Losing Everything F/F

Losing Everything F/F

Chapter 1: Solitude

Have you ever experienced a life-changing moment that came so suddenly, you could only watch it unfold? At 19, I was a young girl with dreams, supportive parents, and everything I wanted. Yet, it all vanished in a heartbeat when a police officer visited to break the news of my parents' passing. My name is Victoria Thomas. I couldn’t imagine my bubbly life turning somber as I brushed my long blond hair, gazing into the mirror. The doorbell rang. The officer conveyed the terrible news, and my world came crumbling down.

In the weeks that followed, I was isolated in my grand home, grief-stricken. Then came a moonlit evening when all was still. I wasn't alone - my best friend Megan filled the silence.

Megan and I met at eight, an encounter during my father's rare visit to a local park. She was an orphan; her life had taken a different path. I couldn't help but adore her whenever we met. As we grew older, We nurtured our friendship despite our lives moving in different directions.

It was a cold December night. Megan complemented my beauty as she ran her fingers through my hair, her phone buzzed, her eyes widening.

"I have to go," she whispered regretfully, "My boss has changed my shift."

I had an unprecedented idea.

"What if I pay for your college education?" I blurted out, "We could stay together."

"I can't accept it," she responded politely, "And even if I did... it doesn't mean I could attend Harvard with you."

Desperation filled me. I knew I couldn't leave Megan.

"I won't go to college," I begged, "I'll stay here with you."

"But you must!" she exclaimed, "Your life awaits you!"

I didn't care. I dropped to my knees before her, cupping her feet, an apology of sorts, "Please stay!"

"I will," she replied, "But don't get carried away. You're begging like a dog."

My desperation didn't fade - I kept kissing and caressing her feet, an endless trail of frustration.

"I'll stay," she announced, an enlightening smile overcoming her.

Seeing her joy, I resumed my abased position, continuing to kiss her feet. Full of longing and shameless affection, I promised, "I owe my parents one final act of devotion: to keep you close."

Chapter 2: Moving Day

I set the final box down, Megan's belongings. Exhausted and breathless, I watched her on the armchair by the fire, tapping away on her phone. Suddenly, I cast my gaze down upon her worn-out sneakers. She had little in the way of material wealth, but it was her demeanor, elegance, and sweet disposition that made her feel like a queen. Silently, I vowed to help improve her circumstances.

The relocation to my home had been a challenge, but it felt more like a sweet victory, knowing Megan would live in comfort and love. I couldn't help but notice her lack of expensive footwear, further burdened by her ordained life of sparsity. While transferring my belongings would have taken weeks, Megan's possessions required hardly any effort.

As the last box was placed, Megan stood, slipping into her worn-out sneakers. Her radiance shone through, a symbol of reassurance. Giggling, she asked, "You're not showing any appreciation?"

I knelt again before her feet, "Megan, I humbly thank you."

In response, she rewarded me with a wink, "I knew you'd have a change of heart. You'll be on your knees a little longer..."

I hugged her feet, desperately clutching, white-knuckled, "Thank you for your indulgence. I hope my moves don't seem ridiculously servile."

Laughing, Megan replied, "If you need to be humiliated for my sake, then I suppose it would be my pleasure to watch."

I held my position, savoring a newfound intimacy with Megan's exquisite beauty. With each kiss, the bitterness subsided - whisked away by a longing for warmth. As gentle sensations filled me, I weaved my heart into the fabric of our bond. The night crackled with the promise of an indelible connection.

I gazed at Megan, strong and sure, "I'm thankful you replied my plea."

"Alright, Mr. Blessed Man" she quipped, "You'll have to do better than that later - you're still on your knees."

Resolving to thank an angel for her grace, I planted butterfly kisses on her soles before carefully setting her feet back on the floor, a simple gesture transformed into an act of adoration. Megan's smile confirmed our unity. After several minutes, Megan’s laughter echoed through the cavernous mansion. With Megan by my side, solitude would be a thing of the past. Evil had been eradicated; our love had finally found a footing. We embraced, knowing a new chapter of life was to befall us.

Hey, can you explain to me why I had to fire all the servants? They would've come in handy - I said, sprawling out on the couch.

I've already explained that they would've brought back memories and if you want to move forward, sacrifices need to be made, Megan informed me, not taking her gaze off her phone.

But I could get new servants - I argued.

No, we can handle the house matters for now and some tasks might help you take your mind off things. Then, turning towards me for the first time since I entered the room, she asked:

Could you fetch me some tea? -

Sure, I replied and I dashed off to the kitchen to fulfill her request.

Whenever I returned to the living room, Megan was still there, immersed in her phone. I contemplated for a moment who she might be chatting with. I presented her with the cup of tea, ensuring not to spill any. Before I could go back to the couch, she inquired of me:

Could you massage my feet for me? Her feet are quite sore, after all.

This demand threw me for a loop as I've done most of the work yet still, I didn't want to start things off in a negative tone.

Okay - I replied and went over to the armchair, sitting on the floor with my legs crossed. I began undoing the laces of her sneakers. The aroma of her feet gradually intensified, and I couldn't help but notice its peculiarity. Her purple socks were drenched in sweat and were incredibly hot to the touch. I stared at Megan, waiting for her approval to begin, but she remained engrossed in her phone. Her free foot nudged my head unexpectedly, and I promptly began my massage. Thumbing pressure was applied to her soles with no significant response from her. I spent ten minutes rubbing her left foot before she presented her other one to my shoulder, seemingly lodging it against my skull. I questioned her intentions again but she remained oblivious to my movements.

I was placed in a bind. A part of me yearned to push her feet off of me and berate her, while the other part secretly relished being in such a humiliating submissive position, unwanted and unacknowledged. I'd been thinking that there was something fundamentally off about me as the idea of inhaling the stench of her feet sent delight through me - a rogue, uncontrollable pleasure. As I pondered, I found myself leaning sideways towards her foot, and pressed my face alongside its moistness. The odor was pungent yet comforting, enticing me to inhale deeper. Am I perverse or just a foot worshipper? I pondered. Megan was ignorant to this, and I couldn't help but wonder about her perceptions. I'd long since abandoned the notion that I should stop the massage.

The words I eagerly anticipated finally made their way to me.

Massage the other foot, she commanded. And so, I busied myself with the task. Megan rested the right foot on my shoulder. The sole of her foot was plopped on top of my head, boldly rubbing her heel against my forehead. We sat face to face like this for twenty minutes - or at least that's what I would've assumed, as I found myself consumed within her world of isolation.

Take off your socks was her verbal cue. Once again, I acted promptly, careful not to ruin the contents of my previous efforts.

My, what gorgeous feet you have, I blurted out, taken aback by their near-perfection. Megan's feet were petite and unimaginably soft, her toes neither too long nor too short, and her heels as smooth as that of a child. The lacquered dark sheen encompassing them indicated a great employment of her time.

"But from now on, she'll need no more," I mused, envisioning my role in the pedicuring process.

I was pushed into servitude once more and her left foot was presented to me. This time, I found myself succumbing to my urges, which I physically couldn't control. Coated in nothing more than her own sweat, Megan's feet exuded sophistry, tantalizingly pure and arousing. It became increasingly difficult to describe the agonizing pleasure I felt when my lips brushed against her bottom, frozen in anticipation of the sweet taste of her sole. I struggled with the desire to lap up the crevices betwixt her toes, knowing full well I hadn't been given the green-light.

Apparently, my predicament escaped her awareness and as she thankfully rose from her perch.

I'm going to bed, she said.

• "Alright, I said with a hint of disappointment, then I added, 'I've prepared the third room for you.'"
• "No, I'll take the main bedroom." she responded immediately.
• "But that's my parents' room," I protested.
• "Your parents are dead," she stated. "And as I mentioned before, you need to let go of the past. That'll be your room from now on, so it won't continue to cause you suffering. Now, I need to rest." And she left the room. I was still sitting on the floor, overwhelmed. Why was I allowing her to take my parents' room? Then I thought, "Wait, I spent over an hour rubbing, sniffing, and kissing Megan's feet, I even used them as a footstool." Suddenly, this question seemed silly.

Victoria Thomas could've inherited Thomas Manor, but the true Mistress of the House was Megan Gilles.

As these thoughts swirled in my head, something caught my eye. Megan's sneakers were still by the armchair, with her purple sock still inside them. I crept towards the sneakers and, once I pulled out her sock, I stuck my nose into them and started licking the insole voraciously. The next thing I did was to dive into the socks, sniffing, kissing, and licking passionately. Then, I stuffed the socks into my mouth and, trying to suck out the sweat. As I gazed into the mirror, I saw a girl on all fours with Megan's sneakers and socks in her mouth. This image reminded me of a dog with its master's slippers in its mouth, and the most intense orgasm of my life came when I considered that I'd spent the whole night like a dog for Megan.

Ch3: Work Begins

I only slept for two hours that night; my mind was filled with too many thoughts, and I couldn't comprehend what was happening to me.

"Why am I allowing Megan to treat me this way? And why am I so fixated on her feet?"

I pondered over this obsession, and I wouldn't be able to explain otherwise why I had spent the night with her socks on my pillow and my hand between my legs.

"Hell, I don't even know how many orgasms I had before I nodded off, exhausted." I contemplated sadly.

When I woke up, it was ten in the morning, and it seemed like Megan was still asleep. Being cautious not to make too much noise, I sneaked up to the door of the room, which used to be mine, but was now Megan's bedroom. I placed my ear against it, but heard no noise from inside. Relieved that I didn't need to face Megan immediately, I went to the living room and replaced her socks into her shoes. I felt mortified at the thought of her discovering that I'd spent the night with her socks on my pillow and my face, like I wasn't her footstool for most of the night. I prepared breakfast for her, debating on what to say when she awoke. My inner voice continued to question my actions and, as Megan made her entrance, my nervousness reached an all-time high. She was dressed in a nightrobe and her fine body was on display. It didn’t matter, Megan couldn't afford such expensive clothing, and she wore my mother's robe. My eyes were glued to her feet, which were in a pair of blue flip flops. The sight of her toes sent shivers up my spine.

• "I made your breakfast." I told her, trying to hold her gaze.
• "Oh, you're so sweet," she said, her voice angelic. As she sat down to eat, she said, "I could really grow fond of this, you know, you'll be preparing my breakfast every day. What do you think?"

I couldn't believe what I was saying, "Yes, Megan."

She smiled radiantly and complimented my cooking, making me feel extremely proud. This approval gripped me, and once more, I wondered what was happening to me. During this, I could not help but stare at her feet. Megan swung her flip flops and our eyes met, and I realized that she knew what I was thinking. When one flip flop fell to the floor, I heard her giggle. I hung my head, staring at her bare foot and struggled to resist the urge to devour it, licking at her sole like a dog.

• "Take my stuff into my bedroom and leave everything there." she commanded.
• "Yes, Megan." I responded submissively.

I hurried to obey her order. Was I really going to be her maid, answering like a servant?

Upon entering Megan's bedroom, I was greeted with a photograph that depicted her parents alongside mine. These sightings prompted tears to roll down my cheeks. I understood why Megan suggested I leave her possessions untouched and simply move out; she was attempting to protect me from any agony. Despite everything, Megan remained my best friend, someone who cared for me diligently. I returned to Megan and expressed my overwhelming gratitude, vowing to do whatever it took to retain her friendship. She had completed her breakfast and, upon noticing my presence, offered a smile while addressing me:

• Victoria, my restroom requires cleaning, and the windows are somewhat smudged. Your loyal workers were evidently sluggish - she studied me with her captivating amber eyes, preventing me from keeping her gaze any longer. My focus was redirected to the floor as I uttered:
• Sure, no problem -

My mind raced with distress: I'd never cleaned anything in my life. I was perplexed, unsure of how to proceed.

• Excellent - Megan chimed with a wide grin, and casually caressed my head. She further explained, - I'm off to sunbathe - and headed outside, leaving me alone with my responsibilities.

Megan's bathroom was horrendous. After her morning shower, there were puddles of water scattered across the floor, necessitating the use of a mop for drying. I subsequently began cleaning the toilet bowl.

"Good heavens, how have I ended up in this predicament? I'm Victoria Thomas; I'm a wealthy girl, captain of the cheerleading squad, practically the queen of this insignificant city with a retinue of servants. Yet here I am, tending to the bathroom of my dearest friend. The Thomas Manor? It's mine now. Megan is but a guest...

And why did I carry all of her belongings as if I were a bellhop? Why did I prepare her breakfast, agreeing to cook each day from now on? Why did I rub and kiss her feet as if it were entirely typical? Why was I now wiping down the bathroom while she basked in the sun?"

These thoughts plagued my mind upon noticing my genitalia was aflame. I shuffled to the heap of Megan's laundered garments and retrieved her underwear. I buried my face into its crotch region, sharing deep kisses. Then, for reasons unexplainable, I placed the panties upon my head before resuming my labors. Why had I become so pathetic? I experienced a climax in that unseemly location, beside the toilet bowl. A tragic figure had emerged from Victoria Thomas.

Chapter 4: Submission

It took roughly two hours to clean the windows, and by the end of that day, I had exhausted myself. My back ached incessantly, leading me to question how people willingly participated in such labor regularly throughout their lives. Megan was correct that the task absorbed me, but her move didn't eradicate my altering emotions. They persisted; I could not disbelieve my actions after feeling aroused by scenting and kissing her undergarments. If not for my friendship with Megan, I might as well have signed myself up for a lifetime of domestic servitude.

"No, I had to find a way to manage these strange sensations overwhelming me. It must stem from the recent loss of my parents. Yes, I must preserve the memory of such unexpected thoughts concerning Megan. After all, I had always regarded her as stunning, though I had never entertained even the slightest erotic fantasies. However, it was irresponsible to even ponder such things."

Undetected by Megan, I proceeded toward the swimming pool. She was sunbathing, completely nude. Despite the high walls, the private area held no pertinent significance to me as I'd never before entertained the notion of exposing myself. Megan, though, appeared completely at ease, seemingly unaware of my sudden presence. Seizing this opportunity, I stood observing her notable physique, awestruck by her perfect 32B breasts. After admiring her exposed bosom, I found myself drawn to the intimate regions below. A perplexing question ignited my mind.

"Am I lesbian?"

The erotic stories that you share always have super interesting details and are always exciting to read. It's like they were picked up from a few different worlds and combined into one, with little bits of all making one extended and thrilling narrative. And who says I'm not a lesbian after this? Or is it just some bizarre, hormonal reaction to the sudden death of my parents? The thought of which made me laugh.

"My life was taking such improbable turns that I could scarcely process the events.

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Throughout my existence, I've been drawn to young men. I've dreamed of marrying a handsome man and living happily ever after. Yet here I am, craving the bare form of my best friend.

"Do you like what you see?" Megan suddenly asked.

Averting my gaze, I approached her and considered her query, "Are you hungry? Can I get you something to eat?"

"No, I'm not feeling peckish," she replied casually. "But a lemonade would be nice."

Her tone was light and easy, not demanding by any means. Yet something about it made me feel compelled to cater to her desires.

"Yes, Megan," I said, my voice sincere and submissive. "I'll bring you your lemonade right away."

"Yesterday you performed an amazing foot massage," she complimented.

Feeling prideful, I bowed my head, "Thank you, Megan. I'm glad I could pleasure you."

She then mentioned, "I'd love to have another one."

Suddenly, my gaze returned to her feet. I moved closer to her as if in a trance, kneeling before her. And without thinking, I began the massage. I gently rubbed her feet, applying gentle pressure on her heels. I moved my focus to her toes, running my fingers between each one. The scent of her feet captivated me, intoxicating me. As I trailed my fingers across them, one of Megan's toes touched my nose and I caught a breath through my nostrils. She giggled at my reaction.

After a while, she employed a new tactic. "Kiss," she instructed, placing her feet near my face. Without hesitation, I complied. I smothered her feet with kisses, worshipping them. At various intervals, she'd rotate her feet so that I could kiss the tops as well. I had never experienced such lust before. If kissing her feet gave me such intense pleasure, then it's what I longed for. I surrendered myself to her feet, my desire for them insatiable.

I glanced up at her and awaited a reaction. "Do you really enjoy my feet?" she questioned confidently.

"Megan, I'm addicted to both your feet and their intoxicating scent," I acknowledged, "being your servant and footstool thrills me beyond words. Every time you humiliate me, I feel joy."

My words didn't deter her from maintaining eye contact. "Do you truly love my feet?" she inquired again.

There was no way to deny it; deep down, I knew that I yearned for her body, for her feet. I felt no need to hide it. I looked into her eyes, held my breath for a moment, and honestly replied, "I'm in love with your feet, Megan. Their unique smell makes me feel high, and if I could, I'd be at your feet's mercy forever. I've discovered that being your footstool satisfies me more than anything else. I'll do anything for you, Megan. I'm entirely at your service."

My devotion didn't deter her; we stayed in our positions for over five minutes. Megan spoke at last, "Lick my feet."

And so, I instinctively closed my lips, extended my tongue, and licked the sole and toes of her foot, tasting her bodily fluids. The taste was divine; I longed to indulge in it forever. I was saddened when Megan retracted her foot, but found her staring back at me, smiling.

She didn't immediately ask me to continue, so I bowed, showing my complete submission. I begged her, "Megan, would you let me lick your delicate feet? I'll serve you to my heart's content. I'll be a loyal servant, an everlasting foot fetishist."

Finally, she answered, "Do as you please."

Licking someone's feet is a privilege that must be earned, but you can continue to show your adoration by kissing their feet…slave. Then she lifted her foot from my face, and I gazed at her with affection and admiration. At this point, with a fiery pussy, I started to kiss the feet of my new dominatrix.

Chapter 5: Who are you?

• I think I'll eat something now - Megan suddenly muttered, bringing me back to the present.

Over the last hour, I had been fervently kissing her feet without interruption, striving to demonstrate my devotion. Yet, I felt dejected when she stood up and I was no longer allowed to touch those amazing soles. Once again, she patted my head like a pet, and she instructed:

• Go fetch me a sandwich -
• Yes, Megan - I replied, keeping my eyes lowered with discomfort, and I winced when she roughly grabbed my chin and compelled me to meet her eyes.
• Do you consider yourself my submissive slave? - she asked, obviously dissatisfied.
• Yes, Megan, I am your submissive slave...I am your slave - I rejoined, sobbing with concern.

"But why was she treating me this way? Was it because I didn't comply with the most subservient of slaves in the past hour? And I hadn't been prostrated at her feet, showing myself as a Goddess, degrading myself and swearing my loyalty? As my tears flowed more profusely, she chastised me:

• If you're truly my submissive, is this how you respond to your Mistress? - she questioned as she firmly held my chin.
• Yes, Mistress - I responded, feeling regretful, for I had addressed her by her name instead of like a superior being who deserved my gratitude for permitting me to be her submissive.
• Good. Now prepare my sandwich. I'll be waiting in the living room - she said, extending her regal hand. I bowed forward and showered her hand with kisses.

As she had promised, she was seated in the living room, contentedly watching television, dressed in a white T-shirt that plunged low and sporting black leggings. I also observed her blue flip flops at her feet. I advanced to her and provided the plate with the sandwich, but she seemed reluctant to accept it. Finally, she raised her eyebrows and inquired:

• Is that the way you serve your Mistress? - I didn't want to further upset her, so I dropped down onto my knees and again presented the plate, bowing my head in reverence. At last, she took the plate and patted my head. Her approval consistently delighted me.
• Beginning now, you'll serve me while kneeling before me. Did you grasp my instructions, slave? - she inquired.
• Yes, Mistress - I replied, realizing the word "slave" stoked a fire between my legs.
• From now on, slave - she continued - you must remain on your knees when you're in my presence, unless I instruct otherwise. When I enter a room or when you enter the room where I am, you should instantly drop to your knees and bow down to my feet, which is your designated place. And you must quickly kiss my feet - then, if instructed, you'll raise my left foot onto your head - when it seemed her speech had ended, she added - Furthermore, you'll no longer be permitted to wear clothes in this home -

"Would I have to be bare naked like a worm in my own dwelling now? I wondered and again questioned myself as to why I had put myself in this situation, why I had given myself altogether to Megan, without any resistance. I realized that she was removing another thing from me by laughing as I uncomfortably revealed myself to her.

I stayed in that degrading position for around twenty-five minutes, as Megan leisurely devoured her sandwich and continued to watch television, totally disregarding having another woman underfoot as if she were accustomed to having a subservient servant before her. When she finished her meal, she pulled her foot from my head and used it to push my head upward, allowing me to gaze at her face. I could not recall ever witnessing Megan so content before, her honey-colored eyes shone, and her smile instilled a sense of serenity within me. I thought, for a moment, that her satisfaction was a result of my efforts and that notion, yet again, filled me with pride.

• Do you know why a slave should always be naked in front of her mistress? - she inquired.
• No, mistress - I responded with honesty.
• Because a mistress must be able to view her possessions at any time -

"Therefore, I now belong to her, along with the flip-flops she is wearing?" I considered internally, a familiar tingle washed over me. Megan suddenly pinched my nipples, catching me off guard and causing me to whimper in distress.

• Do you understand what I'm saying? These breasts are now my possessions - she asserted, twisting my nipples - this body is now my possession, and I can do whatever I wish with it. Have you comprehended, servant? -
• Yes, mistress - I stammered while struggling with the discomfort.
• Whose are these breasts? -
• Yours, mistress -
• Whose is this body? - and then she plunged her hand between my legs discovering, if she hadn't already known, how aroused I was in that moment.
• Yours, mistress - I repeated.

She guided her finger coated in my secretions to my lips, and without a second thought, I did not hesitate to lick her fingers clean, tasting for the first time my own fluids.

• And I do not want to see these body hairs again. Am I clear? - she inquired.
• Yes, mistress - I replied while still licking her fingers, thinking that Megan had just assumed control over another aspect of my life.

Then, still sucking her finger, she inquired:

• Who owns you, Victoria? - calling me by name for the first time since I'd begged to be her slave.
• You, mistress - I asserted, keeping her finger in my mouth.
• And what are you? -
• I am your obedient servant, your possession, do with me whatever you desire. I exist solely to serve my master - and with those final words, I bowed again at her feet, lavishly kissing her toes without taking a breath. Megan allowed me to tend to her feet for close to five minutes, then she announced:
• Stop. We need to work on your posture. Legs wider, back straight, hands on your thighs, palms up, fingers straight. When I say "kneel", you will assume this position -

In this embarrassing and revealing stance, I felt so degraded and exposed, but it was clear that my mistress wanted a clear view of my private parts.

"Her private parts" I adjusted within myself, for I was merely an object now and couldn't claim ownership.

• Good girl - she offered a kiss to my forehead, then she removed her flip-flop and placed it in my face, entrapping my nose between her toes. The foot odor mesmerized me once more, and I began to inhale audibly.
• My little servant girl wants to amuse her mistress? - she teased, manipulating my face with her foot and compelling me to nod.
• Yes, mistress - I acknowledged but with my nose pressed between her toes and her sole imprinted on my lips, my words were barely discernible.
• Good girl - she repeated and removed her foot, leaving me in disappointment. Megan picked up her flip-flop and instructed:
• Fetch! -

Undirected, I hopped around the room like a canine. I retrieved her flip-flop with my mouth, ensuring not to damage it with my teeth, and then carried it back to her. My mistress bestowed a kiss to my foot, before discarding her flip-flop once more. We played this game for hours, and I was so happy to hear Megan laugh while she enjoyed watching her servant crawl around the living room, inducing me to almost forget that I was the servant.

When Megan became bored, she threw away the other flip-flop and informed me:

• I'm going to tidy up my room. Don't worry - she saw my downcast expression - My pet dog can continue to amuse itself by licking my flip-flops. My slave girl is not permitted to lick my feet, but my dog is allowed to lick my footwear as much as it desires - and with a final snicker, she disappeared.

Crawling on all fours, I darted toward her flip-flops and commenced licking the insoles, covering each one with my tongue and hungrily savoring the foot perspiration of my mistress. When my tongue traced the string that had been between my mistress's toes, I tasted the most divine thing in my life and I thought that I was the most fortunate pet dog in the world.

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