With the remote in one hand and a bowl of vegan pretzels in the other, Samantha sat down on the couch, her eyes on the TV. Victoria instinctively moved to sit next to her, but her legs locked up just as she reached the couch, causing her to wobble precariously and wave her arms in the air to regain her balance.

Samantha chuckled. “Forgot again, huh?”

“Damn it!” Victoria grunted, taking a step back. She pouted at her girlfriend, her arms folded. “Can I sit down?” she asked resentfully.

Samantha raised an eyebrow. “Well, that wasn’t very polite! Try again, sweetie.”

Even as she sighed, Victoria’s posture shifted from her everyday slouch into a more upright, attentive posture - as if trying to be polite was automatically bringing her into a more servile mindset. “Please may I sit on the couch, Mistress?” she said at last, her tone quieter and more gracious.

Samantha smiled broadly. “Better. But no.”

Her grin grew as she watched her slave girl’s face fall. She was enjoying this new rule so much. The first restriction she’d imposed on Victoria - that she couldn’t dress herself without permission or help - had been such a delight, but this second one was, if anything, even more fun. Victoria now couldn’t use any furniture without permission, like a well-trained house pet. This included not only the couch and armchairs in the living room, or the chairs at the dining room table, but also tables, the kitchen counters, and even their bed. Samantha had already got an immense amount of pleasure watching from beneath the duvet as Victoria stood beside their bed, glaring at her.

“C’mon, Samantha, the Fresh Prince reboot is gonna be on any minute now,” Victoria pleaded. “Are you really gonna make me sit on the floor for the whole thing?”

“Hmm. As much as I’d enjoy that... no, you can make yourself a little more comfortable. How about you bring your pet bed over here?” Samantha gestured to the floor in front of the couch.

Grumbling under her breath, Victoria trotted over to the corner of the room, soon returning, while dragging along with her the soft pink pet bed that the couple had recently bought.

“Lie with your head by my feet,” Samantha commanded.

Whimpering, Victoria complied, lying on her side and curling up with her legs tucked into her chest, her chin touching her knees. Samantha knew she could still see the TV from this angle, but not very clearly. Certainly not as clearly as Samantha’s right foot, which dangled above her head, as her right leg was crossed over her left.

“Oh, and now that you’re down there,” Samantha said almost nonchalantly, “don’t get up again until I tell you.”

She heard another high-pitched mewl. “Yes, Mistress,” Vicky said plaintively.

Samantha took a quick look down at her pet girlfriend, feeling a big horny flare at the sight of her helpless expression. Then she focused on the TV, knowing that now that Victoria was essentially stuck on the floor, the less attention Samantha paid her, the more powerless and aroused she’d feel. Her awareness of this excited Samantha no end.

Sure enough, as Bel-Air started, Samantha could hear quiet moans from below her.

“Hush now, Vicky,” she chided, reaching down with her foot and tapping her girlfriend on the face. “You can be horny, but don’t make noise, or you’ll distract me from my show. And then I’ll be grumpy. And I’ll have to punish you. And you wouldn’t want that...”

She could barely suppress a laugh, knowing that the combination of having to stay silent, getting a foot in her face, and being threatened with punishment would drive Vicky even wilder. But the slave girl obediently shut her trap, managing to limit her outward displays of horniness to heavy breathing over the next few minutes. As she watched the show, Samantha absent-mindedly slid a hand down her pants and began playing with herself, a good portion of her brain still idly thinking about Vicky’s plight. She used the other hand to feed herself pretzels.

The commercial break began, and Samantha edged forwards in her seat and gazed down at her slave, who was still squirming gently on the pet bed. Her thumb was in her mouth to help her suppress her noises of arousal, and her eyelids were drooping but not fully closed, allowing her to stare up at her Mistress’ feet.

“You doing OK down there, baby?” she teased.

Taking this as a cue to make sounds again, Vicky responded with a high whine.

“Are you Vicky right now, or are you Victoria?”

There was a pause. “Kinda both,” her girlfriend eventually mumbled.

“Oh, really? And how does Victoria feel right now?”

Victoria glared up at her, though she was unable to hide her smile. “Degraded. Trapped. Fucking turned on. Feel so... inferior... not allowed to go on the couch... have to stay at floor level... It’s dehumanising.” Though her tone was mutinous, her voice quivered as she spoke, a trickle of drool escaping the corner of her mouth.

“Mmm,” Samantha sighed, rubbing herself a little bit harder. “And how does Vicky feel?”

“So good, Mistress,” Vicky answered, in a completely different tone, breathy and eager, her eyes vacant, a placid smile on her face. (Uhnf, that quick shift to her submissive persona was like a tongue right on Samantha’s clit...) “So cosy, and happy, and horny... And I have such a good view of your feet, Mistress! They’re so gorgeous, I wish they were on my face...”

Samantha grinned. “Well, you have been a nice, quiet pet for me. I think you’ve earned a little treat...”

Uncrossing her legs, she lifted her left foot onto her girlfriend’s face, revelling in the muffled gasp of excitement. At the same time, she slid her fingers into her cunt, barely containing her own gasp.

Later, she realised she’d missed most of the show. But neither she nor her hypnotised pet particularly cared by then.