Chapter Nine: A Debt For Life
This morning is for Yasmin.
Life as a slave to the sisters is so intense that, for a while, I'd almost forgotten what kind of wonders their mansion holds.
Sucked into the abyss of utter servitude and self-annihilation, I got... something akin to tunnel vision. The house for me exists only as surfaces to be cleaned. I haven't ventured outside once since the moment I accepted Alia and Anbar's full mastery over me.
Now, I'm being reminded of the beauty and immense opulence of this place.
Birds chirp in the branches of the trees, kissed by the sun. The soft grass sways in the breeze. The water of the pool reflects the bright light of this sunny day, inviting anyone lucky enough to be invited here to take a dive.
I've used this pool countless times during the years. As I grew up, envy for this level of wealth slowly faded, and was replaced by a personal degree of displeasure -- nobody needs a house this large, with monstrous energy requirements and near-zero density.
But those are the kinds of thoughts that only a free girl can think, and I'm no longer one. Now, I'm a slave, as much a part of the estate as the toilets I scrub and the shoes I make out with. To my brain, addled by hours upon hours of grinding chores, the tranquility of this pool is almost a shock.
One would think that being ordered to spend the whole morning here would be considered a blessing.
But if there's something I've learned in serving my betters, is that there's no such thing as blessings.
Yasmin is enjoying the pool, resting and suntanning without a care in the world. I'm not here to enjoy leisurely time, no -- I'm here to serve. To fetch her drinks, to stand still and utterly immobile under the unflinching sun, and not move an inch unless it's at Yasmin's request.
I'm out of my maid uniform, but not out of my maid role. If anything, being in my swim costume only reinforces how ugly and ungainly I look next to Yasmin. It's why Alia ordered me to dress like this.
The first time I had to put a swim suit every summer was an old insecurity of mine. And look at me now, baking under the sun in my ridiculous body, fattened by the diet selected by the sisters for me, while Yasmin gets to sunbathe in peace.
In a way, it is only fitting.
The college bimbo has sunk her hooks into me in ways that drive home just how far I've fallen. She doesn't even have the foot-scent power over me that the sisters do, and yet she has me eating out of the palm of her hand like an eager dog.
Only now am I beginning to understand what it truly means to wait on somebody, hanging from their every word, at their beck and call.
Worst of all, this girl who I once considered dumber than a brick is playing mind games with me... and succeeding.
Her chestnut locks are lightening in the sun, beautiful and elegant. My own hair, matted with foot sweat and unwashed, makes me look more like a stray dog than a person.
Her lithe, slender body unfolds under the sun with almost feline elegance, while I stand obediently like a statue of fat, sweat, and stupidity.
Her long shapely legs move, the thighs rubbing against one another, the calves flexing to emphasise Yasmin's incredible silhouette. They are elegantly tanned, whereas my stubby legs are pearl-white from being kept in a storage closet all day, and will surely roast under the sun until I look redder than a pepper.
Yasmin is a vision of radiant beauty and female perfection. I -- in Anbar's words -- am just an androgynous blob, fit only to carry drinks and spend my life at women's feet.
And eventually, of course, her feet do come into play.
Wordlessly, Yasmin lifts her legs so that her ankles lie against the armrest of her beach chair.
Her petite, immaculate feet dangle invitingly, the tiny toes curling and flexing, giving me a show. An implied promise, and a threat.
I swallow.
I know my rules, and Yasmin does them too...
When I fail to react fast enough, she beckons me closer with the lift of a single finger. That's all it takes to get me moving -- like a stupid cow who will go where she's told -- and I approach Yasmin with reverence and a degree of fear.
"So," she says -- the first time she's spoken to me in hours. "Is the peasant girl ready for her cummies?"
I gulp. Yasmin's foot scent feels entirely regular to me, it doesn't melt my brain into submissive pudding.
But...
In truth, these humiliating orgasms have become the highlight of my existence. It's a terrifying admission, when phrased like that, but it's true. They humiliate and debase me, they take away a portion of my personhood each time, but they're the only true highs in a life devoted entirely to cleaning and kissing and licking and sucking...
Something inside me is permanently broken. I've been effectively saddle-broken, demoted to something less than a woman, a maidservant who exists only to make the lives of true women more entertaining and more pleasant.
My mouth belongs on toes. My body belongs in the storage closet. And my pussy...
It squirms at the mere thought of having to wring out an orgasm by acting like Yasmin's puppet on a string.
The three girls have done their work too well. I never stood a chance. Before I know it, my knees hit the marble by the poolside. It's hot, having baked in the sun all morning, and it makes me grimace, but Yasmin's cold, cruel gaze tells me this is where I'm supposed to stay.
My mouth is dry, my head is pounding from constant solar exposure, my skin feels dry, and I hate how disgustingly fatty I feel, next to this literal goddess sunbathing and enjoying what life has to offer.
But I know my rules. Yasmin's left foot rotates towards me, and I stick my face right in, nestling my nose between her toes, and taking a deep breath.
Yasmin's foot has no strong smell. Normally at this point my nostrils would already be assaulted by foot sweat, but she's pretty careful with grooming. Her feet smell... clean, almost refreshing, with only the slightest tinge of sweat from the morning spent exposed to the heat of the sun.
The mere fact that I can evaluate aromas and nuances in foot smell is proof of how much I have been debased as a living being. But I stay obediently on my knees, and sniff, and sniff.
It doesn't drive me stupid, or obedient -- but to be honest, at this point, it might as well. I've come to a point where apparently I do this even without coercion, so what is my face to be used for, if not as a footrest for girls?
