“There will come a time,” Cristina says, with one boot against my throat and the other toying with the hem of my sissy maid skirt, “when this is considered the new normal.” 

Cristina is sitting on the sofa, with me lying on the ground, in what is by now the official position of our relaxation sessions. At this point, I feel like my brainpower is basically leaking out of my ears. Her voice, so soothing and feminine, so knowledgeable and authoritative, so wise and unyielding…

It lulls me into a numbness that leaves me basically unable to speak. All I can do is listen to the girls as they talk complicated girl stuff like the upcoming women’s march, political issues, the latest movie scandal… all too complicated for simple boys like me. 

I stick to the stuff that befits my gender. Which tea to serve, how to best massage a foot, how to spread my lips and be a good toe-warmer… 

I must be quite the sight, lying prostrate on the ground in my sissy maid uniform and thigh highs, Cristina’s boot firmly planted atop my throat in a universal sign of victory, her leash firmly held in hand. 

To Angela, I used to be the boring but dependable friend who always had the right piece of advice. Now, it seems like she can’t stop giggling, covering her hand with her mouth. 

“You actually did it?” She asks. “This isn’t a prank?”

“Of course she’s actually done it,” Jasmine says, in a voice that sounds far colder. To her, the person I was before was little more than an annoyance, a know-it-all to compete against for the best grades. She didn’t best me as frequently and effortlessly as Cristina did, but now, she’s eyeing me with the calculated stare of a reptile.

How could I ever consider myself the equal of a girl before? 

Jasmine licks her lips. “How?” 

“I’ll show you,” Cristina says in a friendly tone, while pressing the heel harder into my neck. “It’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?” 

From the corner of my eye, I see Angela and Jasmine nod, the latter more eagerly than the former. I wonder what they’re talking about, exactly. What does Cristina plan to show them? 

“Marcos, darling,” she says, her heel digging deeper against the soft skin of my throat. “We’re going to have one of our relaxation sessions.”

“N-now?” I say, gulping, and not just for the constriction of the boot pressing against my adam’s apple. Our sessions are so intimate, and we’re not alone – but then again these are girls, girls shouldn’t be contradicted… but also I – 

“Yes,” Cristina says, in a tone that brooks no argument. “Now.” 

She doesn’t need to ensure herself of my good behaviour. I’m thoroughly domesticated at this point, and immediately submit to her ministrations. 

I’m only remotely aware of Angela and Jasmine gasping as Cristina’s other boot lifts the hem of my frilly skirt, pressing against my tiny cockette through my panties. As always, my erection yields under the unbending strength of her boot sole. The symbolism isn’t lost on me, even after my recent… simplification.

With one boot restricting my air flow, and the other rubbing my cockette back and forth, up and down, Cristina begins to speak. 

Her words aren’t directed at me, not this time. But I’m so many levels deep into this domestication that her droning is enough to make my eyes glaze over. I’m uncomfortably aware of the drool forming at the corner of my mouth, but very little could distract me from this gendered humiliation.

From the incredible pleasure that courses through me in waves with every stroke of her boot on my little male clit. 

From the knowledge that I’m not her equal. 

“The first thing you need to keep in mind,” she says as I begin to pant, “is that mindfucking isn’t the first step. You gotta work on the subject first. Dear Marcos here was going nowhere with his career…”

And then, looking down at me, her eyes meeting mine, she adds for my benefit, “because he was always destined to be a housewife! Haha!” 

I start humping her boot in response, my hips rising to meet her strokes, which sends Angela and Jasmine in a fit of laughter.

“In all seriousness,” Cristina says, “he was already insecure. I cleverly leveraged that, manipulated him, widened the chink in his armor until it was wide enough. Then I mindfucked him.” 

“But what if I want to make a smart guy go under? Not a dumb one like him?” Angela asks. 

The completely casual tone with which she refers to me as dumb sends a pang of guilt and embarassment through me – Angie, of all people, is calling me dumb. But is she wrong? Here I am, on the floor, in a maid uniform, getting bootfucked into docility by the girl that used to be my roommate. 

Then again, of course Angie is the one asking this question. I doubt she often feels like the smartest person in a room. 

“All men have weaknesses,” Cristina says, her voice immediately dragging me back down into the swirling abyss of mindlessness, “you just need to find them an exploit them.”

“To be fair, this loser’s were obvious,” Jasmine says, with the casual cruelty that used to turn me off her – and now instead just makes my cockette twitch and stiffen even harder, under Cristina’s brutal massage. 

“The clincher is physical stimulation,” Cristina says, punctuating her words with soft, long strokes of my cock that make me shiver from head to toe. Were it not for her training, I would have cum already. But I know men should be prim and proper and ask girls for permission before they can feel true pleasure. 

“I started with shoulder massages, but really, do whatever is context-appropriate. You already have a few sample texts for the induction, but the key is to make it specific to your victim. Never forget that.” 

Angela and Jasmine nod above me – they’ve gotten closer at some point, and are now towering above me like divine beings, shrouded in the light of the window behind them. 

“May we?” Angela asks, hesitant. 

She doesn’t need to be more specific than this. 

“There’s a strict free use policy in this household,” Cristina says, throwing me a self-satisfied smirk as I buck and thrash on the floor, forever chasing a climax she keeps denying me. “Marcos can’t say no. Not to girls.” 

“You know,” Jasmine says with a laugh, “this is all rather… un-feminist of us. I wonder what the others at the march would think if they knew we’re doing this.” 

For a moment, my brain crashes, and my thoughts twirl into one another, tangling and slowing down, down, down… Cristina has drilled into me that these are the right gender roles. Is Jasmine disagreeing? Cristina can’t be wrong. Oh, but neither can Jasmine. This is a, uh, what’s the word… I swear I knew it once, it’s like, when two things are both impossible and… uhm… 

“Women’s liberation,” Cristina says, her heel twisting so deep into my cockette that I have to withhold a scream of pain, “isn’t the same as gender equality. We’ll keep this skill to ourselves of course, for now, but…” 

“There will come a time,” Jasmine continues, kicking off her sneakers. “I hear ya, sis. But I do believe my time is now.” 

“Have fun,” Cristina says, pressing down even harder, pinning me in place. She doesn’t need to, I’ll offer no resistance – in fact, I breathe a sigh of relief as the conflict inside my brain is finally resolved. 

The sigh is quickly ended by a naked foot pressing against my lips, and another ruffling my hair. 

“God, these are gorgeous,” Angela says, stroking my long hair with her toes. “You’re really making a true femboy out of him. I didn’t even know I was into this before I laid eyes on the new him, but damn.”

Meanwhile, Jasmine’s toes begin to explore my lips, toying with them, flicking them up and down. To be honest, I’d rather be placing tiny, humble kisses on my Mistress’ boots, luxuriating in the cleanliness of the surface, the smell of leather which I by now associate with female mastery and tame male pleasure. 

But it’s not for me to decide. Males can’t say no, and my duty is to submit and pledge loyalty to the matriarchy. 

Angela’s naked foot – slightly sweaty, and still smelling of sneakers – travels from my hair to my forehead, and then down towards my nose. Her naked sole adheres to my forehead, and my stupid male brain can’t help  but think the two are a match made in heaven, each curve matching the other so precisely. 

I can’t believe there was a time when I used to look down on her. And now here I am, with my braincase literally finding true purpose as a recliner for her tired feet. 

Eventually, her toes clinch my nose, twisting playfully at first, then harder. She giggles at the passivity with which I take whatever she sees fit to dish out. 

“Breathe it all in,” she says, pressing my nose in between her toes. “Not so high and mighty now, are you?” 

Tears fill my eyes at the pungent scent. I love the way it invades my nostrils and clings to my face, marking it as a safe spot for women to rest their feet. It’s the only proper use for a male face. 

Well, admittedly, there is another.

“Open,” Jasmine says, in a cruel and satisfied tone that makes me feel like she’s secretly wanted to do this for years. This final surge of humiliation trickles through me, signalling my final and complete downfall – no longer a student, no longer a person, but a punching bag for girls.

And their toewarmer. 

My lips spread as I gasp for breath, with Angela’s toes clamping my nose shut. I close my eyes, unable to bear the look of triumph on Jasmine’s face as her toes penetrate my mouth. 
Uncertain at first, they tap around, touching my teeth and tongue.

But eventually, Jasmine grows bolder, and her foot sneaks deeper into my mouth. And deeper… 

“How humiliating this must be for you,” she says in a sultry voice. “I have three job interviews next week, one more promising than the last. And here you are, giving my toes a blowjob, while your dick gets crushed underboot.” 

I mumble something around her toes – that I’m sorry for daring to compete with her for grades, for thinking myself her equal, for cultivating our mutual annoyance for years – but my muffled confession just makes her laugh. 

“Oh, shut up and suck my toes.” 

“You’re a natural,” Cristina says, her rubbing against my cockette growing slower and slower. I whimper in frustration – I’m so close to the edge! I’ll do anything!

Meanwhile, Angela repositions herself so that her other foot pins my hair to the floor, just as the one currently on my forehead twists my nose even harder. 

“Yeah you know what Cri?” She says. “I think I see your point.”

“As far as I’m concerned, they owe us a few centuries of reparations anyway,” Jasmine says as her foot pistons up and down, putting my slutty mouth to proper use. “After that, maybe we can consider whether they deserve to have voting rights back.” 

That makes Cristina giggle, just as I moan around Jasmine’s toes. “Not bloody likely.” 

“Not at all,” Jasmine says, her eyes drilling into mine. “That’s the difference between us and them. Us women… we play for keeps.”

“I wonder how many girls we can truly convince to behave like this,” Angela says, her foot exploring every nook and cranny of my face.

“Well, I convinced you two pretty quickly,” Cristina says with a smile, as the pace of her bootfucking once again increases. I weakly buck my hips to meet her rubbing, mumbling my fealty to the matriarchy in the process. 

“Today, three girls,” Jasmine says as her exploring foot breaches the entrance to my throat. “Tomorrow, the world…” 

“What do you have to say to that, maggot?” Cristina asks me. “How many girls do you think we can convince?” 

“Think?” Jasmine asks, laughing at the obvious joke I’ve become. 

And in truth, it’s not like I can answer, and not just because of the multiple feet currently subduing me and mastering my mouth. 

It’s also because, finally, an orgasm is building within me. 

As I approach climax, images flash through my brain, faster than I can follow. I’ll have to give up my bank account. I’ll lose my civil rights. Maybe the state will recognise me as Cristina’s property, and male domestication will become the latest trend. Would any male not do just about anything, to chase the pleasure I’m about to experience?

The source of our aggression… until it’s firmly taken in hand, and ruled.

As the head of my cockette begins to pulse, and the first ropes of cum soak my sissy panties, my neurons shut down, one after another. I moan girlily around Jasmine’s foot, finally accepting at an emotional level how much better than me she and Angela actually are, just like Cristina, just like any girl. 

Orgasmic bliss washes over me in waves, and each wave washes out more of my thoughts, of my autonomy, of my independence. 

You can convince all of them, I would tell Cristina if I could speak. Because right now, as I witness my male self crumble under disciplined and unrelenting female mastery, I have absolutely no doubt that she’s right.

There will, indeed, come a time when humanity transitions to its next stage, when all men kneel to kiss women’s whips and boots, where I’ll be remembered as the first to fall. The first to yield male pleasure to the expert hands of a woman who knows how to leverage it, how to mould a male into a perfect pet.

For it is, indeed, the source of our aggression…

And our destruction. 

THE END