Out of Curiosity (F/F)

Description: Mila, a successful 40-year-old beauty salon owner, becomes particularly interested in findom after learning her best friend Rebecca's daughter makes money through online dominance. Despite initial disgust, Mila researches the practice and watches a video of young girls trampling and financially exploiting a female slave at an ATM.

This triggers some unusual thoughts in her mind that don't let go and very soon Mila finds herself in humiliating situation before a rude delivery girl, paying her huge tips. But that's just the beginning of Mila's descend, she can't help but submit to Olivia, young bank employee, who Mila visits regularly to make deposits. Olivia, although reluctant first, turns out to be surprisingly enjoying idea of humiliating the older successful woman, her mother's contemporary...

Mila is confused by what is going on in her life and makes a mistake that leads to her friend Rebecca finding out about her secret. Rebecca is overjoyed that her rich friend is pretty much a real paypig and together with her daughter she's going to put Mila under the thumb...

My favorite lounge café, "Red Sky," always had a special ambiance--lazy and cozy, utterly unlike the bustling metropolis. Even the pretty waitresses moved languidly, like fish in an aquarium. One of the girls brought me a menu and tactfully vanished behind the red drapes cascading from the ceiling.

When two old girlfriends suggested meeting up, I immediately invited them here. I wanted to unwind, forget about work, clients, and business meetings.

Especially business meetings. That's precisely why I chose a place with spacious soft couches, muted lighting, and unobtrusive ambient ethnic music...

"Why do you love this dreary place so much?" Rebecca asked with a laugh after we exchanged cheek kisses. She sat across from me and snorted mockingly. "It's practically a Versace mausoleum! Just with music."

"Well... Can't argue with that," I laughed and added sincerely, "You look gorgeous, darling."

Rebecca smirked smugly, tossing her luxurious chestnut hair. Of course, she already knew that.

In May, Rebecca turned thirty-nine, she's just a year younger than me. Glossy hair, full lips, and green eyes kept her face youthful and still strikingly attractive.

Not that I was far behind--it'd be odd for a high-end beauty salon owner to look unkempt or out of shape. By forty, neither a smooth face nor a toned rear happens by genetic lottery anymore. Like my business, I'd poured a lot of effort and money into myself.

"You know, I've been dying for a drink since morning," Rebecca confessed, studying the menu thoughtfully. "But I'll try tricking my brain with caffeine first."

I suddenly noticed Rebecca's eyes were unusually bright, her face lit with a smug smile, like she was bursting with joyful news. Before I could think about the reason, Olga joined us.

"You two just keep getting younger, girls," she remarked with a laugh, elegantly landing on the sofa. "Missed Auntie Olya?"

"Oh, please, 'Auntie'," Rebecca giggled, shooting her a disapproving look. "Soon people will mistake you for your daughters."

"Yeah, especially the five-year-old. Is my beautician splitting her paycheck with you or what?" Olga smirked, adjusting her hair.

"If she is boring you, send her my way," Rebecca purred slyly.

"Oh, no! You trying to cheat on your specialist?" Olga clicked her tongue in fake outrage. "Still worried she'll torture you with microcurrents again?"

"Selfish," Rebecca snickered, ignoring the question. "You're always groaning about her, but never sharing her number."

As they bantered, a waitress approached--a cute redhead with bright red lips and porcelain skin.

I noticed Olga looking at the girl's delicate frame with a predatory gaze. The waitress clearly noticed too, flushing and looking down, while Olga casually returned to her menu.

"What dessert do you recommend, kitten?" Olga asked innocently. "Something light and airy, like you."

"Try our signature dessert with passionfruit and blackberry," the girl replied, forcing confidence into her voice despite her shyness.

I stifled a chuckle. Something told me this redhead was in for an after-work surprise...

Olga's type: "Bambi eyes and antelope legs." Slender young women with tender, slightly sad gazes--just like this waitress.

Olga was nearly forty-five. A respectable wife and mother of three with a very wild past. She'd always preferred women, but when a chance for a wealthy marriage arose, she took it. Even now, she had female lovers, who her trusting husband considered 'close girlfriends'...

I smirked at the memory of how gullible he was.

I ordered sand-brewed coffee and an apple tarte flambée with vanilla ice cream.

"Still the sweet tooth," Rebecca needled. "Then you'll suffer through an extra hour at the gym."

"No one's ever died from overtime workouts," I smiled. "At least, not at my fitness center..."

"Doubt they'd put that in their ads," Rebecca predictably rolled her eyes. She detested sports and everything adjacent.

When Rebecca and I met, we were both in our early thirties. I'd just opened my first beauty salon, "Maison de Beauté," and she soon became a regular.

Beautiful, loud, and vigorous, Rebecca quickly won me over. She lived like she was floating through life without a care--never thinking ahead.

Sometimes I envied that lightness. Since my youth, I'd hustled for success, striving for wealth and independence. Rebecca? She married well. And the real luck was her husband's early demise--with no other heirs in the picture.

"Life's three miracles: a baby's first smile, sunrise by the sea, and a rich loner who passes away way before you," Rebecca had once toasted cheerfully while recounting her past.

"God, Rebecca! That's too cynical even for you," I'd laughed nervously. Though her spouse had been gone for years, the joke unsettled me.

"Said someone who has her own business," Rebecca smirked.

"Think cynicism's necessary to succeed?" I arched a brow.

"More like armor against men brainstorming new ways to shove you back to the stove," she countered.

We laughed and dropped the argument, toasting our respective victories with fine wine.

Rebecca was hopeless with money, but a prosperous widow soon attracted a new fiancé--Daniel, a sharp-eyed businessman. Their relationship wasn't great thanks to his affairs, yet Rebecca hesitated divorcing him over fears he'd drain her funds.

"Maybe she's finally found a way to screw that scoundrel--that's why she's beaming?" I mused fleetingly.

"You're unusually gleeful and mysterious today, Becca," Olga voiced my thoughts suddenly, sipping coffee. "What's the good news? Share your joy with us then."

"Is it that obvious?" Rebecca smiled coquettishly, making it clear she'd been waiting for this question. "Well, honestly, it's not about me, it's about Sabrina. I'm so proud of her!"

Among my friends, I was the only one without children--I never met a man with whom I'd want to start a family. But I knew and in my own way loved Sabrina, Rebecca's only daughter. She was a sweet blonde girl with the same explosive temperament as her mother. From her late father, she only inherited her hair color and alcohol intoLarance.

"She's barely nineteen," Rebecca continued, her face breaking into a sincere smile, "And she is already making serious money. This month, Sabrina earned several thousand dollars!"

I admit, I was astonished and even set my dessert aside. For all my affection for Sabrina--she was a frivolous, somewhat lazy girl, spoiled by her mother. I knew she'd land on her feet--maybe even follow in her mother's footsteps and marry well someday. But to earn it herself? Several grand a month?!

Apparently, my and Olga's skeptical expressions were obvious because Rebecca snorted and added smugly:

"And the best part? My girl doesn't lift a finger for it. Men are willing to give her money. No, they beg her to take it!" She giggled.

"They beg?" Olga asked, genuinely surprised. "Is she like laundering their money?"

"Jesus, of course not!" Rebecca scoffed and nervously adjusted her hair. She continued, lowering her voice a little: "She does financial domination."

"Financial domination?" I asked, letting out an awkward laugh. "Did those internet gurus on YouTube come up with another trendy course?"

Rebecca even gave me a hurt look and pursed her lips.

"You're stuck in the Stone Age, Mila. Try learning about something other than shampoos and face masks if you don't want to embarrass yourself."

Alright, maybe I deserved that... I sighed.

"Okay, some men are paying Sabrina money, and... in return?" I pressed cautiously.

"You mean whether she sleeps with them?" Rebecca chuckled knowingly.

I nodded, even though It felt uncomfortable to ask such thing about a young woman I'd known since childhood.

"They've never met in person. Not once," Rebecca declared, looking at us triumphantly. "Only by video call."

"Wow," Olga's eyes gleamed. "Shall we toast to feminism's victory?"

We laughed despite ourselves, and Rebecca, warming up to the topic, continued.

"It's a fetish, you see. These men--even some women--are her 'pay pigs.' They enjoy being demeaned, humiliated, blackmailed. They're eager to literally 'pay off' their dominatrix with money and gifts. It's all anonymous--Sabrina never sees them. The point is, she gives them the emotional thrill they crave!"

Rebecca was so proud as if Sabrina had earned a doctorate or cured cancer. Even Olga glowed with joy at the thought of men willingly handing their hard-earned money to a young girl.

Meanwhile, I was unsure what was to celebrate here. Wasn't this... like some kind of fraud? But then again, these people were practically begging Sabrina to take their money. Meaning they were just deeply disturbed or kinky. Not that I particularly pitied them, but taking such open delight in their degradation...

Still, I forced a smile. I didn't want to sour my friends' mood with my unease or uncomfortable questions. Maybe Rebecca was right, and I really was stuck in the "Stone Age," where the closest thing to financial domination was a nagging wife taking her husband's paycheck.

"I'm so happy Sabrina found something she enjoys," I finally managed. "She's a smart girl and deserves a bright future."

That last bit was sincere. I had a soft spot for Sabrina; to me, she was still that sweet kid with her fluffy blond pigtails.

But she wasn't a kid anymore--almost nineteen. I probably should've been as proud as Rebecca was, and yet I wasn't.

Olga asked a few more questions, and then, as if nothing unusual had happened, we moved on chatting about Olga's recent trip to Vietnam.

I took a taxi home as I wasn't in the mood to drive. For some reason, I felt drained and distracted.

Once in the car, I pulled out my phone and typed financial domination into the search bar.

Honestly, I just needed to make sure Rebecca wasn't making this all up, and this wasn't some weird unique case.

I skimmed the first few results--yes, findom was a real thing. Sometimes paired with other kinks.

Good lord, an entire subculture existed, mostly men, willing to endure insults and hand over substantial money!

What could even attract someone to that? But yes, fetishes don't always follow logic.

What worried me more was whether Sabrina was legally safe. Could clients demand refunds later and even sue her? What if they use their messages as proof they'd been manipulated?

"Okay, stop," I pressed my temples. "No point in overthinking it. Rebecca's not a fool, she'd never let Sabrina take real risks."

I must've looked weird--the driver eyed me in the mirror but stayed quiet.

At home, already in bed sipping wine, I mindlessly scrolled social media. I usually limited this to fifteen minutes a day to avoid too much of junk info.

Then Sabrina's Facebook post popped up--a new photo from her South Korea trip. She posed in front of the Rainbow Fountain on Banpo Bridge, its multi-colored streams framing her dazzling smile.

I remembered her laughing at how Koreans admired her golden hair and delicate features.

Nothing hinted this girl ruthlessly humiliated men for money...

"What hint were you expecting?" I scoffed at myself. "A selfie with Koreans groveling at her feet?"

Of course, her profile gave zero clues about her actual income source.

"I wonder how she does it?" I suddenly thought with a morbid curiosity, taking another sip of wine.

I tried to imagine Sabrina hurling obscenities at men and demanding payment... and failed. This girl had never been rude to me, only charmingly cheeky.

My thoughts gradually shifted from Sabrina and her domination to bigger questions. How does this work? Are there any rules? I hasn't even noticed how these thoughts consumed me. I Put down my glass and picked up my tablet, settling in more comfortably.

Do financial domination videos even exist?

Unable to resist, I went back to the google despite the late hour. I was too agitated to sleep anyway.

I expected at best to find intimate conversations between a mistress and her pay pig--but discovered something entirely different.

A video titled "ATM pay pig whining under Goddesses' feet" ran for almost eight minutes.

I shoved earbuds in and started the video, chewing my lip nervously from tension.

Two attractive, curvy young women walked down the street wearing short beach shorts and tank tops. The brunette with large breasts and firm, round buttocks tightly hugged by her thin shorts wore pristine white sneakers. Her slender blond companion sported red flat sandals.

They approached an ATM where a petite, slim woman stood waiting with hands folded. Although her face was partially hidden by a medical mask, exposed skin suggested she was around fifty.

The ATM was weakly lit by a street lamp, but I could clearly see their expressions as they spoke.

"Get down, pig! Now!" the blonde ordered, slapping her thigh mockingly.

Immediately the woman collapsed obediently onto the pavement like a sack of flour, sprawling on her back right at their feet!

The girls exchanged smirks and laughed. The blonde who'd given the order stepped directly onto the woman without removing her shoes. The resulting moan didn't sound like porn's fake exaggerated cries--this was genuine pain!

Mesmerized, I watched as the blonde gleefully trampled the woman's body like it was a floor!

"Pull your shirt up," she ordered, briefly stepping off.

With trembling fingers, the woman awkwardly hiked up her shirt to expose her bra and bare stomach. Nodding approval, the girl jumped back atop her, shoes now grinding directly against skin.

"Feel that, piggy?" she cooed sweetly.

The slave only whimpered loudly in response, earning a particularly vicious kick to the stomach.

"She's kinda sluggish. Cheer her up a bit," the second girl said with a laugh.

My insides froze when her companion jumped while still standing on top of the other person!

The impact forced a degrading, squeaky noise from the woman's throat--like air escaping a punctured rubber ball.

And the girls laughed!

"You're so pathetic," mocked the one standing on the ground, "but we won't tell anyone... if you pay."

"Take... my money please..." I heard her voice for the first time, hoarse and pleading. "Please, take it but... don't hurt me..."

"Come on, tell us your PIN," the girl said cheerfully, tracing the woman's trembling lips with her red sandal. "Don't even think of lying to us, piggy."

The woman hastily uttered the numbers.

Hearing them, the delighted blonde rudely planted her foot on the helpless woman's chest. The woman's sharp cry sent shivers down my spine, and just watching this torture made my own chest ache sympathetically. It must have been excruciatingly painful!

Meanwhile, the girl tapped the victim's bank card--plucked from the woman's own purse--against the terminal, and minute later pocketed crisp bills. I couldn't count them precisely, but they were hundreds. At least two grand, I reckoned!

The blonde immediately jumped off, pushing off hard against the woman's body with both feet, and laughed. Her place was promptly taken by the brunette--curvy and noticeably taller. Under the fuller-figured girl's weight, the victim groaned more piteously, twitching weakly yet still afraid to dislodge her tormentor onto the ground.

Ignoring the whimpers, the brunette also stood directly on the woman's chest, flattening it under her considerable weight. She practically performed a "money dance"--steadying herself with one hand on the ATM, she rhythmically lifted and lowered her feet in turn onto the poor slave's ribcage.

At one point, I thought the woman had passed out from the pain, but moments later I still heard her sobbing.

A shiver ran through me. From fear... or something worse. It felt like standing on the ledge before a skydive--something I'd tried in my youth. You haven't jumped yet, but your adrenaline is already spiking.

"Hey sis," the brunette addressed her friend, "My dance is worth more than two grand... I'm taking three, whaddya say?"

"You earned it," the blonde encouraged with a smirk.

"Please..." came a weak plea from beneath, the slave's voice exhausted from chest pain. She'd been groaning so softly and steadily that I'd started to perceive her whimpering as ambient noise. "Don't take too much... it's all I have..."

The blonde immediately stepped over and roughly planted her foot on the woman's head. I saw her deliberately increase pressure, grinding the face against pavement.

The begging stopped abruptly. Uninterrupted now, the brunette withdrew the cash--judging by the thicker stack, indeed nearly everything in the account.

"Good little piggy," she cooed after pocketing the money. Unlike her friend, she didn't jump off--instead she leisurely walked across the woman's head before stepping gracefully to the ground. I couldn't hold a gasp seeing curvaceous brunette stepping full-weight on a skinny woman's head, I thought it'd crack!

The sight of this fully grown woman spread flat on the sidewalk, sniveling and whining, stirred a mix of disdain and fascination that kept me from simply turning off the video.

But the slave's ordeal wasn't over.

"C'mon sis, help me out here," said the duo's clear leader, the brunette.

She mounted the woman again, smiling at how the moans intensified. Her slender friend followed suit--two of them now standing together on their victim's prone body despite her weeping and alarming wheezes; she was struggling to breathe.

Then, playing it up, the blonde started sensually swaying her hips, slowly shifting position across the slave's torso. In her fluid dance, she once again reached the slave's battered chest--and placed her left foot on it. Once she was steady, the blonde put her other foot on the slave's head and skillfully shifted all her weight onto it.

The brunette cheered her on and then, almost simultaneously, the girls turned toward the camera and flashed charming smiles.

"This paypig gave us all her money. Now we are off to party at the best club in town!"

Laughing and openly enjoying, they waved their cash at the camera, paying no mind to the slave tortured under their feet. They goofed around and struck poses for another minute until they got bored.

Still giggling, the girls hopped down and walked away, while the woman was left sprawled by the ATM. And the video abruptly ended.

I set my tablet aside and headed out onto the balcony. Opening the window, I let in the cool air and tried to calm myself.

This didn't look staged at all, they'd really stood on her, and taken her money! How much was there? A few thousand? The brazen brats got huge profit in ten minutes, not doing pretty much anything!

They barely looked older than Sabrina. Is this the next step? Will her clients come just to grovel at her feet?!

I studied the night sky, sipping wine straight from the bottle. At least my parents couldn't see this--but if they were watching from heaven, they'd surely look away now.

My mirror-reflection frowned back from the window. I stared at it absently. My naturally light-brown hair had been dyed black since my youth, when I thought darker hair would make me seem "more serious." Eventually, I'd grown accustomed to it--and liked the contrast with my green eyes. I was attractive, successful, smart, hardworking... There was no reason to take this so personally.

Across eras, there've always been slick hustlers who "sold air." It was foolish to envy or resent them.

"Wonder what that woman felt? " I suddenly thought. "Didn't she want to stop any of it?"

This wasn't just hurting, it was humiliating! She was older, she could've screamed at least, or even grabbed the two little whores by the hair. Yet she let them degrade her.

The more I thought about it, the stranger I felt.

"Looks like I'm getting too sensitive," I decided, downing the rest of the wine in one gulp.

Remembering I had to attend a monthly staff meeting tomorrow, I forced myself to sleep. The alcohol did its job--my eyelids became heavy, and I dozed off.

***

"Good morning, Mrs Cleverley!" our receptionist Christina was the first to greet me.

I adored this girl. Despite her young age, she was serious and responsible. Always smiling warmly without that fake sweetness. And clients loved her too.

"Morning, Christina." I nodded and headed to my office. "Everyone's been notified about the meeting?"

"Yes. Marina's still on sick leave, but everyone else will come." Christina reported and looked at me expectantly.

"Good. Is Mrs Redelman coming today?" I paused at the doorway for a moment.

"Yes, she's booked for ten," Christina quickly checked the schedule. "For mesotherapy."

Mrs Redelman's visits were always a major event for our salon. Like dropping a bomb... A real challenge for any service staff.

The aging actress craved attention, was sensitive, emotional, and quick to take offense--just like a child. But her husband's company had a contract with us for skincare products.

My girls were well-trained in handling such capricious women. But Christina clearly handled it best of all. I could rest assured about the salon's reputation.

No sooner had I settled into my comfortable leather chair than the phone rang.

"Olya?" I couldn't help but smile into the receiver. "Miss me already?"

"Of course I love you, but not that much," Olga laughed with her velvety, throaty chuckle. "Wanted to ask if your girls could take care of a certain redheaded princess today."

"Redheaded princess?" I paused for a second, then remembered yesterday's waitress. "Wow, you really don't like wasting time, I see."

"At my age, any wasted time brings me closer to meeting my Lord, you know," Olya quipped with a snort. "So I don't like spending months on wooing."

"Alright, alright, so what's up with your girl?" I sighed. "Wants a trendy haircut?"

"The child complains about one or, maybe, even two pimples on her chin," Olya clucked her tongue. "Honestly, I don't know whether your specialists can handle such a tragedy."

"Poor thing, but we'll think of something. All the power of French cosmetology is at your service." I barely suppressed a chuckle. "Tell her to come by at seven."

"Thanks, darling. I'll pay double for the trouble."

"Oh, better not, or I'll start feeling like a financial dominatrix." I made an awkward joke, remembering last evening, and Olga burst out laughing.

"That has been on my mind all day too," Olga confessed. "Sabrina is just brilliant."

"We're clearly thinking of different things," I thought with a wry smile, keeping it to myself.

Then we said our warm goodbyes.

Sabrina's story no longer seemed so repulsive to me... No, what those men and women asked of her was vile and humiliating--yet somehow I'd grown slightly accustomed to the idea that such things exist.

Strangely, my first discovery of people enjoying hard spanking or fists inside themselves hadn't provoked such strong emotions. Probably because losing money I could visualize much more vividly than fisting.

But soon I'd have no time left for pondering other people's fetishes. We were preparing for a major and joyous event--the opening of our second beauty salon, "Maison de beauté". And if all went well, a third salon would appear in less than two years. I'd become the owner of a full-fledged franchise!

The days raced by furiously.

Creating business plans, advertising, design, training new employees, expanding supply chains... There were so many things to handle. I didn't want to miss a single detail, sought to control everything, and began sleeping poorly.

Sometimes, when I'd try to briefly relax and detach from problems, I'd suddenly catch myself fleetingly thinking about findom...

Had to admit, not all the thoughts were unpleasant. Alongside disgust, I felt an inexplicable curiosity and kept asking myself what would it feel like?

I never watched that video again, yet I remembered every detail. And I still sometimes wanted to understand--what did that woman feel as she lay helpless at those beauties' feet... So pitiful, insignificant, sobbing from pain...

Yes, I was horrified when I secretly--at least for a short time--wished to be in her place, to become some woman's financial slave.

"Is it just a fantasy or I'm seriously considering this?" I thought with disgust.

Maybe it's a midlife crisis. Or chronic loneliness. I traded family for career--never married, no children... Probably a happily married mother wouldn't have such terrible thoughts and desires...

I couldn't even blame my social circle. Rebecca never brought up Sabrina's 'successes' anymore--though judging by the girl's social media, those expensive new watches and designer dresses weren't lover's gifts.

"Which platforms facilitate this?" I suddenly wondered one day. "Surely not OnlyFans?"

Rebecca mentioned Sabrina's clients were mostly foreigners. Naturally, the platform would be too.

Finally I had a rare free evening. Usually I spent time doing something 'productive'--gym workouts, audiobooks, work-related materials. At worst, a relaxing bath to forget everything.

Without ruthless time management, I'd never have achieved my success.

However, I had other plans tonight.

Of course, I didn't expect the first "findom" search result to be a platform inviting me to sign up and hand over my money.

I aimlessly browsed until stumbling onto a BDSM social network. Some threads discussed findom--I dove in.

Most posters, like me, wanted understanding. Predictably--far more seeking dominas than willing subs.

Smirking, I prepared for fascinating reading.

"If these are real people, not bots, maybe they'll change my mind," I decided and started carefully reading perspectives from people I'd normally dismiss.

"Findom's nonsense--some neo-fetish unrelated to real BDSM... Easy money for teenagers."

"Half the country's financially enslaved already. :) What could subs gain? Especially wealthy ones--not exactly naive simpletons reaching success through hard work."

Mentally I agreed--yet this didn't explain my obsessive thoughts...

Then, amid snarky debates, I found a long post from a woman tagged 'Financial Mistress.' Most forum users had standard titles--"Domme," "sub," "switch"--but hers specified "financial."

Her nickname suggested the name "Bella"--undoubtedly fictitious.

"Financial domination isn't about money, but life control. Many harbor repressed desires--shameful angers tracing to childhood.

I enjoy breaking men this way. My slave must ask my permission for any, even smallest, purchases. I also allocate monthly allowances and he survives on what I permit. He reports like little boy."

Her words stirred something inside me...

I wanted to message her this instant, but opening her profile froze my fingers.

It said she'd ignore female inquiries...

I resumed the forum exploration, but eventually the hunger distracted me. Dialing my favorite Japanese spot, I hastily ordered some sushi.

After an hour of useless searching, I finally abandoned my phone, deeply disappointed.

I'd hoped for safe 'play'--nothing threatening my reputation, but couldn't find someone suitable.

Hunger pangs sparked irritation. My food should've arrived ages ago!

"Is the delivery guy coming from Tokyo?" I grumbled.

Another ten minutes and the doorbell finally rang.

Even though I didn't want to make a scene, I still intended sharp words for the late courier, perhaps influenced by my mood. But when the door opened, I froze speechless--a bold-eyed young woman stood there, exuding nothing close to apology.

"Your order," she muttered, shoving the white sushi box forward.

"It took you unusually long," came out weakly--awkward and flustered, instead stern.

"And?" The girl glared, narrowing her eyes. "Traffic. Be grateful I didn't step on it."

The brazenness left me speechless. Nobody--certainly no service worker--had been this rude to me in years.

Instead of putting this brat in her place, I clumsily fumbled for my purse under her disdainful gaze--managing somehow to drop my wallet. Bills and coins scattered across the floor.

The courier snorted loudly, rolling her eyes.

"Sorry," I inexplicably mumbled, kneeling to gather the money.

A couple seconds later, I abruptly raised my head and froze, meeting her arrogant, studying gaze. A smirk was plastered across her lips.

Instead of standing up and handing her the money as one should, I instinctively extended my hand with the crumpled bill--still kneeling on the floor.

Raising an eyebrow slightly, the girl smirked and took it, fixing me with an expectant stare.

My thoughts tangled from the nervousness and strangeness of the situation. I forgot how much I owed, how much I'd already given, and the courier herself didn't even try to name the amount.

Hesitating, I finally held out another bill to her...

She took it, not breaking eye contact, smiling condescendingly as if looking at some pitiful fool.

A third bill disappeared in her pocket, and apparently she'd considered it enough.

Seeing her place the takeout box on the hallway dresser and turn to leave, I suddenly blurted out:

"A-and a tip... I should probably... Wh-what's your name?" I didn't know why I asked, but the girl introduced herself as Kimberley.

Hearing myself mumble and justify like this, still kneeling, I couldn't stop. That haughty look frozen on her pretty face and my humiliating posture... All this pushed me to one thought: no matter what, I must please this girl as much as possible.

"Well... yeah," Kimberly snorted. "As I said, I didn't step on your food, that deserves extra."

I nodded eagerly, amusing her, and offered another fifty--an absurdly generous tip for such order.

"That all?" she asked boldly, grinning.

It sounded like a crude, inappropriate joke--Kimberly testing boundaries. My ridiculous appearance didn't necessarily mean I'd hand over everything, yet...

Obediently, I extended another bill to her.

Kimberly's eyes gleamed with satisfaction.

"More," she smiled down at me like I was a dog obeying commands. "I had come all this way to bring your stupid food."

"Of course, Kimberly, I'm so grateful..." I muttered, handing her the money.

The bills kept flowing into her hands, because neither of us could stop. She enjoyed effortlessly taking cash from some kneeling lunatic, and me... I had no will to resist under her gaze.

"Kim... Kimberly," I corrected myself, glancing up timidly, "maybe you could take... what's left? All of it. And in return..." My eyes darted to the cardboard box on the dresser as shame burned through me.

"In return what?" She mocked. "Want me to step on it after all?"

She couldn't hide her delight, teasing me. Gathering my courage, my voice still came out weak:

"Please... Yes... Step on it..."

To confirm, I placed the takeout box on the floor before me and bowed my head, humiliation washed over me.

A loud snort, then laughter, and the next moment Kim was cheerfully stomping on the unfortunate box I'd been waiting for so long.

"Bon appétit, silly," Kimberly mocked, taking the last cash from my hands. My wallet was empty.

"Thank you," I sincerely answered her mockery for some reason, provoking another burst of laughter from Kim that echoed down the hallway as she left the apartment.

Stunned and emotionally crushed, I remained kneeling for some time, trying to process what had happened.

Timidly, I reached for the trampled box and--for some reason--opened it, but nausea rose in my throat at the sight of food smeared against the walls inside. I recoiled immediately, frightened by my own thoughts--there was no way I was actually going to eat that sushi! Even if the soles of her shoes hadn't directly touched the food, it was completely ruined.

My appetite was gone, replaced by an overwhelming urge to forget what happened. Barely coming to my senses, I left the apartment and headed to a small bar nearby that served decent cocktails.

The alcohol helped me to relax for a while, and I even pretended nothing terrible had happened.

"Hard day?" the bartender suddenly smiled at me, playful yet gentle.

Evidently casting his line--a well-kept, solitary woman with a troubled expression nursing her second cocktail... This could have ended with a nice tip for him. But he picked the wrong target.

"Easier than yours, kid."

His face instantly fell, he apologized, and went off to serve another customer.

I felt slightly better. At least I hadn't suddenly turned into some kind of weirdo ready to sponsor just anyone...

With that thought, I finished my cocktail and ordered another.

By the end of the evening, I was almost in a better mood.

"How much did I end up giving that girl? Around four hundred? A small price to get rid from my dark thoughts. A therapist would've cost more," I decided cheerfully.

***

More than a week had passed since that humiliating incident with the delivery girl.

Occasionally, I still found myself daydreaming about various humiliating scenarios, that could happen in that situation.

Online roleplay held no appeal--it allowed too much time for second-guessing. I craved complete surrender to someone else's control, yet fear and rationality kept me from crossing that line.

To let another woman wipe her feet on me after everything I'd accomplished? No, I just couldn't allow it!

Yet these obsessive thoughts chased me everywhere.

That evening after work, I got in my car and drove towards the bank. I needed to deposit cash into my account--just a routine business. I always chose the same bank because of its convenient location.

The staff there knew me well--I was a valued client who entrusted their bank with substantial sums, after all.

The receptionist immediately greeted me with a polite smile, and led me to the right office. Despite my composed exterior, I felt distinct unease the moment I stepped into the building.

Today, as before, I was served by Olivia, a young, pretty woman with strikingly blue eyes. She was dressed in the bank's branded uniform: a dark blue knee-length skirt, light blue blouse, and fitted jacket that emphasized her petite frame. Her beautiful full lips immediately stretched into a smile.

"Good afternoon, Mrs Cleverley," Olivia greeted me politely, gesturing for me to sit down on a chair.

The office was empty except for the two of us. The air conditioner hummed quietly, and somewhere behind the soundproof walls people were chatting. For some reason, I was overcome by a strange agitation.

"Hi, Miss Cameron" I said timidly.

Normally I would call just her "Olivia", I could allow myself that. After all, I was much older, and she'd been working with me for a long time. I considered such familiarity not as rudeness, but as a sign of affection.

But for some reason I automatically called her "Mrs Cameron", sounding so meekly.

A flicker of surprise crossed her pretty face, but professionalism prevailed, and Olivia merely smiled, focusing on her work on the computer.

Trying to maintain composure, I sneaked a peek at Olivia as she sat in her chair, staring intently at the screen and typing rapidly. I was about to take out a rather large sum of money and hand it to her...

"It's just a procedure," I corrected myself, but my fingertips still tingled with nervousness.

The fact that we were alone, the strangely ceremonious atmosphere in the office, and Olivia's attractive appearance had steered my thoughts in a different direction.

I was willingly giving all the money I'd earned and brought with me to this beautiful young woman who could have been my daughter...

"Everything all right, Mrs Cleverley?" Olivia asked sensitively, apparently noticing I looked somewhat unusual. "Would you like tea or coffee?"

"No no, thank you, please don't let me distract you," I stammered in such a ridiculously soft voice that I almost laughed at myself.

Olivia's eyebrow raised, and I caught a hint of a smile, but she immediately suppressed it and turned away.

I knew Olivia couldn't afford to be disrespectful, but my behavior was clearly confusing her.

"Please, take your time, Miss Cameron, I'll wait," I added for some reason, looking down, because I didn't want to see her expression.

"Thank you," came the reply, her tone sounding amused.

I got so lost in my thoughts that I didn't immediately realize Olivia had called my name several times and was waiting.

"Yes, yes, excuse me!" I babbled and quickly pulled the money out of my bag.

Very carefully, I handed over the stacks of bills bound with rubber bands, feeling myself flush involuntarily.

"Thank you, Miss Cameron," I said finally.

"See you soon, Mrs Cleverley."

I noticed that instead of her usual "happy to help" or "at your service," she simply said goodbye to me while glancing curiously at me.

Of course, I made no remark and in fact behaved as if I still owed her something. I left the bank too abruptly, feeling her attentive and undoubtedly mocking gaze on my back.

"Olivia probably won't tell anyone... Maybe just to her close circle, as a funny work anecdote... "And what's the big deal after all? The client was overly respectful? That doesn't sound that bad," I reassured myself.

But since then the nature of our meetings has changed noticeably.

I realized I'd started mentally preparing before each bank visit, as if convincing myself to go.

After two months, Olivia had clearly gotten used to our new situation and no longer looked so surprised. It even seemed she was beginning to understand something.

Before my next trip to the bank, I spent an unusual amount of time picking out an outfit. Sorting through hangers of skirts, blouses, cardigans, and dresses -- many of which I'd never even worn before -- I tried to steady my nerves.

And part of me still hoped I'd change my mind... Because a wild idea had taken root in my head.

Only Olivia could fulfill this request. In a way, she knew me... and this was an official meeting -- we weren't friends or colleagues.

The more I thought about it, the more I wavered. Would Olivia understand me correctly? Or would she make a scene and call other employees?

I arrived at the bank just after opening. On a weekday at this hour, it was nearly empty. The door to Olivia's office still closed behind me, but I took comfort in knowing there weren't crowds of people milling about outside.

"Good morning, Miss Cameron," I greeted her politely and timidly, as always.

"Hello, Mrs Cleverley," although Olivia still used my full name, I noticed her tone had become more condescending.

Hot blood rushed to my cheeks as this young girl now looked down at me, despite being just a bank clerk.

For some reason, I let her. I easily could have raised my voice and put her in her place.

When it came time to hand over the cash and begin the paperwork, I hesitated. The money lay on the table in front of me, my hand still resting on it.

"Mrs Cleverley?" The girl stared at me questioningly.

A polite, practiced smile graced her pretty face. Gathering my courage, I tried to voice my request. I wanted my voice to sound firm, but instead, but instead I stuttered awkwardly, tripping over my words.

"I have a favor to ask... I... I'm your regular client, and you have always been accommodating to me... Even if my request is... unusual..."

Olivia visibly tensed, but kept smiling, clearly not knowing what to expect.

"What favor, Mrs Cleverley?"

"Please, Miss Cameron, just call me Mila," I blurted out, blushing.

She barely suppressed a giggle, but then looked at me seriously.

"I'm sorry, but we can't address clients informally. If my superiors found out..." She glanced meaningfully towards the door.

"I won't tell anyone," I assured her pleadingly. "This will stay just between us... when we're alone."

It sounded ridiculous, as if I wanted something intimate but was too ashamed to say it outright.

"Alright... Mila," Olivia repeated mockingly, as if savoring it. "What do you want to ask?"

Hearing my first name, I even flinched.

"Before you start dealing with the deposit," I whispered, "I'd like to lie down on the floor... under your desk."

In the silence broken only by the hum of the air conditioner, there was a soft thud -- the pen Olivia had been twirling between her fingers dropped from her hand.

"Mrs Cle... Mila," she hastily corrected herself, staring at me in shock. "Are you serious?!"

"Yes," I lowered my gaze to the floor, gripping tightly the pen that Olivia had dropped and I'd mechanically picked up.

"This is..." Olivia was clearly choosing her words carefully, a thoughtful crease appearing on her smooth forehead. "This is unacceptable, please reconsider. If anyone finds out..."

"Miss Cameron, it's my request, you're not to blame, it's entirely on me! Please let me," I couldn't believe I was saying this, yet I couldn't stop myself as I desperately pleaded with this young girl to allow me to lie near her feet. "No one will come in while the door's closed, I know."

"Yes, that's true, but..." Olivia hesitated, choosing her words. "Are you absolutely sure?"

I nodded shyly.

"Well, if you insist..." Doubt still was on Olivia's face, but mischievous sparks danced in her eyes. "Fine, lie down then. Just so you know, the floor isn't very clean."

She was amused! Not frightened, not pitying me... she just found it funny.

I hadn't even started what I had planned, and I was already shaking with a mixture of shame and disgust. Never in my life had I done anything more humiliating.

Olivia scooted her chair back slightly and waved her hand invitingly. There was so much mockery in the gesture of those elegant white hands that I involuntarily bit my lip.

Leaving the money on the table, I walked around and carefully lay down on the floor, positioning myself so her black shoes were near my face. If I turned my head right, my lips would touch her footwear.

I heard suppressed but clearly audible laughter.

"Comfortable, Mila?" Olivia asked mockingly, clearly amused, and looked down at me.

"Yes, I'm fine, Miss Cameron," I muttered, "proceed, please."

Olivia's fingers began tapping on the keyboard as she returned to work.

Meanwhile I lay there thinking only about how I'd voluntarily placed myself on this dirty floor. At this young girl's feet, to whom I'd given money... She's nearly half my age, yet I literally begged her permission to lie here...

The humiliation made time stretch unbearably... Until I realized an excessive amount truly had passed - this wasn't just my perception. I tried remembering how long deposit paperwork usually took Olivia.

But before I could ponder this properly, I felt movement near my head. Spellbound, I watched sidelong as Olivia removed her formal black shoes, remaining just in stockings.

When Olivia wiggled her toes with pleasure, seemingly stretching stiff feet, the pungent odor of worn stockings reached me. I grimaced involuntarily only to hear giggling - Olivia had actually paused work to observe my reaction.

"Oh, I haven't changed stockings since yesterday," she said with feigned innocence before asking, "Mila, should I move my feet?"

If it weren't for the mocking tone, I might've thought she genuinely cared about my comfort.

"No, it's fine, Miss Cameron, don't worry, please," I muttered awkwardly.

Lying on the floor and breathing in the scent of some girl's feet, I felt powerless and could only submit to what was happening.

"Wonderful," Olivia smirked. "I'll continue then."

She was deliberately moving slowly, maybe even had already completed the money transfer and was dragging it out just to enjoy my pitiful state. But I didn't know how to stop this, having completely surrendered to another person's will.

Finally, Olivia took pity on me. Looking under the table, she announced cheerfully:

"All done, Mila. You can get up."

Hearing those words, I rose hastily and banged my head on the table's edge in my nervous rush, eliciting poorly restrained laughter from Olivia. Under her mocking gaze, I quickly collected myself--straightening my wrinkled skirt, slinging my bag over my shoulder, and hastily saying goodbye.

"Th-thank you... thank you so much, Miss Cameron. See you next time. Thanks," I babbled, unable to meet her eyes.

"Goodbye, Mila."

I fled the bank as if I'd been robbed, although the opposite was true. I hadn't even paid Olivia anything, just allowed her to humiliate a woman much older and more successful...

I trembled from excitement and lingering shame. Walking in a small park not far from the bank, I looked around. There was some unkempt man on a bench, who I immediately approached and asked for a cigarette. He looked at me a suspiciously, but offered his pack. Apparently, I looked like someone whose life might be saved by a smoke.

I lit up and took my first nervous drag in a decade.

With the ashes, some of my anxiety began to dissipate. But I still couldn't believe I'd gone through with this!

I can only imagine what that girl must think of me... She must be bursting with pride--having demeaned someone who everyone considered important, almost wiped her feet on a client!

"She's young, surely she'll blab to someone," I thought miserably.

I hoped self-preservation would keep Olivia from talking. Could I sue her for humiliation? And with no cameras in the office, how could I prove anything?

Crushing out the cigarette, I decided to deal with problems as they came. The second salon opening was imminent, my inbox overflowed, trainee girls kept quitting under the demanding conditions... and here their boss was occupied with God-knows-what.

"Need to quit smoking too," I resolved. "Or rather, not start again."

I had no one to confide in. My closest friends were Rebecca and Olga--neither of whom I could possibly tell this.

"I'll change banks," I thought, though at that moment I didn't believe myself.

Somehow I knew I'd visit Olivia again. And no doubt she was eagerly awaiting my return.

***

Saturday arrived. Weekends always brought packed schedules at the salon--the staff barely had time for smoke breaks. I sat in my office reviewing the designer's files.

I'd decided to radically change the concept of "Maison de Beauté." Previously dominated by floral motifs--banal yet somehow refined.

But my new designer--an ultra-modern girl with broad perspectives--had convinced me to choose a "cosmic" theme.

"Now everyone's 'finding themselves,' exploring the universe and sending requests out there, practicing chakra cleansing," she had rattled off during our meeting. "Even that spiritual self-improvement during eyelash extensions. As for the more ordinary clients, it'll just look cute," she snorted.

The ceiling will be a starry sky with micro-LEDs mimicking stars. We'll add a flotation tank with a futuristic snow-white capsule to the massage room. The walls and floor will get a 'space' makeover too.

I admit, I was thrilled. This young designer's vision and intuition really appealed to me. Looking at the 3D models, I even perked up and felt like my old self again.

Someone knocked on the door quietly, and I immediately recognized my receptionist Christina's gentle tap.

"Mrs Cleverley, are you staying late? I'll wait for you to lock up then," she Christina.

I glanced at my watch in surprise--the workday had ended ten minutes ago, and I was completely absorbed in work.

"No need, Chris, go home. I'll lock up myself."

All that needed doing was turning on the alarm and locking the doors--nothing complicated.

"Oh no, Mrs Cleverley, I'll wait," Christina surprised me with an unexpectedly sad smile and an almost imperceptible sigh.

I leaned back from my laptop and studied the girl carefully.

"Having some troubles?"

"No no!" she nearly recoiled at the question. Despite our warm rapport, I maintained boundaries and remained her respected boss. "The last thing I need is burdening you with my problems."

"Well, I did ask," I chuckled dryly. Strangely, I wanted to show concern for this girl. Probably some cowardly attempt to boost my ego and wash away the bitter taste of humiliation. "Maybe it's beyond my purview, but ears are at least something I can offer."

Christina wavered briefly before relenting.

"I... broke up recently with my boyfriend," Christina stared at the floor.

"Of course... What other tragedies could there be at her age?" I smirked internally, relieved it wasn't relative's illness or worse.

"We'd been together almost five years, since university," Christina continued. "We loved each other so much... I thought we'd marry and build a family."

"Did he cheat?" The obvious question came out.

Christina shook her head.

"No, though how would I know now... Ever since I started working here, Jack became completely lazy. Lost his office job and was always 'looking' for work. I supported us both."

"Oh dear..." I sighed heavily.

"I know, I know, so stupid!" she blurted, flushing. "I kept thinking he'd snap out of it any day, just going through a rough patch. But then he begged me for a large sum--said it was for his mom's treatment--only to spend it souping up his car..."

"What a bastard," I couldn't help muttering.

Christina nodded mournfully, lapsing into silence briefly.

"But you never would've allowed that," Christina murmured.

"What?" I blinked, surprised.

"You'd never let someone take advantage like that! Let alone fund them for long time--that was stupid me! You know... I really look up to you, Mrs Cleverley." Christina reddened even deeper, too embarrassed to meet my eyes. "You are an example of a strong woman to me," she said.

At that moment, I reached for the water on my desk and nearly choked. A nervous giggle escaped my throat.

Christina looked up in surprise. Now it was my face burning with embarrassment, though I hoped the diffuse lamplight disguised it.

"Well, that's... nice to hear," I said, but all I could see was the image of me lying submissively at Olivia's feet, inhaling the scent of her unwashed tights.

Christina's words moved me while simultaneously reopening the wound. If only she knew how her boss had humiliated herself, what she'd begged for... Why did she have to phrase it that way!

Apparently realizing she'd said something awkward, Christina politely apologized and left, still promising to wait and close the salon.

Alone again, I covered my face with my hands and sat like that for a while.

A ridiculous urge to slap my own cheeks came over me, though I'm not the hysterical type.

I suddenly realized with horror that given the chance, I'd go straight to the bank right now to see Olivia again. I might even kneel before her, begging her to take my money and tell no one about our meetings... but let them continue.

I was terrified by what was happening to me but had no idea how to stop it.

Finally remembering Christina waiting patiently, I grabbed my bag and left the office.

"Christina," I turned back from the doorway. The girl looked at me timidly. "Thank you for your words. You're a good girl and you'll definitely meet someone worthy someday."

"Thank you, Mrs Cleverley," she smiled gratefully, completely unaware how ashamed her naive praise made me feel.

***

That day I broke three of my unwritten rules at once: I indulged in idleness from morning; I had coffee and pastry for breakfast; I called a friend even though I consider phone calls a waste of time--it's always better to meet in person.

But such monstrous thoughts plagued me that I needed immediate distraction. Olga seemed the safest option--she's calm, intelligent, not dramatic.

Besides, I'd rather hear about her latest passionate fling than some femdom thing...

The call caught Olga in her bath--she whispered that she'd raided her daughters' shelves and now lay surrounded by fragrant bath bombs, ready for a long chat.

"You know, I'm feeling so blue, Mila," Olga sighed midway through our talk, though her voice sounded suspiciously cheerful. "Don't even feel like seeing anyone."

"Something wrong?"

"It's over with Evelyn," I heard water splash as Olga slapped the surface. "Little bird flew away. Should've clipped her wings, but I was too soft."

Evelyn? Ah right, that red-haired waitress from Red Sky.

"Sorry to hear things didn't work out between you," I said clumsily, making Olga snort immediately.

"'Didn't work out.' Sometimes you're such a stick-in-the-mud it's painful. Who's pushing fifty here--you or me?"

"Alright alright, I just never know what or how to ask," I laughed awkwardly. "What... what did you like so much about her that you're pining?"

"'Same shit as always," Olga paused briefly before answering. "At first they're shy, squeal, resist, eyes on the floor, mimic dead fish in bed pretending they've never heard of clits either--same as half the men out there... Then they get a taste. And realize Mommy knows best and it's better to do as she tells. And then everyone will be happy!"

Olga laughed smugly, while I felt like I'd been struck by lightning.

I suddenly realized I'd always viewed my friend's sexual games as something amusing and frivolous. Just a liberated woman who loves herself--and sex. Her stories about enjoying being the strict, dominant, sometimes tender "mommy" seemed like harmless roleplay to me. Like dressing up as a nurse or teacher.

But what if it runs much deeper? Isn't this... domination, really? Was she treating them like a mistress? Maybe even punishing them when displeased?

"So Evelyn didn't really want this relationship, but you talked her into it?" I asked genuinely.

"She just didn't know she wanted it. But she learned," Olga smirked smugly.

"Does that really happen?" I ventured cautiously.

"Listen, everyone wants something, especially the young ones. Whole life ahead of them, want everything at once. Evelyn here was saving up for college, wanted to study abroad eventually. That's why she was waiting tables. And why she agreed to date me... Don't get ideas, I didn't corrupt some innocent flower. I was just her first woman."

"So she really needs money?" I murmured, thoughts racing ahead.

"Oh, definitely," Olga chuckled.

"Did she save enough for college?"

"No. Mommy got tired of her first," Olga even yawned from boredom. "Pretty, but too uptight. Thought there'd be more fire in her. Tried to loosen her up, shape her a little. Then she went and got feisty! Where was that stubbornness before?"

I listened to Olga's complaints dripping with unapologetic flirtation. The girl's departure hadn't broken her heart. She was like a cat surprised that the half-strangled mouse escaped its claws.

"Hmm. You remember where Evelyn wanted to study?" I asked casually. "I mean, what field?"

"Makeup artist, I think? Or hairdresser. Honestly didn't pay much attention to what that pretty mouth was babbling about. Especially when it was between my legs," she cackled.

"Well, maybe that's not so important. The main thing is she still needs money," I thought with secret hope.

"Wait, why so curious suddenly?" Olga caught on and added slyly, "Got eyes for her yourself?"

I knew she was joking. My interest did seem odd, but I had my answer ready.

"Occupational habit, darling, don't mind me."

"Ah, helping your own kind?" Olga snorted knowingly.

"Something like that," I evaded. "If she becomes a promising stylist looking for a salon, I might connect her with sponsors or good courses."

"Well, I can send her Facebook if you want to share wisdom."

I hadn't dreamed of such luck... My heart raced with excitement and faint apprehension. Good thing Olya couldn't see my face as she leisurely lounged in the bath.

"Sure," I replied, trying to sound indifferent. "If I remember, I will."

Soon I received the coveted link and immediately clicked on it to confirm--it was indeed the same girl. Red-haired, with smooth fair skin dotted with barely noticeable freckles, sinfully plump lips, and green eyes... Beautiful, but that wasn't the only thing that mattered to me.

For a while, I tried hard to pretend Evelyn didn't interest me, and I avoided glancing at her profile. But one day, I cracked and messaged her privately.

"Hi. I'm Olga's friend. We were at the restaurant together once, remember?"

"Yeah. What do you want?"

The reply came startlingly fast. A bit rude, but that was expected...

I hesitated before typing the next line, then decided it was better not to beat around the bush. Either she'd agree... or block me.

A tiny part of me was counting on the latter. If Evelyn called me some filthy names before cutting me off and I get cooled down from that--it would be perfect.

But another part desperately wanted her to say yes. The fantasies I'd replayed a hundred times in my head, ever since that phone call with Olya, already made me dizzy... Sure, I'd crossed a line before, but now I was about to do something even worse to myself.

"I heard you're saving up for college."

This time, the reply took longer, but it was brief.

"You wEmma meet up?"

It clicked--Evelyn must have assumed I was propositioning her for sex. Well, yeah, one "pink" friend just shared another friend's ex-lover's contact info... To her, that wouldn't seem abnormal at all.

"Evelyn, don't get me wrong--I'm not asking you to sleep with me or anything like that!" I typed quickly.

"Then this is even weirder. You wEmma give me money for free?"

I bit my lip. No, not exactly for free...

"I do have a request. Nothing intimate or illegal, don't worry. I just need you to do me a favor."

"I'm all ears."

"Better we discuss this over the phone."

I was afraid she'd keep the chat logs--something to hold over me later. Of course, she could also record the call, but I hoped catching Evelyn off guard would mean the idea of hitting record wouldn't even cross her mind.

My pulse raced as I dialed Evelyn's number.

This idea had festered inside me for so long and so painfully that I'd never actually imagined going through with it...

"Maybe this'll be the last strange thing I ever ask for. I'll end where I began," I told myself firmly.

"I'm listening," came Evelyn's slightly irritated voice.

On the phone, she sounded so young and delicate, making my request even more humiliating and excruciating.

"Alright, Evelyn, here's the plan... We'll go to an ATM together, and you'll withdraw the money we agreed on from my card. One thousand dollars."

I paused to steady myself, gather my thoughts. The silence lasted too long--Evelyn finally snapped:

"And? What else?"

Her tone completely threw me off, and I began stammering.

"Before that... before withdrawing the money," I mumbled, "you'll order me to lie on my back by the ATM."

Suddenly, laughter cut me off.

"Lie on your back?! Is that how ATMs work now?" Evelyn asked between chuckles. "Are you joking?"

God, the shame of continuing, of explaining and convincing her I wasn't joking... Her mocking tone alone reduced me to a pathetic mess.

"No, Evelyn. This... it's my request, honestly, I'm not lying," I said desperately. "I want you to have this money for your studies. But let's do it the way I'm asking," after a brief pause, I added shamefully: "Please..."

"Alright," Evelyn's voice noticeably brightened. She probably thought she'd gotten involved with a crazy person. "Suppose I agree. What then? You'll lie down, and then?"

"Wear something nice on your feet -- not heels though, better sandals... Wait no, let me bring you shoes myself, just tell me your size," I quickly amended, regretting that I'd asked instead of offering right away. "And then, when you have them on... step onto me."

I tried recalling details from that video that had seemingly divided my life into "before" and "after."

"Right onto you?" Evelyn clarified mockingly. "What if it hurts you and you start bawling and screaming for help?"

I admit, I had no idea if I could endure it. The woman on the video was older than me, just as slight--but she'd somehow managed all that torment... Evelyn's slender, sure, but she's tall too; it would probably hurt terribly. But it would mean nothing if it weren't real...

"If I don't ask you to stop, then just carry on," I assured Evelyn, who still hesitated. "You could walk around on me a bit..."

I wanted Evelyn to be unrestrained, maybe rough with me, but didn't know how to ask for that outright. Somehow that felt even more humiliating than asking to be stepped on. I couldn't just hand her a list of insults.

"So, I'm supposed to stand on you and wipe my feet on you?" Evelyn bluntly echoed, scoffing into the phone. "Do you realize how bizarre this sounds?"

"Y-yes..." I murmured, thinking this brazen girl likely wouldn't resist insulting me on her own. "I understand, but I'm really asking... You won't have to do anything else, Evelyn, it'll just be a few minutes, and I'll pay for everything."

We hadn't even started, yet she was already so insolent! Instead of reprimanding her and reminding her who was footing the bill, I withered inside. After all, I at least vaguely grasped what awaited me!

"Wait--what if someone sees us?" Evelyn suddenly balked. "I don't need trouble."

"We'll pick somewhere deserted. And go just before dawn. Inconvenient, but there's no alternative..."

"Fine," Evelyn snorted, though she sounded almost pleased by then. Reckon she liked how I groveled and pleaded. "Olga was batshit too. You're all like that, but she spoiled me rotten, so I'll believe you. But try to trick me -- I'll raise hell at your salon!"

Evelyn hung up without goodbye, and I exhaled heavily, sinking into the chair.

That damn brat! Essentially just a high-class hooker, but acts like some spoiled little princess. One minute she's servicing my friend and gushing over handouts, now she's lording it over me like I'm the one who's desperate to please...

In business, at least, I could dictate terms and refuse unprofitable deals. Here, I turned into some kind of worthless creature who merely mumbled and agreed to everything... I was terribly angry with myself, but the moment I found myself in a humiliating position, all my anger evaporated.

Evelyn and I agreed to meet in two days.

I scoured the entire city on the navigation app to find an ATM in a quiet, deserted spot.

It was located behind an old brick building. Ahead stood a small grocery store, to the side there was endless construction of unknown purpose with building materials scattered around, and farther back loomed the peeling awning of the ATM. Behind it was an empty lot. The perfect crime scene for a maniac. It even gave me chills when I saw it in person. Though the nearest house was quite far, separated additionally by a playground...

I picked up Evelyn in my car closer to three in the morning.

She gave me a suspicious once-over, confirmed there was no one else in the car, and silently climbed in. Evelyn was wearing short denim shorts and a dark T-shirt, her long red hair tucked under a baseball cap--probably to partially hide her face.

As soon as I got behind the wheel, I handed her a box and nervously asked her to open it.

Scoffing skeptically, Evelyn complied while we drove through the city streets.

"Nice," she remarked, admiring the sleek red flat sandals. They were held by delicate leather straps adorned with tiny rhinestones.

When Evelyn put them on, she'd be almost indistinguishable from the girl in that video... The thought excited me so much I could barely focus on driving, gripping the wheel tightly.

"Mila?" Evelyn suddenly called, locking eyes with me. "You're not lying to me, are you? I'll get my money?"

"Of course. I'd never dare deceive you!" I replied frightenedly, turning right. "I'll pay."

My deferential tone clearly pleased her.

"Good," she nodded smugly and turned to the window, seemingly satisfied.

When we arrived, I parked the car opposite the ATM, partially blocking the view too.

Evelyn kicked off her shoes right in the car and prepared to change. I didn't realize I was staring intently at her every move, as if afraid to miss some crucial detail.

But Evelyn didn't miss my stare. She froze with the sandals in hand, turned her head, and suddenly snorted knowingly:

"You wEmma do it?"

"What?" I blinked, staring at her uncomprehendingly.

"You wEmma put them on me yourself, right? That's why you brought them. Go ahead, I don't mind," Evelyn said carelessly. "Just don't you dare grope without permission."

Her last remark was clearly mocking, and I reddened. Evelyn made me out to be some fetishist, but I was in no position to argue. Without waiting for a reply, the girl stretched out her long leg toward my face with effortless grace. I caught a faint scent of slightly sweaty feet--Evelyn had been wearing tight sneakers for too long.

I swallowed nervously and looked down.

"Sure, I'll put them on."

My submissive tone seemed to amuse Evelyn and relaxed her even further. She visibly loosened in my presence and audaciously wiggled her toes near my nose, spurring me on.

Remembering her warning against excessive "groping," I awkwardly fumbled trying to properly hold her foot, shifting my grip multiple times. Watching how cautious and flustered I was, Evelyn chuckled.

"Hurry up, I don't wEmma be stuck in this car forever," she muttered, tired of keeping her other leg up--then casually rested it on my shoulder.

I still managed to put the sandals on Evelyn, carefully holding her feet by the ankles as I fastened the straps. The sight of her graceful legs and slender ankles tightly cinched by the straps filled me with an odd sense of dread--all because of that damned video...

"Are you comfortable, Miss Evelyn?" I asked timidly, releasing her foot.

Sometimes, out of nervousness, I involuntarily switched to formal address, which amused Evelyn.

"Yeah, fine. Let's go," she said, beckoning me carelessly with her hand.

I got out of the car and couldn't help but glance around. It was chilly. A lone streetlamp dimly illuminated the empty street, which was exactly what I needed.

The ATM turned out to be operational. We moved closer, making sure no one was nearby.

"Lie on the ground, on your back," Evelyn commanded sharply, looking down at me with insolence from under the brim of her baseball cap.

Her commanding tone worked. Trembling--whether from cold or excitement--I lowered myself onto the cold, dirty asphalt. I was wearing a cream-colored silk skirt and a matching blouse. Stains would show easily, completely inappropriate for this outing--I don't even know why I chose them, dressing as if for a date.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Evelyn--now in her sandals--slowly walking toward me. I couldn't tear my eyes away from her feet, feeling everything inside me clench with tension.

I wanted to ask Evelyn to pause, to give me a moment, but I didn't have time--before I could think, she abruptly stepped onto my body with both feet.

A ridiculous, high-pitched sound escaped me.

"Don't like it?" Evelyn asked with unexpected gloating, looking down at me. "Suffer now."

"Ahh... it hurts," I moaned, feeling unbearable pressure where Evelyn's foot dug into my skin. The thin fabric of my blouse did nothing to soften the hard sole.

"Shut up, you old piece of shit. Or do you want to get us caught?!" Evelyn hissed, glancing around quickly. "Do you want me to leave?"

"No... no, please don't..." I whispered guiltily, breathing rapidly and trying not to make any loud noises.

With a satisfied nod, Evelyn experimentally took a few steps. Nearly losing her balance, she grabbed the awning of the ATM, and her right foot landed roughly on my chest. I gasped and immediately bit my lip to stay quiet.

Evelyn smirked. It seemed she'd momentarily forgotten about the money she'd come for, instead taking vicious pleasure in trampling me.

"You like it, don't you?" she said with a mix of malice and disgust, grinding her feet into me mercilessly. My chest, stomach, thighs--everywhere she stepped hurt terribly. "Look at how you squirm and whimper."

I let out an indignant muffled sound, remembering we could be overheard.

"You know what, Mila? I get it now. You won't tell anyone," Evelyn laughed, pressing the toe of her sandal against my crotch and testing my reaction. "Because then everyone would know about your little... inclinations."

Now I just wanted her to take the money and get off me, but Evelyn was in no hurry. She suddenly realized I was completely at her mercy and almost not resisting.

"P-please, take the money," I stammered, barely managing to part my dry lips.

"What, are you already done, burnt out?" she giggled. "You'll give me everything you owe. That's my money now."

"Yes, yes, yours," I obediently agreed with everything, hoping Evelyn might show at least some mercy.

In despair, I instinctively grabbed her right foot which she had placed on my chest again.

"Let go," Evelyn ordered grimly.

Seeing I wasn't reacting and just crying, she twisted her mouth.

"You've worn me out. Do you like these sandals that much?" I still hadn't released her foot, dazed from pain. "You brought them to me yourself. Turns out... is this some kind of fetish of yours?"

I stayed silent. Apparently taking my silence as agreement, Evelyn gripped the ATM tighter and forced me to loosen my grip by jerking her foot away. Once free, she immediately brought her foot close to my face and examined me carefully.

"Do you like this? Maybe I should step on your face? Or maybe..."

The toe of her open shoe pressed almost tenderly against my mouth, like a kiss--I felt unfamiliar toes beneath my lips and my eyes widened in shock. Now it truly resembled that video. This girl was now simply using me, brushing her shoes across my face.

"Too bad you didn't meet me first, before your friend" Evelyn giggled. "Who knew you'd enjoy being a doormat. Come on, give them a real kiss."

I tried to obey and raised my head, instinctively screwing my eyes shut, but only met air with a comical smacking sound--Evelyn had pulled her foot away at the last moment.

"No, don't rush like that," she smirked. "You'll need to pay extra if you want to kiss my feet."

Lying beneath this pretty redheaded doll with her bold stare, I felt all my will leave me. I wanted to do whatever Evelyn commanded, no matter how humiliating or filthy.

"I'll pay you, Evelyn, I'll give you more money," I babbled. "Please, tell me how much you want."

"Add another five hundred on top," saying this, Evelyn studied me carefully, as if checking--would I break character or keep obediently doing what she said?

"Okay," I whispered, not daring argue while someone else's feet were so close to my face.

One of Evelyn's feet was on my chest, pinning me firmly to the ground, while she held the other hovering directly above my lips. But in this position, I couldn't quite reach her sandals to kiss them--I was just one pathetic centimeter short.

Watching my futile attempts and head jerking, Evelyn giggled and finally asked cheerfully:

"What, don't you know how to French kiss? Too old for that?"

Shame and effort made blood rush to my cheeks. I must have looked pathetic--flushed, teary-eyed, disheveled. I'd never considered age a problem, but being openly mocked and dominated by such a young girl made me want to submit utterly.

Getting the hint, I reluctantly stuck out my tongue and licked Evelyn's shoe--the leather straps of her sandals and her small neat toes were thoroughly licked. Her shoes were just polished leather, new and clean, but the sheer fact I was licking some underage slut's footwear while pinned beneath her was shocking.

"And at the restaurant I thought you were the bigshot there," Evelyn giggled when I'd licked her foot a few times and suddenly burst into tears. "So high-status, so stylish, with perfect posture. And you're just trash. You even left a measly tip."

"I'm so sorry," I stammered, though I couldn't even remember what amount I'd left that time. "I hope my money now... can compensate..."

"Oh yes, the money!" Evelyn beamed with a broad smile.

The thought of money clearly delighted her. She'd had her fill of humiliating me, and now was ready to accept my tribute in the form of a large sum.

"Let's wrap this up then," she snorted, casually pulling my bank card from my purse. "Give me the PIN."

I mumbled four digits. Evelyn pivoted sharply while standing on me, sending waves of sore pain through my body. A muffled groan escaped me. The pain had long since seized my whole body, but when Evelyn just stood still, it was at least slightly more bearable. I silently prayed she'd get distracted by fussing with the ATM and stop stomping on my stomach.

"You owe me fifteen hundred, counting our little kiss," Evelyn drawled, suddenly pressing her shoe sole directly against my face and giggling when I yelped in surprise. "And you know, besides tuition, I still need money for living expenses and clothes."

I was mentally drained but still felt indignant. Control your appetite, you little brat! Yet no protest escaped my lips. I was too defeated, could only think about the dirty shoe on my face.

Seeing me silent and just breathing tensely beneath her foot, Evelyn grew even bolder.

"And keeping quiet about this my whole life won't be easy. Wonder if Olga knows? I suspect not." Evelyn grinned as she slowly dragged her foot side to side against my face, as if cleaning her sole. "She's nothing like you, really."

"Please, dear Evelyn, take more, you truly deserve it, just don't tell anyone!" I babbled desperately, frightened.

With the shoe pressed against my lips, my voice came out muffled, but Evelyn wasn't bothered--she studied the small part of my face visible beneath her sandal with evident satisfaction.

She was blatantly blackmailing me, knowing I'd never go to the police.

"Ew, what did you just call me?" She suddenly grimaced, cutting me off. "I'm a Miss Jones for you, piece of shit, got it?"

"Forgive me, I'm sorry, Miss Jones, that was impolite, very wrong, it won't happen again..." Hearing my flood of apologies, Evelyn even looked stunned for a moment, staring at me like I was crazy, before bursting into laughter.

"Apology accepted. But I'll take the 'fine' at double rate," she declared smugly, still refusing to remove her shoe from my face though I was struggling to breathe now, sniffing pitifully.

Double... So instead of fifteen, she wants three thousand?!

Of course, I couldn't protest. Hearing the ATM whirring, I even felt a strange satisfaction... Maybe this was how it should be. Right that Evelyn should take it all from me...

The girl even struggled at first to grasp the thick stack of bills the ATM dispensed. Finally, she stepped off me and calmly walked to her car, tucking the money into her bag.

I somehow managed to sit up on the cold asphalt. My entire body ached as if I'd been beaten, but all I could do was whimper quietly through clenched teeth. I tried to look myself over: of course, I was a mess. My skirt was stained and torn in several places, and my stockings were ripped with visible runs. I looked like I'd fallen into a ditch or been dragged across the ground--which, in a way, I had.

"I'm taking a taxi home. And don't even think about following me or calling," Evelyn warned sternly, glancing back. Seeing no reaction from me, she added irritably: "Why are you just sitting there? Call me a taxi."

I snapped out of it and fumbled in my bag for my phone. Evelyn didn't even attempt to help me up. I could tell she was disgusted by the mere thought of touching me...

She had humiliated me, taken my money, and... I couldn't help but glance at her shoes--they were a ridiculously expensive brand, the kind a poor student could never afford. Of course, there was no point hoping she'd just give them back.

"What is it, Mila?" Evelyn smirked, apparently noticing my gaze. "Want your junk back, cheapskate?"

"N-no, of course not, Miss Jones, keep them," I stammered weakly, immediately folding under her disdain. "They look lovely on you."

"Damn right," she snorted smugly, admiring her feet. "Even if your nasty mouth touched them, I think I'll keep them. It's not the shoes' fault you're a filthy pervert."

I swallowed the insult in silence, realizing Evelyn probably regarded them as a trophy--a constant reminder of how sweetly she'd degraded me, forcing me to lick her soles.

"Thank you for accepting my gift, Miss Jones," I murmured very quietly, dropping my gaze.

Evelyn visibly enjoyed my subdued, ashamed demeanor--her expression softened with satisfaction...

"Don't mention it," she snorted before suddenly and unceremoniously opening my car door, grabbing something inside, and walking back to me. "I think I'll give you a little gift too, Mila."

Bewildered, I glanced up and saw Evelyn holding a pair of her rather battered-looking sneakers. They were clearly well-worn, comfortable shoes she didn't mind throwing away--Evelyn ceremoniously stretched them out to me, and I instinctively took them, cradling them gingerly against my chest like a baby. My only fear was dropping them, but Evelyn burst out laughing at the absurdity of my frozen posture.

"Knew you'd love them. Put them on a shelf at home and kiss them goodnight every day."

All I could do was nod humiliatedly, feeling tears stream down my cheeks again.

By the time the taxi finally arrived, I was already sitting behind the wheel of my car, watching Evelyn saunter off with a light, triumphant stride. Every bit of her radiated smug pride. No wonder--she'd literally wiped her feet on a woman who earned ten times her income and was old enough to be her mother...

It was her personal victory. A conquest. Meanwhile, I sat there, trying to wipe the dirt from my face with a wet wipe, crying silently.

Somehow, I managed to start the car and pull away. Taking a taxi in this state was unthinkable, so I had to grit my teeth and ignore the pain.

Something weighed on me even more than the bruises and humiliation.

But even if Evelyn did tell Olya everything, I thought I could wriggle out of it... I'd say the jilted girl made up some crazy story out of spite.

Olya would probably just laugh at the absurdity. She always thought I was a bit too dull and strait-laced anyway.

"Bet even kissing some random girl at this bar would be the wildest sexual experience of your life," Olya had once teased me, slightly tipsy.

No, she definitely wouldn't believe Evelyn.

And if that girl blabs to someone else--she has no proof anyway. Who cares about the gossip that floats around rich people...

That's how I consoled myself the entire way home.

At home, the first thing I did was strip off all the dirty clothes and, in just my underwear, walked up to the full-length mirror.

My stomach, thighs, chest--everything was covered in a scattering of small red bruises that were just starting to darken at the edges. I touched one and hissed in pain.

After barely managing to treat the bruises with whatever I found in the first aid kit, I took a painkiller and lay down in bed, feeling utterly drained.

I just wanted to return to my normal life as soon as possible and forget everything... Not only had I given that blackmailer a fortune, but I'd also licked her feet--something we hadn't even agreed on! I just... I was swept up in the moment, I wasn't even myself back then...

"How idiotic that sounds," I thought despairingly, closing my eyes. "I hope none of my friends find out."

***

The first two weeks passed in a haze. I was constantly listening for something, sometimes flinching at phone calls, and was distractedly absent-minded in a way I never allowed myself to be.

Once, I even snapped at my staff, who were whispering about something during a break--I thought they were discussing me. The girls hastily apologized and scattered back to their rooms, and I felt ashamed of my outburst.

But nothing ever came of it. Evelyn didn't text me or try to blackmail me. Maybe she wasn't quite the dimwit I thought and decided not to push her luck, content with what she had. For her, three grand was a fortune--for me, it was the considerable but affordable price of a mistake.

I decided I never wanted to go through that kind of humiliation again or risk my reputation--or the salon's. It could have cost me my career and everything I'd built over the years!

When Rebecca called me out of the blue one day, I cautiously asked how Sabrina was doing--I was a little worried about her.

"Everything's great," Rebecca said cheerfully. "She's saving up for her own apartment--wants to buy a studio in bigger city and move there."

"That many clients?" I asked, surprised.

"Three regulars, but they're very wealthy folk," Rebecca chuckled. "Though I keep telling Sabrina not to drop out of college just yet."

I thought that was very wise of Rebecca--she genuinely wanted the best for her daughter's future.

"What about you, Mila? Still alone?" Rebecca suddenly changed the subject.

"You know how it is--I'm married to my work," I joked awkwardly, realizing it hadn't even crossed my mind to start anything romantic lately.

"I'm not talking about marriage--just a single date, can you manage that?" Rebecca scoffed.

"Unless it's with the guy who refills the water cooler, I'm out of options. I barely see any other single men," I sighed.

"Depends on how cute he is... Alright, fine, we'll leave you to your solitude," Rebecca suddenly gave a strange little laugh and added, "Oh, and remind me to tell you this wild story next time we meet."

I was puzzled but agreed.

Rebecca could hardly keep secrets--so why didn't she just tell me over the phone? But I brushed it off and called Christina into my office.

"What's the verdict on our newest intern? Chloe, was it?"

"Yeah," Christina nodded seriously. "Picks things up fast, but needs work on her speech."

"Speech?" I smiled. "An accent, or...?"

"No, no." Christina shook her head. "She doesn't quite think before she speaks. When I asked what she liked most about the job, she said... the pay. And our pretty sign outside."

I laughed.

"At least she's honest. It's kinda cute."

"She lacks some polish and professional restraint," Christina muttered disapprovingly. "But I'll work on that."

"I trust her completely to you. Turn this caterpillar into a butterfly, and we'll let her flutter over to our new salon."

"As you say, Mrs Cleverley," Christina replied dutifully.

I let her get back to work. At least here, within the walls of my own salon, I could still feel like a real woman in control of her life... Respected, admired--exactly how it had always been.

I tried not to think about the upcoming bank visit. It had been nearly a month since I last saw Olivia.

"Maybe I should switch banks? Or just my contact person? No, better to switch banks--otherwise Olivia might take it the wrong way..."

Still, something in me resisted.

The incident with Evelyn had terrified me, made me retreat into my shell. The pain, the humiliation, the fear of being caught--it was still too fresh. Sure, the arrangement with Olivia was also humiliating, but not as terrible... or dangerous. At least, that's what I told myself.

Choosing the lesser of two evils, I'd keep my... special meetings with Olivia at the bank. Once a month--like a little reset, to quiet the urges that had faded but never fully disappeared.

I decided I'd go to my bank as usual and just... play it by ear. Maybe I'd behave as just completely ordinary client--hand over the money and leave. And if not... Olivia already knew the drill.

***

I walked into the bank feeling totally confident--even gave the receptionist at the entrance a patronizing little smile when she gave me a once-over. Perfect blowout, a creamy-beige pantsuit that hugged my figure perfectly, a silk scarf knotted coquettishly around my neck in a French twist. I looked incredible--I knew it.

But the second I saw Olivia, watching my entrance with an amused once-over before brazenly gesturing for me with a flick of her fingers, my confidence started evaporating... I caught myself slumping slightly and glancing around for no reason.

"Hello, Miss Olivia," I murmured, which amused her further and seemed to confirm that everything would follow the same script as always.

When we locked ourselves in her office, Olivia settled into her desk chair and wordlessly slid back, pointing precisely where she expected me without even saying a word. The fact that this wasn't just a favor anymore but almost an order left me floored.

Maybe Olivia had gotten too used to my predictable requests--maybe now she felt entitled to dictate things. But it affected me in ways I didn't understand.

Under Olivia's attentive gaze, I walked to the desk, already forgetting all my plans to just be another client today. A belated thought crossed my mind--dust marks on my light-colored slacks would raise questions--but I obeyed anyway, lowering myself onto my back.

Olivia smirked, shifting to face the screen next to her as if ready to proceed with work.

"Miss Olivia..." I mumbled timidly, afraid to interrupt her.

"Yes, Mila?" she asked mockingly, looking down at me.

Seeing her beautiful face so close, I felt flustered but still managed to voice my request. I had wanted to ask Olivia for this last time but hadn't dared. However, after the incident with Evelyn, this desire had only grown stronger...

"I have a request..." I began hesitantly.

"And what do you want, Mila?" Olivia crossed her arms, smiling as she examined me.

"Your feet..." I inadvertently glanced at her neat black pumps near my head.

"Hm? My feet? Want a closer look?" Olivia grinned and playfully twirled one foot, showing off her slender ankles.

"Yes, I... Miss Olivia, could you... put your foot right on my face, please?" I blurted out.

For the first time in a long while, Olivia was dumbfounded, her bright blue eyes widening in surprise. She must have grown accustomed to everything following the same script--but to seriously ask for someone's less-than-fresh feet on her face?

"You do realize I've been in shoes and stockings all day, right?" Olivia giggled.

"Yes, Miss Olivia, of course I understand. It doesn't matter. Please," I whined, watching as doubt on her face quickly gave way to amusement. She seemed to find my plea entertaining and clearly wanted to see where this would go.

Seeing her already kicking off her formal shoes, I swallowed nervously.

Slowly, as if giving me one last chance to change my mind, Olivia lowered her right foot onto my face. My eyes were partly obscured, and my lips pressed against the sole of her foot. The familiar dusty scent of day-old stockings hit me, making me grimace involuntarily.

"I wore yesterday's stockings this morning," Olivia chuckled, "because I knew you'd come. But I never imagined you'd want to become my footstool!"

The sharp smell and Olivia's teasing words made me utterly submissive, and I fell silent. She likely assumed I'd quickly ask her to remove her foot from my face, but that didn't happen. As if making sure I wouldn't back out, she rubbed the sole of her foot over my lips, smudging my soft coral lipstick.

I wanted Olivia to keep sitting like this, leaving her foot in place--and I also wanted her to take my money, but genuinely this time. I didn't know how to offer it. What if she misunderstood?

"Miss Olivia, have you already transferred the money to my account?" I asked softly, my words slightly muffled by the heel still pressed to my lips.

"Not yet, just getting to it," she smiled looking down at my face below her foot and then asked insinuatingly, "Are you in a rush today, Mila?"

"No, I just... I want you to take half of the sum for yourself," I blurted out unexpectedly, belatedly realizing that offering half might have been reckless.