The world swims into focus. Slowly.

It feels like I'm surfacing from deep underwater, from the belly of some unfathomable ocean... and yet, my body feels the opposite: like it's sinking.

Sinking into Jenny's cozy couch, apparently. Familiar, and comforting, but... the last thing I remember is agreeing to come over, so what is this...

My thoughts feel foggy and disjointed, like trying to solve a puzzle with missing pieces. I look around, struggling to remember how I got here. The room is familiar – the plush couch, the soft glow of the lamp. Yet, everything feels alien, like I'm seeing it for the first time.

I glance at Jenny. She's calm, almost serene, her innocent eyes meeting mine. Her wavy chestnut hair frame her face like a painting, and she looks so… serene. Unbothered, calm, at ease. Whatever is weirding me out, it’s clearly not perturbing her.

Weirdest of all, judging by the motion of her mouth, she seems to be talking.

Now that I notice that, I start hearing bits and pieces of what she's saying, but I struggle to grasp the thread of the conversation.

"...everything will be fine, Monica," she says. Her voice is soothing, unnaturally so, like she’s talking down to a puppy. I have no context for the words, either. What will be fine?

Jenny’s hand reaches out, brushing mine lightly. Her touch is warm, soft. I strain every muscle in my body to try and listen, to understand her.

"...just need some rest, dear," she continues. Sleep, yes that sounds like a good idea. If this is a dream or some sort of hallucination, rest could be my escape from it. But why is she so worried about my sleep?

Suddenly there’s movement; the gentle bobbing of Jenny’s head as she nods at something I've apparently spoken aloud. But I don't remember speaking. My mind is murky, stagnant, clouded.

The lamp.

Why is the lamp on? It was mid morning when I agreed to come over. I glance at Jenny again - she’s still staring at me with compassion and something else - understanding maybe? Or perhaps patience?

No, that’s not the right word…

I try to piece together the jigsaw of my mind once more but it’s like trying to hold onto water. All I’m left with is frustration, as it slips effortlessly through my fingers.

"Jenny," I manage to croak out at last. "I like hanging out, and all, but, uhm..."

"Yes, dear?"

"... How did we end up here? Like, what were we doing before?" I gulp. “How, uh… how long have we been here?”

"What do you mean?” Jenny makes a show of looking behind her shoulders, as if checking that we’re not being overheard… which is silly, because we’re alone. She leans forward, speaking in an almost conspirational tone. “You're feeling like you're... losing time?"

“Why do you ask that?” I say, even though the real question is how do you know? Jenny just giggles. That doesn’t seem like the socially correct response to my question, does it?

Exhaustion tugs at my eyelids. I suppose I could rest… just doze off for five minutes. But Jenny has started talking again, and I can't help but listen. There's a rhythm to her speech, a sing-song quality, which is bizarre, but also interesting. I try to follow, but my thoughts scatter.

A nagging sense of wrongness twists in my gut.

I try to open my eyes, to speak, to ask what's going on, but my throat feels dry, my muscles unresponsive. Jenny doesn't pause, she just talks and talks and talks. I'm adrift in a sea of confusion, drowning in the sound of her voice.

Why can't I remember? Why do her words wash over me like this? Why does everything feel so... disconnected?

I focus on Jenny again, trying to anchor myself in the moment. I don’t know if it's my mind playing tricks, or if she's genuinely speaking in riddles. All I can make out is the soft lilting rhythm of her soothing voice. I narrow my eyes, and words start coming into focus, in bits and pieces, here and there. But even then, I’m never fully certain of what I’ve actually heard.

“...Trust me...”, she says. Or was it "...Just me..."?

I look down at my hands. They seem oddly distant, foreign to me, even though they're resting on my lap. The fingers look too long, the skin too pale. I flex them experimentally, relieved that they respond to my command.

Well… whose other command would they possibly ever respond to?

Jenny's voice continues to wash over me, a steady undertow pulling me further into the foggy abyss of confusion.

"...Right thing...", or was it "...Light fling..."?

Suddenly Jenny’s face looms into my vision as she leans forward on her chair. She’s close, so close. Where I’m completely lost, though, she looks laser focused, her eyes wide and attentive.

"Take your time," she says, softly but distinctly this time. "Lose your time."

She gently touches my hand. Her warmth seeps into me, like a liquid sunset melting into the horizon.

And then, like a bird breaking out of a bank of clouds, her words suddenly reach me, loud and clear and comprehensible, where just a moment ago I could barely follow them.

"All relationships, my dear," she says, "they're all about one thing. We pretend it isn’t so. We pretend we’re more civilised than that. But no amount of performance is going to wish the truth away. The truth is that… all relationships, at their core, are about power."

Her fingers trace idle patterns on the back of my hand. I look into her eyes, blinking, trying to process what the hell she’s talking about.

"...The flow and ebb," she says, her voice lilting. "The tug and pull. The giver...and the taker..."

I can hear the words loud and clear now, but the context still eludes me completely. What point is she trying to make? Were we talking about something related to this, before I dozed off? I just don’t get it.

"...Ebb and flow...", she says, "...give and take...", "...power and surrender...".

"You're not making sense, Jenny." I rub my temples, frustration building.

"Oh, but I am,” she says, leaning forward even closer to me, a weird intensity in her eyes. “In a world of scarcity, unequal power is the norm, Monica. All manner of power, too. I’m not just talking about the obvious things - money, or authority, or status, or even just sex."

“Sex?” I ask in a hoarse voice.

“Not right now, thanks,” Jenny says with a giggle, amused at her own joke. Then, her face turns deadly serious again. “Even in the most nominally egalitarian of friendships, of romantic relationships, there is always someone who needs the other, more than viceversa. Someone always wields some form of power. And by exclusion, someone else always…”

She leans even closer to me. I can feel her warm breath on my earlobe. “… submits.”

What?

No. That doesn’t sound right. I want to object to that view of the world. I want to ask her if that’s how she sees our friendship too. I want to object to that word she’s used, especially. It looks so weird that she would choose that one, the connotation doesn’t seem right, but I fixate on it… submit, submit…

Jenny continues, oblivious or indifferent to my confusion. "For one to hold the reins, another has to be steered by them."

"Jenny, I... I don't understand, why are we talking about this?" My voice is barely above a whisper.

She’s leaning very close to me right now.

"Nothing is ever free, Monica. Especially energy. It all comes from somewhere. The world turns because there's always a push and a pull,” she says. “Stars shine because they burn. Life endures by consuming other life. Relationships evolve because one rules, and others follow…”

“Stars shine because they burn…” I find myself saying, even though I’m not sure what that means. Or how it’s relevant to our conversation. And this time, when I try to muster the strength to ask, I actually find it.

"But Jenny," I say, "what does it have to do with us? With me?"

She smiles at me like I’m some kind of clumsy puppy dog. "God, it’s so endearing when you’re dumb, Monica. It has everything to do with us.”

The casual insult feels like a slap. It makes me draw in breath, it hurts, it confuses me, I want to ask her why she’s being so mean to me, I want to defend myself, but…

But Jenny rises from her chair, and the motion feels so sudden, so swift, that it immediately silences me. I crane my neck to follow it, and that makes my head spin…

So I look down again. Yes, that is much easier. Looking down.

Jenny’s hand tightens on mine ever so slightly, not enough to be painful, but firm, enough to keep me tethered. I wish I could see her eyes, though I’m not sure why that’s important.

"That’s always been your problem. You’ve always been a rather mellow girl, haven’t you, Monica? So meek.”

No, that’s not true! Fuck, why is she saying stuff like this? I’m starting to feel fairly alarmed here, and when words of protest fail to come to my lips, that only makes my heart beat even faster.

“You were always weak,” Jenny says, “and that’s allowed me to keep secrets from you. Secrets anybody else would have noticed.”

"Secrets?" I echo, my voice sounding hollow.

"Yes, secrets," she replies, her voice smooth as silk. "Ones I've been burying deep for so long. The things I'd never admit out loud. Secrets that could motivate one to do things... evil things…" She pauses, a knowing look in her eyes.

A shiver runs down my spine. "Jenny, you're scaring me."

"Am I?" She tilts her head, considering. "I was scared too, once. Of these desires, what they mean. What they would make me, if I ever acknowledged that they were true."

She sits back on the arm of the couch next to me, stretching out her legs, crossing her feet over the coffee table. Somehow, I find myself looking at them. The nails painted a deep red, the gentle arch, the skin that looks so soft.

“I just used to rub myself silly to these fantasies,” she says, languidly. “And then the madness would pass. But the more I did that, the more I wanted it for real, and then I had a thought. If I really wanted it… why not just take it?”

My heart thunders in my chest. I should run away, very very far away. I should flee, because Jenny is not behaving like a friend now, she’s behaving like a predator, and the shiver I feel is the primal response telling me I’m being hunted.

But I can’t look away from her feet. As if on cue, Jenny begins to slowly rotate one foot back and forth. It's mesmerising - like the spinning of a pendulum.

"Beautiful, aren't they?" she says with a nod towards her feet. "Fascinating... captivating... If I didn't know any better, I'd say you can't physically look away!"

The words strike me like electricity. The shock lets some lucidity seep through, and with it comes the fear.

"No... no..." I say, trying to crawl away from Jenny, to unglue my eyes from her feet, all in vain. I’m squirming prey, and the trap is already closing shut around me.

"Ah yes," Jenny says, studying me closely. "I’ve got you now… my friend.”

"No," I say, pitifully, whimpering like a scared little mouse. "I don't want our friendship to turn into... into..."

She laughs at that. "Turn? All relationships are about power, Monica. I’ve always been wealthier than you. Prettier, more popular, more successful at everything in life. I’ve always had power. It’s time for me to take… and it’s time for you to give.”

No, it’s time for me to leave. I don’t know what madness has taken over my friend, but even through the odd haze of my scattered thoughts, the disbelief, and the distant panic, a part of me knows the truth. She’s trying to…

Jenny is sexually assaulting me…

Once again I try to stand, to leave, but my legs won't cooperate. They feel heavy, unresponsive. "Why can't I move?" Panic in my voice. Breaking through the surface of the sea, even as I sink.

Jenny's expression softens, but her eyes remain cold. “Sweetie, I told you,” she says. “I have you. You’re not going anywhere.”

She boops my nose for good measure, as she says that, and it’s such an absurd contrast, because I’ve never been more fucking terrified before in my entire life, and she’s so jovial about it all.

"Why me?" I ask, a tremor in my voice. “You could have… raped… anybody. Why do it to me?”

"Because you're perfect for this," she says, shrugging. "You're my best friend, Monica. You trust me. You feel real betrayal at what I'm doing to your mind. That's going to make it so much easier to break you."

My lips tremble. My eyes are watering. The adrenaline and the fear are not the worst, no - the worst is how much this hurts. It’s the metaphorical knife being twisted deep into my heart.

Cold sweat trickles down my back. I’m in danger, and can resort to neither fight nor flight. And the person I thought of as my best friend is now going to rape me.

"What… did you do to my mind, Jenny?"

Jenny smiles, a wicked gleam in her eye. "I've been hypnotizing you for months now, Monica. Little by little, I've been breaking down your defenses, making you more compliant, more open to suggestion."

She traces a finger down my cheek in a mockingly loving gesture. I shudder, repulsed.

"No," I whisper in horror. "How could you… hypnosis, come on, you really expect me to buy that it’s a thing?”

“Then prove me wrong,” she says with a shrug. “All you have to do is look away from my feet.”

I try to avert my eyes, to look anywhere but at Jenny's bare feet on the coffee table. But some unseen force holds my gaze there, no matter how much I struggle. The slender arches, the smooth skin, the way her toes curl slightly...I'm mesmerised.

No, this can't be real. Hypnosis isn't actually possible, is it? Just ridiculous nonsense from cheap horror movies from forever ago. There’s no way I live in a world where hypnosis is a thing. But then, why can’t I look away?

"That's right, keep looking,” Jenny says, her fingers idly running circles over the skin of my throat. “You're completely under my power now. And we both know where this is going, don't we?"

I shake my head in weak protest but the motion makes me dizzy.

Jenny giggles at my obvious impotence. "Soon that independent spirit of yours will be gone. You'll be my devoted little slave. You're mine now, Monica. It’s truly something else, what mere words and tricks can do to the human mind. I wouldn’t have believed it myself… until I saw you, no, made you unravel.”

A memory stirs. A shard, really, but it blinds me, like a sudden light flashing in my face. The floor below my knees, feet looming large in my field of vision, the texture of her skin beneath my trembling fingers.

Jenny’s foot scent, heavy in the air.

Oh, my God. I’ve… worshipped her feet before?

The question must be plain on my face, because at the periphery of my field of vision, I see Jenny nod.

"The more you resisted, the more I enjoyed it," she says.

Each time I did what? Cold terror grips me. My friend has been raping me. My friend has been tinkering with my mind. My friend is… is…

Shards of memories fly at me, vivid and fragmentary and fast, the pocket watch swinging, her voice whispering, the way her foot would gently, so gently slide out of a slick black boot, glistening with sweat, and I would be drawn in, compelled to touch, to caress, and then to… to…

Jenny's smile widens as she leisurely uncrosses her feet, only to cross them back again, tantalising, seductive.

"This isn't a game, Jenny,” I say in a panicky voice. “This is my life. My mind. What gives you the right..."

"Power," she repeats as though tasting the word, enjoying its flavor. "Power gives me the right. I can take it, so why not? Why should it not be mine? Why should you not be mine?”

Because that’s horrible, I want to say. Monstrous. War of all against all. Might makes right. But the more I think about these things, the less I mean them as rebukes. Instead, I find myself thinking about them, obsessively, over and over.

Might makes right…

“Your naïve innocence just makes it more satisfying to break you,” Jenny says. “In the darkest of my fantasies, I didn’t just want to control you; I wanted to own you - mind, body and soul. I wanted every part of you, your loyalty... your trust... your obsession... And now, I can have it all."

“Why?” I ask again, pleading, desperate, sobbing. And even as I do it, a part of me realises she’s so right. Of course every relationship is about power. I’m not arguing for my freedom, or demanding that she respect me. I’m begging her not to destroy me.

Isn’t that just a different way to admit that she controls me?

“Because,” Jenny answers simply, “it’s fun.”

And with that, my world collapses. All the trust, love, and intimacy I thought we shared crash down on me. I don’t know what she’s done to me, I didn’t even know it was possible to do stuff to a person’s mind, but right now, none of that lands, not rationally.

The only thing that’s landing is the pain, the hurt. The horror.

Once again, Jenny rises from her seat in front of me, but slower this time, stretching languidly like a cat before its prey.

"I want to feel it all,” she says. “Your fear, your powerlessness, your desperation. And most of all…”

Her voice drops even lower, to the point that I find myself straining to hear every worrd. “I want to feel the snap. The exact moment when I fully break you.”

She pauses then, her lips curling into a satisfied smile as she studies me. The room feels too small, too tight - every inch of it filled with Jenny's presence.

"I want to make you adore me." Her hand slides up to cup my cheek, thumb tracing over my lower lip. "Like I’m your goddess. Like I’m your conqueror."

She pulls away completely then and stands tall before me - every inch of her radiating confidence and power.

"I want to see you prostrate before me. I want you to fucking bow before me, Monica. Kneel and worship my feet, and admit that I’m the better woman. And I always get what I want.”

The room grows sickeningly silent as I swallow hard, my own heartbeat drowning out every other sound in the room as Jenny reaches out to touch my face.

“Jenny, I…”

I’m straight, I want to say. I’m not into feet. Or perhaps, I don’t deserve this. I never did anything to you. So many things I could say. So many words that could convey how I feel.

They all die in my throat. In her grasp.

She snaps her fingers at that, pointing her index finger to the ground.

She speaks no words, but the command could not be clearer than this. It's as if a rush of wind has come crashing through the room. I find myself staggering, struggling to remain seated. I do want to resist, to fight back, but my body betrays me. My mind betrays me.

My friend betrays me.

The invisible tether that binds me to her will is pulling, pulling, and I feel myself being dragged down… Or up, in this case, because my body stands up, despite my desperate attempts to resist.

Then, I feel my knees buckle beneath me involuntarily. I wince, more from the sting of humiliation than any real pain, as my kneecaps slam against the marble floorr with a dull thud that feels like the passing of my judgement, the proclamation of my sentence.

"That's it," Jenny says, and I wonder how many times she’s masturbated to this idea, until it no longer seemed crazy, and criminal, and evil… until it consumed her.

And me with her.

"Kiss it," she orders simply, extending her foot towards me until the soft skin of her sole brushes against my trembling lips.

My heart thumps wildly in my chest as I stare at the foot before me. No no no. I can’t, I won’t, I don’t want to, I… must…

It’s such an unthinkable act… which I’ve apparently done before.

My eyes dart up to meet Jenny's gaze. She has an expectant grin plastered on her face, her lips curled into a wicked smile. "Go on, Monica," she says. "You know you want to."

An involuntary shudder courses through my body at the sound of her words, because she’s done something to me, and… and I....

The scent of her foot tingles in my nostrils; it's rich and sweet, mingling with the smell of her skin – a faint whiff of foot sweat.

It makes it hard to think.

Time seems to slow down as I lean closer to the elegantly extended foot before me. I feel a strange thrill running up my spine, an electric charge crackling in the air as the distance between my mouth and her foot decreases.

My lips quiver as they finally make contact with the soft skin of her sole. The sensation is oddly soothing - silky smooth against my parched lips. My heart flutters in my chest, not out of fear, this time… but out of need.

Jenny looks down at me, a triumphant glint in her eyes. "That's it. Embrace your role, Monica. Let go of your resistance and give in to the power. To my power."

I whimper at that. A small sound, broken and afraid and needy all at once, a sound I never thought I’d utter for anyone. Much less for her. It punctuates my dutiful kissing.

"Good girl," Jenny says, and the praise seems to go straight to my clit. The soft caress of her toes against my lips feels better than it has any right to be. It’s like I’m spiking a fever, head spinning, heart hammering. The kisses grow faster and faster, less peckish and more devoted. More slavish.

"Such a good girl," she says again, and gently, she drags her foot across my face, smearing it with her foot sweat. My lips meet the tips of her toes sequentially in silent homage - each kiss a whispered plea for mercy.

But kissing is not enough.

Hesitantly, gingerly, I draw out the tip of my tongue. Jenny cackles in evil, aroused delight at that.

"Yes Monica," she says. “Yes, you may.”

This is madness, absolute madness! Yet I find myself leaning forward, drinking in more of the glorious smoothness of her skin, breathing in more of her foot sweat. And then, I extend my tongue.

I trace a slow path up from her heel to the base of her toes. The taste is strange; the skin is sweet, the foot sweat is pangy, and I already know I’ll have to clean it all, until every drop of sweat is lapped away from her foot and is fully coating the insides of my mouth.

Somehow, that thought – being my own evil friend’s foot cleaner – makes me squirm even more desperately, and I take one of her toes into my mouth, swirling my tongue around it carefully. Her soft gasp of delight stirs me to try harder, to worship her better. To be sluttier.

I lavish attention on each digit, each kiss and lick a new strike of the scalpel, excising a part of me that is no longer needed, superfluous for the simpler and lower purpose of being in Jenny’s thrall.

"My foot slave, at last…" Jenny says with a purr, low and throaty. Her growing pleasure is my pleasure. Her approval sparks a surge of dopamine that makes the entire world shrink down to nothing more than Jenny's feet and me.

"Suck my toes like you would suck a cock," Jenny says. "Suck my whole foot. Let it mouthfuck you into submission."

There is no hesitation. Not even for a moment.

I try to envelop her foot with my mouth, taking in as much as I can. I seal my lips around her arch, bobbing my head slowly. Her toes curl against my tongue as I suck them fiercely, and Jenny begins pumping her foot in and out of my mouth in long, forceful strokes.

"That's it, suck it deeper," she says, looming above me, radiant in triumph. The view from beneath is breathtaking. She really is a goddess.

I swallow around her foot, deep-throating it as much as possible while maintaining eye contact with those mesmerising eyes. Maybe that’s how she did it, I idly considered. Words were involved, sure, but maybe her eyes are what peeled my personhood away.

They certainly look beautiful and cruel enough to do that.

Jenny is enjoying this very much, conquering my mouth like this. She looks flustered as she grasps my hair, nails digging into my scalp, as if afraid I might pull away.

But I don't.

I won't.

I let her face-fuck me with her foot. I gag each time her toes hit the back of my throat but I don't resist. I allow her to use me, to dominate and humiliate me.

She gets to do it, because I’m not strong enough to stop her.

"Monica..." She says again, sitting back down on the coffee table with a sigh of pure sexual need. Her voice is trembling now. "More."

Her other foot, till now resting against my chest, rises to join its twin. I do my best to accommodate it, and the two feet stretch my mouth in a way that would look ridiculous… were Jenny not shivering with the grand spectacle of my humiliation, of my debasement.

"Suck harder," Jenny whispers. My throat convulses around her left foot as I comply, the toes of the right foot barely poking in, stretching my lips. I wish I could take them both down at once. That would be so slutty and glorious to see.

I cup the heels of her feet with trembling hands. Jenny shouldn’t have to exert herself and keep her feet up while she mouthfucks me. I’ll gladly hold them for her.

"You never thought you'd be here, did you, Monica? At my feet, broken, defeated," she says. "Adore them, yes!"

I’m barely doing anything at this point, except for rhythmically hollowing my cheeks, darting with my tongue. My movements are limited. My mouth is stretched to its limit, as Jenny’s feet master me. But that’s not what’s important.

It’s my defeat that matters. That’s what has Jenny sigh in pleasure and victory.

“Addicted foot slut,” she says. “You’ll crave my feet more than you crave oxygen.”

That thought makes me moan, humping the air with desperate arousal. And just like that, her feet leave my mouth. I eagerly follow, feeling so pathetic for it, and all the more so when she laughs at my eagerness – but she wants something from me.

She cups my chin, forcing me to look up at her. She’s panting and disheveled, and clearly stopped just before orgasming… to drag out the experience longer, maybe, and properly enjoy it?

But more sinister to consider – now that her feet aren’t in my mouth, I know, for a fact, that she’s right. I’m an addict. I need this, more than I’ve ever needed anything in my life.

And that means…

Jenny’s voice is softer now. "You see now, Monica? Do you understand the depth of my power, the extent of your own surrender?"

I can't meet her eyes for long. Defeat and annihilation have me in their claws. "I understand," I whisper, the words tasting like ash in my mouth as I finally admit the truth, tell her what she wants me to say. "You've won, Jenny. You've broken me."

She chuckles, a low, throaty sound that sends another wave of desire coursing through me. "I have indeed," she acknowledges, the satisfaction in her voice absolute. "And I won't stop until you're completely shattered. Only when every shard of you adores every inch of me, will I then start rebuilding you."

The terrifying prospect of being broken to be remade leaves me cold and hot at once. My hands tremble with the desire to touch her, my mouth parched for want of her taste.

"A-All of me?" I ask, my voice barely a whisper now.

"All of you," Jenny saus. "Every single part that is Monica will be remade to adore me. And the process is beautiful... if you surrender completely to it. I will strip you down to your bare essence - I will shatter your ego, your self-image, your independence... until all that remains is you in your purest form; a form that loves only me."

Another chuckle from Jenny washes over me like a wave. "Once I have removed every layer of resistance, every ounce of your own will, there will be nothing left but a blank canvas. And on that canvas, I will paint a new Monica. A Monica reborn in my image. The Monica who worships me... the Monica who loves me... and only me."

"But... how?" I ask, my voice barely audible over the pounding of my own heart. "How do you plan to remake me?"

Jenny leans back, her eyes gleaming with something akin to excitement - a predator relishing the inevitable hunt. "With slow precision and methodical patience," she replies smoothly. She extends one foot towards me – it hovers before my face, teasing, tempting. It glistens wet with my saliva, and my debasement.

"When one is broken down so meticulously, it leaves behind an emptiness that is pure in its profoundness. That void will be filled with, and by, me. Now, admit it. You will surrender to being reshaped. You will submit to me. Say it.”

"I... I submit," I whisper at last.

"Again," Jenny says.

"I submit," I repeat, a little louder this time.

Her face breaks into a satisfied smile as she leans back on her chair, basking in the power she wields over me. "Finally," she says. She then lifts her foot slightly and presses it against my lips. “Now we can continue.”

Obediently, I once again take her delicate digits into my mouth. My tongue dances around each toe, flicking over the soft skin and hard nail, tasting every inch of her, adoring her. Urged on by Jenny's deepening moans, my worship grows frenzied.

“Don’t stop,” she orders breathlessly, her foot pushing further into my mouth of its own accord. I obey without hesitation. My hands cradle her ankle, steadying it as I lavish my full sexual attention upon her foot. Heat pours through me at the sensation of her writhing under my touch.

The tension in her body mounts to an unbearable high, and mirrors in mine. I will know no pleasure but hers, and no orgasm but hers, because that’s what it means, to be a slave…

Suddenly Jenny's body locks up at the peak of pleasure — a loud cry breaking free from her throat as waves of orgasm crash over her. And immediately, as if on hypnotic cue, a devastating climax slams against me like a tidal wave, sweeping over the broken ruins of my mind.

The world goes white as the pleasure is blinding, obliterating every thought, every resistance. As I succumb, every part of me that had clung to my independence dissolves away. My resistance against Jenny, my struggle to retain some semblance of control - all crumbles in the earthquake of pleasure that surges through me.

My body jerks violently, cconvulsing in surrender as so much of who I was is stripped away at last. In this moment, there is nothing left of Monica the independent woman I was, for I have become Monica, Jenny's footslave.

I have been dismantled.

The world seems to dissolve into pure sensation - the taste of her foot, the scent of her arousal, the sound of our shared deep breaths. Gravity appears to invert for a moment as the last throes of the climax hit me hard, pulling my consciousness downward into an abyss of erotic delirium.

When my senses slowly return, I find myself on my knees, panting heavily. My limbs are heavy with the aftermath of the most intense experience I have ever felt.

One well-worth sacrificing the rest of my life for.

Feeling dazed, I continue to suckle gently on Jenny’s toes, my mind muddled between the throes of post-orgasmic bliss and the overwhelming reality of my submission.

"Well done, slave," Jenny says, pulling her foot out from between my lips. The absence hits me hard, so hard that I could cry. She cradles my head gently in her hands, stroking my hair, and she looks so proud of me. Of how well I’ve done.

I look up at Jenny, and there it is, a glint in her eyes that seems to say 'I own you now.' And she does, because - just like she said she would - she has successfully shown me the world for what it truly is. A cruel, brutal place, where every relationship, every interaction, is fundamentally about power.

And right now, that world...

It's slowly swimming into focus.