The Hypnotic Adventures of Cinderella


by blacknight99


Chapter One


Cinderella’s Seduction



Startled, Cindy looked up from her seat as the inner door opened and an incredibly beautiful young woman emerged. The girl looked miserably sad, shaking visibly, her lower lip trembling. She also looked … perfect; her blonde hair long and flowing, her eyes large and round and evenly spaced on her ideal face, her nose pert, her lips full and red. She had the figure of a supermodel, with firm bosom and hips framing an almost impossibly slender waist. The girl was suddenly startled to see Cindy sitting there, waiting, and after a second’s pause, she burst into tears and fled through the room, sobbing.

Cindy sat there, aghast, and a single word flooded out all other thoughts: Why? If a girl like THAT had been rejected, then why even consider putting herself through something that was bound to be the most embarrassing ordeal of her entire life? Why take up the valuable time of the interviewer? Why delude herself any further, thinking that her silly dream … her silly fantasy … had any chance at all of coming true?

She rose to go, then stood rooted to the spot as the inner door opened again.

“Cindy?” the woman asked. She was holding a yellow legal pad in one hand, a pencil in the other. This woman was beautiful, too, with coal-black hair streaming past straight, thin shoulders that caused her generous breasts to point accusingly forward, as if saying, “Mine are firmer than yours, little girl … These are the breasts of a REAL woman.” Everything about this lady was proud, feminine, demanding. When she smiled, like she was doing now, her eyes were almost gleeful in their depth and knowledge and self assurance. Cindy stood mute, nervous, her hands by her sides, twitching nervously, the form she had filled out rustling and fluttering as she clutched it. “It’s a yes-or-no question,” he woman said patiently.

“Yes,” Cindy squeaked.

Without another glance, the woman turned her back and walked back into the inner room. “Come in and have a seat, please. And close the door.”

Cindy was thinking so hard about bolting in the other directions that she stumbled as her feet, seemingly acting on their own, began shuffling after the woman. She paused momentarily to close herself into the room with the strikingly pretty lady by gently shutting the door, then she hurried to the chair in front of the desk and perched her bottom precariously on its forward edge. She gulped nervously, trying to fathom what the woman wanted. She was holding out her hand toward her, palm up. With a start, Cindy lurched forward and deposited the form she had filled out into the outstretched hand, before once again taking her seat. The woman’s lips twitched slightly into a bemused smile, though it was obvious she was trying to remain serious-looking.

“Breathe,” the lady muttered.

Cindy blinked. “What?”

“Take a breath, girl. Don’t pass out on me.”

With a conscious effort, Cindy took a gulp of air. She tried to will herself into calm alertness, but instead found her thoughts flitting around like wild birds.

“So, Cindy,” the woman asked without looking up. “Why do you want to be a sex slave?”

All at once, the room seemed to shift unsteadily. So … there is it was. The phrase had finally been spoken. It was suddenly … real. She tried to swallow, but found that her mouth was too dry to accomplish the task. Her lips parted to answer … closed … opened again, soundlessly. She was suddenly concerned about tipping forward out of the chair, and tried to push herself back in the seat, only succeeding in scraping the thing backwards on the floor. “I … uh … I think that … um … I … think that … maybe I’ve made a mistake,” she finally said, haltingly. She stood up.

The woman glanced up at her with a placid look on her face. “SIT!” she barked. Cindy sat. Hard. “Put your knees together!” the woman continued firmly, without raising her voice. “Hands in your lap! Sit up straight!” She paused and scanned the form. “Now,” she continued mildly, sweetly, “what makes you think that you’ve made a mistake?”

Cindy’s speech rushed ahead now. “The girl that just left … she was … beautiful.”

“Yes,” the woman replied. “Yes she was, wasn’t she? Exceedingly nice figure. Very experienced, too. She had been a sex slave before, to a dominant couple out east, near Lexington. Very submissive. And VERY pretty.”

“But … I’m not,” Cindy insisted, earnestly. “I’m NOT pretty. And I DON’T have a nice figure. And I’m NOT experienced as a s-s-sex s-s-slave. I can’t even SAY it! I’m plain and I’m overweight and I’m dumpy and I’m clumsy and I’m sitting here wasting your time because I want … I want to … um ….”

“I will be the one to decide whether or not you’re wasting my time,” the woman interrupted. “Now, I will ask you some questions, and you will answer them. Is that clear?”

Cindy blushed and lowered her gaze to her folded hands. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Is this form completely honest? Are all your answers absolutely true?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Cindy answered earnestly, looking up.

“You’ve entered your first name as ‘Cindy.’ That can’t be absolutely true, can it? It’s a nickname, isn’t it?”

Cindy was suddenly taken by the woman’s serious tone. “Yes, ma’am. I didn’t mean to … I mean, everybody’s always called me Cindy.”

“I insist on attention to detail,” the woman enthused. “So … what is it? Cynthia?”

“No, ma’am. It’s … Cinderella.”

The woman blinked up at her. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“My mother was … um … rather fanciful.”

The lady’s lips twitched again and she put her hand over her mouth and coughed gently. “Fanciful.” She looked back down at the form. “Okay, you win. We’ll leave it as Cindy.” She finally looked up, giving Cindy her full attention. She pushed her office chair back and crossed her slender legs. “Alright, Cindy, let’s try a different question. How did you hear about our little … opening here?”

“I saw it in a magazine,” Cindy answered.

“Which one? I put the ad in three, plus on a couple internet sites.”

“It was called ‘Velvet Chains,” Cindy answered quietly.

“Do you read that particular publication often?”

“No, ma’am. I’d never heard of it before. I didn’t even know there WERE such magazines!” Cindy paused and took a breath. “There were five of us, up in a hotel room in Toledo. We were there for a big debate team finalist tournament at the University. I’m not a debater … I’m just a researcher. Anyway, there were three of us in one room and two in another, and one of the girls had gotten a bottle of wine, and the five of us got together in one of the rooms, and we were each having a glass … just sitting around talking. And Rhonda said that perverts were always reading porn magazines and leaving them in hotel rooms, and they always thought that they were leaving them in places where no one would ever think of looking, but they always left them in the SAME places! And so she started looking between the mattresses, but there weren’t any there, so we were really starting to get on her case. And then she pulled out the bottom drawer of the bureau, and she had to play with some little catches on the sides to get the drawer out … but sure enough, there were a couple of girly magazines on the floor, under the drawer.

“Well, two of the girls started reading them out loud, taking turns; things like “letters to the editor” and stuff. And then Rhonda shrieked ‘Listen to THIS! Here’s an ad from a couple in Louisville! Who wants a SEX SLAVE!’ And she read the ad, and the other girls were all laughing and giggling that somebody in our home town would write something like that. But … you just wouldn’t believe how that affected ME! Because, you didn’t use the words ‘sex slave’ … you just used the word ‘slave.’ And sure, it was in a sex MAGAZINE, and so sure, it was naturally assumed that sex would be an important part of it … but I mean … ‘slave.’ Just ‘slave.’ That means so much MORE than sex. That means … everything! And it took just about all the willpower I had to keep from just moaning and crumpling up into a little ball on the floor, just THINKING about it!

“But then, it was time to go out for dinner, and so Rhonda hid the magazines again and we all went downstairs. But I told them that I’d forgotten my money and that I’d meet them at the restaurant, and I ran back up and looked at the magazine again, because Rhonda hadn’t read the email address for contacting you.”

“What did you do?” the woman asked, interested in the story. “Did you copy it down or tear the ad out?”

“Oh, I COULDN’T do either of those. The others might find a note. And they’d DEFINITELY notice that the ad was gone if they read the magazine again when we all came back. No … I memorized it.”

“Memorized it? The whole thing? It was a pretty long ad.” The woman thought a moment. “Do you still remember it?”

“I don’t think I’ll forget it as long as I live,” Cindy replied, “even if I DON’T get your … um … position.” She closed her eyes, thinking back. “WANTED. SLAVE. Louisville, KY Area. No experience necessary. We desire a young woman who will live with us for the rest of her life. We offer protection and guidance. In return, she will surrender her heart, body, mind and soul … forever. She will be trained through the use of ultra-deep hypnosis. Her commitment must be total, complete and unequivocal. Contact mzdominant4541@velvetchains.net.”  

The woman leaned back and didn’t try to hide the smile that graced her red lips. Cindy had recited the mantra without looking up, and now, she kept her eyes submissively on her hands.

“Stand up,” the woman ordered. Cindy did so, still keeping her gaze lowered. “Take off your blouse, please. Quickly.”

A shudder went through Cindy’s whole body, but her fingers immediately went to the top button of her blouse. One by one, she undid them, having to pull her blouse free of the skirt to release the bottom two. Blushing crimson, she slowly slid the garment off her shoulders, and stood for long moments with it in her hands, uncertain whether to drop it or hold it. Finally, not receiving any further orders, she folded it and laid it across the back of her chair, then turned again to face her interviewer. It took every ounce of her inner strength to allow her arms to fall to her sides.

“Good Lord, girl, what have you done to yourself?” the woman asked. Cindy looked up, puzzled. “That bra has got to be two sizes too small!” the lady continued. “Take it off! Now!”

For a moment, the room swam around her, but then Cindy slowly raised her arms, reached behind her, and worked for several long seconds to release the catch of her brassier. It finally let go with a dull, twanging sound, and the restraining undergarment sprang forward around her body, one end trapped under her arm. Cindy couldn’t keep the contented sigh from her lips as her breasts were released from their prison, and she stood, swaying slightly, wondering if she was about to faint from the raw feeling of embarrassment. She looked up, blushing, nervous. The woman was holding out her hand toward her again. Cindy reached out and gave her the bra. Then, she drew her arms upward, crossing them near her chest, before she noticed the stern stare the woman was giving her. She swallowed, took a deep breath, and lowered her arms again to her sides.

“34C?” the woman asked, accusingly. “Are you out of your mind? Why do you DO that!?”

“It’s the size I’ve worn for years,” Cindy said defensively. “I know I’m getting larger. I know I weigh too much. I know I’m a … a cow! I’m grotesque! I sag!”

“Well, of course you sag a little, Cindy. You’re BIG! Learn to live with it!”

“When I’m old, I’m going to be one of those women who is so massive that all people can think about is her tits!” Cindy almost wailed. “It’s the chicken!”

The lady spat out a bark of a laugh. “It’s the what!?”

“Chicken! Poultry farmers are putting more and more growth hormones in their chicken feed. Breast meat is more expensive than dark meat … so they breed their chickens with bigger and bigger breasts. They’ve grown them so disproportionate that some breeds can’t even stand up, their breasts are so large! And the hormones are finding their way into our food supply. In the past twenty years, the average American bra size has gone from 34C to 36D! The average girl starts her period eight months earlier! She’s sexually active sooner!”

The woman was laughing gently now. “Because of chickens,” she said.

Cindy calmed down. “I eat a lot of chicken,” she said, shrugging.

“Well, whether it’s chickens or hormones or a divine gift, it’s no reason to smash yourself into a bra that’s too small, girl.”

“You don’t understand,” Cindy muttered miserably. “You’re beautiful. You’re slim. When you’re fat and plain, then having monster boobs only adds to the perception that you’re … NOT slim and beautiful. It means that ….”

“Enough!” the woman barked. She surveyed Cindy for a long moment, then seemed to make up her mind about something. She put the bra down and pressed a button on the corner of the desk. “I want you to stand right there. Keep your hands at your sides. Do not move. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Cindy whispered. She heard footsteps outside the door and suddenly understood what the button did. “Oh my!” she muttered under her breath. The door opened.

The man who walked into the room was the same man who had shown her into the mansion and led her to the room beyond the door … the one who had given her the form to fill out. She had asked him a pleasant question:  Had he worked here long? But he had just shrugged and remained silent. Now, the reason for his unresponsiveness became evident. He didn’t know English. “¿Si, Señora?” he asked as he entered, and then sucked in his breath at the sight of the topless young woman standing in the center of the room. Cindy’s arms trembled at her sides. The woman behind the desk was speaking in quick, fluid Spanish, writing on a piece of note paper as she did so. Reluctantly, the man tore his eyes off Cindy’s bare breasts and he moved to the edge of the desk. The woman handed him the paper and pointed emphatically at what was scrawled across the top, enunciating “Victoria’s Secret!” The man nodded and repeated the words. “Sustantivos. Quatro. Underwire. 38D,” she emphasized, pointing again. He continued to nod, knowingly. The woman then handed him three one hundred dollar bills and waved him away, dismissing him. “Si, Señora,” he repeated, walked to the door, gazed daringly at Cindy for another long moment, and was gone.

Cindy breathed a ragged, shuddering sigh.

The woman leaned back again. “Very good, Cindy. Very good, indeed.” She waited for a long minute, studying her, while Cindy continued to gaze resolutely down toward her toes, which she was sure were still down there, somewhere beyond her swollen breasts and painfully erect nipples. “Put on your blouse, girl. Sit down and please keep quiet. I have a phone call to make.”

Without the confining bra, the buttons on the blouse were under much more pressure than the garment’s manufacturer had intended them to be. Still, there was nothing more that could really be done at this juncture, so Cindy said a little prayer to the gods of textile tensile strength and resumed her seat.

The woman was on the phone. “Roxanne? I’m sorry, but the position has been filled. Yes, I know. I’m sure that you will find someone who will give you the control you crave. Now, please don’t cry. I just know you’re going to make someone a very good sex slave, very soon now. Yes, that’s an excellent place to go. I’m certain there will be plenty of men there who will just love making you do all sorts of things. Yes. Goodbye, dear.” She hung up.

She looked up from the desk. “Congratulations, Cindy. You have the position. Now, before we begin the process of your permanent enslavement, I will grant you a single question. I will answer anything you like. One question. Fire away.”

Cindy was stunned, but she didn’t hesitate. “Why didn’t you take the girl before me … the pretty one?”

The woman gazed at her almost wondrously. “Of course, I’ll answer you,” she said quietly. “But let me just get this straight. You know that I am about to enslave you, completely and forever, right? You know that I’m about to hypnotize you … change you … control you, right? Don’t you want to know what is about to happen to you? Aren’t you just a little bit anxious about that?”

“I’m petrified,” Cindy replied. “But … if I don’t find out now … I may never know. I need to know why. My whole life, ‘why’ has been the most important thing. If this is to be the last question I can ask of my own free will … then that is the one I want. Why?”

The woman smiled and nodded. “I get the impression that life with you is going to be much more interesting than I would ever have guessed,” she commented. “Very well, I will tell you, though I know that you’re going to find it is a very, very simple answer to what you assume is a very, very complex question.” She looked Cindy in the eye. “You wrote on your form that you often do housework. Do you scrub floors?”

Cindy blinked. “Yes, we’re given days when we have to help clean. I scrub floors in the dining room on Thursdays.”

The woman looked confused for a moment, then shrugged. “Well,” she continued, “let’s face it … no one is perfect for ANY job. Some adjustments ALWAYS have to be made. The girl before you was beautiful, but beauty was simply not one of the requisites for the … position in question. I see in your form that you have no experience with sex. She had LOTS of experience with sex. On the other hand, she had never really worked a day in her life. I would have to provide personal training, in one way or another, with either of you. I would much rather have to teach you how to have sex than have to teach her how to scrub floors.” Cindy sat, staring at her. “I told you it was a simple answer,” the woman persisted.

“Yes,” Cindy said quietly. “Yes, it is.”

“Now, what did you mean that you have to help clean on certain days? You mean at the …” the woman looked back down at the form, “… Academy Arms Apartments, where you live?”

Cindy suddenly looked panicked. “That’s the Arms Academy,” she told the woman, “not the Academy Arms. It’s not an apartment building … it’s a school.”

“You’re in college?” the woman asked, concerned. “You’re a student?”

Cindy squirmed. A button popped loose on her blouse. “I’m in high school. The Arms Academy is an orphanage. I’ve lived there my whole life.”

The woman gawked for a moment, then looked down and searched the form frantically. “I didn’t put in a question about age,” she muttered, mostly to herself. “It didn’t matter to me.” She looked almost pleadingly at Cindy, who could no longer maintain eye contact. “How old ARE you?”

“I’m going to be eighteen in just four months,” Cindy cried earnestly. “I can just work for you until then, if you want. Or I CAN have sex … I KNOW I can! Most of the girls in my senior class have been with guys … have had sex. I mean … I’m the only one I KNOW who HASN’T done it yet! And I know that it’s going to be alright, because whenever I think about things like your ad in the magazine … I get a fluttery feeling in my tummy … and I get ….”

The woman held up her hand for silence. “Yes, dear, I know. Thinking about sexual submission always makes you fluttery in your tummy … and anatomical regions south. But now, I need you to sit there and shut up, please.” Despite the order, Cindy drew a breath to further argue her case, but the lady held up a warning hand. “Quiet! Can’t you see that I’m having an epiphany?”

Cindy pressed her lips together and tried not to lean forward in anticipation. She was riding an emotional roller coaster. She had been so sure, when she had first entered, that this woman would not grant her wish for being dominated … but then, she HAD! And now …. The woman was lost in her own thoughts for many minutes, but suddenly seemed to come to her senses again. She turned her chair toward the computer sitting at one side of her desk, and she began clicking frantically with the mouse.

“Where were you born?” she asked, never looking away from the computer screen. “How long have you been in the orphanage? You said you’ve been there your whole life, but that isn’t accurate, is it?”

Cindy swallowed. “Yes, it is. I was born there.”

“Born in an orphanage?” At last, the woman looked at her.

“Yes, ma’am. My mother was a student there. She evidently ran away a lot. She had me when she was only fourteen … and even then, she didn’t stick around long. She came back when I was three years old … just for a little while. Sometimes, I remember her … or I think I do … little brief memories. But she left again after that, and died on the streets from a drug overdose.”

“So, you’ve literally been a ward of the state, assigned to this one location, since the day you were born?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And you’re seventeen?”

“Yes, ma’am. But in just four months ….”

“Damn, but you look mature for your age!” the woman exclaimed.

“It’s not my fault,” Cindy muttered to herself, wringing her hands.

“Yes, I know,” the lady said in fake consolation. “It’s the chickens.”

Tears were leaking from the corners of both of Cindy’s eyes now. She felt small and meek … but then, she ALWAYS felt that way. However, now she felt as if her dream was crumbling. The woman was reading something on the computer screen in rapt silence. Finally, she sat back and smiled.

“You are about to be adopted, Cindy.”

The girl was thunderstruck. The thought had never occurred to her. Sure, when she was little, she had dreamed about it … dreamed about it all the time. But then the realization that no one wanted a chubby, plain girl … and especially an older, cubby, plain girl … had driven the dream right out of her head forever. “You … you’re going to adopt me?”

The woman smiled patiently. “No, not me. My husband is going to adopt you. He’s an important figure in the area … or at least, he used to be. No one will question him. They’ll question his motives, certainly … but not him, personally. No one would dare. I will simply remain silently in the background. You would have a father at last, but you and I wouldn’t be related.”

“Stepmother,” Cindy said quietly, lost in thought.

“What?” the woman queried, not sure she’d heard correctly.

Cindy met her gaze uncertainly. “If your husband was my father, then you would be my stepmother. Well … my adopted stepmother.”

An incredulous look slowly blossomed into a full-fledged smile on the woman’s face. She threw back her head and laughed. “Well … I never!” she chortled. “When I was a little girl playing with dolls, I imagined myself in all sorts of fairy tales. But NEVER did I see myself as Cinderella’s Stepmother! You know … I think I sort of like it!”

The woman turned and looked at the clock over the doorway. She tore a fresh sheet of yellow paper from the pad and began writing furiously. “Okay, Cindy, we’re on a tight schedule here.” She added a few more items to her list. “I’m going to make a few preliminary phone calls. Do you know the name of the person who’s in charge of your … um … Academy? Not just in charge of you, or the girls, or even the education … but the person who actually runs the place?” She dropped her pencil and swung the chair back to face the computer.

“Mr. Cronklin is the director,” Cindy said.

A few seconds later, the woman barked a laugh. “Lee Roy Cronklin! Currently under investigation by the State Health Services Department for … child labor infractions! Ooohh! And racketeering! And fraud!” She chuckled. “What do you want to bet that old Lee Roy won’t be in the country very long after he gets a cash donation for the “Academy” from your new Daddy this afternoon?”

Cindy’s eyes widened. “This afternoon?”

“Moving too fast for you, Cindy?”

“Um … no. I mean … whatever you want … um … Stepmother.”

The woman barked a laugh, but did not correct her. She moved away from the computer and looked across the desk at Cindy, suddenly very serious. “You need to know some things about me, Cindy. I am very … experienced in life. It took me a long time to figure things out, but once I did, I knew exactly how the world works. While I was still in college, I learned where the REAL money comes from, and I learned how to get it. I have all the tools I need. I worked with my body at night, so I could put myself through school. Pre-Med. I specialized early … while I was still an undergrad … in psychology and hypnotherapy. But I never made it to grad school, because I learned, quite by chance, that there are men out there who would pay me much, much more than I would ever make as a doctor. All I had to do was combine my two … talents. There are men … and women, too … who are more than happy to part with great sums of money for the feelings I can give them. They crave domination … submission … surrender.

“I got careless only once … and wound up pregnant. Of course, it was also my greatest blessing. You will meet Betty soon enough … though she’s going through a bit of a … rough time right now. Still, I did VERY well in life, if I do say so myself. My first husband was rich … my second was richer, still. The divorce settlements were … well … adequate. And my current husband ….” She waved her hand around to indicate the lush furnishings in her office … in her mansion. “Unfortunately, the pre-nup was written before I came on the scene, and I couldn’t find a way to break it. He has a STAFF of lawyers! And so … it appears that I’m stuck with him for awhile. I keep him happy, though. But … I rather wouldn’t, if you know what I mean. And that, my dear, is where YOU will come in. At least, that is one of the several gaps in our household you will fill.

“You see, I can just LOOK at a person, and tell when I can dominate him. Completely. Totally. Absolutely. I did it with my first two husbands … we’re all still on friendly terms, by the way. I did it with my husband now.” She leaned forward and looked her directly in the eyes. “And I’m going to do it with YOU, Cindy.”

Cindy swallowed nervously.

“I could tell the second I set eyes on you, my dear. There’s a look about you … almost an aura. I KNOW. Positively. Without a doubt. I am going to place you, firmly and completely, under my hypnotic power without any effort at all! And, oh Cindy, you’re going to go SO deep for me! You know you will, don’t you? This is what you WANT, isn’t it?”

Cindy’s lips moved for a few seconds before she could find the voice to form words around. “I … I … um … I’m going to have to move out in another month. Out of the orphanage. Out on my own. I have the credits to get into college … but I’m … SO scared! People have been telling me what to do my whole life. What am I going to do when there’s no one there to tell me anymore? I … NEED someone to tell me … to order me … to take charge of me. Like you said in your ad. I want to be someone’s slave. I want to give my body to someone … even if it isn’t a very pretty body … but I … I want … um ….  I need ….”

“I understand, my dear,” the woman interrupted. “Very well, then.” She looked down at her list, then at the clock again. “First, I’ll give my husband a little session … that shouldn’t take too long. Then I’ll give him a little eyeful of you … he’ll enjoy THAT, I’m sure. Then I’ll have him arrange for a donation for our friend Lee Roy to mishandle while I make the arrangements with the man himself to do the work on your adoption. And that should give me just about an hour for YOU, before you go and sign the papers and begin your new life with us. Hopefully, Pablo will be back from the mall with your new bras by then. In the meantime ….”

She rose and came around the desk, standing above Cindy, then she reached down and undid the top button of the blouse (the second button seemed to be missing), revealing a great deal of flesh above and between the girl’s breasts. Cindy swallowed hard again and kept her eyes downcast. “Stay that way, please. Don’t move from your chair. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Stepmother.”

Time seemed to drag out interminably, and Cindy, casting flitting glances at the clock above the door, more than once assumed the thing had stopped. At length, she heard voices in the outer room; one obviously masculine, the other belonging to the woman she now thought of as Stepmother. She strained her ears to hear, but couldn’t distinguish individual words. Eventually, Stepmother’s voice was the only one she could hear speaking, and then she jumped in her seat as a surprisingly loud sound seemed to permeate the room as if it was amplified. It was undoubtedly coming from the adjoining room, where the voices were coming from, and it was like nothing she had ever heard before. Not a clock, certainly. Not a tick-tock, because each sound was equally modulated. More of a clack … clack … clack …clack … evenly spaced. Slow. Steady. Never-ending. And loud. Cindy believed that, whatever it was, it might possibly be heard throughout the house.

And then, it stopped.

A few moments later, the door opened and Stepmother appeared, motioning to her to get up and come into the next room. Cindy did so immediately, and came face to face with a distinguished-looking man in a tweed sports coat. He was tall, and his grey hair was thick, without a hint of balding. He had once been muscular, but was now tending a little toward fat … a fallen athlete who leaned slightly on a cane with a silver knob for a handle. He was smiling pleasantly at Cindy’s breasts.

“Dear, this is Cindy. Isn’t she just wonderful!?” enthused Stepmother.

“Indeed she is!” the man said to Cindy’s tits. “You are certainly everything my wife said you were, my dear. Let me get a good look at you.” He held out his hand to her, and when Cindy took it in her own, she allowed the old man to lift it and spin her around. His eyes never left her chest.

“I’m going to do everything in my power to make you my own daughter … immediately. You will be a springtime in the winter of my life,” he told Cindy’s boobs.

“Um … Thank you … Daddy,” she stuttered.

“Oh, my dear, you have no idea how happy you make me when you say that.” And he grabbed Cindy by the shoulders and pulled her to him in a tight (very tight) hug that mashed her breasts into his own strong chest. His hands strayed to her waist, clutching her to him, then strayed lower still.

“OH!” Cindy squeaked. He released her, and she staggered a step back away from him.

“You check the safe for the cash donation we talked about, darling,” Stepmother said, smiling. “I’ll call Mr. Cronklin and arrange the meeting and final paperwork. And then Cindy will be all yours.”

“Oh, yes,” the old man told Cindy’s mammaries. “Yes, the sooner, the better.”

“I need to talk to Cindy for awhile before we go, dear. Let’s shoot for … four o’clock? Will you be ready by then?”

“I’ll be ready,” he told Cindy’s knockers emphatically. And he finally tore his eyes from her, turned and left.

“Oh, my,” Cindy said breathlessly.

“Don’t worry, dear,” Stepmother said, putting her arm around Cindy’s waist, “he’s really just a pussycat. However, even pussycats must be cared for from time to time.” She pointed toward an easy chair in the corner of the room. “Go sit down there, please. It’s your turn.”

“My turn?”

“It’s time, Cindy. It’s time to surrender. Are you ready?”

Cindy took a faltering step forward, stopped for a moment, took a deep breath, and walked steadfastly to the chair and sat down. Smiling, Stepmother followed, reached up to a shelf on the wall, and took down a wooden box that looked like an elongated pyramid. She pulled a small, wheeled table in front of the chair and set the box on it, directly in front of her. Cindy realized what it was just before Stepmother took the lid off of it; she’d seen one in the music lab at school … a metronome. Stepmother left it sitting there, then turned and took Cindy’s wrist in her hand, feeling her pulse while she consulted her watch. Her lips moved silently as she counted. Finally, she released the wrist, adjusted something on the metronome, wound it using a key in the back of the device, and set it swinging.

And it went: clack … clack … clack … clack.

“Are you ready, Cindy?” she whispered in her ear.

“Yes, Stepmother.”

The metronome, Cindy thought, was of sufficient volume to drown out almost anything said. However, Stepmother had drawn a wooden chair beside and slightly behind the easy chair in which she sat, leaned forward next to her, placed her lips at her ear, and whispered softly. Her words were clear and supple, seeming to vibrate, deep inside her inner ear, wrapping themselves around her mind.

“Relax for me, Cindy. Relax, my dear. You will never forget this, your first time in my chair … and never forget this, my first … and most effective … device for capturing your attention … for making your mind slow down … slow … down … slow … down.”

Cindy was aware that her left wrist was again in Stepmother’s hand. “Slow … down … slow … down ….” Clack … clack … clack … clack. “Be calm for me, Cindy. Just sit here and be calm, while I make a little adjustment.” The metronome stopped, and Cindy blinked at it. Stepmother fiddled with it for a moment, then wrote something on a piece of paper, before allowing it to resume its perpetual swing. Clack … clack … clack. “And … back to a very relaxed state, now, Cindy,” Stepmother’s soft voice breathed in her ear. “The device is set just for you … just exactly to your speed … yours and yours alone … the perfect speed to take your thoughts away … the perfect speed to make it … SO … hard … to … think. Are you still afraid, Cindy?”

Cindy’s eyes followed the device that had been set specifically for her … specifically to make her thoughts go away … back and forth … and … back … and … forth. “I … um …I ….”

“That’s alright, Cindy,” Stepmother whispered. “I know … I know … and don’t worry, my darling, any fear will soon be gone. As soon as you allow the device to take away your thoughts … as soon as your thoughts stop … the last of your fear will stop with it. It will be gone … your fear will be gone … and your thoughts will be gone … and it will be SO nice not … to … worry … and … not … to … think.” Clack … clack … clack.

“Oh, Cindy,” (and the slight “s” sound in “Cindy” seemed to travel the length of her ear canal and right into her brain, making her body shiver, making her mind shiver) “Oh, Cindy, you’re such a wonderful subject for hypnosis. You are already in a light trance for me … already starting down … and … down … and … down … deeper … deeper … deeper. And as you drift down … and … down … your mind slows down … slows … down. And soon it will stop. But only your conscious mind … the one that hears the device … will soon stop. And your subconscious mind will follow me … follow my words … follow my voice … follow … follow. And when your mind slows all the way down … all the way down … all the way down and stops; then you will be asleep. Your conscious mind will stop and be asleep. Do you understand, dear?”

“Yes Stepmother,” Cindy said at once, not sure where she had found the words or the voice or the thoughts to say them.

“And where will you be when your thoughts finally stop?”

“Asleeeep.”

“Wonderful, Cindy. You’re such a good subject. Such a good slave. You’re such a good girl, Cindy. Good girl.” Cindy felt her mouth relax into a smile. “And so, now it’s time to start feeling sleepy for me, Cindy. As your mind slows down … and … down ….” Clack … clack … clack … “and … down … and soon it will stop, and soon you will be asleep, and your mind is getting SO slow now. And you’re SO sleepy now. So sleepy … so … sleepy … so ….” Clack … clack ….  “sleepy … and … let … your … mind … stop … now.”

In Cindy’s dream, she was seated in a wonderfully comfortable chair, and she was asleep while the metronome continued its never-ending journey. The sound was loud and distinct and comforting and real, and it was all she could hear, even though Stepmother continued to whisper and whisper and whisper in her ear. 

But now, it was time to go deeper, and it took a little concentration on Cindy’s part to achieve this task; which was not at all easy, considering that concentration is very difficult to accomplish without thought, and she was most certainly incapable of that. And so she decided to imagine that the sounds she was hearing were actually stairs, and as each “clack” occurred, she took a step lower … and … lower … and … down and down and down she went. A pretty nice idea, she decided, for someone who could not have ideas.

The sounds of the metronome began to diminish when she was this deep … so very deep. She knew that Stepmother was speaking to her again, because her ear shivered, and her mind beyond that, but even then, the clacking of the uninterrupted machine was the only true sound she was aware of. And then it stopped. And she woke up.

Her mouth was dry, and she licked her lips. She felt like she did sometimes when her alarm went off by mistake, in the middle of the night, and she was reluctant to claim the consciousness necessary to turn it off. Stepmother smiled down on her. “It’s alright, Cindy, just relax, deep in the chair for me, and I’ll let you go back to sleep in a moment.”

“Yes, Stepmother,” Cindy said groggily. She settled even further into the chair, feeling the fabric against her bare back and butt.

“And now, Cindy, I want you to stay relaxed for me … don’t become excited … just stay sleepy … and become aware.”

And Cindy immediately realized that she was no longer wearing any clothes. She was completely naked. “Stepmother, my clothes are … um … gone.” The thought came to her that she ought to cover herself, but she was too tired to exert the effort.

“Yes, dear. I’ve noticed. What happened to them?”

“I … I … don’t know. I know I was wearing them when I sat down.”

Stepmother made a little clicking sound of disapproval with her tongue. “This isn’t good at all, Cindy. You must be VERY embarrassed.”

“Yes, Stepmother,” Cindy whimpered miserably. 

“VERY ashamed.”

“Yes, Stepmother. Please ….”

“Please, what, Cindy?”

“Please … please make it stop.”

“Make what stop?”

“This … feeling. This … shame. Please … please hypnotize me. Please make my mind stop. Please make the shame stop.”

“Each time I hypnotize you, you will go deeper than the time before. You will go MUCH deeper this time. Is that what you really want, my dear? “

“Oh, Yes! Oh, Please, Stepmother!”

“Very well then, watch the crystal, please.” And she held a cut crystal up, just in front of Cindy’s eyes. It was on the end of a monofilament thread, and it stayed still, spinning, spinning. Cindy concentrated all her attention on it, watching, rapt, as the crystal fractured the room’s light into a hundred flashing colors. “See nothing but the crystal … hear nothing but my voice … as the crystal goes around … and around … and … around … and … let … your … mind … slow … down … slow … down.”

The crystal was slowing its rapid rotation, and as it did so, Stepmother’s words slowed with it. “And … now … there … is nothing … but … the crystal … nothing … but … my … voice … and you’re so … sleepy … so … sleepy … as your mind … slows … down … and … stops.”

In Cindy’s dream, she was walking down and down a spiral staircase, and going deeper and deeper as she went. Her nudity didn’t really matter anymore, because this was a very, very personal dream, and she was alone. Somewhere above her, the crystal was spinning in the sunlight, and as it did, she found herself following the bits of color on the walls, as they led her ever downward. Stepmother was whispering in her ear again, she knew, but in her dream, she was aware only of the importance of going down … down.

“Wake up, Cindy,” Stepmother said, distinctly. And she bounced up, sitting straight in this wonderful chair. And she felt awake … alive … wonderful! Stepmother helped her up, and standing, they were both laughing for no apparent reason. 

Cindy had never been so happy.

