“You seem to like that word.”

Nora’s clever eyes shine down on me from above, like two distant, emerald stars. They’re unsettling, her eyes. Discerning, dissecting, and dismissive.

All my life, I’ve been armoured in privilege. I’ve never had to prove my mettle, test my intelligence, or work hard to earn anyone’s approval. It was all taken for granted, an inherent component of my status.

But there’s no hiding my own inadequacy from Nora. She sees me for what I am: a pervert, a deviant rich girl who’s always craved a stronger woman’s hand, guiding and firm. Someone of forgettable personality and middling intelligence at best.

There’s no hiding how worthless I am, not from Nora. When she looks at you with those eyes, you know.

I gulp, audibly, making sure she knows how flustered I am… even though she’d probably see right through me even if I tried to hide it. It’s a bit late for subtlety, I’m afraid.

“Yes…” I say. “I like it.”

Nora rolls her eyes at that, snorting. “You fucking weirdo. Get back to work, so I don’t have to listen to this nonsense.”

Her words jolt me like a shock of electricity. I lean forward from my kneeling position, pressing my nose against her nyloned toes, breathing in with a blissful smile on my face, as if her foot sweat is the best aphrodisiac I could have wished for.

“Don’t get me wrong, Joanna, girl,” Nora says from above as I begin to rain kisses on her ankles, feet, and toes. “I don’t kink-shame. It’s just weird, though. Most subs I know like the usual words – Mistress, or ma’am, stuff like that.”

I flush at her calling me a sub, temporarily looking up at her from my foot duties – and I must truly be an open book to her, because she understands my thinking right away.

“What, surprised I called you a sub?” She crosses one leg over the other, which allows her to place one foot atop my head, running the toes through my hair as if I’m just a pet. I resume showering her other foot with kisses. “Duh, bitch. Everyone who spends more than five minutes on the internet knows what a sub is.”

It’s times like these that I become more acutely aware of the generational difference between us. It’s not been that long since I was her age, fresh out of university, but I suppose internet culture was different at the time… some kinks were way less normalised. Or at least, they felt that way to me.

“I don’t have direct experience with this stuff, mind you,” Nora says, before stopping with a giggle. “Aside from you, weirdo.”

I’ve been with her – and under her – long enough to recognise the tone in her voice. Nora thinks out loud, all the time, at a thousand miles per hour. She’s about to go into rapid-fire mode.

That’s fine. The input I’m supposed to provide in this conversation is not measured in words anyway.

My kisses have been peckish and demure so far, more devotional than sexual. An act of worship, yes, but of contrition as well. Homage, respect, deference from a beta rich girl to the maid I have myself enthroned, this leggy nyloned queen, this goth goddess who’s making all my dark dreams come true.

But I know what she likes – she’s been very methodically drilling it into me. And so, gradually, I start layering in more and more sensual acts of utter submission, losing myself in the act… and letting her stream of consciousness wash over me.

“What do I know, maybe that word you like isn’t that weird.”

I press my nose between her toes, as far as the nylon will allow, and I breathe in more loudly this time. I want her foot scent to waft up my nostrils and worm its way into my mind, crowding out all the silly thoughts I’m not supposed to have.

“Maybe the memes aren’t an accurate representation of submissive reality. Imagine that, crazy thought. After all, not once have you asked me to choke you, let alone said harder, daddy.”

I whimper softly, my tongue flicking discreetly out to rain tiny worshipful laps on her foot.

“I guess in this case it would be harder, mommy,” she says, giggling again. “For god’s sake, though, never call me mommy. I’m definitely not into that. It’s icky, and besides… it implies a gentleness that does not quite fit how I treat you. Wouldn’t you agree, silly rich girl?”

I moan. My tongue darts out more insistently, and it’s weird how I simultaneously experience the roughness of the nylon on my tongue, and the faintest suggestion of the impossibly smooth skin of her foot underneath.

“So anyway, let’s forget the memes. You like what you like. Of course, nothing in this interaction is about you, not really. I think you and I both know I’m only in this for self-gain.”

The words hurt, like a whiplash… but in a way that makes me slick with need, too. I throw all composure aside, and start feverishly lapping at her sole, her arch, then back up top and all the way to the ankle.

That breaks her out of her stream of consciousness for a moment. She looks down at me again, unsettling and dismissive. “What a fucking dog.”

Oh God.

“Anyway,” she continues. “Self-gain. I do like it when you pamper my feet like this, but you know what I like even more? I get to put a privileged bitch like you in your place. I get to laze around your mansion and not lift a finger. I don’t need to work my way out of a shitty job, because you are my way out.”

I wrap my lips around her toes. I like to do one at a time at first, starting with the little toe, but the nylons prevent that. I still do my best to approximate that, however.

“The fact that you cum your brains out to licking my feet is just a happy coincidence that gives me more leverage.”

It’s the same principle as the kissing and licking, really. An escalation.

“I just want to make sure that you know that I’m not going to pick a title just because you like it. If I decided that you must call me Mistress, then that would be the end of it. I’m not here to be your sexual fantasy, even if that’s what every maid you’ve ever hired ultimately was, to you. Not a person, but a conduit for you to be an abuser.”

You start with a demure suckle on the little toe, and slowly move up, and by the time you get to the big toe… you’re basically giving your tamer’s foot a blowjob. Sloppy, worshipful, slutty, submissive.

“Look at who’s being abused now. Look at who’s not a person now.”

And then, the obvious next step… you take all toes into your mouth.

Nora’s feet are petite, slender and elegant, so it’s easy for me to take all five in. I still make noises as I do, though, even if they’re barely poking at the entrance of my mouth. It’s only for show…

But presentation is important.

“As it happens, however, I do like the title you’ve chosen. Yes, it’s weird, which is only to be expected because you’re a fucking weirdo. Buuuut! It’s much better than all the trite kinky shit people usually go for.”

God. Even when she’s agreeing with me, she manages to sound so incredibly arrogant and bratty, looking down on everything and everyone on this planet, and especially me.

…

I didn’t know such a perfect girl could exist.

I mewl in gratitude, leaning forward to take in more of her foot, showing exactly what I think about her arrogance. Rewarding her for it.

“A Mistress is an overtly sexualised caricature,” Nora says. “It’s performative. A Mistress is someone whose feet you lick, then you get off, maybe she gets off, and that’s it. Wham, bang, thank you ma’am.”

Her other foot is no longer rustling my hair. It’s sitting flat atop me, now, and the way her sole adheres in full to my scalp makes me shiver with delightful humiliation.

“I think you and I both know that would be an… inaccurate depiction of our working relationship.”

I go at it like a woman possessed, trying to take in as much of her foot into my mouth as I physically can. I whirl my tongue up and down, even if the nylons prevent me from flicking between her toes. I put in as much devotion and technique as I can.

My cunt is on fire. My brain feels like it’s melting. My muscles quiver with anticipation, and even the cold harshness of the floor beneath my knees is completely forgotten.

I am hers.

“But the word you’ve chosen, now… I think it has different connotations altogether.”

Yes. Yes it does. I love that she sees that. It’s exactly why I find it so arousing, the many shades of implications that a single word can carry, when your mind is warped enough to look at it from that angle.

“It doesn’t just imply that you bow before me, or that you’re my foot slut. It implies that I run your affairs,” Nora continues. “It’s almost like governess… but also not really. Because it’s not just about me running things, being master in your home, calling all the shots. No, there’s something subtler… Oh!”

The foot atop my head starts pressing down. I yield to the pressure, letting me guide it down and down, deeper onto the foot that’s busy mouthfucking me.

“Is that why you like it?”

I don’t have the mobility to put my tongue to proper use anymore, now that it’s being pinned against her sole.

“Because in a way, that term doesn’t just describe me, and my authority over you… It describes you as well, even just by reflection. Does it not?”

Gluk. The sound escapes me involuntarily this time, it’s not for show, no presentation. It’s the sound of my mouth being overpowered.

“It implies you’re incapable of self-governance. Can’t be trusted to run your own affairs.”

That’s fine. I never had anything smart to contribute to any conversation, anyway. Nora has long since taught me that I’m much more useful to society if I use my mouth for stuff I’m actually good at…

“It basically says you’re not even a fucking adult, and god, silly rich girl, I love that. That is so appropriate. Not once, in the time that I’ve known you, have I ever had reason to take you seriously.”

“I want you to know that. To know how pathetic you are. How fitting it is that you would choose that word to describe me… and to describe you, as well.”

“There’s only one problem.”

I would look up at her, if I could, but her foot is grinding harder and harder against the back of my neck, the nyloned heel digging in painfully. It’s like I’m being mashed in the middle of a foot sandwich.

“I’m not your sexual fantasy. If you really want to address me with that word, it needs to be true. All the trappings need to be there.”

One foot the hammer, the other the anvil.

“I will truly have to oversee you. That means everything. What you drink. What you eat. When you sleep. How you dress. What work you do to keep the place tidy. And…”

That’s fine. I don’t mind. I can see her eyes in my mind’s eye, anyway. Emerald stars, burning bright and far away and yet so cold.

“… Your finances, as well.”

There it is.

Ever since I started pursuing these fantasies, I knew things might get there eventually. I wasn’t exactly out to pursue it. I wanted a maid to turn the tables on me, demote me to her social inferior, enthrone herself in my mansion.

She might dress me as a maid, make me clean around the place, reduce me into foot slavery, all good. But financial domination? I always supposed it could come around in time, but it was never a core focus of my fantasies. It was never the thing that got me off.

What does get me off, however, is my personal nullification for the benefit of a girl I used to employ… and, like Nora says, nowhere in our dynamic does my pleasure come first. And if her pleasure is in managing my finances, then…

There is only one way nullification applies there.

I gluk and moan and gag around her foot, to make her know that I understand… but said foot suddenly and unexpectedly withdraws from my mouth, sliding back past my lips with a soft hissing sound as the fabric glides over my skin.

Then, Nora lowers her foot and lifts my chin with her toes. The nylons are drenched and cool to the touch, making me shiver a little in discomfort, and humiliation, and pleasure.

I am forced to look up at her, and there they are again. Two distant, emerald stars. Unsettling. Discerning. Dissecting. Dismissive.

“Do you accept all that? Do you submit to my terms?”

I could hesitate. I could say no. I could try to set boundaries. But, in truth… if my wealth was capable of making me happy, I would not have embarked on this insane and dangerous course to begin with.

It’s not money I’m addicted to.

“I do,” I say. Anything, to formally recognise Nora as my owner.

“Very well,” she says. “That means I’m your… say the word. Say the word, knowing full well what it really means. What it says about me. What it says about you. Say it.”

I lose myself into the green depths of her eyes, ready to take the plunge into the rest of my life, and I breathe in, before saying the words that will mark my unconditional surrender.

“Nora,” I whisper at last.

“You… are my Keeper.”