Whipping Girl - Pt. 01

"Morena," I asked tentatively, while stepping towards her side of the locker room.

Immediately, her head whizzed up in surprise at my voice, and for a moment there wasn't the usual disgust plastered all over her face. That was a momentary glitch in Morena's expression, however, as upon realising who I was, that familiar sneer of scorn returned. "What do you want, princess?" she said with a roll of her eyes. "Can't you see I'm busy?" Her attention returned to her phone and I assumed she figured she'd dismissed me; as team captain she was used to getting her own way after all.

However, I wasn't about to give up that easily. I was beat from Morena's bullying and I couldn't handle being put through these shenanigans every day going forwards. "Could we talk please? I feel like we got off on the wrong foot and I want to make more of an effort."

Morena looked up at me again, this time with less patience and clearly annoyed by my presence. "What are you saying, princess? You want to get off on the right foot with me instead?"

I blinked and offered her a confused look. "Umm, yes, I guess."

Morena smirked, then she crossed her socked feet, so that the sole of one clearly sweaty foot was facing my direction. "What is it you want exactly, princess? You fed up of losing to me all the time, are ya?"

I gulped, took a step closer, then clasped my hands together. "I just want an end to the animosity, please, Morena. This constant confrontation is exhausting. I just want to get on and play in the squad and us both to go about our lives without any of the hostility. I'm actually quite a good player." Morena scoffed, but I continued before she could interrupt, "I think the squad would benefit if we were both playing to the best of our ability. Can we come to a pragmatic understanding?"

Her eyebrow arched. "You think you're clever throwing all these big words at me?"

I considered my language and didn't really understand why she was complaining. "I just want us to get along."

Morena's brown eyes measured me for a moment, then she brushed her curly hair behind her ears. "I'm up for that," she said, which took me by surprise. "But what's in it for me?"

I flinched. "What do you mean?"

Morena shrugged. "Well, what do I get out of this? I'm not the one crying to be left alone. I'm pretty happy with how things are currently."

"Well, you'll get a nice relationship with your teammate, possibly even friendship. I'm actually quite nice once you get to know me." I put on a brave smile. "Plus, we'll probably win every match."

Morena merely rolled her eyes in response. "Sounds boring to me. It's actually quite enjoyable seeing you squirm." She grinned at my discomfort. "We already win every game without you anyway, princess."

I sighed in frustration. "Would you please stop calling me that?"

"What, princess? I didn't know it bothered you that much, princess. Sorry, princess. I won't do it again, princess." She cocked her head and bit her tongue. "Are you happy now, princess?"

"Please," I pleaded. "Just tell me what you want so we can move on from this. I just want you to leave me alone, Morena. I haven't done anything to you and I don't deserve this. I just need to get through college then we can pretend we never met each other." I placed my hands together in a prayer. "Just tell me what it'll take for you to lay off."

Morena's cheek swelled as she rolled her tongue around inside her mouth. She then licked her lips and settled back on the bench, lifting her arms behind her head in a display of relaxation. "Hmm," she said, her eyes rolling off in thought. She looked around the locker room; her lips twitching on a couple of occasions as if to speak. Occasionally we made eye contact, before she cocked her head while staring at her crossed feet. "You know what? Here's what it will take," she said, unable to hide her smirk. She flicked her brown eyes downwards and I followed the movement. "Since you're so desperate. Why don't you get down on your knees, right here? Kiss the bottom of my foot, admit that I'm a better player than you, and I will leave you alone from now on. Sound fair?"

I glanced between Morena's amused face and her grimy, discoloured sock, the same one she had been wearing for the entirety of our training session. She'd been dripping with sweat throughout practice, with her hair matted to her glistening forehead. Her jersey was completely soaked through, and her socks were likely the same having been sealed away in those tight sneakers of hers. Obviously, this was just another tactic to make my life even more miserable. She had to be pushing my buttons even more. I wrinkled my nose, then looked back up into her face. "You can't be serious? I'm not doing that."

Morena bit her lip and nodded her head, seemingly enthused by having annoyed me further. "I'm totally serious, Sydney. That's the only thing I want, and that's exactly what it'll take for me to lay off you." She shrugged and then looked back to her phone. "So, either get down on your knees, or we carry on as we have been, because I'm not the one crying about how things are so unfair."

I shifted awkwardly, and grasped the strap of my gym bag anxiously. "There must be something else, surely?" I looked at Morena's battered sneakers, and how she had made such a big deal about mine being cheap, despite my wealthy background. Maybe a gift could be the key to winning her over. "I could maybe buy--"

Morena's eyes were like blades. "Oh, there you go, princess. See, you think money solves everything. Just cause you're a little rich girl you think you can throw your daddy's money at a problem and it'll go away." She rolled her eyes and sighed. "Well, it won't, and that's exactly the reason why I don't like you. You think you're better than me, but you're not. So, the only way you're getting out of this situation is if you get down on your knees and press your little princess lips against my foot, and admit that I'm better than you, despite all of your family's money." Morena couldn't help but giggle, and she had to cover her mischievous lips with her hand. She drew her foot up her shin, until touching her knee, before dragging it back down atop the other foot. Her toes wiggled enticingly within her sock and only seemed to highlight just how stinky and sweaty the fabric was. "Kiss my damn foot," she said. "And I'll stop bothering you."

I managed to draw my eyes away from her socked foot, which had seemed to lure me in and send a swell of disgust shivering up my spine. I couldn't actually kiss that stinky thing, could I? Especially considering it was the awful Morena's foot that lay inside and had soaked the material with its sweat. The thought revolted me, and the inevitable humiliation of completing such a demeaning act mortified me; kissing the foot of the very bitch that had been bullying me and submitting to her being better? My parents and friends would never let me live down the shame of it. However, the mere thought of Morena's torment ceasing was quite tempting. If she left me alone for the foreseeable future, was one kiss, one moment of humiliation, really that bad? "You'll seriously stop if I do that?"

Morena angled her head at my question, managing to swallow down a surprised chuckle beneath a smirk, before placing a hand to her chest. "I swear it, princess. Do this one thing and I'll lay off you."

I stirred nervously, twitching from foot to foot while watching the sole of her sock flex expectantly, as if waiting for me to drop to my knees and kiss it. Being called princess was especially irking me so much. Yes, I came from an affluent background, but I hardly carried myself in that way. I walked around in extravagant clothes and jewellery, yes, but I did so in a quiet way. My clothes were tailored and fitted, my shoes made from the finest, Italian leather, but none were from notable brands that the wannabes clambered for. I didn't flaunt my wealth or rub it in anyone's faces. I just enjoyed the luxury I was accustomed to. If anything, I attempted to keep it all on the down low. I mean, I had a Rolex from a previous birthday, just for the sake of it, but I didn't wear it at this college: I wasn't that stupid. Of course, I appreciated the benefits that such a background afforded me, but I hardly went around rubbing my privilege in peoples' faces. Morena likely wouldn't have had a clue about my family's wealth if I hadn't made that innocent mistake in the canteen.

As Morena watched me squirm, her expression the picture of amusement, eyes almost lit up in fascination, I lamented how this was all so unfair. I hadn't even done anything wrong, yet, here I was, expected to submit to this awful girl in the most humiliating way, simply to bring an end to undeserved abuse. At that moment, with the injustice stinging my pride, I had the urge to just square up to her and take her on. Yet, despite my impressive physique and toned muscles, I'd never been one for conflict. That just wasn't ladylike, as my parents had drilled into me, and therefore, I was clueless when it came to fighting. Morena, however, appeared to be an expert, and no doubt completely confident in her ability to kick my ass. She was probably from a rough neighbourhood and grew up amongst violence. There was also a clear difference in our training. Whereas I was toned, Morena would be better described as buff or chiselled. There was power in her arms and legs, and I knew in my heart that I was no match for her. I didn't want to end up like that boy that Jemma had described; out on the football field and eating weeds at Morena's direction.

I glanced from her socked foot to her face one final time, and Morena held eye contact with me, before subtly nodding down towards her foot with an ever-growing grin. I sighed, took a final look at the door to check no one else was still with us, then swung my bag from my shoulder. I noted a now devilish smile of victory upon Morena's lips as I sank to my knees in defeat. She'd bullied me non-stop since my first day of college, and what was her reward to be? Me, on my knees, kissing her foot and declaring her my superior.

As I settled onto my knees near her gym bag, I looked up at her and hoped this would be enough. I tried to focus on the positives, that after doing this one awful thing I'd be free, that Morena's bullying would cease. Simply being on my knees while the sweaty soles of Morena's socks were right up in my face was humiliating enough. However, her face only seemed to light up with excitement, a mixture of surprise and delight that I'd actually dropped to my knees before her.

"Do I really have to do this?" I asked.

"Yes," Morena said enthusiastically while settling back comfortably. "Do it. Kiss my foot and tell me I'm a better player than you." Her eyes were wide and lips parted in anticipation. "Come on," she urged me. "Kiss my foot." Her socked foot adjusted slightly on her shin, and her large, wide sole faced me in its entirety. "Do it. Come on, I wanna see your lips smacking my foot."

I gulped while eyeing the grey fabric of her socked foot sole. There were hours of sweat soaked into the material, built up while Morena had been bullying and pushing me all around the volleyball court. If I kissed her foot then the symbolism would be off the charts; there was submission written all over the act. However, I just wanted this all over with. I licked my lips, then while my body trembled, I leant forwards and placed my reluctant mouth quickly against the sole of her foot. The pungent smell immediately flustered me, causing my eyes to roll back and sending a shock through my system. I lost my balance and collapsed backwards. While steadying myself, I blushed in shame, mortified that I'd just done something so pathetic.

"Brilliant," Morena said with a huge smile. She turned her phone and my heart immediately sank. There, on the screen, was a photo of me kissing her foot. There was no denying it was me as my face was clearly visible. To make matters worse, she'd snapped it at just the right moment; my eyes rolling back in my head as if I was lost in the throes of pleasure. "Look at you," she said with a ghastly snarl, pointing her manicured finger at the screen. "What a fucking loser."

"What are you doing?" I screeched, while panic set in and my skin burnt in shame. I clambered to my hands and knees and scrambled to wrench the phone from her. I had to delete that damn photo before anyone else saw it. However, before I could even get a grip on it, Morena had leveraged her damp, stinking foot sole against my face and pushed me away.

"Get off the hell off," she yelled while I collapsed once again to the floor. Her phone was swiftly deposited into her bag, and the sounds of her socked feet padded against the floor. She turned at the doorway, and her glare was obvious as she spoke, "Don't even think about hiding from me, princess. I better see you at tomorrow's practice or else."

"Please," I called out desperately, but Morena had already scampered away.

It took me a good few minutes to finally climb from the floor and accept the situation that had just occurred; I'd been well and truly duped, and things were about to get a lot worse.

After that day, I was doomed. Once Morena had that photograph of me kissing her foot, there was no way of stopping her abuse. She'd flat-out lied to me, and the bullying became a whole lot worse once she had leverage over me. I was naïve to have trusted such a bitch in the first place, but I came from a background where people didn't lie in that way. We bribed and exerted influence and connections, yes. That's how we go our way, we didn't need to lie and deceive. It was considered unladylike, and it never crossed my mind that Morena was lying. I mean, I figured having me kissing her foot would be like the ultimate victory for her and that would be more than enough. Once she'd humiliated me in such a way, and I'd subsequently admitted my defeat, she'd feel like she'd won. She wouldn't need to bully me because she'd see the shame in my eyes every time we crossed paths.

I was wrong in my assessment. Morena wasn't like all of the people that my parents had taught me could be bought. Morena didn't have a price. She was a loose cannon, as it were, and I was clueless with how to deal with such a wildcard.

I thought about just quietly quitting the squad and avoiding her at all costs, though, her threat would ring my ears: be at the next practice or else. Else what? Else she'd probably send that photo viral and my life would basically be over.

The next few training sessions were a nightmare as a result. Morena annihilated me with little resistance, to the point that some of the other players thought I may be sick. I didn't even try to better her in our exchanges, because I was so worried that she'd retaliate by showing everyone the picture. Even if she spiked a shot straight at me, I would deliberately botch my return and basically gift the point towards her. If I had a chance to score my own point, I'd intentionally aim my shot off court. As a result, I was nowhere near the starting team once the next competitive match rolled around.

After another triumphant victory, which I watched from the benches, Morena received all of the plaudits. I even had to endure the humiliation of towelling her forehead at one point, since the star player had to concentrate on winning the match and not with something as trivial as wiping her own sweat. When she'd snapped her fingers at me and demanded it, I'd wanted to just shrivel up and die right there. A raised eyebrow from her was enough to remind me that I didn't have a choice.

Afterwards, I slunk away and escaped the court before anyone could comment on my odd and subservient behaviour. I didn't even bother to shower or wash, such was my fear of encountering Morena alone.

As the days passed by, I became quieter and more nervous and it didn't go unnoticed. I didn't have the courage to eat in the canteen anymore, and reverted back to the safety of the library. Of course, Jemma was still a regular there, and she even welcomed me back with open arms, despite my obvious abandonment of her. It didn't take her long to pick up that something was wrong, especially considering that I barely said a word during our lunches.

"How's the volleyball thing going?" she asked one time. "Did you try out?"

"Yes, I'm on the squad."

"I knew it," she said with a smile. "That'll show her, huh? Has she laid off on you?"

I shrugged and avoided my eyes. "Not really."

Jemma's tone softened. "You want to talk about it?"

"Not really." I sighed again, and that was the end of the conversation. Jemma never seemed to push something when my discomfort was obvious. She was like the total opposite of my nemesis: Morena.

I settled into a routine of reluctantly attending the practices, though underperforming in each one. I arrived for every match, though never played a single minute. Instead, I was forced to look on and watch Morena surpass every other player. There were contrasting looks offered my way: victory on Morena's face, while there was nothing but bemusement from the other players and disappointment from the coach. At times, I'd catch him scratching his head while pondering the depth of my failure, and wrinkling his forehead at the apparent acceptance of my place as a bench-warmer. However, any time my pride returned, and I performed above a total failure, Morena would shoot me a dirty look and raise an eyebrow: the message and threat being clear.

Unfortunately, this quiet acceptance of my role was disturbed when I slipped up after one practice session. Throughout the entire two hours, Morena had been extra brutal with me after I'd initially returned one of her serves.

"You wait," she'd said. "You're going to regret that later."

I'd sheepishly watched her, worried that she was going to get the photo out for everyone to see. Every time I heard laughing or giggling, I assumed it was directed at me and that Morena had already shared my humiliation with the rest of the squad. Obviously, I sucked ass for the remainder of the session. One of my serves was so ridiculously aimed that it shook the basketball hoop at the far end of the court. Everyone had a right old giggle over that; everyone except me.

Afterwards, before I could sneak away, the coach blocked the doorway. "Can we have a word, Sydney?"

"Umm, sure," I said, while wanting nothing more than to just get the hell out of there.

"What's going on? Your performances have really come down in standard. Our biggest match is next week and you've gone from being a potential first-teamer to nothing but a squad player. I honestly can't pick you with the way you've been playing recently. I'm so disappointed. I really thought you had the potential to mix things up."

"I understand," I said, and I made a move to step around him.

The coach refused to cease his blockade. "That's it? That's all you have to say? I thought you were made of firmer stuff."

Anxiety was beginning to prick at my skin and I wanted an end to the conversation. If he pressed too much, I might have cracked and revealed that Morena was the problem behind all of this. Where would that get me? Probably as a meme on Twitter and that was the last thing I wanted. I could already picture it: rich girl flunks out of Harvard, graduates to foot kissing instead. "Ummm," I said, while turning and looking for an escape. "I really need to shower, coach." I was already on the way to the locker room before he could stop me.

This was my mistake, as in my haste to avoid the coach, I walked straight into the locker room and found myself alone with my worst enemy. Before I could turn and run, she'd pinned me up against the wall by the throat and grinned straight into my face. Now she had that photo, it seemed that there were no more barriers. Morena felt comfortable to do with me as she pleased. She was emboldened in her approach, and I read in her eyes that were no more obstacles to her bullying.