Doormat to dinning table
Master returned from the gym nearly two hours later, his body glistening with sweat, shoes dusty from the road. Riya was still lying exactly where he had left her flat on her back in front of the main door like a living doormat, arms at her sides, legs straight, completely naked and collared.
He stepped over her without a word, one shoe pressing down briefly on her soft breast as he entered. The rough sole ground against her skin for a moment before he lifted it.
“Get up,” he ordered calmly.
Then he added a small bell in her collar that he bought from a general shop. Now whenever she moves or crawl bell rings and remind her that now she is an owned pet .
Then he ordered her to clean herself.
“Clean yourself properly. Bathe. Then cook dinner for me. You have one hour.”
Riya rose on shaky legs, her body aching from the long humiliation on the floor. She crawled to the bathroom, washed the dirt from her breasts, and took a quick but thorough shower. The warm water soothed her raw skin, but the shame remained heavy in her chest.
Once she came out he ordered her to be a servant who will hold his towel outside the washroom while he takes bath and make sure she does not disappoint or make him angry by her actions. She has to make his mood light and happy. She dried herself with her own clothes and took her position outside bathroom as instructed with towel.
She waited naked outside the bathroom door, kneeling with perfect posture. Her head was bowed in submission, and a fresh towel rested across her open palms like an offering.
The moment Master stepped out, water still glistening across his broad, muscular frame, her pulse quickened.
“Crawl behind me,” he ordered, his voice deep and calm.
“And suck every drop of water that falls from my body onto the floor.”
“Yes, Master.”
She dropped to all fours at once and followed him down the hallway. Her heavy breasts swayed beneath her as she moved. With her eyes lowered and her ass raised high, she eagerly pressed her mouth to the cool tiles whenever a droplet fell, licking and sucking them up with soft, hungry moans. The faint taste of his clean skin mixed with the floor made her pussy throb and drip with shameful need. Her own juices trailed behind her as she crawled. In the bedroom, Master stopped in the center of the room and stood like a king. She rose onto her knees before him, but he placed a firm hand on her head, guiding her lower again.
“Drink the water from my feet first. Then work your way up. Every drop.”
She obeyed instantly. Leaning down, she pressed her lips to the top of his foot and sucked the glistening droplets from between his toes, her tongue sliding reverently over his skin. She moved slowly upward, licking water from his ankles and powerful calves, savoring the warm, masculine taste of him. As she reached his thick thighs, he spoke again, his tone low and deliberate.
“You used to be such a proud feminist, didn’t you? Marching, shouting, fighting against men like me. Now look at you. On your knees, naked and dripping, sucking water from the floor I walk on. You surrendered completely. You betrayed everything you once preached, all for the pleasure of serving a man.”
The words hit her like a hot wave. Shame and arousal flooded through her body in equal measure. The reminder of her old ideals only made her wetter.
This was her punishment for being a hypocrite, for abandoning her principles the moment true dominance touched her. The betrayal of her former self sent a fresh gush of wetness down her thighs. She moaned against his skin, pressing her mouth higher. She reached his heavy balls and took them gently into her warm mouth, sucking softly, cleaning every drop with devoted care. Her tongue then traveled slowly up the thick, hardening length of his cock, licking and sucking until she reached the swollen head. She swirled her tongue around it, drawing out the last traces of water while her cheeks burned with humiliated pleasure. Only then did Master allow her to use the towel. She dried him with reverent strokes, starting from his feet and working upward. She patted his calves, his powerful thighs, his firm ass, and the broad expanse of his back and chest. Finally she wrapped the soft towel around his thick cock and stroked it slowly, feeling it pulse and grow fully hard in her hands. Satisfied, Master suddenly kicked her ass with enough force to send her sprawling forward.
“Out.”
She gasped at the sharp sting but crawled quickly out of the bedroom, positioning herself just outside the door on her knees. Thighs spread wide, back straight, and hands resting on her thighs, she remained displayed for him while he dressed. Her eyes stayed lowered, yet she could feel his occasional glance sweeping over her naked, trembling body.
When he was ready, he stepped out and looked down at her.
“Go cook. Make it fast. I’m hungry.”
She crawled to the kitchen at once. Rising only when necessary, she began preparing dal, chawal, vegetable curry, and fresh rotis. She was completely naked under the bright kitchen lights.
Master settled into a chair with a perfect view, scrolling through his phone and watching reels of feminist women dancing and speaking passionately. A faint smirk played on his lips as he contrasted their defiance with the sight of his obedient slave. Every time she bent over to check the pots or adjust the flame, she arched her back deeply and spread her legs. This displayed her round ass and glistening pussy like living art, offered purely for his pleasure. When she needed an ingredient from a lower shelf, she dropped to all fours, crawled to fetch it, then rose again. Her breasts bounced with every movement and her dripping cunt ached with constant need. As the dal simmered and the rotis cooked on the tawa, she knelt gracefully beside his chair. Knees wide apart, back straight, and hands behind her back, she waited in patient silence. Her nipples were painfully hard. Her pussy throbbed visibly, wet and exposed. She could hear the defiant voices from his phone while she remained perfectly still, existing only for his gaze and his comfort. She was no longer the woman who once fought for ideals. She was his. The deeper she fell, the more perfect her surrender felt.
“Good girl. Now bring my food. You will serve as my dining table tonight.”
Riya prepared a simple but proper meal rice, dal, vegetables, and Indian bread(roti). She brought everything to the living room on a tray and knelt in front of him.
Master pointed to the floor.
“On your back. Arms at your sides. Legs straight. You will be my table.”
Riya obeyed, lying flat on the cold floor. Master placed the hot plates and bowls directly on her body one burning plate on her stomach, another on her breasts, a bowl of dal balanced on her lower belly, a glass of water on her chest. The heat from the utensils seared into her soft skin.
“Don’t you dare move,” he warned coldly. “If you spill even a drop or make me drop anything, you will regret it deeply.”
Riya lay perfectly still, breathing shallowly, the hot plates burning her skin. Her breasts trembled slightly under the weight. Sweat broke out across her body again as the heat intensified. Every small twitch sent fresh pain through her.
Master ate slowly, deliberately, using her body as his table. He took his time, occasionally pressing the hot bowl harder into her stomach just to watch her flinch and struggle to stay still.
Riya’s mind was a storm of humiliation.
Look at what I’ve become… The girl who once demanded equality… now lying naked on the floor like a piece of furniture while a man eats dinner off my body…
She held perfectly still for nearly twenty minutes.
But near the end, her exhausted muscles betrayed her. Her chest trembled. The glass of water on her left breast tilted dangerously.
It fell.
The glass was rolling on the floor with a loud crash. Water spilled across her body and the tiles.
Master stopped eating. The room became deathly silent.
Riya’s eyes widened in pure terror.
“I-I’m sorry, Master… please… it was an accident…”
He set the plate aside calmly and stood up, towering over her naked, trembling form.
“Accident?” he said softly, dangerously. “After everything I’ve taught you tonight… you still can’t even serve as a proper table?”
Riya’s voice broke into desperate begging.
“Please Master… I’ll do better… I’ll stay perfectly still next time… please don’t punish me…”
But Master’s eyes were cold.
Master looked down at the spilled water with quiet disapproval.
“Clean it,” he said coldly.
“With your mouth. But first…”
He walked to the corner and retrieved the small plastic bag. From it, he pulled out the thing she had worn on the very first day stiff with dried cum, her own juices, and the lingering traces of chili-salt.
He dangled the filthy garment in front of her tear-streaked face.
“You will use these as your cleaning cloth. Mouth only. Ass high. Don’t you dare lower your hips until the floor is spotless.”
Riya’s stomach twisted violently, but she obeyed.
She crawled into position on all fours, forehead pressed to the cold floor, back deeply arched, ass raised high and round. Her thighs spread obediently, putting her swollen, still-sensitive cunt and tight asshole fully on display. The cool air kissed her exposed holes.
Master tossed the cum-stained panties onto the wet floor in front of her.
“Begin.”
Riya lowered her face. The moment she took the filthy fabric into her mouth, the taste hit her like a slap thick, salty, bitter. Old dried cum mixed with her own stale juices and the faint burn of chili. She gagged softly but started wiping, dragging the dirty panty back and forth across the floor with her tongue and lips like a human cleaning rag.
WHACK!
The thick leather belt landed hard across her raised ass without warning.
Riya cried out into the panty, the sound wet and muffled. The impact sent a sharp, stinging wave through her soft flesh. Her round ass cheeks jiggled violently, a bright red stripe blooming instantly.
“Don’t you dare move,” Master warned, voice low and calm.
“A proper cleaning whore keeps her ass up and her cunt displayed while she works.”
WHACK! WHACK!
Two more vicious strokes landed in quick succession. The belt bit deep, the leather snapping against her sensitive skin with loud cracks. Each strike made her body jolt forward. Her heavy breasts dragged against the cold floor. The pain was sharp, burning, spreading like liquid fire across her ass.
Old Riya screamed inside her head with pure, desperate rage:
This isn’t fair! I was trying my best! My body is exhausted… he’s the one who put the hot glass on my breasts knowing they would move! I’m not a table! I’m not a fucking doormat! I used to be respected… I used to make boys apologize for looking at me the wrong way… and now I’m on all fours licking cum-stained panties while he beats my ass like a cheap whore….
She whimpered pathetically into the filthy panty, tears streaming down her face, but she kept her ass high, back arched, offering herself completely as she continued licking and wiping the floor.
WHACK!
Another brutal lash caught the underside of her ass and the top of her exposed pussy lips. The sting was electric. Riya’s whole body jerked, a broken cry vibrating against the cum-stained fabric in her mouth. Her cunt clenched visibly, leaking fresh arousal onto the floor despite the pain.
Master’s voice remained taunting and composed as he delivered another stroke.
“Look at you. The proud feminist who once demanded respect… now using her own filthy, cum-soaked panties to clean the floor with her mouth while I beat her worthless ass red. Keep that ass higher. Show me how grateful you are to serve as my cleaning whore.”
Riya arched her back even deeper, pushing her round, welted ass higher into the air like a well-trained pet. The bell on her collar rang softly with every trembling movement. Each lash of the belt made her sob and drip at the same time.
The taste of old cum and shame filled her mouth as she wiped the last drops from the floor, sobbing quietly with every strike.
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!
Why is my cunt getting wetter…? I hate this… I hate how my body keeps betraying me… I’m not supposed to be like this… I’m not a pathetic slut who drips when she’s beaten and degraded… I used to be strong… I used to be someone…
Master’s voice remained taunting and composed as he delivered another stroke.
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!
Each lash landed harder than the last. Her ass glowed bright red, covered in overlapping stripes. The pain blended with the deep, throbbing humiliation until she couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.
She whispered brokenly between sobs, voice hoarse and defeated:
“I’m sorry, Master… this worthless feminist whore is sorry… please… I’ll be better… I’ll be a good doormat… I’ll be whatever you want…”
“Good girl,” he murmured. “You’re starting to learn.”
He pressed his foot firmly on the back of her head, grinding her face gently into the now-clean floor.
“This is your place now.”
Riya remained perfectly still ass high, face pressed to the floor, body trembling, bright red welts glowing across her punished flesh.
Riya lay there, ass high and burning, mind fracturing, the proud activist slowly dissolving into something smaller, wetter, and far more obedient.
Master looked down at her red-striped ass and the now-clean floor with quiet dissatisfaction.
“Not enough,” he said calmly. “You still don’t understand how low you are.”
He pointed toward the kitchen.
“Go. Take a handful of rice. Heat it in the pan until the grains are hot. Then bring it here.”
Riya crawled to the kitchen on all fours, her welted ass burning with every movement. She scooped a handful of raw rice into a pan and heated it on low flame, the grains slowly warming until they were uncomfortably hot to the touch. Her hands trembled as she poured the hot rice onto a piece of cardboard he had placed on the floor.
Master pointed to the cardboard.
“Rub your ass on it. Then sit. Fully. Spread your cheeks if you have to. I want those fresh welts pressed against the hot grains.”
Riya’s face burned with shame, but she obeyed.
She turned around, arched her back deeply, and rubbed her sore, belt-marked ass against the hot rice. The grains stuck to her sweaty, punished skin, prickling and burning against the fresh welts. Then she lowered herself slowly, spreading her cheeks with both hands, and sat fully on the hot rice.
The sensation was immediate and cruel.
“Ahh!” she gasped, her body jerking. The hot grains dug into her sensitive, welted flesh like tiny burning needles. The heat seeped deep into her punished ass, making every stripe throb hotter.
Master picked up the belt again.
“Don’t you dare lift your ass,” he warned. “Keep it pressed down.”
WHACK!
The belt landed hard across her upper back.
Riya cried out, her body jolting, but she forced herself to stay seated on the hot rice. The combination was devastating the burning grains under her ass and the sharp sting of the belt on her back.
WHACK! WHACK!
Two more strokes landed across her shoulders and upper back. Each strike made her arch and press her ass harder into the rice, the dual torment pushing tears down her face.
While she suffered, Master spoke calmly:
“This is what happens when a proud feminist fails her Owner. You sit on hot rice like a cheap whore while I beat your back. Keep shaking that ass slowly. Grind those grains in.”
Riya whimpered and obeyed, rolling her hips in small, humiliating circles, grinding the hot rice deeper into her welted ass while the belt continued to fall.
After several more strokes, Master finally stopped.
“Corner. Now.”
Riya crawled to the corner on all fours, ass still burning from the rice. Master pointed to the floor.
“Face the wall. Ass toward the room. Shake it. Non-stop. Like the cheap item-song whore you once condemned. My puppy is watching. Entertain him until I finish my call.”
Riya pressed her forehead to the corner wall, arched her back deeply, and began shaking her round, red-striped ass. The bell on her collar rang softly with every movement. she twerked pathetically, presenting herself like a cheap dancer.
Master sat on the sofa, took his phone, and started a call, completely ignoring her while she continued shaking her ass like a desperate whore in front of his curious puppy.
Riya’s mind was a storm of shame.
Look at what I’ve become… grinding hot rice into my beaten ass… now shaking it like a cheap slut for a dog while he talks on the phone… The girl who once gave speeches against objectification… reduced to this…
Yet she didn’t stop.
She kept shaking her ass slow, rhythmic, humiliating circles tears slipping down her cheeks, the bell ringing softly with every movement.
Master occasionally glanced over, a small cruel smile on his face, as if reminding her that this was only the beginning of the weekend.
When he finished the call
After nearly half and hour of kneeling and shaking ass in front of his puppy who was literally not interested in her as the puppy has some standards.
She was trembling, exhausted, and quietly sobbing when Master finally spoke.
“Corner. Kneel on the rice. Face the wall. This is your ‘relaxation’ for the night.”
Riya crawled to the corner on shaky limbs. She lowered herself onto the cooled but still prickly rice, knees pressing down hard. The grains dug into her raw, punished flesh like tiny needles. She arched her back as instructed, ass high, forehead to the wall, and stayed there a naked, collared, broken figure trying to “relax” on a bed of her own punishment.
Master left her like that for another thirty minutes while he relaxed on the sofa, occasionally glancing over to watch her trembling ass and leaking cunt.
When he finally called her over, Riya crawled to him immediately, desperate for any form of mercy.
“Lick my feet clean,” he ordered.
She lowered her face to his feet and began licking slowly, thoroughly tongue dragging between his toes, cleaning the sweat and dirt. The taste was salty and humiliating. While she licked, he made her press and massage his feet with her heavy breasts, rubbing her soft, sensitive tits against his soles and heels.
“Use those useless udders properly,” he taunted. “This is all they’re good for now.”
Riya whimpered but obeyed, pressing her breasts harder against his feet, massaging them with her soft flesh while continuing to lick. The contrast burned in her mind the girl who once demanded respect now using her breasts like cleaning rags for a man’s dirty feet.
After several minutes, he grabbed her hair and pulled her up.
“Suck me. Properly. Like the eager whore you’re becoming.”
He made her kneel directly in front of it, facing her own reflection.
“Eyes open,” he ordered. “You will watch yourself the entire time. See exactly what you’ve become.”
Riya stared at the girl in the mirror naked, collared, tear-streaked face flushed with shame, heavy breasts heaving. Her nipples were still red and sensitive. Her cunt glistened with unwilling arousal. She looked pathetic. Broken. Disgusting.
Master stood in front of her, cock hard and thick.
“Start by licking. Slowly. Worship it like the desperate whore you are. Use your tongue like it’s the most important thing in your life.”
Riya leaned forward, eyes locked on the mirror. She extended her tongue and began licking the underside of his cock from base to tip in long, slow strokes. The taste was salty, musky, masculine. In the mirror, she watched herself tongue out, eyes watery, licking a man’s cock like an obedient pet.
Look at you… she thought, shame flooding her.
The girl who once gave speeches about female dignity… now on her knees licking cock like a cheap slut… watching yourself do it… seeing how eager your tongue looks…
“Deeper,” Master commanded. “Get your tongue under the head. Circle it. Make it shine.”
Riya obeyed, swirling her tongue around the sensitive head, licking every ridge, every vein. She watched in the mirror as her own tongue worked desperately, saliva dripping down her chin onto her breasts. The sight was mortifying her face flushed, eyes submissive, mouth open and working like a trained cocksucker.
Master took out his phone and started clicking pictures.
“Smile for the camera while you lick. Show me how happy you are to serve.”
Riya forced a broken, tearful smile while continuing to lick, her tongue flat and obedient. The camera flashed. Each click made her humiliation burn hotter.
He’s taking pictures… of me licking his cock like this… If anyone ever sees them… Rohan… Priya… the whole college… they’ll see the strong feminist reduced to this… tongue out, smiling while she worships dick…
“Open your mouth wider. Stick your tongue out. Beg with your eyes.”
Riya opened her mouth wide, tongue hanging out like a bitch, eyes looking up at him in the mirror with desperate submission. She watched herself mouth open, tongue extended, drool running down her chin as Master slid his cock across her tongue, using her face like a toy.
“Suck now. Take it deep. Gag yourself. Show me how much you want it.”
Riya wrapped her lips around him and sank down, taking him deeper into her throat. She gagged hard, eyes watering, but kept going, bobbing her head while watching herself in the mirror. The sight was devastating her cheeks hollowing, throat bulging slightly, tears running down her face as she forced herself to take him deeper.
This is me… she thought, choking on his cock.
The girl who once said women should never be objectified… now gagging on cock in front of a mirror… watching my own throat take it… seeing how pathetic I look with tears and drool everywhere…
Master grabbed her hair and started fucking her face slowly, pushing deeper each time.
“Look at yourself,” he taunted. “Watch how your eyes water. Watch how your throat bulges. This is what you are now.”
Riya kept her eyes on the mirror, watching every humiliating second her head bobbing, lips stretched around his thick cock, drool running down her chin onto her breasts, eyes red and submissive. The sight made her cunt throb with shameful arousal.
For 10-15 minutes he sucked the cock with full devotion as she don't want to get harsher punishment at night as her body was begging for a good rest. But he did not let her feel the ease once he was about to cum he took out his cock and then he stood over her, calm and unhurried.
He instructed her to cup her palms together like beggers do to collect the money offered by people.
He stroked his thick cock slowly until he was fully hard, then came thick, heavy ropes of warm cum landing across his open palm.
He held his hand out to her like a priest offering prasad.
“Collect it. In your hands. Like the devotional liquid it is for a worthless slut like you.”
Riya cupped her trembling palms beneath his cock. The warm, thick fluid pooled in her hands sticky, heavy, masculine. The scent was strong and intimate. She stared at it, her stomach twisting violently.
Once he unloaded all his load on her palms he made her lick and clean his cock while she has to make sure no cum drops from her palms while kneeling . She started licking his cock with care and attention without much movement and make sure no white liquid is remained on his cock. Then he orders her to stay on her knees in front of mirror carrying white liquid in her palms, that she got with her hardwork. He went in the kitchen and took two rotis and a bowl of dal for her. And came back in room.
“Spread it on the roti,” Master ordered, throwing a plain, dry roti onto the floor in front of her. “Like ghee. Slowly. Reverently. Show me how grateful you are. And keep your eyes on the mirror.”
Riya’s hands shook as she dipped her fingers into the warm cum and began spreading it over the roti. The thick, slimy fluid glistened obscenely on the dry bread. She could smell it. Feel its texture between her fingers. The act felt like the ultimate desecration.
Master placed a small bowl of dal beside the roti.
“Eat. On the floor. Like the animal you are. Every bite. No hesitation. And watch yourself the whole time.”
Riya lowered her face to the floor, eyes locked on the mirror. She took the first bite.
The taste hit her immediately thick, salty, bitter, slimy. She gagged hard, her stomach churning. The roti was dry and rough, but the cum made it slick and heavy. She forced herself to chew and swallow, her throat working visibly.
This is disgusting… I’m disgusting… she thought, tears slipping down her face. I used to stand on stage and tell girls their bodies were sacred… now I’m eating a man’s cum like it’s holy ghee… while watching myself do it… seeing the shame in my own eyes…
Master watched her with dark satisfaction.
“Swallow it. All of it. This is what you deserve. Look at yourself while you eat. See what a worthless whore you’ve become.”
Riya continued, dipping another piece into the dal and forcing it down, her face twisted in revulsion. Every swallow made her throat bob. The taste coated her tongue and lingered heavily. She kept her eyes on the mirror the entire time, watching her own humiliation play out in real time.
By the time she finished the last piece, Riya was a broken, crying mess. Her face was dirty. The taste of him lingered heavily in her mouth.
She pressed her forehead to the floor, voice hoarse and shattered:
“Thank you, Master… for feeding this worthless whore…”
Master stroked her hair almost gently.
“Good girl. You’re starting to understand.”
Riya lay there, mind fracturing, the proud activist slowly dissolving into something smaller, wetter, and far more obedient.
The ritual had done its work.
She had not only been forced to eat his cum she had prepared it, spread it, and consumed it herself… while watching every second of her own degradation in the mirror.
And deep down, a terrifying new truth was taking root:
She was beginning to accept that this was exactly what she deserved.
He stroked her hair almost gently.
“Good girl. You’re learning.”
Riya stared at her reflection face messy, lips swollen, eyes defeated — and felt the last pieces of her old self crumble.
She whispered hoarsely, voice broken:
Before sleeping, he gave her one final task.
“Shoe rack.”
At 12:15 AM, Master opened the door and looked down at her.
“Outside. Shoe rack position. Don’t let anything fall.”
Riya crawled out into the dimly lit common corridor on all fours, completely naked except for the collar. The cool night air kissed her bare skin, making her shiver. She positioned herself against the wall near his door on all fours, like a plank position , flat back like table top. Master placed his used gym shoes ,formal shoes, slippers and some spare shoes carefully on her back.
One dirty slipper was pushed into her mouth, the sole pressed firmly against her tongue. A sweaty sock was draped over her lower back and another across her calves.
He draped a thin, semi-transparent blanket over her body, but it barely covered anything her breasts, ass, and dripping cunt remained partially visible.
“Stay exactly like this. Alert. Don’t move. Don’t sleep. You are my doormat and shoe rack tonight.”
The door closed.
Riya was alone in the corridor.
The proud feminist who once demanded respect now stood guard outside a man’s door like a cheap, obedient object shoes on her body, sock draped over her, dirty sole in her mouth, praying no one would discover what she had become.
The humiliation was immediate and crushing.
She could taste the salty sweat and dirt from his gym shoe on her tongue. The rough sole pressed against her mouth made her drool uncontrollably. Her heavy breasts hung beneath her, nipples still burning from the menthol. Her ass was raised high, the fluffy tail plug visible, her cunt exposed to the cool air. Every small shift made the shoes on her back wobble dangerously.
Look at me… she thought, tears slipping down her cheeks. The girl who once led protests against objectification… now kneeling naked on fours outside a man’s door like a living shoe rack… shoes on my back, a dirty sole in my mouth, ass exposed like a cheap whore… If anyone sees me like this…
She heard the lift moving.
Her heart nearly stopped.
The lift was going up from the ground floor. She could hear the mechanical hum getting closer. Her body tensed. The shoes on her back wobbled slightly. She froze, trying desperately to stay perfectly still.
The lift passed her floor without stopping.
Riya let out a shaky, relieved breath through her nose, drool still leaking from around the shoe in her mouth.
Thank god…
But her relief was short-lived.
A few minutes later, the lift started moving again this time coming down from an upper floor.
She heard it stop on the floor above. Then footsteps. Drunk, unsteady footsteps.
A man stumbled out of the lift on her floor.
It was a middle-aged drunk resident from the building someone she had seen a few times but never spoken to. He was clearly intoxicated, swaying as he walked down the corridor.
Riya’s entire body went rigid with terror.
Oh god… please don’t look this way… please just go to your flat…
The drunk man staggered closer. He tripped slightly and fell forward, landing on his hands and knees just a few feet away from her.
He looked up.
His bleary eyes widened as he saw the strange sight a blanket-covered figure on all fours, with shoes balanced on its back, a shoe in its mouth, ass raised high.
“Wha… what the fuck…?” he slurred, staring. “Is this… is this a moving shoe rack…?”
Riya’s mind exploded with panic.
He’s looking at me… He can see me… If the blanket slips even a little… he’ll see my tits… my cunt… my collar… He’ll know it’s a naked woman…
She stayed perfectly still, barely breathing, praying he was too drunk to realize what he was seeing. The shoe in her mouth made it impossible to speak. Drool leaked down her chin.
The drunk man crawled closer on his hands and knees, squinting.
“Why is this shoe rack moving…? It’s breathing… wait… is there a girl under there…?”
Riya’s heart was pounding so hard she thought it would burst. Tears of pure terror and humiliation streamed down her face. The thought of being discovered like this naked, collared, used as furniture outside a man’s door made her want to die from shame.
If he pulls the blanket… if he sees me… the proud feminist… reduced to this… everyone in the building will know… Priya will know… the whole college will know…
The drunk man reached out a shaky hand toward the blanket.
Riya’s body trembled violently. The shoes on her back wobbled dangerously.
Just then, a door opened further down the corridor. Someone else was coming.
The drunk man muttered something incoherent and stumbled away toward his own flat, too intoxicated to pursue the strange sight.
Riya remained frozen in position, sobbing silently around the shoe in her mouth, her cunt dripping with fear and shameful arousal.
She had never felt more exposed, more humiliated, or more terrified in her entire life.