Chapter Two: A Royal Fall

Anita

There are benefits to a large desk. 

I have plenty of room for my stacks of neatly ordered papers, my pens and assorted stationery, my laptop… My tiny Christmas tree, I think to myself with half a smirk, as I fidget in the office chair. It’s currently flashing, ensaring yet another victim for me.

Yes, I already have Arianna and Aurora, such a pretty set, mother and daughter. We make a lovely trio, the young girl serving her two elders with shameless sapphic devotion, the mum acting as my subdomme… and me, older, wiser and more powerful than all of them. A well-deserving queen.

You might think getting a third slave is a sign I’m getting greedy, but I miss the thrill of the conquest. Making my two sluts fall was the happiest moment of my life, and I want to experience it again. And again, and again, and again… 

The tree is my secret weapon, of course, but any woman in a position of power needs an adequately spacious, and intimidating desk. The mahogany decor, the shelves full to bursting with books, the coffee table, all contribute to the idea that a queen lives here. But it’s the desk that is the centrepiece.

I’m even more interested in the space underneath the desk. I allow myself the sneakiest of glances. Aurora and Arianna both kneel under my desk, with a wooden panel at their back to hide their presence, and their lips pressed softly against each of my feet.

Mother and daughter, both broken in by my superiority, enthralled in body and mind. What a beautiful catch. They don’t even dare look up at me, so absorbed are they by their own worship. The kisses raining on my feet are silent. I instructed them to be absolutely quiet and docile on their knees, lest they give their presence away. 

And, like the good hypnotised sapphic pets they are, they obey. 

Mmmh, yes. There’s plenty of room down there. Room for a third girl… 

The one currently sitting on the other side of the desk. 

Juliet is such a tiny, spindly little thing. A lithe, feminine wisp of a girl just out of college, with a pixie cut and clothing that is way too expensive for what I pay her – a girl with a wealthy family behind her, getting some token job experience before her daddy finds her some nepotistic employment here or there.

She doesn’t really need this job. She probably has a trust fund in her name, and more friends in high places than I could possibly count. All she’s after is the illusion of professional validation, before she moves on to a life or luxury and comfort.

Unfortunately for her, I think to myself with a smirk, she’s picked the wrong office, with the wrong bitch for a boss. 

I’ve seen Juliet’s like before. Hell, I’ve broken her like before. It’s my favourite kind of prey. 

Girls like Arianna – and I press the sole of my foot against her face, to mark my thought – are fun to bully, sure. They’re weak and soft, they cry and weep, they’ll let you walk all over them even before you hypnotise them. 

But girls like Juliet? 

They always look down on chubby, older women like me. Even more so, if they come from a wealthy background. Which is why I’ve been anticipating this moment for days. And now… now it is almost done. My Christmas gift to myself.

Out of the corner of my eye, I already see her eyes go glassy, as she begins to slump in the chair. The tree has her mind, now. She’ll be seeing the lights for the rest of her life, even with my large, meaty feet covering the entirety of her face. Just like the two sluts working away underneath the desk with their slutty lips. 

I smile to myself. Juliet won’t be finding employment elsewhere, oh no. I’ll keep her under my thumb forever, my little lezzie intern slave, forever condemned to a career of foot service. 

She’ll suck the sweat out of my socks, give my wrinkly soles one tongue bath after another, feast from my toejam like it’s a gift from the gods. She will never climb the ranks, either in the office, or as a woman. She’ll be forced to be a maidservant for the rest of her days – an appropriate fate, for a bratty heiress to a financial empire.

We’ll have to come up with some excuse her family can buy, but I’m sure we’ll find a way. She’ll say she’s embarked on a journey of self-discovery, perhaps. Or that the workplace culture here truly allows her to be the best version of herself.

Hell, I would agree with the last one. There is no better version of Juliet than the one that gets her mouth stuffed with my feet.

No longer she will be pouting and frowning at everyone else in this office, like she’s too good for everyone else here. I won’t have to suffer her cold and haughty complaints that the work is beneath her, not anymore. She’ll join Arianna and Aurora in sisterhood, and I’ll shut her up by putting her mouth to better use.

The thought alone makes me press my thighs together in arousal. In a sense, I’ve come to appreciate the value of this wait. The tree delivers girls to me the way an oven delivers a nicely baked meal. The lead up to the endpoint is as important as the rest. 

But now, judging by the way Juliet is utterly slumped in the chair, my meal is ready. Time to collect my prize.

"When I unplug the tree," I say, "you will keep seeing the lights, inside your mind." 

I know how my victims work through this process. I’ve just said the words with utter confidence, so of course, to Juliet’s brain, they must be true.

Careful not to look at it, I unplug the Christmas tree, and finally, I can allow myself to look at Juliet, appreciating her in her full, hypnotised glory. 

Some girls truly break down before I can even put a finger on them. They drool, their hips desperately humping at the air, before I can command them to their knees. Others are more composed, and Juliet is definitely in the latter category. She’s relaxed, but otherwise not particularly dishevelled.

I withdraw my feet from the ministrations of the two dykes kneeling beneath me, and place them theatrically atop the desk. 

“Juliet,” I say, knowing full well it is one of the last times I will have to use her name in conversation, “I need a foot massage.”

“Yes, ma’am,” she says, blinking in confusion, suddenly aware of her own docility. There is no mistaking the blush on her cheeks, and the weird glimmer in her eyes. 

I love this first moment of dissonance, where the victim can’t quite explain the sudden obedience, but can’t resist the pull of my commands, either.

Juliet leans forward, dragging the chair with her as she inches closer to the desk.

The moment when her fingers touch my feet for the first time sends shivers up and down my body. The thrill of conquest. The joy of victory. The absolute self-affirmation of taking this young, ambitious girl, and utterly reducing her into a living footrag for me to abuse.

I might be older, chubbier, less pretty than this bitch… but I’ve still got it. Yet another trophy bimbo to add to my collection, another young charger who thought her turn to rule the roost would come soon, and now finds herself at the mercy of my feet instead.

My hand goes to my crotch before I realise it. I’m struggling to contain my arousal, and soon I start mindlessly rubbing myself – unusual for something so simple as a foot rub, but I’m enjoying my victory over Juliet so much that, why not? Why shouldn’t I indulge? 

Arianna and Aurora whimper underneath the desk, in spite of themselves – deprived of my feet for way too long. That actually makes me laugh out loud. It’s pathetic, how utterly defeated they are.

They needn’t worry, I think as my rubbing gathers speed. They will soon have company down there.

“Like this, boss?” Juliet asks, unassuming, demure, servile. Her fingers move deftly across my arches, heels, and toes, striking all the nerve endings in my feet in ways that I find to be irresistibly pleasurable. 

“Oooh… just like that. Yes, just like that.”

God damn. Who knew she has such a talent for foot massages? That feels amazing.

Juliet’s soft hands move in smooth, but dizzyingly fast circles over my feet. I lean back against the chair, eyes closed, hips bucking as the arousal builds inside me, and I rub away frantically, racing towards the edge. I’ve earned this.

“Just like that,” Juliet repeats, louder this time. “Thank you for letting me massage your feet, ma’am.” 

Juliet’s voice is no longer the cold, distant, aloof, superior voice I’ve come to associate with her, ever since she started working for me. No, now it’s almost… melodical, ringing with emotions. I’m sure her brain is struggling to adjust to the reality of her enslavement.  

“God, that feels good. You’re such a good girl, Juliet.” 

“I just want to take care of you, ma’am”, Juliet says, and I truly believe she does. It couldn’t be any other way, not considering the immense pleasure radiating through my body right now. “Just like that. You’re safe in my hands.”

My feet certainly are. Whatever she’s doing to them feels like nothing I’ve exer experienced before. It’s almost like there’s a clit on my soles that she’s found and is directly stimulating. My thighs tremble at the mere thought, like a jolt of electricity has coursed through them.

“Just like that,” Juliet says, her voice low, husky. “Let me take care of you. Sink into my touch.”

My breathing slows. It’s as rhythmic as Juliet’s massage. Her skilled hands move in time with my heartbeat, in time with the pleasure pulsing across every muscle of my body. I’ll have to revise my earlier thought. Juliet is my prize catch, by far. 

“You know,” I mutter under my breath, “there’s room under the desk.” I would normally make this a categorical order, but I don’t see the need to, not while the massage I’m getting is so good, so… pervasively, all-encompassingly, devastatingly irresistible… 

I already have what I want. Having her beneath the desk would just be the cherry on top. 

“I bet there is,” Juliet says, and my brow furrows in doubt. That’s an unusual response. I would question it, but I really don’t want her to interrupt the massage. 

“You could show me. Just like that,” Juliet says, and I’m remotely aware of her standing up from the chair, although her hands never leave my feet. 

“You’re a large woman,” she says with a giggle, and normally I would take enormous offense at the comment, especially coming from this lithe bimbo – but I can’t muster my familiar outrage. “If even you can fit under there there, then we’ll know that it’s a spacious desk, for sure.” 

Alarm bells begin to ring in my brain, but they’re so distant, muffled by the haze of pleasure that seems to clog my neurons. It feels like my brain has been plunged in honey, and is slowly sinking, sinking towards the bottom... 

No! How could this happen? How could she – 

My mind goes blank, and it’s actually terrifying, a stretch of utter emptiness – I’d call it a void, but I can’t, because it is filled, filled with pleasure. Juliet’s massage is so intense now, striking every single nerve ending of my feet over and over and over, almost battering them under a sensory onslaught. 

Her fingers begin to travel upwards, over my nyloned legs, then my skirt, then my blouse, touching as they go, never ceasing to set my skin afire, even across layers of clothing. Juliet herself is moving along, circling the desk – I can’t open my eyes, but I can feel her coming closer, a predator stalking her prey.

I’m in danger. I’m in danger!

“And just like that, my touch takes you deeper,” Juliet says, as her fingers begin to massage my shoulders. And unfortunately, it does take me deeper – I feel myself swirling, lost in a warm and black abyss from which there is no escape. 

“The more I touch you, the less you can resist,” Juliet whispers, and no matter how I thrash and buckle, the programming worms its way into my mind. “If I can do this with my fingertips, imagine how much pleasure I could give you… so much, that your brain couldn’t take it. Just like that, I would shatter your mind. You’d love to lose your identity for me, wouldn’t you? Tear down all barriers, see your kingdom turned to dust, subsume your identity into my own… wouldn’t you?”

I try to scream in horror, but all that comes out is a confused mumble, more like a whimper really – the sound a girl makes when she’s being broken down at a fundamental, and sexual, level. When she’s turning into a dumb animal, fit only to act as a footstool to her betters.

A sound I never thought to hear from my own throat.

“Answer me,” Juliet says, her tone sharp and cutting. There’s no mistaking it for what it is. I’ve issued so many in the past, and never thought I’d be on the receiving end.

It’s an order.

I will my body, my own mind, to resist her. I will not let this thin girl half my age show me up in my own petty kingdom, I will not!

“Yes,” my lips respond without my permission, and it’s such a soul-crushing betrayal, the kind of betrayal I’ve always loved to trigger in my own victims. 

But now, the predator has become the prey. And I’m defenseless, I’m losing control. There’s a glass wall between my mind and my body, I can think, but I can’t act, not against Juliet’s wishes. The arrogant bitch controls my own speech even better than I do.

“That’s yes, ma’am,” she says with a cruel giggle. How did she resist the Christmas tree? How has she sent me under so rapidly? The touch… God, it feels so good…

I can’t ask these questions out loud. All I can do is mutter, “nooo…” as her hands push downwards, throwing me off my own chair, dethroning me. I land on the floor with a crash, and am all too aware of Juliet sitting behind me, rolling up towards the desk.

Sitting in my chair. 

“And just like that,” Juliet says from above, “the tables turn. We have a new queen now.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I say in defeat, tears pooling in my eyes, as they meet the vacant, confused gaze of Arianna and Aurora, still crouching underneath the desk. 

Can I still give them orders? Could I tell them to tackle Juliet to the ground, bind her hands…?

Before I can form a coherent plan, Juliet’s soles slam into my back.

At the moment of impact, Juliet’s words once more resound through my ears. 

"If I can do this with my fingertips, imagine how much pleasure I could give you… So much, that your brain couldn’t take it."

And it’s true, so inescapably, horrifically true. Her conditioning is already working. As soon as her soles adhere to my back, I shudder and quiver, heat melting down into my sex, arousal pulsing across my body so intensely that the barriers to my mind begin to creak. 

Juliet pushes, and I land face-first under the desk. 

Her feet maneuver me with a deftness and mastery that humiliates me to my core, rolling me on my back, positioning me between Arianna and Aurora. If my two slaves – former slaves – have any reaction to seeing me down here, it doesn’t show. If anything, they swiftly move to shower Juliet’s feet in kisses. 

And, with some effort, so do I. I don’t even need to be told. I just…

I want to feel her skin again. I want that raptous pleasure. I’m addicted to that feeling, and Juliet doesn’t even need to order me around anymore – I will do anything, anything at all, of my own initiative, just so I can get to touch her feet again.

Every kiss is a new hammer blow against me, breaking down the barriers to my mind. Every kiss feels like a little clitoral orgasm, but on my lips and tongue. I kiss each of her toes, and then travel upwards towards the ankle, then down to the heel. She lifts the sole for me to shower in kisses.

When I get to her toes again, I stick my nose in there, breathing deeply – the scent is sweaty, tangy, unpleasant, but the skin-on-skin contact is a field of electricity that courses through my veins. I take her toes lovingly in my mouth, and it’s like dozens of orgasms exploding over my tongue. 

Gratefully, I swallow every bit of toejam, dutifully performing the servantly tasks I received from so many girls in the past. 

Every kiss rips away a chunk of me, tossing it into the void, lost to me forever. 

My bitch boss persona is crumbling, kiss after kiss. My self-confidence melts, and I feel like a fat, silly girl out of her depth, an amateur hypnotist who just met a true master, an unfuckable bowl of fat whose only purpose in life is to worship the feet of the pretty, rich, popular girls like Juliet.

My new boss’s words penetrate my mind like a strapon would, stimulating the clit in my brain, subduing it under her control.

“I like it here,” she says. “I think I’ll ask daddy to buy the place for me.”

“Anything, ma’am,” I say. “Please, keep me close.” Very close. I can’t live without her touch. I just, I… 

Juliet’s laughter is so pure and chrystalline, it clashes with the cruelty and beauty of her victory over me.

“And just like that, the great office hypnotist is turned into a pet,” she says, running her toes affectionately through my hair, then placing her sole squarely atop my head. She pushes down, pressing my face against the back of her other, arched foot.

So much physical contact, combined with the psychological humiliation, nearly threatens to make me space out. 

“No need to fear for your job, slave,” Juliet says, exploring every nook and cranny of my face with her feet. In my peripheral vision, I’m aware she’s staring at my fellow slaves now, the mother-daughter pair that is to be the very last of my conquests. 

“I’ll keep Aurora as my PA. Arianna can be my secretary, you had the right idea in making her submit to her own mum. I’ll honour that tradition. As for you, Anita…” she says with an evil glint in her eye. “You have so much to make up to so many girls in this office. Aurora and Arianna included.” 

“Uggggh,” I say, stupidly, words failing me. “Eeeek?”

“What do you say we restyle your position as office whore, with a quarter of the pay a secretary makes? You can sleep here if that’s too low to pay rent, I don’t mind.” 

To punctuate her words, she slaps my face with her left foot, loudly.

And I orgasm.

My climax comes unexpectedly upon me, like a tidal wave rising from beyond the horizon. It washes down on me, radiates from the centre of me, making my extremities tremble and quiver as a guttural moan rises from my throat. 

Juliet smiles to herself from above, knowing that I will accept it – that I would never tolerate being fired, being kept away from her, now that I was addicted to her touch.

But I know evil hypnotists. I was one myself, until mere minutes ago. Juliet will not be content with leaving this unspoken. She wants my unconditional surrender. 

“If you agree with your demotion,” she says, angling one foot before my lips, “deepthroat my foot, and cum.” 

I stare at her with wide, terrified eyes – but my body doesn’t hesitate. I suspect the amount of physical contact that entails is going to make my brain go haywire, but at this point, I don’t care – it will be worth it. 

So, like a starving woman, I throw myself forward, mouth open, as Juliet’s petite, neatly pedicured, rich-girl-foot seamlessly enters my mouth. 

The sensation is too overwhelming for words. As my lips plunge as down as they will go, as Juliet’s toes caress my palate, and I gag and spit around her foot to shove it all in, the insane pleasure shatters my brain like an earthquake. There is nothing to my world, except this devastating feeling. 

I can hear the ftzzzs and pops in my brain, as my mental faculties begin to shut down, one after another. It doesn’t deter me. I refuse to stop gagging and deepthroating and drooling all my IQ over this foot. 

Just like that, I go dumb.

Just like that, I get demoted.

Just like that, I lose, and cum, and cum, and cum, and cum… 

And just like that, my mind finally goes blank.