Humiliation

—Tonight you don’t serve me with your hands —she said, lifting her skirt while I remained on my knees, waiting for the only order that truly mattered.

Her feet resting on the edge of my chair were only the beginning. That night, I discovered how far I was willing to go to please her.

She told her grandfather she was leaving, but she never even exited the building: Sonia was waiting at the end of the hall with five unwashed old men and a promise that made her tremble.

For years I’d been stealing her flip-flops to get off with them. The afternoon she caught me on a ladder, she knew exactly how to use my secret.

The neighbors’ complaints didn’t scare her; they turned her on. In that elevator it smelled of beer and dirty man, and she was already on her knees before reaching the top floor.

It took only her catching me on my knees beside her bed for friendship to break and something else to begin: obeying every one of her whims without a word.

The first time she ordered me to paint my toenails, my hands shook. Not from fear: from wanting to obey her.

When she grabbed my arm on the way out, I understood she wasn’t looking for an apology. She was looking for a slave, and I was already on my knees before she asked.

I went downstairs to the bathroom with a simple urge and found her there, soaped up and smiling, already knowing the order I was about to give her.

I woke up tied to the leather bench, naked and gagged, and understood that the session wasn’t meant to cure me: it was meant for them to have their fun with me.

For weeks I’d been admiring her feet from the back row. The day she slipped off her sandals and pinned me with her gaze, I knew there was no turning back.

She came back from training still in uniform, looked down at me from above, and I understood that afternoon that something between us was going to change forever.

I’d spent years pretending I didn’t stare at her feet. That night, barefoot on the bed, she ordered me to kneel—and there was no turning back.

On weekends I don’t go to the movies for the film. I go to sit in back and wait for unknown feet to settle on me and decide how much I can take.

I started graduate school not knowing anyone. It only took one look at her crossing her legs and slipping off a sandal for me to stop paying attention to anything else.

The moment the gathering loosens up and no one is looking, I slip into the bathroom. I know exactly what I’m going to find in the hamper, and I know perfectly well what I’m going to do with it.

It had been two weeks since anyone had used me the way I needed, so I put on the easiest dress to remove and went to the only place where no one would ever say no to me.

That afternoon, she walked through the curtain into the back room knowing she would obey every order, however degrading, without anyone forcing her to.

She knew those two men would despise her the moment she walked through the door, and that was exactly what kept her coming back for more.

She got thrown out of the mansion for asking too much. Lost in the night, the stench of a garbage truck made her smile: at last, someone spoke her language.