My phone buzzed in the darkness.
Groaning in my sleep, I rolled on my back and fumbled to turn off the alarm clock. My fingers, still unresponsive from sleep, slipped over the screen a few times before I could finally muster the dexterity to make the phone shut up.
It was a Monday morning. Another day in my new life.
Moments later, with typical punctuality, a weight slammed against my chest, driving the breath out of me. By pure instinct, I struggled and thrashed about – but then I realised who it was, and I stilled myself.
“Morning, little sis,” Cindy said in a sultry voice, shuffling towards my face, her knees firmly planted at either side of my chest, pinning my arms down into the soft mattress.
I looked up at her, her hair still ruffled from sleep, hanging down loosely to hide her face from me. But her smirk still glimmered in the darkness.
An ordinary beginning to an ordinary week.
“Good morning, Miss Cooper,” I said, well-conscious of my new role in the household. Burns had given this job to me, and I wouldn’t disappoint him. I was in equal parts proud and horrified that my job-reflexes now reacted naturally to my own sister raping me in my own bed, seconds after waking up.
Burns truly was turning me into a model employee.
Besides, I considered as Cindy slithered upwards and pulled my face deep into the embrace of her thighs, it wasn’t all him. Cindy was so bossy with me these days, so expectant that I would drop everything I was doing to wait upon her on hand and foot. It felt so wrong to consider, but it was so… natural.
Serving my younger sister. Pressing my face against her crotch, letting her hump my nose, feeling her shudder above me as I put my tongue to good use for her. She really was stronger, smarter, prettier.
She really was the bigger sister.
“I like that you’re compliant,” she said, her hand running affectionately through my hair. “You used to be such an uppity bitch.”
I whimpered submissively into her cunt as she gyrated above my face.
“Burns was right,” she said, her eyes glimmering in the morning penumbra. “We needed to break you. You’re so much nicer now.” The words spurred me on in my service, and Cindy’s words gave way to moans as her climax approached.
Her left hand clutched my hair so tight that it hurt, but I knew better than to protest. Her right hand slammed down on my forehead, pinning me. She repositioned herself until my nose was tucked beneath her folds, and started riding me wildly. Using my face as masturbatory aid. Getting herself off on me like I was a living dildo.
I couldn’t breathe in this state, and I began to moan and buck and thrash weakly underneath, but she was so strong, so powerful… she kept me absolutely still, my vision completely blocked, her thighs pressed hard against my ears, as she mastered me.
Eventually, Cindy let out a long, guttural moan, arching her back above me. That caused her to lift slightly, and at the expense of being coated in her juices, I could breathe again.
I lapped at her obediently, making sure to clean every drop, while she rocked back on her heels, contemplating the day ahead.
It was fair to say our lives had changed.
Cindy got up and left my room without a word, and I went to the bathroom to wash my face. I knew she would soon need it clean and presentable again, as part of our breakfast ritual. Eating Cindy out was only the beginning of our morning routine together, as we readied ourselves for another perfectly normal day at Crawford High.
I assembled Cindy’s breakfast on the table, then knelt underneath it as she entered the kitchen.
“Breakfast is served, Miss Cooper,” I whispered, to which she only responded with a grunt of approval, sitting in the chair right before me. She’d put on a pair of dark jeans, which greatly complimented the curves of her legs – a disturbing thought, but I was spending so much time between and beneath them that it was hard to stop my mind from wandering.
Cutlery clanging above me, Cindy began to eat – but first, she luxuriantly placed her feet over my head. I demurely massaged her soles with my lips and tongue, letting her rub the night foot sweat onto my slutty face – the right dues I should pay to my superior sister.
All the time, I thought about Burns, and the stone.
My stubborn pride, my lack of preparation for my job, my insecurities, had all been chinks in the armor for him to exploit. Ever since first embarassing me with the stone, he’d simply pulled and pulled until my bitchy façade was gone, and all that was left was the whimpering girl underneath, another silly young woman out of her depth in a cutthroat world.
That misstep had reduced me to this. Working in my own home, and not as a teacher, but as a footstool to my own sister.
Cindy seemed to love this part. Her feet explored every nook and cranny of my face, squashing my cheeks, toying with my lips, occasionally even tugging at my hears in play. But there was nothing playful about the way she eventually slipped her big toe into my mouth, while the other foot hooked behind my neck to regulate my pace.
“Suck,” she said simply, in-between bites of her toast. “You need practice for Mr Burns later.”
“Mpphhh,” I said, not in protest but in acknowledgement, as I swirled my tongue around her toe. She was right. I did need practice. Burns kept reminding me that my blowjobs were worse than what he got from whores in Central America. The thought that he might further demote, or even fire me over inadequate oral satisfaction made me bob my head up and down Cindy’s toe even harder.
When it withdrew, I found myself pathetically reaching forward for it, like an eager slut in need of a pacifier. Cindy stopped me with a foot against my forehead, laughing.
“Come with me, little sis. I need to paint my nails.”
I followed her on all fours like an eager puppy. My job was easy – I knelt before her and stayed absolutely still, as she again used my face like a footstool. She never used to paint her nails, but now Nick required it, and she obeyed.
I marvelled at the way the chain of command was devouring every aspect of our lives. To follow Nick’s order, Cindy was turning me into a piece of human furniture. I couldn’t see her, not with her feet covering the entirety of my face, but I knew her face would be frowning in concentration, to make sure she got the nail job absolutely right. Not a second thought given to the fact that her older sister was supporting her soles with her own face.
Our morning routines done, Cindy and I readied to leave the house – her dressed in a vaguely goth style that Nick seemed to find appealing, with a form-fitting black t-shirt and dark jeans, and me in Burns’ mandated secretary outfit – heels, nylons, short frilly skirt, and a blouse that hugged my breasts enticingly.
Once again, I considered that Cindy’s own downfall had been a lot gentler than mine. The embarassment drew color to my cheeks. I was weak. I deserved to be subjugated.
We got into my red BMW together… except I was in the passenger seat now. Glumly, I wondered how long it would be before Cindy simply seized the car for herself. But I let go of the thought with a sigh. There was no place for personal property in my life anymore.
Objects can’t own anything.
The favorite part of my day was over.
With Cathy, at home, I felt like a fucking queen. I made her bow down to me, eat me out, worship my feet with a snap of fingers. All chores had been delegated to her. I owned her car, her purse, her will. It was great. It allowed me to feel like the old me, the person I once wanted to be, stepping over obstacles on my way to the top.
Even then, when I had ambitions in life and a desire to go places, I didn’t realize power could feel this sweet. Feeling a girl, an older girl, my own sister, bucking and thrashing underneath me, and then stopping as I subdued her, was the ultimate thrill. A rush of adrenaline that made all my limbs quiver and tremble.
It was the power of the predator, stifling the prey’s efforts to escape. I realized that even if Burns and Nick were to let us go now, I would keep my claws sunk into Cathy. She would never be free again, not until I was around to make sure my heel was pressed squarely against her neck.
But now, I was in class. And here, I didn’t amount to anything. I was one rung above Cathy, at the bottom of a very long ladder.
Even now that Cathy was no longer a real teacher, I was still prevented from grading her. The students gave her grades based on how well she took cruel dictation, or how deftly she brought them snacks from the vending machines. Class was chaos, with people coming and leaving as they pleased. And yet, even still, Irene’s rule remained – I was not to vote. It was a burning humiliation. And it wasn’t the only one.
I sat alone.
What posse I once had was completely gone now, melted like summer snow. I could see laughter and mockery in my classmates’ eyes as I acted like Nick’s girlfriend in public, simping hard for him and hanging by his every words like they were God’s own wisdom.
At least he wasn’t in class now, I thought, twirling my hair with my fingers in stress. Every time he was around, he made sure to turn me into everyone’s laughing stock. They didn’t know I was a lesbian, of course, but they knew I hated him. And yet here I was now, tittering around him like a silly girl with a crush on the ripped, powerful football player with the big shoulders and the square chin.
Here, once more, I drew a little consolation from my sister’s downfall. Whenever Cathy was performing some particularly humiliating duty, she drew attention to her like honey and flies. Everyone else forgot about me for a few, blessed moments.
Right now, Cathy was kneeling in the middle of class, right next to Celeste – one of the most insufferable queen bees at Crawford High. Her parents were old money, and thus Burns’ friends. Somehow, I doubted that it was a coincidence that Cathy seemed so eager to serve her.
“You’re the worst secretary I’ve ever seen,” Celeste said in a fit of giggles, causing a bout of general hilarity all around her. “You can’t even take dictation!”
“B-but, Miss Harper…” Cathy stammered, with big frightful eyes that made her look like a dumb puppy. She looked up to Celeste, and then down, to the socked feet she was humbly massaging, and then up again, questioningly.
Celeste threw her an admonishing look. “Don’t you dare stop your massage, Cathy.”
My sister whimpered, defeated. She couldn’t take dictation without taking her hands off Celeste’s feet, and was thus doomed to fail. Celeste gave a victorious smirk, and resumed dictating.
“I’m not good enough to be a teacher,” she dictated to Cathy, whose lips trembled in humiliation and defeat. She looked on the verge of tears, while Celeste rubbed the bottom of her other socked foot onto her hair, matting it with sweat. “I have my own students train me to be a secretary,” Celeste continued. “I’m not good enough. I don’t deserve this job.”
I had to admit, much as I disliked Celeste, the sadistic streak impressed me. Unlike Cathy’s intelligence, or lack thereof. I shook my head. Didn’t she see that Burns was setting her up for failure? He was right, she truly was a dumb slut. I hoped he demoted her even further. The thought made me press my thighs together in sudden arousal. God, I wanted to give her another ride, put her well and truly in her place.
But then, I remembered I was in class. I was powerless here.
Largely thanks to that bitch, Irene…
I could swear there was something different this morning. She sat royally atop Cathy’s desk, like usual, one booted leg crossed over the other. But she was ignoring Cathy. Her eyes were drilled into me. It was honestly quite creepy, and it made me fidget in my chair.
Her constant leering was putting me in a foul mood. All of a sudden, I felt almost like I was in danger, like she was going to spring some trap on me.
I was just being silly. She’d got so much under my skin that I was becoming paranoid. With a shake of my head, I got up and left class, Irene’s gaze burning at the back of my neck. I needed a breath of fresh air.
At leas there were benefits to the chaos – no one tried to stop me as I headed into the hallway. I wanted to find a quiet corner where to clear my thoughts.
Steps resounded behind me. Before I could turn around, Nick’s voice sounded in my ears.
“Hey baby,” he said, his hands reaching out to grab my tits. Ugghh, why did he have to be so handsy all the time?
Burns was drilling the need for me to be a proper girlfriend into me. Open and available and someone popular, not a total frigid dyke bitch that everyone would hate. But… I couldn’t get Irene out of my head, I was cranky, I just wasn’t in the mood now. Burns had told me to be Nick’s girlfriend, not his fuckslave.
“Not now, asshole,” I said, spinning away from him. But my heart skipped a beat when I saw his face darken.
“No?” Nick said, as if he wasn’t comprehending the word. I shivered. I’d always seen Nick as this dumb asshole, a bully with an inverse correlation between brain and muscle size, but now… I realized he didn’t like to be contradicted. All of a sudden, I felt scared, vulnerable. And, to my undying embarassment… very girly.
“I don’t think I can be with a girl who keeps saying no,” Nick said, his eyes glimmering. “I might have to break up with you, at this rate.”
God. I felt a moment of dizzying confusion. Was that good or bad? Burns wanted me to be his girlfriend, but what if he willingly turned it down? Did it free me from the obligation, or would it get me demoted like Cathy? My brain couldn’t decide whether to feel scared or elated, so I just stared at him like a complete airhead.
I saw in his shit-eating grin that he was thinking the same. “Pretty dumb, huh? Don’t worry, I’ll spell it out for you. If we break up, I’ll have to tell everyone you’re a bitch and a dyke and that they should steer well clear of you.”
I gulped. Nick probably felt himself surpassingly clever for dangling this threat before me, but the truth was, it was working.
Because all of a sudden, in my mind’s eye, I saw the stone. Every time I blinked I saw it spinning in the air, drawing my darkest fears out of the recesses of my brain. This couldn’t happen! I would be outed, and nobody would love me, and I’d lose everything!
Instantly, tears welled in my eyes. Fully aware of what I was doing, and how deeply I was betraying my gender and my lesbian orientation, I thrust my breasts at him, openly, invitingly.
“Please sir,” I said in a whisper. “Take what is yours…”
I hated myself. I felt the walls of my self-esteem narrow and crumble, like there was less space for me to be me after this humiliating concession. Nick was taking a chunk of me away, and I could do nothing to stop him.
Nick’s eyes ogled me from hair to toes, and the grin never left his face. He recognized his own victory.
“Oh, I will,” he said with glee, “but not like this.” He reached out to grab my hand.
I looked on numbly as he led me by the hand into the boys bathroom, and then into a stall. That in and of itself made me feel vulnerable and small, my girly wrist trapped in the iron grip of a strong man, being dragged like a prize to where he could claim me in peace.
Was I really so easily led? Was my feminism truly so much make-believe that I could stand up to a man, when in truth, I was putty in his hands?
Nick joined me inside the stall, latching the door shut behind us, then turning towards me with a feral grin.
In the confined space of the bathroom, he looked even bigger. He towered head and shoulders above me, a mountain of pure muscle, made to pin down a girl underneath him, and make her squirm. I might be a lesbian, but my fucked-up, stone-fixated brain saw that nature wanted me to squeal and yielp underneath him.
His strong hands gripped my shoulders, and pushed me to my knees.
I was such a parody of a lesbian, being forced to kneel in the boys’ bathroom while my overbearing boyfriend slapped my cheeks with his newly-freed dick. The earthy, pungent smell filled my nostrils, the musky scent of dominance. His maleness, overpowering my femininity – such a primal, natural image that even I was vulnerable to it.
I was unsure what to do, but Nick clearly had no interest in my initiative. He grabbed the back of my neck, and unceremoniously stuck his dick into my mouth. Pushing my own protests and professions of lesbianism back down my throat. Uncaring for my preferences, just determined to take what he wanted with no regard for my own personhood.
I hated it, but a part of me felt like these truly were the proper gender roles.
“You don’t say no to me,” he growled, gripping my head and thrusting back and forth. I gasped as he pumped, uncomfortably conscious of the grimy bathroom floor beneath my knees, of the way my legs folded underneath me to place me in a lesser position, of the way my lips seemed sculpted to welcome his cock into my mouth.
I was a lesbian, so it was okay if I was sucking cock. I didn’t actually mean it. I was just getting out of trouble, I needed to remember that. But it was hard, so hard, looking up at him roughly using my face for his pleasure like it was a pussy. I whimpered, and in spite of my better judgement, I found myself sucking.
Burns wanted me to do this.
I deserved to do this. I was defeated. I had to prove I was worthy of love.
I put so much passion into an act that nominally disgusted me, swirling my tongue around his cock as it rammed at the entrance of my lesbian throat, conquering it for himself and for all men in general, asserting the male privilege of getting off over my pretenses to identify as a lesbian.
Slowly but surely, his cock made it to the entrance of my throat. Inexperienced, I gagged and salivated abundantly all over, but he didn’t relent. He angled my head for better access, and pushed into my gullet, gripping my head firmly as I squirmed and cried and thrashed weakly in his hands.
The sounds I was making were alien to my ears. The squealing and gurgling of a defeated slut as her master puts her to good use. He didn’t care that I was choking, that my heart was racing, that I was panicking. All he cared about was burying his dick into my throat, to show me who was boss.
When his balls slapped against my chin, I knew that I had lost, and that he was right. I would never dare say no to a man again.
At last, Nick withdrew, allowing me to breathe and cough.
“You’ve ruined your makeup,” he said, his fingers tracing my tears on my cheeks. “Hot!”
His jock enthusiasm sent shivers of disgust through me. He liked me battered and broken, a woman forced into ultimate submission, her own makeup ruined and turned into a mask of shame and sexual defeat. That was so wrong, and yet at once so right.
I went back to sucking on his dick. I bobbed my head, hollowing my cheeks as I submitted to him completely.
I knew Nick wasn’t experienced. I knew he was horny all the time. Already I could feel him losing control as he got tired of my demure ministrations, and returned to fucking my mouth like a pussy. His groans were so loud that I feared someone outside might hear.
God, what if the boys found us like this? What if they wanted their turn? What if I was reduced to school cocksucker, spending the rest of my education in the bathroom, on my knees? I’d be the worst lesbian in the world, literally forced off her education and reduced to be a slut at the beck and call of men.
But they would like me.
“That’s my dyke toy,” Nick managed to say as his cock slid humiliatingly back to the entrance of my throat. I accepted his mastery of me, and submitted completely as he rammed his dick into my throat one final time, erupting with a groan and a tighter grip that made my skull pound.
I took his spunk, load after load, the ultimate gesture of submission – a lesbian, turning herself over to be a cum receptacle for men. I knew Nick loved it. I could see the supreme masculine affirmation in his eyes while he stared into my own.
I knew he saw only feminine meekness in them.
We stayed like that for a while afterwards. I obediently polished and licked his cock with my tongue, while his rough, wiry hands ran through my hair.
“You’re never going to deny me again,” he said, in an oddly sweet tone, as I suckled. “Isn’t that right, honey?”
I momentarily ceased my sucking to stare at him with big, submissive eyes. Here he was, this jock I nominally despised, but whose mastery over me was undeniable. He’d broken me. Was that what men did to girls, all the world over? Maybe it was. Maybe it was always going to end this way, with me underneath Burns… and him.
“Never again,” I said, sealing my fate forever. “Sir.”
I applied the lipstick, with the deliberate care of a surgeon in the operating room. It had to be perfect.
I had to be perfect.
I looked at my own reflection in the mirror, and a stranger stared back.
The woman I looked like was not the real me. She looked ready for a hot date – a considerably male centric date, at that – rather than for work as a teacher. My foundation and eyeliner, the fancy styling of my hair, the fire-engine-red lipstick that seemed to shout cocksucker, all these cultural signifiers would have been completely alien to me a short time ago.
I wanted to be a professional woman. I wanted my teaching to mean something, to change the lives of young people, to impart in them the importance of inclusiveness, feminism, and change. Instead, here I was, checking that my frilly skirt reached the mandated length and not one inch further down, that the pantyhose had no rips of any kind, that my nipples were showing through my blouse.
I knew I had failed every single one of the tasks Burns set before me that morning. I couldn’t take dictation from Celeste. I brought coffee to my math-teaching colleague Simon, only to discover he’s holidaying in the Appalachians. I spent all day tracking down a student’s parents, only to find out said student had switched school on the first week of the semester.
And that was why, now, I needed to be perfect. An office floozy and sex doll, whose every step had to be measured and calculated for male pleasure and approval.
I blinked slowly in the mirror, taking in the way in which my big, scared eyes made me look like a slut.
I might not be a feminist or even a teacher anymore, but I would not give Burns grounds to demote me even further. This was where it stopped. This, and no more. I had to stop dwelling on how far I’d fallen, and focus on not falling any further. On not fucking up again.
I exhaled slowly, willing the tension to leave my body. Then, I forced myself to leave the bathroom, and marched to Burns’ office – or did the best impression of a march I could, while teetering on the high heels he enforced.
As always, the boss’ office was a constant sensory assault. It was a… manly haze of scents. Leather, sweat, smoke, old paper. More than an office, this was a veritable man-cave, a seat of power, a place that was, in a way, all Burns. From the mahogany desk to the leather chairs to the cigar butts, everything was undisputably his.
That included me, I considered gloomily, but with a degree of fatalism, too. The female employee he’d resoundly put back in her place.
He was an orderly man. The papers on his desk were always stuck just-so. The books on the shelves were arranged in alphabetical order. And my clothing… well, it made only sense that I was subjected to the same rules as his other possessions.
Kept in order. Under control. Little more than furniture for his office.
"Clothing inspection," Burns said at last, standing up from his chair. Absurdly, I was grateful to him – sometimes he kept me waiting for ages, and I would have to keep presenting, until he decided to indulge my servility.
"Thank you Sir," I immediately said as he rounded the desk to approach me. I didn’t mutter it under my breath, not this time. I said it loud and clear, looking down in deference, but still proud of his attentions.
I had certainly come a long way, since he first broke me in. In a way, so had he. I could remember a time when he performed these clothing inspections sitting down. Now, though…
Now, he drew close to me. His man-sweat filled my nostrils, and his ragged breathing echoed against my ears, as he pressed himself closer to me.
His big, firm hands grasped the back of my thighs with such possessive authority that I shivered. It made me give a whole new meaning to the concept of being manhandled. After so many sessions spent on my knees before him, or bent over his desk, I immediately associated this predatory, authoritarian grasp that brooked no arguments with arousal.
I kept my composure, in spite of my growing excitement, as his hands ran down my nyloned legs, then up my sides, flicking my erect nipples through the blouse. His left hand found my throat, and gently cradled it in its grasp, while the right pushed past my slutty lips. With a defeated moan, I began to suckle at his fingers like my life depended on it.
Like I was starring in a crappy porn shoot, written and shot exclusively with the male gaze in mind.
"You pass," Burns told me with a final slap against my rear, which made me squeal like a schoolgirl. I looked at him all doe-eyed, pouting my lips. I… I wasn’t even sure why, but on some level, I wanted him to take me for his pleasure, then and there. If this truly was what my job depended on, then I wanted to perform it to the best of my abilities.
I watched closely, waiting for Burns to sit back down in his chair with a sigh, before I pivoted seductively on my heels. “Should I get on my knees, Sir?”
“Huh?” Burns said, as if lost in thought. “No, thank you Cathy, that won’t be necessary, you can head out. Please send Cindy in, I have half a mind to give her a ride before I close shop.”
Absurdly, the words hurt. They struck at the very foundations of my confidence, and sent a bout of anxiety racing through me. How could I keep this job if I didn’t… if Burns wouldn’t even…
Stupidly, I opened and closed my mouth multiple times. Then, I gathered my wits.
“Are you sure that will be all, Sir?”
Burns arched an eyebrow, studying me. A part of me felt he was plainly manipulating me, but of course I had no margins left to challenge his will in any way – my entire professional career depended on this man, and his word was law. Had been, since the very first setback with the stone.
“Not today, Cathy,” he said, almost apologetically. But then, he smiled. “Tell you what, though. You could stand by the door, and listen. I’m sure you might learn something.”
I gaped at him in outrage and despair, as an evil smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
“After all,” he said, “your sister is just a much better fuck.”
A part of me couldn’t believe what I was about to do. What I was about to offer Burns. Couldn’t believe that I had every intention of finally convincing him to do something that nominally repulsed me – that I wanted him to fuck me again, and secure my working position forever.
The other part, though?
The part that warmed with approval when I caught a reflection of my form-fitting clothes and killer body in the mirror, the part that increasingly associated Burns’ manly scent and gruff manners with arousal, the part that recognised the erotic power of subordination?
That part of me was more than ready to go along with this.
I had pulled all the stops. Went up from three inch heels to five, chose my shortest skirt, unbuttoned my blouse as far as I dared. I looked nothing like a teacher, hell, nothing like a secretary either. I was a parody of a bad office porn shoot. An object of pure, unadulterated male fantasy.
But if that was my job description, then work ethic demanded that I performed it to the best of my ability.
I sighed, faltering, my hand toying with the handle to Burns’ office door. It felt like the wires inside my own head were hopelessly crossed. I could barely even remember… I couldn’t follow the logical chain of sequential thoughts towards any other conclusion.
I had to be Burns’ model employee.
I hated myself for it. I hated my willingness to stoop to every low if it meant I could keep my job. I had long since swallowed any residue of dignity together with Burns’ cum, and then thanked him for the privilege. He really had destroyed me.
Still, there was no room for doubt. I had to see this through. To push on forward. And so with a last intake of breath, I opened the door, and entered his office for yet another morning inspection to start my new workday.
“Good morning, Sir,” I said docilely, waiting for him to acknowledge him. It was a good wait, in its own way. Humbling.
He gave a grunt, but when he looked up, there was no mistaking the sparkle of attention, curiosity, and greed in his eyes. A smile played across my lips at that. He wouldn’t prefer Cindy to me, not this time.
I matched my presentation with enthusiasm. As he neared me for my inspection, I stepped towards him. When his hands cupped my thighs and my butt, I leaned into them, and when he squeezed softly, I bit my lower lip, in a display of sexual tension that soon had his pants bulge.
I was wanton. Open. Available.
I knew women found they could exert control over their chosen targets by seducing them, but this wasn’t what was happening here. I could see the glimmer in Burns’ eyes. Yes, he was tempted. Yes, he wanted more.
But I also knew that he’d shaped me, sculpted me, trained me to behave like this. I couldn’t quite grasp what angle he’d worked exactly, but I could see that I was unfolding before him, defenseless, manipulated, played like a fiddle.
As Burns’ hand gripped my hair and pulled, forcing me to look up at him with big scared eyes, I felt like the horse, coming under the rider’s control.
Brought to heel, and domesticated.
“Alright, girl,” he said, and I hated that I found his condescending tone sexy now. “Get on the desk.”
I didn’t get anywhere – he positioned me himself, one hand clutching at my hair and the other resting possessively from my rear. I yielped in surprise at his strength, as he folded me in two beneath him like it was nothing. I was just a plaything in his hands, and in spite of myself, it made my heart race.
This felt… good. Right. My proper place in life. And the thought alone of securing my job like this made me glow in safety and happiness.
“You want me to pass on that sweet piece of ass you call a sister?” Burns said, lowering my panties, exposing me to the air. “Well, I suppose you call her Miss Cooper these days,” he said, with a slap on my behind.
I grimaced, both from the stinging, and the humiliation. “Yes, Sir,” I said in half a whisper. And then… knowing that there would be no going back… I made my offer.
“Sir, I… there is one hole of mine you haven’t claimed yet.”
I said it in such a small voice that Burns had to hold his breath to hear it. It wasn’t the voice of a professional, working woman, it was the feeble offer of a defeated girl, proclaiming her own unconditional surrender.
I had no worries about him being dry. Burns was an orderly man, and never came to work without a bottle of lube on hand – a very thoughtful planner. I couldn’t even decide if I meant that ironically or not, but as he lubed up, I got a few seconds to think about my predicament.
I briefly wondered what Richard would think if he could see me now. I’d never even allowed him more than providing me with oral sex, and here I was now, offering my anal virginity to my own boss, in exchange for not being further demoted, or even fired.
I was a worthless slut.
I screamed in surprise as I immediately felt something press against the entrance to my asshole. His cock slid into my crack, as he secured his hold on my hair even further. He adjusted himself behind me, slapping my rear again for good measure, before pushing forward.
I whimpered, as my anal ring stretched to take his cock. Why did it have to be so thick?
“I knew you’d come round to this, eventually,” he said from above me, so far above me, in a gruff masculine voice that made me shiver. “Offering yourself to me. You’re learning.”
I gasped as he plunged deeper into me.
I bit my lip, pushing back against the pain and friction that filled me. I gritted my teeth and braced myself. This was painful, and humiliating – but it would save my job. I just knew it, in my heart.
Burns grunted. "Tight. Maybe tightest I've had."
A part of me swooned at his words – so demeaning, so objectifying, so… stroking to my ego, the feminine pride he was sculpting and moulding out of my independent persona. I bucked underneath him, wondering how many others girls he’d broken in like this, how many silly feminists who thought they could stand up to him, right until the moment when they found themselves bent over his desk.
I whimpered from the friction of his penetration, squirming weakly under his big, firm hands, until he bottomed out inside me. Slowly, he began riding me, back and forth, back and forth, gathering speed. The pain was coarse and raw, but with it, a subtle pleasure began to mount… and my mind began to wander in its wake.
I was bent over the desk. The ultimate form of female workplace humiliation, with my face towards the door, vulnerably exposed to anyone coming in. My own boss was having his way with me, ploughing into my ass with no regard for my wishes. I existed for his whims, and all I could do was whimper and moan and beg to not be demoted.
“That’s it,” he said. “Where you belong. You used to look down at me so much, you remember that? Now I’m the one looking down at you.”
He was right. I’d been a haughty bitch. And now… now, his cock was splitting me in two, while I bucked helplessly underneath him.
His words made something click inside me. It was a heady mix of resignation, fatalism, and humble acceptance of my defeat. He’d turned the tables on me, and firmly put me in my place. I started to bounce back on his cock, riding, ignoring my discomfort.
“Good girl,” he said, and I clenched my ass around his dick in response. His words went straight to my pussy. That’s what I was, after all. A good girl. A worthless slut. A plaything at the beck and call of men.
My ass was basically gripping his dick at this point. I burned with shame, arousal, and defeat. The humiliation was getting me going, a lot more than the physical stuff – but there was no doubting his physical mastery of my body. And it did have an effect on me.
My ass was milking his cock, looking for his seed.
The pain from the friction slowly morphed into heat, a lancing fire that went right to my cunt. I barely had time to realise what was happening – all of a sudden, it was over me. A powerful, devastating orgasm, rippling outwards until my muscles were quivering under the strain. I didn’t even try to hold back the moans that came out of my mouth, as Burns rammed into me over and over again.
“Enjoy that, you little gender traitor,” he said, panting and grunting. “Cum your brains out for me. Feel your dignity leak out of you with your pussy cream. That’s it. Good girl.”
He plunged inside me to the hilt as he said that, and my eyes rolled back into my skull, his words still ringing through my ears.
And then, before I knew it, he’d slid out of me. He hadn’t cum, not yet, but I barely had the cognizance to fully process this. I was spent, broken, draped over the desk like a piece of folded cloth.
Burns, however, wasn’t done with me, and once more I found myself marvelling at his impressive stamina. He flipped me over with humiliating ease, then dragged me down to the floor. All of a sudden, I found myself kneeling before his massive presence.
A familiar position by now.
I opened my mouth almost by reflex, before I realized what was about to happen. It was the sour scent that hit me first, the musky tone that invaded my nostrils just as his cock pushed past my lips. I looked up at him in horror, but before I could move, his hands gripped my head, freezing me in place.
He leered down at me.
“Clean it, slut,” he said. “And get me off.”
“Uggghhh,” I moand, and “eeek,” and “ghhaakkk,” but it was no use. Burns was leveraging his grip on my head to facefuck me. I shuddered at the taste and the implications – I was cleaning my own asshole off his dick.
This was so much worse than just being a cocksucker. He was right, I was cleaning him. I quivered and tried to resign myself to my fate, relaxing into his hands. He moved my head up and down the length of his cock, using my lips like a rag to polish it, the head plunging over and over at the entrance to my throat.
“You’re a worthless slut!” he shouted, thrusting forward, assaulting my mouth with his cock like it was a pussy for him to use. I blinked, looking up at his blurry figure through tear-filled eyes, as he subdued my throat and conquered my independence forever.
When the ropes of his cum hit the back of my throat, one after the other, I knew he was marking me for good. That I was his property, and his territory, and his secretary.
And his good girl.
I collapsed back onto the floor, breathing in, recovering from the absolute devastation, from the mind-shattering mix of humiliation and pleasure that had just rocked my very foundations as a person.
My abasement was now complete. But at least, I thought to myself, nothing else could possibly threaten my position at school, as Burns’ loyal sex pet of a secretary.
I met my sister in the parking lot. I’d gotten here first – doubtlessly while she serviced Burns in some way or other – and couldn’t wait to drive us both back home. My humiliation with Nick still smarted, and I felt like the worst lesbian of all time, ever. At least back at home I could unwind a little by using Cathy as my personal punching bag.
For a brief moment, though, we shared a kind of understanding with one another. A sort of, how has your day been moment. Another bizarre day in our bizarre lives, in this school where nothing works the way it’s supposed to.
I decided to verbalize the feeling before we got in the car.
“How was your day, Cathy?”
“It was… trying, Miss Cooper,” she said, slipping naturally into slavish deference towards me. “But I feel like I accomplished what I wanted.”
It was hard to take her seriously, I considered with an arched eyebrow. She looked… out of sorts. Hair disheveled, eyes downcast, clothes a bit rumpled, and precisely zero self-confidence. Not just a freshly fucked girl, but one that’s been broken in like a horse. Reminded that, to the patriarchy, it didn’t truly matter what she wanted – it would stake a claim on her anyway.
In other words, she looked just like me.
And yet, I clearly rescued my girlfriend role with Nick, and she must have shored up her professional position as Burns’ office floozy. So in a way, I assumed we did both get what we wanted. Right?
I nodded in affirmation, and made to get in the car, when the heavy-set sound of boots made me turn my head.
It was all I could do to not snarl, at the sight of Irene Cain making her way towards us in the deserted parking lot.
Cathy, of course, was her usual, spineless self.
“Miss Cain,” she said, respectfully, while I bristled besides her.
Irene stepped so close, she was almost in our personal space, and said nothing. Her silence was becoming unnerving, much like the shit-eating grin she had on her face. She fished her phone out of her pocket, holding it theatrically in the air before us. An audio file was on the main screen, and Irene pressed play.
As the sounds began echoing in the parking lot, blood drained from my face.
It was clearly the sound of two girls, moaning and panting and grunting in pleasure. And they were familiar.
“You want to breathe, little sis?” A lust-filled voice said in the recording. It was, undisputably, my own. “Then lick me. Serve me. Worship me.”
Irene made a show of pausing the recording, and slid her phone back into her pocket. “So,” she said, “I know normally this part includes a lot of theatre, but let’s cut to the chase, shall we? Bitch,” she said in my direction, and then, “whore,” nodding towards my sister – “you’re mine, now. Is that understood?”
I opened my mouth to protest, but no sooner had Irene finished speaking that Cathy was already hitting the tarmac with her knees. I looked at her in astonishment.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Cathy looked up at me, her big doe eyes suddenly filled with uncertainty. But she quickly regained her composure, and respectfully addressed me from her knees.
“Miss Cooper, the last time this happened… with Nick…” she equivocated, looking away, but then back at me. “I tried to resist the blackmail, and that endangered Burns. That’s what eventually led to my demotion in the first place. You don’t want to make the same mistake.”
I gaped at her, uncomprehending, too stunned for words. My mouth opened and closed, but I couldn’t produce a sound.
“Burns told me,” Cathy continued, her voice half a whisper by now. “I shouldn’t have made a fuss about it, just gave Nick what he wanted from the off without being an insufferable bitch.”
Irene could barely control her giggling. “This is too good!” She said, laughing. “Is this for real? Have y’all actually gone insane?”
Her words washed over me, half-ignored. My mind was suddenly back in Burns’ office, back in that headspace of despondency and fear. I couldn’t afford to be an insufferable bitch. Insufferable bitches were unlovable. They got to live and die alone, shunned by all of humanity.
It was Irene that broke the reverie for me. Her fit of hilarity had ended, and her impatience was back in full swing. She reached out, pressing a hand roughly against the top of my head, and pushing.
“Down, bitch,” she said, her words lashing out like a whip, and in spite of my own outrage, I found myself descending to my knees.
I looked up at Irene from down here, intimidated and overawed. She was tall, slightly curvier than me but also physically strong, with an evil sadistic smirk that made her look like a predator. From down here, she looked even more imposing.
She towered above me like royalty, her shapely thighs and menacing equestrian boots dominating my field of view, while her locks framed a face that was both pretty and cruel. She’d been manipulating me into this position right from the start, I knew.
She’d stripped away my right to vote, demoted me from feared cutthroat class queen to emarginated loser, demonstrated her clear superiority over my own sister… and now here I was, seeing her victorious grin, thinking about the stone, knowing that I would have to obey her, just like Cathy obeyed Nick, if I wanted to avoid being a stupid bitch.
“Kiss my boots,” Irene said, and her voice had the sharp edge of lust I knew all too well by now. I swallowed my pride, bowed down before my arch-rival, and got to work.
This was psychologically crushing in ways that I could barely process. First Burns and Nick – men! – and now, my old time nemesis. My control over Cathy suddenly seemed like nothing to write home about. I might not be dead last in the pecking order, but everyone kept reminding that, in the grand scheme of things, I was still a servant.
Absurdly, as my lips made contact with Irene’s boots, I thought that it wasn’t all that unpleasant. The surface was smooth, polished, and hard. I rained kisses all over Irene’s right boot, while Cathy did the same with the left. I made my way from the tip to the ankle, then down to the sides, then back up again.
My own enthusiasm took me aback. Why such a complete lack of reluctance? Had Burns and Nick really drilled such a change into me, that I buckled completely as soon as someone gave me an order? Did I deserve to be down there, on my knees, showering her boot in kisses?
I certainly knew Irene thought so. I didn’t even need to look at her, to know she was basking in the full extent of her victory.
“Lick my boots,” she said, her voice positively husky by now. “Lick them the way you lick each other’s cunts, the way you feast on Burns’ dick. Polish them, while I tell you how things are going to be.”
I whimpered, the cruel weight of her words crushing me down even further. I knelt so close to the ground that I felt like a worm more than a person, but the thought of disobeying never even crossed my mind. Hesitantly, I stuck my tongue out, touching the leather surface with the tip. It tasted funny, dry and strong, leaving a weird aftertaste.
I gave a few timid licks. It was embarassing, how shiny the boot looked where my tongue had passed. I thought back to all the online arguments about politics, with people calling one another bootlicker in an offensive manner, or asking if they enjoyed deepthroating someone’s boot, and now here I was – a literal bootlicker.
Would it come down to that? Would Irene make me deepthroat her boots, too?
“You’re going to tell Burns about this,” Irene instructed, “explain that I’m no threat to him. That I’m happy to keep this quiet, so long as you act like my two little lezzie slaves.”
Cathy moaned in arousal next to me, while I gave tiny, timid licks. God, my sister was such a whore.
“I’m going to make you worship every pair of shoes and boots that I own,” Irene continued, and I idly wondered whether she was rubbing herself now, while I applied my ministrations to her boot. “I’m going to get so many tongue baths for my feet out of you, until you know them better than you know your own stupid whore faces.”
Tears welled up in my eyes. It was exactly what I was doing to Cathy, after all, so I had zero doubts that it could actually happen, and that Irene would see our destruction through.
“And you call that licking? Cindy, I’m gonna train you to do a lot better than this bullshit,” Irene said, lifting her right boot. I stared up in puzzlement, but didn’t get to make eye contact with her. The sole of her boot was now blocking my field of vision.
Then, the boot came down, hard.
It slammed against my cheek, twisting and thrusting downward, until its flat sole was pinning me to the tarmac. It hurt like crazy, with the rugged surface of the asphalt digging into my cheek. I thrashed and flailed, trying to break free, but Irene’s grip was incredible. The dirty, flat sole of her equestrian boot pressed down mercilessly, literally stamping her authority into my cheek.
I was immobilized. From this humiliating position, acting as Irene’s little defeated doormat. I had a perfect view of Cathy licking the other boot. If I thought I was obeying way too fast, I was clearly wrong, and I saw now why Irene was dissatisfied with my performance.
Cathy was going down on the boot like a girl possessed. She licked energetically, using as much of her tongue as she could, covering the boot from the tip to the angle with a single lap, and then again back down. She stuck her tongue in between the laces, then back down the sides, polishing and panting and making slutty faces, like she was working on a cock.
Twisting the flat heel into my face, Irene continued to outline our future, as tears openly began to stream down my face. Tears of defeat and utter humiliation.
“You think you’re hot shit, Cindy, but you’re no domme. I’m going to show you what being a domme actually looks like. I’m going to edge the both of you for hours until you beg me to let you come. I’m going to alternate pain and pleasure until your feeble brains can barely tell one from the other.”
I whimpered softly, all too conscious of my legs thrashing out weakly, while Irene’s weight subdued me.
“I’ll train you to associate pleasure with my boots and socks and feet, like a fucked up version of Pavlov’s dogs.”
“Please…” I whispered, but my strength – both mental and physical – was deserting me under Irene’s constant barrage, and her effortless domination of my face. I truly felt like a doormat. Was it really so easy to just stick a boot in my face and clean the sole on my cheek?
“I’m going to break you in with my cunt,” she said, “cut off your air supply with it, make you worship it like your life depends on it, ride your faces so hard you can never think of yourselves as anything but a sex toy ever again.”
God, that sounded… hot. So hot. And I hated my body for betraying me, for the heat building up inexorably between my legs.
“And all of that,” Irene said with a final twist of her boot into my cheek that nearly made me scream, “is only for starters”.
Cathy lapped at her boot all the faster for that, while I stopped struggling under Irene’s weight. It was futile. She’d won.
“So,” Irene said from above, her voice calming down now. “I’m getting into the car with you. We’re going back home together, to your place. We’re going to have a sleepover together! We could be study buddies!” She said that with a mock-girly voice that made my cheeks redden with utter embarassment.
But then, she immediately became serious again.
“Any objections? Whore?”
Cathy’s only response was the sound of overly enthusiastic lapping and bootlicking. She was like an eager dog.
Irene’s gaze turned back to me, the little maggot she was crushing underfoot.
“And you, bitch?”
I breathed out, and it was almost as if the last of my defiance went out with the air. Only resignation remained.
And so, with a voice that sounded more like Cathy’s than it did mine, I conceded Irene’s victory, and offered her my unconditional surrender.
“No objections,” I said in a whisper, “… Miss Cain.”