The Ultimate Price

I'm so close that I can smell the leather on her boots, and it's making me salivate...

Frida extends her right leg, curiously, tentatively. Her boot lands softly against my shoulder, then travels downwards, towards my chest. I'm surprised at how hard the edges feel against me, how solid her sole feels like.

Perfect for stomping silly little girls like me into the mud.

Eventually, her boot lands on my left boob, and the message is unmistakable. The way it bends and deforms under her sole--it matches the way I come unwound under Frida's authority. She's the better woman. I'm the softness of a boob, she's the unyielding strength of a leather boot.

"You've been trying so hard, all this time," she says in a half-whisper, "to make me notice. To make me see. Haven't you, little girl?"

I can barely find the strength to nod, my huge, terrified submissive eyes fixed on the boot that's currently exploring my chest. But eventually, that boot climbs back up my body, the tip pressing against my chin.

Deftly, delicately, Frida uses her boot to manipulate my head, to make me look up at her. She looks radiant, regal, breath-takingly beautiful from here. And the pressure of the boot against my chin reminds me I am owned.

"Thank you for trying," she says. "I see now why this matters so much to you. I know how it makes you feel. You are seen now. I have seen true power."

I barely register the words. My own breath is coming fast and ragged as I'm basically hyperventilating, and my heartbeat is thundering in my ears. Every fibre of my being quivers with excitement and anticipation.

But I do listen when Frida snaps her fingers again.

"Bow."

I can't obey fast enough. My forehead adheres to the floor, and moments later, Frida's booted foot perches regally atop me, the heel digging into my skin. I've spent so much time dreaming of this moment that I can barely register it as real.

She's stepping on my neck.

Staking her claim on me.

With one boot pinning me in place, Frida places the other mere inches from my face. I'm literally eye-level with the tip of her boots now, and it's making me feel small and insignificant, like a bug to be squashed, or dirt under my new Mistress's shoes.

"Show me how you really feel about me," Frida says, and then, sending a spasm of arousal straight to my pussy, "slavegirl."

I've played with boots before... but that feels so shallow next to this. This is real. What were the words Frida used? True power?

That's certainly what I feel, electrifying the air, as my lips tentatively kiss the smooth leathery surface of her boot. The pungent aftertaste is one I'm familiar with, but whereas boot play was simply hot in the past, this is... devastating.

The symbolism is incredible. My soft, feminine lips, my revering, conquered tongue, press lascivously against the hard surfaces of Frida's boot, leaving only polish in their wake. If this isn't worship, then what is? She is my goddess and my owner.

"You're going to be my maid from now on," Frida says, her heel digging deeper into my scalp. "I deserve to have a lesser girl like you cleaning up after me. Your study time may take a hit, but it's not like you need good grades to be a good floor-scrubber."

I moan at her words, pressing my thighs together. God, Manfred really fucking delivered, didn't he? This is cruel, sadistic, exploitative, evil, this will ruin me, this is... everything I've ever wanted...

"I will expect you to pay the entirety of the rent from now on," Frida says, and the moan rising from my lips is impossible to contain. Oh god that's going to absolutely nuke my finances, I will barely have enough left to scrape together a few meals!

It's such abject degradation, literally giving over my wallet to enable Frida to pay her way comfortably through uni, like I'm nothing but her cash provider... Like I don't deserve an academic career of my own... All I can do is pay for this house and clean it to boot.

And it's so fucking hot!

I worship Frida's boot like a woman possessed, my tongue travelling up and down from tip to top, debasing myself, utterly surrendering to her plans for me, which are my plans for her plans for me...

Eventually, Frida rolls me on my back, one boot descending on my throat to pin me in place, while the other hovers above my face, the heel brushing against my defeated lips.

"Suck it."

Pinned in place by Frida's other boot, I can't give her the show she would deserve... but I can definitely work my tongue and hollow my cheeks, as her heel begins to unceremoniously fuck my face.

"You will not date without permission from your master," Frida says, and I wonder at the use of that specific title--I will have to inquire if this is something she simply prefers, or if Manfred implanted it for some reason.

But that can wait. For now, the mere idea of such a loss of autonomy--being unable to even have relations of my own volition--is enough to make me desperately hump the air.

Sated with my oral ministrations, Frida retracts her boots at last. Then, the sound of a zipper fills the air--followed thereafter by the unmistakable scent of a girl's sweaty feet.

Frida chuckles. "You seem to like cleaning so much," she says. "The dishes, the floor, the bathrooms... why don't you clean this?"

And just like that, her naked feet slap against my face. And I know that this is heaven.

Dutifully, I stick out my tongue and begin licking the sweat off Frida's feet, like I'm nothing more than her humble towel girl... or perhaps just the towel.

"That's a good PA," Frida says, running one foot against my hair, plastering it with sweat. "There's so many personal ways in which you can assist me..."

"Mmmpph mmh", I mumble, pouring renewed energy in my efforts, licking in between Frida's toes, demurely swallowing her toejam, pressing my lips to her naked heel and sucking as hard as I can.

It feels like my saliva and her foot sweat have switched places.

"You're good," Frida says, relaxing, eyes closed. "This feels amazing." Then, as she reopens her eyes, they fall on the table--and the collar I've left there for her inspection.

"Mmmh, nice," she says. "A good mark of ownership. You'd like to be collared, slavegirl? Maid? PA?"

I mumble in horny, desperate agreement while sucking on her toes, but Frida withdraws her feet from my face and stands up, reaching for her bag, left lying right next to the sofa.

To my surprise, Frida pulls out a length of rope from her bag. I stare at her in rapt, stupefied fascination as she quickly ties my wrists to the table, forcing me to remain sat or kneeling on the floor.

My heart is thumping like crazy in my chest. I see Frida's eyes travel to the collar, and I know it's about to happen, at long last! I will be owned! Oh my god oh my god!

Frida's hands caress the collar, her fingers running along its length, contemplating it as if it's an alien, unknownable object. I doubt she's ever seen one in person before today.

When her eyes finally lift from the collar and settle back down on mine, they look strangely solemn.

"This collar is not mine to give," she says.

I frown, arching an eyebrow. I hesitate to ask a question--it feels like poor slave etiquette--but I can't quite decide if she's trying to make a metaphorical point, or if maybe the brainwashing isn't as thorough as I imagined. I'm just about to speak up and reassure her that this is definitely what I want, but Frida silences me with her eyes. Then, she turns away from me, walking towards the front door.

I stare at her slack-jawed as she opens the door... and lets another person in.

Tall, thin, lanky, wrapped in a giant overcoat. He--because it's definitely a him--whispers something in Frida's ear, and then moves towards the living room, emerging from the shadow.

My gasp of horror dies in my throat.

"Manfred?"

There's no doubt it's him. The sandy hair, the expressionless eyes, the lanky frame. He inclines his head in acknowledgement, but Frida, hurrying alongside him, is even more shocking.

She immediately drops to her knees, right at his side, rubbing her cheek against his thigh. He runs his long fingers through her hair like she's a pet, and his hand travels downward, wrapping against her chin, pressing her against his body.

"What have you done to her?" I ask, horrified. Seeing Frida, my dominant goddess, my clever, beautiful girl reduced to her knees, letting a man treat her like a ditzy pet... with a distant, glassy quality to her normally bright eyes... it's so wrong!

And it's my fault!

"The collar is not mine to give," Frida repeats, pressing her body against Manfred's leg. "It's Master's."

I look dumbfounded from one to the other, trying my best to suppress the fear that the twinkle in Manfred's eye instills in me.

And then, unbidden, Frida's previous words hit me.

You will not date without permission from your master.

I see how this makes you feel.

"I did tell you," she continues. "I have seen true power. His. I thank you for trying to make me see the beauty of all this... but only he could succeed. Now I know how you feel, when you let me walk all over you. It's how Master's firm hand makes me feel..."

At the words firm hand her voice basically morphs into a purr. She arches her back, leaning backwards into Manfred's touch, a promise and an invitation. But the bastard doesn't even deign to look at her.

Evil. He is evil.

And what does that make me?

"I've always thought about a lesbian's lips wrapped around my cock," he says at last. "It's time to pay the price, Julia."

"No! Stay away from me! This wasn't what we agreed to! I don't consent!"

"Did Frida consent?" Manfred asks me, to which Frida throws him a puzzled look. All it takes is his hand placed possessively on her forehead to turn her meek and docile as a kitten, though.

Considering how thoroughly Frida has just dominated me, his mastery over her is truly... remarkable. But it's only a small part of my brain that finds this remarkable.

The rest is focused on escaping.

Yes, he's got a point, and yes, I'm a hypocrite, and yes, he did give me what I wanted with Frida. But I'll be damned if I let this fucking creep mess up my wires until I become a little well-behaved straight girl and sex pet. I begin to thrash like crazy, trying to escape the knot, to loosen the rope, to bolt free. I kick, trying to prevent Manfred from closing in, and I snap my teeth, signalling that I'm ready to bite.

What I'm not ready for is Frida's strength as she walks up behind me, pulls back my hair with one hand, harsh, making me scream in pain--while her other hand clamps down on my face, shutting down my nose and mouth.

The collar, still unfastened, now presses against the skin of my throat. Tears run down my cheeks as I do my best to scream through Frida's handgag. This is my dream turned into a nightmare. A collar is being fastened on me... by a man??

"There," Manfred says as the collar snaps shut with a final, dreadful click that sounds like a bell, tolling for me. "I did say it was a pleasure doing business with you."

I do my best to curse and scream at him through the muzzle Frida's hands represent, but all that comes out is a series of incoherent sounds.

Manfred looks completely unbothered. His fingers brush my chin as he considers me.

"Julia," he says at last, "I'm afraid I'm going to need you to look into my eyes."

And, to my ever more distant horror--like a pair of hands beating hopelessly against a pane of glass--I find that I can't quite look away.

That's when the words begin to flow. And they take me down with them, deeper and deeper...

* * *

Gluk gluk gluk gluk.

The sound of my evenings. One I've become exceedingly familiar with at this point. It's the hopeless, defeated, humiliating sound of a conquered lesbian throat, lovingly massaging a man's cock.

Master and Mistress are sitting at the table above me. My maid's uniform is constrictive against my body, especially as I have to kneel under the table for the entire duration of the meal. I'm cold, too. My black nylons provide no cover against prolonged exposure of my legs to the floor.

And yet I stay, in perfect obedience. I can do nothing else. Between Manfred's skillful and ongoing hypnotic programming, and Frida's relentless pavlovian conditioning of my reflexes, there is less and less of the person I used to be.

I'm devoted to them. Where Frida is Manfred's submissive and doting girlfriend, I'm the hired help--except I'm unpaid of course, and what little money exists nominally to my name is at the disposal of my new owners.

I clean, cook, provide massages on command, entertain guests, watch while Manfred has his way with Frida...

And, on evenings like this, I kneel under the table, sucking Manfred's cock.

In his cold and detached sadism, he made sure to provide me with a compulsion to obey, without actually turning me straight. For all intents and purposes, I'm still a lesbian. Just one with no free will.

I can't get used to this. Every stroke of my lips against his cock is a new, devastating blow to my psyche, a further compression of my very personhood. All I can do to seek a modicum of pleasure is to focus on Frida's role in my oral humiliation.

Her booted foot is planted against my neck, regulating my pace, reminding me of my place. I do my best to block out the taste and feel of cock, and to focus on the way her sole is being imprinted in the skin of my neck.

In this, at least, Manfred was truthful. Frida is the perfect domme with me, just as cruel and dominating as she is utterly domesticated with him. I know she won't let me come up for air until Master nods his permission. Even if I'm gagging and salivating and choking, tears running down my slavegirl face.

This is usually a very particular moment of the day. The moment where they make their grand plans for the future. The holidays, the real estate they're going to buy, the family they're going to have together one day... and, of course, the maid they'll always be able to count on. For the rest of their lives.

"I like a classically socialised woman," Manfred says this time, detailing my role in the future household. "I'm very particular about the role I want for the women in my life. Reduced to a domestic role. Unassuming, seen but not heard."

Frida giggles at that. I can faintly hear the sound of kissing--I know she's kissing his long hands, toying with his fingertips. Maybe gently fellating them... Her boot, in the meantime, keeps its iron pressure against my neck, forcing me to my knees, where I truly belong.

"Now, I do need a second income," Manfred continues as he enjoys the throat massage I'm giving his dick. "Frida can keep on working. But together, her and I have more than enough to take care of the household. There's no need for me to suffer you having a job. It would just make you uppity. Maybe give you ideas about escaping, or seeking someone's protection. No, your place is in the house, as befits a true serving girl."

"Besides," Frida interjects, "her parents keep sending her money in the belief she's just struggling with college!"

"That's the literal, only reason why I haven't had her drop out yet!" Manfred replies.

The loving couple breaks out in hysterical laughter at that, hard enough to cover the sounds of my own choking, of my own sobbing.

I see no way out of this. My life is over. Just like I told Manfred that fateful day, I've always wanted to be ruined. I just... never imagined it would look like this.

Still, as Frida impales me even further on his cock, which begins to quiver as Manfred's orgasm starts to build, I do tell myself that in a way, I deserve all of this. Slaves don't really get to choose their masters, and at least one of my owners is the love of my life.

Besides...

What I wanted, what I asked Manfred to deliver, was terrible. That's the thought going through my mind as the ropes of his cum finally hit the back of my throat, painting it white, coating it in his ownership, eliciting Frida to giggle and say "good girl" above me.

I wanted something truly immoral, evil, and terrible. So, yes: I have paid an immoral, evil, and terrible price.

It is only fitting.