The life of a slave is a dark planet’s orbit, revolving around a beautiful, uncaring sun. And there is no arguing with gravity.
Most free people have their own form of centering, of course. Work, routine, hobbies, scheduled entertainment. But those things are flexible, and can evolve over time.
When you’re a slave, though, the days blend into one another. You wake up and go to bed at consistent times, perform the same chores over and over – and you simply cannot stray. The rules are enforced from outside. You have no control.
The only fixed point, the only anchor, is the owner’s will.
Living like this dulls your intellect, it makes you something less than human… but at this point, I’m starting to make my peace with it. Anbar does always tell me I was born stupid, and simply had a misguided sense of my own intelligence when I thought myself free.
Perhaps more importantly, I am less than human… so this state of affairs suits me just fine. I look at the upside: life as a slave is a life of certainty. I have no responsibility, except do my owners’ bidding.
There definitely is a downside though, and not one you might expect. When change does arrive, it’s sudden, unstoppable – your owners mandate it, after all – and you have no choice except take it in stride.
It’s been a few days since the last time I’ve been in direct contact with Alia or Anbar’s feet – although strangely, Yasmin still uses me as her foot girl whenever she fancies, and of course I submit without protest.
Like I said, change. No explanation has been offered, no reason given. It is not my place to ask or question, of course. I am the sisters’ slave, and this makes them my anchor point. If they want me away from their feet for a while, then of course I will comply.
Like chunks of space debris, orbiting a distant sun, I’m a slave to my orbit. I pale into insignificance, next to the radiance of the stars. So I keep to my schedule, and wait for Alia or Anbar to tell me what’s going on.
It’s not like my routine isn’t full as it is, especially now that Alina expects full control over me at work. I let it absorb me in full, and wait for time to pass, and for the other shoe to drop… so to speak.
When eventually it does, even my slavish composure threatens to vacillate. I do my best to look submissive and receptive, open for instructions, as is expected of me… but I’m nervous.
The summoning takes place in Alia’s room, strangely – not Anbar’s, where so many fateful moments of my transformation have taken place. The old Zainab might have figured out what this clue hints at, but that person no longer exists.
Still, I wonder. What do Alia and Anbar have in mind? Well, I suppose I will find out soon either way, it’s not like I have a choice.
On the plus side, this does mean there is no lingering, overpowering foot scent, so I can still think with a modicum of clarity. Or as much as I can muster, when in the presence of my two conquerors.
I kneel before my Goddess and my Queen, and obediently await their pronouncements.
Alia crosses one leg over the other, her angelic face resting on her chin. She contemplates me with a mixture of amusement and contempt. There has never been so much distance between us.
She’s a vision of radiant femininity, and I’m just chattel.
“You love me, slave,” she says, batting her eyelashes instantly. I know Alia expects full and utter devotion at all times, so I gulp, trying to somehow kneel even lower than I already do, and profess my feelings for her.
“I do, Your Majesty,” I say in a rapt whisper. “With all my heart.”
That causes Anbar to guffaw at my display. “We certainly don’t love you back!”
“No we don’t. That goes without saying,” Alia says, matter-of-factly. But the glint of amusement in her eyes belies her indifference. She loves seeing the emotional pain etched on my face.
“But we deserve your undying worship and devotion, no matter what we do to you. Isn’t that right?”
I narrow my eyes, but only for a moment. This is a very strange line of questioning Alia has taken. Yes, she wants to be showered in adoration, but she perfectly knows these things to be true. I feel like I’m being set up for something…
Even so, there is no alternative to obedience. I hang my head low in defeat. “Yes, Your Majesty. No matter how many things you t-t-take… I will always, always love you.”
“It’s only right,” Alia says, and there’s some steel in her voice now, reminding me she is as beautiful as she is terrible. But then, she makes a show of mellowing out. “I’ll be very open and honest with you, Zainab. I want something from you, and you’re going to hate it. But you’ll do it anyway, because you love me.”
I swallow, trying to keep my breathing steady. I… I genuinely don’t even know what else Alia could possibly take from me. She draws it out, teasing me with her amused eyes, with the way her foot bobs up and down.
Then, she spills the beans.
“I want you to drop out of college for me.”
It’s such a simple, unassuming line. It’s delivered with such perfect innocence. But it hits me like an earthquake.
All of a sudden, things I haven’t even thought about in so long resurface again. College. I was a promising student, once. I had friends there, once. I interacted with people who saw me as an equal.
Shock courses through me. This is the last week before finals! I’ve been neglecting my college career for months as I slave away for the sisters, but even so, this final request, so outrageous, so cruel, so…
Who am I fooling? Did I really think I would ever be allowed to cling to college? Anbar is right, I’m so stupid, I deserve everything that’s happening to me.
My captors have deliberately destroyed every aspect of my life they could get their hands on, why would this be any different? I won’t be allowed to go and find a job, have a career. That would be too much like being free.
I’ve busted my ass all my life for college… and that’s precisely why Alia wants me to give it up. For love, she says. Devotion. Worship.
“All those countless hours burning the midnight oil…” Alia whispers, as if reading my mind. “Offer them up to me, slave. Like a religious sacrifice to your true deity.”
Absurdly, I find myself wishing she’d stick a foot in my face, let me breathe myself stupid. That would dull the pain and my senses, it would drown my brain in morass, make it easier to destroy the last bit of independent life that I will ever know.
But neither Alia nor Anbar offer their feet to me. All I’m given is Alia’s phone.
“I’ve already dialled the administration office. Just make the call.”
She’s going to make me do this on the spot. I can see her biting her bottom lip with a mischievous smirk on her face as she's savoring this moment, where she is almost literally trampling my very soul into the dirt.
God, I love her so much…
I can only imagine what the stunned administration worker might tell me - such a promising student dropping out just inches away from the finish line. My fingers tremble as I hold the phone in my hands, the harbinger of my downfall.
But a slave’s life is fixed around certain anchor points. It is the orbit of a dark planet around a beautiful, uncaring sun.
There’s no arguing with gravity… there is only the orbit.
And so, holding back a heartbroken sob, I press my thumb into the phone screen, and shiver at the sound on speaker as the call begins to ring.
The life of a slave is set between certain pressure points. Most typically, the slave’s superiors.
Sitting in the audience at the graduation ceremony, my heart broken into a thousand pieces and my soul flayed raw, I find myself flanked by Anbar and Sanae.
A hammer and an anvil.
Were it not for them – my pressure points – I would be bawling my eyes out already. In truth, Alia would probably want me to, although Anbar always finds it annoying. But the mere idea of their judgement makes me compose myself.
Aren’t I lucky, being able to count on my owners even in such a terrible situation?
Dejectedly I watch as Alia, Yasmin, and all the other cohorts approach the podium, receive their diplomas, and shake the headmaster’s hand.
I was supposed to be up there with them, having all my hard work bear fruit and be celebrated today.
Instead, I’m sitting in the crowd, and sticking out like a sore thumb too. I stink, and my buzzcut and the untanned print of Yasmin’s feet on my face make me look ridiculous.
To make it all worse, Anbar demanded that I wear my fast food chain work uniform – an instruction that Alia enthusiastically endorsed. This way, everyone here – my professors, the students, the parents – everyone will know what I do for a living now.
My lips quiver in pain as I am, once again, cruelly confronted with the fact that Alia has truly taken everything from me. Everything.
Meanwhile, Alia herself, as well as even my princess Yasmin (who I once thought didn't even deserve to get into college in the first place, let alone actually graduate) celebrate their academic success. The end of their lives as students.
My life as a student has ended too, if in an altogether different way. Nothing remains of who I was before. I’m just a self-aware toy for girls’ feet, pressed into a thin sliver of consciousness that has no room for ambition, individuality, or dignity… but only for service.
I know there’s so much potential for Alia to inflict further cruelty upon me here. I know my captor, and I know she won’t miss the opportunity. She hasn’t missed any so far, even when I thought there couldn’t possibly be anything else she could do to me.
She’s a genius when it comes to hurting people. How fucked up is it that the very idea tugs at my heartstrings with such force?
When her turn comes to deliver her speech, Alia scans the crowd. Her clever eyes settle on me, glittering with pride, joy, and above all… amusement.
“I just want to say a few words,” she says, the mic giving her voice an even more innocent and crystalline quality. God, even her pitch is perfect… she really has everything in life handed to her on a silver platter.
“I want to really, really thank my best friend. She’s been here for me through all these four years, and I could have never done it without her.”
And then, she turns to Yasmin. And my heart breaks all over again.
The two girls embrace tightly, and in doing so, they rotate in place, so that each has an opportunity in turn to look my way, flashing me the cruelest of smiles.
After they disentangle, Alia grabs the mic again.
“I also want to thank Zainab! She’s right here in the audience – there you are, silly!”
My heart drops and my face goes pale with pure terror. Anbar elbows me in the ribs to my right, and I hear Sanae chuckle coldly to my left, but it’s everyone else in the room I’m worried about.
If there was the slightest chance people hadn’t figured out who I am, it’s been obliterated now. There can be no more doubts.
I’m the weird, nerdy girl who dropped out and literally disappeared just inches away from the finish line. I signed up for student loans and then quit at the last minute. And I’m here in a fast food uniform.
“I really appreciate all the sacrifices you’ve made for me so far… and all those you’ll make in the future,” Alia continues. “All the services rendered, so that I could focus on studying…”
Alia lets the sentence tail off, and it’s all I can do not to shake in place at the shiver that goes through me.
Her voice seems to drift away as she looks away from me, wrapping up her speech with the usual pleasantries. I gasp at the breath I suddenly feel at my ear.
Anbar is leaning close to me.
“That could have been you standing up there,” Anbar whispers to me. “You, with an entire, fulfilling life ahead of you. Instead, you’ve let my sister and I absolutely ruin your life.”
I stifle a sob. I swear Sanae is openly chuckling to herself now. “I’m so proud of my daughter,” she suddenly says out loud, talking to a neighbor to her left. I have a distinct feeling it’s not the graduation she’s talking about.
Undeterred, Anbar continues, leaning even closer to me.
“You’ve let us turn you into our sock-smelling, shoe-licking, floor-cleaning, foot-sucking slave.”
That’s when, at last, the pressure points prove too much. The levee breaks.
One tear follows another, until eventually I find myself crying my heart out, bending over to contain the sobs and avoid making any noises. I should be quiet and composed, submissive and unheard, even in my despair.
I would never do anything that might spoil Alia’s special day, after all…
The life of a slave is full of tests.
At this point, I almost think of it like an obstacle course. Alia, Anbar, and Yasmin find endless entertainment in my continued debasement.
But if I can survive each instance, pull through, and please them, then life returns to normal, eventually.
For a given definition of normal, of course. My normal is the comforting simplicity of cleaning the bathroom, fetching things, kissing feet…
But even I have to admit, this particular obstacle is bigger than others.
What hurts the most about meeting Paula and Eric again is the way their eyes linger on my nametag, to make sure that it really is me.
I can’t blame them. I barely recognize myself in the mirror, after all. I’m fatter and disheveled, I sport a buzzcut and bear Yasmin’s literal footprints on my forehead. And if my looks are unrecognizable, what to say of my actions?
The disbelief in their looks is palpable when they read my nametag. They’re forced to conclude that this really is me. That I’ve really done something so insane as quit my education this week. I see confusion and hurt in their eyes, and in turn, that pains me, too.
They were my friends, once. I know they’d still like to be that, but Alia will never allow me to have any connections with peers. It would make me uppity, give me ideas.
I’m all too aware of this as she stands next to me, nursing a drink, receiving one compliment after another with a radiant – but fake – smile and waving people away. Like a queen, routinely passing through supplicants.
Her focus is on me, her toy. And on Paula and Eric, as they struggle for words here in the courtyard, outside campus.
At last, it’s Eric that finds the courage to speak. It doesn’t surprise me – Paula keeps eyeing Alia, whom she hates, but finds so intimidating. Eric has no such concerns – he literally couldn’t care less about her, I know.
“Zainab,” he says, widening his arms in evident exasperation. “What happened? Why would you do something so insane?”
Emboldened by Eric’s courage, Paula throws one last look at Alia, then turns to face me, biting her lower lip in embarassment. “We, uh… saw the photos. You know, on social media. On Yasmin’s profile, I mean, since you obviously…”
Before I blocked them at Anbar’s direction, of course. I don’t know what I find more devastating, the idea that my friends saw me act as Yasmin’s doormat for her birthday party, or that they can’t possibly explain why I would randomly block them on social media…
My lips quiver, and it takes all my strength to hold back the tears. Words fail me. What could I possibly tell them? That I’m sorry, but slavery to Alia’s feet takes precedence over everything else in my life?
Anbar told me to block you, so I just obeyed – nothing personal?
There is nothing to say, for me or for them. I can’t justify the wretched excuse of a person I am.
“Just talk to us,” Eric says, encouraging. “We can help, I know we can.”
That makes my chest squeeze. He – they care about me, in a way that Alia never did. How many times did they ask me why I put up with such a cruel, selfish person? How many times did they encourage me to focus on my ambitions?
And that was before I became a slave, too!
The problem is, great friends they may be, but… I don’t love them. I do love Alia, and everything she does to me. I know this love was forced unto me, but I can’t undo that anymore. My place is at her feet.
Before I can answer, Alia barges in, immediately establishing that I’m a mere accessory in this conversation.
Throwing her hair back in a show of pride and regality, she smirks in Eric’s direction. “Zainab is so desperately in love with me that she’d do absolutely anything to make me happy, Eric. And I do mean anything.”
I see the disdain in my Mistress’ eyes. Eric and Paula, they’re of too low a social extraction for her, she wouldn’t touch them with a ten-foot pole. Even so, she gives them a smug, beaming smile – one that never reaches her eyes – before turning to me.
“Tell them why you’re here.”
For a split second, I’m almost tempted to plead with Alia, to beg her to please let me off the hook this one time. But that too would be an admission in front of Eric and Paula, wouldn’t it?
And besides… a slave’s life is full of tests. There’s no point struggling. The easier course of action is just taking it, no matter what’s required.
So I turn to face my former friends, my cheeks burning red from my humiliation. And then, I launch into the confession Alia wants to hear.
“You guys don’t need to worry about me,” I say, in a shrill voice that fails to sound entirely convincing. “I just prefer Alia to you, it’s all.”
I take a second to let that sink in, see the shock and hurt on their faces, before I resume speaking – faster and faster, to deny them a chance to duck out of the conversation immediately. And also to sound more firm in my statements.
“I love and adore Alia with all my heart,” I say, back straight, face deadpan and serious. “I don’t need an education, so long as I can spend my life at Alia’s feet, serving her every whim.”
My friends’ eyes are bulging out of their orbits at this point, and who could blame them? They must feel like this is a practical joke, and they’re on camera, or something. But no, this is all true. And my work is not yet done.
“I’m so grateful, every day, for the sacrifices Alia allows me to make for her,” I add. “I’m happier being her bitch than I ever was when I was free.”
“That’s, huh…” Eric says, shaking his head, while Paula just stares at me like I’ve gone insane. “G-good for you? I… guess?”
“Haha, that was priceless!” Alia says, stepping closer to me. “But I think your friends here need a better demonstration of your new lifestyle. Heel, doggy.”
There is no room for doubt, hesitation, or even shame. I drop to my knees so fast that they hurt against the cold marble of the courtyard, but the pain is a mere detail. I bend over, prostrating myself at Alia’s feet.
At least I can’t see Eric and Paula’s faces from here… but I can hear their horrified gasps when I press my lips to the tip of Alia’s glossy black heels, suctioning wantonly, making out with them.
By the time I start gently fellating the tip of Alia’s shoe, there is nothing but cold silence around me. Eventually, footsteps break the quiet. I can hear them receding, and I know it’s the sound of Eric and Paula – two people who genuinely cared for me – walking out of my life, forever.
In a way, I know, my old life is walking away with them. Even so, I don’t look up to watch them go.
The life of a slave overwhelms the senses.
But not this time.
As we get out of Sanae’s car, I know immediately to get back on all fours in the driveway. Alia’s neighbors might see me, but I’m long past caring. Making out with Alia’s shoe outside campus has really put such things in perspective for me.
The tarmac feels warm and rough under my hands, but I wait patiently, like a good domesticated pet. Sanae, Alia, and Anbar ignore me, chatting among themselves about Alia’s special day, and leaving me alone with my thoughts.
The crushing nature of my routine, the pervasive nature of foot sweat, all these things would normally dull my senses. But now, the pain is raw, pure, fierce. It is a fire that laps at my skin, making me yelp and recoil continually, without being able to escape.
I make my way down the garden, and towards the entrance of the mansion, following the three women like a dog on a leash, trying to ignore the furious twisting of my heart. I keep seeing Eric’s face, pained. Paula’s utter bewilderment.
The way they flinched when I said I preferred Alia to them…
So much pain. It goes round and round, and it seems to never end. Is slavery worth all this hurt? Or is the pain the whole point?
I shake my head as we approach the mansion. I truly thought I was done, that I couldn’t sink any lower than this. But quitting college, this ceremony, my debasement before Eric and Paula…
It’s like my heart has been put right back in, only to be ripped out again.
When at last we make our way past the threshold, I sit back on my haunches, ready to perform the ritual.
It strikes me that it’s the first time all three mistresses of the house are present with me.
That is no excuse to hesitate, of course, and Sanae knows everything by this point, she clearly must, but… somehow, performing this under her gaze is a thousand times more humiliating.
With a gulp of dread, I lean forward towards Alia. I pay my dues to my Queen, placing gentle kisses on her heels before removing them, repeating the same reverence to her toes. All the while I feel Sanae’s eyes, burning at the back of my neck.
Wordlessly, I move to Anbar. I place affectionate kisses on her sneakers, which she politely lifts so I can kiss the bottom clean. Once they’re removed, I kiss her socked feet, and the sudden breath of foot scent – my the first in days – is almost a welcome relief.
It lasts only for a moment. I dare not look up at Sanae to confirm that this is what she expects me to do. She wouldn’t just be standing here if she didn’t.
It kills me, having to do this, but in a way, I recognize she’s as much my conqueror as her daughters are. I bend forward, placing one humble kiss on the tip of each of her heels, and then, after they’re removed, I do the same to her feet.
Sanae is no young girl like us – she’s a grown woman. And yet, as always, she’s groomed to such perfection that she looks completely unblemished. Her feet are soft and smooth like those of someone twenty years younger than her.
As my lips pucker and render homage to her perfect skin, I feel incredibly diminished. A young, mousy little girl, begging a rich matron for mercy…
“I’m glad to see the little talk we had that day was productive,” she says, looking down at me with that cold, unfeeling smile. “Thank me for your wisdom. Thank me for teaching you.”
There’s a weird, sultry lilt in her voice I’ve never detected before, but I rush to obey. This woman terrifies me, and I wither to nothing under her gaze.
“Thanks for showing me my place,” I say in a soft voice, “ma’am.”
Satisfied with my submission, Sanae steps away from me while Alia and Anbar titter in hilarity.
Just like that, we’re alone again. Me in my fast food uniform, and my two conquerors.
Alia steps up to me, her fingertips lightly scratching my scalp. It’s not real affection, I know. Just a way to remind me she’s taken my hair away… among so much else.
“You did well today,” Alia says, but it sounds like she’s complimenting herself, not me. And to be honest, she should. The cruel ingenuity is all hers. I’ve merely done what I always do: obey.
“But we’re not done yet,” she says, giggling. “Follow us.”
And so, once again, I find myself crawling in Alia and Anbar’s wake.
We go up the stairs and down the hallway, then we skip Anbar’s room, and head straight for Alia’s. Again, that makes me wonder. The foot daze indoors would turn my brain to mush, so why pick another room?
I don’t question the peculiarity, of course. I follow the owners inside, kneeling before them as they sit down on Alia’s bed, legs crossed, feet dangling in front of me.
“Slave,” Anbar says at last, breaking the silence. “We have begun to notice something a little troubling.”
“You’re starting to enjoy how we treat you,” Alia continues.
I swallow, nervously. It’s true, of course, and not just from them. Alina, Yasmin, even Maryam… it’s hard to deny that their dominance is starting to become a major turn on for me. I give a weak nod of acknoweldgement.
“That’s no fun for us,” Alia says, pouting. “Remember how we started? I was so happy this wasn’t a kink for you. Your enjoyment isn’t the point.”
“In fact, it’s the fucking opposite, maggot,” Anbar interjects. “It’s much better if you don’t like it.”
I shrivel under the verbal lashing, intimidated and terrified. I feel absurdly guilty for something I have no control over – the only reason why I sexualize this is because of their actions, after all.
But there’s no room for reason and logic, in such a master/slave relationship. I tremble like a leaf before them, not daring to speak, even though part of me desperately wants to apologise to them.
“Well, we have an order for you,” Alia says. “Just stop enjoying it.”
I look at her, blinking, uncomprehending. “But, Your Majesty, I… how? Is that even possible?”
“I don’t care,” she says. “Not my problem. Figure it out, peasant girl. You’ll do it because you love me.”
“Of course,” Anbar says, “you’ll still be expected to only orgasm at our feet, and live your life like it literally depends on them. We just want it to be unending torture for you.”
I’ve felt all sorts of emotions in my time since my enslavement, but nothing can come close to the utter confusion swirling around my head right now. I babble, looking for words that could possibly make this make sense.
“I… I don’t know how…”
“I think I do,” Anbar says. And she sticks her socked foot right against my nose.
By pure instinct, before I can even think, I breathe in. That’s just what I do when presented with feet, and Anbar’s have always smelled more strongly than others. I let the aroma drift into my nostrils, bind my brain, enslave me…
And to my horror, I feel myself changing. What was a welcome relief a moment ago becomes unbearable now.
My eyes open wider as I gasp in shock. Oh god, the smell! Anbar’s feet are rancid, terrible, they make my eyes water and my throat convulse.
There’s no trace of the familiar quiver in my sex, of the thrill that comes with my defeat. The sisters have changed me…
I sob against Anbar’s foot, desperate as the one lever I had left, my own counterphobic reaction, my enjoyment of my abuse, is taken away from me. I whimper in absolute disgust as Anbar’s foot adheres even closer to my face.
But I can’t move away.
“Holy shit,” Anbar says. “It actually worked! Look at her! No more bucking her hips like a wanton slut, I’m telling you, she’s hating this!”
Alia breaks out in cold laughter, but eventually, her smile curls into a smirk of cruelty. “That’s good. It means we can move on with what we really have in mind.”
“Mmmmppphhh???” I mumble, as the ball of Anbar’s foot presses harshly against my lips. It’s beginning to hurt, and I can taste the smelly sock fluff… and I’m hating every second of this.
But what does my queen ultimately have in mind?
“Now that you're formally done with college, you don't need what little brains you had to begin with anymore,” Alia says simply. “So we’re going to take it away.”
“Not that you ever had much to begin with,” Anbar says with a snicker. “But what little is there, we want it gone. Irrevocably gone. You were so haughty before, look at you now. No degree, no money, no friends. Once we take your smarts away too, you’ll have nothing left.”
I whimper in fear at the violence behind Anbar’s words, and a part of me wonders in terror if that’s even going to be a thing. I know they’ve talked about this in the past, about me drooling my IQ all over their feet, about me breathing myself stupid for them, but…
Are they… really going to pull this off?
“Nothing left, except us,” Alia says. “Which is just where I want you. So I’m going to order you to literally lose brain cells for me.”
For a moment, even my enthrallment isn’t enough to prevent me from gawking in shock and absolute horror. Graduation this morning has completely destroyed me, I’ve returned here thinking I’d just lost everything forever.
But no. Alia is a cruel genius, and she knows perfectly well that there is just one more thing she can do to destroy me. One last thing left to take, before the old Zainab is truly gone forever.
Ruining my academic future isn’t enough. She wants to utterly annihilate any shred of hope or ability of ever regaining even a crumb of what I once had.
She wants to order my brain to do things that are normally not possible for someone to do consciously, like choose to literally become dumber for her amusement.
I am beyond terrified that this is even possible, that I can be broken this thoroughly, not just my life, but everything that makes me a person, even a subservient one.
But I know that’s not why Alia wants to do this to me, even despite everything she’s put me through. She wants it as proof of my love and adoration, that she means the world to me.
Proof that she is the girl of her dreams, the girl whose approval I can never have. The person my whole universe revolves around, whose happiness matters more than absolutely everything I could ever imagine.
“There’s more,” Anbar says. “You’re going to have to beg for it.”
And that, I realize with slowly dawning horror, is why I’ve been away from her feet for so long.
They wanted me to be able to think just clearly enough to fully perceive the absolute inhumanity of what they want to do to me.
If I could think clearly enough, I would hate the very idea of begging them to destroy me.
But the most exruciating consideration of all is… This may be the last time in my entire life that I have the brains to make a deduction like this. The last time that I have the cognitive skills to put clues together, and grasp the horror of my enslavement.
And it has to be this. This revelation, this final debasement, this irreversible reduction of who I used to be.
Unable to meet the eyes of my captors, I look down, defeated, exhausted.
I used to have my outspoken rule, before this fever dream began. Now, it’s the opposite – I have an unspoken rule, and it goes like this: I am commanded to literally want Alia’s selfishness. Her total destruction of my boundaries.
There’s no fight left in me at this point. Maybe I’m better off just letting it happen. Once I’m dumber, I won’t think about this so hard ever again. Maybe the pain will stop.
It’s time to offer my unconditional surrender.
I push myself down to the floor, adhering to it like a worm as I crawl before my vanquishers. I place humble kisses all over Anbar’s feet, then switch to Alia, and back. Alia’s naked feet allow me more access, so I humbly lap at her soles.
It’s the gesture of a supplicant. I don’t need her breaking me in with foot deepthroats anymore. I just lick away at her soles in utter respect and devotion, broken and defeated.
“You know, I didn’t bother to wear clean socks for the graduation,” Anbar says, pushing one foot up my nose while my tongue services Alia’s soles. “I literally just kept wearing this pair for several days.”
“I can certainly smell that,” Alia says, tittering.
“Just saying,” Anbar continues. “I’m more than confident the smell and taste alone could kill your brain cells right now.”
At that, I sniff even harder, doing my best to breathe it all in. The sisters cry out in laughter, while I squirm in disgust, my eyes tearing at the horrible stench.
“That’s my good maggot,” Anbar says. “Still no begging, though.”
I force my face off Anbar’s foot, looking up at her and Anbar.
It’s time to see this through. One way or the other.
“Please, Goddess, please, Your Majesty,” I say, reciting words I’d said once already. I didn’t know how much serious they could get, then. But I do, now.
“Destroy my brain cells with the smell of your feet. Deconstruct my life piece by piece for your entertainment. You get to say how I live, not I. Demolish everything I cherish. Make me into something less than a person. Please let me drool all of my IQ over your feet as I lick them!”
I think Alia recognizes the words. She claps her hands together, giggling in excitement, but Anbar makes a show of being unimpressed.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she says, but she subtly raises her feet as she does so.
I lunge forward with a mechanical imitation of enthusiasm, which I definitely don’t feel – thanks to the change they’ve forced onto me. But I have no other choice.
I throw myself at their feet like I’m famished, lapping at them with my tongue like an eager dog.
The sound of my licking and kissing goes on for long enough that I’m almost startled, when Anbar speaks again.
“What do you say, sis? Are you convinced?”
“Yes,” she says simply. “She clearly understands what’s at stake…”
“Probably the last time she understands anything,” Anbar adds, making me whimper and moan as I lick Alia’s feet.
“Indeed,” my queen says. “I think it’s time we had our true fun with her.”
Before I know it, I find myself kicked away from the bed. The sisters get to work. I’m cuffed – I didn’t even know Alia had cuffs, and the foot-stupid part of my brain wonders if she bought them just for me.
But I don’t wonder for long, because thereafter, the longest foot session of my life begins.
Cuffed and kneeling, I take Anbar’s socks in my mouth, sucking every drop of sweat and chewing on every morsel of toejam that was left stuck in there. The sisters alternate in sticking their feet on my face, making sure I can smell, taste, kiss, lick feet for hours upon hours.
Soon, the sun begins to dip below the horizon.
I act as Alia’s footrest while she chats with Yasmin on the phone, recounting my utter destruction earlier in the day.
Anbar drags me unceremoniously back to her room, shoving me under my desk, then placing one foot on my throat and the other on my nose as she calls her friends on Discord to game together online.
By the time darkness descends outside, I’ve lost count of how many hours I’ve spent at the sisters’ feet. My stomach grumbles, deprived of any nourishment that isn’t the sweat I could milk from Anbar’s socks, and I’m pretty sure that’s all gone now.
Like I’m a human washing machine.
But the nightmare doesn’t end. When Alia claims me for the night, I don’t get thrown in the shoe closet, where I spend all my nights. No, I get shoved on the bed, under the covers. As Alia tucks herself in, the purpose becomes clear.
I spend the night with my face sandwiched by her petite feet, trapped under the covers, creating a literal haze of foot scent I can’t escape. The lack of airflow, the confined space… I’m sweating like a pig.
And sniffing feet all the while, Anbar’s socks still in my mouth.
My shoulders and wrists hurt like crazy at my improvised bondage, my stomach is killing me, but that’s the least of my problems right now.
So many hours without a break are taking their toll. I’ve never felt like this. If I concentrate, in the terrible silence of the night, I can almost hear the fzzz and pop sounds coming from my brain as it begins to shut down.
My ability to make connections, deductions, my memory, my thought organisation… it all begins to blur. My thoughts feel soft, mushy, pliable.
Eventually, somehow, I drift to sleep, exhausted by the trials of the day, and by what I’m sure is about to come. It’s a restless sleep, disturbed by dreams of maids and feet, of chains and silk, of shoes and tongues.
When I wake up, it’s with a startle. The fierce light of the morning sun lands straight on my face as the covers are rudely lifted from over my head. I look around, groggily, only to see Alia sitting on the bed, knees to her chest.
She’s smiling ferally at me, the shorts of her PJs leaving her sinuous legs on display. Her feet pivot on their heels, as if she’s getting ready to pounce on me. Amused and laughing, she looks at me.
“Feeling dumber already?”
I try to push through the pulsing headache I have now, the fog that seems to envelop my thoughts, to find words fit for the horror of my own lights dimming.
But I have no time to even think of a reply.
One of Alia’s feet kicks out, connecting with my face with a thud. I grimace in pain, but make sure my face adheres perfectly to her sole. By pure instinct, I stick out my tongue, reverently lapping at her sole.
The only good morning I’m fit to give her.
“And to think, that was only the first day of our programme!” She shouts, excited.
I look at her, eyes widening, jaws slackening.
“Oh yes, silly!” Alia says. “If we are to cause permanent damage, we have to go on for much longer than this. Down, now, and quiet. Just lie there and take it.”
Alia’s feet push me back down on the mattress, and I gulp as they descend to cover my face and obscure the light, adhering to my mouth and nose, sealing my fate forever.
The life of a slave is all I know, all I’ve left.
Alia wants me to write my thoughts every day. She likes to see how I’m… coming along? But she mostly laughs when she reads what I write down. Then, she uses the sheets as foot rags and has me eat them, of course.
I mean, duh. It’s what we did with the rules, back when I still had them.
I used to like big words, once. Now, not so much. I think that amuses Alia, and maybe that’s why she makes me write so much? That’s kind of cute, the way she giggles at my difficulties.
I stick to the simple words now. It’s easier, less tiring, and Alia likes me better, which is the only thing that’s, like, huh… what’s the word for very important?
Anyway. I’m grateful to Alia. She could have made me really dumb, I’m sure. But she stopped after a while… she only wanted me to be dumber than Yasmin. I guess it’s totally fair. She is a princess, after all.
I like my new life. Alia has a job at the bank of course, makes so much money, which makes sense… it’s a bank! I stay home, clean, wash all her socks with my mouth… the usual things you do for a girl you love with all your heart.
The pain has… well, not stopped. It’s been dulled, mostly. I don’t think about it much. When Alia or Anbar tell me I’m a stupid doggie who must spend her life at girls’ feet, I just sort of accept it now. I mean, they’re smarter, so they must be right.
I still hate smelling feet. Licking them, kissing them, sucking them, eating the toejam… but Alia says that’s what slaves do, and so I shut up and take it. I cry sometimes, but I always obey. Alia knows what’s best for me.
She gets to decide how I live my life.
At least I don’t have to work at the fast food chain anymore… Alia says she keeps her pets indoors. I get lonely sometimes when she’s away at work, and my heart sometimes beats fast and I get scared…
But that way, I’m so happy when she comes back home! She’s explained it to me. I think she said separation anxiety? I’m not sure what that means, not anymore, but she says it makes me happier to welcome her back home like an eager dog. So that’s what matters!
Still better than having to flip burgers, to be honest. Although Alina made me promise I’d call her. But I haven’t done so yet, and I hope Alia won’t make it. I don’t like feet anymore… I only worship my owners’ because I have to. Of course.
I’ve been so, so busy lately. Anbar and Yasmin are driving up to visit Alia soon, and the house needs to be spotless.
They haven’t made plans to go anywhere. Alia said I’d be the entertainment. That made me blush at first, but then I started to think about it, and I don’t know… it sounds pretty scary.
I know the owners can get pretty terrifying when they’re all together. And so many feet to serve, with only one mouth…
But I push down the fear. This is my lot in life. Alia wants me to clearly remember that I used to be free once, she says she wants me to remember that she took it all away from me. And I do remember. But I also accept that I deserve to be her slave.
After all… there is no arguing with gravity.
I thought something, once, back when I still liked the big, fancy words. I still remember it. Somehow, it feels… I can’t think of the word. It feels like it fits, let’s go with that.
You see, the life of a slave is a dark planet’s orbit, revolving around a beautiful, uncaring sun.
Alia is mine.
And as the door opens, I perk up, drop the pen, and rush to the door to greet her – on all fours, of course.
As she steps through the door, flashing me her beaming smile, I find myself gasping at how radiant she is, and how desperately I love her.
The sun is here, and with it, the dawn. And me, in the shadow of its orbit, loyal and bound to serve.