I’m the strongest girl at school.
I’m not a bully, mind! If anything, I’m pretty much the opposite. I don’t go around looking for a fight; I haven’t tested my mettle against other girls, I don’t go out of my way to punch the boys. But Liberty Heights is a cruel school, where the strong routinely prey on the weak, and the teachers turn a blind eye just as frequently. Which is why I’m happy to cultivate my reputation as Irene the butch, the weird goth you shouldn’t mess with.
I’m tall for a girl – freakishly so, enough to look most guys in the eyes, and I’m big-boned by nature. Throw in years of gym membership and, while not specifically trained to fight, I can definitely handle myself. I go for a radical goth presentation, just to drive the point home: platform boots, black lipstick, spikes and chokers, the whole shebang.
I wish I could say I take the victims’ side when they’re picked on, but truly, I don’t. I’m a bit ashamed to admit this, but this is about self-preservation. I don’t like socialising, I don’t like people’s attention on me, and I certainly don’t want direct confrontation with anyone. So I rely on my keep-away attitude to make sure I’m left alone, and that is that. Not a bully, not a victim, and definitely not a hero.
Bottom line: the queen bees among the girls stay out of my way. And so do the guys, although a few required extra lessons before they accepted that. Cameron – as sexist a frat guy as you’re likely to find – tried to get handsy with me once. I put him in an arm lock until he begged me to relent, and all in front of his friends too.
I see the smoldering hatred in his eyes every time we cross paths at school, and I riposte with my own sullen, expressionless look. He always walks by without a word: we both know I’d kick his ass if he tried anything else.
On the whole, I like my routine. I focus on school, the gym, and the few but good online friends I’ve made over the years. I have no room for what passes for social life here, partying and drinking with all the jocks and the Beckies, and I try to keep it that way. I definitely don’t like change.
Unfortunately for me, change is already on the way.
Anyone who lives at the fringes of any social environment quickly becomes observant. You have nothing to do but stare at other people’s lives, after all. At a remove, uninvolved, observation becomes second-nature, and it is easy to detect changes. And I know something’s the matter with the school’s newest arrival.
Helenia has just transfered here – due to her parents moving, she says – but she seems to have made an immediate impression. That alone raises my suspicions. New arrivals are usually the butt end of every joke and cruelty at Liberty Heights. They’re at the very bottom of the pecking order, and have a steep hill to climb if they want to have lunch in peace or get to keep their change at the vending machines, let alone make any friends. And yet, Helenia has rocketed through the informal ranks like a meteor, and is now inseparable from Rebecca, the richest girl at school and the local queen of queens.
It helps that Helenia has the right looks, I suppose. She’s lithe and graceful, with wavy blond hair that frames her clever green eyes and goes down to her waist. She definitely lookslike she would fit in among the popular girls, but still… it’s a bit sudden.
There is one way in which she’s most unlike them, however. She’s smart, driven, and no class goes by without her asking pointed questions to our teachers, or proving she’s quick on the uptake with some clever observation. Normally that would have her labelled as a nerd and teacher’s pet – basically a capital offense here – and yet she gets away with it.
It’s as if the rules don’t apply to her. I guess they don’t apply to me either, but that’s different: I’ve basically seceded from the social dynamics of the school. Helenia hasn’t. She’s swimming among the sharks, and the sharks aren’t biting – if anything, they’re doting on her.
Still, as time goes on and the novelty wears off, I put aside my suspicions and focus on my daily routine.
I’ve almost forgotten about Helenia by the time I first meet her face to face. I’m hanging out next to the vending machines, surfing my phone and trying to keep the boredom of school at bay, when I spot her. She struts down the corridor like she owns the place, with Rebecca at her side. The latter’s giggly group of hens is nowhere to be seen, for once, which I find rather unusual. Rebecca always has a following wherever she goes. Here, it looks like she’s the one following, and Helenia is the one leading.
They’re clearly headed for the vending machines, so I slink off to the side, both to give them access and to keep my distance. It’s one of those rare, blessed moments where you can be courteous by being a loner – two birds with one stone!
“No, no, stay,” Helenia says out loud while staring at me. She proffers an open hand. “I need change for a snack anyway.”
I blink slowly, in mild confusion. Rebecca is not reacting, so clearly the message wasn’t for her. I turn to look behind my shoulders – nobody there, either. Damn, no way. Is this girl talking to me? That alone would be shocking enough, but what she’s just said to me – is this girl for real?
I’m just about to turn and walk off without a word when Helenia interjects. “Oh, sorry, where are my manners! Hi, I’m Helenia. And you must be… Irene.”
Yeah yeah, I’m sure my reputation precedes me. My eyes roll back into my skull. “Yes, a real pleasure,” I mutter as I pocket my phone and get ready to leave.
“So you’re not going to buy me a snack, I take it?” Helenia asks, eyelashes fluttering innocently. Alright, I see I need to get the point across. Rather than leave the other way, I walk towards Helenia, rotating my shoulders to appear more imposing as I make my way between her and Rebecca.
“No. Pick someone your own size, girl,” I say in a low voice, “and stay out of my way.”
Normally, that is more than enough to do the trick – but apparently, not this time. Helenia giggles as I walk down the corridor, then calls out to me. “You’ll regret that!”
Whatever. My only regret is that there’s apparently no way to be left damn well alone at this cursed school.
I tell myself I don’t care, that I won’t think about it. But of course that’s just a rationalisation. As one day blends into another, Helenia’s aggression all I can think about. I’ve had countless interactions like these with would-be bullies over the years, but this one feels different somehow.
Helenia refuses to take the hint. Again, it’s like she’s rule-proof and feels free to do whatever she wants. My confidence is shaken, but I won’t show any outward sign of weakness. Still… why do I feel like I have any weakness to hide at all?
The next time we meet at the vending machines, my confidence is shaken even more.
“You’re still holding out on me,” Helenia tells me in an amused tone. Then, she holds out her hand – in Rebecca’s direction.
“Becca,” she says sharply, “Irene won’t play, so it’s your turn. Here.”
Before my astonished eyes, Rebecca – queen bee Rebecca, filthy rich Rebecca, mean bitch Rebecca who will rip off the head of anyone who dares call her Becca – lowers her gaze and demurely fishes out a handful of coins from her jeans’ pockets. The coins promptly end up in Helenia’s hands, but the bully’s eyes are glued on mine, drinking in my momentary shock. She gives me a knowing grin as she pockets the change.
“I can kick your ass any time, Irene.”
That breaks me out of my stupor, and this time, my chuckle is genuine. Physical confrontation is one field I understand. All these mind games are weird and fucked up, but a good uppercut is unequivocable. I don’t like to fight, but if it serves to prevent further conflict, so be it.
I go straight for the most antagonising option. Maybe she’ll back down.
“You’re on. Where and when?”
I’m somewhat taken aback that Helenia doesn’t even flinch. “This afternoon after class, in the school gym.”
Are we really going to do this then? But why? Have I miscalculated with my brinkmanship? What does this girl want with me?
“Just don’t cry when I mop the floor with you,” I say, with more confidence than I feel, hoping to get past her mental armour somehow.
Helenia gives out a long, throaty laughter. “So much spirit. I’ll love breaking it. I need a new foot wipe, and for all her qualities that is one thing Becca is just not great at,” she says as she pats Rebecca’s head, as if she were a pet.
What? The implication of what she’s saying is staggering. Surely Rebecca couldn’t… not in a million years! Is she being blackmailed? I try looking Rebecca in the eyes, but she won’t meet my gaze – or Helenia’s. She looks… defeated.
Eventually, Helenia walks away, the deposed queen bee in tow, following her like an eager dog. I don’t know what’s going on, I don’t like that I’m in the middle of it, and the prospect of staring Helenia down later this afternoon fills me with dread. But I have nothing to do save wait, and think.
Classes go by impossibly slowly. I’m not paying attention to the lectures, and for once, it’s not because I’m immersed in my phone. Blood roars in my ears and my heart pumps relentlessly in my chest. I can’t put my finger on it, but I know something’s odd about this whole situation. Helenia is throwing herself at a girl twice her size, which alone sounds completely crazy. But she also has seemingly put Rebecca on a leash. What does she know that I don’t?
Let alone how improbable it is that the local queen bee could be so swiftly demoted, who even doessuch a thing? Go out of your way to… what, make someone your thrall? It’s the words Helenia uses, too, that keep bouncing around in my head. Foot wipe. Is this some weird fetish thing? Does Helenia put her feet in Rebecca’s face?
Oh god. Maybe she hopes I’ll defeat her and put my feet in her face? If so, I won’t give her the satisfaction. I’ll just put her down firmly and make it clear that I want to be left well alone. And if it’s my face she wants to stomp, well… she’ll have to get me first.
By the time the last bell rings, my resolve is so deeply shaken that I seriously consider walking away, going home as if nothing happened. But there’s a problem: Helenia could start boasting that I chickened out of her challenge. She would be met with some scepticism, sure, but if she challenges me publicly, I will have to respond anyway, or face the destruction of my carefully cultivated, bully-proof reputation. And she has Rebecca as a witness that she did issue the challenge.
No, I have to make this problem go away. Right now.
As I make my way into the gym, pushing down the throes of anxiety, I spot Helenia. She really is a wispy little thing – I will have to make sure not to do any real damage – but she also has her back to me, tapping away at her phone.
The place is deserted, save for us.
And Helenia hasn’t spotted me.
For once, I curse my love for platform boots. Being sneaky in the things is basically impossible, but I try. If I can catch her by surprise, then the whole thing can be over in a matter of seconds. I feel like some predator in a nature documentary, stalking her prey, and I do have to admit, that does give me the slightest of thrills.
But then, my whole world of hopes and expectations crashes down on me. Helenia moves with the grace of flowing water, with the speed of lightning. Her right leg flashes in my direction, her sneaker making a beeline for my face.
I blink once, twice. Then, she hits me – her foot catching me square in the chin. I hit the ground with such force I see stars. A part of me is rational enough to wonder, even through the pain – how is this possible? How is this short, gracile girl able to deliver such powerful kicks?
No matter. She got the drop of me, but that ends now. I rise to my feet, still reeling somewhat from the impact, to see Helenia smirking at me.
“I told you you’d regret that,” she says, hands on her hips and arched eyebrows. She looks so girly and innocent – I’m only just learning how little that look can be trusted. Anger swells within me, and my hands ball into a fist. I want to wipe that smug grin off her face.
“Your ass is mine, girl.”
She offers no retort, her eyes narrowing as she studies my movements. I charge, ready to tackle her to the ground – but she meets my rush with a flurry of movement, and before I know it, her right leg is sweeping mine off the floor.
I land on my back, but roll away immediately and jump back to my feet before Helenia can strike. Except, not really. All I see is the bottom of her sneakers as, once again, it hits me on the chin with the precision of a sharphooter. Just like that, I’m on the floor again… and this time, it’s bad.
My neck muscles ache impossibly from the stretch, and my entire lower jaw radiates pain to the point that tears swell in my eyes. My head spins after the three dizzying impacts with the floor. My confidence, my pride, and my strength – all drained. I can’t even touch this girl, let alone beat her up!
After one too many seconds of excruciating agony, the gym stops spinning. I lift myself on my elbows, but before I can stand up, I feel weight against my neck – I cringe in disgust when I realise it’s the bottom of Helenia’s shoe. She pushes, and I’m too weak to offer any resistance as I sink back to the floor.
“Stay there, butch. Or is that bitch?” she says in a cute, giggly voice. Her sneaker lifts off my shoulder… and lands squarely on my cheek. Oh God. Helenia rubs the bottom of her shoe over my face, grinding me into the polished gym floor.
“You should be kinder to your bullies,” she says mockingly. I feel something within me crack and break at her words. In the adrenaline of the fight, I hadn’t realised… for the first time, I’m being thoroughly, unequivocally and completely bullied. And by this stick of a girl, too! And I can’t do anything about it.
Or can I?
Helenia steps away from me and circles me, stopping inches away from my face. I strain my neck, looking up at her. Small and gracile or not, she towers over me – from down here, she looks like the mightiest girl in the world. She exaggerates a look of contrivance, pouting her lips at me.
God, the absolute gall of this girl. I may be unable to floor her… but I can still get away. I flex my arms and legs, then sprint upwards, making a run towards the exit.
Helenia’s arm wraps around my throat before I can get away, and a moment later I’m on the ground again – this time with her legs wrapping around my neck. Her left leg folds under her right, in a figure-four lock which allows her to control my air supply at will. Uh oh. Now I’m really in trouble.
My hands flail against her, trying to pry her legs apart, clawing, scratching, making a beeline for her face. “You’re crazy! Let me go!”
“Oh no,” she says, giggling as her hands wrap around my wrists. Fuck, she’s strong. “Now the fun begins.”
She speaks gently in my ear as her legs trap me.
“Now I put you in your place,” she says, and her voice sounds seductive as much as it does threatening. “Now I peel away all the layers you’re hiding behind, until I get to the core of who you really are.”
Her words flow into my ears and into my brain like a truth revealed from on high. Already a part of me feels absurdly grateful that she’s doing this to me. Why? How is that possible?
“Now I show you the pleasure of defeat… of yielding to your betters.”
I push the thoughts – and her words - down, struggle and writhe in vain against her wiry strength, and her honeyed words are like a purr of conquest that sends a thrill down my spine.
“Such a pretty girl…” her hands run through my air and brush against my cheek. They seem to follow some kind of dance. I can’t make out the pattern, but there’s a rhythm to when they touch me, and when they fly past my eyes, so fast I can barely follow. “Under all this butch persona, I can see the prettiest, frilliest, most docile girl, just waiting to come out. We’ll bring it out together, you and I.”
I cough, spit, wheeze, and curse, but it’s all in vain. I’m not getting enough air to sustain my strength. And there’s something else, too, a… mushy feeling in my brain. Torpor, but not from her leglock. My mind feels… soft, pliant. My eyes widen as slowly dawning horror drowns out every other sensation. There’s something in her tone of voice, in the regular pattern of her hands as they run through my hair, caress my face, spin in the air – like a display of liquid elegance, mesmerising and impossible to ignore.
“What…” I croak, and the words are so difficult to come by. “What are you doing to my… mind?”
This time, Helenia’s smile is genuine. Bright… beautiful…
“Very good! Not many of my victims can tell when they’re being hypnotised.”
Her hands… I must look away, but I can’t. Can you really hypnotise someone with the mere movement of your fingers? Can you weave a trap for the mind in thin air, spinning around a web I cannot see, but that traps me all the same? Fuck, is hypnosis even real?
“Is that…” I say, in a broken but proud voice. “The only way… you could beat me?”
Helenia’s eyes glimmer with evil amusement. “Oh no, Irene. I genuinely did kick your ass first. Now I’m hypnotising you.”
Somehow, deep inside me, I know she’s not lying. I know I’m completely outmatched. I know, because the idea of losing is… huh, making me shake with arousal. An idea so repulsive, so disgusting, so… destructive… now drawing me, like a moth to a flame.
"Do you see the beauty in this, pretty girl?” She asks. “I have beaten your body. Now I will make your defeat final. I will take your mind away. Strip you of every defence. Your will is mine."
I look away and close my eyes – but it’s no use. I see the hands even now, with my eyelids firmly shut, weaving the web of my doom together with her siren voice. I know she’s won when my body shudders in orgasm and surrender under her, the spasms coursing through me like a shockwave as her strong thighs keep me firmly in place.
I am helplessly in her power. My spirit has been broken.
Everything fades to black.
When my awareness returns, my head is pounding like crazy. My hair is matted with sweat, sticking to my forehead, and my thighs are slick with my own arousal, mingling with the pain of the beating Helenia inflicted upon me. And my mind…
My mind is not my own. At least, not completely. I sense… a presence there, something like a leash wrapped around a hypothetical neck – it has the same quality, the same restrictive potential. A leash might not be pulling or restricting your movements directly, but you always know it’s there. You can’t outrun it, or escape the knowledge that, at any point, the person holding it might yank it right back.
I sit up. Helenia is still here – sitting on a bench by the wall, one leg regally crossed over the other, staring at me with eyes green like moss. Like a pond one might fall in.
She has beaten me up.
She’s hypnotised me.
“Crawl,” she says, and the word hits me like the coil of a whip. My back straightens and I walk towards her on all fours like a dog. Like her dog. I don’t know what’s happening to me, but I can’t stop this autopilot. Her word literally overrid my thoughts, my desires. The very thought of her having such power over me is hot, and terrifying.
“Now, let’s do this properly,” she says once I am at her feet. “Apologise. Beg for my forgiveness.”
I don’t need to think about the words. My programming does it for me.
“I’m sorry, Mistress Helenia,” I say in a low, unassuming, feminine voice that doesn’t feel like my own. “I’m sorry for not paying you lunch, and for not s… submitting to you.”
“That wasn’t that hard, was it?” She asks, dangling one foot in my direction, the tip of her sneaker brushing against my chin. “Bow down to me.”
I immediately prostrate myself, my buttocks pitched in the air, my forehead pressed to the ground. Helenia uncrosses her legs above me, and one sneaker descends over my neck. The other finds its way to my lips, and without being told to, I begin to lick.
Another shiver of surrender – the only kind of erotic thrill I’ll know henceforth, I suspect – courses through me. She’s transformed me into her property, and I fear her with all my heart. I must do a good job. I must be a good foot wipe. Or else…
Or else she could destroy me.
I’m scared, but also aroused. Her absolute power over me is awe-inspiring. Here she is, sitting like a queen in the school’s gym. Rebecca is her thrall. I am her slave. The thought alone almost sends me over the edge, and I hate that my own mind is betraying me like this. A part of my awareness is pounding on the glass, shouting to be heard over the impossible droning of Helenia’s programming, but it’s no use. Before I can get a hold of myself, the words come spontaneously to my lips.
“Thank you for hypnotising me, Mistress Helenia,” I whisper in-between licks to the bottom of her shoe. “Please show me how to be a good foot wipe.”
Helenia laughs, and the sheer sadism I sense in her is enough to push my arousal back down, and return my fear front and centre. I was a free girl this morning. Helenia is targeting me for literally no reason. What is she going to do to me?
“What I did back there was only the first step,” she tells me with a smirk at the word step, as the tip of her sneaker finds its way into my mouth, violating it, thrusting up and down. Her other sneaker is now resting atop my head, keeping me in place as she foot-fucks my mouth. “We have a few more sessions ahead of us before the hypnosis is complete.”
“Mmmpphh?” I ask, unable to take my mouth off her shoe. I hate myself. I hate her power over me. I love her power over me. I hate loving it. I know she’s done it to me, broken my mind beyond repair.
“A good craftsman takes her time with a work of art,” Helenia says, thrusting deeper into my mouth. “And Irene, my dear butch, your transformation is only beginning. I think a part of you will come to appreciate the genius of what I have in store for you. Not that it matters anyway,” she says, a trickle of spit dangling from her lips as she leans over me.
I look up at her with big, submissive eyes, while one shoe pushes me deeper onto the other.
“What matters is what I want. And I will love moulding you,” she says in triumph as the spit leaves her lips and lands squarely atop my forehead.
“Trust me, Irene. I’ll love it very much.”
There’s a stranger in the mirror.
Gone is my black lipstick, same for the eyeliner. I stand lower than I used to, having traded my goth platform boots for ballerinas. No spikes, no chokers. My eyes blink at my own reflection, seeing only a parody of femininity.
I’m wearing pigtails, for fuck’s sake.
“Swirl for me,” Helenia says, and I obey – I feel clumsy and ungainly. I’m a big girl, always have been, more comfortable throwing punches than doing anything elegant. But Helenia’s mastery over my mind is absolute. Her hypnotic claws puppeteer me around like I’m just a thing.
So I do swirl, blushing all the while like I really am a silly school girl, to Helenia’s cruel delight.
“Much better this way, isn’t it?” A smile tugs at the corner of her lips. She’s much shorter than me, but the way I’m keeping my chin flat to my chest, it’s clear I’m the one looking up to her, and she knows it.
For the last few weeks, I’ve tried everything I could to hold on to at least a small part of me. I’ve failed. Helenia is seeping into every crevice, every chink in my armor, taking over everything, remoulding it in her image.
She picks how I dress, how I talk, what I eat… I swear she’s forcing a bad diet onto me on purpose, high in carbs and low in protein, to make me go plump and soft and squeezeable. To make my muscle mass sag, and disappear.
I feel physically and mentally so much smaller, so much more docile, every day.
Helenia’s hand reaches out to touch my cheek, and I tremble like a leaf in the wind. Her hands… every time they close up on my face, I return to that moment in the gym, with her legs gripping my neck in a firm vice, and her hands moving, flashing, dancing before me… taking my mind away…
“I told you I saw something pretty behind all this butch persona,” Helenia says in a low whisper. “I’m just going to crack your shell, and let your inner femme break free.”
I gulp. That’s not what I want, at all. Besides, my goth identity is my shield. Liberty Heights is a cruel place, where students respect only strength. If I show up in class like this, I’ll… I’ll…
“Shush,” Helenia says, noticing my distress. “Stop thinking. You don’t need to think, not when you can just look pretty.”
My brain shuts down. My mouth opens and closes, but… everything is so slow, like my thoughts are being plunged in honey… sticky… sweet…
Helenia goes to work, while I drool at my own reflection in front of the mirror, my brain folding against itself so hard that I can barely hear my own thoughts.
Even so, a small part of my mind remains sufficiently aware to notice she’s applying foundation and concealer, trying to soften my appearance. To make it girlier. Softer. Weaker.
“That’s it,” Helenia says softly. “Let’s peel the butch away. Now, where did I put the fake eyelashes…”
I space out.
When I come to, we’re no longer in the bathroom, and I’m no longer standing.
My back is against the floor, and above me stands Helenia, in victory and glory. She holds something in her hands, something small and pointy I can’t quite make out from here.
Helenia lowers herself towards me, blocking out the light. She’s beautiful, even more so seen from down here, like a radiant goddess. The way her blond hair catches the light behind her takes my breath away.
She places one knee across my chest, squishing my boobs, and the other presses against my throat. She’s careful with her weight, but the pressure is high enough that my breathing is a little ragged, and I would only speak with difficulty, if I still had the brain power to utter anything.
This is such a humiliatingly physical position, reminiscent of the way she kicked my ass before hypnotising me. And thanks to said hypnosis, the humiliation sends a shot of arousal straight to my pussy. Helenia’s victory over me is so utter and complete that she’s decided to dismantle my defenses.
To de-butchify me.
Her hands inch closer to my face, and I see what she’s been holding.
Pink, glossy lipstick.
She twists to the side, crouching even lower against my boobs and throat, and begins applying it to my lips, carefully and deliberately.
“Do you feel how hard that is against your lips?” She says in a sultry tone, pressing the lipstick down harder. “Oh yes. I told you I’d take my time to craft a work of art.”
My hips begin to hump the air in response. The strength of my own conditioning completely crushes me.
“We’re nowhere near done,” Helenia says with a smile. “But you’re coming along just nicely. Look at those cocksucker lips I’m giving you!” She titters, thrilled at her accomplishment. Her job done, she tucks the lipstick away, and stands.
Helenia sneers down at me, pressing a foot against my throat.
“This is how you’ll show up at school from now on. Understood, Irene?”
“Yes, Mistress Helenia.”
I can see the laughter in people’s eyes – as well as the uncertainty.
I look nothing like my former self. Gone is the unapproachable goth bully, replaced with a simpering girl that blushes whenever someone looks her way. The cool air against my legs alternates with the male gazes directed at me every time I swirl my skirt, giving me goosebumps.
It’s almost as if the people around me have no idea how to approach me now. They’re used to steering well clear of me, and now they wonder. Am I calling out to their attention? Am I open? Approachable? Vulnerable?
The constant attention is just too much, I feel like I’m under stage lights. At the earliest opportunity, I excuse my way out of class and head out into the hallway, next to the vending machines.
This is the cursed place where I first agreed to Helenia’s challenge, believing I could beat her up easily. And instead, her victory over me was so total that we didn’t even negotiate terms. No negotiations were needed: she carved my unconditional surrender out of me.
The end of my independence.
Even so, away from all the prying eyes, my mind clears a little, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I still feel the shackles Helenia has placed, chaining my mind to her wishes – she wants me to be a girly femme for her, and I know I can’t disobey. But if I can retain even a small corner of my mind, then perhaps, some day…
My head snaps to the sound of steps further down the hallway, coming towards me.
I turn to look, and I’m confronted with what is almost a vision from the past – from the last day of my independence.
Helenia walks regally towards me, with former queen-bee Rebecca walking a step behind her, her head bent low in submission. Back during that first day, I thought it weird that Helenia had seemingly demoted the school’s rich, bossy bitch, but now, it seems like the most natural thing in the world.
Helenia stops before me, and nods with approval as I bow my head. Like the first time, she proffers an open hand. “I need change for a snack.”
Unlike the first time, I nod, and whisper under my breath, “Yes, Mistress Helenia.”
It’s just change. The amount itself is completely trivial. But as it leaves my hand to drop into Helenia’s, it feels like a final seal to cement my utter and complete subjugation to her. She’s asserted her superiority over me to such an extent that I don’t even have control of my own money.
“I want my two fellow slavegirls to get to know one another,” she says with a smirk, before turning towards the vending machine. “Becca, you know what to do.”
I gulp, eyeing Rebecca carefully. We used to be distant rivals – distant, because I wasn’t angling for the same kind of queen bee reputation and bimbo posse she had, but we still disliked each other on a fundamental level. As our eyes meet, I wonder if we’ll bury the axe, and find an odd form of sisterhood in our common enslavement.
Rebecca answers the question for me.
Her hand grips my hair with sudden and unexpected force, pulling me down towards the floor.
Once – long ago, when I was a free girl with free will – I could have kicked Rebecca’s ass with one hand tied behind my back. But now, to my crushing humiliation, I squeak and squeal like a schoolgirl, while her hand inexorably pushes me downward.
When did Rebecca become stronger than me?
Or perhaps… Helenia is making sure I become weaker than her?
Inevitably, Rebecca defeats me. I find myself pushed to my knees, whimpering and with trembling lips. This is by now a familiar position for me, but looking up at Rebecca is literally a new low for me. She might be Helenia’s slave, but apparently, slaves aren’t equal even among themselves.
She’s tall, slender, beautiful and cruel. Having subdued me, her defeated expression has regained a little of the old bratty cruelty. Helenia looks at us while sitting at a nearby desk, munching on a snack of chips.
Rebecca slaps me. The strength of the impact sends me to the floor, with my face inches from her pink sneakers. One lands squarely against my neck, while the other inches closer to my face.
“Finally, I get to put you in your place,” Rebecca says. “Get to work, loser goth whore.”
To my embarassment, the humiliation sets my pussy on fire. I find myself crawling on my belly like a slug, fighting against Rebecca’s foot pinning me down, to reach her other shoe myself. Helenia has taught me well by now, and if she wants me to be a slave to her own slave, then so be it.
I rain kisses upon the sneakers – a ridiculous piece of overhyped clothing that probably costs more than my education – with my whorish lips travelling from front to back, and top to bottom. I start licking the dirt from the sole, and I feel the grimy texture accumulating on my tongue, while the other shoe slowly rubs the dirt into my hair.
Rebecca rolls me face-up, before climbing atop me.
She’s light and slender, but as her shoes settle on my stomach and my left boob, she still squeezes breath out of me. She starts walking up and down the length of me, stamping her superiority into my body with the grooved soles of her sneakers, like a mark of ownership.
Soon, Helenia herself is standing over me, her face looking down at mine.
Her toes sneak past my glossy lips, and I begin gently fellating them, moaning and thrashing as one of Rebecca’s sneakers lands squarely atop my crotch, and starts rubbing. Humiliatingly, my hips buck to meet her thrusts, and arousal builds up within me.
I’m being foot-fucked in a public place. Any student or teacher could come out at any moment and spot me. It would be a disaster, both for me and for Helenia herself, but my brain is too mindfucked by Helenia’s hypnosis for me to care.
Helenia’s expression is a marvel to look at. She smiles and looks in joy and rapture as my lips follow every single movement of her toes, lavishing them with saliva and attention. Every lap of my tongue and every hollowing of my cheeks as I suck are a physical gesture of worship. It’s like I’m physically coating her feet in adoration with my own mouth.
“How humiliating this must be for you,” Rebecca says, her sneaker rubbing ever more incessantly against my pussy. “That Helenia has turned into this parody of femininity, while I take you to orgasm.”
“Mmmphh!!” I moan in both pleasure and terror. Helenia’s thrusts into my mouth become more and more rapid.
“Look at those cocksucker lips I gave you,” she says, sultrily. “Oh, you’re going to be just perfect for what I have in mind.”
I shoot her a questioning look, never interrupting my dutiful fellatio of her toes – each in turn first, then more and more at once.
As Helenia’s foot slides entirely into my mouth, stretching my cheeks and worming its way down towards the entrance of my throat, she breaks out in cruel laughter.
“You don’t get to be my slave,” she says to me. “I have Rebecca already. I don’t need you.”
The words throw me into deep alarm and confusion. Helenia is… rejecting me? Absurdly, a part of me feels like the world is crashing down around me – like I actually want to impress her with my service, with how good a job I’m able to do. Besides, if she doesn’t want me as her thrall, what does she have in store for me?
“I’m giving you to someone else,” Helenia says, answering my own unspoken question, as her foot finally sinks all the way in, impaling my throat. I gag, cough, spit, tears running freely down my eyes. I shake my head, looking for an angle that will make this slightly more comfortable, but Helenia’s foot pins me down in place, methodically pistoning in and out of my throat.
“Someone with a wealthy family and a trust fund,” Helenia continues, looking down at me in what feels like contempt. I’m overstimulated, assaulted from all sides – by her words, by her foot in my mouth, by the sneaker’s sole rubbing my defeated clit towards an inevitable climax.
“Someone with connections I’m going to need,” Helenia says, laughing as I begin to gluk gluk gluk around her foot. “Someone who’s going to be eternally grateful to learn you’ve changed your mind about him…”
My eyes widen in horror and recognition. There is only one male student who fits this description.
Rich. Arrogant. From a powerful family. Who came aggressively onto me in the most sexist way imaginable, and was humiliated when I kicked his ass.
No. Surely Helenia cannot do this to me! I’ve done everything she’s wanted!
“You know who I mean,” she tells me, her foot now pumping up and down as fast as it will go. “Cameron. I’m giving you to Cameron.”
The tears running down my face are no longer related to the foot gagging alone. Cameron is a loathsome sexist pig, I hate him, I will refuse to obey him… I will… ohh… Rebecca’s sneaker right there, on my clit… God…
“That’s it,” Helenia says, facefucking me. “God I love those glassy eyes. Lose yourself into my plan for you. I know what is better for you anyway. I get to decide how you live your life. Wanna know how this is going to go?”
I don’t react, lost in the overwhelming shocks travelling through my entire body. My limbs tremble and shake, helplessly.
“You’re going to be his girlfriend,” Helenia says. “You don’t get to go to college, oh no. He’s going to reduce you to trad gender roles. Your place will be in the kitchen, on your knees.”
And then, out of nowhere, Helenia’s expression changes, and she shouts, “Cum!”
As if on command, the most devastating orgasm of my life ripples outward from my sex like an earthquake, making my thighs quiver and travelling across my body like a shockwave. I arch my back in pleasure, which only impales me further on Helenia’s foot.
“You won’t get to have your own bank account,” she continues. “You’ll be barefoot and pregnant. Every morning before he goes to work, and every night when he gets home, you’re going to suck his cock. And you will know that, to make it all the more supremely cruel, it wasn’t a man that did this to you, oh no. It was a fellow girl, just for the fun of seeing you utterly destroyed.” And then, “Cum!”
Only now do I realise how truly deep Helenia’s hooks are sunk into my brain. Again I orgasm against Rebecca’s shoes, thrashing wildly like I’m caught prey – but the two girls together are more than enough to keep my weak, feminine body pinned to the floor.
“When he brings other girls home,” Helenia says, her eyes glimmering with pure and unadulterated evil, “you’re going to give their feet a tongue bath too. You’re going to deepthroat on their feet, eat their toejam, clean their shoes with your tongue, serve them breakfast in bed after they’ve fucked him.”
I will not – cannot resist. With each orgasm, my mind is crumbling, there is less and less of me. I cannot oppose her. I will give myself to Cameron. I will submit, with no question, to the patriarchal lifestyle Helenia wants for me.
The butch, turned forever into a simpering bimbo who exists only for male pleasure.
Rebecca digs the bottom of her sneaker harder against my defeated cunt. “Do you accept Mistress Helenia’s plans for you, whore?”
“Gnnhh!” I mumble around Helenia’s foot. “Yeshh! Pweeshe!” I sound pathetic, and both girls break out in laughter at my eagerness and utter failure at basic communication, but the meaning is clear enough.
One last time, Helenia’s foot plunges at the entrance of my throat, as her eyes lock onto mine.
“Cum,” she says. And, as the third, cataclysmic orgasm courses through me and shatters the last remaining vestiges of my old mind, I know with full and undeniable certainty that Helenia was right all along.
I’m the weakest girl at school.