Their bitch

You wake up the next morning, the events of yesterday still fresh in your mind. Every muscle in your body aches from the struggle, but the worst pain is the humiliation. You lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling of the room they’d **** you to stay in—some spare room in the sorority house, though “prison” would be a better word for it. You’re still dressed in the pink crop top and miniskirt they had shoved you into. Even the memory of their laughter as they overpowered you makes your face burn with shame.

There’s a knock at the door, and before you can even respond, it swings open. Ashley, Brooke, and Claire stand there, framed in the doorway, their expressions smug and expectant. Each one looks more confident, more powerful than ever.

“Rise and shine, bitch,” Ashley says, her voice cold and commanding. She’s already dressed in another pristine sundress, her long blonde hair cascading over her shoulders. The faint scent of her perfume fills the room as she steps in, her sandals making light *slaps* against the floor. She tilts her head, looking down at you like you’re nothing more than a pet she’s grown bored of.

Brooke and Claire follow her in. Brooke is in a pair of ripped jeans and a tank top, her tall frame even more imposing as she stands there, arms crossed. She’s swapped out yesterday’s sneakers for a pair of black, chunky sandals, and she casually taps her foot against the floor, watching you with that same smug grin. Claire is no less intimidating, her tight leather pants tucked into high-heeled ankle boots, which click sharply as she steps closer.

“Get up,” Ashley orders, her eyes narrowing. You hesitate, but only for a second. Something inside you still wants to resist, still wants to fight back. But you remember what happened the last time you tried that. You remember the pain of being tripped, pinned to the floor, powerless under their hands and feet. And now, as you look at them, towering above you, you know better.

Slowly, you sit up, feeling the fabric of the tight skirt pull against your skin. Ashley raises an eyebrow as if waiting for something. “On your knees,” she snaps, her voice sharp and impatient.

You freeze, but her expression darkens instantly, and without thinking, you drop to your knees on the cold floor. You can hear Brooke chuckle behind you, the soft tap of her sandal against the ground a constant reminder of how helpless you are.

“Good boy,” Claire coos, though there’s no warmth in her voice. She steps forward, one of her boots nearly touching your knees as she stands over you. “Looks like he’s learning after all.”

Ashley looks down at you, crossing her arms. “Now, let’s make one thing very clear,” she says, her voice cold and commanding. “You belong to us now. No more of that pathetic resistance from yesterday. From now on, you do exactly what we tell you, or…” She trails off, but the threat is there, hanging in the air between you.

“Or we’ll make you regret it,” Brooke finishes, her grin widening. She lifts one foot and places her sandal-clad toes on your shoulder, pressing down lightly but firmly enough to remind you of her control. The weight of her foot is enough to make you feel smaller, more insignificant under their gaze. “Got it?”

You nod, swallowing hard. The humiliation surges through you again, but you’re trapped. You’re *their* toy now, their personal plaything.

Claire steps forward and uses the toe of her boot to tilt your chin up, forcing you to look up at her. “We’ve got a busy day planned for you,” she says, smiling down at you like a cat playing with a mouse. “But first, we need you to look a little more… presentable.”

Ashley tosses something onto the floor in front of you, and your heart sinks when you see what it is—a pair of pink, sparkly high heels. “You didn’t think you’d spend the day barefoot, did you?” she sneers. “Put them on.”

Your stomach churns, but you don’t dare argue. Slowly, with shaking hands, you reach for the heels and slide them onto your feet. They’re tight, uncomfortable, but that’s the least of your worries. You can hear their snickers as you buckle the straps around your ankles, the soft click of the buckle sealing your fate.

“Perfect,” Ashley says, stepping back to admire her handiwork. “Now, get up.”

You struggle to stand, wobbling slightly on the unfamiliar height of the heels, but eventually, you find your balance. The girls all exchange amused glances, clearly enjoying the sight of you teetering on the ridiculous shoes they’ve **** you into.

“You look so cute,” Brooke teases, stepping closer, her sandal-clad feet now level with your calves. “Like a little doll we can dress up.” She taps her foot again, a constant reminder of her presence, her control.

Ashley steps in front of you, her hands on her hips. “Now, we have some tasks for you today. You’re going to be our little servant. Whatever we need, you’ll do. And if you mess up…” She doesn’t finish the sentence, but the memory of yesterday’s slap and the coffee poured over your head flashes in your mind. You know what she means.

Claire leans in, her boots clicking loudly against the floor as she steps close enough for you to feel the heat of her presence. “Oh, and don’t worry,” she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “We’ll make sure everyone sees just how *adorable* you look in your new outfit.”

The reality sinks in. You’re their plaything now. Their personal servant. Every humiliating task they give you will only reinforce the power they hold over you. And the worst part? They’re loving every second of it.

“Now,” Ashley says, snapping her fingers and pointing at the ground. “Crawl. We want to see you move on those pretty heels.”

You freeze for a moment, unsure if you heard her right. But the cold, expectant look in her eyes tells you she’s serious. She wants to see you **** yourself even further, wants to see you on your hands and knees, crawling for her amusement.

You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest, but you lower yourself to the ground, feeling the rough scrape of the heels against the floor as you shift onto your hands and knees. Laughter erupts from above you as Ashley, Brooke, and Claire watch with sadistic delight.

“Good boy,” Ashley purrs, stepping closer. You glance up for a moment and catch sight of her feet, her toes perfectly pedicured, her sandals casually tapping against the floor as if to remind you who’s in charge. “Now, let’s see how well you can serve your new owners.”

And as they laugh, towering over you, you know this is just the beginning of your life as their bitch.