Her girlfriend.

How can two normal, mundane, perfectly regular words hurt so fucking much? It feels like they’ve been seared in my brain with hot irons. It feels like they’ve been carved into my heart with the tip of a knife.

Victoria is Lucy’s new girlfriend. What does that make me?

Victoria has been living with us for three weeks now.

I keep count, because each day feels like another little death.

Three weeks of watching them kiss, cuddle, and laugh together on the couch while I scrub floors on my hands and knees. Three weeks of staying home to clean, while they go out on dates paid with earnings from my foot slavery videos online.

Three weeks of serving them breakfast in bed, washing their clothes, and acting as their communal footstool while they watch TV.

Three weeks of sucking the sweat out of Lucy’s used socks while Victoria giggles, or cleaning Victoria's boots with my tongue while Lucy films me. Three weeks of being their live-in maid, their footstool, their entertainment, their punching bag.

Their slave.

I have technically been "promoted" through an allowance to sleep in Lucy's bedroom… just not in her bed. My "bedroom" is now a small cushion on the floor at the foot of Lucy’s bed.

So that I can hear their sapphic sex all the better.

What is this pain for? Is it atonement? But the object of that atonement was becoming Lucy’s girlfriend again. Is it just punishment, retribution? Do I deserve it?

Or is it power?

"You're overthinking again," Victoria's voice cuts through my thoughts.

I blink, suddenly aware that I've been staring blankly at the same spot on the kitchen floor for who knows how long, the sponge motionless in my hand. Victoria looms over me, her imposing height made even more intimidating by my position on my hands and knees.

"I'm sorry," I mumble, quickly resuming my scrubbing. "I got distracted."

Victoria clicks her tongue disapprovingly. She nudges me with the toe of her boot, not quite a kick but firm enough to make me wince. "That seems to be happening a lot lately. Rein it in, before we have to rein you in, m’kay?"

I nod, keeping my eyes downcast. "Yes, Victoria. It won't happen again."

I dare steal a glance at her receding silhouette as she walks away from me. So confident, so gorgeous, so radiant… so happily together with Lucy.

That used to be me. That should be me.

Victoria receives everything I desperately craved. Everything I came back for. Everything I was promised.

—Your acceptance is unconditional

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

I believed her. I thought if I just submitted completely, if I proved my devotion through total surrender, Lucy would love me again. Would be my girlfriend again. After all, things will be the way they were is a pretty unequivocal promise. Things were such that Lucy had power over me… but I was her girlfriend.

There’s that cursed question again. What am I now?

I certainly know who Victoria is. She’s everything I once used to be.

Athletic, pretty, confident, smart. When she moves, it's with the easy grace of someone who's never questioned her right to take up space in the world.

Where I have calluses from labouring as a servant and maid, her skin is smooth. Where my body bears every sign of dejection and subjugation, hers looks fit and hot.

Every time I look at her, I see myself as I once was. The Marina who captained the volleyball team, who aced her classes without breaking a sweat, who walked with her head held high. The Marina who believed she deserved good things. The Marina who was worthy of love.

I realize now, with crushing clarity, that I have been replaced in every conceivable way.

Victoria is Lucy's girlfriend now. That position is filled, and I have nothing original to offer. Nothing that Victoria doesn't already provide better, fresher, more willingly.

Nothing but slavery.

Therein lies my answer, I suppose.

Victoria is Lucy’s new girlfriend, and that makes me their slave.

***

I kneel before my Mistress and her girlfriend, making sure to look contrite, not just for her, but for the phone recording me.

To my subscribers on the internet, I am a lesbian dog. A girl failure. A simp who lost a breakup. A maid and foot slave. I should act accordingly, both because Lucy demands it, and because this is her source of income now.

It really strikes me how elegantly multi-faceted my social destruction is proving to be.

It annihilates my reputation. It closes off avenues that could let me claw back my independence in the future. It pleases Lucy and Victoria. It humiliates me. And at the same time, it’s literally my job… but I don’t see a penny of it, it goes entirely to my owner’s pockets.

This is what slavery looks like, doesn’t it? Not just kinky, sexual slavery, but actual slavery. I’m such a loser that I’ve ended up reduced into slavery in the modern day and age, in a modern country, and all because I couldn’t get over my ex-girlfriend.

Who can deny that I deserve it?

"Say it."

Lucy and Victoria make for a stark visual contrast… one in an oversized hoodie she’s been wearing for three days straight, the other in blue jeans and a leather jacket. One in sweaty, stinky socks, the other in boots so pristine I could see my wretched reflection in them.

The yin and yang of lesbian dominance. The comfy mistress, and the harsh disciplinarian.

"Say it," Lucy repeats, holding up the phone. "For the camera."

I lift my gaze to meet the phone.

"I love you," I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Louder," Lucy says. "Like you mean it."

"I love you, Lucy. Desperately so. With all my heart."

"Oh, Marina. You're so cute when you're pathetic." She reaches down to pat my head like I'm a dog that's performed a trick correctly. "Of course, I don't reciprocate. Why would I? Look at you."

Seared into my brain. Carved into my heart with the tip of a knife.

Even though I knew, of course I knew, hearing her say it outright sends me spiraling.

"I…" My voice breaks, and I swallow hard. "I understand."

Victoria laughs now too, a richer, deeper sound than Lucy's girlish giggle. "You understand? God, that's priceless."

"Tell the camera why you're still here, then," Lucy says.

"I'm… grateful for whatever place you allow me in your life," I say, dejectedly lowering my gaze. "Even down here…"

"Well then, show everyone watching just how grateful you really are, doggie."

I crawl forward on my hands and knees, a pitiful creature in a stained cocktail dress. The fabric catches beneath my kneecaps, the hem riding up my thighs. It's the green one today… I used to love it so much…

Victoria leans back on the couch, crossing her legs at the ankle. She's watching with that same clinical interest she always has, like I'm some fascinating specimen under glass.

I position myself before Lucy, taking in the sight of her socked feet. They're gray today, or they were before days of wear turned them nearly black with accumulated filth. I can smell them from here, that sour, acrid stench that has by now become so familiar to me.

Worse, by virtue of pure association, it’s now inextricably linked with arousal. I feel it build up inside me. I find myself licking my lips. This is all the physical contact I’m allowed with the woman I love, after all…

I bend down, pressing my face against her foot. The fabric is damp against my cheek, warm with her body heat and tacky with sweat. I nuzzle against it, breathing in deeply as I've been trained to do.

"Thank you, Lucy," I whisper against her sole. "Thank you for having welcomed me back into your life."

Lucy smirks down at me, clearly pleased with my performance. "Good girl. Now get to work."

I start with gentle kisses, pressing my lips reverently against the fabric covering her toes. I work my way methodically across her foot, from the tips of her toes to the arch to the heel, making sure to leave no part untouched by my lips.

This is laundry.

I lift my gaze to the phone's lens, knowing full well how I must appear—eyes glassy with unshed tears, lips parted and wet, cheeks flushed with humiliation. The perfect picture of degradation. Lucy zooms in closer, capturing every detail of my shame.

"Time to take off my socks now," she says, wiggling her toes expectantly. "You know how."

I do know how. I've done this countless times before. Holding her gaze, I open my mouth and delicately take the fabric covering her big toe between my teeth. The taste hits me immediately—sharp, acidic, overwhelmingly Lucy. I tug gently, working the sock loose millimeter by agonizing millimeter.

"God, that's disgusting," Victoria says, but there's no disgust in her voice—only fascination. "She's actually enjoying this, isn't she?"

Lucy laughs. "Of course she is. Marina's always been a natural-born foot slut. She just needed someone to bring it out of her."

That's not true. I wasn't always like this. But arguing would be pointless, and worse, it would earn me punishment. So I keep working, my teeth gripping the fabric as I slowly peel it away from Lucy's foot. The sock is damp with sweat, clinging stubbornly to her skin. I have to work for it, tugging and pulling with careful persistence.

I do the same for the second sock.

Finally, I hold both of Lucy's socks in my mouth, the taste now overwhelming, the fabric soaked with my saliva. My eyes water from the pungent aroma, but I don't dare spit them out. I know the rules. I must keep them in my mouth until given permission to dispose of them.

Lucy's bare feet now rest before me.

"Look at her face," Victoria says with a laugh. "She's practically drooling."

I am. I can't help it. My body has been conditioned to respond this way, to crave this degradation. The socks in my mouth make it impossible to swallow properly, and saliva leaks from the corners of my lips, dribbling down my chin.

"Spit those out and get to work," Lucy commands, wiggling her toes impatiently.

I let the socks fall from my mouth onto the floor, taking a moment to catch my breath. Then I lean forward, and press my lips against the top of her right foot.

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.

Victoria shifts on the couch, leaning forward to get a better view. "Make her lick between the toes."

Lucy smirks. "You heard her, stupid dog."

I extend my tongue and dutifully probe between her big toe and second toe, cringing inwardly at the taste of accumulated sweat and grime.

"Get in there nice and deep. Make sure you get every last bit of toe jam."

I hear Victoria's soft intake of breath, the subtle shifting of her weight on the couch as she leans in closer. Through my peripheral vision, I can see her watching with rapt attention, her eyes dark and hungry, lips slightly parted.

"Does she always look so... devoted?" Victoria asks, her voice low and husky.

Lucy chuckles. "Always. She's completely pathetic. Wanna try her out?"

Victoria hesitates, and for a moment, I see uncertainty in her eyes. She's not like Lucy—not yet.

But for all that she might resemble an earlier and more self-assured version of me… Victoria is not like me, either. Because it’s clear that she is tempted.

"What should I do?"

"Whatever you want," Lucy says, reaching out to stroke Victoria's hair. "It’s not like she’s a real person."

I’m not. I haven’t been since I first knelt at Lucy’s feet and begged her to give me a second chance. But aside from the occasional bootlicking, I haven’t interacted directly with Victoria that much. Obviously, she sees me serving around the house. She sees me behave like Lucy’s foot slut. She knows Lucy is whoring me out online.

But so far, Victoria has kept a certain distance. Like she's studying me rather than participating fully in my degradation.

That's about to change.

Victoria's hesitation evaporates like morning dew under a harsh sun. She shifts forward on the couch, her eyes darkening with a newfound hunger.

"Lie down," she commands, her voice taking on that hard edge I've come to associate with dominance. "On your back."

I don't hesitate. My body moves almost automatically, conditioned to obey without question. I lower myself to the floor, stretching out on my back before Victoria, my arms at my sides, palms facing up in a gesture of total surrender.

From this position, I can see both of them looming above me. Lucy looks delighted, like a proud teacher whose student is excelling beyond expectations. Victoria's expression is more complex—excitement mingled with something that might be uncertainty, but is rapidly hardening into resolve.

"Good," Victoria says, and I hate how that single word of approval sends a flush of warmth through me. "Now, don't move."

She uncrosses her legs and places one booted foot directly against my throat. The leather is cool and smooth against my skin, the weight substantial but not crushing—yet. I lie perfectly still, my breathing shallow, as Victoria adjusts her position.

Then, with deliberate slowness, she lifts her other leg and crosses it over the first. Such shapely legs. Sinuous. Strong. The legs of a female conqueror.

The full weight of both her legs now presses down on my throat.

The weight is immediate and intense. Not enough to cut off my air completely, but enough to make each breath a labored struggle. I can feel my throat gulp against the unyielding sole of her boot.

"How does that look?" Victoria asks, but she's not asking me. She's looking at Lucy, seeking approval for her dominance.

Lucy smiles, reaching out to squeeze Victoria's hand. "Perfect. So hot. Look at her face."

I can only imagine what I look like from their perspective—splayed out on the floor, a cocktail dress bunched around my thighs, my face contorted with the effort of breathing under the weight of Victoria's boots. My hands twitch at my sides, instinct urging me to reach up and push the crushing weight off my windpipe.

But I don't. I won't. I've surrendered that right along with everything else.

"She's struggling to breathe," Victoria observes, a note of wonder in her voice. "I can feel her throat working under my boot."

"Mmm, that's the best part," Lucy says, leaning in closer. "The power. Knowing you could crush her windpipe if you wanted to, and she wouldn't even try to stop you."

Victoria leans forward slightly, increasing the pressure. Panic flares in my chest, primal and overwhelming, but I force it down. My hands instinctively move to her ankle, not to push her away but to cling to something, anything.

"No hands," Lucy snaps. "Put them back at your sides."

I drop my hands immediately, letting them fall to the floor.

Lucy suddenly gets off the sofa, phone still in hand, and leans in for a close-up shot of my face.

"Start masturbating," she says, her voice leaving no room for refusal.

I blink up at her in shock, my breath catching in my throat. "W-what?"

Victoria presses her boot more firmly against my throat, a wordless warning.

"You heard me," Lucy says, zooming in even closer. "Hike up that pretty dress and rub your cunt silly. Show your premium subs how much you love being our cucky footstool."

My hands tremble as I reach for the hem of my dress, tugging it up to reveal my bare thighs. I'm not wearing underwear, as always when we’re producing something new for the "collection".

I really am a stupid lesbian dog. I'm splayed out beneath Victoria's boots, throat compressed, legs spread, a hand between my thighs, being filmed, and worst of all…

I’m already so fucking wet.

I slide my fingers between my legs, pressing against my swollen clit. I'm dripping wet, to my eternal shame, my body betraying me as it always does.

"Look at that," Lucy says with a sneer. "Little cucky is already soaking wet. What a disgusting little foot whore."

I start rubbing my clit in methodical circles, my body responding automatically to the stimulation despite—or because of—their mockery. My breath comes in shallow gasps, limited by the weight on my throat.

"You're masturbating while another woman pins you down with her boots," Lucy says, her voice dripping with contempt. "While your ex-girlfriend films you and calls you names. Do you have any idea how pathetic that makes you?"

I do. That’s exactly what makes it impossible to stop.

"You're not even a woman anymore, are you?" Victoria asks, shifting her weight to press her boot more firmly against my throat. "You're just a thing. Our thing. Say it."

I whimper, my fingers speeding up as the humiliation burns through the hollow shell that was once my self-respect.

"I'm just a thing," I say, pitifully, sounding like a whining puppy. "A dog. A cucky. Your thing…"

"Well, I’ve certainly seen dogs with more dignity," Victoria says, cocking her head towards me. God. How can a girl so evil look so gorgeous? “What suits you better? Dog or thing? I’m not sure myself. Lucy?”

"Definitely a dog," Lucy says. "Just a stupid, loyal dog who came crawling back to her owner, begging to be taken in again."

My hips twitch upward, seeking more pressure, more friction, anything to push me toward release.

"Tell everyone what you are," Lucy tells me from above.

"I'm a dog, I’m your stupid, loyal cucky dog!"

"I bet she masturbates to memories of being your girlfriend," Victoria says, giggling. "Or maybe she likes being a cuck. Do you, Marina?

I'm fucking your ex-girlfriend every night while you sleep on the floor at the foot of our bed. How does that make you feel?"

The truth spills from my lips before I can stop it. It doesn’t come out in words.

It’s a wanton, throaty, slutty moan.

Victoria's words are a hot brand searing itself into my mind. They’re the tip of a knife, carving the truth of my defeat into my heart. As I squirm under the emotional pain they’re inflicting upon me, I discover, to my horror, that I can't hold back any longer.

The pressure builds within me like a tidal wave, setting every nerve ending alight like a forest fire. My legs begin to shake uncontrollably as Victoria's boot presses harder and harder against my throat, the leather creaking against my flushed skin.

Victoria looks perplexed, but Lucy knows exactly what’s about to happen.

"Look at the camera," she says. "Let the world see exactly what you are."

I force my eyes open, staring directly into the lens as the first spasm hits. My back arches off the floor, my body convulsing violently as wave after wave of shameful ecstasy crashes through me. My limbs twitch of their own accord as Victoria's boot restricts my airflow. The lack of oxygen intensifies everything, making each pulse of pleasure sharper, more acute, more devastating.

My hips buck wildly against my hand, desperate for more, for deeper, for anything to fill the emptiness inside me.

I'm cumming harder than I ever have in my life.

"Oh my god," Victoria says, watching me come undone beneath her boots. "She's actually—"

"Squirting," Lucy finishes, her voice thick with cruel delight. "Our little footstool is squirting all over herself."

She's right. The humiliation of it only intensifies my orgasm, extending it beyond anything I've ever experienced. My entire body trembles and jerks, completely beyond my control as pleasure and shame collide in a cataclysmic explosion of pure, raw sensation.

I'm making sounds I've never made before—raw, animal noises that tear from my throat despite the constriction. Whimpers and moans and choked sobs and desperate, pleading cries that don't even sound human anymore.

Because I'm not. I'm their thing. Their dog. Their cucky footstool.

My consciousness fragments, shards of thought and sensation scattering like broken glass. In this moment of complete vulnerability, of total surrender, I see with terrible clarity what I've become. What I've allowed myself to become. What I will continue to be.

Forever.

***

I’m chained to the bed.

Not on it, of course. Some people may allow dogs into their beds, but neither Lucy nor Victoria are the type. And besides, footstools and other pieces of furniture definitely don’t belong on a mattress.

I suppose, by definition, neither do cucked girls.

I’m on the floor, as usual. Listening to Lucy and Victoria have sex, as usual.

The chain around my collar clinks softly as I shift, trying to find a more comfortable position on my thin cushion. It's not that I could escape even if I wanted to—where would I go? My life outside these walls has been systematically dismantled. The chain is symbolic more than functional.

I close my eyes, but that only makes the sounds more intrusive. I can picture exactly what's happening above me.

Victoria's athletic body moving between Lucy's spread thighs, her fingers deep inside my ex-girlfriend, her mouth leaving marks on Lucy's neck. The way Lucy's back would be arching off the bed, her hands clutching at Victoria's shoulders, her head thrown back in ecstasy.

They aren't quiet. They never are.

A particularly loud moan from Lucy makes me flinch. Victoria must be doing something right. The thought sends a complicated mix of jealousy, arousal, and shame spiraling through me.

As I lie here in the dark, a strange clarity dawns inside me.

I understand now what I've become: the foundation upon which Lucy and Victoria's relationship thrives.

It's so obvious once you see it. Lucy hasn't changed—not really. She's still the same controlling, manipulative, cruel person she always was. The difference is that now, all of that toxicity has a designated target.

Me.

By absorbing all of Lucy's worst impulses, I've created a space where she can be different with Victoria. Better. Softer. The Lucy that Victoria experiences isn't the same Lucy I knew. Victoria gets the best parts of her—the wit, the passion—without the venom.

Their relationship has none of the problems that plagued mine with Lucy. There's no control, no manipulation, no gaslighting. Victoria doesn't have to walk on eggshells, doesn't have to second-guess herself constantly, doesn't have to apologize for imagined slights.

Because Lucy has me for that now.

"Fuck, right there," Lucy gasps above me. The bed creaks rhythmically. "Don't stop."

I never imagined this would be my life. Chained to the floor, listening to my ex-girlfriend have sex with someone else, serving as their communal slave. Yet here I am, and the most terrifying part is how right it feels. How inevitable.

I may have shed my personhood, renounced my future, destroyed my dignity, given up my freedom, and accepted reduction into literal slavery… most painful of all, I may have permanently given up on ever being Lucy’s girlfriend again. But I have accomplished one thing.

One.

By giving Lucy the chance to have a happy relationship and still have someone to abuse… I have, at long last, undone the great error of trying to break up with her. I have, at last…

Atoned.

THE END