My dress is all sweaty…

What a silly thing to worry about. It’s just a dress. Compared to my clearly insane domestic position, what’s a dress? Nothing, just a piece of cloth, a thing, a…

Symbol.

Somehow, I’m numb to everything else that’s happening to me… but the idea of my dress getting so stained with maid-sweat is the thing that pierces through the fog of dissociation. It almost brings a tear to my eye…

I sniff. Stupid girl, Marina. Just do your job well, and everything is going to be alright. I refocus on scrubbing furiously away at a particularly stubborn stain on Lucy’s bedroom floor. Whatever it is, it’s sticky.

Lucy’s never really been one for washing floors.

I must be such a pathetic sight in my evening finery, reduced to a mere cleaning lady. I’m sure the makeup I applied so lovingly is starting to smudge, and maybe it’s my imagination, but — is the fabric of my stockings getting thinner around my knees?

Maybe it’s not the nylon that’s fraying, it’s just my sanity. I wish I could be calmer about where this is all going, calm like… well… her.

Lucy lounges on her bed, propped up by a mound of pillows. She's wearing one of those oversized t-shirts she likes so much. Her unwashed hair is a tousled mess, her glasses perched crookedly on her nose.

The soft tapping of her fingers on her phone screen and the occasional chuckle at something she's reading are the only sounds aside from my labored breathing and the slosh of dirty water. She hasn't even glanced my way once, as if I'm not even worthy of acknowledgment.

I risk a peek over my shoulder at her, hoping to catch her eye, to see some glimmer of appreciation or affection. But she's completely absorbed in her phone, a small smirk playing at the corners of her mouth.

I turn back to my task, blinking back the tears that threaten to fall. She’s right not to pay any attention to me. I’ve been awful to her. I just have to win her trust back.

On some level, I know what I am here. A servant. No, that's too generous. A slave. I do all the cooking, the cleaning, the laundry. Lucy hasn't lifted a finger since I moved back in. The "girlfriend" topic has not been revisited, and I don't dare bring it up. We're in a strange limbo where I'm more than a maid but less than a partner.

This is just a phase, I tell myself. It’ll pass, all things do. I just need to try harder.

My back and arms scream in protest as I scrub with more energy, determined to remove every last speck of dirt from the floor. Maybe if I do an exceptional job, if I make everything spotless and perfect, she'll finally look at me. Maybe she'll smile, tell me I've done well. Maybe she'll even invite me onto the bed, let me curl up next to her like we used to…

"Marina, come here for a second."

My head snaps up, my heart leaping into my throat. She wants me? She actually wants my attention? I scramble to my feet, nearly tripping over myself in my haste to obey. The cleaning rag falls forgotten to the floor as I hurry to her bedside, hands clasped demurely in front of me.

"Yes, Lucy?" I ask, my voice breathy with a pathetic mixture of hope and trepidation. "What can I do for you?"

She looks up from her phone just enough to give me one brief, appraising look. "You’re tired. This is a lot for you, isn’t it?"

I open my mouth to speak, but I don’t know what to say. Yes, it’s a lot. It’s everything. But I chose this, didn’t I? I chose to come back, to subject myself to her will.

Lucy’s response to my silence is to shrug, as if it’s all the same to her. "You’re free to go, you know. If it’s too much."

I stiffen. Is she testing me? Daring me to walk out? The thought of leaving rips me in two. To feel the crushing loneliness again, the endless nights crying myself to sleep… as bad as this is, as hopeless as it seems, it’s still better than accepting a life without Lucy in it.

"No," I say firmly. "I want to be here. With you."

Lucy studies me for a long moment, her eyes unreadable behind her glasses. Then she nods. "Finish the floor," she says, lying back down and turning to her phone, away from me.

I go back to my hands and knees, picking up the brush.

The mind-numbing monotony of my work is suddenly interrupted by a sharp, chiming sound. My heart skips a beat as I realize it’s my smartphone. I left it on Lucy’s nightstand, well within her reach. I hold my breath, waiting to see if she’ll snatch it up and read the notification. She’s done that before. Instead, she stretches lazily and makes no move for the phone. I let out a silent sigh of relief.

I sit back on my heels, wiping my hands on the hem of my dress – it’s already ruined, so what does it matter? – and reach for the phone. The screen lights up, and my heart gives another little flutter when I see the message. It’s from Sarah, a close friend. We went to high school together, then college. She’s one of the few who stuck around, even through the worst of my depression.

The message is short and sweet: “Hey babe, it’s my bday this Sat. Having a little get-together. Would love to see you! Hope life’s been treating you well. xx”

I stare at the screen, my eyes tracing the words over and over. During the worst of my post-breakup depression, I’d withdrawn from my friends almost entirely. I didn’t have the energy to pretend I was okay, and I knew they’d disapprove of my continued obsession with Lucy. They still don’t know that I’m back with her… much less the conditions I’ve come back under.

I can’t imagine explaining any of this to them. How could they possibly understand?

Still, it almost makes me cry to see that my friends still remember me.

Lucy puts down her phone, stretching her arms above her head. She’s noticed my reaction, of course. She notices everything. A sly smile creeps across her face, and my stomach twists with sudden dread. I know that look. It’s the look she gets when she’s about to toy with me.

“What’s the message?” she asks, feigning disinterest.

There really isn’t any room for hesitation here. She could just grab my phone and read the text herself if she wanted to, it’s not like I could stop her…

—Your acceptance is unconditional

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

“It’s from Sarah,” I say, my voice small. “She’s inviting me to her birthday party on Saturday.”

Lucy raises an eyebrow. “Is that so? How nice of her.”

She swings her legs over the side of the bed, sitting up straight. "Come here," she says, snapping her fingers.

Somehow, for some reason, some deep nonverbal instinct within me pushes me to not stand up, because this beckoning is not like the previous one. There’s an odd edge to Lucy’s voice, and so I approach her bed while staying down on the ground, my phone still clutched in one hand.

The odd glint in Lucy’s eyes as she takes in my approach tells me that she approves.

I reach the side of the bed and sit back on my heels, my head bowed, waiting for further instruction. Lucy leans forward, her elbows resting on her knees, and looks down at me. She extends her hand, and I know better than to resist. I place the smartphone in her palm, my fingers lingering a moment longer than they should. She notices, of course, and her smile grows wider.

Lucy starts casually browsing through my phone, swiping through screens and tapping on apps with an air of nonchalance that makes my heart pound. My most private conversations, my photos, my search history - it's all laid bare before her prying eyes. I feel like I’ve been thrust in the middle of a minefield. What’s she going to think of what she’ll see? If she gets angry with me about something, anything, how am I going to calm her down?

As these anxious thoughts swirl through my mind, Lucy swings her socked feet up and plants them firmly on my face. I let out a muffled yelp of surprise as she pushes my head down to the floor, pinning me in place. The pungent scent of her feet, unwashed for days, fills my nostrils and makes my eyes water.

She does it so easily, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, as if resistance to the act would be unthinkable. That’s so humiliating.

I find myself in the all-too-familiar position of a human footrest, my face serving as a convenient resting place for Lucy's reeking soles while she idly peruses my phone above me, out of sight. I can only imagine the smug look on her face as she violates my privacy so casually, so completely.

The floor presses against my cheekbone as Lucy grinds her heel into my other cheek, smooshing my face into the floor. I can feel the grime and sweat from her sock transferring onto my skin, no doubt smearing my carefully applied makeup. But the thing truly looming large in my mind right now is what Lucy could find on my phone.

The cringey online dating subreddits I frequented after the breakup. The self-loathing, referential, cryptic social media posts with a linked song and some admittedly melodramatic quote out of context. The photos from happier times that I couldn't bring myself to delete, even though looking at them feels like twisting a knife in my own heart.

Worst of all, I think of the text conversations with my friends, the ones where they express their concern over my mental state, their dislike of Lucy, their fears that she's manipulating me. If Lucy sees those messages, if she knows how my friends really feel about her…

A cold sweat breaks out on my brow at the thought. She'll be furious.

"Oh, Marina," Lucy says, with a tone that seems to say poor puppy dog. "You really were a mess without me, weren't you? Listen to this one you sent Sarah: 'I don't know how to function without her. It's like she took a piece of me with her when she left. I know it wasn't healthy, but I miss her so much it physically hurts.'"

Lucy rubs my hair with one socked foot. "But we’ve made it all better, haven’t we? You’re back where you belong, now."

I squeeze my eyes shut, my face burning with humiliation beneath her soles. She's right, of course. I was a wreck after we broke up, barely able to get out of bed most days. I leaned on my friends heavily during that time, spilling all my doubts and fears about the relationship.

How I felt like Lucy was slowly eroding my self-esteem, isolating me from everyone else. How her constant need for validation and attention drained me dry. How I sometimes felt more like her caretaker than her girlfriend.

I told them everything - and now Lucy is reading it all, word for ugly word.

"Wow, you really painted me as quite the villain," Lucy muses as she continues scrolling. "Controlling, manipulative, emotionally abusive… I'm almost impressed. I didn't realize I could have such a big impact on the queen bee!"

"And here's another good one, from that uptight volleyball bitch, Jess," Lucy continues, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "'Babe, you know I love you, but I just don't get it. Lucy treated you like shit. She was manipulative and controlling. You're so out of her league, you could do so much better. I know breakups suck, but trust me, you dodged a bullet with that one.'"

Lucy grinds her foot harder into my face, smooshing my cheek against the hardwood. "Out of my league, are you?"

All I can do is whimper, pinned beneath her heel like a bug.

"Oh, here's an interesting one," Lucy says, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "You said, and I quote, 'Sometimes I felt like Lucy's slave rather than her girlfriend.' A slave, uh?"

I freeze, my blood turning to ice in my veins. Oh god, why did I have to use that word?

Lucy presses her feet even more firmly against my face. It hurts, and I let out a small little mewl, but she doesn’t relent.

"Tell me, Marina. If I was so awful to you that you felt like a slave, what exactly are you doing here, caving in to every single one of my whims, hmm? Scrubbing my floors, doing my laundry, waiting on me hand and foot? If you thought I treated you like a slave then, surely it must be so much worse now. So what does that mean? Are you okay being my slave? Or are you so in love with me that you’re fine being enslaved even if you don’t enjoy it? Which is it, Marina?”

The humiliation burns through me, hot and sharp. My body trembles under Lucy's socked feet as her cruel words sink in, each one a dagger to my heart.

I want to protest, to deny it, but how can I? The evidence is right there in front of her, in my own words.

I squeeze my eyes shut tighter, wishing I could disappear, sink through the floor and vanish. Anything to escape this excruciating moment, this brutal confrontation with the ugly truth of what I've become.

"I'm waiting for an answer."

I don't know what to say. I don't know how to explain the tangled knot of emotions in my chest, the way I crave Lucy's approval and affection and validation even when the cost is so high.

Maybe there is no explanation. Maybe I'm just broken, fundamentally damaged in some way that makes me cling to toxicity, that makes me beg for scraps from someone who sees me as nothing more than a plaything to be used and discarded.

"I… I don't know," I finally choke out, my voice small and thick with unshed tears. "I don't know why I'm like this, Lucy. I just...I just need you so much, even when you hurt me, even when you make me feel worthless. I can't help it. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

I look up at her out of the corner of my eye as I spit out my grovelling confession. She looks… beautiful, from down here, larger than life, as she’s smiling down at me with no mirth or warmth. It’s a smile of ownership, because now that that evil word is out there, now that it’s been spoken out loud, it can never be taken back.

Slave. I’m her slave.

"You know," Lucy says, softly, so softly, "a slave would not be allowed to go to Sarah’s birthday party without her owner’s permission…"

I feel a lump form in my throat at Lucy's words. The birthday party. In the emotional turmoil of the last few minutes, I had almost forgotten.

"Lucy, please," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "I haven't seen Sarah in so long. She's one of my best friends. Can't I just go for a little while? I promise I'll come right back and do whatever you want."

Lucy's foot presses down harder, the arch digging painfully into my cheekbone. "Oh, Marina. Always so naive. You really think I'm going to let you out of my sight? After everything we've just been through?"

She lifts her foot slightly, allowing me to speak. I take a shuddering breath.

"But Lucy, I need this. I need to see my friends. I've been so isolated…" My voice breaks on the last word.

Lucy clicks her tongue disapprovingly. "That's exactly why you can't go. You're too fragile right now, too easily influenced. What if they try to turn you against me again? No, it's better for you to stay here, where I can keep an eye on you. Besides… you’re far too busy to be gallivanting off to parties. Saturday is a laundry day, and well…"

She wiggles her toes, drawing my attention back to the socks encasing her feet. The fabric is stained and damp with sweat, clinging to her skin. The sour, musty smell is overpowering at this proximity, making my eyes water.

"You know how much I enjoy it when you spend the afternoon dutifully sucking every. Last. Drop of footsweat from my socks by sticking them in your mouth and sucking on them. Truly, no other form of laundry can compare. It takes hours for you to get all the sweat out, you know that. You couldn’t possibly make it in time for the party."

I recoil instinctively, my stomach churning at the thought. But Lucy just smiles, and her socked foot adheres more closely and insistently to my face as she pushes.

"Breathe in, Marina," she says. "Breathe yourself stupid on my footsweat. You know it always calms you. Like a pacifier."

Almost against my will, I find myself obeying, inhaling deeply through my nose. The sharp, acrid stench of stale sweat and unwashed feet floods my senses, making my head swim. It's overwhelming, dizzying, yet somehow… comforting?

"That's it," Lucy says with a lilt in her voice, rubbing her foot back and forth across my face. "Now, about Sarah’s party… I’m not a monster, you know. I think you should talk to her. Call her, in fact. Text is so impersonal."

My brow furrows at that, confusion momentarily piercing through the haze of submission. "But… but I thought you said I couldn't go…?"

"Oh, you can't," Lucy confirms, her tone light and casual. "But that doesn't mean that I want you to neglect your friendships. I’m not a monster, you know."

"I… I don't know what to say to her…" I admit, my voice small and hesitant.

Lucy hums thoughtfully, her toes flexing against my cheek. "Tell her the truth. You're going to tell her that yes, you'd love to come to her birthday party, but no, you can’t go, because you’re sadly so terribly busy. Swamped, really."

My eyes widen at that, shock jolting through me like an electric current. "W-what?"

"I think you should tell Sarah exactly why you can't make it to her party," she says casually.

I blink up at Lucy in disbelief, my stomach plummeting. "You want me to tell her… everything?" I whisper hoarsely.

Lucy shakes her head. "Not everything. Just what you’re busy with this Saturday afternoon. Washing the sweat from my socks with your pretty mouth."

I feel dizzy, sick. This can't be happening. "Lucy, please," I plead desperately. "Don't make me do this. It will humiliate me. Sarah will never look at me the same way again."

"Exactly," Lucy says. "That's the point, silly girl. I want all your friends to know the truth. I’m doing this because I genuinely do care about you, Marina. You can’t have friendships based on lies! You need to be honest with your friends. Why should you ever be scared of telling the truth? The truth is inherently good. It’s like, what do ya call it… a terminal value."

I shake my head, dully. I'm trapped and I know it. If I refuse, Lucy will punish me, maybe even kick me out. And I can't bear the thought of losing her again, even if it means losing myself.

"Please, Lucy…" I try one last time, my voice breaking.

But she just shakes her head, unmoved by my distress.

"Alright…" I say, and it’s like saying the word out loud deflates me. "I'll… I'll tell her."

Lucy's smile widens into a grin as she hands me back my phone. "Whenever you're ready, princess. I'll just be here, making myself comfortable."

With a shaking hand, I take the phone from her. Lucy’s feet gently guide my face back to the floor. Looks like I’ll be calling from under her soles. One foot is resting against the hollow of my throat, the other is perched on my forehead, allowing me an unimpeded view of Lucy, looming above me.

My thumb hovers over Sarah's contact, hesitating. I glance up at Lucy, silently begging her with my eyes to change her mind. But her expression is impassive, resolute.

I have no choice. Swallowing hard, I hit the call button and raise the phone to my ear. It rings once, twice. I pray fervently that Sarah won't pick up, that I'll get her voicemail.

But on the third ring, she answers. "Marina! Hey babe, I'm so glad you called! How are you doing?"

At the sound of her bright, cheery voice, so full of genuine happiness to hear from me, I nearly burst into tears right then and there. "H-hi Sarah," I manage to get out. Just listening to her again makes makes my chest ache with longing. For a moment, I'm transported back to simpler times - late night study sessions fueled by junk food and laughter, lazy summer days spent lounging by the pool.

Sarah was always there for me, through every breakup, every failed exam, every crisis of confidence. She was the one who held me while I cried after my grandmother passed away, the one who dragged me out dancing when I was wallowing in self-pity, the one who believed in me even when I didn't believe in myself.

And now, I'm about to tell her something that’s going to destroy her respect for me.

"I'm… I'm fine," I say with a gulp. "I just wanted to… to wish you a happy birthday."

Sarah laughs. "It’s not till Saturday, but thanks! So, are you coming? It’s been ages since I’ve seen you."

"Yeah, I got your message. It's so sweet of you to invite me, really, but I… I don't think I can make it."

There's a beat of silence on the other end. "Oh," Sarah says, and I can hear the disappointment in her voice, the unspoken questions. "That's too bad. Is everything okay? You've been kind of MIA lately."

My eyes dart to Lucy again. She's scrupulously examining her fingernails now, the picture of innocent boredom, but I know she's listening to every word.

"Yeah, yeah, everything's fine," I say quickly. Too quickly. "I've just been… busy. You know how it is."

"Busy with what?" Sarah asks. "Last I heard, you were taking some time off after…well, you know. After everything with Lucy."

Lucy's head snaps up at the mention of her name, her eyes narrowing. I feel a bead of sweat trickle down my spine, cold and clammy.

"That's actually what I'm busy with," I say, the lie tasting bitter on my tongue. "Lucy and I, we're… we're trying to work things out."

Another pause, longer this time. "Work things out?" Sarah repeats slowly. "Marina, are you back together with her?"

There's no judgement in her tone, just concern.

"Kind of, but also… not really? It's, it's complicated."

"Complicated how? And what does that have to do with my party?" Sarah asks me. "Marina, you know you can talk to me, right? Whatever's going on, I'm here for you."

Sarah's words hit me like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from my lungs. The earnest compassion in her voice, the unwavering loyalty even after all this time - it's almost too much to bear. I feel my throat constrict, hot tears pricking at the corners of my eyes.

"I know," I whisper into the phone, my voice wavering. "I know you are. And I'm so grateful, Sarah, really. But this… this is something I need to handle on my own."

I chance another glance at Lucy. She's still feigning disinterest, but I can see the way her jaw tightens, the hard glint in her eyes behind her glasses. My stomach twists with dread. I have to do this. I have no choice.

"The thing is," I continue, forcing the words out past the lump in my throat, "Lucy and I are trying to rebuild our relationship. But it's going to take time and a lot of hard work. That's why I can't come to your party on Saturday. I'll be… occupied."

"Occupied with what?" Sarah presses. I can hear the frown in her voice.

My eyes slide closed. I can't look at Lucy's face when I say this next part. I don't think I could bear to see the smug satisfaction there.

"I'll be washing Lucy's socks," I say in a small, miserable voice.

"You'll be… washing Lucy's socks?" Sarah repeats slowly, confusion evident in her tone. "Marina, what are you talking about? Is this some kind of joke? Because if it is, it's not funny."

"No, no it's not a joke," I say, my voice trembling. "I… I wash Lucy's socks every Saturday. It's part of our… our new arrangement."

"Arrangement?" Sarah’s pitch rises with incredulity. "Marina, what the hell are you talking about? Your arrangement is that you do Lucy’s laundry? And even if it is, why would that take all day? How long does it take to dump a bunch of socks in the washing machine?"

I squeeze my eyes shut tighter, as if that could block out the humiliation, the shame coursing through me. If only it were that simple. If only I could explain this away as just an odd quirk, a silly little chore I've taken on.

But it's so much more than that.

"I can't," I whisper into the phone. "I have to wash Lucy's socks individually, one by one… with my mouth. By… sucking the foot sweat out of them."

I pause, holding my breath as I wait for Sarah's reaction. The silence on the other end of the line is deafening. I can practically hear her mind reeling, trying to process what I've just said.

"Marina," Sarah says at last, her voice low and strained. "What kind of conversation are we having right now? What fucking conversation is this? Because I have no context for what you’re telling me, girl. Tell me this is a prank. I demand that this is a prank. In poor taste, and not funny, but at least a prank."

"I… I don't have a choice! This is what Lucy wants from me. It's the only way she'll take me back. I have to prove myself to her, prove that I'm sorry for leaving, that I'm devoted to her. Look, I know how it sounds…" I say, feebly, but Sarah talks right over me, so loudly that I almost flinch away from the phone.

"Oh, do you?! Do you know how it sounds to tell me that you’re skipping my birthday party to suck the sweat out of your ex-girlfriend’s socks?! Well, I’m glad you know how it sounds, because what the actual fuck, Marina! How could you let her do this to you, let her degrade you like this? And do you realize how much you’re disrespecting me right now? In so many different fucking ways, too!"

I flinch at the anger and disgust in Sarah's tone, but before I can respond, Lucy clears her throat pointedly. I look over to see her holding up her hand, her fingers mimicking a camera. She points to the phone, then to herself.

My heart plummets into my stomach as I realize what she wants. With a trembling finger, I switch the call to video.

Sarah's confused face fills the screen, her brow furrowed in concern. "Marina, what's going on? Why did you switch to vid-"

Her words cut off abruptly as she sees me.

Her expression shifts rapidly from confused concern to utter shock as she takes in the scene before her.

I can only imagine what I must look like to her - my face pressed into the floor, Lucy's socked feet draped possessively over my throat and forehead. I look utterly debased. Humiliated. Owned.

Lucy says nothing, letting the image speak for itself. She simply starts lazily and casually wiping her feet all over my face as if it's the most natural thing in the world. The sour, musty smell of her socks fills my nostrils with each labored breath I take.

Sarah's mouth opens and closes several times, but no sound comes out. For a long moment, she seems frozen, unable to comprehend what she's seeing.

"Marina?" she finally manages to ask. "What… what is this? What's happening?"

I try to speak, but it's difficult with Lucy's feet now pressing down on my mouth. I make a sort of muffled, garbled noise, my lips moving ineffectually against her soles. I can only whimper in response as Lucy's foot grinds harder against my cheek, smearing my face into the floorboards. The rough fabric of her sock scrapes against my skin.

"Marina, this is… this is so messed up. I don't even know what to say. That's really Lucy there with you? Making you… Jesus, Marina. No, hell no. This is beyond TMI. I want no fucking part of this."

I squirm in shame and humiliation under Lucy's pinning feet, my face burning. No, don’t hang up! I want so badly to explain, to make Sarah understand, but what can I possibly say? That I need this, as twisted and wrong as it is? Perhaps even more so, because it is so wrong?

Sarah would never understand that. Hell, I barely understand it myself most days. All I know is the desperate, clawing ache inside me that only eases when I grovel and beg enough to get one small crumb of validation from Lucy.

"Mmmpphhh," is all I can muster against the oppressive weight and odor of Lucy's socked soles mashing my lips. Above me, Lucy lets out a soft, mocking laugh.

"I can't believe you," Sarah seethes. "First you ghost all of us for months, making us worry sick about you. Then you finally reach out, only to show me… this. Whatever twisted shit you're into now. If this is what you're choosing, then fine. Have fun being Lucy's doormat. But don't expect any of us to stick around and watch. We're done."

With that, the screen goes black. She's hung up on me. I’m left staring at my own shocked reflection in the darkened screen. My stomach twists with a sickening mix of shame and despair. I can't believe Sarah just saw me like that, witnessed the depths to which I've sunk. The look of disgust and disbelief on her face is seared into my mind.

Lucy chuckles above me, a low, cruel sound that sends shivers down my spine. "Well, that went well, don't you think?" she says sarcastically. "I'm sure Sarah totally understands now why you can't make it to her party."

I squeeze my eyes shut, hot tears leaking from the corners and rolling down my cheeks. I want to scream, to rage at Lucy for making me do that, for exposing me in such a degrading way to one of my oldest friends. But I don't. I can't. The fight has gone out of me, leaving behind only a hollow, aching emptiness.

Lucy grinds her feet against my face, rubbing my tears and running makeup into my skin. "Aww, is the slave girl upset?"

She punctuates her words with sharp jabs of her toes into my cheeks, my forehead, my chin. Each one drives her message home further. I am hers. Completely and utterly. There is no part of me she does not own, no shred of dignity or self-respect she cannot strip away at will.

"What do you think Sarah will do now?" Lucy muses, almost to herself. "Will she tell the others what she saw? Jessica, Emily, Tanya? Can you imagine their faces when they hear about how the great Marina Delgado spends her days now? On her knees, groveling at my feet, sucking on my sweaty socks like a pathetic little foot slave?"

I curl myself in a fetal position beneath her feet. Even now, even as humiliation burns through me like acid, a small, traitorous part of me clings to the hope that my obedience, my total surrender, will somehow earn me a sliver of Lucy's affection. That if I just degrade myself enough, debase myself thoroughly enough, she'll see how much I need her and she'll reciprocate with even a morsel of the love and validation I crave.

But deep down, in a dark corner of my psyche I try my best to ignore, I know the terrible truth. Lucy doesn't want my love. She wants my submission. My pain. My isolation. With every cruel, humiliating act she inflicts upon me, she tightens her hold, cuts me off further from any support or reality outside of her.

Sarah's disgust and rejection is exactly what Lucy wanted. She's severing my ties, one by one, until I have nowhere else to turn but her. No one else to cling to but her. She's molding me, shaping me, into a creature that exists solely for her twisted pleasures.

And God help me, a part of me wants it. Craves it, even as it destroys me.

Lucy grinds her socked feet harder into my face, relishing my despair, my utter debasement. Through my tears I can see the cruel curve of her smile, the sadistic glee sparkling in her eyes. She's in her element now, savoring her total control over me.

"Take off my socks," she commands suddenly. "With your teeth."

Obediently, desperately, I take the damp toe of her sock between my teeth and start tugging it off. The ripe stench of her sweat, the bitter salt of it on my tongue, fills my senses, choking me. But I don't stop. I can't stop. Pleasing her, obeying her, is all that matters now.

I pull the sock off completely and start on the other one, my movements clumsy and frantic as sobs continue to wrack my body. Lucy flexes her toes, sighing in satisfaction as the cool air hits her damp skin.

As soon as both socks are off, she presses her bare soles against my tear-streaked cheeks.

"Cry for me, Marina. Let me feel those pitiful tears on my skin."

She flexes her toes, smearing the wetness across my face like she's finger-painting with my despair. I let out a choked sob, the sound muffled against the soft flesh of her foot.

"Lick," Lucy commands suddenly, her voice sharp and demanding. "Lap at my feet like the pathetic little dog you are."

Obediently, I extend my tongue and start licking at her soles, long, broad strokes from heel to toe. The bitter tang of her sweat floods my mouth, making me wince. But I don't stop. I can't stop. Pleasing her is all that matters now.

It’s all that I have left.

Shaking, I stick out my tongue and give her big toe an experimental lick. The taste of salt, sweat and grime hits me like a tidal wave, and I flinch away involuntarily. My reward is for Lucy to press her foot harder against my face. I lap at her foot with long, slow strokes, starting at the toes and all the way down to the heel and back. I flick the tip of my tongue against each toe, I take the big one in my mouth and gently suck on it, I stare up at her through tear-filled eyes that wordlessly beg for mercy.

I continue licking and worshipping Lucy's feet as she watches me with a smug, satisfied smile. Hot tears stream down my face, mixing with the sweat and grime from her soles. I feel utterly degraded, debased, like I'm not even human anymore. Just a pathetic, groveling slave desperate for any scrap of approval from my… not-girlfriend.

"I think it's time we shut that blubbering mouth of yours up," she says, her voice dripping with cruel amusement. "Open wide, Marina."

Dread pools in my stomach, but I'm powerless to resist. Slowly, reluctantly, I open my mouth. Immediately, Lucy shoves her foot inside, filling my mouth with the taste of her, the feel of her.

I lie there, pinned to the floor by Lucy's feet, my tears slowly drying on my cheeks as her foot is slowly, almost lazily, fucking my mouth.

Lucy's toes press past my lips, sliding over my tongue, teasing the entrance of my throat. She's not forceful, but there's an undeniable dominance to the act. A casual assertion of her ownership over every part of me.

Her sole pins my tongue down flat, which is… oddly symbolic. I focus on keeping my jaw slack. My mouth is her foot holster now. A little portable warm container for her foot sweat.

My passivity certainly makes me feel like furniture. I lie here and take it as Lucy moves her foot in a leisurely rhythm, sliding it in and out of my mouth.

As for her other foot… I feel the pressure of it leave my throat as she trails it slowly down my body. She pauses at my chest, her heel digging into my left boob.

I can't suppress the shudder that runs through me at the contact. My nipples harden traitorously beneath the thin fabric, straining towards her touch.

"Such a responsive little slut."

Next, her foot trails down the center of my body, between my breasts, over the quivering plane of my stomach. I suck in a sharp breath as she reaches the hem of my dress.

There's a moment of tense anticipation as her toes play with the fabric, dipping beneath the hem teasingly before retreating. I'm split between dreading and craving what I know is coming next.

Finally, agonizingly, Lucy presses her foot fully beneath my dress and against my crotch.

I can't stop the whimper that escapes around her other foot, still lodged deep in my mouth.

The pressure is firm and possessive. Even through the thin barrier of my panties, the sensation is electric, sending jolts of shameful arousal through my core. Absurdly, I think this is the first time she’s touched my pussy since before the breakup. And it’s not during sex. It’s not with her fingers, or with her mouth.

It’s because she’s literally stepping on it.

My hips twitch involuntarily, seeking more contact even as revulsion roils in my gut at my body's traitorous reaction.

How can I be getting aroused by this? By being so utterly debased and objectified? But I can't deny the growing wetness between my thighs, the needy throbbing of my clit as Lucy's foot works me over.

The weight of her other foot presses down on my tongue, pinning it in place as her toes wiggle against the back of my throat. My airway is partially obstructed and I have to focus to breathe through my nose, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes from the strain and humiliation.

Drool leaks steadily from the corners of my stretched mouth, coating Lucy's foot and pooling on the floor beneath my face. The wet, obscene sounds of her violating my mouth fill the room, as do by my muffled whimpers and gurgles.

She grinds her sole harder against my pussy, dragging the damp fabric of my panties back and forth as she methodically unravels the shattered remains of my dignity. If she keeps rubbing, I… I’ll…

It's too much sensation, too much humiliation…

A broken moan escapes around the intrusion in my mouth as my hips start to roll shamelessly against her foot, chasing more of that sickening friction.

"That's it," Lucy says above me. "Hump my foot like the desperate slut you are. Show me how much you need me."

Shame burns through me at her mocking encouragement but I'm too far gone to stop. I grind myself wantonly against her, smearing my arousal all over her sole as needy whimpers spill past my stretched lips.

My world narrows to the feeling of Lucy's feet on me, in me. Nothing else matters except her, only her.

I'm vaguely aware of Lucy shifting above me, her weight redistributing as she leans over to grab something off the bed. It barely registers through the haze of sensation and submission clouding my mind.

But then I hear it. The unmistakable sound of my phone's camera clicking to life.

My eyes fly open in panic and I look up past the obscene bulge of Lucy's foot lodged in my mouth. She's holding my phone in her hand, pointed down at me.

Recording me.