Laundry Day IV
Gavin K.,  http://www.geocities.com/femdomain
Gabriella puts the seal on Malcolm's domestic training and finds some new uses for him.


Gabriela closed the apartment door and kicked off her Nike running shoes. Her
forehead was glistening with perspiration and her racer-back jogbra was damp
beneath her arms and around her jutting breasts, but her breathing had already
returned to normal. She thought briefly about taking a shower but decided it
could wait, and instead went over and stretched out on the couch feeling very
pleased with her performance.

"Hey, you in there," she called out. "bring me a Gatorade."

Almost before the command had left her lips, Malcolm came out of Kelly's room
and trotted over to the fridge. Two ticks later he was standing before
Gabriela, head bowed, a chilled bottle of the requested beverage in his
outstretched hand.

The reclining Gabriela gave him a dirty look. "Not cherry," she said. "Get me
a different flavor."

Without hesitation, Malcolm went back over to the fridge and returned bearing
a lime- flavored Gatorade.

"In future, get it right first time," she said. She snatched the bottle from
his hand, twisted off the cap, and took a long, refreshing gulp like the jock
girl she was. She slapped her lips together and exhaled nosily in
satisfaction. "Well? What are you waiting for? You know what to do."

Malcolm quickly got down onto his knees at the end of the couch where
Gabriela's feet, snug in Nike quarter socks, dangled over the edge of the
cushion. The socks were dazzling white thanks to the time he'd spent scrubbing
and bleaching them, but the soles had turned gray again from being pressed
against the insoles of the running shoes. Gabriela perspired like any healthy
young woman when she exercised and the air around the couch smelt strongly of
her humid feet. In the past, Malcolm would have given anything to kneel so
close to the source of this odor; but now, as the sharp, sour, and
overfamiliar girl sweat assaulted his nostrils, he felt utterly demoralized.

Very cautiously, he moved his hands towards Gabriela's waiting feet and took
the elasticized top of one sock between his thumb and fingers. Trying to keep
his hands from shaking, he slowly eased the sock down over her ankle and heel,
taking care not to pull or twist her precious joints. Then, ever so gently, he
proceeded to peel the damp, clinging fabric away from the sole of her foot,
finally revealing her strong, perfectly formed toes. Instinctively, he glanced
up at Gabriela, but she was too busy sipping her drink to notice him. He
shuddered as he glimpsed the muscles in her neck, shoulders and arms, and the
sculptured definition of her exposed belly. But he was most unnerved by the
awesome legs she displayed in crotch-hugging fitness shorts. The thighs were
long, sturdy and toned to perfection, the calves elegantly powerful.
Struggling to regain his composure, he draped the first sock over the arm of
the couch and set to work removing the second.

When both of Gabriela's moist socks were removed, Malcolm folded them one
inside the other and placed them on the carpet next to his knees. Her feet
were a lighter color than her tanned legs and soft and smooth from the sweat,
as if they'd been in mini sauna. The socks had left a faint imprint on the
insteps and tiny pieces of lint clung to her soles. She began to flex her
toes, enjoying the sensation of the cool air on her skin.

"What are you waiting for?" she said suddenly. "A reminder?"

Malcolm scrambled to his feet and hurried over to the kitchen. There was an
abject look on his face as he opened the freezer and began to take out trays
of ice. Sipping the last of the Gatorade, Gabriela watched from the couch as
he began to empty the ice cubes in to a large bowl. How wonderfully slavelike
he'd become, she reflected, since the confrontation. Miki had broken him, that
was true, but only psychologically, not physically--and men are essentially
physical creatures. It had taken a Brazilian girl, born and raised with five
brothers in the back streets of Sao Paolo, to break Malcolm in his balls.

She had not planned to do it nor had she thought it would even be necessary.
Malcolm was the perfect little dork, who for the chance to lick sweaty feet,
sniff dirty panties, and ogle Kelly's ass would do just about anything they
told him to do. Yet she had observed an unpleasant residue of male arrogance
in Malcolm that Miki's otherwise excellent training with feet and wooden spoon
had not been able to get rid of. She had noticed he would sometimes hold their
gaze for longer than was necessary or mutter a curse under his breath; and
most irritatingly for Gabriela, he had a way of carrying himself about the
apartment, intended to show them he was bigger and stronger than they were,
even if he did choose to follow their orders. Then, a few weeks back, the
pressure of serving as lackey for three demanding coeds had become too much
for his male ego, and all the anger and resentment he'd bottled up inside
exploded.

It had been a rather hectic evening. Kelly had papers due and was yelling for
Malcolm to get started on them--after he'd pressed the backless cami-top and
matching pants she wanted to wear for her dinner date. Miki had ordered him to
scrub out the tub and run a bath for her, then return her Charlie's Angels
video to Blockbuster. And Gabriela, who had just got back from training,
wanted him to fix her a high-protein shake. Malcolm snapped. He threw the
sponge hard against the side of the tub, spat a racial slur at Miki, and
stormed out of the bathroom. Ranting that Kelly was a spoilt bitch whose only
talent was spreading her legs for the football team, he strode across the
living room towards Gabriela, who was standing near the apartment door in her
workout sorts T-shirt, and bare feet. "And you," he roared. "If you want a
shake so bad go to MacDonalds and get your Pa to fix you one."

Kelly and Miki watched with open mouths as Malcolm planted himself before
their roommate and stuck out his chest. In his jeans and linen shirt he looked
to have a solid build and he had risen up on tiptoe so he could look down on
his female adversary. But Gabriela did not flinch. She kept her hands on her
hips and held his gaze as he snorted his hot, angry breath into beautiful
Latin face. She had an eye for bodies and knew that Malcolm's bulk was all
flab. And from watching him working in the apartment, she'd determined he had
the coordination of a drunk and was totally flatfooted. When he suddenly
thrust his hands towards her neck, it looked to her trained eyes as if he were
moving in slow motion. She waited until just the right instant and simply
ducked and spun to one side, leaving him to stagger forward snatching at thin
air.

"I'm warning you," she said calmly, standing up straight again placing her
hands back on her hips. "Don't you ever lift a hand to me again. If you can't
deal with domestic work then just go. The door is right in front of you."

Malcolm turned round red-faced, unable to comprehend how she'd dodged him so
easily. She was standing there just a few feet away with a bubble-gum-chewing
insolence about her that made him burn inside. With a loud roar, he lurched
forward and this time swung his fist, aiming for that slender Latin nose she
always turned up at him. Gabriela, who had adopted a basic defensive stance,
didn't even move her feet. She merely jerked back her head and shoulders and
watched Malcolm's fist swing by, inches short of her face. As he was regaining
his balance, she reached out a hand and gave him a firm slap on the cheek--not
to hurt him, but just to show him how vulnerable he was. "That's your second
warning," she said as calmly as before. "You don't get a third. Next time I'll
put you on your back."

Kelly and Miki could scarcely believe what was happening in their living room.
Gabriela had told them stories about her time in a girl gang in Sao Paolo,
saying how she and her sisters would fight and usually defeat the boy gangs.
But they had not taken her stories very seriously nor really believed a girl
could get the better of a man (even one like Malcolm) in a physical
confrontation. Now here was their Latina roommate, in her bare feet, dealing
effortlessly with a guy who was bigger than any of them. She made Malcolm look
clumsy and helpless and the confidence she exuded was hypnotic.

Stunned by the slap, Malcolm stood blinking. His face was an even deeper shade
of red than before and the whole of one side stung. The humiliation was
unbearable. It had been his "choice," after all, to dry panties in front of a
floor fan and grovel to lick feet--but getting beaten in a fight with a girl
was not his choice at all. Gabriela had slapped his face and he had not been
able to stop her. She had bitch slapped him--yes--bitch slapped him in a
fight, as if he wasn't even worth punching, wasn't a man or even a boy. She
was treating him like a schoolgirl who didn't know the first thing about
physical combat. Something deep within his balls, urged him to redeem himself,
reclaim his manhood-- Kelly and Miki were watching this Brazilian brat make
him look like a sissy.

He formed his right hand into a fist and stepped purposefully towards
Gabriela. He focused on her arrogant chin. He blotted everything else from his
mind except that arrogant chin. He imagined his knuckles smashing into it; he
imagined blood, saliva, and shattered teeth flying from her mouth. Gabriela
saw his wild swing coming even before he moved his arm. She had calculated
that he would miss, but decided not to give him the chance to get that far.
Balancing on her left foot, she shot her right knee into the air and flicked
from the knee in one fluent movement, just as she'd practiced during seven
years of kickboxing training. She smashed the hard arch of her instep up into
Malcolm's unprotected groin, once . . . twice . . . three times, in such rapid
succession her foot was a blur. She didn't kick him as hard as she could--she
didn't want to cripple him for life, just put him in his place--but she
delivered each kick with such speed and precision Malcolm was curled up like a
fetus and rolling on the floor before he even realized what had happened. He
was clutching his manhood and groaning very quietly because he was in too much
pain even to cry out.

Gabriela surveyed her work proudly. It was some years now since she'd had to
put a man on his back and she was glad to see her technique was as good as
ever. She went and stood over Malcolm, placed a bare foot on his shoulder and
rolled him onto his back. He stared up at her in cold terror and she saw in
his eyes there was no fight left in him.

"You want more?" she said.

Bighting down hard on his bottom lip, he shook his head frantically.

"I said do you want more?" She kicked his hands away from his groin and placed
her foot there, pressing it down into his beaten manhood.

"No more . . . No more . . . Please, no more," moaned Malcolm hysterically,
snatching at her ankle, but powerless to shift her foot.

"What?" she said, beginning to grind the ball of her foot into his balls. "I
didn't quite catch that." Malcolm was dancing around on his back, his face
horribly contorted. His words came out in yelps, screams, and moans.

"No...more...please...no...more...Senhorita Gabriela . . . please . . . no
more."

"That's better," she cooed, easing up on his injured balls a little, but still
keeping them under a cruel amount of pressure. Malcolm had stopped trying to
clutch her ankles now, realizing it only made things worse for him, and lay
there on his back, teeth gritted, lips trembling, eyes rolling white. Gabriela
put her hands on her hips, and smiling over at Kelly and Miki, invited them to
come closer.

"I can take you out any time I want," she said to the man beneath her foot.
"You know that don't you?"

Malcolm nodded dumbly, but quickly made the effort to speak when he felt a
strong toe squeeze into his balls. "Yes, Senhorita Gabriela," he squealed. He
wanted her to leave him alone. That was all. He was beaten--he didn't care. He
was humiliated--he didn't care. He just wanted to roll around on the floor,
groaning and clutching his poor balls.

"I could take you out blind folded and with both hands tied behind by back
couldn't I?"

"Yes, Senhorita Gabriela," he whimpered, looking up through watery eyes at the
faces of Miki and Kelly.

"I want to hear you say it."

"You could take me out blindfolded," he said, then added very quickly,
"Senhorita Gabriela."

"And what else?"

He felt the pressure again. She had no mercy. "And with both hands tied behind
your back," he croaked.

"Why?" she said, giving him no respite. She was enjoying herself too much.

The agony in his balls had spread to his ass, stomach, and kidneys. He felt
his lower body melting into the carpet beneath her unforgiving foot. He could
not think of an answer.

"Because you're nothing," she told him. "You're not a man. You're not even a
boy. You're just a pathetic worm whose only purpose in life is to make
yourself useful to girls like us." Then she made him repeat what she'd said,
word for word, punishing his balls when he made a mistake and forcing him to
start all over again.

Kelly looked down at Malcolm from tall red sandals. Even as a woman she could
imagine the pain he must be in and was ready to tell Gabriela to let him go.
But then she remembered the awful names he had called her. A spoilt bitch was
she? A locker-room slut? Her blue eyes darkened--he deserved to suffer for a
bit longer yet. Miki, who was in her bare feet like Gabriela, had no sense of
compassion to overcome. She loathed creeps like Malcolm at the best of times,
and after the words he'd uttered in the bathroom, she would have happily
watched while he was castrated. Her eyes were narrow as they focused on his
suffering groin.

"Girls," said Gabriela, "let's mark this moment and make it so he never
forgets where he belongs." Malcolm could only watch in horror as she
encouraged her two roommates to place their feet on him. Miki was first. She
stomped her petit foot into the pit of his stomach, winding him. She was
obviously pissed that Gabriela had reserved his balls for herself. Kelly
lifted her high-heeled sandal and brought it slowly down onto his chest. She
was cautious and did not put her full weight on him, but he could still feel
the sharp point of the heel splitting his ribs.

"This is where you belong," said Gabriela, "down under our feet."

"Yes, Senhorita Gabriela," he moaned. For the first time in his life he felt
no pleasure in being so close to women's feet.

"You're not down there beneath our feet because you want to be or because you
chose to be. You're down there because I put you down there. That's the way it
is from now on. Understand?"

"Yes, Senhorita Gabriela. Yes." He closed his eyes to block the view he had up
Kelly's denim skirt. The sight of her wonderful thong-clad ass tormented him
now.

"Girls, if he so much as blinks without your saying so, I'll fix him so he
can't walk for a month." She gave Malcolm's balls a final crush to make sure
he got the message. Then she brought her foot to his face and slapped him with
the sole. "Kiss it," she said. Hands back over his balls, Malcolm kissed her
sweaty, dust-covered sole with a desperation that made her laugh. "Now hers,"
she said inviting Miki to step forward. But Miki didn't give him the chance.
Before he had puckered his lips, she trod on his mouth with all her weight and
stood there for a good ten seconds, pressing the back of his head into the
carpet. When she stepped off again, his lips were squashed flat against his
teeth. Next, Kelly's sandal appeared over his face.

"Just kiss the shoe," she ordered, tilting the edge of a platform sole towards
his bruised lips. As she pulled her sandal away, she inadvertently scratched
his throat with the long heel.

"Alright, worm," said Gabriela, slapping his face a second time with her foot.
"Go over to the kitchen and fix me that shake and make sure you blend it
properly. Then you can scrub out the bath for Miki and iron Kelly's pants and
top. You can start work on Kelly' papers after you come back from the video
store. And you WILL finish BOTH papers before tomorrow morning."

The three girls stepped back as Malcolm struggled up onto his hands and knees.
They watched him crawl slowly over to the kitchen, his shaky legs giving way
every few steps.

Malcolm got down onto his knees at Gabriela's feet once more, placing the bowl
of ice cubes on the carpet beside him. Gabriela had switched on the TV and was
busy flicking through the channels with the remote; she paid only scant
attention to him as he prepared for the task she'd taught him to perform just
the week before. Drowning in the oppressive odor of her girl sweat again, he
picked up two ice cubes and put them inside his mouth. They quickly began to
melt, freezing his tongue and the roof of his mouth in the process. He felt a
cold, piercing pain in the center of his forehead, but made no sound and kept
his face expressionless.

"Go ahead, start," said Gabriela, not even bothering to glance away from the
TV screen.

Crouching low on his hands and knees, Malcolm moved his face towards
Gabriela's dangling feet. Breathing in nothing but the intense sourness or her
dry sweat, he stretched out his carefully prepared tongue and began to lick at
one of her pale, wrinkled soles. Gabriela's foot recoiled instinctively at the
first tickling touch of the chilled organ, but she quickly relaxed and let
herself enjoy the delightful sensations it was Malcolm's whole purpose to
stimulate. Careful to keep the melting ice cubes in his cheeks and touch her
flesh with only his tongue, Malcolm worked diligently. Feeding himself ice
cubes every minute or so to keep his mouth at the required temperature, he
covered the entire surface of each foot with short, soothing strokes of his
tongue, invigorating the tired muscles and cleaning away every last trace of
sweat and lint. When both her feet were fresh and glistening, and his own
mouth was filled with grit and a biting acidity that no amount of ice could
dampen or wash away, he moved on to the next stage in the ritual. He sank down
lower on his hands and knees and began to suck on one heel and then the other,
alternating between the two, drawing the smooth orbs into his mouth and
caressing them with rapid circular movements of his dedicated tongue. Up on
the couch, Gabriela sighed with pleasure. His docile caresses were sending
waves of pleasure to the tops of her thighs. After the heels, he attended to
the balls of her feet in the same religious manner, sucking and licking with
all of his concentration; finally he devoted himself to her toes. He sucked on
each stiff, salty digit individually, soothing it, spoiling it, worshipping it
in the chilled, foot-pampering cavity his mouth had become.

Gabriela glanced down at him. "Do the big one again," she said, and grinned to
herself as his servile mouth rushed to do her bidding. When he kissed Miki's
feet it was a rare treat for him, she mused. When he kissed Kelly's feet he
couldn't hide his little erection because he was still in love with Kelly,
despite everything. But when he attended to her feet, as he did now, he was
motivated by pure fear. He knew what her feet could do to him if he failed to
please her. To see just how scared he still was, she moved one of her feet
quickly, as if she were about to kick him in the face--as she had at the start
of his training whenever he'd let an ice cube glance against her skin or she'd
felt his teeth graze her toes. He jerked away with surprising speed and
dropped to the carpet, where he cringed like a dog about to be beaten.

"Up." she said sternly, "If I did decide to kick you, you wouldn't even see it
coming. Suck the other one now." Timidly and looking pleadingly into her eyes,
he raised his head and began to suck on the big toe she held out to him. He
knew he was sucking on her symbolic cock and that his sluttish tongue caresses
only increased her contempt for him. But he didn't care. He didn't care about
anything except avoiding a beating.

Gabriela was proud of her invention, her self-recharging and self-maintaining
foot- cooler-and massager unit. She thought vaguely about patenting him or
loaning him out to other girls. Perhaps she would take him along to volleyball
games and have him service 5 pairs of sweaty female feet in the locker rooms
after the match. She stretched lazily on the couch, then folded her arms
behind her head, unconsciously pushing her long, big toe deep inside Malcolm
busy mouth. She was happy with her life here in America and with what she had
achieved. Back home, girls dreamed of marrying an American man--any kind of
American man. She had come to the USA on an athletic scholarship just three
years earlier, and now here she was, a girl from the slums of Sao Paolo,
reclining on a couch watching satellite TV, while one of those coveted
American men was down on all fours eagerly sucking her stinky toes. If only
Ana, Giselli, Fernanda, Viviane, Monize, and the other sisters could see her
now!

When Gabriela had had her toes sucked and tongue pampered to her satisfaction,
Malcolm fetched a fleecy towel and patted her feet dry. He then emptied away
the remaining ice cubes, took Gabriela's rolled-up socks to her laundry
basked, and placed her discarded Nikes on the shoe rack next to Kelly
ever-growing collection of sandals and Miki's flip-flops. This done, he went
and stood before Gabriela, who was engrossed in a Brazilian sitcom she'd found
on one of the satellite channels.

"What is it?" she muttered impatiently.

"May I continue with Miss Kelly's paper, Senhorita Gabriela?" He spoke in a
lowered voice, staring own at the carpet.

"Yes, go on," she said without taking her eyes off the TV.

But no sooner had Malcolm sat down at Kelly's dressing table and opened the
file of lecture notes, than he heard Gabriela shout his name.

"Get me another Gatorade," she said as he came into the living room. Malcolm
went obediently over to the fridge and brought her what she demanded. But
instead of taking the bottle from his hand, she glared at him.

"I said not cherry, dumbass. Don't you listen?"

Malcolm had turned red. He was also starting to tremble. He looked
despairingly at the sexy bully lying on the couch, loathing himself for his
lack off balls. He lived in constant fear of this tyrannical girl. He was like
a mouse creeping around a surly lioness.

"What are you standing there for dumbass? Get me another flavor." He could
hear the growing impatience in her voice.

"S-o-o-o-ry, Senhorita Gabriela," he stuttered, "but this is the last one."

"What?" she said ominously, forgetting about the television now, her eyes
darkening. "You mean you didn't go shopping yet?"

"No, Senhorita Gabriela. Sorry, Senhorita Gabriela." He knew better than to
make excuses. This moody Amazon didn't care that he'd spent the whole morning
washing their dishes, ironing their clothes, making their beds and vacuuming
every room in their apartment.

"Well run to the store now, stupid, and buy me some Gatorade before I get up
off this couch . . . And none of that cherry-flavored piss."

He scurried out of the apartment, relieved to be away from Gabriela for at
least a few minutes. When she got mad anything could happen. At the store, he
selected six bottles of Gatorade from the very back of the fridge, paid with
his own money, as he did more and more often these days, and walked quickly
back to the apartment. She'd slapped his face before now because the drink
he'd bought wasn't cold enough for her.

"Be quicker next time," was all Gabriela said when she snatched the bottle
from him. Fortunately for Malcolm, she was once more engrossed in the noisy
sitcom and didn't bother to punish him. She did not, however, give him
permission to rinse out his mouth, and as soon as he'd put the other bottles
in the fridge, she sent him off to Kelly's room to get on with the paper.

His mouth still sour-tasting and stinging and his throat itchy with grit and
lint, Malcolm sat at Kelly's dressing table with file open and pen in hand;
but he could not concentrate. Even though the door was closed, he could hear
the blare of the sitcom and the frequent eruptions of Gabriela's laughter.
Kelly's room oppressed him. He'd once dreamed of having access to a place like
this, full of girly accoutrements and smells, but things had changed. Now he
was responsible for keeping all the bits a pieces in order. He spent his days
putting magazines, catalogues, and CDs back on the shelves, returning her
shoes and clothes to the closet, picking up empty soda cans, chip packets and
candy wrappers, taking cups and plates back into the kitchen to wash, and
putting used tissues, Q-tips, and cotton balls into the bin. Left to her own
devices, Kelly would have lived like a pig in a sty, too busy dating guys and
hanging out with friends even to brush her toenail clippings into the trash.
Just the other evening she'd joked that every modern girl needed a guy like
Malcolm around the house.

He tried to clear himself a little more space on her cluttered dressing table.
He stacked three trays of cosmetics one top of one another, moved a large vase
of roses to the window ledge, and put her manicure set, jewelry case, and
styling brushes on the floor. Finally he had enough room among the stuffed
toys, photographs, bottles of perfume and nail polish to balance the writing
pad.

But just when he was ready to put pen to paper, he heard Gabriela's voice
above the blare of the TV. She was summoning him to the living room again.
Malcolm could not believe what he was hearing. She couldn't want that! Not
now. His whole body tensed and his chubby hands clenched into fists. That
Brazilian bitch was impossible! But as his sense of righteous outrage grew, so
did the dull ache in his broken balls. As if recalling a fragment of a
nightmare, he visualized a proud naked foot, a foot that had brought him to
the ground in the blink of an eye, groaning in agony, groveling for mercy. A
foot that could castrate him . . . that maybe already had.

He got up off the chair and crept into the living room, his face revealing
none of his inner rancor. Gabriela was now sitting up on the couch, back
against the backrest, her long, toned legs stretched out in front of her. He
went over to her and quickly dropped to his knees.

She looked down at him as if he were the stupidest creature on earth. "What do
you think you're doing?" she said. "Didn't Kelly tell you to have her paper
ready by the time she gets back. Go and fetch your work--quickly."

Malcolm jumped at the sound of her voice. He ran into the Kelly's room and a
few moments later stood before Gabriela clutching the file of lecture notes,
the pad of writing paper, and the pen.

"You can write it in here while I rest my feet on your back," she told him.

It took a while before Gabriela was happy. She had Malcolm assume half a dozen
different positions before she found one that suited her. He was finally
required to kneel with his body parallel to the couch, his forearms flat
against the carpet, his ass raised baboonlike in the air. Gabriela, meanwhile,
sat snug in the corner of the couch, arm on the armrest, legs stretched out
before her and crossed at the ankles. But instead of resting her feet across
his buttocks or lower back where they would be easiest to support, she had
them balanced rudely on his neck. He strained visibly as he bore the weight of
her muscular legs, and whenever she laughed and bounced her heels up and down,
he felt his neck was about to snap.

In such a position--crouched like a religious supplicant, neck buckling under
the pressure of Gabriela's domineering feet, ears bursting in the din of an
incomprehensible Brazilian comedy and wild jock-girl laughter--Malcolm
struggled to think of an opening sentence for Kelly's sociology paper. She
would be coming home soon, after a day of shopping at the mall and watching a
movie, and would expect her paper finished.

He had still written nothing when he felt Gabriela's strong heel dragging his
neck into a new position and he complied, making his body obedient her will.
When she seemed satisfied, her feet now bearing down on the back of his skull
and pushing his face down towards the carpet, he returned his attention to the
paper, now just an inch beneath his nose. For the hundredth time he reread the
question, praying for inspiration: "The position of women in contemporay
society is changing. Discuss this statement making reference to your own
experience."

He had just thought of an opening line, when Gabriela lifted her crushing feet
from his head and jabbed him in the ear with her toes. The sitcom was over.
"Go and run me a bath," she said, sniffing her armpit loudly. "I really
stink."