How the hell was I going to get Susan involved? That was the question that had been tormenting me for the past few nights. I'd lay awake, cycling various ideas through my brain in search of one that would work. Every time I thought I'd reached a solution; a negative result would enter my mind and I'd be back to square one. There was simply no way of introducing my best friend, Susan, to this seedy aspect of my life without bringing my whole world crashing down.
I'd mainly considered two options. Firstly, I could just straight up tell her what's been going on and hope that she too would enjoy the thought of being at my younger sister's feet. Of course, the chances of her reaction being favourable were highly unlikely. Susan was a respectable girl and had a long-term boyfriend. She also had little interest in my sister, rarely even commenting on her, and usually just nodding sympathetically as I described a tale of Tiffany wronging me in some way. By all accounts, Susan probably disliked Tiffany by proxy. This was prior to our recent relationship, of course. I wouldn't dare say anything bad about Tiffany to anyone these days. As a result, I saw only a negative response to being completely honest.
Another option was to try and trick Susan. Somehow, I could orchestrate a scheme where Susan would find herself beneath Tiffany's feet unwillingly. Tiffany would get what she wanted, I'd reluctantly go along with it, but Susan, Susan would be betrayed. As much as I liked being at my sister's feet, there's no way I could do such a thing to my best friend. This was my fetish after all, not my friend's.
Which is why I found myself in such a pickle. I wanted to please Tiffany, above everything else, but not at the expense of Susan. Susan had always been there for me. Yet, my pussy would grow moist the moment I thought about bringing Susan down to Tiffany's feet. Despite it being totally wrong, it turned me on, and there was a battle taking place within me. It was a choice between the morally right thing or the depraved wrong. At that moment, I wasn't sure which side of me was going to win out.
"Keep still, Ali," said Tiffany from up above me. She lifted and shifted her weight, carelessly dropping her butt into the curve of my back. "If you keep up that fidgeting then you're going to, like, mess up my lipstick and I'll have to start all over again."
The shrill tone of Tiffany's voice was enough to bring my thoughts back to my current situation. I'd been down on my hands and knees for at least fifteen minutes, and my forearms were beginning to tire and tremble. I didn't mean to disturb my sister, but I couldn't help it. My arms were simply not built to be used in this way. Still, my suffering was paid little mind by my ever-demanding sister who had taken to using me as a stool whenever she applied her make up.
"Down on your hands and knees," she had said a few days earlier and I recalled being immediately excited at the connotations.
I had dropped down immediately, understanding what she had wanted to do. The way Tiffany spoke to me with nonchalance had a way of making me obey. I used to loathe the snotty tone she'd use when she wanted her own way, having seen her as nothing more than an irritating little brat. However, she had taken on a new role in my life, my mistress, and her pettiest whims were mine to fulfil.
There was something about being used by my younger sister in such an inconsiderate way that made me swoon. The first time I had dropped to my hands and knees, and felt Tiffany sit on my back brought back all those wonderful feelings of that time she had used me as her horse all those weeks ago. It was during the infancy of our new relationship and I had been overwhelmed by a nostalgic rush as I kneeled before her dressing table. While Tiffany had applied her make-up, she moved about on my back and had used me as nothing other than her furniture. Occasionally, she'd kick her heels up into my tummy, and the slightest touch of her feet was enough to remind me of why I allowed my subjugation in the first place. It had been an arrogant insult to be her stool, but one I thoroughly enjoyed.
However, having now experienced the insult a couple of times, the chore itself was becoming tiresome. I no longer felt those swooning feelings, and instead my focus was taken up by the pain in my limbs. Of course, I liked the
idea
of being used by Tiffany in such a way, but the reality was far more mundane. Often times I would fall into this trap of reality not living up to fantasy. When I'd close my eyes and imagine Tiffany using me, I'd become turned on and long for it to be reality. When the reality actually occurred however, I'd find the whole situation was less thrilling. This is because often Tiffany would prefer to use me in
functional
ways. As an example, having me clean her room as I'd been doing for weeks now. She'd utilised my foot fetish as a way to get me to complete this most boring of tasks right from the start, and sometimes would reward me with her feet afterwards. The same went for other chores around the house, and the hours I'd spent doing her homework.
This was where Tiffany was so clever. At first, upon discovering my fetish, she'd been like a kid at Christmas and she just loved having her feet on my face all the time. I spent countless hours laying down on the floor while Tiffany used my face as her personal footrest. With this often occurring straight after her cheerleading practices, this would usually be a rather smelly and sweaty affair and I adored every moment of it. I honestly felt like I'd died and gone to heaven. However, Tiffany soon realised this and must have noticed that my eagerness to bow to her whims, outside of foot-related shenanigans, was waning. After all, why would I work as hard as possible on Tiffany's chores when I knew it was guaranteed that I'd get her feet every day?
Soon, Tiffany began to show disinterest in using me as her footrest. I'd jump down eagerly, and she'd sigh and walk off leaving me laying on the floor like an idiot. I'd groan as I watched those battered sneakers leave the room. After a couple of days of being rejected, I started to worry that she wasn't interested in having me at her feet anymore.
"Don't you want me as your slave anymore?" I had whined one afternoon, as Tiffany had passed up the opportunity once again.
"Slave?" she had asked with a shrug. "Start acting like one and maybe I will. You've been slacking on my room all week. I had to actually make my own bed yesterday. If you want my feet, Ali, you'll have to earn them."
"Oh," I'd said. I had tried to think of something clever to say. A witty retort to dig my way out of it, but nothing came to the fore. Likely, because what Tiffany said had been true. I had been taking her feet for granted.
"Exactly," she had spat, while getting right up in my face. "You say I'm the brat, but you're the one acting spoiled. You're, like, not entitled to my feet, Ali, so you better start acting more grateful."
That had been enough for me to put in extra effort the rest of the week. Day after day I completed all of Tiffany's chores, as well as cleaning her room, to the best of my ability. Still, it had taken another two days of this effort before she allowed me to be at her feet again. Her tactic worked though, as from then on, I put in the maximum amount of effort every day, for just the hope of being at her feet.
Because being at my younger sister's feet was the greatest feeling in the world and I'd perform whatever grunt work it took to get there. Though, during the completion of the task itself I'd think about how foolish I was.
Instead of socialising with friends, I'd be in Tiffany's room wasting the good part of an hour making her bed, vacuuming the floor and polishing the furniture. While I was down on my knees, scraping away beneath her bed, my mind would wander to how pathetic I had become. I had actually resorted to blowing off friends in some instances. There were two occasions, where I had cancelled on Susan because I needed to clean Tiffany's room before she returned from cheerleading practice. Why? Because if I hadn't completed my task up to Tiffany's standards, then I wouldn't receive my reward. My rewards from Tiffany had pretty much become the highlight of my life, it was the one way she used me from which I'd never tire. Being at her feet was all I lived and longed for.
But right at this moment, I wasn't experiencing a reward. A reward seemed like a distant possibility, and Tiffany was showing little interest in me other than sitting on my rapidly tiring back. Still, I tried to remain strong and be useful to my sister, in the hope that she'd feel generous and allow me some time at her majestic feet afterwards.
"Make sure you're still awake when I get back tonight," she said, out of the blue, which almost made me lose my balance.
