"And my racket?"

"Y-yes, I'm sorry I made you do that."

"That was a handcrafted Bosworth Tour 96. Do you even know what that is?"

Cindy shook her head. "No, M-" she stopped herself before calling her 'Miss.' She corrected herself: "J-Jessica," feeling as if she had somehow insulted her by using her name. "I'm really sorry."

Eleanor ignored Cindy and spoke to her daughter. "It's okay, baby. Cindy will be more than happy to buy you a new one."

Cindy shivered. She looked up at Eleanor as if to plead. She had just spent over $600 on groceries for her and without any receipts, she doubted she would ever be paid back. Eleanor glared, warning her to stay quiet.

Alison giggled. "Look at her, she looks like she's about to cry."

She was right. Cindy felt as guilty as a schoolgirl in trouble with the Principal for the first time.

"This video is too funny," added Alison. "I'm totally uploading this to TikTok by the way."

Cindy felt her palms sweat. "Um, I'd...r-rather rather you didn't."

Alison smiled at her phone, ignoring her request.

"Hey," said Jessica. Cindy jumped and turned to her. "Your toenails are fucking gross."

"Baby," said Eleanor, "language."

Jessica sighed. "Haven't you ever had a pedicure?"

Cindy shook her head with shame. She wasn't sure if the question was rhetorical but thought it was better to answer. Tears formed in her eyes. The emotion of almost drowning less than an hour earlier was threatening to spill.

Jessica pointed at her. "You'd better not be too poor to buy me that racket."

"I-I'm not," said Cindy wishing this could just be over. Why was she allowing them to talk to her like this? For all her attempts at adulting, she was still just the same dork from high school. It was as if with each passing second within Eleanor's presence she was reverting back to her teenage self. Worst of all was the warm feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Hello humiliation, my old friend.

"Good," said Eleanor, "then it's settled. You may take the broken racket so they know her specifications. I expect you to be here at ten tomorrow morning."

"Yes, Eleanor," she said, grateful that her ordeal was almost over.

"And bring coffee."

"And juice," said Alison, still on her phone.

"Of course," said Cindy, her knees buckling into a curtsey. "Thank you."

Chapter 2.

When Cindy finally arrived home, she was too exhausted to answer any of her husband's questions.

Pete demanded to know why she hadn't called and where she'd been. She simply answered that she was tired and that they'd talk later. It wasn't as if she could admit she had spent $600 from their savings to pay the grocery bill of her old high school obsession. Nor could she confess she owed more money on top of that to pay for a tennis racket she hadn't even broken. He would never have understood her feelings.

Even after twenty years of marriage, she had never mentioned Eleanor to him. All Pete knew of her high school years was that, in his mind, she had grossly underachieved. He had diagnosed her with severe social anxiety and low self-esteem. Her refusal to talk about anything that happened to her in high school had led him to believe her problems stemmed from extreme bullying. She neither admitted nor denied his speculations.

It was true she had once been considered a promising student. She was top of her class back in middle school. Her aspiration was to be a doctor. She had always wanted to help people. Cindy would occasionally think back to herself at that age and wonder what that girl would think if she knew what was to become of her: a middle-aged woman who stacked shelves at Krogers and lost out on countless promotions to literal teenagers. In a sense, Pete was right in his assumption, but he was also far too simplistic.

Cindy was well aware Eleanor had exploited her. Cindy had allowed it to happen. She had been desperate for any attention from Eleanor, positive or negative. If anything, the more Eleanor abused her, the more eager Cindy was to serve her. There had been freedom in servitude. She never had to think for herself. All that mattered was Eleanor.

She was ashamed to admit it, but those had been the happiest days of her life. She wondered if she had subconsciously allowed others to get ahead of her without resistance in the hopes of discovering a new Eleanor who might take control of her life.

But there was only one Eleanor. And now, twenty-five years later, she was finally back in her life.

Cindy crawled under the sheets of the bed she shared with Pete. The same teenage excitement raged in her stomach. Her hand quivered as it found its way inside her panties.

Eleanor was more beautiful than she remembered. A lifetime of success and luxury had molded Eleanor's body into a goddess. Cindy gently massaged her fingers down her wet pussy lips. Finally, she was able to stimulate the tingle she had felt ever since first smelling Eleanor's expensive perfume.

Cindy dreaded the thought that Pete might try and follow her. The last thing she wanted was his unwashed body lying next to her, distracting her thoughts from Eleanor. This was Cindy's reward for all her service. It was worth every cent of the money she had lost. She had deprived herself of this pleasure for too long.

She moaned as she inserted her fingers into herself. She wanted to take her time. She had waited a long time for new memories of Eleanor.

She rubbed against her clit and gasped into her sheets. The roundness of Eleanor's ass in her tight jeans, the pout of her glossy lips, the commanding sound of her voice, the perfect curve of her back. Warm waves rippled through Cindy's whole body. She squealed as she came better and harder than she had in years.

Eleanor was pleasure. Eleanor was bliss. Eleanor was life.

*

It was still dark when she rolled out of bed. Pete stirred from the disturbance.

"You working?" he said half-asleep.

"Yes," she lied, having already made the decision to call her manager and claim a family emergency. He would be annoyed, but it wasn't as if she made a habit of it. Considering her pitiful wage, she had been a model employee. "I'll be back later."

Eleanor's coffee, Jessica's racket, and Alison's juice were too important to allow her job to interfere with.

She had never once been late for Eleanor and she was not about to start now. She remembered once when Eleanor had called her demanding snacks for a sleepover she was hosting. In Cindy's haste to reach the store, she had accidentally ridden her bike over broken glass. She lost control of the burst wheel and swerved down an embankment. She cracked her head and broke multiple fingers. She did not let it stop her. She abandoned her destroyed bicycle, clambered up the embankment, and ran the distance to the store. She picked up everything Eleanor wanted and arrived at her door with time to spare. She was panting, bloodied, and concussed, but still, she had succeeded. Eleanor had her snacks, and she was able to sit in the waiting room of the ER proud of that knowledge.

First, Cindy drove to a second-hand tech store to pick up a cheap Samsung Mini to replace the one she lost in Eleanor's pool. Next, she drove to the high-end mall nicknamed "the Gucci Mall" by those of Cindy's class who rarely had a reason to set foot within that Romanesque palace. She passed stores like Agent Provocateur, Giorgio Armani, Balenciaga, Cartier, Louboutin, Fendi, Jimmy Choo, Rolex, and Swarovski, just to name a few. Wherever she looked there were designer stores, botanical gardens, fountains, marble columns, and aquariums.

She received more than one disapproving look from the privileged clientele. Their judgemental stares made her feel as if she should apologize to them for sharing their space.

She wished there was an alternative, but trying to find a Bosworth 96 that matched Jessica's specifications was not as straightforward as she had hoped. If she tried to order online, it would take weeks to arrive. Jessica did not have that time. She needed it quickly. Cindy decided her best chance was to visit Athlétique, the luxury sportswear and equipment store. She knew she should have called and asked if they kept Bosworth's in stock, but she was too afraid they might say no.

She entered the store and made her way over the glossy tiles. Busty and athletic mannequins taunted her with physiques and designer brands she could never hope to afford.

"Excuse me," she said to the girl in a tight-fitting polo shirt and shorts working behind the counter. Her blond hair was tied into a messy top bun. She folded her arms and stared at Cindy, clearly annoyed to be bothered. Cindy stuttered. "I was, um, wondering if you might help me? I um, have this racket-" she placed it on the counter. The girl glanced at it once and then back to Cindy, furrowing her brow as if challenging Cindy's right to even speak to her. "Is it possible to maybe get a replacement, please, if that isn't too much trouble, Miss."