Worthless

The first thing Laila felt was the kick.

Lexi’s boot struck her ribs with precise cruelty, sending a shock through her body. Not enough to cripple her—just enough to make her gasp and fold slightly before straightening again into her kneel. Pain bloomed, hot and sharp, but she welcomed it. Pain from her Goddess was a gift.

“Oh, you have wishes now?” Lexi’s voice was a slow, mocking drawl, the words curling in the air like smoke. “Mmm. Then I’ll plant something in you. Something you can never take off.”

Laila didn’t flinch. She didn’t dare. She lowered her head so her hair fell forward, shadowing her face, breathing through the ache in her side. “Yes, Mistress,” she whispered, voice hoarse but steady. There was no hesitation; whatever Lexi placed inside her mind was truth. Her identity was no longer hers to define.

Lexi circled her like a predator, fingertips brushing her jaw before tilting her chin up. “Laila is nothing. Laila is a costume I will make you wear when it pleases me. You are Worthless. That is all. When you smile, it’s because I told you to. When you speak, it’s because I wrote the words. When you breathe…” Lexi leaned close, her voice a whisper against Laila’s ear, “…it’s because I allow it.”

The words sank deep, burrowing into her. She felt them fix themselves in place, like hooks set into her thoughts. She repeated them silently, again and again, until they drowned out everything else.

Monday Morning. University.

The sunlight was merciless, stabbing at her eyes as she walked across campus. The wind carried the hum of students talking, the scent of coffee, the squeak of shoes on polished floors. All of it felt alien—like walking through a stage set. She wore a cream blouse, a pencil skirt, modest black heels—exactly what “Laila” would wear.

But she was not Laila.

I am Worthless. Property. A vessel for her Goddess.

The part of her that smiled at colleagues, nodded politely, and spoke in practiced tones—that was the mask Lexi had written. Every word, every gesture, was from a script. Beneath it, Worthless coiled in obedience, counting minutes until she could return to the basement. The cot. The leash. Home.

She corrected herself constantly. Laila is going to work. No—Worthless is wearing Laila’s skin today. Laila greets her coworkers. No—Worthless moves her mouth the way the script demands.

On the walk to her office, she passed a group of students laughing too loudly. One of them wore boots that gave off a faint leather scent. The smell caught her off guard, her breath hitching as her thighs tightened reflexively. She **** her eyes forward, her steps measured, her mask unbroken.

Inside the office, the air was warmer, laced with printer toner and stale coffee. Farida typed quietly at her desk. Others clustered nearby, laughing about their weekend. The words were distant, meaningless. She focused on keeping her back straight, hands still, eyes soft—exactly as the script required.

The door opened.

Lexi stepped in.

A ripple passed through the room. Conversations slowed. Smirks and whispers spread like rot. How dare they? Worthless’s mind burned hot. Mocking my Goddess? I should tear their eyes out. Her pulse spiked, but she **** it down. The mask must hold.

Lexi’s gaze swept the room. A subtle flick of her eyes toward the floor was all it took to make Worthless want to drop to her knees. She gripped the edge of her desk to stop herself.

“Worthless,” she told herself. That was the truth. “Laila” was the role.

The others expected her to join in the mockery, to share their derision. Instead, she stepped forward, calm and controlled.

“Here are the documents you requested, ma’am,” she said, laying a folder on the desk, a key resting on top.

Lexi’s eyes met hers briefly. She took the folder, and for a heartbeat their fingers touched.

The contact was electric. Heat surged in her belly; her thighs ached to clench. I touched my Goddess. She read Lexi’s subtle pause as a message: You remember who you are.

Lexi left without a word. The room’s noise returned. But Worthless remained still, heart pounding, skin tingling.

Two colleagues smirked. “What’s with you, Laila? Did the white monster get to you? Why so sweet?” The laughter was too loud, a needle scratching in her head. Worthless imagined their faces pressed to the floor, her Goddess’s heel grinding down. Don’t break the mask.

She tilted her head, feigning mild amusement. “I’m fine. Just being polite.”

Another leaned on the desk, smirking. “You’ve lost weight. You look… sharper.”

Her mouth smiled, but inside she was whispering her mantras. I am what my Goddess shapes. I am nothing else. “Thanks,” she said evenly.

They drifted away, their voices fading into a blur. She exhaled slowly, fingers curling under her desk to keep from dropping to her knees right there.

By evening, the office was quiet. Only Farida remained, lit by her monitor’s glow. Earlier, she had caught Farida giving her a knowing glance when Lexi left—subtle, but sharp enough to stick in her mind.

She stood, stretching as if ending a normal day, but her heart beat faster. Did I please her enough today? Did I hold the mask without flaw? Will I be allowed to kneel tonight?

Farida closed her laptop. “So, Worthless, huh?” she said, teasing but curious. “Come on, I’ll give you a ride. Master and Mistress told me to.”

Laila blinked, the mask slipping in her mind. “What?”

Farida smiled faintly. “I’m the maid for the Hale family. So… come on.”

Her breath caught. Another thread in her Goddess’s design. She gathered her belongings with measured care, her polite smile still in place. But inside, Worthless was already kneeling, forehead pressed to the floor, replaying every moment of the day—each correction, each suppression of instinct—aching for the moment she could return to her Goddess’s shadow.