When I first settled on this insane course of action to try and be Lucy’s girlfriend again, I envisioned it going many different ways. Maybe she’d take me back, crying. Maybe she’d shun me, closing that door forever. Maybe it would be an uneasy, testy conversation, and we’d have work to do.

I certainly didn’t imagine it could go quite like this.

The floor is cold, my knees are numb, and my shoulders ache from the repetitive scrubbing motion.

I’m on my hands and knees, a rag in hand, cleaning the floor like a servant.

Back and forth. Back and forth.

Even after she used my face and throat as a footrest, even after she made me accept to ‘let her be herself’ and advance no demands of my own, I didn’t exactly anticipate I’d spend so much time just cleaning.

Which simply proves that I’m an idiot. That I go around with clown paint on my face, and rose-tinted glasses glued to my eyes. Shortly before I broke up with her, I was already doing so many chores for Lucy. Our living space was just my responsibility. And back then, her power over me was just implicit.

Now, she’s made it explicit: I need her, she doesn’t need me. She gets to behave how she sees fit. And I submit to whatever she demands, because I need to prove my remorse for dumping her, and I need to prove my love.

She literally told me…

If you come back, things will be the way they used to be… and then some.

So, what the hell did I expect was going to happen?

Every day since I’ve moved back in with her has passed by in a blur of cleaning, scrubbing, cooking, and more cleaning. I've fallen into a routine, a rhythm, that leaves me little time to think, to question, to doubt. I wake up early, make breakfast for Lucy, clean up after her, do the laundry, vacuum the floors, dust the shelves, and so on. At night, I kneel at her feet, massaging them. Sometimes I’ll have to lie down at her feet while she plays, and obediently wait as she uses my face as her footstool.

For now, that’s the only form of physical contact I’m allowed with her. Even at night, she gets her bedroom to herself, and I sleep on the sofa, which reeks of her sweat.

Then the morning comes, and the blur begins anew.

Back and forth. Back and forth. It’s almost meditative, in a way. Mind-numbing work in the truest sense of the word. It dulls me. It blunts my edge. It makes it harder for me to think.

What makes it even harder is the presence of my girlf—of Lucy. I haven’t earned the right to think of her as my girlfriend again, she’s told me, not yet.

She’s lounging on the sofa, her body stretched out in a relaxed sprawl. She’s wearing her favourite pyjamas, the ones with kittens on them, and has for two days now. Her hair is a mess, and she’s got a controller in her hand, playing some video game. I can hear the sounds of gunfire and explosions coming from the TV screen.

One foot is dangling off the edge of the sofa.

The socks have been on for as long as the PJs have. I can smell her feet from here, on the opposite end of the room.

I gulp. I can’t look at her feet without re-living the moment in my mind, the supreme renunciation of my dignity. I grovelled to be taken back, to be given a second chance.

She placed that foot against my face.

This isn’t a negotiation, she told me. Who negotiates with someone that’s literally underfoot?

Your acceptance is unconditional, she told me.

I shudder. She hasn’t even glanced my way in what feels like the whole afternoon, and I still feel the noxious, addictive effect she has on me. And I know why. Because she’s inside my mind. I’ve let her past all my mental defenses, and she can do a lot of damage in there…

No, I can’t let myself think like that. Lucy’s not some evil mastermind, even if she looms so large in my mind’s eye sometimes. She’s just a girl, a bright, smart, exceptional, beautiful girl, serially misunderstood by the world. It felt so good, the codependence, the validation, and I’m sure I can get it back again. I just need to try.

And besides, Lucy’s been rightfully wary of my return. I broke her heart! I pushed her off me and screamed at her and accused her of all sorts of monstrous things. Of course I have to earn her trust again. And if that means I have to submit with such contrition, so be it.

Maybe I should have pushed for a timeline, or mentioned it once in passing, but it’ll be alright. All I need to do is be patient. Surely…

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I tell myself that I’m rationalising. That I’m just coming up with thin explanations for why I should keep taking care of household chores, of her needs, keep respecting her boundaries when she’s expressed zero interest in mine. Keep humiliating myself at her feet when she hasn’t even so much as kissed me once, hasn’t promised me anything in return.

I haven’t even told any of my friends yet that I’ve moved back in with Lucy. I’ve been so avoidant for the past year that even those that still check in to see how I’m doing are happy to accept brief, uninformative replies.

But I know what they’d say if they knew I was doing this.

I don’t know… I don’t know what part of my mind I should trust! This is maddening. I feel like I’m going crazy. All I know is that I’m growing more and more physically exhausted and emotionally despondent. And I still want her, so much. I just want to kiss her lips again…

The sound of Lucy's footsteps draws my attention, and I look up to see her standing over me.

The shadows have begun to lengthen, outside, the sunlight turning deeper and colder as it bleeds out from the sky. It gives the room a weird, almost liminal atmosphere, all the more surreal because of our positions. Lucy in her PJs and smelly socks, towering over me, the ex reduced to cleaning her floor in penance.

I stare at her from my position on all fours, my hands stilling on the rag. She's looking down at me with an expression I can't quite read. It's not affectionate, but it's not cruel either. More... appraising. Like she's evaluating me.

"Marina," she says, her voice soft but firm. "I've been thinking."

My heart skips a beat. Thinking about what? About us? About whether she's going to actually take me back as her girlfriend, not just her live-in maid?

I open my mouth to speak, but she raises a hand, silencing me.

"I've decided it's time for a change in your... attire," she continues.

I blink, confused. My attire? I glance down at myself. I'm wearing an old t-shirt and shorts, comfortable clothes for cleaning. What's wrong with what I'm wearing?

Oh.

Oh.

This is going to be a fetish thing, isn’t it? Of course it’s going to be a fetish thing, given the context, the… the foot stuff, the cleaning…

A cold sense of dread starts to pool in my stomach as my imagination conjures up images of frilly, revealing maid outfits. Is that what she wants? For me to prance around in some skimpy little costume while I clean? The athletic, popular ex-girlfriend, humbled and brought low in domestic servitude?

I can just picture it now - me on my hands and knees, dusting the baseboards in a tiny black dress with a white apron, my cleavage spilling out as I work. The very thought makes my cheeks burn with embarrassment.

I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. I don't want to do any of those things, but I know I will if she asks me to. Because that's the depth of my desperation.

"W-what kind of change?" I ask, my voice coming out as a hoarse whisper.

Lucy smiles.

"I want you to go get dressed up," she says. "I mean really dressed up. Full makeup, the pearl necklace, the works. And I want you to wear that dress - you know the one. The designer one you wore on our anniversary date."

I blink, momentarily stunned. That's… not what I was expecting at all.

"You… you want me to dress up?" I repeat, just to make sure I heard her correctly.

Lucy nods. "To the nines, girl."

I must be staring at her with a completely incredulous look, because she feels the need to add, "Think of it as a… special occasion."

For a brief, shining moment, I allow myself to hope. Maybe this is it. Maybe this is the turning point, the moment when things start to get better. Maybe she's finally going to treat me like her girlfriend again, instead of her personal servant.

Could it be… are we finally going to go out on a date? After all this time, all this drudgery and emotional turmoil… is this the light at the end of the tunnel?

"What's the occasion?" I ask, unable to keep the excitement from my voice. "Where are we going?"

But Lucy just shakes her head, a small, enigmatic smile playing at her lips. "Ah-ah-ah," she tuts, wagging a finger at me. "No questions. Just go get ready."

"O-okay," I say, scrambling to my feet. "I'll go right now."

Lucy's smile widens, and she reaches out to pat my cheek. Her touch is condescending, almost mocking, but I lean into it anyway, starving for any scrap of affection she's willing to give me.

I take a long, luxuriant shower that makes me feel reborn, and I take my time with my hair and makeup, curling my long tresses into loose, romantic waves and painting my lips a bold, alluring red.

I have a new bounce in my step as I hurry to the bedroom - well, Lucy's bedroom, since I've been sleeping on the couch. But maybe, just maybe, after tonight…

I rifle through the closet, my hands shaking slightly as I pull out the dress. It's a stunning piece - a deep, rich burgundy, with a figure-hugging silhouette and a daring slit up the thigh. I remember how confident and sexy I felt the last time I wore it, how Lucy couldn't keep her eyes (or her hands) off me.

I pair it Loubotin heels, and with the pearl necklace — a gift from Lucy, from happier times.

Not that much happier, a part of me whispers back. You broke up with her, or have you forgotten?

But I handwave the doubts away much easier than usual, this time, because when I step back and look at myself in the mirror, I recognise the woman staring back at me. For the first time, in a very, very long time.

Poised, elegant, radiant. Someone who deserves to be wined and dined, cherished and loved and repeatedly brought to orgasm. Someone who has no real need of anyone, because she’s got Lucy in her life.

I go back to the living room, where Lucy is still busy with her game. She looks up from her game, and her eyes widen in appreciation.

"Damn, Marina, you look breath-taking," she says, almost lost in thought as she drinks in the sight of me. "It’s a shame you don’t dress like this all the time… though I suppose I can fix that."

I flash her a smile, though it’s a little bit hesitant this time. Lucy’s still in her PJs, lounging on the sofa, playing. I mean, the place does only have the one bathroom, and it’s still pretty early in the evening, so it’s all perfectly normal, for sure.

But something nags at me. A nagging, insistent feeling of wrongness. It’s silly, and I try not to listen to it, but it just compels… I feel like I just have to ask again…

"So, Lucy, where are we going?"

She sits back, her expression suddenly more serious. "Nowhere," she says. "We’ve got all we need right here."

The word hangs in the air between us, heavy and ominous. "Nowhere."

My smile falters, and I feel a sudden sense of vertigo, like the ground is shifting beneath my feet. "What… what do you mean, nowhere?" I ask, my voice small and uncertain. "I thought… I mean, with me all dressed up like this, I assumed…"

Lucy tilts her head, her expression unreadable. "You assumed what, exactly?" she asks, her voice deceptively mild. "That we were going out somewhere? That the special occasion was a date?"

I nod mutely. I’m trembling like a leaf. Why do I feel so scared?

Lucy lets out a soft, patronizing chuckle. "Oh, Marina. You really are too precious sometimes, with how slow you are. No, sweetheart, we're not going anywhere. Like I said, we've got everything we need right here."

She gestures around the room, at the messy apartment, the pile of unwashed laundry, discarded socks everywhere, the pizza boxes that are yet to be thrown out. My eyes follow her hand, and I feel a sinking sense of dread in the pit of my stomach.

"I don't… I don't understand," I say, my voice trembling slightly. "Why did you have me get all dressed up like this, then? If we're not going out…"

Lucy leans back on the sofa, stretching out her legs and crossing them at the ankle. The fabric of her PJs is thin and worn in places, and her hair is a tangled mess. The contrast between her slovenly appearance and my own elegant, polished look is jarring, and it makes me feel even more off-balance.

"The special occasion is that I’m restoring one of your girlfriend privileges," she says, " though you’re not my girlfriend yet."

I blink rapidly, trying to make sense of her words. "But… but why? If we're not going out, then what's the point? What privilege?"

"Well, duh, obviously it’s the privilege to be eyecandy for me again. I’ve barely looked at you all week, while you cleaned or even while using you as a footrest. I’m sure you’ve noticed. Well, I’m looking at you now! Doesn’t that make you feel good?"

"I don’t, I, I don’t…" I say, unsure what I’m even trying to say. "I’m sorry, I don’t understand…"

Lucy sighs, as if she's explaining something very simple to a particularly slow child. "I told you to dress up because I like you this way. You’re hot. All dolled up and pretty and docile for me. Do I need a better reason to tell you to dress up?"

My lip is quivering. I’m on the verge of tears, though I hate that, I hate how weak it makes me look in front of her. "You… you…"

"I thought you’d be grateful," Lucy says, sniffing in disapproval. "I’m giving you the chance to be pretty for me, isn’t that what you wanted? In fact, I’m being so generous that this is how I want you to look from now on. When you're doing your chores, when you're serving me, when you're being a good little aspiring girlfriend. I want you to be dressed to the nines, always."

I feel like I've been slapped. "You… you want me to wear this… while I'm cleaning?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

Lucy nods, a slow, deliberate movement. "That's right. I know it sounds crazy, you haven’t earned that privilege yet, but what can I say… I have a soft spot for dim, slow gym babes like you."

I stare at her, my mouth hanging open in shock. I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes, hot and stinging. "You can’t be serious," I say, my voice barely a whisper. "This is… this is insane."

Lucy arches an eyebrow. "Don’t worry, I’ve come up with an idea to make sure that being my eye candy doesn’t get your hopes too far up. It wouldn’t do if you forgot your place this early in your penance… you need a firm hand to keep you in line, Marina. So… to thank me for allowing you to be dressed up, you’re going to accept a few more, ah, limitations, as it were…"

Lucy's words hit me like a physical blow. I feel the air leave my lungs in a rush, my chest constricting painfully. The audacity of her gaslighting is almost enough to take my breath away. She's trying to present this as something for my benefit, as if dressing up in cocktail attire to do chores is some kind of privilege she's graciously bestowing upon me.

I should be storming out. I should curse her for making me waste my time, thinking this could actually go anywhere. But…

—Your acceptance is unconditional

—Things will be the way they were, and then some,

I can’t move. I feel like I’m frozen in place. I don’t want to go. I…

"From now on," Lucy says, snapping me from my stupor, "you're going to do every single chore the old-fashioned way. No more using the washing machine, the dishwasher, or even the vacuum cleaner. I want you to appreciate the hard work that goes into maintaining a household. It’ll be good for you, it’ll really humble you."

I stare at her, my mouth agape, struggling to process her words. She can't be serious. This has to be some kind of sick joke.

"You… you want me to wash everything by hand?" I ask, my voice trembling. "The laundry, the dishes… everything?"

"I already had you scrubbing the floor on all fours, it’s hardly that much of a stretch," Lucy says, visibly amused. "But yes, everything. You'll sweep and mop the floors, dust the furniture, scrub the bathroom, hand was all of my laundry… all while dressed like you are now, that dress, those shoes. The look of a girl who expects to be proposed tonight, and instead all you’re getting is chores and my feet."

For the first time tonight, her smile looks genuinely happy. "Looking like a princess, but acting like a medieval servant… can you see the poetry in it?"

I feel like the world is spinning around me.

Hand wash everything. Dressed like this.

The image is so absurd. So utterly degrading.

"Lucy, please," I beg, my voice breaking. "You can't do this to me. It's... it's too much. I can't-"

"Can't?" Lucy interrupts, her voice suddenly sharp. "I think you're forgetting something, Marina. You're the one who came crawling back to me, remember? You're the one who begged for a second chance. You literally grovelled at my feet. Well, this is your chance, take it or leave it. If you don’t like it, you can just leave. I’ll manage just fine."

I feel like I can't breathe. My chest is tight, my throat constricted. My tears are starting to trickle down my cheeks. Why doesn’t she understand that I need her like I need air? Or maybe she does understand it, and that’s exactly the problem…

"But… it’s going to ruin the dress, and the shoes," I protest weakly, my voice barely above a whisper. What the fuck am I saying? What kind of desperate, self-debasing defense is that? I’m making this about the dress? Like it’s obvious that she’d be more concerned about that, than about me as a human being, let alone a girlfriend?

Aspiring girlfriend, I correct myself, blushing with humiliation.

"So we’ll get you a new dress," Lucy says, casually, "with your money. God knows you have plenty. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you always look your best when you’re tending to my needs. But I’ll hear no more complaining from you."

"This... this is too much," I whisper, my voice hoarse with tears. "You're asking too much of me."

Lucy's eyes narrow, and her voice takes on a dangerous edge. "I'm not asking anything of you, Marina. I'm telling you how it's going to be. And if you don't like it, you know where the door is."

She leans back, crossing one leg over the other, studying me with a look of challenge. "You said you can’t live without me. Many times, in fact. Now we’ll find out if you were telling the truth."

I feel like I'm drowning, like I'm being pulled under by a current too strong to fight. I know it’s the truth. I do need her. I can't imagine my life without her in it, even if that life looks like… this.

I'm being torn in two. Every instinct is screaming at me to run, to get as far away from this toxic, abusive situation as I can. But my heart, my treacherous, needy heart, is begging me to stay. To submit. To do whatever it takes to keep Lucy in my life.

In the end, there's really no choice at all.

Slowly, painfully, I lower my head in acquiescence.

"Okay…" I say, in a whisper so low and broken that I barely hear it myself. It’s like it takes all the air and tension in my body with it, leaving me as a deflated, slackening avatar of complete personal defeat. The collapse of a girl’s will. I look hot, and dejected, and weak. A decoration to be possessed.

A servant.

"What was that?" Lucy asks, with a smirk.

"I’ll do it," I repeat. "I’ll do whatever you want… I love you…"

Lucy smiles, a slow, satisfied curl of her lips. "I know you do," she says, and the lack of explicit reciprocation is like a stab through my heart. "Now come here, you dummy."

Lucy looks up at me as I draw near, her eyes glinting with a dark satisfaction. She's lounging on the sofa like a queen on her throne, one leg crossed over the other, her arms spread out along the back of the couch.

I come to a stop just before her, my heart pounding in my chest. I can feel the weight of her gaze on me, appraising, judging. I resist the urge to fidget, to smooth down my dress or tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear.

"Closer," Lucy says, her voice soft but firm.

I take another step, until I'm standing right in front of her, my knees almost brushing against her calf. I can smell her so clearly now - the muskiness of her skin, the tang of her sweaty socks.

"Bow down to me," Lucy says at last.

I blink, unsure if I heard her correctly. "W-what?"

"You heard me," Lucy says, her smile widening. "Bow the fuck down to me, Marina."

I’ve spent most of the afternoon on the floor. I’ve spent most evenings at her feet this entire week. It’s the position I was in when I begged her to take me back.

What’s the point in feigning resistance now, when we both know I have none?

Slowly, trembling, I sink to my knees before her. The hard floor digs into my skin, but I hardly notice. All I can focus on is Lucy's foot hovering before me, Lucy’s face looming above me, the way she's looking down at me with a mixture of triumph and something else, something darker.

She extends her foot, bringing it to hover just inches from my face. I can see the outline of her toes through the thin fabric of her sock, can smell the sharp, acrid scent of her sweat.

"Look at you. No defiance to be found. I guess you were telling the truth, after all…" Lucy says, her voice low and thoughtful. "It’s my fault that this is happening so belatedly, Marina. I should have done this from the start. From the moment you started babbling about boundaries, and gaslighting, and nonsense like wanting to break up with me. I should have put you in your place, right then and there."

She presses her foot against my cheek, the rough fabric of her sock scraping against my skin. I flinch, but I don't pull away. I can't. I'm transfixed, held in place by the sheer force of her will.

"Stay still," Lucy orders, and I comply without hesitation. Her socked foot smacks right atop my nose and lips, the pungent odor of stale sweat assaulting my nostrils.

"Breathe in deep," Lucy says. "I want you to really take in the scent of my feet. Appreciate it. Savor it."

I inhale, my nostrils flaring as I draw in a long, shuddering breath. The musty, acrid smell fills my lungs, making my eyes water. It's overwhelming, all-consuming. The scent seems to permeate every cell in my body, branding me from the inside out as hers.

Lucy flexes her toes, digging them into my cheeks, my lips. I can feel the outline of each toe through the thin fabric, can sense the heat of her skin. On some primal, animalistic level, I feel like she's marking me, claiming me.

"What a pretty, kneeling princess," she says, before laughing. "God. I can’t believe I ever looked up to you, or took you seriously. At the beginning, I actually thought you were too good for me! Imagine that!"

I remember. I put in so much effort to convince her that I wasn’t out of her league… and I suppose it worked. A little too well.

Lucy begins to rub her foot back and forth across my face, smearing her scent all over my skin with a kind of languid cruelty. She’s in no rush, after all. We aren’t going anywhere tonight, just like we never went out when we were still together. Like she said, she has all she needs right here.

"I've been wearing these socks for days," Lucy muses, almost conversationally. "Sleeping in them, lounging around the house in them. I haven't made you wash them once. Can you tell?"

I nod weakly, responding with a soft, meek whimper. I can barely breathe with it pressed so firmly against my face.

My perfectly applied lipstick is surely smearing across the thin, grungy fabric as she grinds her sole against my mouth.

"What do you say, Marina?" Lucy says, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "Aren't you going to thank me for letting you be my little dress-up doll again?"

I swallow hard, my throat constricting with humiliation and despair. But as soon as her foot withdraws just enough to let me talk, I force the words out anyway, knowing it's what she expects, what she demands of me.

"Thank you, Lucy…

Thank you for allowing me the privilege of dressing up for you again. I'm so grateful you still want me to be eye candy for you, even if it's just while I'm...while I'm cleaning and serving you."

"And?" She flexes her toes, bumping them against the tip of my nose.

"And… thank you for giving me the honor of doing all the chores the old-fashioned way from now on?" I say, tentatively, trying to gauge from her reaction if I’ve said the right thing or not. "I understand that scrubbing floors and hand washing laundry while dressed to the nines like this will be...humbling for me. I know you're doing this for my own good, to make me a better girlfriend. Aspiring girlfriend, I mean…"

Lucy makes a pleased hum. "Much better. You're learning." She shifts slightly on the couch, her body relaxing into the cushions even as she keeps her foot firmly in place over my mouth and nose. "You know, Marina, I think we need to commemorate this moment. The day you finally accepted your place. Hmm, I know..."

She pauses, letting the anticipation build. I hardly dare to breathe, knowing she's about to issue another command.

"Kiss it," Lucy says simply. "Kiss my foot, Marina. Show me how thankful you are."

My eyes widen and I make a choked little sound in the back of my throat. But that’s just silly. I’ve had it plastered over my mouth all this time, it’s just a symbolic act she’s demanding, really…

Only the symbolism is powerful.

I pucker my lips, and begin kissing. I put all the contrition and submission I can into my slow, lingering kisses, again and again, against her sole, against each toe, against the heel.

After a few moments, Lucy speaks. "Good girl. Now, I think it's time you got a little more… intimate with my feet. Peel off my sock with your mouth, Marina. I want to feel your tongue on my bare skin."

I hesitate for just a second, my cheeks burning with humiliation. But I know I have no choice. Slowly, I take the edge of her sock between my teeth and start tugging it down, inch by inch. The fabric is damp with her sweat and it fills my mouth with her pungent taste as I work it off her foot.

Finally, the sock slips free and drops to the floor. Lucy flexes her toes, sighing in satisfaction as the cool air hits her bare skin. She wiggles them right in front of my face.

"There, isn't that better? Now get that tongue to work, my little lapdog. I want you to lick every drop of sweat off my foot. Don't miss a single spot."

Trembling, I extend my tongue and give her big toe a tentative lick. The sharp, salty taste of her sweat floods my mouth, making me wince. But Lucy just applies more pressure, smooshing her foot against my face insistently.

"I said lick, Marina. Put that tongue to use before I find something else to occupy your mouth."

Obediently, I begin to lave her foot with my tongue, long broad strokes from heel to toe. I lap at the soft skin of her instep, swirl my tongue around each toe, suckle gently on her big toe. The taste of her is overwhelming - musky, pungent, with a sweaty sharpness that makes my eyes water.

But I don't stop. I can't stop. I have to prove myself to her, or all of this has been for nothing.

Lucy flexes her foot, curling her toes against my tongue as I work. "Get in between each toe, make sure you clean up every bit of toe jam. Mmm, your tongue feels divine, Marina. Maybe I'll have you do this every day when you're done with your chores. My own personal foot bath."

I make a small, desperate sound at that, at the thought of this becoming part of my daily routine - kneeling at her feet in my expensive dresses and pearls, debasing myself for her amusement after a long day of backbreaking housework. But the sound just makes Lucy chuckle.

Lucy hooks her other foot behind my neck, the heel pressing into my nape as she reels me in. Simultaneously, the foot I’m licking slides forward, between my lips, stretching my mouth with an obscene plop.

"Open wide."

Slowly, almost gently, Lucy starts to slide her foot deeper into my mouth. I feel the ball of her foot press down on my tongue.

"Let me in, all the way in. In more ways than one."

Lucy is persistent, working her foot steadily back and forth, each thrust pushing a little deeper. The taste of her floods my senses.

"Suck. Draw all that sweat out. Bathe my foot."

Obediently, I start to suckle, my cheeks hollowing as I try to pull the taste of her foot sweat into my mouth. Lucy hums in approval, continuing her leisurely thrusts.

"I think things are going much better now, wouldn’t you agree?" She asks softly, almost tenderly. "All thanks to me, of course. You would have been lost without me. But with my guidance, we’re finally making progress. We may be able to salvage this relationship yet."

I can only reply with a soft gurgle, drool leaking down my chin. I wonder if I’m getting any on my dress. I wonder if Lucy would care. She’s making it all seem so casual, the thrusting of her foot is so leisurely, almost indolent.

"In fact," she says, "I think we've made such good progress here that maybe we can take another step forward. That’s how pleased I am with you."

I make a small, muffled sound around her foot, a sort of questioning whimper. Lucy smiles down at me, her eyes glinting with a dark satisfaction.

"I think it’s time you gave your friends a bit of a life update. Where you are. What you’re doing. The whole… aspiring girlfriend concept. I’m sure they’d find it very interesting…"

My eyes widen at that, and I make a choked, sputtering noise, my body jerking in surprise. No! Why would she want that? Even with the worst intentions in mind, wouldn’t she want to keep me all to herself? I squirm in position, instinctively trying to get away.

Lucy's foot behind my neck pulls harder, as she tightens her grip, holding me in place. The foot in my mouth presses down on my tongue, silencing me.

"Shh, shh, it's alright," Lucy says, her voice sickly sweet. "I know why that would surprise you, but look, they’ll find out eventually, it’s inevitable. And they’ll try to put themselves between us, like they have in the past. I’d rather it happened on my terms. They need to see that you know your place now, don't they? They need to understand who you belong to."

I shake my head frantically, as much as I can with her feet restraining me.

"Just imagine it. Your friends getting a text, a picture maybe, of you kneeling there in that stunning dress, pearls around your neck, my foot down your throat. What do you think they'll say?"

I can picture it all too clearly - the shock, the disgust, the pity in their eyes. The way they'd recoil from me, unable to reconcile the pathetic creature I've become with the girl they once knew. They’d ask me how the fuck I could go crawling back to my abuser, after everything she’s done to me.

Or they wouldn’t believe she’s doing anything to me I haven’t clearly consented to… I’m strong, outspoken, and she’s lazy and mousy. There’s no way she could bring me to my knees, unless I was into it. Unless I wanted to belong here.

Hot shame floods through me, so intense it's almost nauseating.

The foot hooked behind my neck holds me firmly in place as the one in my mouth plugs my protests. My heart pounds in my ears, dread churning sickly in my stomach at the thought of anyone seeing me like this.

Lucy tuts softly, shaking her head. "Now, now, none of that. You don't get to say no, remember? Your acceptance is unconditional. You agreed to that, Marina. You agreed to everything."

She punctuates her words with a particularly deep thrust of her foot, pushing it so far into my mouth that I gag, my throat convulsing around her toes.

"Besides," she continues, as if she hasn't just cut off my air supply, "it's for the best, really. One should not keep secrets from friends."

Lucy leans forward, propping her elbows on her knees, eyes gleaming as she stares down at me. The shift in her posture only impales me further on her foot, filling my mouth and throat with her musky, sweaty flavor. I make a strangled noise, a choked, defeated sound that wordlessly begs for mercy that I know won’t be forthcoming.

"You and I have just found out who you really are," Lucy says, her voice low and dark with ominous promise. "Now, it’s time to let everyone in your life know, as well."

I make a desperate, pleading sound, but there’s no resistance in it. After all…

—Your acceptance is unconditional

—Things will be the way they were, and then some,

… I submit. She has won.