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Plastic Cinderella
by PlastiClown
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© 2014 - PlastiClown - Used by permission
Storycodes: F+/f+; fairytale; majick; transform; plastic; doll; auction; enslave; inflate; objectify; tease; play; punchingbag; lesb; mast; sex; climax; cons/reluct; X
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Plastic Cinderella PlastiClown F+/f+; fairytale; majick; transform; plastic; doll; auction; enslave; inflate; objectify; tease; play; punchingbag; lesb; mast; sex; climax; cons/reluct; X
 

This is based on the wrong version of the story originally titled Aschenputtel. Charles Perrault, a member of one the most morally bankrupt institutions in history, the court of Louis XIV, took one of the best fairy tales ever and transformed into an obscene celebration of the values (if one could call them that) of a gang of too-rich, self-indulgent putzes. (If you want to see more on this topic, read “The Uses of Enchantment” by Bruno Bettelheim.) Unfortunately, that’s the version that Disney made into a movie. Charles, dear boy, if you want to fuck up a fairy tale, here’s how to do it right.

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Once upon a time in a past/present/future world that does and does not exist, a man lived on a small estate with his daughter, his new wife, and his two stepdaughters. The estate might have been somewhere in France, but, then again, it might not have been. You would have to refer to the quantum theory to understand the yes/no nature of this little world, but one thing was not subject to raging chance in this world: the self-named “nobility” (more properly, plunderpigs and greedhogs) had the moral development of insects. In the capital everything was painted in seven primary colors – Pride, Envy, Sloth, Avarice, Gluttony, Lust, and Wrath. A foul miasma of sin pervaded the air... and the disease was contagious.

Somewhere a man’s new wife yearned to be a part of the action. She was certain that she and her daughters were meant to shine as the brightest stars in the firmament that housed the Sun King (at least that’s what the television people called him). But shining takes money and shining in the Sun King’s heaven takes lots of money. There were, however, ways to get lots of money.

The man’s natural daughter was called Cinderella (of course – PC) and there was something strange about her, though no one could put their finger on what it was. Her mother had hinted at some secret that she would share with her someday, but then the accident had taken her away. Her father didn’t know what the secret was, so eventually she forgot that there was a secret. She had bigger problems. Her Stepmother and Stepsisters treated her as if she were in their way. She was made to feel like an intruder in her own home. Worse, she was treated like a mere serving girl, trained to wait on the others as if that were all she was good for. Stepmother and the Stepsisters acted as if they wanted to be rid of her and one day their wish came true.

The girl was told that there was a ball being held at the Count’s palace and Cinderella and her Stepfemmes had been invited. A little drizzle fell on the day of the ball (as if someone had requested it and the witches had filled said request – PC), so Stepmother and the girls wore their soft, smooth, transparent plastic raincoats; Cinderella in blue, Veronica in pink, Elizabeth in straw-yellow, and Stepmother in a red raincoat that had gold tiger stripes printed on the plastic. Having just had their hair styled, the girls wore their shower caps to offer additional protection, not quite trusting the pixie-style hoods of their raincoats to do the job of keeping rain off their coiffures.

They rode in an open carriage pulled by a mechanical horse, essentially an engine mounted on two wide-diameter wheels and connected to the carriage’s wagon-tongue through a universal joint. The coachman started the horse and then swung himself up onto the drivers seat and away they went. The mechanical horse farted its putt-putt-putt as it pulled the carriage down the road. In the light drizzle dewdrops sparkled on Stepmother’s and the girls’ raincoats, augmenting the soft, waxy sheen of the plastic reflecting the ambient light.

As the carriage approached the Count’s palace, Stepmother told the girls that they were to meet a godmother, who would introduce them to all of the right people. This was merely the first step on the road that would take them to the King’s court. The girls were admonished to be on their best behavior and Cinderella noticed that Stepmother seemed to be addressing her remarks more to Veronica and Elizabeth than to her. She entertained a little thought that perhaps Stepmother was coming to appreciate her more.


They arrived at the palace and dismounted their carriage into a great swish of plastic raincoats. All of the colors of the rainbow and more were present. Eagerly they made their way into the palace.

Inside the palace they could hear a great hubbub of voices and they began to feel a certain excitement. Before they could look around, they were directed into a small room, where they met a woman wearing a transparent-black plastic raincoat over her black dress. She held what looked like a small glass baton and offered it to Cinderella. When Cinderella touched the baton, she froze.

She couldn’t move. She heard voices, perfectly audible, but sounding somehow as if they were coming to her from a great distance. Everything seemed to shimmer. And she couldn’t move.

“Now Cinderella,” the witch said, “take off your raincoat and all of your clothes, but leave your shower cap on!”

To her horror, Cinderella obeyed the command. It felt as if someone else were manipulating her body like a puppet. Stepmother and the Stepsisters watched eagerly as Cinderella humiliated herself, taking off her raincoat and then her clothes. Stepmother took her raincoat and held it while Veronica and Elizabeth took her clothes and tossed them onto a pile of other women’s clothes. She stood naked, wearing only her shower cap; transparent-white plastic printed with tiny pink line drawings of butterflies enveloped her blond hair in a soft nimbus displaying a waxy sheen.

“Yes, you’re almost ready,” the witch said to Cinderella as she draw a strange-looking wand from the scabbard on her belt. “But you must be hot for me to plastify you.” She held up the wand and Cinderella saw that it was about a foot long, appeared to be made of translucent wood, and sparkled, as if tiny fireflies were flittering about it. “Arouse the lust within you! Let it take possession of you! And just before you come to climax take a deep breath and puff out your belly! I want you to look pregnant when I turn you into plastic.”

Cinderella felt sexual heat flare up within her. Her heart pounded; her breathing deepened and quivered; her clitoris and nipples swelled and stiffened. She was making half-sobbing sounds as hot pressure intensified within her. She rocked slightly to and fro as she felt her clitoris lengthen and slide forward in its sheath to make its tip poke out from under its hood. She felt a tickling in her clitoris, drew in a deep breath, and distended her belly. She felt something touch her neck a little below and behind her left ear and she felt a jolt that seemed to lift her off the floor.

As Cinderella’s senses returned to normal, Veronica grabbed her from behind, gripping her biceps. Regaining her will as her mind cleared, Cinderella found that she couldn’t break out of Veronica’s grip. She had, as the witch explained, been transformed into an inflated plastic doll. As Veronica held her, the witch put her raincoat on her. Elizabeth approached her carrying something made of doubled plastic ribbon, like the belt of her raincoat. It was a set of shackles and Elizabeth bound them onto Cinderella, using magnetic patches to close the cuffs over Cinderella’s wrists and ankles. Then Elizabeth punched Cinderella in the belly. The punch didn’t hurt, but it bent Cinderella over. “It’s a shame we can’t play with her some more,” Elizabeth lamented.

“Yes, well,” Stepmother said, “there will be plenty of serving girls for you to play with when we are accepted into the Higher Society.”

“If we find out who buys her,” Veronica said, “perhaps someday we can buy her back?”

“Yeah,” Elizabeth said enthusiastically, “and then we can punch her ‘til she pops!” She gave Cinderella another punch in the belly.

Veronica released her grip on Cinderella then and gave the hapless girl a light shove toward the witch. As the Stepsisters snickered, the witch took Cinderella by the arm and led her through a door into a passageway. Restrained by the shackles and prodded by the witch, Cinderella shuffled down the hall. The ankle-length skirt of her raincoat swished and swirled around her legs as she walked and the soft, smooth plastic only made her more self-conscious about her sexual arousal. She heard voices growing louder and she trembled at the prospect of further humiliation. Then the witch took her through a door and her horror only deepened at what she saw.

The palace’s ballroom had been turned into an auction ring. Almost a dozen girls, in their shower caps, raincoats, and shackles, were standing on raised blocks in front of an audience. One girl, in her transparent-lilac Tres Plastique raincoat with separate Pluie Capot rainbonnet, stood on a block next to an empty one. Cinderella in her transparent-blue Stormette plastic raincoat, her Charmant en Plastique shower cap, and shackles made of doubled-plastic ribbons was urged onto the empty block. The girl standing on the other side of her wore an ankle-length, balmacaan-style raincoat made of transparent-gray plastic that had black vine-like patterns printed on it. Like her neighbors, Cinderella held her hands over her crotch. She became intensely aware of her breasts bulging against smooth, warm plastic. She saw that the next girl over on her left, in a transparent-green Stormette, was trembling. She was trembling herself and felt her heart pounding.

She was the last entry to be brought in, so the auction began almost as soon as she set her bare feet on the auction block. As each girl was sold, an assistant put a leash, made of doubled-plastic ribbon and fastened around her neck with magnetic patches, and led her to her new owner. Cinderella saw Stepmother and the Stepsisters come into the back of the room: they had taken off their shower caps and tucked them into the belts of their raincoats and they were watching the proceedings intently. Cinderella felt dizzy and intensely self-conscious when she saw that she was the last girl being auctioned off. She was only vaguely aware of the auctioneer calling the auction chant.

“Now what am I bid for Cinderella?” he called. “Do I hear one thousand louies? One thousand. One thousand. Hibbity hibbity.” Cinderella felt lost, barely noticed the auctioneer describing her for the crowd. Finally, after what seemed like hours, she heard, “Hibbity hibbity, going once, hibbity hibbity, going twice, bippity boppity boom! Sold!” Then she felt the leash being fastened around her neck and, with her head bowed, she allowed the assistant to lead her to her owner.

She discovered that she had been sold to Pluvia Bouffant, Comtesse du Plastique, a woman who wore a raincoat made of transparent-white plastic printed with pink, white, and yellow chrysanthemum patterns. The woman accepted the leash from the attendant and tied it to her belt. At the after-auction party Cinderella discovered, from conversations that the comtesse had with other participants, that she was to be a gift for Pluvia’s daughter. Tethered to her mistress, she was obliged to follow the comtesse around, even when the comtesse encountered Stepmother.

“Yes,” Stepmother told the comtesse, “she’s been trained as a serving girl. She will serve you well, unless,” she added, leering at Cinderella, “she would prefer to be a punching bag.”

The comtesse laughed. “I think my daughter will be well pleased with her new toy. I can’t fathom why you didn’t keep her for yourself.”

“I was concerned about my daughters,” Stepmother said. “It seemed clear to me that they would end up fighting over her, so selling her provided the best solution.”

Cinderella felt as if she were blushing in embarrassment, all the more so when she saw Veronica and Elizabeth staring at her. She was almost relieved when the party ended and the comtesse led her to her coach.

Restrained by the shackles, she could only shuffle as the comtesse, her leash in hand, tugged at her. She stood by as the comtesse entered the coach and took her seat and then climbed into the coach after her. She sat down in the seat facing the comtesse and the comtesse tied her leash to a door handle. Then they were off, the mechanical horses pulling the coach across the countryside to the du Plastique estate. On the way the comtesse began to teach Cinderella the rudiments of sign language, since she was unable to speak.

The last shreds of Cinderella’s dignity evaporated when she was taken into the house in which she was to be part of the furniture. The comtesse took the leash off her and gave her a brief tour of the house, demonstrating the holding spots that were woven into the carpet in several rooms. Each holding spot was an elaborate rose-window pattern woven into the carpet with colorful threads and each had a teardrop shape off to one side. The comtesse told Cinderella to stand on the spot in the parlor and then stepped on the teardrop. Cinderella felt a rubbery force rise up around her like a sheath. Then the comtesse gave her a quick jab in the chest. Cinderella bounced lightly off the woman’s fist, tipped over backward, and then bounced smartly back upright, as if eager to please her mistress.

“This is how you become a punching bag,” the comtesse said. “But don’t worry. Contrary to what your sister said, you won’t pop. That plastic you’re made of is indestructible. You’re going to be our slave-doll forever!” She stepped on the teardrop again and the force holding Cinderella upright vanished. She led Cinderella to a bedroom at the rear of the house, told her where to stand and wait, and then left.


So Cinderella was to be an inflatable plastic serving girl. She looked around and saw a big double bed, a dresser, and an armchair as basic furnishings. She saw an open door leading to a bathroom and a closed door that, presumably, led to a walk-in closet. Behind her a wide window looked out on a formal garden. Of course she noticed the holding spot on the carpet and shuddered when she saw what was standing near it. It was a wooden sculpture meant to hold aprons: it consisted of three small legs holding a plate from which two finger-thick rods rose about six feet, a bow-shaped bar held up by the rods, and a pair of lunettes, one jutting from each side of the rod. A pair of aprons hung on the lunettes by their halterneck yokes and it was the one that she could see that frightened Cinderella. It was a big ruffle-skirted pinafore made of transparent-black plastic with a concentric-circle target pattern printed on the bib in red and the words Punch Me printed across the top of the ankle-length skirt in big red letters.

Some time later someone wearing a transparent-black plastic raincoat with a helmet-style hood came into the room. The young man appeared to have rather delicate features, then Cinderella noticed the dress with a long, pleated skirt under the raincoat. The young woman, not young man, took off her hood and shook out her hair. Cinderella was startled. What kind of girl wears a boy’s raincoat, she thought.

The woman confronted her. “So you’re my big, fat, blow-up serving girl,” she said. She looked Cinderella over, squeezed her left breast, and patted her fanny. She took the shackles off Cinderella and hung them over a prong jutting from the side of the apron holder. She then went into her bathroom.

She came back wearing only her panties and tucking her hair up into her shower cap. It was a standard beret-style shower cap made of transparent-white plastic with a white rubber headband and gold starbursts printed on it in a double tiara pattern. It was a shower cap that only a princess could wear.

“And now, my plastic prisoner,” the girl gloated. She went to the apron holder and took off it the apron that had been hanging behind the Punch Me apron. Made of transparent-white plastic on which yellow, pink, and pale-blue lollidots had been printed, the apron had a halterneck yoke, a wide bib, and a long ruffled skirt. The word PlastiMaid was printed across the top of the skirt in blue letters. The girl brought the apron to Cinderella and held it up.

“With this apron, I, Putonia Bouffant du Plastique, take you, whatever-your-name-is, to be my permanent blow-up serving girl.” She slipped the apron’s yoke over Cinderella’s head and then pushed the hood of Cinderella’s raincoat down over it. “Now tie your apron to show that you accept me as your mistress!” Not wanting to find out what a refusal would mean, Cinderella lifted the apron’s doubled-plastic ties and knotted them behind her back in a neat bow. Then Putonia took her in an embrace and kissed her and Cinderella knew what kind of girl wears a boy’s raincoat.

Putonia released Cinderella and took a step back. “You’re so pretty in that apron,” she said. “But now I want you to take it off. And take off your raincoat, too. You can wear them all day tomorrow. But now... we’re going to take a shower together.”

Cinderella took off her new apron and hung it on its lunette, then she took off her raincoat and draped it on the apron holder. Completely naked, but for her shower cap, she followed Putonia into the bathroom and watched with a sinking sensation in her stomach as Putonia took off her panties, laid them on her dressing table, and stepped into the shower. At Putonia’s beckon, she got into the shower with her and quivered inside. Putonia closed the shower curtain and Cinderella saw that the shower curtain, made of translucent-white plastic, had the image of a happy red-haired mermaid with wide blue eyes printed on it. It seemed to her as if the mermaid was laughing at her predicament.


Putonia turned on the water and Cinderella heard the hiss of water spraying from the showerhead and the rush of the warm spray falling like rain onto the floor, punctuated by the soft patter of showerdrops drumming on Putonia’s shower cap. Putonia handed Cinderella a bar of soap and told her to bathe her. Cinderella discovered that she didn’t exert enough force to rub soap onto Putonia by wiping it onto her as if she were washing a window; she had to embrace Putonia and hug the soap onto her. The patter of showerdrops intensified as the drops began drumming on Cinderella’s inflated plastic body.

“Oh, Cinderella!” Putonia cried out as Cinderella embraced her and began soaping her breasts. Cinderella concentrated on the task at hand and tried to ignore the obvious fact that her mistress was gaining a sexual arousal from what she was doing. That ignoring was made more difficult by Putonia’s panting and writhing. And the ignoring became simply impossible when Cinderella had to kneel down to soap Putonia’s legs and saw Putonia’s clitoris sticking out at her.

Cinderella got the job done and Putonia turned off the water, pulled the shower curtain open, and stepped out of the shower booth. Then Cinderella dried both of them. Putonia took off her shower cap, hung it on a lunette mounted on the wall next to the mirror over the sink, and put on her panties. Then she led Cinderella back into the bedroom.

In the less humid air in the bedroom, residual water on Cinderella’s plastic skin evaporated quickly. Putonia would take a little longer to get completely dry. So she decided to have some fun while she waited.

“Put on your Punch Me apron,” she told Cinderella, “and stand on the holding spot!”

Cinderella took the apron off the apron holder, slipped the yoke over her head, and went to stand on the holding spot while knotting the ties behind her back in a neat bow. She know that Putonia’s punches wouldn’t hurt, so she was not afraid. But she did feel humiliated. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Putonia step on the teardrop and she felt the rubbery force envelop her again.

“Let’s see how good you are as a punching bag” Putonia said as she gave Cinderella a quick jab in the chest. Cinderella bounced lightly off her fist, tipped backward halfway to the floor, and bounced smartly back upright to meet another jab. With her hands pressed against her thighs, she could only submit to being bopped. It wasn’t totally horrible: Putonia used only relatively gentle jabs and only hit Cinderella in the chest and belly. Cinderella felt the impacts, but they didn’t hurt. She did, however, get dizzy from the constantly shifting point of view.

After about fifteen minutes Putonia stopped and stared at Cinderella while pausing to catch her breath. Then she stepped on the teardrop and freed Cinderella from the holding force.

“Now, no man is ever going to spank my insides with his poker (she said poke-her, get it? – PC),” Putonia said, “but I want someone to warm my bed, so you get to sleep in a very nice place.”

Poor Cinderella! First she was Putonia’s shower slave; then she was Putonia’s punching bag; and now she was going to be Putonia’s big lesbian fucking bag.

It was very late when Putonia told Cinderella to take off her Punch Me apron and get into bed. Completely naked, Cinderella slid herself between the sheets and then, lying on her back, waited. She watched Putonia take off her panties and drop them on the floor, then get into bed next to her. Putonia spoke a command and the lights went out. Then Putonia mounted Cinderella and rode her like a pool float. Cinderella had never felt another person’s body heat in such an intimate way and the sensation ignited sexual heat within her.

“Oh, what big, fat tits you have,” Putonia said. And she brought her breasts down on Cinderella’s. She had Cinderella’s right thigh in her crotch and was rubbing her clitoris against it, while her right thigh rubbed Cinderella’s clitoris. Hot rubbery flesh rubbed Cinderella’s vulva as Putonia thrust her hips to and fro.

Her attention range shrank until her awareness encompassed Putonia, all of Putonia, and only Putonia. She luxuriated in the feel of Putonia’s rubbery softness and smoothness rubbing Putonia’s body heat into her; Putonia’s warm hair caressing her face; and Putonia’s panting and grunting warm on the valve stem protruding from her neck. She felt a tickling in her clitoris and seconds later she climaxed as Putonia bucked and bounced on her. She rocked and rolled under Putonia as powerful spasms pulled her clitoris into her body and let it pop out again, over and over again. Then it was over and Putonia lay on Cinderella panting from her exertion.

Sprawled across her prisoner, using her for a body pillow, Putonia went to sleep. Cinderella put her arms around her and held her. When she had gotten up that morning she had been looking forward to meeting a handsome prince at a ball; instead, she had become the love doll of a pretty princess.


Several months later she had gotten used to being more a lesbian love-slave than a serving girl. Even being Putonia’s punching bag was better than what most slave-dolls had to endure: Putonia only bopped Cinderella more as foreplay before going to bed than as punishment. One day, when Cinderella was masturbating with her Punch Me apron, Putonia came into the room, told her to take off the apron, and come with her.

“Mother has a new blow-up slave-doll to play with,” Putonia said, “and I want to watch her test the pig. I think you might enjoy it, too.”

Wearing only a pair of panties, Putonia took Cinderella, completely naked, into a hidden passage, entering it through a panel in her walk-in closet. They climbed a flight of stairs and entered the house’s ventilation system.

“Her name is Hodierna,” Putonia said quietly, “but I would call her Hot-air-na.”

The name sounded familiar, but Cinderella couldn’t quite place it. She followed Putonia to a position above Pluvia’s bedroom and looked down through the screen over the grill in the room’s ceiling. She heard grunts and soft rubbery thumps coming from the room. Looking into the room, she saw Pluvia, wearing only red silk shorts, punching a woman who was standing inflated on the holding spot. Suddenly she recognized her wicked stepmother: that’s why the name had sounded familiar.

Hodierna’s shower cap and her hair framed a face that was frozen in a haughty look of startled indignation. She was wearing only a large, ruffled apron made of transparent-white plastic that had a target pattern printed on the bib and the words “Punch Me” printed across the top of the skirt. When Pluvia punched Hodierna the apron’s skirt billowed and then slapped against her legs as she bounced smartly upright as if eager to be punched again.


“Now,” Pluvia said as she stopped bopping her prisoner, “let’s she if you’ve learned anything.” She put her left hand on the back of Hodierna’s neck and tipped her forward, bringing her down and pressing her face against her left breast. “Show me how you kiss your mistress!”

Cinderella saw Hodierna’s head turning from side to side, as if she were trying to escape from Pluvia’s grip. But Pluvia was staring off into space and breathing heavily. She bowed her head and kissed Hodierna’s shower cap. “Yes, yes, my plastic prisoner. Now you’ve got it.”

“Now let’s test you in bed,” Pluvia said as she stepped on the teardrop pattern that released Hodierna from the rubbery force-field. Hodierna took off her Punch Me apron and hung it on the apron holder. She tried to ignore Pluvia leering at her. She took off her raincoat and draped it on the apron holder and then she went to Pluvia’s bed and got under the covers. Pluvia was already there, waiting. She had the covers down so that her breasts were exposed.

Hodierna slid herself close to her mistress and put her left arm across her chest. Then she half rolled onto Pluvia and put her lips on Pluvia’s nipples.

Cinderella saw Hodierna’s shower cap bobbing up and down and tilting from side to side as she kissed Pluvia’s breasts. From the movement of the covers, she saw that Pluvia was masturbating. Then Pluvia jerked and shuddered, rocking and rolling under the covers as Hodierna rode her and continued kissing her breasts. Then Pluvia’s orgasm ended and she lay panting. After several minutes had passed, she rolled over on top of Hodierna and went to sleep.

Putonia took Cinderella back to her bedroom, following a different route through the house’s ventilation system and store attics. They paused above another bedroom and looked through the screened grill in the room’s ceiling. Cinderella noticed a pair of cages set against one wall and inside the cages Veronica and Elizabeth, plastified in their shower caps, sat slouched in their inflated plastic armchairs. Each wore her raincoat and an apron made of transparent-pink plastic that had the words Fuck Me printed across the top of the skirt in big blobbery hot-pink letters. Seeing the girls’ swollen bellies, Cinderella was glad that she was owned by a very jealous lesbian.


On Cinderella’s eighteenth birthday a squad of fairies and witches came to Baguehotte County. They were, they said, searching for a lost princess of the fairy folk and in order to find her they had brought her apron. It was a big, fat, ruffle-skirted pinafore made of soft, smooth, transparent-azure plastic printed with gold fern-like patterns. When anyone wore it, that person appeared to be standing in shadow. Women around the county were asked to try it on, but always with the same result. It had the same shadowy result when Putonia tried it on. Angry, Putonia threw the apron at Cinderella and told her that she might as well have it. Taking the hint and not wanting to wear the Punch Me apron, Cinderella put the apron on and began to glow, as if all of the sun’s light were coming down on her. The fairy’s were astounded; Putonia was horrified; the witches were eager. It was clear that Cinderella was actually the missing fairy princess. That was the secret that Cinderella’s mother had not had time to share with her.

The witches did their work quickly and well. They re-solidified Cinderella and gave her new clothes to wear. She became the new owner and ruler of the du Plastique estate. Pluvia and the handsome prince who had been porking the Stepsisters were not punished, but their special toys got a new owner. As for Putonia...?

Putonia stood inflated in Cinderella’s bedroom with her hands bound behind her back with plastic-ribbon handcuffs. Her hair puffed out the plastic of her gold-tiara shower cap. She wore her raincoat and someone had put the yoke of the Punch Me apron over her head and left the ties to dangle down to her ankles. Cinderella came in from her investiture ceremony and saw Putonia standing with her head bowed and saw that the girl was trembling.

Tenderly she took the apron off Putonia and hung it on its lunette. Then she took the terrified girl in her arms. Startled, Putonia looked up and Cinderella hugged her and kissed her. Reaching down, she took the handcuffs off Putonia and tossed them aside.

“My pretty, plastic Putonia!” Cinderella said as she gazed deep into Putonia’s eyes. “You’re so soft and warm! I don’t want to punch you. I think I may be in love with you, because I want you to share my bed every night.” She kissed Putonia again, this time with more passion and a promise of pleasure to come. She had been Putonia’s prisoner, but she had developed a kind of affection for her erstwhile owner because, after all, the princess had been more or less nice to her.

“I want us to be in love together,” she said, panting in Putonia’s ear. She pulled back a bit and gazed into Putonia’s eyes. She put Putonia’s right hand on her left breast and put her right hand on Putonia’s left breast. “With this kiss, I, Eleanor Saltellante des Fées, take you, Putonia Bouffant du Plastique, to be my inflated plastic wife; to have and to hold; to hug and to kiss; until death alone shall separate us.” She pulled Putonia close again and kissed her deeply and she felt Putonia kissing her in response.


It was still early afternoon, so she went to her walk-in closet and closed the door behind her, oblivious to Putonia pushing her raincoat’s plastic into her crotch and using it to stroke her clitoris. Three cages lined one wall and in them sat her other three plastic prisoners. The plastic raincoats to which Veronica and Elizabeth had given birth, copies of their own raincoats, hung on padded hangers hooked over the wooden bar that ran the length of the closet on the side opposite the cages. Over their raincoats they still wore their Fuck Me aprons. Veronica sat upright with her hands over the words on her apron. Elizabeth sat bowed over, unable to look at Cinderella.

“No, Elizabeth,” Cinderella said, “I’m not going to punch you ‘til you pop. I want you to be my slave-doll for a long time.”

Elizabeth bowed lower, almost putting her face on her knees. She rocked to and fro in her distress.

“Are you losing air?” Cinderella asked. “Shall I re-inflate you?”

Elizabeth shook her head and sat up straight. But she still couldn’t meet Cinderella’s gaze.

Opening the door of the last cage, Cinderella said, “You, come with me!” She crooked her finger to beckon for Hodierna to come with her. As Veronica and Elizabeth watched in helpless horror, Cinderella led her prisoner, the powerful woman who had dominated their lives, through a door at the opposite end of the closet and into her special playroom.

Hodierna went to the holding spot and stood at attention, like a soldier awaiting orders. Cinderella took off Hodierna’s PlastiMaid apron and tossed it onto a chair, where it landed with a soft, warm swish. Then she took off all of her clothes except her panties and approached her prisoner.

As she approached the bigger woman, she seemed to feel heat radiating off the plastic of Hodierna’s raincoat. She trembled. Once she would have trembled with fear, but now she trembled with anticipation. The sight of Hodierna’s naked body through the transparent-red plastic of her raincoat made Cinderella’s clitoris start to swell up. Hodierna’s breasts bulged suggestively against the raincoat and Cinderella took the suggestion: she reached up and touched Hodierna’s left breast, squeezed it, and caressed it, rubbing the raincoat over the nipple and feeling Hodierna quiver in response.

“My plastic prisoner,” Cinderella said in a soft, quavery voice. “My soft, warm, blow-up slave-doll,” she added, as if trying to convince herself that it were actually true. Her tormentor was now her toy and the realization of that fact was getting her hot. She put her left arm around Hodierna’s waist and performed a belly dance on her, luxuriating in the sensation of Hodierna’s soft, smooth plastic hot against her bare skin. She felt Hodierna trembling; whether in rage or fear, it didn’t matter. “Oh, you’re so weak and helpless,” Cinderella said in a tremulous voice, more to convince herself, perhaps, than to gloat over Hodierna. She rubbed herself against hot plastic until she felt that her clitoris was about to burst. “I want to play with you so much!”

She was ready. Oh, was she ready! Cinderella got into bed. She gazed hungrily at Hodierna.

“Take off your raincoat and get into bed with me,” she said. “I want to test you. I want you to show me what you did for Pluvia.”

Hodierna took off her raincoat, laid it on the chair, on top of her apron, then went to the bed and slid herself under the covers. Cinderella half rolled onto her side and reached out to pull her prisoner closer. She fondled Hodierna’s ample breasts and caressed the warm plastic of her body. Then she rolled onto her back, put her hand on her vulva, and waited.

Hodierna rolled over to lie against Cinderella and began kissing her breasts. Cinderella began to breathe heavily and she felt her clitoris swell up and lengthen to poke its tip out of its sheath so that she could stroke it. Hodierna slid her lips over Cinderella’s nipples and aureoles and Cinderella kissed her shower cap, enjoying the sensation of soft, smooth plastic warm on her lips. Then she felt Hodierna’s hand sliding over her belly and into her crotch. She gasped and began letting out little squeals as Hodierna began stroking her clitoris. She put her hands on Hodierna’s buttocks and pressed the hot, squirming woman against her.

It was, she understood, a kind of cosmic joke. The woman who had intimidated her for so long was now her helpless inflated plastic prisoner, her sex slave. Once she had inspired deep anxiety, now she gave pleasure. When the punchline hit, Cinderella didn’t laugh – she climaxed.

She climaxed long and hard, bucking and writhing as convulsions wracked her. Her clitoris throbbed with pleasure as powerful muscle spasms jerked it into her body and released it to pop out again, hot pressure seeming to blow out of her with each pulsation. Then she was lying still, panting from her exertion and holding Hodierna close.

After a time she allowed Hodierna to roll over onto her back. She rolled onto her right side and gazed upon the bigger woman. “Hodierna,” she said, daring to call her stepmother by her given name. “Soft, warm Hodierna, my plastic prisoner, in a way I’m glad you sold me into slavery. Because now I get to have you as my big, hot fucking bag.” She felt Hodierna trembling. “I am so eager to get on top of you and have my way with you. And I’m going to make you love it. I want the very sight of me to get you hot!” She yawned and rolled herself over to sprawl across Hodierna. Using her wicked Stepmother as a body pillow, she went to sleep. And she lived happily ever after.

Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo, indeed!


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If you want to get a rough idea of what Cinderella might look like in her blue plastic Stormette raincoat, go to www.funplastic.de, click on Rainwear, click on Ladies Raincoats, and then click on style PA3C. I am especially fond of the picture of the young lady modeling the semi-transparent light blue raincoat. The girl in the semi-transparent red raincoat comes in second. I know these monitors don't emit a lot of infrared, but I could swear that I felt the women's body heat coming off the plastic. I’ll also note here that Stormette was a brand of plastic raincoats sold around 1950.

If the idea of a Cinderella punching bag seems a little far-fetched, go to http://beachtoys.com.mx/index.html, click on beach toys on the top right of the main picture, click on novedades, scroll down to Code 502, and click on the picture of Cenicienta and see what comes up. Now if we could just find out who sells these toys online (Beach Toys is the wholesaler). Disney princess slave auction, anyone?

As for aprons, go to Aprons on the Fun Plastic website, thence to Montcler Classics, and thence to Aprons of the Fifties (MC22). The semi-transparent floral apron (MC22FLL) will give you a fair idea of what Cinderella’s apron looks like. But instead of the crossover straps described for the apron, her apron has a simple yoke, called a pull over strap on the description of the Sissy-Apron. If you want to see a more precise picture of what Cinderella looks like in an apron (as of 2014 Nov 20), copy the following URL, paste it into the address bar of your browser, and click the search icon:
http://www.shop4pvc.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/05/Shop4Pvc-Adult-Plastic-Aprons-June-Lollidot-PVC-Front-Pocket-Detail-397x397.jpg

Or go to www.rubberevashop.com, click on Plastic Clothing, then on Female Clothing, and then on Aprons. The Annabelle Apron comes closest to what I envisioned in this story, though the skirt should be longer.

-o-End-o-

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