Woman of the House

I blinked, trying to hold the tears in until she'd leave. She got her feet into the nylons, and I spent some time adjusting the legs until they looked perfect and smooth, before I got her heels.

I held the heel in my hand, and guided her foot inside it with the other, then did the same for the other foot. I looked up at her, and saw her tormenting gaze above me. She must've been savoring this moment. I would give anything to know what was the joy she had in this. What was so damn enticing about torturing your best friend.

Seeing that she didn't move, I took a wild guess at what she could be waiting for, then leaned my head downward, until my face hovered over the tops of her feet. I pecked at her nylon-covered foot, and at the toe of her black pumps, and kept pecking, waiting for a sign to stop, only to have her nudge my face away dismissively with the toe of her shoe then leave the room whiteout a word. I felt like a piece of shit. She kicked me away like I was nothing. And I was truly nothing. What kind of woman would accept this. I stayed on the ground, my sight glued to the floor. I felt like I didn't deserve to look up anymore.

The sound of the car's engine running, and then the car driving away, felt like a piano had been lifted from my shoulders. Just like that, I was a free woman again. I looked around my room, reminding myself of why I was going to put up with this. I rose to my feet, then dragged myself to the bathroom. I hadn't even washed my face yet. And I had some foot sweat to clean off.

I did my business in the bathroom, and made sure to scrub my face hard and clean. The fucking bitch. Who did she think she was, rubbing her dirty feet in my face. Making me kiss her damn shoes. She was never going to stop was she? All I could hope for now, was that this wasn't an incrementing situation. What she'd put me through until now was humiliating enough. She couldn't be thinking that she'd take this further.

I looked at myself in the mirror, with the water trickling from my face, as my eyes grew hopeless, as I realized that this was still day one. I sighed, grabbing my hair from around my shoulders and tying it in a short bun.

I got out, made some coffee and some crepes, before sitting with my pajamas on my leather couch, where the two fucks had been making out, then turning the TV on. I had the house for myself for at least eight hours. I didn't feel like doing anything, I just wanted to laze around, watch my shows, and eat. I grimaced at the fact that they were going to probably call me before they come back and tell me to prepare dinner or something.

I ate my creeps in front of the TV before I got up and started doing some chores around the house. Whoever lived with me, it was still my house, and I liked it tidy. I grabbed Morgan's shoes and went upstairs to put them in my closet beside the others. I grabbed a mob and some all-purpose-cleaner, and started mobbing my floors while listening to some music. I always danced around while I cleaned, in front of the giant wall mirror on the left wall of the living room, which I installed just to look at myself every now and then while I did chores; I liked to see my slim body at work, and since no one was praising my body anymore, my praises were pretty much all I got. I made sure to put on some happy music this time, as this was going to be my life for now. 8 hours for me, the rest for them.

Before long, my eyes looked randomly at the clock while I sat in my kitchen drinking coffee, and I frowned at seeing it was nearing 4. If they didn't have overtime or something, they would arrive any minute.

I sat at my kitchen window, sipping on my coffee and waited, dangling my foot anxiously waiting for a message or call. It came eventually. My phone rang.

"...Hello," I said.

'Hey wify." Morgan said indifferently. "We'll be home in about 15 minutes, start on dinner."

"...What would you like to eat?" I said as I rose up from my seat. I didn't want to make her wait, giving her an excuse to pull something, not that she needed one.

She said casually, "...Anything from your hands is delicious love, you chose."

I gritted my teeth. To be honest. Her treating me like a friend, like she wasn't fucking up my life, annoyed me a hundred times more than humiliating me. "Fine." I said, making sure to sound passive.

"Some dessert too. A big one."

"..."

"Judy?"

"Morgan I can't make both in fifteen minutes."

"We're not eating as soon as we arrive wify." She snickered, then ended the call. I knew exactly what she meant. I started cooking dinner, which was some chicken slices with some vegetables, quick and easy. I put a cake dough in the oven and got out some ice cream to go with it.

I saw Mark's car pull into the garage, then saw Morgan and Mark get out of it then walk to the door, they looked happy as hell, as Morgan laughed about something. He wasn't even that funny.

The door opened, and her clicking pumps were the first thing I heard as they made their way to the living room.

"Ohh wifyyyyyy." Morgan called, but with no real enthusiasm.

I knew if I called back I was going to shout at her, so I just walked out of the kitchen to the living room, where she sat on the couch with her legs crossed. I hated to admit it, but the sight in front of me was sexy as hell. Corporate clothes really suited her. She sat there in her black skirt and blazer, her slender legs crossed in nylons. I made sure to not let her catch me staring, and I raised my eyebrows as to ask her what she wanted.

"Shoes." She gave her dangling foot a quick shake.

I rolled my eyes towards Mark who sat silently at the recliner then looked back at her. Unbelievable. Did she really expect me to... "You're not serious right...do I have to put your shoes on and off for you every damn time?" I couldn't help the aggressiveness in my tone.

Her face was unimpressed, as she passed her fingers through her black short hair. She just looked at me, her stare cold but somehow still menacing. I didn't move. I needed to hold my ground every now and then, otherwise she would never stop making things worse for me.

However, the moment she slowly got to her feet with a sigh, I started trembling. She made her way towards me slowly, until she stood right in front of me. With her pumps, I was forced to either look at her neck or look up if I wanted to see her face. She towered above me. I felt my temperature rise as I grew nervous, and before I knew it, my head snapped abruptly to the right, then just as quickly to the left, and my cheeks stung like hell. I looked up at her again, my eyes quickly started to tear as I rubbed my red cheek. She'd slapped me, hard, twice. I wanted to cry. This was assault, was I supposed to take it with a closed mouth. She looked down at me with a faint smile and a cold pair of eyes. She knew I was vulnerable, powerless, she knew she could beat me and I had no power to do anything about it. I felt worthless. I was ready to obey her next command, but she didn't give one, and she didn't get back to the couch. I sunk to my knees and grabbed her foot off the floor, feeling my eyes get wetter. I slid the first pump of her foot, and the odor that erupted from her foot and heel didn't help my suffering, as I sniffled I got a wave of her foot stench to invade my nostrils. I put the pump on the floor, then grabbed her second foot gently and removed the other one.

Her hands ruffled my hair gently like I was a pet, and my eyes could look nowhere but down at her nylon-covered feet. "Good girl...Good wify," she said.

I sniffled, making sure not to let my eyes wander to the asshole that lounged silently on the couch.

"Dinner ready?"

"Yes," I mumbled. "Desert needs some more time though."

"Great." She nudged my head away with her knee and walked to the kitchen. "Fetch my slippers and met us in the kitchen."

I nodded eagerly and jumped to my feet then hustled up the stairs. I took a moment in my bedroom, taking deep breaths and wiping the tears from my eyes. I took her fluffy white slippers out of the closet then went back downstairs. They sat at the dinner table, her of course taking the liberty to take my usual chair across from Mark. I put her slippers near her feet, then looked up to see her not paying me any attention, but the sting was still fresh on my cheeks, and so I crawled under the table so I could reach her feet.

"You want me to take your nylons off Morgan." I said and heard my voice come out more pathetic and weaker than I intended.

"Later." She responded rudely.

As gently as I could, I slipped her slippers on her feet, then crawled out from under the table and started sitting up the plates.

I placed a big portion for her, then for the asshole, then a smaller one for me; I had one of these bodies that if you ate a chicken wing it would somehow gain you the calories of an elephant.

"Where's your class Judy..." Morgan said. "Get some wine out."

"Right away." I nodded pathetically, and reluctantly took out a bottle of red wine from the cabinet. I rarely drank from it, and to say that I hated wasting it on those two couldn't come close to describing it. I poured three glasses. Come to think of it, some alcohol could help me a great deal right now, so I made sure to go generous filling the cups.

I almost sat down on my chair when Morgan said looking at me, "What do you think you're doing?"

"...Sitting?" I said, unable to resist a duh expression.

"...You eat later," she smirked as she grabbed her fork and knife. "Masters of the house eat first."

My shoulders slouched by themselves as I looked at her with a shocked face. I wanted to ask her if she was being serious, but the cold-hearted look on her face answered my question clearly. Before I could make any move, I heard her kick her slippers off then say, "Make yourself useful in the meantime, rub my feet."

I took a deep breath, trying not to scream. I had a fuming look filled with hate, and I knew better than to aim it at her, so I aimed it at Mark, who avoided my stare and looked at his plate with a cough. I sank to my knees the fourth time this day, and, knowing she wouldn't be nice enough to sit in a way that would make it more comfortable for me, I crawled under the table, bending my neck so I could fit. I put her left foot in my lap, grimacing as I felt her sweaty nylons in my fingers. A sharp stench lingered under my nose, as it erupted from her feet once I started working my thumps through her soles. I kneeled there with my head bent uncomfortably and rubbed.

"So how was work today," I heard her say, and, like the most casual thing in the world, I saw her right foot rise from the ground and then felt it thud on my shoulder. The smell of course reached new disgusting levels, as I had her foot toying with my ear.

We were in my house, in my kitchen, and they were eating my food that I'd spent the last half an hour preparing, drinking my wine, and where was I as the woman of the house? Under the table, giving Morgan a foot rub, while she used me as her footstool. If I hadn't cried two times already today, I would've cried right now. But I sucked it up, and just worked my thumps in her sweaty nylon soles.

I didn't focus on their conversation. They talked about work, Mark threw a dumb joke every now and then, and Morgan gave one of her fake laughs sometimes, and ignored others. All the while I sat there with her foot in my hand. Then the mention of my name forced me to focus.

"Last time we had sex..." Mark said, like he was remembering the answer to Morgan's question. "Can't remember."

"It has been probably ages." Morgan giggled.

"Yeah..." Mark said, not seeming interested in the line of conversation.

"I can't blame you," Morgan said, making me want to get up and punch her. "I mean, who'd want to hit a body like that right." She outright laughed.

That was such...bullshit. "My body is as in a good of a shape as yours...Even better and you know it." I said, with a sharp tone that I immediately regretted.

Silence fell on the room. I pursed my lips in fear. I didn't see her face as I was under the table, but I felt the coldness in the room and knew that something I wouldn't like was coming. I took my chance and turned my head to the side, and gave the foot on my shoulder two quick kisses on the side of her ankle, before bringing the one in my lap eagerly up to my lips and kissing the top of it, feeling the sweat from the nylons stick to my lips. Morgan didn't speak but gave my ear a gentle rub with the side of her foot, implying that I was forgiven, and I sighed with relief and went back to rubbing.

They talked for about half an hour more. This time I intently put effort into distracting my ears from whatever they were saying. I shouldn't mouth off. I couldn't mouth off. And I didn't want to suck up any more insults, so I just shut my ears out, and focused on the job at hand. I raised Morgan's foot to my eye level, staring into her sole as I thrust my thumps into it. For a moment there, I felt at peace, as the ordeal proved to be as relaxing to me as it was to her. I entered a sensual state, where all that mattered was that I drive the tension out of the foot in my hand. I really gave it all my focus and effort, and it apparently showed, as I heard Morgan suddenly sigh from above me. "Geee Judy..." I saw her lower body recline backward, resting against the back of her seat. "You're good at this."

It shamed me to say, that I blushed with pride. I liked that she thought I was doing a great job. But then I remembered all the recent events of my ruined life, my stolen home, and that I was slaving away at the feet of the woman who'd stolen it, and my shoulders instinctively slouched as a wave of shame and desperation washed over me. I hate my life.

"Hey." She pulled her foot from between my hands and toke her other foot off my shoulder, before kicking my thigh lightly. "Get from under there, you can eat now."

With my face red with shame, I crawled from under my dinner table, like a rat out of its hole, then took my seat, without looking at either one of them. I was finally allowed to eat the fucking food I cooked. "Thanks," I said despite myself.

"You're welcome," she said indifferently, before, with her face as casual as ever, she pushed her chair back, then threw her feet on the table, crossing them at the ankle, and started scrolling on her phone.

My furious eyes darted between the soles of her nyloned feet and my plate. Sure, when she was eating, she had me rub her fucking feet, but now that it was little wifey's time to eat, she was gonna do it with the woman of the house's feet right in her face, cause fuck wify right.

I took a deep breath before I swallowed my anger and swears, then snatched my fork and knife. I looked at the food as I sliced the first bite of the now cold chicken. I loved cooking, and I loved savoring the taste of what I eat, but instead of eating this delicious meal while it was hot and steamy, I was going to eat it cold and bleak, cause Morgan wanted a foot rub.

I was going to get up and shove this in the microwave, before I decided that it would probably be safer to ask first, just to make sure I wouldn't grant myself any more humiliations today. "Can I heat this up, please?"

She took her eyes off her phone for a second and looked at my plate, then at me, then shook her head. "It's good enough. Don't be choosy wifey."

FUCK you.

I snatched my fork and knife again and started eating. Mark coughed a fake cough before getting to his feet, putting his plate in the sink then going upstairs. I didn't know if he was uncomfortable with what was going on or if he just wanted to go, and I didn't care.

I looked at the plate one last time. The sight wasn't the least bit appetizing, but I was hungry. The faster I'd eat it the better. Given that I had served myself a small plate, I finished fast, then reclined in my seat. I looked at her silently as she scrolled on her phone and shook her foot on my dinner table.

For a second there I saw my friend. When she wasn't humiliating me or slapping me or stepping on me, she was back to the woman I once knew, even for just a couple of seconds.

"Desert ready yet," She said without moving her eyes from her phone.

"I guess." I stood then crouched beside the oven and opened it. "Yes...it's ready...I'll fix you a plate." I took the plate out, sliced a generous piece, then put it on her plate, then topped it with some vanilla ice cream from the fridge.

I sat the plate beside her feet, only to see her push it with her heel, sliding it to my side of the table. "What?" I said.

"Not that hungry...you eat for now," she said, her eyes still on her phone.

I chuckled despite myself. "Morgan...I ate enough...come on you know how I am."

"...come on girl, spoil yourself." She looked at me with a faint smile. "Eat."

What was she on about? She knew how my body was, she knew I didn't eat dessert that was that dense. Why was she caring whether I ate or not all of the sudden? "Morgan I'm good." I snickered nervously.

She looked up at the ceiling with obvious annoyance, before she slammed her phone on her lap and looked at me with one raised eyebrow like I was the one throwing a fit over nothing. "Eat it...now...or you'll eat it from the damn floor later."

Fuck that...this wasn't of her goddamn business. This was probably a small thing to fret over after everything that happened, but it still fumed me beyond belief. It made no sense. She was going to control what enters my mouth now! "Morgan...I'm full," I tried to say with a tone full of conviction but it came out all shaky and pathetic. "I don't want to eat...don't I have a say in that at least."

She looked away with a smile, but her eyes betrayed her anger before she swung her feet from the table and stood. She stood in front of me, then, very slowly, took hold of the plate, then angled it sharply down, letting all its content slide then fall, splattering on the ground. I looked down at the cake and ice cream, a mess on my kitchen floor near her feet, with some ice cream staining the toes of her nylons.

My eyes looked upwards and saw her eyes looking down at me with the evilest smirk I'd ever seen her pull. I hated her. If I wasn't much of a coward, I would've probably lunged at her fists swinging, but all I managed to do, was put as much of my harbored hate into my convicting teary eyes, and utter with a shaky voice. "Fuck you Morgan." I was on the verge of crying. As my teary eyes held a mixture of hate and despair.

She took a deep breath and shook her head snickering, and before I knew it, she took hold of my hair with one hand, and I rushed to my feet to be able to keep up with her as she walked at a fast pace.. I wanted to shout at her to let me go, but all I could do was grab her wrist to lighten her pull on my hair as I whimpered with pain and tried to keep up with her so my hair doesn't get pulled off.

She dragged me behind her like a lamb to the slaughter, and I didn't even know where she was dragging me, until I heard a door open, and I felt a wave of cold air hit me, then I was walking on my pavement with trembling legs. I thought she was going to stop, but then, the horrifying realization hit me that she was dragging me out the gate.

I tried to cry out, "Morga--"

She threw me, and I couldn't balance myself and fell on my hands and knees on the ground. I took an anxious look around and saw that I was thrown on the road. My tearful eyes watched her close the gate, then go back to my house, closing the door behind her without looking back, leaving me on the street with my pajamas and slippers. My hands immediately buried themselves under my armpits as I stood up and made my way to my fucking gate.

"Morgan," I cried out but with the tone of a mother scolding her child. "Open the gate this isn't funny..." I felt my neck catching cold and my calves and feet freezing. Cold night, very cold. "Morgan..." I shouted.