Malignity of Stone Ch. 06

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, indisputably, 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 embarrassing, 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 embarrassment.

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."