Copyright 2002 by dungeonmouse

     Once upon a time long, long ago there lived a man and his wife.  They owned a large farm with a wonderful house.  The couple worked hard and amassed a comfortable fortune.  Their joy became complete when the wife gave birth to a baby girl.  The baby was as beautiful as the sunrise and pleasant as a spring day.  They named her Cinderella.
     Shortly after Cinderella's birth, her mother died, post-natal care leaving much to be desired back then.  Grief-stricken, the man turned to drink.  His judgment impaired, he fell into the clutches of a conniving woman.  She cleaned him up after a fashion but allowed him enough ale so he remained compliant.  Soon she convinced him to marry her.  He brought to the marriage his considerable estate and Cinderella.  She brought two daughters from a previous union.  Based on the daughters' homely appearance, said union apparently involved livestock. 
     The new couple lived together but a little while before the man died.  Some say the drink got him.  Some say he died of a broken heart.  Some whisper the woman poisoned him, though the magistrate officially found no evidence of foul play.  The woman leased the farm land, sold the house and moved to town.  There she bought a grand house and settled in to a life of leisure.  She turned Cinderella over to her two daughters, they being some years older.  Cinderella's step-sisters raised her as a slave-girl.  They told their new neighbors Cinderella came from a barbarian tribe and had defied all efforts to civilize her.  Cinderella made no protest at this shameful treatment and fell into her role with diligence. 
     In time, Cinderella grew into a beautiful young woman.  Her hair grew with amazing speed, billowing across her shoulders in golden waves and defying her step-sisters efforts to chop it into an ugly cut.  Her body stood tall and willowy with amble breasts, delightfully curved hips and a tiny waist.  Since her step-sisters allowed her no clothes, she felt no shame in her body and held her head, and those gorgeous breasts, high. Her large eyes, full lips and high cheekbones highlighted a face that struck men, and women, dumb.  Very few enjoyed that affliction.  Her step-sisters, well aware of Cinderella's charms, kept her hidden and busy.  They kept her wrists and ankles manacled at all times and fastened an iron collar permanently about her graceful neck.  Cinderella soon learned the art of moving gracefully while wearing manacles and leg irons.  She watched the market from an upstairs window and learned all the slave dances.  She practiced the moves while doing her housework, adding little twists and wiggles where they seemed needed.  The more graceful and beautiful Cinderella became, the harder her step-sisters toiled in their efforts to drag her down to their level.  They chained her to the hearth at night and made her sleep in the ashes, but the grime only emphasized the beauty beneath.  They whipped her repeatedly, raising long, red welts across her body but somehow the pattern always ended looking attractive.  They even had a hideous snake tattooed up one leg but the final effect looked sexy as hell.  Through it all, Cinderella remained sweet, lovely and hard-working.
     In only one area did the step-sisters meet with the least success.  Soon after reaching womanhood, Cinderella discovered her pleasure zones.  She enjoyed touching herself, enjoyed it immensely in fact.  Late one night, the elder step-sister caught Cinderella happily massaging her nether regions with her manacles.  After that, the step-sisters chained Cinderella's hands to the wall and her ankles apart.  Lying in the dark, feeling her body burn but unable to touch it, Cinderella would moan, softly at first then louder and louder as the flame burned hotter and hotter inside her.  The step-sisters would smile and slip into blissful sleep each night, serenaded by sweet sound of  Cinderella's frustration.
     I suppose I should introduce the mice here.  The house mice crawled from their holes daily to watch Cinderella clean and dust.  Following each dance around the house, the mice would vanish into the woodwork and squeaking, scratching sounds would come from the walls.  The mouse population skyrocketed.  Cinderella's step-mother spent a small fortune in pest control but the experts never got ahead of the little rodents' reproduction rate.  "Horniest little bastards I've ever seen," as one put it.
     One day, the king's messenger posted a proclamation in the town square.  The king's son would visit the city on the next full moon and host a huge ball.  He would collect the fairest slave-girl in the town for his father's harem.  The city buzzed with excitement.  Young women and women trying to look young staged a run on the blacksmith.  Collars and slave bracelets became high fashion.  For you see, when the king bought a slave-girl, his price ensured the girl's family  financial independence for generations and a slave-girl's life in the palace made even a wealthy girl's state seem low and ugly by comparison.
     Cinderella's step-sisters joined the parade, of course.  They visited the goldsmith and returned with beautiful golden rings (but no chains) fitted around their necks, ankles and wrists.  They shopped for days, buying hundreds of slave silks, spiky heels and flimsy capes.  They experimented with hair styles, eyebrow treatments, nail colors, lipstick and makeup.  They engineered the greatest waste of resources since the burning of Rome.
     Meanwhile, poor Cinderella stayed home, wearing her black chains and doing her chores.  She really wanted to attend the ball.  She worked hard and performed her chores well.  She moved gracefully in her chains.  Her body and face looked nice (though I doubt she understood the staggering effect she had on both men and women).  And the fire burned white hot in her loins.  She knew she was a good slave and she wanted her shot. 
     Unfortunately, Cinderella asked her step-mother if she could attend the ball.  The step-mother enjoyed a good laugh and told Cinderella to shut up and fetch a cup of tea.  Even worse, her step-mother mentioned the conversation to her daughters when they returned from shopping.  The step-sisters enjoyed an evil laugh.  Cinderella didn't laugh at all the next few days, though the fire between her legs blazed like never before.  The step-sisters suspended her every way they could imagine.  They wore out two whips on her alabaster skin.  In a fit of malicious imagination, they even invented the pony-tail ass-plug and fitted it to Cinderella.  Yes, my children, Cinderella's peach-fuzzed cheeks parted (quite willingly, so tradition tells us) for the first-ever butt plug.  A wood carver fashioned it from knurled beech and fitted it with a rope tail.  The most reliable accounts describe it as, freely translating the Old German, "a whopper."  Now you know.
     Finally, the big evening arrived.  The step-sisters, along with every other woman in town, spent the entire day in the beauty parlor.  Returning home, they decked themselves out in their finest slave silks and stumbled through a last practice slave dance, breaking only two lamps in the process.  Step-mother even joined in, saying she only wanted to watch but she wore a slave collar and bracelets when she emerged from dressing.  Cinderella returned from cleaning the stables as they prepared to leave.  The step-sisters screamed at Cinderella to stay out of the house so she wouldn't soil their new silks.  Cinderella sighed and sat on the back steps.  She looked at her body, covered in sweat and manure.
     "I wouldn't attract the prince's eye anyway," she consoled herself.
     "Oh yes, you would."
     Cinderella looked up.  A beautiful lady, silver-haired and dressed in a flowing white gown, stood before her.
     "Who are you?  And why do you think I'm a fit slave for a serf, much less a prince?"
     "Dear, dear child.  I'm your fairy godmother.  I can see past the grime and fecal matter to the gorgeous young woman beneath.  Although.... I do know a very wealthy count into scat who would pay a king's ransom for you just as you are now.  Be that as it may, you are a gorgeous slave, the most gorgeous in these parts, maybe in the whole world.  Any prince would count himself lucky beyond his wildest imaginings to own you."
     "D-do you really think so?"
     "I know so.  My child, do you truly wish to attend the ball, win the prince's heart and join the royal harem?  Before you answer, there's something you should know.  You were not born a slave.  You are the step-daughter of your mistress and step-sister to those two cows of hers.  You are a free woman and heir to this estate.  If you go to the ball, you can never reclaim your inheritance nor your position as a free woman."
     Cinderella considered this revelation.  She had figured out her true status long ago but said nothing for fear of making things worse.  As she grew older, she embraced her status as a slave.  She saw her step-sisters bickering constantly,  always unhappy, their hideous faces made more so by their constant frowns.  When she looked at herself, graceful, beautiful and happy with what she had, she felt no urge to claim her birthright.  Cinderella held up her wrists and studied the manacles.  Their weight felt good on her skin, the tug of the chain when she spread her hands apart came at the exact distance it always had.
     "I'll stay a slave, thank you fairy godmother.  I'm a happy slave and that's all that matters."
     "You are wise beyond your years, my dear.  Well, let's see now.  We'll need fairy dust..."  Fairy Godmother dug in her brassiere and, after some rooting around, pulled out a small bag.  "...and my wand..."  She groped around her waist band, finally finding a long stick tucked behind the small of her back.  "...and the raw materials..."  She glanced around the back yard.  Flowers bloomed and vegetables hung heavy on vines, all thanks to Cinderella.  A lazy cat and a lazier dog snoozed on the porch.  Under the steps, a row of beady mice-eyes stared up at Cinderella, hoping for an evening dance.  "...yes, yes, that will all do.  Are you ready, my child?"
     "Oh yes, Fairy Godmother, I'm ready!"  Cinderella jumped to her feet then looked down.  Tears welled in her eyes.  "I can't go like this!" she wailed.
     "Oh, hush child..  That's where the fairy dust comes in."  Fairy Godmother opened the bag and sprinkled a bit of dust over Cinderella.  The dust sparkled in the dying sun, spreading a golden glow around the porch.  As the glow died, a dozen tiny mouse lips gasped.  Fairy Godmother laid her hand on her chest and steadied herself against the porch railing.  "I seem to have outdone myself."  she whispered.
     Indeed she had.  Cinderella stood radiant on the porch.  Mountains of blond hair flowed around her head, over her shoulders and trailed down her back and chest.  Her face glowed, high cheek bones highlighted just right, eyebrows arched and accented, wide, ruby-red lips parted just enough, blue-eyes glistening with allure.  Her body curved, silky smooth and white as marble, from her neck to her ankles, muscles standing out with just the right definition, tummy flat, hips curved, butt tucked in, breasts standing proud.  Gossamer bits of silk wrapped around her hips and breasts, hiding nothing and begging to be ripped away.  The old black iron cuffs and chains glittered a polished silver, gracefully accenting her ankles, wrists and neck.  The snake tattoo, alive with color, climbed her leg, its snout nuzzling her pubic hairs.  The butt-plug, now gleaming crystal, peeked out from below a real horse-hair tail that arched high and full.  Two mice collapsed and the dog entered a spontaneous wet dream.  Even the cat stirred in her sleep.
     Cinderella looked down at herself, peered over her shoulder, twisted around examining her legs and thighs.  She looked up at Fairy Godmother.
     "Goodness.  What kind of spell was that?"
     Fairy Godmother yanked her hands down from her own breasts then consulted a small book.  "Let's see.  Oh yes.  That one came from a chapter entitled 'Hormone-Based Weapons of Mass Destruction.'  I wasn't sure what that meant but it sounded neat."
     Cinderella thought of something.  "How do I get to the ball?  It's miles away!"
     "Never fear, my dear.  Your fairy godmother has everything figured out."
     Fairy Godmother waved her wand, aiming it around the yard.  A huge pumpkin became a gilded slave wagon, with golden bars and ornate wheels.  The mice under the porch became twelve black Clydesdales with silver tack.  The sleeping cat awoke to find herself a sleek woman dressed in a black lace dress and top hat, sitting on the driver's bench atop the wagon.  The dog, also transformed, stood next to the wagon, a huge male slaver dressed in black leather.
     Fairy Godmother bowed to Cinderella.  "Your wagon awaits my dear.  Have a good time and a wonderful life."
     Cinderella climbed into the wagon, assisted by Dog.  She knelt on the plush carpet lining the cage and spread her knees wide as Dog locked her gleaming leg irons to rings on the floor.  She straightened her back and laid her palms flat on her thighs as Dog closed the door.  Dog swung up on the running board and waved to Cat, who cracked her whip over the horses.  The wagon pulled off.
     Fairy Godmother waved then jumped up and down, yelling, "I almost forgot!  Be home by midnight!  The spell only lasts until the stroke of midnight!"
     Cinderella waved back and smiled.

     Meanwhile, the ball proceeded just as you might imagine, plodding along as a small town tried to impress visiting royalty.  Local leaders made boring introductions.  Small town girls fumbled over themselves trying to appear graceful.  Members of the prince's entourage made snide remarks in too-loud whispers.  A waiter dropped a tray filled with glasses of champagne.  The prince presided over all with a winning smile and a gracious air hard-earned in hundreds of such events.  All was as it should be.  Until...
     Cinderella's slave wagon rolled up to the front door.  The valet, a pimply-faced lad, stood and stared, jaw hanging slack and arms dangling.  Two courtiers, outside for a breath of fresh air and a pinch of controlled substance, ogled like rubes.  Another slave-girl hopeful plopped down on the steps and wept.  A matron swooned and her consort, an elderly gentleman of exceedingly frail appearance, stared at himself, whispering, "Glory be.  After all these years.  Will you look at that."
     Dog jumped down from the running board and whispered to the valet.  "Here, son, help me with the door.  That's a good lad."
     They swung open the door and unfastened Cinderella's ankles from the floor.  The valet's hands shook so hard, he had trouble undoing the lock until Cinderella laid her hand on his arm.
     "Such a strong one you are.  Your slaves must count themselves the luckiest women in the world."  The valet started at her touch and words, then straightened his back, undid the lock and helped her from the wagon.
     As Cinderella climbed from the wagon, buzz of her arrival spread like wild fire through the hall.  People crowded onto the front portico, whispering and staring.  Cinderella climbed the steps, head high but eyes downcast in proper slave-girl fashion.  As she entered the main hall, the musicians stopped playing and conversation dropped to furtive whispers.  The packed crowd parted around her.  She bowed low to the prince at the head table then walked onto a vacant dancing platform.  She assumed a starting pose and froze as still as a statue.  The crowd shuffled their feet.
     The prince regarded the newcomer with interest but maintained his composure.  He let the crowd stare and allowed Cinderella her moment in the spotlight then snapped his fingers at the musicians, bidding them to play.
     If Cinderella's appearance electrified the crowd, her dancing blew them away.  She danced slowly and seductively, she danced wildly and passionately, she danced burlesque, modern, go-go, dirty, classical and more.  Her skin glistened with sweat and the slave silks clung to her in a most spectacular fashion.  Her embellishments to standard dances captivated the audience and girls of all ages studies her moves and practiced all around the hall.  The crowd cheered and shouted for more.
     Casting her eyes down after a particularly physical number, she glanced at the clock.  She gasped in horror.  Two minutes until midnight!  In two minutes, she would turn back to a poor, sooty slave-girl covered in manure!  She leapt from the platform and raced out the door, chains jingling.  The crowd gawked in surprise.  The prince raced after her.  Dog and Cat, aware of the late hour, held the wagon ready, door standing wide.  The prince almost caught Cinderella on the steps but at that very moment she lost control of her sphincter and the horse-tail plug popped out.  The prince paused for a second to pick it up.  Cinderella jumped in the wagon, Dog banged shut the door and Cat cracked the whip.  The wagon thundered off into the night.
     Cinderella actually made it home before the spell reversed.  Fairy Godmother, knowing young people, had padded the time.  As the wagon rolled into the yard, however, the air sparkled and spun.  Cinderella found herself sitting on the ground, covered in soot and manure, wearing her black iron chains and surrounded by the mice, the cat, the dog and a huge pumpkin.
     "A scene like this would get us arrested in some fiefdoms,"  she said to no one in particular.  The dog barked.  The cat eyed the mice hungrily and the mice beat a hasty retreat.  Cinderella sighed.  She got up, washed off in the horse trough and went inside to turn down her step-mother's and step-sister's beds.

     The next day, the town talked of nothing but the mysterious slave-girl.  Cinderella's step-mother and step-sisters rehashed the whole affair over and over.  They  vented their fury at the mystery slave-girl since the prince had chosen no one after she left.  They conducted their discussions within earshot of Cinderella, rubbing in her absence and hurting her much deeper than they realized.
     Two days later, a new proclamation set the town abuzz.  The prince declared he would find the mystery slave-girl.  He would visit every home.  Every woman must bare her butt to him so he might try the butt-plug in her rear entrance.  Educated by the court wizards, the prince knew a spell when he saw one and he correctly guessed that fitting the plug to the true mystery slave-girl would reactivate the spell.  Looking at every female bottom in this corner of the kingdom might be arduous work but royal blood flowed in his veins and he performed such duties graciously whether he liked them or not.
     In time, the prince worked his way to the step-mother's house.  I will spare you the details of trying the plug in the step-mother and the two step-sisters.  Suffice to say the prince earned every last ducat of his royal allowance that day.  When he finished that chore, he inquired whether any other women lived in the house.  No, no other women here, the step-mother told him.  Sensing something in her answer, he persisted, reminding her that lying to the royal family would earn her an extra few inches of height on the King's rack.  The step-mother finally allowed that, yes, there was a slave girl in the basement but she was a barbarian, had not attended the ball and could not possibly be the girl he sought.  The prince commanded they bring the girl before him.
     The step-daughters dragged Cinderella from the basement and shoved her to the ground before the prince.  He gently raised her to her knees and asked if he might try the plug in her.  Cinderella nodded her ascent, pivoted on her knees and presented herself to him.  When the plug touched her creamy buns, it slipped into place as if drawn by magic.  The room glowed and Cinderella transformed back to the mystery slave-girl.  The step-mother screamed.  The elder step-sister moved towards Cinderella with murder in her eye.  Dog, also back in his human form, intercepted her.  Cat put the other step-sister against the wall with a glare and a crack of her whip.  Cinderella held her eyes downcast before the prince.
     "You've found me, my prince.  What is your command for your slave?"
     "Actually, Cinderella, I'm not looking for you."
     Cinderella jerked her head up in time to see a glance pass between the prince and Dog.  The prince smiled at Dog, who winked back.
     "You see, Cinderella, I'm not interested in women.  Your slave master here caught my eye when you arrived that night and I've been searching for him ever since.  I knew if I found you, I would find him.  As for the royal harem, I refuse to populate it with gorgeous women who will waste away servicing that old goat, the King.  So, I'll just take these three," he indicated the step-mother and the two step-sisters, "back to the harem and let you get on with your life."
     "But what about the proclamation?  It said you came to chose the fairest slave-girl in the town."  Cinderella protested.
     "Standard proclamation boilerplate, I'm afraid.  If it said 'ugliest girl,' we wouldn't get much response, would we?"
     Cinderella, disappointed though she was, agreed with the prince's logic.  Dog and the prince's bodyguards led the step-mother and two step-daughters away in a royal slave wagon.  The step-sisters looked back at Cinderella with wide-eyed stares, still in shock.
     "Well, well, it seems we have the place to ourselves."  Cinderella turned and saw Fairy Godmother standing in the room with Cat snuggled up behind her.
     "What do I do now, Fairy Godmother?  None of this was supposed to happen!"
     "Actually, my child, its all for the best.  I happen to know the king recently contracted a horrible dementia.  He spends his days and nights torturing his harem.  To quote a gentleman not yet born, your step-mother and step-sisters hence forward will lead lives 'nasty, brutal and short.'  Given the prince's sexual preferences, I'd say you are best off right here."
     Cinderella sniffled.  "But I'm a slave-girl.  I don't want to be the mistress of this house."
     "Oh, that's all arranged, too.  Meet my alter ego."
     Fairy Godmother stood en pointe and spun around.  Light sparkled and filled the room.  When the light faded, Fairy Godmother stood before Cinderella.  At least, Cinderella thought it was still Fairy Godmother.  Her face looked the same, though younger.  Raven hair hung long and straight below her shoulders.  A black leather corset cinched her waist and pushed up her ample breasts.  Black leather boots with incredible heels extended up to her knees.  Elbow-length gloves covered her hands.  She slapped her wand, now looking suspiciously like a riding crop, against her palm.
     "Like most fairies, I can shape-shift.  I like my dark side best but union rules require that I use my godmother aspect at work.  Living here with you and Cat will give me a chance to unwind between assignments and expand my repertoire of non-fairy tale magic."  Fairy Mistress reached back and rubbed Cat's thigh with her hand.  "What do you think, Cat?  Dinner tonight, served by our delightful slave-girl, followed by an evening teaching her the Hyberian Whip Dance?"  Cat purred her agreement.  Outside the window, huge hooves thundered as giant bodies jockeyed for position.  Cinderella smiled, spread her knees and cast down her eyes, the model slave-girl.

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