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You recognize the peril you are currently in, your arm securely fastened between Isabella's legs, and her odorous foot being planted directly on your face. You can feel the lack of oxygen get to you, and your vision starts to fade. You realize what you must do, and in a moment of utter defeat you tap onto her legs. She smirks as she lets you go, and stands up to a raucous crowd. They start to chant "long live the queen!" in sing-songy tone that serves to mock you even more.

Isabella walks over to your sulking form, and places her foot on your hip as she leans over to speak to you.

"Do not fret, darling. Many like you before have thought that they were queen material, only to be corrected by me. So really, you ought to be thanking me for showing you the error of your ways. But that is okay, you did not know your place before. Do you know your place now?" As she poses the question, your eyes cannot even meet hers in shame. You were foolish for ever trying to beat the queen, and you know that now. You are not royalty, you're just a peasant squashed underneath the glory of Queen Isabella.

"Yes, Queen Isabella, I know now that my place is beneath you. I am sorry for ever questioning where I belong." You reply defeatedly.

"Very good. Now, you can start making it up to me by showing the audience your allegiance to me. This of course requires you to kneel before me, and kiss the feet of your queen." Isabella's tone is snobby and unforgiving, and when she looks at you you can feel her cold stare penetrating your soul. You know what you must do now.

"Of course, Queen Isabella." You dejectedly sink to your knees before Queen Isabella, and bend over to kiss her toes. Your face turns red from humiliation as the audience laughs at you. You hear the sound of cameras clicking as reporters take photos of your pathetic state, and begin to think dreaded thoughts at the headlines that will come out tomorrow about this. You will never be able to show your face in the arena again after this.

"Now come along peasant, I have need of a loyal **** in my chambers. From now on you will be my property, and will only address me as 'Queen Isabella.' You will simply be referred to as '****' from now on. Do you understand?" You nod in acknowledgement, signaling your verbal commitment to her. From somewhere near the ring a rope is procured, which Isabella takes ahold of, and begins to tie around your neck. Pretty soon, a neatly knotted rope serves as a temporary collar fashioned around your neck, and you are led out of the arena being dragged along by her.

That night, you are unceremoniously thrown into a tiny closet space in Queen Isabella's enormous mansion. You have a hard time sleeping that night, having not been allowed to shower, change your clothing, eat, or talk to anyone you know. You realize the huge mistake you made by ever challenging Isabella, and thoughts race in your mind about the torment you will receive as her live in ****. Eventually you find a corner and doze off for a few hours. This is ended in a quick and brutal fashion however, as you are thrust out of slumber by a splash of cold water sploshing across your half naked body. You shriek in shock and gaze upwards to see the assistant you had dealings with before the tournament.

"Get up, it is time for your official hiring as Queen Isabella's personal ****." Her words scare you, and you think about running. But you know there is nothing you can do. You resign to your fate and follow the assistant down the stairs. You are led to a room with a doorway that leads to the backyard, where Queen Isabella is waiting with paperwork stacked up next to her. You take a seat as she begins to speak.

"Well ****, it is time for you to sign away your rights to me officially. I have the documents here, all you need to do is put down your signature. I don't expect a peasant like you to understand the legal terms in here, so you can just sign and be done with it." She is partially correct, you can read but you doubt you'd be able to understand the language being used. It is written in complicated syntax in a way you can't comprehend. So, resigned to your fate, you sign your name on the bottom.

"Good girl. Now, follow my assistant Meghan outside for the second part of your initiation." You look towards Isabella confusedly. Second part? What does that mean? Suddenly you feel a robe being wrapped around your arms, and panic begins to set in. Meghan has bound your wrists together, and is tugging at the rope which sends you awkwardly stepping forwards. You are taken outside by a grill, where a hot looking piece of metal is sitting with a fiery red tip.

"Get on your knees, and put your ass in the air ****" Meghan commands. You do as you are told. Meghan then strides over to the grill, and to your horror, pulls out the piece of hot metal.

"Wait... Wait no, please! What are you doing!" You cry out as Meghan slowly makes her way to your backside. For a moment, there is a feeling of tense nothingness. Then, without warning, SIZZLE! A burning hot indentation is made on your right ass cheek. You screech out in pain as the brand is thrust into your backside, burning a permanent mark into your skin. Meghan spends a few minutes cleaning up the wound, and then takes you inside to show you what it says: Property of Queen Isabella.

"Thank you for doing that for me Meghan. Would you like to try out my new **** before she starts her daily housework? I bet your feet are pretty sore from being on them all day." Meghan smiles wickedly at you, before agreeing. You are thrust onto the floor of the living room, where Meghan then follows you, sitting on a couch above you. You look towards her and watch her take off her smart looking work shoes. Then she peels off her worn socks.

"Put this in your mouth ****, and get on your stomach." You look down in disgust at the smelly damp sock you are holding, but you know better than to disobey. Even if Meghan is just Queen Isabella's assistant, that still makes her your boss. You hesitantly shove the sock into your mouth, and lay down on your stomach, trying to ignore the taste of salt entering your tongue. Meghan then mounts you from behind, and sticks her feet directly into your face. The combination is enough to make you audibly groan in disgust. You try to turn your head, but there is no where for you to escape the smell. And that's where you find yourself, at the feet of yet another woman in service to your queen.

You begin your new life as a personal **** of Queen Isabella, and months go by. Eventually, you adjust to your new role and your new life. You never see your friends or family anymore, but that does not matter to you. You miss them sometimes, but leaving your queen is unthinkable. You think about how different your life would be if you had won against Isabella that day in the tournament so long ago. But to think like this is treason, and you could never do that to your queen. A call is heard from downstairs.

"****, my feet need some pampering. Come down here and do your job!"

"Yes Queen Isabella," you say as a smile creeps onto your face.

-ENDING: All hail Queen Isabella-