Demoted to Footgirl

Chapter 2 - Thank You For Smoking

The café is permanently shrouded in a thick smoky haze.

But it's never enough.

Back when it was my dream to run one such vibrant and energising locale, the idea of permitting smoking inside wouldn't have crossed my mind in a million years. But now, of course, this isn't my café anymore. I don't call the shots. And even if I did...

I now only dream of smoke.

I've put my entire life into this café, and by extension, giving it up to my former rival, my conqueror, feels like giving over my entire life to her. That is so forbidden and so hot.

Even more so when my reward is the silent drifting of the smoke, coiling around me like a snake, binding and chaining me to my predator...

"P-p-please," I whisper, my voice trembling and much lower than it used to be, basically a whisper. Tina says it suits my newfound humility. "Please, more..."

"Sure," Tina says with a cruel giggle, pulling deep on her cigarette, dragging the moment on and on, making me linger on the edge of need and despair and sheer rapture.

When at last she blows the smoke into my face, I begin to swoon. The shapes fill my sight, nonsensical and formless in a way, and yet so beautiful and captivating, blowing away my thoughts, my strength. They seem to contain everything.

Everything but Tina's eyes, which float behind the smoke like a pair of magnificent, distant stars.

I breathe it in, this bizarre smoke that drifts from Tina's odd cigarettes. It tastes like sapphic dominance, feels like a pair of feminine thighs wrapping tightly around my head, like a hand twisting my nipples, a proffered foot waiting to be kissed.

I'm beguiled and enthralled. Bewitched and subverted. Captive, and demoted. Deprived of will and pride, autonomy and independence, dignity and self-respect.

And I love every second of it.

"The place runs so much smoother when you're on your knees," Tina says, a dreamy vision of girly ownership amidst a sea of drifting smoke. And she's right, because it does. Admitting it, even just in the privacy of my own mind, makes me twitch with needy arousal, but it's true.

Now that Tina runs this place, her friends come over all the time. Business is booming. Of course, Tina has full control of the registry, so I don't see a penny beyond the exceptionally meagre salary she pays me. Sometimes, she withholds it, for no good reason other than to keep me in line.

I love that I hate that my cunt loves her doing that.

The jocks come here from the bank, or the corporate office, or a construction site to take their coffee break. The Staceys spend entire afternoons gossiping with Tina. Both groups have one thing in common, one which is so humiliating as to rend at what little is left of my self-perception.

They seem completely unperturbed by the fact that Tina, who started out as a waitress, now apparently runs the place, while I, the former owner, the former unpopular girl they thought of as a loser back in high school... I've been demoted to the status of Hooters waitress.

I swish about in a short skirt and glossy black nylons, showing my assets to the clientele, simpering and bowing, serving every customer, and nobody bats an eye. Almost as if they can all silently agree that this is just where I belong. Serving. At the mercy of Tina and the girls who used to be my own employees.

It's only right, I remind myself. Tina has made the financial success of this café, of course she deserves to own it. She's overpowered me, of course she deserves to boss me around. She's enthralled me with the smoke, of course she deserves to own me as well...

Just breathing it in while I scurry from one table to the next makes it all so painfully pleasurable. Who knew that losing to your biggest rival, being humiliated and defeated and reduced, could feel this goddamn good?

"More..." I whisper. Just reminiscing about the days as Tina's humble little waitress is driving me to the edge of pleasure and terror. I need the smoke to calm me down. I need it to enslave me further. I need to lose, to be annihilated, to be utterly destroyed.

Tina blows another mouthful of smoke into my dumb lesbian slave face, and I cough and gag, but every muscle in my body distends in pleasure as my thoughts begin to drift away. In my mind's eye, I see Tina the way she looks during the work day.

Sitting off to one side, one nyloned leg draped over the other, a foot bobbing up and down. Her ankle boots are so glossy she could see her own reflection in them, and no wonder... I clean them myself. With my tongue.

God, Tina looks like a queen. The contrast between her pale face and slick dark hair makes her feel like an otherworldly apparition. And those boots... made to pin a girl's face underneath, a girl who once presumed to call herself Tina's rival, or even worse, her boss...

I can almost hear her thoughts as she looks at me from behind the veil of smoke. This is where you belong. This is what you were cut out to. You should thank me for putting you in your place.

If that's what she's thinking, then she's right.

Of course, all of this public and implicit humiliation is nothing, next to what happens once the café closes for the night. The sound of Tina turning the lock is enough to send shivers of dread and anticipation through me. I stand, awaiting her order.

"On your knees," Tina says, and she's barely done talking that my knees are already hitting the floor. I find myself looking up at my lesbian conqueror, gulping.

She is not alone.

More and more pairs of feminine eyes start to swim before me, emerging from the thick cover of enthralling smoke like glimmering gemstones. It is a surreal, otherworldly vision that goes straight to my clit, filling my mind with visions of female hands tying me, bending me, mastering me.

Brunette Alexis, redhead Laura, and blond Emily flank Queen Tina, staring down at me, her former boss turned into little more than a lezzie pet. I gulp, and my heart sinks at the idea that these young girls -- girls I hired myself, who at least nominally are still my employees -- are seeing me like this.

It's the final nail in the coffin of my subjugation. No one in my own workplace sees me as a human being worthy of respect anymore.

"Remember what I told you, the first time I had you like this?" Tina says, her words flowing into my mind unopposed. They own it now, after all. "I told you that even Alexis, Laura, and Emily would be giving you instructions soon. And here we are."

"Please," I say, gulping, but even I'm not sure what it means. Please, don't do this to me? Please, end me as an independent person? Please, let your employees know who really calls the shots around here, and what my true position in this business is? Maybe all of these, and more.

"Woah," Alexis says. "It's all true."

"Look at her," Emily giggles. "I can't believe I actually used to call her boss once."

Laura snorts. "I always had a feeling she was a perv. Can't wait to sit back and let her take care of all the tables."

Somewhere, in a remote recess of my mind the smoke cannot reach, I'm dimly aware that Tina has softened their own minds with the smoke, too, massaged into them the belief that it's perfectly normal for an employee to demote and enslave her former boss.

But I can't do or say anything about it, because the smoke has me in its grip. It slithers and snakes around my throat and my hair, worming its way into my throat and my nostrils and my mind, subduing me...

"She's ours now," Tina says. "I'm the boss here, so if I tell you you're free to play with her, that's all there is to it."

The vision I had the first time Tina enslaved me -- a vision of all four girls sitting in stools by the bar as I prostrate myself before them, panting like a dog, leaving a trail of cunt juices on the floor like I'm a snail, having to clean up afterwards with my tongue, slobbering over the four pairs of feet in their lovely black nylons, it's coming true now.

Smoke drifts everywhere, like in my fantasy... but unlike the fantasy, the girls aren't sitting. They're circling me.

I find myself shrivelling on the floor, trying to compress myself while on my knees, as if I'm trying to disappear. The four girls are drawing closer to me, like a pack of hyenas, and I feel ridiculously defenceless and vulnerable at their feet.

"Please..." I say again. The only word I have left. Independent adults can use as many words as required to negotiate the events of life, but not thralls, no. The only word we get to say is please.

Oh, there's actually two more, and I say them promptly as the smoke finally clears out the last of my thoughts. "Eeeekkk," I mumble. "Guuuhhh."

Tina's booted foot shoots upward, nestling in the hollow of my neck, and pushing downwards. My back curves as I prostrate myself under her iron heel.

With my ability to speak removed, I lose myself in a world of sensation, as four pairs of female shoes and feet begin to explore every nook and cranny of my body. In the haze of my arousal -- and the smoke -- I can't even tell which is which, aside from Tina's boots, which trample me into the ground.

Nyloned feet squish my boobs, crawl over my belly, sneak underneath my skirt, the heel grinding against my needy crotch. Shoeless feet pet my hair, or sneak past my lips, and giggles break out when I start gently fellating them. Socked feet nestle in the hollow of my throat, depriving me of free respiration.

It is a pure wall of sensations, of feelings. Honestly, who would ever choose freedom and thought, when slavery and mindlessness are all about feeling?

"She's moved in with me, you know," Tina says from above me, to the surprised giggles of my three new superiors. "She's a waitress here... and a maid at home. For me."

"You're so lucky, Tina," Alexis says. "I want to be like you one day!"

It distantly occurs to me that I once hoped my team of girls at the café would look up to me as a mentor. What a silly thought. Mentors don't act like sapphic foot slaves. Mentors can speak intelligibly.

"Gluk," I say, choking around the naked foot currently busy methodically fucking my whore mouth into submission. Feet everywhere, walking all over me, toying with every part of me. I think Tina's boots have found their way to my crotch, and judging by the way I'm humping them, I'm clearly trying to get off against her heel.

This is how I always cum these days: with boot friction against my sex. It sends my mind hurling into the void, to think that this is what I've given up my café for, given up my independence for, lost my ability to speak for. I'm just livestock. This is what it truly means to lose... and it feels incredible.

When at last the climax comes, rocking my body in subsequent rolling waves of devastating pleasure, all thoughts clear once again, leaving nothing but a husk of the girl I used to be, before Tina vanquished me. Because my brain is just like my café, now.

It belongs to Tina, it exists to serve Alexis and Emily and Laura, it serves as a constant vehicle for my further humiliations, and most of all...

It's permanently shrouded in a thick, smoky haze.