Someone Your Own Size

"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?

Exploitable?

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..."

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.