Whipping Girl - Pt. 01

"What's up, princess?" she asked, while turning my head back and forth and taunting me. "You come to apologise for returning that serve? Who the hell do you think you are trying to win on my court?"

I remained limp in her grip, unable to retort in any way because I knew the consequences would be my exposure. Instead, I simply remained there, allowing Morena to mock me and gloat straight in my face. "How would your rich parents feel knowing their little princess is a foot kisser?" she goaded. "You want the whole world to know?"

I blushed in her hold and just wanted to curl up and pretend like none of it was happening. "Please stop," I whined. "I did what you asked."

"Awww, you gonna cry, little princess?"

The tears were already starting to leak, though, her antagonising tone upset me further. "Why do you have to be such a bitch?" I sniffled, which was embarrassing considering my stature. Never had I been reduced to tears by another girl. "I've literally done nothing to you."

Morena almost snarled as she roughly grabbed my chin with her nails, causing me to yelp in response. "Who the hell do you think you're talking to, princess? You think I'm one of your servants or something?"

"I don't have any servants," I pleaded. "I'm not like that at all."

"Oh, shut up with your whining," she said, before slipping her hand from my chin and grabbing a handful of my hair. "I'm not even interested." She tugged down hard, which caused me to cry out and hunch. I grappled at her wrist trying to free myself, but that only led to Morena pulling me even further down until my knees knocked against the floor. "Oh, back on your knees again for me, are you, princess? Why's that? You wanna kiss my socks again?"

"No," I pleaded. "Please don't make me do that again."

Morena chuckled. "Make you? Who made you last time? That was your choice."

I was still grabbing at her arm as she steered me down onto my back and held me against the floor via my hair; her fingers wrapped tightly close to my scalp. I was pinned and unable to clamber to my feet, with every attempt to wriggle free feeling like my scalp was on fire.

While she held me to the floor, Morena awkwardly wedged one of her sneakers off, freeing her sweaty sock from its cavern. Once again, just like that first time when I willingly kissed her foot, my face screwed up at the initial sharp odour of her foot. It was a deep-seated, musky stink that was only possible from hours and hours of volleyball practice in those sneakers. My nostrils flared as it seemed to attack at my soul, stimulating me in the worst possible way.

"Please," I breathlessly begged once more, desperate to appeal to some small part of her that may be sympathetic. I clung to the hope that as she stared down at my pathetic being, she'd somehow feel an inkling of guilt and reason that she'd already taunted me enough.

However, Morena only snickered in delight, seemingly spurred on by my distress. She stepped over me, and unceremoniously dropped her full weight upon my chest, slamming her bubble butt right atop my breasts and completely knocking the wind out of me. As a result, I gasped and took in a deep breath, almost tasting the stink of her feet, if that was even possible.

Before I could fully comprehend what was happening, Morena released my hair, sat up and planted her disgusting, sweaty, socked foot flat against my face, her toes curling and gripping at my eyebrows. My nose was sunken into the arch whereas my hands clutched at her ankle, trying in vain to escape while Morena flexed the muscles in her leg and kept me held in place; the back of my head painfully clamped to the hard floor.

I squirmed in agony beneath her harsh foot and whimpered for some kind of reprieve, causing Morena to only cackle in response. "Who is better?" she taunted me. "Come on, tell the truth."

I mumbled into her foot, refusing to bend to her will and do as she pleased. I'd already done that once, and where did it get me? Down on the floor with her sweaty foot rubbing in my face.

Morena only increased the pressure on my face, resting her elbow on her knee and squashing my nose harshly. "I asked you who is the better player?"

"You are," I whined, desperately, hoping that my surrender would appease my abuser and allow the torment to end.

"Louder," Morena demanded, while grinding her socked foot into my face, its sweaty texture rubbing up against and seeping into my skin, leaving a moist, clamminess in its place. I found the entire humiliation to be wholly overwhelming, the damp sensation of her sweat being pressed into my skin, all the while its stinging, vinegary flavour attacking my helpless nose.

"You are," I whined in a louder voice from beneath her dominant foot. "You're the best, Morena."

"Well, duh," she said, before I felt the weight lift from my chest. She moved her foot around my face, until my nose was snugly settled into the warm and cramped groove beneath her toes, the sock seeming to have an extra intense scent in that area. I was able to look up the length of her muscular leg and see that Morena had her arms outstretched while she flexed her biceps, all the while peering down her nose at me and smirking. It was, without doubt, the ultimate display of victory, and I felt like a pathetic and vanquished foe beneath her sweaty foot.

I closed my eyes in shame and accepted my fate. From the joy on her face, it was obvious that this was going to be a regular occurrence, and since she had that photograph, there was literally nothing I could to do oppose Morena's will. By all accounts, I was pretty much her bitch, and she had conquered me in every single way. A tear left my eye as I imagined how things could have been, achieving a notable degree at one of the prestigious colleges. That future had been snatched away, and it had only taken a couple of weeks amongst the rabble before I had been given a reality check and brought back down to earth with a thump.

I was startled from my depressive thoughts by the sound of a camera clicking, and upon opening my eyes I was looking straight around Morena's socked foot and into the lens of her phone.

"Who is the best?" she asked, before grinding her foot into my face, making sure to grasp my nose between her socked toes. "I wanna hear you say it too. Come on, this time let's make a little video."

I shook my head beneath her foot. There was no way in hell I was going to say that while she was clearly recording me. It was bad enough that she had a photo of me kissing her foot, but a video of me saying something as pathetic as that would absolutely destroy my reputation.

Morena's response was to grip my nose more harshly and apply added weight to her foot, painfully squashing my face in the process. She must have flipped the camera on her phone, as out of the corner of my eye I could see her flexing her arm. "This is what happens to little princesses when they come up against a real woman," she said, while grinning into the camera. Seconds later, the camera was back in my face, still pinned beneath her foot. "They end up beaten and defeated, and why is that?" Out of shot, Morena reached down with her free hand and snapped her fingers in an obvious attempt to spring me into action. When I refused, she squeezed my nipple, right through my shirt, digging her nails in and pinching it without mercy. I yelped and whined, but she refused to relent, continuing to keep my tender flesh pincered in her grip. "Why is that?" she repeated, this time twisting my nipple until it felt like it was going to rip off.

"Because you're the best," I said desperately. "You're a much better volleyball player than me, Morena."

"Hahaha," she laughed. "Of course I am." I tried to wriggle free, but that only encouraged her to tighten her pinch on my nipple. "Apologise for returning my serve."

"I'm sorry I returned your serve," I whimpered. "I'm sorry."

With that, apparently satisfied that she had suitably put me in my place once more, Morena gave my face a final squish with her sweaty foot, before leaving me there on the locker room floor.

It took me a moment to gather my wits. The back of my head felt like it had been crushed, my face was stinging from her sweat rubbing up on my skin, and my nose reeked of that awful, vinegary scent. Simply knowing that I was breathing in the stink that Morena had been building up all through practice left me feeling like I wanted to puke. I'd avoided being alone with her successfully for over a week now, and on the one occasion I'd actually entered the locker room: I'd ended up with her foot rubbed all over my face. I was in total fear of where this was all going to lead.

On top of the humiliation was the knowledge that Morena didn't just have a photograph of me kissing her foot anymore. Now she likely had a few more, plus a video of me trapped beneath her sock and declaring her to be the best. The material of my debasement was growing. I shook with fear imagining how her archive of my pathetic submission was going to expand further. I mean, the next time I saw her, if she demanded I kneel down and kiss her feet, otherwise she'll post that photo and video online, what the hell was I supposed to do? I was literally trapped as her bullying victim. She'd backed me into a corner and was free to treat me however she liked, safe in the knowledge that she had leverage keeping me in check. Something had to be done to get me out of this situation, I just didn't know what the hell to do.

Once I managed to actually peel myself from the floor and head home, I spent a good half hour in the shower. I scrubbed my face relentlessly until my cheeks became sore, trying to rid the odour of Morena's sweaty socks from my face. The last thing I wanted was for someone else to notice that I smelled like feet, especially the stinking, sweaty ones of my enemy.

I barely slept that night, the dread of Morena exposing me haunting my every thought. It was bad enough that she constantly kept telling my teammates that I was a loser. If she actually proved it to them with evidence, well, my life would pretty much be over.