The Thrill of Defeat Ch. 07

As I bend forward to scoop some of the butter into my mouth, it dawns on me that I'm surrounded by three pairs of feet, on all sides. I can sniff them, the subtle variations in their scent, and of course it drives me even more stupid, but what really gets me is that this is the new spice, the new aroma, of my "meals".

I can't even take a single bite of this pathetic food without it being utterly polluted by the stench of my conquerors' feet.

No aspect of my life is foot-free, and if I have to take a guess, I suspect it never will be again.

When the meal is over at last, I follow the sisters on all fours, Sanae's sadistic smile drilling into my back as she watches me go.

"Come," Alia says, looking into my eyes. "I want to show you your new room."

I blink, stupefied. This mansion is so huge there's probably room for a small army, but somehow, I doubt the sisters are actually going to grant me an entire room to myself. Still, all I can do is follow like an obedient dog, suppressing my whimpers of pain as Alia tugs me by the hair.

We cross the hallway, entering Alia's own bedroom -- unlike Anbar's, this is pristine, and doesn't constantly reek of foot sweat, but the bourgeois opulence of the pastel-coloured furniture is so over the top that it threatens to gag me.

We come to a stop before Alia's walk-in closet.

And my heart sinks.

"This is your room!" Alia declares with a giggle, turning on a little lightbulb hanging overhead. "You'll be next door from me! Just like we're besties!"

Anbar herself chuckles, her foot rising to just below my crotch and rubbing it softly through the fabric of my maid pantyhose. "It's appropriate, isn't it? This closet exists for the sole purpose of housing Alia's footwear. And that's what you are. Isn't it?"

"Yes, goddess," I say, losing myself to the heat building up within me -- both at the stimulation, the constant mental assault, and the idea of being a mere object, a literal piece of footwear, rather than a person.

I start humping Anbar's foot, softly, and then faster. Immediately she withdraws it, leaving me to whimper in soft, meek frustration. Alia finds that hilarious, bending over laughing.

"That's amazing," she says, wheezing. "What a slut you are, Zainab."

"Matter of fact," Anbar says, towering above me, "that's part of what we plan to discuss tomorrow."

A sinking feeling sets in the pit of my stomach, but I'm too well-drilled in my obedience to even ask what she means, so I simply nod in complete deference. "Yes, Goddess," I whisper.

"First things first, though. Here's your new roommate!" Alia says, pointing to a dirty clothes hamper. "Be nice to him," she adds with a pout. "You have so much in common -- you both eat my dirty socks, for starters! Haha!"

I bow my head even further, buckling under so many sensory assaults that I can't even muster words for any kind of coherent response. But the sisters do what they do -- they keep piling up more and more pressure. I wonder if they'll ever stop, or if they will keep going, long after I've let myself be reduced to an entirely bidimensional caricature of a living being.

"Give her the pillow," Anbar says, sniggering.

"Oh, right! That's why I've been walking barefoot all this time! Well, that, and giving you a maid's audition," Alia says with a wink. She rummages into the closet, and then grabs what is to be my new pillow.

It's a pair of slippers.

No, it's THE pair. The one she used on the very first day of my subjugation, when I first meekly gave her the first of many foot massages.

"Give them a sniff," she says, pressing them against my nose, and I do, and the foot scent goes straight to my brain, and my thoughts go haywire -- what else would I use as a pillow, but this? Where else would I live, but here? Actually, that's wrong. I don't live in the closet. I get stored there, when the sisters are done using me.

God, how can I find any of this remotely hot?

"Alright," Alia says, giving a soft kick to my behind. "In you go, Zainab."

The way she says my name... it's almost more hurtful than all the other things they call me. Slave, slut, whore, peasant girl, all of it is true, but washes over me to some extent. But not Zainab. That's the name of the person that used to be Alia's friend. And I can feel all her mockery, all her disrespect, and the dizzying extent of my downfall, when she says it like that.

"I'll leave the light on for an hour," she tells me -- there's no switch inside the closet, of course. It's yet another aspect of my life I have no control over. "There's pen and paper in there, for your study time. After one hour, lights are off, and you go to sleep. Are we understood?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," I say, and all I see as I look downward is her naked feet, as the doors to the walk-in closet shut close between us.

So, here I am, in my new room. Surrounded by racks and racks of shoes, footwear so expensive that it probably tallies to a higher cost than my education.

I'm footwear, too, but not like this. These boots, heels, and sneakers are all valuable. Me, I'm a piece of trash, meant for cheap comfort, not elegance. I'm more like the slippers that are now my pillow.

I give them a sniff, of my own volition, going foot-stupid. I'll need to be in the right mindspace, if I want the essay to truly shine.

My pussy literally convulses at the idea that I need to be dumb if I want to write the best essay I can. It's such a reversal of everything I've ever believed in, and yet it rings so true. I don't need to be smart to clean floors, suck socks, lick shoes, and kiss feet. I don't need to be smart to be Alia's foot rag.

So, I pick up the pen, while wondering what tomorrow has in store for me, and what I'll have to write each night. But for now, the words come to me easily. I don't start out with a list of rules, no. I start out with why they're justified. Why I deserve them, and why the sisters get to decide, and not me.

"I deserve the following rules," I write, "because I'm too dumb to be the best version of myself. It's up to Queen Alia and Goddess Anbar to make me get there." I pause, thinking, and then write the line that feels true in my heart.

"I deserve these rules because I have to become a perfect slave."