Haters Gonna Hate

F/f - Prolific troll, Meg, hates on the popular Instagram influencer, Tabitha Fitzroy-Smythe, but is soon put in her place. 27k words.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Copyright © 2021 themaneloco

Haters Gonna Hate

Have you ever met anyone that you truly despise? I’m not one of those girls that pretends they don’t hate. I’m a hater for sure and I’m proud to admit it. I hate people who were born with a silver spoon in their mouth. I hate people that were handed everything on a plate. I hate people who think they’re better than everyone else, and I especially hate celebrities and influencers.

What is the thing with influencers? I just don’t get it. Why do these people think they deserve to be paid just to show off to everyone else? Oh, look at me, I’m on holiday again and I didn’t pay a penny for it! God, it riles me so much. They prance around in their skimpy outfits with their perfectly sculpted bodies and they think we commoners should all just bow before them. It’s infuriating, they literally get paid to take selfies.

I think part of my rage is due to working so god-damned-hard for such crappy pay. I work in Burger Station, that’s right, and I’m not ashamed to say so, because I work bloody hard. Often, I’ll pull double-shifts just so I can meet my monthly expenses. After rent, bills, food and everything else, I’m basically left with piss-all. It’s a modern tragedy and one I am completely trapped in. It’s just so unfair! I’m constantly tired and aching, yet I’m barely surviving.

If that wasn’t bad enough, what do I come home to? That’s right, in the short amount of time I actually get to relax, I flick through Instagram, and what do I see? Influencer after influencer, living it up in their perfect little worlds and barely lifting a finger in the process. It makes me spit. The hate and frustration I feel is mind-numbing. I loathe these people with every fibre of my being. Do I wish I was pretty and rich? Of course, I do, but I’m not, and it’s so unfair.

Working so much also means my love life is pretty much non-existent. I can’t remember the last time I actually had a boyfriend or even went on a date. A fast food restaurant is hardly the best place to pick up guys either. So, when I see these other pretty girls scooping up all the decent guys, it makes me seethe.

So, what do I do? Well, I hate of course. I troll them with as much venom as I can muster. Influencer after influencer gets a double-barrel of vitriol from me night after night. Vulgar comments on their photos. Criticism in their DM’s. It’s the only way I can make myself feel better and it’s clearly what they deserve. Thanks to the internet, I can do it anonymously and air my frustrations without any consequences. I actually see it as a way of bringing balance to the world. That’s my true job; to bring a dose of reality to this delusional bunch in their vanity lair.

I see a girl posing in her bikini? I question if her tummy is photoshopped.

A girl smiling for a selfie? I ask if her nose is real.

My comments aren’t outright abuse. I just phrase them well enough to sow doubt. To put a little idea in the back of their heads that maybe they aren’t quite as perfect as they think. I’m an expert at it by this point. If I manage to make their smiles disappear for a single minute, then that’s a minute in the world that I’m happier. When one actually reacts, that’s the highlight of my day. I even have a bunch of fake accounts that I used specifically for trolling. I’d say it’s my number one hobby and I’m completely addicted to it.

One such night, I was flicking through Instagram, looking for my newest trolling victim when I came across something that made me freeze. My thumb was stuck hovering above the screen; this was a profile I’d never seen before. She had four million followers and she was from my hometown! Next to her username, changeyourlifewithtabitha, was that verified blue tick. Woohoo, a verifiable bimbo!

All of the influencers I trolled were usually abroad or from one of the big cities. I actually trembled in excitement at the thought of being able to bring someone back down to Earth that lived so close to home. Wow, imagine I upset her and then some day actually saw her out and about in public? It would be such a rush knowing I’d put her in her place and she didn’t even realise it was me. Like an internal victory. I was already rubbing my hands together at the opportunity.

The girl’s name was Tabitha Fitzroy-Smythe, which seemed like the typical spoiled, ‘posh girl’ name. Evidently, she came from a background of wealth prior to her ‘influencing’ endeavour, which just made me loathe her even more. She was rich and could sit around doing nothing. However, that wasn’t enough for perfect little Tabitha, was it? She expected to be paid to do it.

She was in her late teens and her profile appeared to be focused around life coaching. She was very good looking, tall, slim, and had flawless tanned skin. She was basically everything I wasn’t. There were lots of selfies, so many selfies of this blonde-haired halfwit with her big blue eyes and perfectly applied makeup. Everything seemed so fake and posed. Each shot structured and orchestrated to make herself the centre of attention. She couldn’t just see a puppy in the street, she had to hold it up for a selfie and make it an event. Going for a coffee was a photo opportunity and passing her driving test required a sponsorship.

A lot of photos appeared like she’d waited for everyone else to leave so she was the only person there. More likely, she’d badgered the staff into clearing all of the ‘normal’ people out so this superstar could have it all to herself. If it was a vacation photo, she was dressed up in boho gear in numerous relaxing poses, sunbathing on the beach or staring off into the distance in frilly skirts and headbands. If she was in the gym, she was wearing sports brand names with her hair styled perfectly, not a drop of sweat in shot. Food was untouched, probably dumped straight after the photo. If she was reading a book, I noticed she was always on the first page. Everything was carefully focused towards her ‘brand’ and the falseness infuriated me.

I clicked her most recent photo. It was a mirror-selfie of her posing in a new, expensive bikini and had over a hundred, thousand likes. She was winking at herself above a self-satisfied smirk. The bikini resembled dental floss and snugly wrapped her ample bosom and toned naval. The caption read: hard work pays off. Beneath the image were thousands of comments saying how amazing she looked and what a great body she had. Line after line of praise and worship.

The absurdity made me shake with rage. What the hell did this little scamp know about hard work? She didn’t look like she’d done a proper day’s work in her life. Hard work to her was putting on a bikini and taking a photo? She should try a day in my shoes and see how she gets on.

I looked at my own profile. My most recent picture, a photo of me exhausted in my work uniform, had no likes. Not even one pitiful like. Not even from my own mother, who I knew for sure was following me. This was just so damn unfair! How could a girl like this Tabitha be so popular compared to me? She was basically a celebrity, and from a quick browse through her posts, it seemed she was being paid to promote stuff constantly. Clothes, makeup, jewellery, nutritional supplements, everything was being handed to her on a plate. How the hell could she call herself a life coach? What was her message exactly? Do nothing and get everything for free? Cruise through life thanks to your divine nepotism? What was her contribution to society other than just showing off to everyone else about how pretty and perfect her life was?

Between the product adverts, there were endless photos of her flaunting her expensive clothes, her brand-new car or relaxing around her beautiful home. She was still a bloody teenager! So damn unfair indeed! I clicked a photo of her standing happily outside a detached house and holding a set of keys. I wanted to scream as I read the caption: just bought my first home, mortgage-free at 19! Hard work pays off. Go me!

My eyes were wide and the rage was boiling. What planet was this girl on? Hard work was scrubbing a greasy kitchen for twelve hours a day, not posting pretty pictures of yourself on social media. But there were millions of followers lapping it up and giving her the attention, she so clearly craved. This was the callous, shallow world we seemed to live in. I had no intention of applauding her vanity.

I opened another of her photos. This one was even more annoying. She was at the airport, and there was a pile of Louis Vuitton suitcases in shot. It was taken from her point of view and you could see she was holding a cocktail. Her bare feet were crossed as she used the luggage as a footrest. Her toes were freshly glossed with a french pedicure and there was not a wrinkle or dried skin in sight. On her ankle was a shiny bracelet. It was too far away to see the detail but one of her tags was #tiffany which said it all. She was the most spoiled and pampered influencer I’d come across so far. I was actually surprised I’d only just found her, especially since we were from the same hometown.

The photo rattled me on so many levels. Firstly, the caption: so tired, can barely stomach an 8-hour flight, thankfully I never fly eco. It was the most blatant of humblebrags. Oh, poor little tired Tabitha, so tired she was, sat in the airport with her feet up on her expensive luggage while she sipped a cocktail, waiting for her luxury flight. Heaven forbid she’d ever have to fly with the rest of the cattle in economy.

And the feet, God, the feet were infuriating. Who even did that in public anyway? What kind of entitled brat propped up their bare feet in the airport lounge like they owned the place? All the while blinding everyone with the sparkly display of wealth on her ankle.

The comment tab popped up and I let fly with my usual snippet of hate.

Me: Oh, look at you, Tabitha, aren’t you just little miss perfect? You’re so much better than me! We should all be bowing at your feet!

I added a rolling eyes emoji and clicked submit. Job done and I already felt a lot better about myself. I was hoping she’d read it and realise how completely full of shit she was.

The next day, I woke up and checked my phone like I usually did before work. I had a notification on Instagram. This was odd, I hardly ever had notifications as no one ever messaged me or liked any of my photos and people tended to just report the comments from my fake trolling accounts. I opened the app and saw that Tabitha had liked my comment. What? She’d actually noticed my comment amongst the thousands of others, and liked it? And what did she even like about it? She must have surely realised that it was full of sarcasm. I checked to see if she’d actually replied to the comment, but there was nothing. No message in my DM’s either, and she hadn’t blocked me or anything. Liking the comment was bizarre and peculiar.

I reasoned that perhaps she was more of an airhead than I first thought. Maybe my wit had flown completely over her dim head and she figured I was actually paying her a compliment. I opened up the message tab and shared a screenshot of my comment under her photo.

Me: That was sarcasm, just in case your dumb brain didn’t get that.

I sent off the message. This bimbo was the gift that kept on giving and I was going to have so much fun tormenting her. I was full of spirits as I headed into work.

Later in the day, I was taking a much-needed break when a reply popped up.

Tabitha: Sarcasm? No, it was the truth.

I was quite surprised she had actually messaged me. This wasn’t a common response to trolling, especially from someone with so many followers. An influencer liking my comment was one thing, but actually replying to a message? Unheard of. I felt the adrenaline pumping me up as I typed back immediately, my greasy fingers tapping against my phone screen with venom.

Me: How’d you figure? I was trolling you. Are you so dumb that you actually need to have trolling explained to you? Is your brain as bland as your photoshopped pics? It’s hilarious how up your own ass you are. Look at me! Look at me! I'm little miss perfect, Tabitha! Everyone loves me! I’m so much better than you mere humans. Bow before your superior queen!

I expected her to block me. That’s usually how these trolling episodes would end once I entered their DMs. I was actually enjoying giving this delusional girl a reality check. It was enough to perk me up for the rest of my workday. I bit into my burger and awaited her devastated response. I had big plans with how I was going to take this further until she was a defeated wreck. I could cycle through my fake accounts going after her one at a time. I could probably drag this out for months.

Suddenly, a new message popped up. Tabitha had sent me nothing more than a crying with laughter emoji. That was unexpected. A crying emoji I could understand, but not with the laughing part. What was so funny? I was giving her a dose of reality and she was just laughing back in my face. She had to be the dumbest influencer I had ever come across, completely separated from the reality of her banal existence. Didn’t she understand that her whole persona was fake? I was going to pick apart every aspect of her personality, or lack of it, piece by piece.

Before I could fire off yet another nasty retort, an extra message came through.

Tabitha: I checked your profile, Meg Stevens. How’s being Burger Station employee of the month? It’s definitely the truth and we both know it.

My mouth hung on my burger mid-bite. My stomach sank and my legs began to tremble. My teeth were chattering in my mouth amongst half-chewed beef. Had I actually been that stupid? I had to double check, but, yes, I had messaged her from my real account, not one of my fake ones. How the hell had that happened? I must have been so eager to troll her the day before that I forgot to switch accounts. My profile had been public the whole time and she could see everything. My real name, age, where I was from and where I worked. Plus, there were so many selfies of me on there and she now knew what I looked like. I wasn’t a good-looking girl at all, that’s kind of why I trolled in the first place. I felt violated and exposed. I didn’t have a clue what to write back.

Tabitha: What’s wrong, Meg? Can’t think of anything clever to say? Come on, I’m waiting in anticipation for your next witty response.

She wasn’t wrong. I was speechless and didn’t know how to react at all. I was an expert troll when I thought I was anonymous, but I’d accidentally revealed who I was and suddenly my faux confidence had evaporated. That wasn’t even the worst of it. I lacked self-esteem in my own skin and she knew what I looked like. The armour of my trolling-persona had been ripped away and I was agonisingly naked beneath. How could I insult or attack her appearance when I looked like I did?

“Oh, God, Meg, what have you done?” I said out loud.

I looked at myself in a mirror across the break room: a chubby face with acne clinging to my cheeks, beneath greasy hair poking out of my work cap. I had to wipe the sweat from my brow and I thought about deleting my account right there and then. How did I even do that? Right at that moment my fingers were shaking so much that I couldn’t even type out a response, never mind flee the scene.

My head was burning up through the intensity and I could hardly settle on a coherent thought, and yet, the messages kept coming.

Tabitha: So, I can see which Burger Station you work at, the one in Kingston, right? Nice of you to tag it in one of your photos. How’s serving fries all day long, Meg?

She was working so fast, and I was rapidly losing control of the situation. Every time my panicking brain came up with a solution, Tabitha had already closed it off and moved onto the next attack.

Tabitha: Tell me why I shouldn’t call and get you fired? I should tell them all about how you bully and harass people online. You think your manager would be happy about your behaviour, Meg?

A separate notification popped up.

Tabitha took a screenshot!

Seconds later, she sent me the screenshot of my own message saying she was up her own ass, my name and photo right there next to it. I was wearing my bloody work hat in my profile picture and you could see the company logo clear as day. Christ, if I’d been thinking straight I could have deleted it before she did that, but I was rattled and missed my chance.

Tabitha: So, I see amongst the whopping ten people following you there’s an Annette Stevens. Is that your mom? Should I tell her what you’ve been doing?

Oh my God. I was so out of my depth it was unreal. In a matter of minutes, I’d gone from being on the attack to completely trapped with no way out. Multiple scenarios were flipping through my head, none of which had good outcomes. I was going to be fired from my job, for sure, with a likely side-order of public disgrace. My mom would be furious and disappointed in me. If Tabitha went public, maybe other victims of my trolling would recognise the similarities and come forward. With the number of followers, she had, tied with her young age, she could easily get the media interested. Also, my hating on Tabitha was tame compared to some of the vitriol I’d spewed to other influencers in the past. What if the authorities traced everything to my phone and IP address? I was in so far over my head that I was genuinely worried that my whole world was about to come crashing down, all because this teen influencer had called me out.

Suddenly, my manager walked into the break room, holding the phone. He looked confused. “Umm, Meg, there’s someone on the phone for you? They said it’s urgent.”

I gulped and took the phone in a daze. This couldn’t really be happening, could it?

“Hi, Meg,” said the voice through the phone. It was young, feminine and well-spoken, and oh so confidently posh. “You want to chat? Or should I just talk to your manager instead?”

I was still tempted to hang up the phone, delete my account and disappear. But she already had a screenshot of my trolling with my name and face all over it. What would I do if she showed up to my workplace with a print out? She might only live down the block. I reasoned that at this stage, appeasement was the only option: “Ummm please don’t uh, do that. I really ummm need this job and I can’t ummm do anything else.” My stammer was abundantly clear over the phone, which was part of the reason why I spent so much time online.

“You can’t do anything other than flip burgers? Well, that’s tragic. Anyway, tell me, why are you bothering me online then? What have I ever done to you?” I wondered whether she was enjoying tormenting me as much as I enjoyed trolling.

“Umm, I don’t know. Uh.”

“Not good enough. I want to know why you think it’s appropriate to harass a young girl over the internet.”

To be honest, I didn’t really know why I did it. It made me feel good about myself to put others down? “Ummm I guess because I was uh...jealous of uh, you?”

She laughed. “Well that makes sense from looking at your profile, burger girl. Apologise to me then.”

“Ummm I’m uh sorry, okay.”

“Nuh uh, do it properly. Say, sorry, Tabitha, for being jealous of you.”

I repeated the words back robotically. “Ummm, sorry, Tabitha, for, uh, being jealous of you.”

“Really? Are you really sorry about being a nasty, jealous hater?”

“Umm yes, Tabitha, I really am uh, sorry.” My voice was ascending to a trembling whine. It almost sounded like a kettle was whistling in the break room.

“Tell me what you are.”

It took me a moment to realise what she wanted me to say. “I’m a uh nasty, a nasty, jealous ummm hater.”

“Now, why are you so jealous of me, Meg?”

“Umm I guess because you’re so much, ummm, uh, prettier than me and you ummm, seem to have uh, everything.”

I swear I heard her cover the phone, followed by a muffled laugh. “Is that my fault?”

“Umm, no.”

“Then why do you feel you have the right to abuse me?”

I honestly didn’t have a clue how to answer. I’d never before been confronted for my trolling and I was running on adrenaline, living second to second. Everything seemed to be moving so fast in my head and I had no exit strategy. “Uh, I don’t. Umm, I’m sorry. I won’t uh, do it again, I umm, I swear.”

Meanwhile, Tabitha remained completely calm. “Prove how sorry you are. Go like all of my photos.”

She had to be kidding. She had so many photos and it would take forever. “Ummm, what? I uh, already uh, said sorry. Why do I, umm, have to do, uh, that?”

“Because I said so.”

“But that will take me ummm ages! I only have a few minutes left of my, ummm, uh, my, ummm, break.”

“Well then, you better be quick. I’ll wait while you do it. If those notifications don’t start blowing up my phone then I’m coming to speak to your manager.”

I accepted I was in no position to argue. My workplace could replace me in an heartbeat and a company as big as Burger Station wouldn’t want to deal with the fallout of such bad publicity. I envisioned the headlines already: local burger employee harasses popular teen influencer online.

I opened Tabitha’s profile. She had over a thousand photos! It would take me forever to go through and like them all. Even so, I began rampantly hitting like one at a time, while sweat trickled down my cheeks. I almost felt like I was trying to disarm a nuclear bomb, such was the intensity.

I could hear Tabitha giggling through the speakerphone, as no doubt the notifications popped up. “That’s it, keep it going,” she said in her posh accent, like a slave master whipping me into action. “You know, for someone that’s supposed to hate me, you’re liking a hell of a lot of my photos.”

It was a tortuous process too. Each time I opened a photo, I had a whole new reason for why she was so great shoved in my face, along with her annoying, fake smile. Endless snapshots of Tabitha enjoying luxurious vacations, designer goods, beautiful friends and expensive food. One after one I hit like on them all. I almost fell into a mindless zone as I tapped the screen repetitively. Finally, with my finger stiff and about to cramp up, I liked her first ever photo: an image of Tabitha on her sixteenth birthday, riding the pony she’d received as a gift.

“Okay, ummm I’ve liked them all,” I spluttered through the phone.

“Great, I can see that. Now, one more thing. Shout out that photo you commented on. I want to see it in your story and write your lovely message under it: You’re so much better than me, Tabitha! I should be bowing at your feet!”

God, was she being serious? I had my family and the few people that I could actually call friends following me, and she expected me to just announce to the world that I thought she was better than me?

“Uh, ummm please don’t make me, uh, do that.”

“Do it,” she said. I could hear her husky breath tickling the receiver. “They’re your words after all. Own them.”

I didn’t want to do it, but what choice did I really have? I did as instructed, hoping that this was the final demand. “I’ve, umm, I’ve, umm, I’ve done it.” I just wanted the whole ordeal to be over. Honestly, I was completely exhausted from the apprehension she was putting me through.

“Yep, I can see that too. Good. You better keep it there for the whole 24 hours, and keep your profile public. I’ll be checking. Let this be a lesson to you. Don’t ever mess with me again. Who the hell do you think you are? Bow at my feet? Haters like you should be licking my feet! You can have this life coaching for free! Now, go away and ummm, uh, ummm, uh, get a life!” And just like that she’d hung up the phone.

I sat motionless in the break room. My appetite had disappeared and I couldn’t stomach another mouthful of my burger. Everything had happened so fast that I could barely comprehend it. I’d been trounced, well and truly trounced by this teen influencer, and she’d been strategic and efficient at every moment. I’d come to troll her and had my ass handed to me. Even now she could still destroy me with a mere phone call to my boss. I was completely at her mercy and I realised that I wasn’t in control of my own fate: Tabitha was. She knew everything about me and she had the dirt on me to expose and destroy me. I felt completely helpless.

But there was another feeling that was making my limbs tingle. The whole ordeal had barely lasted fifteen minutes but the experience had been exhilarating. I’d been trembling in panic throughout, high on adrenaline and terrified where it was going to lead. My stomach shuddered on the brink of throwing up, yet, it was an awakening sensation. It was almost as if I was living a horror movie and I’d never before been that scared. For the first time in my life, I’d actually felt alive, like I wasn’t just an empty vessel coasting through life and there was blood flowing through my veins. Tabitha had well and truly put me in my place, and I’d been enthralled by her mastery throughout. I hated her more than ever, not only because of what she stood for, but because of what she seemed to be awakening within me. I had trolled her because she thought she was better than everyone else, and she’d swiftly demonstrated that in my case, she definitely was.

When I returned home that night, I opened my phone and my mouth dropped. I had over a thousand notifications on Instagram. I couldn’t believe it. So many people had started following me and I even had some messages in my inbox. It turned out Tabitha had shared my story on her page with the caption: I thought haters were supposed to hate? This one seems to love me. Hahaha.

Thousands of people must have seen me saying how much better than me she was and that I wanted to bow at her feet. I looked at my own story, and the views were crazy. I’d never had so much interest in my own profile.

I read through the messages:

Omg, are u a fan of Tabitha too?

Tabitha is so awesome.

Eww, you suck, hater.

Hahaha, are you in love with her or something?

Hell yeah, she’s better than you, you ugly whale.

Tabitha rules!

Ha, what a loser! You wanna bow at my feet too?

I ignored them all without response. I didn’t have a clue how to defend myself. I thought about making my profile private or deleting the story too, but I was worried about what Tabitha would do if I disobeyed her. She’d been explicitly clear in her instructions. I decided I’d just have to suck up the fallout. After all, I had started this whole thing so I guess this was my comeuppance. If some light public humiliation from a bunch of strangers was the worst of it, then I’d have to get through it.

I tried to think about other stuff. I put my phone down and watched a bit of mindless TV. Anything to distract and steer my thoughts away from the ass-whooping I’d taken.

However, there was something in particular that my mind just kept wandering back to: I should be licking her feet? I could still hear the words in her young, arrogant voice. That random sentence laced with entitlement and expectation. I, a girl ten years her senior, should be licking her feet? That’s what came to her mind when she thought of me. Simply bowing at her feet wasn’t enough, she thought that she was so above me that I should be licking her feet? And she expected that I would do it, just because she said so, who the hell did she think she was? What a complete brat. I mean, what did that even mean? Lick her feet? It was absurd. Who the hell would lick someone else’s feet?

How would I even do that? I pictured Tabitha, sitting in that airport lounge in her designer clothes and expensive jewellery. Her blonde hair tied back in a ponytail with those blue eyes watching expectantly from behind sunglasses. Sipping a cocktail while her feet were propped up on luggage more expensive than my weekly wage. In contrast, I was kneeling in my burger uniform, licking her French pedicured feet while she gloated above me about how much better she was, mere entertainment for the rich girl before her luxurious flight.

Suddenly, I felt a chill run down my spine and my legs turned to jelly. The thought was so absurd that I could barely comprehend the image. This girl who had everything, expected me, a girl who had nothing, to willingly lick her feet? It was probably the most unfair image I’d ever imagined, but the same tingling feeling returned that I’d felt earlier when she was berating me. It would be so wrong to do it, to lick her feet, but somewhere inside me, there was this strange desire to give in and do this ‘wrong’ thing, just because she wanted it. To lick the feet of one of these influencers that I so completely and utterly despised; this girl who had masterfully made me dance to her tune over the phone. Ugh, the thought made me shiver with excitement. Which was confusing in itself, I mean, why the hell was I even excited by that?

“What the hell is getting into you, Meg?” I said, and I shook away the intrusive thoughts and began settling down for bed.

But sleep that night wasn’t peaceful. Did I dream of bettering myself? No, I dreamt of licking Tabitha’s feet. Licking her feet while she laughed above me and took photos. I woke up in a cold sweat and I had to run to the toilet as I felt queasy. Something in me was changing, and I didn’t like it.

Unfortunately, throughout the week, those thoughts wouldn’t go away. It was like that simple throwaway comment had embedded itself within me and was infecting me day by day. The more I tried to suppress and bury it, the more determined it seemed to grow. It didn’t help that I spent countless hours flicking through Tabitha’s photos. Jealously admiring all of the perfection and casual flaunting of her beauty and wealth, and for some reason, I’d always end up back at that photo in the airport. I’d stare at the image and salivate at the thought of bowing at those pampered feet. Not just bowing at them, but licking them, just as Tabitha said I should be. I’d never before dedicated so much time to one influencer’s page, but I was hooked. The more I looked, the more I realised just how better than me Tabitha really was. I was a wretched hater after all, so why shouldn’t I be licking her feet?

These feelings went on and on, all week, building and growing beyond my control until by the weekend, I juddered with nerves as I opened the message box and typed in the words.

Me: Tabitha, you’re so much better than me.

It was the fourth time I’d written them out after changing my mind and deleting. I’d been fighting it, trying as much as I could to stop and think about something else. But every time I found myself back on my phone, browsing her profile and then typing those same words out again. There was just something compelling me to tell this spoilt influencer that she was better than me. I couldn’t explain it, but the idea of saying those words to her made me tingle. It went against everything I believed in. I hated these spoiled influencer bitches, and their perfect lives, but still, the urge was growing more and more to just give in and admit she was better.

I mean, wasn’t she better? She was young, beautiful, rich, successful and popular. What was I in comparison to her? I was thirty years old, had no boyfriend and I worked in a fast food restaurant. I was ugly and fat. How did I even have the guts to troll her the way I did? And even when I had, she had demolished me and come away the victor. It wasn’t even a lie by this point, she really was better than me, in every single way. I couldn’t fight the truth anymore. I was physically exhausted from denying the inevitable and the struggle had led to a migraine. I hit the submit button and the message was sent. I closed my phone and went for a nap, completely obliterated by the events of the past week.

Later that evening, I waited for a response, seconds, minutes then hours. But nothing came. All I wanted was some kind of acknowledgement from the popular girl, even if she told me to get lost, but she hadn’t even read the message. No doubt I was lost amongst the hundreds of messages in her requests. She had millions of followers after all.

I had actually given up and figured that Tabitha had taught me a lesson and was done with me, all the while stewing over the thought of licking her feet. Until, three days later, a message appeared in my inbox.

Tabitha: Oh, look who it is, the famous burger girl. I thought I told you to leave me alone. What do you want? You going to umm and uh at me some more?

Just being called burger girl by Tabitha was enough to get my juices flowing, and her mocking of my stammer made me wish I hadn’t reached out. It probably meant nothing to her, but to me, it was an instantaneous reminder of my inferiority both in appearance and social status. I wasn’t even worthy of being called Meg in her eyes. I was just the stammering burger girl.

Me: I just felt like I needed to tell you that you’re better than me.

Tabitha: Oh reeeeally? What happened to hating on me?

Me: I learned my lesson.

Tabitha: Why do you think I care?

Me: I was hoping to make it up to you.

Tabitha: How exactly are you planning to do that?

Me: However you decide, Tabitha.

Tabitha: Hmm, really? Well, in that case, you can start by telling me how much better I am than you every day. I want to see you saying it every time I post a new photo, without fail. Got it, burger girl?

Me: Yes.

Tabitha: What kind of answer is that? Who do you think you’re talking to right now? The girl at the country club who cleans my riding boots every week knows the proper way to address me. Do you think you’re better than her? It’s Miss Tabitha to you, burger girl. Show me some damn respect.

Tabitha seemed emboldened by my submissive behaviour towards her. I mean, I was giving into her at every moment, but I still grit my teeth at the audacity of the little bitch. I was over ten years older than her, she wasn’t even twenty yet, and here she was, demanding I address her in the appropriate way and ordering me around. I’d usually push back against such behaviour, hence my trolling. But something was different with Tabitha. I still hated her, and everything she represented, but for some reason, feeding into her arrogance and entitlement excited me beyond belief. It also made my tummy flutter to know there was a girl whose job was to clean Tabitha’s boots. So, what did I do?

Me: As you wish, Miss Tabitha.

Tabitha: See, isn’t this a much better attitude? That’s what I expect to see. Always show me the respect I deserve. Now, I just posted a new photo. Run along and do your job, burger girl.

Part of me wanted to lash out with a torrent of abuse at the disparaging way she was regarding me, but an ever-growing part of me worshipped her for it. The more I seemed to give her, the more she took, and I was curious about how much she was willing to take from me, just because she could. There was a bizarre desire within me to revere her for this selfish entitlement. I loathed that about her, but I was unable to resist massaging her ego all the same.

I opened the newest photo. It was a selfie of Tabitha looking extraordinarily well-groomed while drinking some kind of smoothie. Is that how she looked right at this moment? Just like that she could snap a photo and look like a model? I liked the photo and left a comment:

Me: You’re so much better than me!

Tabitha was straight into my inbox:

Tabitha: Good work, but, wasn’t there something else you should be saying?

The instruction was received loud and clear. I returned to the photo and updated my comment.

Me: You’re so much better than me! I should be bowing at your feet, Queen Tabitha!

I swooned as I saw that Tabitha had immediately liked my comment.

Tabitha: Hahaha. Keep this up, burger girl. We might actually turn you into a worthy member of society.

For the rest of that week. Every time Tabitha posted a new photo, I liked and commented on it immediately, with the exact same truth, that she was better than me and I should be bowing at her feet. That she was a queen. I became her biggest and most devoted fan. I’d tremble with excitement each time I typed out the words and hit submit.

Occasionally, Tabitha would like one of the comments, but most of the time she simply ignored me and paid me no mind. I suppose as far as she was concerned, I was a conquered hater, successfully converted into one of her mindless followers and giving her the praise, she demanded. Those same followers didn’t hold back against me. They liked my comment and mocked me in response without abandon. My comments would usually receive hundreds of replies, most laughing and deriding me, but I tuned out and posted all the same.

Once the original twenty-four hours had been up, I’d made my profile private and I personally felt safe. Comfortable that I was able to freely express Tabitha’s superiority without recompense. That I could explore these new feelings within myself without risk. However, as the week went on, I found I was desiring that risk more and more. I missed the excitement and exhilaration that I’d felt when she was mercilessly toying with me over the phone. When I was dancing to her commands to the sound of her derision.

There was also something else playing on my mind. That throwaway comment that she’d made over the phone: you should be licking my feet. It was likely meant to make me feel meaningless and stop me from being her hater. However, the words had gone further than that. It was like she had planted a seed inside me and it was growing. I couldn’t understand why the comment was bothering me so much, but I lay awake at night thinking over one simple question: should I be licking Tabitha’s feet?

I’d go back to her profile and look over all of the photos. Her beautiful appearance, her luxury life and the ease at which she lived from day to day. Everything seemed to be a breeze for her, whereas my life was extremely difficult. It was completely unfair that she had everything so easy while I had to bow and scrape for everything. But I couldn’t hide from the truth: she was better looking than me, came from a better family, was richer, more successful and more popular. She was better than me in every single way, so wasn’t it right that I acknowledge that by licking her feet, just as she told me I should?

I typed a message out to Tabitha, but hesitated when it came time to click send. I knew I was about to go somewhere from which I couldn’t return, but I couldn’t help myself. The urge to give Tabitha what she wanted and expected had grown beyond my control. If I didn’t click send; I was safe. Tabitha had given no signal that she was interested in escalating things. However, once I sent this message, I’d be inviting her to step things up. I hesitated as my finger hovered over the send button. A deep breath later, I’d taken the plunge and sealed my fate. I clicked send.

Me: Miss Tabitha, you were right all along. I shouldn’t just be bowing at your feet. That’s not enough. You deserve more.

I spent the entire afternoon at work, sneakily taking my phone from my pocket and refreshing the page, both hopeful and worried that she’d responded. It was a full five hours before she finally replied.

Tabitha: What are you going on about, burger girl? You really are a weirdo, you know that, right?

Instantly I knew I’d made the right decision in reaching out. There was the disdain I longed for right from the start. I began to wonder if this was why I had been a hater in the first place. I’d thought that it was because I simply liked putting people down, but now I wondered if all along, I’d been wanting to be called out and put in my place by someone so obviously better? That I hadn’t been hating, I’d simply been provoking and hoping to be taught a lesson by a superior girl. None of the other influencers had taken the bait, but, Tabitha? Tabitha was a whole other level of adversary. Our class disparity was glaringly evident. Tabitha was better than me, and she knew it. Now I did too.

Me: I just thought, maybe...I’ve just been thinking a lot about what you said on the phone, is all, Miss Tabitha.

Tabitha: What did I say?

I knew I was about to do something I may regret, but I didn’t care by this point. It was worth the risk and I was hoping it was what Tabitha wanted to see.

Me: That bowing at your feet isn’t enough. I should be licking your feet, Miss Tabitha.

She’d read the message, but there was no response for a few minutes. Throughout, I was stewing, convinced I’d made a terrible mistake and wondering whether I should delete the message before she took a screenshot. Just as I was about to act, something flashed on my screen.

Tabitha is typing...

The message flashed on my phone over and over, then it disappeared. Then it was there again, then disappeared. Five more times it happened, as if she was changing her mind about what to write. The whole time I was trembling with nervous apprehension. There was no going back now. I’d put the idea out there; I’d suggested I should be licking Tabitha’s spoiled, pampered feet. I was more worried than I’d ever been before, but I was terribly excited too. My skin was covered in goose bumps as my body tingled, just like on the phone all over again, waiting for Tabitha to decide my fate. I was exposed and completely at her mercy, and for some reason, that made me feel notably alive. My tummy squirmed with butterflies from the suspense. Finally, a message came through.

Tabitha: Is this some kind of joke?

There was a mix of relief and disappointment. She hadn’t put me on blast or squashed the idea, but she’d hardly jumped at it with the enthusiasm I’d longed for either. I was half-expecting her to have leapt at the opportunity at having a hater, and one she had so expertly crushed, licking her feet, but I detected disbelief on her part. Perhaps that was a good sign, maybe she was open to the idea and wanted to check I was genuine. I was filled with confidence to take things further.

Me: No, Miss Tabitha. I really believe I should be licking your feet.

Tabitha is typing…

The same notification tormented me again, this time for a full ten minutes. She must have been writing out one hell of a response. Then, to my disappointment, it disappeared. Seconds later, a short message came through.

Tabitha: Why would you want to do that?”

I closed my eyes, and took a deep breath. Then my eyes bolted open, determined and locked on my phone keyboard. I typed the truth. I hammered the words out before I had a chance to question whether it was a good idea.

Me: Because you’re so much better than me, Miss Tabitha. I’ve been looking over your profile a lot for the last week. You’re so perfect, you’re beautiful, and rich, and you have everything you want and I’m jealous of you. You’re better than me in every way, and I hate you for it, but I can’t deny it’s the truth. I keep looking at that photo of you in the airport. You’re so spoiled and entitled, and I can’t help it, I know I should be licking your feet.

This time her response was instantaneous.

Tabitha: You cannot be serious. This is a joke, right?

Me: I’m totally serious, Miss Tabitha.

Tabitha: This has to be a prank. You’re up to something. Are you trying to get me to say something so you can screenshot and put me on blast?

Me: I’m not, I swear. You already taught me what happens if I cross you, Miss Tabitha. I’m no match for you.

A few minutes went by. I thought about writing something else but didn’t really know what to say.

Tabitha: You at the burger place right now?

Me: Yes, Miss Tabitha. I’m here all day.

Tabitha: Good, prove you’re for real. Send me a selfie in your uniform right now. Hold up a piece of paper saying: Miss Tabitha, you’re so much better than me and I should be licking your feet. You have five minutes, if I don’t get it in that time then I’m blocking you and forgetting this ever happened.

I began typing a reply, but then her message suddenly disappeared; Tabitha must have deleted it so there was no trace of her demand. It turned out she was far more adept at this than I was. Unlike me, she knew how to cover her tracks. As I said, I was out of my league. Another message appeared.

Tabitha: You have five minutes, burger girl.

That was enough to kick me into action. I was riding that exhilarating feeling once more. I told my manager that I needed to use the restroom and I scribbled down the message on the back of a burger wrapper. I held up the paper next to my face then snapped the photo. I didn’t even consider the consequences, I was just too excited by how things were progressing. All that mattered right then was giving Tabitha what she wanted. Doing exactly what this snobby, spoiled, rich girl told me to. I sent the photo through, and immediately cringed at how ridiculous I looked.

A love heart popped up over the photo. Tabitha had clearly liked it.

Tabitha: Wow, okay. Hahaha. I wasn’t expecting you to actually do that. You honestly want this?

Me: Yes, I do, Miss Tabitha.

Tabitha: Hahaha, this is hilarious. But why? I’m still not getting it. You go from hating on me, to being obsessed with me, to this. It makes no sense! I’m still convinced this is some sort of trap.

I felt it appropriate to try and reassure her further.

Me: It’s really difficult to explain, but ever since you said it, I’ve been thinking about it all week. I still kind of hate you, because you have everything, but that’s kinda why I feel like I should do it too. I honestly just feel like you’re better than me, Miss Tabitha. I guess that’s why I was trolling you in the first place. But now you know who I am, there’s no hiding it’s the truth and I have this urge to give in and accept you’re better than me and I honestly believe you deserve to have your feet licked.

Tabitha: OMG. Are you for real?

Me: You’re just so much better than me, Miss Tabitha, and I want to lick your feet to prove it to you. You’ve done something to me. I used to troll people like you so much, but you’ve completely put me in my place. I almost feel liberated just admitting how things are. Licking your feet would be so wrong and unfair to me, but for some reason, that’s why I want to do it? If that makes sense.

Tabitha: Wow, like, I don’t even know what to say. Hahaha. This is so dope. Like, seriously, I can’t believe this conversation is actually happening. You know, I could screenshot all of this right now, put you on blast and your life would pretty much be over, right? I could expose you to my millions of followers. Show them what I do to jealous haters like you. I’d probably never be trolled by anyone ever again.

Before I could object, a barrage of notifications popped up over the chat.

Tabitha took a screenshot!

Tabitha took a screenshot!

Tabitha took a screenshot!

I realised how stupid I’d been confessing everything out in the open.

Me: Please don’t do that, Miss Tabitha. I’ll do whatever you want.

By this point, I meant every word. I was hopelessly and helplessly at Tabitha’s mercy. I’d willingly given her so much ammunition it was unreal and totally unexplainable. Our confrontation had been over. She’d shown no more interest in me the rest of the week after exposing me, but still, here I was giving up everything to her and craving more. Because for some reason, giving myself up to Tabitha’s whims brought that tingling feeling back to me. Being at the mercy of this influencer made me feel strangely good. I wanted her to have that control over me for good. I wanted her to make me lick her feet and admit she was better.

Tabitha: Hahaha. You know what? I want you to send me a video of you saying everything you just typed. Right now, in your uniform. Say your name and what you want to do.

Me: Why? What do you want that for, Miss Tabitha?

Tabitha: Because it’s hilarious. So, go on, give me what I want, burger girl. You know that’s what you want to do, right? You just can’t resist giving this spoiled, rich girl what she wants. So prove it! Hahaha.

I sat on the toilet seat in the cubicle and recorded myself detailing exactly what I wanted to do for Tabitha. The highlight being the final sentence in my stammering, stuttering voice, “Ummm my name is Megan ummm Stevens and I uh, want to uh lick your ummm feet, uh Miss Tabitha, ummm because you’re uh better than me.” Before I could change my mind, I sent the video to her.

Tabitha: OMG. This is too good! HAHAHA. Oh, lord. This is golden. LOL.

I watched the video back. I squirmed in flustered embarrassment. The humiliation was mortifying, but there it was, all on camera, and there was no way of denying it if Tabitha chose to make it public. I was completely in deep, and the worst part was I’d given it up to her willingly. A feeling of dread lingered over me.

Me: Umm, Miss Tabitha? What are you going to do with that video?

Tabitha: Oh, just making sure I have everything I need. Photos, screenshots and now a video of you admitting you want to lick my feet. I have millions of followers and I’ve worked hard to build my brand. I’m not risking you ruining it.

Tabitha: But...now I have you exactly where I want you, don’t I?

I had to admit the girl was shrewd and wise beyond her years. I had no choice other than to be honest.

Me: Yes, you do, Miss Tabitha. I’m at your mercy.

Tabitha: Right, so exposing you to my followers would be just what a hater like you deserves, and I want to do it so much. To make an example out of you and show what happens to you haters when you try to cross me. I mean, that is what you deserve, right? Tell me why I shouldn’t post that video in my story to my millions of followers right now?

Me: I do deserve it, Miss Tabitha. I’ll do whatever you want so you don’t post it, but it’s completely up to you I guess.

By this stage, I’d accepted that I’d been a complete idiot and there was literally nothing I could do to stop Tabitha from exposing me should she choose to do so.

Tabitha: That’s the spirit! It’s better you just admit it and accept it. The sooner you accept your place, the sooner you can become a productive member of society. God, this is like top notch life coaching you’re getting right here! This is probably the most open and honest advice I’ve ever given. See, now that I have that video I can tell you what I really think about you…

Tabitha: You’re a loser, Meg. You’re a burger flipping loser, and you deserve to be exposed by me for the loser you are.

It seemed, with everything she had on me, any pretense had been abandoned. Tabitha felt comfortable enough to be completely honest and speak to me however she felt like. That only made me want to suck up to her even more. I knew she was better than me. Tabitha knew she was better than me. But now she was openly stating it without any fear of needing to be polite or civil? My excitement had me on the brink of a heart attack.

Me: You’re right, of course, Miss Tabitha. But, oh God, please don’t do that.

Tabitha: Well, I haven’t decided yet. I mean, exposing you is so tempting…and I’d be well within my rights, wouldn’t I? Especially after the way you’ve behaved.

Me: You would, but I’ll do anything you want, Miss Tabitha. If you please just keep this between us.

Tabitha: I do like the sound of that. You should be doing whatever I want. Tell you what, I’ll think it over and get back to you. In the meantime, I want to see you posting a story saying how great I am, every day? Understood, burger girl?

Me: Yes, Miss Tabitha.

I had been given a task by my spoiled, rich puppeteer and I set out to do exactly what she wanted, just because feeding into her entitlement felt so damn good. So, every day, I uploaded a video to my story, usually in my uniform, praising Tabitha in some way. Surprisingly, Tabitha engaged throughout. She didn’t say anything, but she’d respond to my stories with a crying laughing emoji.

Tabitha wasn’t the only response I received. Some of my friends and work colleagues mentioned that I was acting extremely oddly, and queried just who this girl was. Some of my male work colleagues questioned whether I was a lesbian, others began following her, and I noticed in my feed that they’d like her photos every day. The same guys had never liked any of mine.

It was on my ninth attempt when I received a response from Tabitha other than an emoji. I posted a particularly brown-nosing effort where I explicitly stated a list of why Tabitha was so incredible. I praised her beauty, her wealth and her popularity. What was Tabitha’s response?

Tabitha: Duh.

That was it, that’s all I received after more than a week of humiliating myself for Tabitha’s amusement. A single word comprising all of Tabitha’s arrogance. The tingle came back to my skin with a vengeance at her disdain. I couldn’t take it anymore. It was exhausting denying the inevitable of where this was all leading. I completely gave up and dropped all attempts to disguise my desire for subjugation at Tabitha’s pampered feet.

Me: I can’t take it anymore. Please will you let me lick your feet, Miss Tabitha?

Tabitha: Hahaha. Still so desperate to lick my feet, are you, burger girl?

Me: Yes, Miss Tabitha. I need it more than anything.

Tabitha: OMG. It sounds like licking my feet would be the highlight of your sad life! Hahaha.

Me: Yes, it probably would, Miss Tabitha.

Tabitha: Tell me how much you want to lick these then, burger girl!

Suddenly, a photo appeared in the chat. It was one of those ones where I could only open it once and then it would disappear. I had to sit down and steady myself before I clicked it. I was hesitant, filled with nervous excitement and tension at what was about to be revealed. I delayed clicking simply because I wanted to prolong the feeling of mystery.

Eventually I could take the suspense no more and simply had to see what Tabitha had sent me. As soon as I pressed, I was greeted by the sight of Tabitha sitting on the floor, in front of her four-poster bed. She was taking a selfie in her bedroom mirror, the room filled with lots of pinks and whites behind her. She was wearing a tight crop top, showing off her ample cleavage, and black leggings down to her tanned ankles; that Tiffany anklet on full display. Her blonde hair was tied in a ponytail and she was winking with her tongue poked out. Her free hand pointed a manicured finger down towards her feet. I gasped at the sight of her heels snugly nestled into a fluffy rug with both flawless, smooth soles fully revealed in the mirror. I’d barely managed to absorb each detail before the photograph had disappeared.

I was simultaneously both enraptured and devastated. The image had been truly intoxicating. A visual depiction of every aspect of Tabitha’s superiority and perfection, though teasingly only on display for mere seconds. I wanted to keep looking at it and appreciating how beautiful she was, but sadly, the gift had been temporary.

I’d been through every photo on Tabitha’s profile countless times by this point, and never before had she shared something so delicately intimate. This was the first time I’d ever seen her soles. Sure, her profile had plenty of photos of the tops of her feet at the beach or showing off stylish shoes, and of course, there was the airport photo that had started all of this. But on no other occasion had she revealed the bottoms of her feet. I was poleaxed by the significance of her generosity in allowing me to see.

It was the final confirmation that Tabitha had been right all along. Her soles were dominant and powerful, drawing all of my attention in the few seconds I’d had to look at the photo. Yet, they appeared soft, smooth, and without blemish. She was entirely justified to expect that someone like me should jump at the opportunity to lick her feet.

I was so hypnotised, almost sitting there in a dribbling daydream, that I forgot to reply.

Tabitha: Did you faint or something, burger girl?

I thundered my fingers against my phone screen, desperate to reply before she mistook my delay for a lack of enthusiasm or gratitude.

Me: Oh my God. Your soles are as perfect as the rest of you, Miss Tabitha. Please could I lick them? I’ll lick them all over while you laugh and say how much better you are than me. I’ve never seen such a perfect sight in all my life. Please, please, please, Miss Tabitha, please could I lick your feet?

They were just words on a screen, but they were brimming with desperate depravity. If anyone else had read them I’d be mortified. But for some reason, I trusted Tabitha. I trusted her, because like me, she knew it was true.

Tabitha: OMG! Hahaha. We’ll see about that. I haven’t yet decided if you deserve such an honour.

Ugh, her arrogance was electrifying and only spurred me on to debase myself further. By this point, my hesitance and self-respect were bordering on non-existent.

Me: I’ll do anything you demand to earn that honour, Miss Tabitha!

Tabitha: Oh, you better! I just wish more of you haters realised where you belong!

Me: At your superior feet, Miss Tabitha.

Tabitha: Hell yeah! :) Girls like you exist to lick the feet of girls like me! LOL

Me: Yes, Miss Tabitha, because you’re so much better.

Tabitha: Mmmhmm. Say it again.

Me: You’re so much better than me, Miss Tabitha.

Tabitha: Hahaha, you know what? I can’t believe I’m saying this.... but...let’s do it! What time do you finish, burger girl? I’m around Kingston later.

My mouth suddenly became dry as I read the message she’d just sent. I had to read it a couple of times to check that I was understanding it correctly. Surely it must be a mistake? Was Tabitha actually going to allow me to lick her feet? That throwaway comment right at the start of all of this was about to become a reality? This was without doubt the most absurd experience of my life. I had to pinch myself to check this wasn’t all a dream.

Me: Around 6. Umm, are you serious, Miss Tabitha?

Tabitha: Uh huh. Exposing you would be great, but making the hater who thought she could attack me, lick my feet? That’s waaaaaay better. It’s what you should be doing anyway, right? Look for the white Mercedes. This is your one and only chance, so don’t blow it. ;)

I realised that something had changed. Our whole interactions had shifted. Our relationship was suddenly more open and honest. Our places had been established, and we were able to converse in a more genuine way. I was beneath Tabitha, we both knew it. I was lucky she was talking to me at all and as gratitude I owed her the respect she deserved. Now this truth had been accepted, we were able to talk without any of the previous negativity.

Tabitha spoke to me however she liked. She openly mocked and taunted me, just as a superior girl should be able to. Instead of getting angry or reacting, I encouraged and thanked her for it. I knew my place and had settled in it. Our interaction had become almost symbiotic as a result. For once in my life I didn’t feel ignored or shoved to the side. I had a purpose, and it was to pander to Tabitha’s ego.

I was starting to feel nauseous as the clock counted down to six. I busied myself wiping tables and taking out the trash, but the feeling of dread wouldn’t leave me. What had I done? Saying stupid stuff online because it made me strangely excited was one thing, but actually meeting Tabitha and doing anything in person? Everything was suddenly becoming real, very real. Even when I’d been suggesting these things to her, I had a thought in the back of my head that she wouldn’t believe I was serious, or that she was so far above me that she’d never want to meet.

Yet, that’s exactly what was about to happen. The thought made me want to vomit. As much as I had the urge to do it, licking the feet of this spoiled and popular rich girl, as some kind of demonstration that she was better, was ridiculous. I mean, when my parents were raising me, is this what they thought I would grow up to be? I thought about backing out, but as I was about to take out my phone, a white Mercedes pulled into the restaurant parking lot.

I took deep breaths in the hope to compose myself, but I left the restaurant with trembling, hesitant steps. The Mercedes was parked on the far side of the lot, which I was thankful for as it was away from the eyes of my colleagues. The license plate gave away that it was recently purchased, probably driven straight out of the showroom only weeks ago.

As I approached and caught the first glimpses of Tabitha through the tinted window, I was suddenly overcome by an unbearably anxious juddering. I almost lost control of my body. My arms shook and my teeth chattered.

I was a social reject. Void of all conversational skills and confidence. I was an introvert. My safe place was my bedroom, and I was only outspoken from the comfort of one of my online fake accounts. That barrier had been ripped away from me and I was about to confront the wrecking ball that had smashed through the fortress I’d been hiding behind. The castle from where I’d flirted with the ridiculous notion that we were on the same level and I had a right to criticise her. All of that was gone, and I was about to stroll up to Tabitha as my exposed, vulnerable self.

I reached the car, yet Tabitha hadn’t noticed as she was too busy engrossed in her phone. I shuffled on the spot awkwardly, unsure of the etiquette in this situation. Should I knock on the window? Should I shout or something? Or was it expected that I just wait until Tabitha became aware of my presence? I didn’t want to make the wrong decision and risk invoking Tabitha’s anger from the outset. I reasoned it made most sense to wait until she was ready.

She glanced my way, yet made no acknowledgement and continued to do whatever was more important on her phone. I must have been waiting outside for a good ten minutes before her window rolled down. Suddenly, all was revealed.

I actually gasped. I audibly gasped out loud, then, “Oh my God,” escaped from my lips, which brought the slightest of sniggers from the goddess before me. I couldn’t help it, it was an honest, instinctive reaction to seeing her in person for the first time.

Tabitha was a living barbie doll, as if she’d been constructed in a lab as the ultimate representation of physical beauty. Her hair was fully blonde, not from a bottle, but natural, and even though she had it tied back in a ponytail, it still shone brightly. Her eyes appeared larger than in her photos, and they were a captivating blue, like the shoreline straight out of the Maldives. They peeked out above a pair of designer sunglasses with red-tinted lenses, balancing upon her snooty, upturned nose. She had a pair of petite, compact ears beneath the arms of her sunglasses, each proudly bearing a glistening jewel. Her lips were full and pursed, glistening a soft and alluring pink. Around her diminutive neck shone a necklace of intricately laced gold and diamonds. There was likely more money on her head than in my whole apartment. And I realised, there and then, that there was nothing at all fake about her Instagram profile. She was an influencer, no doubt about it, hell, I was influenced to improve my life right then, just so she wouldn’t dismiss me from her presence.

Just absorbing the perfection Tabitha gave off, led me to accept more than ever that she was worth all four million of her followers. If anything, she deserved millions more. She was a determined, ambitious force, and I was her devoted fangirl.

I felt an inner urge to drop to my knees right then, kiss Tabitha’s feet and apologise for everything I’d said to her. I saw myself begging for her forgiveness over and over while my lips covered every inch of her shoes. However, Tabitha remained sitting in her car and I could see nothing of her from the shoulders down.

She relaxed an arm on the open window of the door. Her nails impatiently tapped against the paintwork, and I noticed there were multiple rings on her fingers and a heavy bracelet hanging from her wrist. Everything communicated status and wealth. In comparison, all that was around my wrist was a thin indentation from where I’d been wearing rubber gloves all afternoon.

“‘I’m surprised you had the guts to turn up,” she finally said. I’d forgotten how delicate and well-spoken her voice was. Her accent oozed education and class, yet, there was a strict, abruptness to her tone too. “Do you have anything to say to me before we get started?”

“Ummm, uh, ummm,” I stuttered. “I’m uh sorry.”

Tabitha rolled her eyes and scoffed at my nervous bumbling. “It’s a start, I suppose.” She exuded absolute confidence. She was still a teenager, but held the imposing stature of a woman many years older. She was the definition of living, breathing charisma, but I suppose it was easy to be comfortable in your own skin when you have endless advantages in life. “It’s funny how your sort has so much to say online, but can barely manage a word to my face.” She tilted her head with a curious expression. “Don’t you think that’s funny?”

I just stared at her, unsure what to say. “I uh, umm, uh.”

“I uh, umm, uh,” she interrupted mockingly. “Do you even know how to speak?”

I felt about an inch tall. My body was throbbing from a nervous anxiety, a feeling I hadn’t experienced since that day she had scolded me on the phone. Was it uncomfortable? Yes, but did that discomfort fill me with an exhilarating feeling? Absolutely. I would prolong and ride that humiliating high for as long as I could. Because I’d discovered that being humiliated, especially by Tabitha, made the blood flow through my veins and my muscles tremble. It was like stepping into a hot bath; the tingling sensation forced me to be consciously aware of my own existence. I’d been coasting through life until Tabitha had come along and gave me a purpose; her veneration. I accepted that I would stand here letting her tongue-lash me for as long as she pleased and I’d buzz all the way through it.

“So, are you going to say anything coherent, or…?”

“Ummm…” I closed my eyes for a moment, took a deep breath and then tried again. “Yes.”

Tabitha merely raised her eyebrow. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

And with that I was straight back to being a stuttering imbecile. “Umm, uh. Umm.”

Even behind her sunglasses I could tell she was rolling her eyes. “My name, maybe? You remember what that is, right?”

“Oh, umm, sorry, uh Miss Tabitha.”

“Don’t let it happen again.” She lifted her sunglasses and tucked them into her blonde hair. “You show me the respect I deserve at all times, understood?” she said, while applying some lip-gloss in the rear-view mirror. It was clear she was intent on cementing our places right from the get go. There was no preamble; Tabitha was in full control, I was but a puppet for her to play with.

I didn’t know how to respond, when suddenly Tabitha looked directly at me. I couldn’t hold her expectant glare and glanced towards the floor. Tabitha was extremely confident over the internet and phone, but she was an unopposable force in person. There was an energy, like a natural glow emitted that tormented my own insecurities. I was on edge and so out of my comfort zone. I squirmed, shuffled and scratched at my arms. I just wanted to disappear.

“Yes, uh, Miss Tabitha.,” I said, unable to look at her. It felt weird addressing her this way in person. I looked around to check no one else was within earshot.

Tabitha didn’t share the same concern. “Good, now go around to the other side of the car, open the door and kneel down.” She ushered me away with a dismissive flick of her fingers.

After another quick look around the parking lot, I did as instructed. It actually felt comfortable to be on my knees before her, almost natural, and I appreciated being obscured from view by the car door. Tabitha threw a blank sheet of paper and pen on the seat. “Write your name, address, phone number and the message: I really want to lick Tabitha’s feet.” She caught herself after saying the final part, and had to cover her mouth to stifle a laugh. “This is so ridiculous. I can’t even believe this is happening.”

I recoiled from the request. Self-preservation seemed to settle my nerves. “Ummm, why do I need to do that, Miss Tabitha?”

She wrinkled her cute, haughty nose, clearly unimpressed. “If you really want this to happen, then you’ll do what you’re told.”

I wasn’t going to risk the chance of missing out on doing what I’d been fantasising about for weeks. Even if the nervousness had me on the point of puking. Not when I was this close.

“Do it, burger girl,” she reiterated.

Her simply calling me that in person was enough to make my face glow red. I took the pen and scribbled down all of the information she wanted. I was about to hand it to her, when she said, “Hold it up.”

I held the paper aloft while I kneeled by the side of her car and Tabitha took out her phone and snapped a couple of photos of me. Seconds later, she’d snatched the paper from my hand and safely deposited it in her Louis Vuitton purse.

“Great, now that’s all settled, let me reassure you of something, burger girl.” She leant over and grasped my chubby chin with her pristinely-manicured fingers and looked me dead in the eyes. “I want this to happen as much as you do. You won’t believe just how much I get harassed by trolls like you and I constantly have to keep up the image that I’m not bothered to maintain my brand, but the truth is, I can’t stand you losers. I loathe having to hide how better I am than you. It’s just the truth, right? But, I never thought one of you jealous, bitter, hateful trolls would actually accept this is how things should be. That you should be bowing before me. This is going to be almost therapeutic for me and I’m going to enjoy every moment of watching you do it.” She let out a deep sigh and stared out of the car’s windscreen. “God, it already feels so good to let that out.”

I was speechless and just knelt in place as Tabitha seemed to be letting off steam. It sounded like I was just one of very many haters that had attacked her over the years, but I’d be suffering the combined repercussions alone.

After a few seconds, she looked down at me with a sneer. “So, are my pictures photoshopped?” she asked. “Enlighten me with your expert opinion.”

I felt like such an idiot for having said that when I first messaged her. I tentatively looked up into her brand-new Mercedes while she lazily sat there in her designer clothes, relaxed and at ease. I was a lot more nervous when having to speak the truth in her presence. I looked over her large, blue eyes, her expertly shaped eyebrows, and that perky little nose sat just above her grimacing lips. Tabitha was intimidatingly beautiful and I trembled from head to toe. There was a quiver in my voice as I spoke, “Ummm, no, Miss Tabitha, you’re even more, uh, beautiful in person. Ummm, you’re a queen.”

She flashed me a smile; even her teeth were perfectly straight. “Oh, I know, I certainly am.” She stared at me momentarily, looking me up and down and snarling her lips in distaste. “So what is it you want? Why are you down there on your knees next to my expensive car?”

She was actually going to make me say it out loud. I took a deep breath and spoke the words that had been tormenting me for weeks. The words that had been rolling around in my head ever since Tabitha had entered my life. The words that I’d keyed into my phone numerous times. The words that she’d read and laughed over again and again. “Because you’re, uh, better than me, Miss Tabitha,” I gulped before continuing, “and ummm, I should be licking your ummm feet.”

Tabitha snorted, she actually snorted at the ridiculous absurdity of my self-debasement. But then, she turned towards me and lifted her sandaled feet onto the passenger seat. There was a quick glance my way before her eyes looked to her wiggling toes. A mischievous smirk appeared on her face. “Oh reeeeally? You want to lick my feet, huh?”

I nodded enthusiastically. The nervousness was being replaced by excitement the more she teased my unexplainable desires. “Ummm, yes, please, Miss Tabitha.”

“What makes you think you’re worthy of such an honour? If you can answer without saying ummm or uh, maybe I’ll let you.”

“Ummm,” I said it without even thinking. “Uh,” I said when I realised I’d already said ummm. I then groaned in frustration.

Tabitha belted out the most adorable laugh, then she shook her head and unstrapped her Tory Burch sandals, one at a time. She tossed them on the floor of the passenger bay. I noticed there were no indentations or sweat marks left by her toes. The shoes were brand new and gave off the slightest scent of leather. They’d hardly been worn. Perhaps she’d even bought them that day for the occasion, a week’s worth of my wages splurged on her most spurious desire. She wiggled her french-tipped toes on the seat and I saw them up close for the first time. Their condition was as if straight out of a salon. Her nails were sparkly and her tanned toes were without any scuffs or drying skin.

“It feels great to get them off,” she said. “I’ve been hard at work all day. Negotiating new collabs and promotions. Taking selfies. Real work. Not that you’d know anything about that, burger girl.”

My uniform was soaked through with sweat after the double-shift I’d just pulled. Beneath my cap, my hair was matted and stuck to my forehead. My own feet were throbbing within the oil-resistant shoes I had to wear. Earlier that morning, I’d liked Tabitha’s most recent photo between mopping the floors: her tanned legs stretched out on the sunbed in her yard while she snacked on fresh watermelon. Even so, I nodded sympathetically and told her what I thought she wanted to hear. “Umm, yes, Miss Tabitha. You’re, uh, a much harder worker than me.”

“Exactly. How much do you even make in this crappy job anyway?”

“Maybe, ummm, 500 a week?”

She cocked her head in disbelief. Her blue eyes were unwavering. “That’s pathetic, I spend more on dinner on a Wednesday.”

I looked at the gravel of the parking lot in shame. It was like a talent she had. Every word just further sledgehammered the fact I was inferior into my skull.

Tabitha sighed and stretched out her legs on the seat towards me. She crossed her feet at the ankles and jiggled the foot on top. I took in the sight before me. Two smooth, dainty feet with the faintest glimpse of wrinkles poked out from a pair of designer jeans. I was mesmerised by the flawless, softness of her soles. She looked like she hadn’t walked a day in her life, fitting for a spoiled influencer such as herself. Of her millions of followers, I was the only one to see her soles so intimately up close.

She leant back against the door and lifted a hand, spreading her fingers and carefully checking her manicure for chips. After a few seconds, she glanced at me and offered a victorious smile. Her toes wiggled expectantly. “Oh, there you are, down at my feet. I told you this is where you should be, didn’t I?”

I gulped and nodded my head, still not entirely believing that this was about to happen. “Yes, Miss Tabitha. You uh knew this was where I, ummm, belonged all along.”

She nodded her head and bit her lower lip. “You thought you could hate on me for being what? Prettier than you? More popular than you? Richer than you? Being able to speak a whole sentence without sounding like a dumbass? Basically, better than you in every single way?” She stared at me intently with those piercing blue eyes. Her tongue licked her lips in a salacious lust for satisfaction. She retracted her feet slightly, bending her knees so that the heels rested on the seat: her flawless soles staring me straight in the face. They were as luscious in person as they had been in her bedroom selfie. They were demanding and expectant and would not be denied.

I licked my lips in hungry anticipation.

Tabitha’s tone became aggressive. She spat the words at me through gritted teeth, “But you know what you should be doing because I’m better than you, instead of jealous hating?” She pointed at her soles. “Licking my superior feet! So, go on, do it, burger girl, lick my feet!”

I felt a flush of humiliating heat wash over me, to the extent that I almost passed out. I couldn’t believe what I was about to do, and as I leant forward, tongue outstretched, I thought back to how things were before. Only weeks ago, I came across this young girl’s influencer profile and sniggered at what I saw. I laughed and jeered as I scrolled through her vapid and shallow photos. I trolled her with glee and spite, poking fun at her vanity. Yet, here I was, mere weeks later, kneeling at the side of her car, about to lick her feet and admit she was better than me. I could barely comprehend the absurdity of the situation and the pathetic mess I had descended to. How the hell had things come to this? I had no answer, I was just a mindless drone here to do whatever Tabitha expected.

It was so wrong, but I was helpless to the urges. The urges that made me tingle for giving up so much to this spoiled and popular, rich girl. I didn’t fear the unfairness of our contrasting situations anymore, I thrived on it. I revelled in being Tabitha’s inferior and the sense of purpose it gave me. As my tongue touched against the sole of her foot for the first time, I recoiled from the bitter, salty taste. My reward was uninhibited laughter from the influencer whose foot I had just licked, my undisputed social superior: Tabitha Fitzroy-Smythe.

“That’s it, hater,” she said. “Lick my feet.”

Her words seemed to spur me on. It was as if the humiliation drove me to debase myself further, merely for her enjoyment and entertainment. I was nothing more than this rich girl’s foot licker and that’s the only role I could ever hope to play in her life. I rapidly licked her feet non-stop, sloppily dragging my tongue all over her soles, up her arches and into the crevices of her toes. My eyes screwed up and my nose wrinkled with each further taste of foot flesh. The scent was light and bearable, but I hated the taste, as much as I hated her, but for that very reason, I impelled myself to suffer for her amusement. The more she laughed and goaded me, the greater the intensity at which I licked.

“Why are you licking my feet if you hate me so much?” she asked, peering down and mocking me with a satisfied grin.

I took an extra lick of her arch. “Because you’re, ummm, better than, uh, me, Miss Tabitha.”

More giggles and animated nodding of her head. “That’s right. So, keep licking.”

Even while I was doing it, somewhere inside me I couldn’t quite believe it was happening. It was almost as if I left my body and was looking on as a gobsmacked observer. I was disgusted and appalled with myself, but still, I licked her feet just like she told me I should be doing back on that first phone call. I lost myself in the task, and became overwhelmed by the assault on my senses. Every time I’d lose the will to go on, she’d laugh, clap her hands and encourage me to continue licking.

As my licking continued, Tabitha’s responses and reactions changed throughout. To begin with, she was curious with lots of cocking of her head and peering almost in an analytical way. This progressed to childlike amusement, consisting of constant hand-clapping and encouragement to debase myself further. Eventually her enjoyment turned to disgust. I don’t know whether it was the foot licking or myself that disgusted her more. At times, she’d make a disapproving grunt or mouth an eww. At one point, as I dragged my tongue from the bottom of her heel right up to the top of her toes, she shook her head in disbelief and asked, “I can’t believe this is actually happening. What do feet even taste like anyway?”

I slurred without my tongue leaving her instep, “Ummm, salty.” I licked again. “Uh, sweaty.” Another lick. “Bitter and, ummm, disgusting.”

That actually made her laugh out loud. “Good, I’m glad.” She shrugged her shoulders, then pulled a stick of gum from her purse and plopped it in her mouth. “Mmm, strawberry. Tastes good. Much better than my feet, I imagine. Not that I’ll ever know that taste though. Girls like me don’t have to lick feet.” She rubbed her foot roughly against my eager tongue. “That’s what girls like you do for girls like me!”

I mouthed against her saliva-soaked sole, “Yes, Miss Tabitha.”

“Wow,” she said. “You said that without a single stutter. Maybe licking my feet is the best thing for you.” The sound of her feminine laughter followed.

I completely lost track of time, and the whole experience was such an adrenaline-fuelled rush, that I couldn’t comprehend whether it was what I expected after all the weeks of playing it over in my mind. I couldn’t even decipher whether I was actually enjoying it, even in a self-depreciating way. I fell into a daze, obediently licking her soles while she lifted and angled them at me one at a time, following her lead and performing exactly as she demanded.

Each time I’d wince from a particularly sharp taste, Tabitha would snap her fingers and point at her feet, demanding my tongue return to where it belonged. I’d beg for a break, to rest my tired tongue, but she’d merely chew her gum, pop bubbles and expectantly nod towards her feet. I’d obey immediately, and catch a glimpse of her arrogant and snooty nose, raised in the air in superiority as she marvelled at the pathetic specimen humiliating itself for her entertainment. I caught a glimpse of something in her eyes, and understanding between us.

Eventually she kicked me away, and tossed me a tissue. “Clean up your mess,” she said with disdain. I patted and wiped her feet clean.

At her instruction, I helped her put on her sandals and fasten the clasps. I expected some kind of parting exchange, perhaps a mutual awkwardness at what had just happened. But, Tabitha confidently shooed me away with a, “See you around, burger girl,” and drove off, as if I was a mild inconvenience in her otherwise busy day. No doubt she had photos to take, products to advertise and money to be thrown her way. Such was the hard life of a popular influencer.

Meanwhile, I stumbled home, feeling used and discarded. Once through my front door, I crashed onto my bed, exhausted from the experience and overwhelmed by the absurdity of the act. I fell asleep immediately, the taste of Miss Tabitha Fitzroy-Smythe’s feet still fresh on my tongue.

The next day, I awoke filled with regret. I could still taste the salty bitterness from Tabitha’s feet on my tongue; an immediate reminder of the previous night’s depravity. I was beyond mortified by the depths to which I’d descended. Not only because I now knew what feet tasted like, but because it was Tabitha’s feet that I’d licked. The very type of girl that I despised. A snobby, stuck-up brat that had everything handed to her and hadn’t ever had to work for anything. A girl whose beauty, wealth and connections allowed her to live an easy life of popularity and devoted worship from millions pandering to her vanity. She represented every human characteristic that I hated; and I had licked her feet for it. I had given in and worshipped her for being the very thing I loathed.

I was suddenly overcome with a clarity and decided that despite everything I’d done, I was going to tell Tabitha: no more. No more would I allow her to degrade and humiliate me. I would have to be strong to resist the confusing feelings that she invoked within me, but I had to, for the sake of my own sanity.

Yes, I’d been wrong to troll her in the first place, but I had paid the price for that. I was no longer going to pander to her for being the spoiled, selfish rich girl that she was. It was true that she surpassed me in beauty and status, but I was still a human being, and there was nothing wrong with where I worked. It was time for me to grow a spine and stand up for myself. I opened Instagram with the intention of putting her straight.

However, I had a notification waiting for me in the app. For the first time ever, Tabitha had messaged without me first badgering her. I saw her name in my inbox, and that she had sent me two messages. As a result, I couldn’t read what she’d said without opening it and letting her know that I’d looked. I then realised that it was a ridiculous notion for me to believe that Tabitha would actually check whether I had read her message or not. Still, once again I wanted to prolong the suspense of not knowing what she’d said. I waited a whole six minutes before opening the messages.

Tabitha: So, tell me, was licking the feet of a girl like me the highlight of your pathetic life? I already know the answer. You’re just lucky I didn’t make you pay for the privilege. Maybe next time? ;) Hahaha.

Tabitha sent a video.

All of the regret immediately dissipated. Tabitha’s entitlement had flipped off the chart. Expecting me to lick her feet was bad enough, but thinking she had the right to charge me to do so? Where the hell did she get off? This was a whole other level of spoiled arrogance. It was as if my licking her feet had confirmed every selfish, vain thought she’d ever had about herself, and if anything, I’d encouraged her to explore even greater facets of self-importance.

That message should have made me block her in outrage. Instead, a stirring in my tummy made it abundantly clear that I’d be debasing myself further at a snap of Tabitha’s fingers. I was delusional thinking I could actually oppose the will of this tormentress. Ugh, being the plaything of a spoiled, rich girl such as Tabitha Fitzroy-Smythe, like I was her new pony or something, was so unfair, yet that’s what made it irresistibly appealing. This influencer deserved to have whatever she wanted, simply because, and that included me licking her feet on demand.

I eagerly clicked to open the video. I was greeted by the sight of Tabitha’s desk in her bedroom. On the top was a laptop, with her Instagram profile open on the screen. But what really got my attention was her feet up on the desk, crossed at the ankles with the foot on top flexing and wiggling. Across the video was written a message:

Tabitha: Such a relaxing morning for me. It’s so great being perfect :) Now, get to work and earn your minimum wage. Hahaha. Sucks to be you!

I could have easily ignored it, blocked her or more fittingly, responded with either a defence or put her straight. But, I watched the video again and again, on a loop. I looked really close at Tabitha’s feet as she relaxed, the way her arched foot freely stretched and flexed, and how her French-pedicured toes wiggled playfully. I watched it on the sweaty, packed bus on the way to work and thought about how comfortable Tabitha was at the same moment, sitting at home with her feet up relaxing. She seemed so relaxed and carefree. I decided that rather than put her straight, I’d give in. I couldn’t resist the urge to do so. I’d tell her what she wanted.

Me: Yes, Miss Tabitha. I’m on the bus on the way into work to earn my minimum wage. I can still taste your salty feet this morning.

Her reply was instant, she really must have been sitting around doing nothing.

Tabitha: OMG. That is amazing. Good! If I had it my way, you’d wake up with that taste in your mouth every day! Maybe it could be a reminder of where you belong in life? Licking the feet of girls like me. Hahaha.

Me: Yes, Miss Tabitha, that’s where I belong.

I shook my head at my capitulation. So much for putting her straight. I just couldn’t help it though. In my mind, I was strong, but when it came to actually resisting, I couldn’t do it. It felt so damn good giving in to Tabitha and agreeing with all of her spiteful, entitled comments.

Tabitha: Hahaha. Shut up and get to work, burger girl. xD.

Just like that, I was disparagingly dismissed by the popular influencer. She had tired of tormenting me and I’d been instructed to get back to doing all I was good at: flipping burgers. While Miss Fitzroy-Smythe relaxed in her luxury, negotiating lucrative offers to display various products next to her pretty face, I was going to be working flat-out. I’d burn my fingers changing hot oil, while Tabitha’s pampered digits refreshed her phone to a whole new swath of praise-filled comments.

As I entered the restaurant, I gave my phone a final check and saw that Tabitha had uploaded a new photo. She was in her bedroom again, sat on her bed, but this time, there was a woman kneeling at her feet and changing the nail polish on her toes. Tabitha was such a spoiled brat that she didn’t go to the nail salon, the nail salon came to her. Of course, I immediately liked the photo and left a comment:

Me: You’re so much better than me, Miss Tabitha. You deserve to have us all bowing at your feet!

Throughout the rest of the week, I pretty much followed the same routine. I’d wake up to some kind of insulting message from Tabitha. Usually it was enough to aggravate all of my insecurities, yet phrased in just the right way to make me fall even further under the spell of her arrogance. Some of the notable messages included:

Tabitha: How’s serving those fries, burger girl? Hahaha. Keep it up, we need people in the world like you, serving your betters. ;)

Tabitha: Do you miss the taste of my feet? Maybe if you ask politely, I’ll let you do it again LOL

Tabitha: When you see a new hot photo of my life, do you fantasise about licking my feet again? Hahaha.

Tabitha: You should actually be happy, you’re a loser that got to fulfil your dream, licking the feet of someone so much better than you! Now get to work, peasant. xD.

By the week’s end, she had me so familiar and receptive to her put-downs that I actually craved her daily taunt. In some ways, it became the highlight of my day, and put me in a suitable frame of mind to work through the day without complaint. It was as if she was constantly reinforcing in my mind that I was inferior, but it was okay to be so, because I served as entertainment for my superior: Tabitha Fitzroy-Smythe. Like being some sort of clown for her was my true purpose in life.

Which was why I found it odd that the next week began without a message from her. During my journey to work and then at the restaurant, I checked my phone but nothing had come through from Tabitha. I found it all very odd. After a week of insults, had she suddenly lost interest in me?

I wondered how I could get her attention. I figured since I was basically her clown, I should act accordingly. I wrote on a piece of paper: licking Miss Tabitha’s feet was the highlight of my burger flipping life. I held it up and took a selfie. Without hesitating, I sent it through to Tabitha. The response was immediate.

Tabitha: Hahaha. You working double-shifts again all this week, burger girl?

Me: Yes, Miss Tabitha, why do you ask?

Tabitha: If you have any chance of extra overtime, you take it, understood? I want you working really hard for me this week. Earn that minimum wage.

I found everything she was saying confusing. I mean, I was always a hard worker anyway?

Me: Ummm, okay, Miss Tabitha, but, why?

Tabitha: I have a new job for you. I’ve decided you need a worthy goal in your life to really keep you focused and hardworking. Take a look at what I’m doing right now while you’re scrubbing that kitchen.

Tabitha sent a photo.

The photo was not too dissimilar to the video she had sent me a week before. She was sitting at her desk with her feet propped up next to her laptop. Her legs were crossed at the ankles, which showed off the shapely arches of her feet. I could just about make out that her toes were now painted white. On the screen of the computer was a pair of shoes. Tabitha appeared to be online shopping, which from the constant luxury of her profile, I imagined was something she did quite a lot.

Tabitha: I have my eye on these sandals.

Me: They’re very stylish, Miss Tabitha.

Tabitha: Great, I’m glad you think so, because you’re going to be buying them for me. Size 7. I want the ones in white with gold trims.

Tabitha sent a link.

Me: Ummm, those are way out of my price range, Miss Tabitha.

Tabitha: Duh, that’s why they’re for me, not you, burger girl.

Me: Please, Miss Tabitha, I can’t afford those.

By this point, she had me so beaten down into my place, that it didn’t even enter my head to flat-out refuse her outrageous demand. Instead, I resorted to pleading and begging in such a way that it reinforced her assumption that it was entirely her decision. Still, she enjoyed wielding her power in a teasing and taunting way.

Tabitha: Are you saying my feet aren’t worth that?

Me: Of course, I’m not, Miss Tabitha. They’re just very expensive and I’m poor.

Tabitha: But, think about how good those expensive shoes will look on these rich, pampered feet.

Tabitha sent a video.

As the video popped up, I had to find somewhere to sit. My legs were shaking and I was on the brink of collapsing from the excitement. My mouth dropped open as I revealed Tabitha’s bare feet on her fluffy rug. She wiggled her toes playfully. On the second toe of each foot was an expensive gold toe ring, with that Tiffany bracelet on the one ankle. The French pedicure had been replaced by all white, with a jewel stuck on the middle of each big toe. Her feet looked even more spoiled and pampered than the day I had licked them. The video had the desired result, I imagine, because I instantly became nervously excited. However, they were still way out of my price range.

Me: They will look amazing on you, Miss Tabitha, and yes, your beautiful feet do deserve them. But can’t you just order them yourself? You’re rich, you can afford it. Aren’t you a millionaire or something, Miss? I don’t have a lot of money at all.

Tabitha: I know, I can buy whatever I want. I’m only 19 and I’m already so successful and rich. I have more money in my hand right now than you’ll ever have in your life.

Tabitha sent a video.

It was Tabitha laughing straight into the camera. Her glistening lips adorably pursing over perfect, white teeth. Her eyes were narrowed with the slightest of wrinkles at the corners as she giggled in amusement. For once, her blonde hair wasn’t tied, and hung freely over her shoulders. She winked at the camera while her expertly manicured fingers held a wad of $100 bills and fanned herself. She was right, it was more than I’d ever seen in my life, and I was insanely jealous.

Tabitha: But you know what? I don’t care. Even though I can buy them myself, I’m not going to. You are. Do you know why? Because I’m so much better than you. Providing my perfect feet with beautiful footwear is the best you can ever hope for in life.

I was waning under the bombardment of suggestive messages and visual stimuli. Tabitha was breaking me down, bit by bit. Every time she sent a photo or video of her feet, or mentioned them in some way, I was transported back to being down on my knees, licking her feet all over again. Bizarre emotions were coming to the fore. I still hated her, even more so now because of the way she was manipulating me, but still, I was still tempted to just do as she demanded.

Me: I’m so confused right now. You’re everything I hate, but still, I have this urge to buy them for you, Miss Tabitha, even though I know I really can’t afford them.

Tabitha: Yep, and I love it! That’s why you’re going to be buying me things from now on, because even though you hate me so much, you know deep down that I’m better and know what’s best for you.

My finger hovered over the buy button as I sat there confused. I could barely contemplate what was happening. I was about to buy new shoes that I couldn’t afford, for a girl that I didn’t like. A girl whose feet I had licked simply because she was better than me. She wasn’t family or a friend. She bordered more on an enemy, but she was an enemy that had masterfully conquered me.

Me: I don’t know why I let you do this to me. I don’t get it, why am I like this, Miss Tabitha?

Tabitha: If anything, you should be thanking me! Finally, you have a worthy goal in your life. You go to that crappy job every day for what reason? You need a rich girl like me to work you hard, while I sit around with my feet up. This is the way the world works. We just know what’s best for peasants like you. I’ll keep you motivated and focused, so no time for hating and trolling. The only way you’ll prosper is with my guidance! This is free life coaching. Tell me I’m wrong?

The thought of toiling all week just to spend it on Tabitha, a millionaire influencer, just so she could show off for likes and comments; ugh, it made me tremble all over. So, I’d be working all week just to help the girl I hated increase her popularity further? Instead of dipping into her endless wealth, she’d make me spend what little I had on her feet? The unfairness was enough to jolt me into pushing the buy button.

Me: I just ordered them for you, Miss Tabitha.

Tabitha: Hahaha. You’re so easy. Great. How did that feel?

Me: A bit embarrassing, and it feels...I don’t know.

Tabitha: Go on…I really want to know.

Me: It feels unfair. You know, I buy them and you get to wear them. Even though you could afford them yourself. You’re rich and I’m poor, yet I’m buying you shoes, Miss Tabitha.

Tabitha: Oh, it is unfair, but life is unfair, right? It’s better you accept this. Anyway, look on the bright side, finally you have a purpose in your miserable life. You’re contributing to my amazing life. Hahaha. See, I’m improving you already! I’m giving you real purpose! Paying for my shoes. Probably the most important job you’ve ever had. Hahaha.

Me: I guess you’re right, Miss Tabitha.

Tabitha: Of course, I am. I always am! Finally, we got there in the end. Now, thank me for allowing you to spend your money on someone so much better than you.

Me: Thank you, Miss Tabitha.

Tabitha: Good girl, keep this up, and maybe I’ll let you lick my feet again.

My heart beat faster. My thumbs pounded the screen in desperate hope as I fumbled out a response. Tabitha’s feet having become some kind of carrot for my dumb, mule-like mind.

Me: Oh, yes please, Miss Tabitha!

Tabitha: Hahaha. You’re so pathetic. Now, get back to work my minimum wage minion. You have shoes to pay for!

Between my endless shifts at the restaurant, I spent the next few days being ignored by Tabitha, which was a devastating experience. Funny, how I now pined so much for the attention of this influencer who I had previously despised. I messaged her day after day, whinier and more desperate with each further effort.

Me: Hello, Miss Tabitha.

Me: Are you there, Miss Tabitha?

Me: Did I do something wrong, Miss Tabitha?

Me: Please stop ignoring me, Miss Tabitha.

However, no response came. Worse still, Tabitha didn’t even read my messages. All the while, she posted photos and stories on her profile. Trivial aspects of her life that her millions of followers worshipped her for. Tabitha went for a walk in the park? Have a hundred, thousand likes. Of course, I was one of those fans, liking and commenting away, desperate for the most minimal of acknowledgement from the influencing goddess that was Tabitha Fitzroy-Smythe. But I was becoming abundantly aware that I played the most minimal role in her luxurious, perfect life.

I was on edge all week, constantly checking my phone to see if she had reached out. It wasn’t until the end of the week that I received a message. It was blunt and straight to the point.

Tabitha: My shoes arrived yet, burger girl?

It seemed Tabitha was only interested in speaking with me when she had a use for me.

Me: Yes, Miss Tabitha, they arrived today.

Tabitha: I assume you’re working tomorrow, another double-shift?

Me: Yes, Miss Tabitha, as you told me to.

Tabitha: Good! Working hard to pay for my shoes? Keep it up. Hahaha. Anyway, I’ll stop by. Bring them out to my car when you see me pull in.

Me: Yes, Miss Tabitha.

Tabitha: You’re welcome, burger girl. Now, say it.

Me: You’re so much better than me, Miss Tabitha.

Tabitha: Yes, I am! See you tomorrow.

I’d been waiting all week, and when the interaction came, it was short, yet laced with hope. Tabitha was actually going to allow me to see her again. Of her millions of followers, I was surely the luckiest. I actually got the privilege to see this popular girl in person. Through my hate and subsequent humiliation, I’d never actually considered this aspect of our encounters. None of her other followers actually got to see Tabitha in the flesh, yet I was about to for the second time.

The next morning, I brought the shoes into work as instructed. I had to carry the box on my lap during the bus journey, which was awkward. My boss and colleagues were also curious about the contents, but I pretended it was some junk I was going to drop off for donation later in the day.

I expected Tabitha to show up around the same time as when she had me lick her feet, but she actually came a lot earlier. It wasn’t even midday when her car rolled into the parking lot and stopped in the same place as last time. Luckily, I was cleaning up some trash that a couple of kids had left outside, so I caught the Mercedes as it came in. If I’d been in the restaurant, I may have completely missed it which probably wouldn’t have bode well for me if I kept Tabitha waiting. I had to beg my manager to be allowed to take my break early, which he wasn’t happy about, but eventually he agreed.

I was once again nervous as I carried the box over to Tabitha’s car. This time, however, the driver’s door was already open, and Tabitha had turned so she was facing out of the car. As a result, she saw me walking over and called out, “Hurry up, burger girl, I haven’t got all day.”

That was enough to prompt me to skip towards her. As I neared, I saw that Tabitha was sitting languidly with her elbows resting on her knees. She was tapping away on her phone and didn’t look up as I arrived. As ever, she was a delight, this time with her blonde hair hanging loose. She was wearing a white short-sleeve blouse, jeans and a pair of flip-flopped feet rested on the doorframe. This time I noticed that the flip flops were old and seemed well-worn. I actually recognised them from a few of her older photos on her profile, ones where she had been on vacation in hot countries.

Tabitha abruptly snapped her fingers, then returned to typing on her phone. “Take my sandals off,” she said. Her eyes never once left the screen. Apparently, I wasn’t even worthy of being looked at, just to bark orders at.

I placed the box on the floor and knelt before her, then with shaky hands, I removed her first flip flop. She was still wearing the gold toe rings from a few days ago, and the white polish and jewels remained presented as her pedicure. As soon as the flip flop came away from her foot, I noticed that a sweaty imprint was left over. This was a darkened stain that had been built up over many uses.

“Lick it,” she said, still without looking away from her phone.

I was taken aback by the demand. “Ummm uh...what? Uh, Miss Tabitha?”

“Lick my dirty sandal.” Tabitha’s piercing, blue eyes finally broke from her phone and stared at me expectantly. As I looked up at her confused, she nodded her head towards the flip flop in my hand. “Give it a nice big lick.”

I looked at the stained sandal in my hand. The dirt looked disgusting. This was likely a build-up covering years of Tabitha’s foot sweat walking through all sorts of hot countries. Countries I would likely never get to visit. “Ummm, uh, ummm, uh.”

“Ummm, uh, ummm, uh.” Tabitha mockingly shook her head about as she imitated my stutter. “Less making stupid noises and more getting that tongue on my sandal.”

I looked down at the sandal again, gulped, then leant in and took a long lick, right from the heel all the way up to where her big toe had left a dark mark. I didn’t even consider giving it a small lick to placate Tabitha’s absurd demand, I went right in and licked the entire length. My instant reaction was to recoil and wretch right there in the parking lot. The taste was a vulgar combination of salty sourness.

Tabitha laughed out loud, almost falling back into the car. “How does it taste?”

“Ummm, very salty, Miss Tabitha.” I gave the sandal another long lick, then snaked my tongue all around the rubber toe separator. “It tastes, uh, like your, ummm, foot sweat.”

“How sad that you can recognise that taste, huh?” Tabitha leant down, resting her chin on her upturned hand and watching me lick her sandal with interest.

I licked the length again and recoiled once more, gagging with disgust. It hadn’t even entered my head that Tabitha hadn’t told me to keep licking, I was just doing it of my own accord, dragging my tongue up and down the dirty sandal while she sat watching with an amused grin.

“Did you think you were going to be doing this when you messaged me that first time? Licking my dirty flip flops clean?” Tabitha gave my arm a kick with her barefoot. “Answer me, burger girl.”

“Ummm, no, ummm, Miss Tabitha.”

“This is what happens when you come up against a girl so clearly better than you. Take the other one off and lick that too.”

“Yesh, Mish Tabithsha,” I said, whilst in the process of giving the flip flop a final lick. I placed the first flip flop on the box and carefully removed the second one, being sure not to damage Tabitha’s pedicure.

Once free of her foot, I immediately began frantically licking the sweat stain from her sandal to the sounds of her derisive laughter.

Tabitha clapped her hands as she jeered, “That’s it, lick that sweat.”

As I licked, and tasted that salty flavour once again, I realised that this was how I was spending my break during a twelve-hour double-shift. Of which my entire earnings were going on an expensive pair of shoes for this spoiled, rich girl, to replace the sweaty sandals that I was licking. My life had descended to a cartoon.

I continued licking the sandal for the next few minutes, all the while Tabitha laughed and mocked me. Most of her insults revolved around me being ‘dirt’ poor, so it was therefore appropriate that I was licking a rich girl’s dirt up. I just closed my eyes and licked throughout the barrage of abuse; focusing on the task made it easier to ignore the derision.

Eventually, Tabitha sat up straight and placed her feet next to each other on the edge of the doorframe. She snapped her fingers once more. “Right, put those aside. It’s time for my new shoes. Put them on for me.”

“Uh, yes, Miss Tabitha,” I said while I opened the box and removed the shoes. As my fingers glided over the texture of the sandals, I could feel the quality. The materials were smooth to touch, but strong in their design and build. The expense was clear, and they were certainly beyond anything I would wear. I would probably ruin them within a day. But as I glanced from the shoes to Tabitha’s soft, pampered feet, it was obvious they were perfectly suited.

Tabitha lifted one dainty foot at a time, as I slid the sandal on and adjusted the strapping behind her heel. They fit her feet snuggly, and as they balanced precariously on the edge of the car, her toes scrunched against the front. The white straps, in tandem with the gold buckles, matched beautifully with her polish and toe rings. I found it incredible that even Tabitha’s feet were more attractive than me in my entirety.

Tabitha patted me on the head like a pet, then hopped past me. She excitedly skipped around the parking lot as the sandals slapped against her soles. “Oh, wow.” She lifted each foot up onto their toes, twirling and twisting her ankles so the shoes could be seen from all angles. “Aren’t they just beautiful?”

“Yes, Miss Tabitha. Ummm, they look incredible on, uh, you.” I actually cringed at the way she was twisting in the sandals. That was a week’s worth of my pay right there, and Tabitha was carelessly scratching the bottoms up all over the parking lot.

“Was it worth working all week for?”

“Ummm, yes, uh, Miss Tabitha.”

Tabitha stood facing me with her hands on her hips. From my kneeling position, the blonde girl towered above. “See, that’s the attitude I expect to see! You should be grateful to play this kind of role in my life.” She moved one sandaled foot towards me. “Thank me for allowing you to be of use.”

“Thank you, uh, Miss Tabitha.”

Tabitha remained standing before me, foot outstretched. She looked me in the eyes then nodded down at her foot. “Well?” Her lips turned to a smirk.

“Ummm, Miss, uh, Tabitha?”

“Ummm, uh, you’re so stupid.” She raised a hand in the air and rolled her eyes. “Kiss my feet, burger girl. Show me some genuine respect and gratitude.”

I looked at Tabitha’s feet, then up at her and finally around the parking lot. Unlike when I had licked her feet, this time I wouldn’t be obscured by the car door. The thought of being publicly exposed led to hesitation.

“Stop pretending you don’t want to kiss them. I bet you’ve never before kissed something so perfect in your sad life.” She twisted her foot on the ball and the toe rings, along with the jewels on her big toe, sparkled in the sunlight.

I looked up at Tabitha aghast. Did she know my secret shame? The truth was I’d never kissed anyone. Oh, I’d tried to get close to boys in the past but none had ever been interested. School was bad enough, but when I began working in a fast food restaurant that was the nail in the coffin. Especially, with the hours I worked. There was little time for socialising and dating. That was part of the reason I trolled girls like Tabitha on Instagram. These hot, influencer girls were always showing off the gifts they’d received from suitors, whereas not a single guy showed an interest in me. My hesitation to defend myself resulted in an awkward silence between us.

Tabitha cocked her head and looked at me more closely. Her eyes were curious and analytical. “Wait,” she said. “Don’t tell me you’ve never kissed anyone before?”

“Ummm, uh.”

“Oh my God!” she said, belting out the words in a raised volume. “This is too good. The bitter, twisted little burger girl has never been kissed.” She put a finger to her chin and looked off into the distance. “Actually, it makes total sense now that I think about it.”

I had no defence, so I simply looked at the floor to avoid Tabitha’s amused smirk.

Suddenly, Tabitha stamped her sandaled foot. “Hold up, when you licked my feet, that was the closest you’ve ever come to kissing someone?”

I could feel the temperature of my face rising at her words. The revelation was humiliating beyond belief because it was true. I hadn’t even considered that element when I’d licked her feet. The simple reddening of my cheeks was enough to communicate as much to my merciless tormentor.

“Oh my God,” she said once again. “This is so dope. It’s the most tragic, yet hilarious, thing I’ve ever heard, and you actually had the nerve to troll me?” Tabitha burst out laughing to the extent that in the corner of my eye I could see her head kicked back and her blonde hair swung around.

I remained on my knees, intently keeping my eyes down to avoid further scrutiny from Tabitha. However, soon, her sandaled feet came into my view, side by side, so that she was standing right in front of me. The expensive sandals looked as if they only existed to be worn by Tabitha’s beautiful feet. Her toes were perfectly aligned, descending in length from her biggest to the smallest. Each nail bore that pristine white polish, with the pretty gold ring on the second toe of each foot. Her toes wiggled excitedly mere inches from my face, that glistening jewel at the centre of each big toe. “Ask my feet if they’ll be your first kiss,” she said.

I looked closely at the bratty, expectant feet that were taking up my whole view. Her skin was soft, smooth and flawless. Kissing them wasn’t as unappealing as it should have been. It was the significance of the act that frightened me, the symbolic message that kissing them would communicate. But then I remembered I’d actually licked these feet. So why was I so bothered about kissing them? “Ummm, Miss Tabitha, please can I uh kiss your ummm feet?”

“No, no, say it like this: Please Miss Tabitha Fitzroy-Smythe’s feet, please would you be my first kiss? I hated on Tabitha because she’s so much more beautiful, popular and wealthier than me, so kissing her feet is the best I can ever hope for in life.”

I looked directly at the soft, wiggling toes in those expensive sandals. They really were beautiful and Tabitha was so much better than me that her feet being my first kiss felt fitting. “Ummm, please, uh, Miss Tabitha uh Fitzroy-ummm-Smythe’s feet, uh please would you ummm be my first kiss? Ummm I hated on Tabitha because she’s so uh much more beautiful and ummm, uh…” I trailed off having forgotten the rest of her request, partly because it was so long, but also due to being so nervous and anxious from the humiliation. “Ummm, please could I uh kiss your feet, Miss Tabitha. That’s the ummm best I can hope for in life.”

Tabitha crouched down and lifted my head with a finger beneath my chin. “Are you always this stupid or do I just make you stutter this much?”

“Both,” I said, which brought a renewed laugh from her.

After she finally composed herself, she released my chin and said, “Okay, peasant, I’ll allow you to kiss my feet, but you better put some real effort in. Show me how appreciative you are for your first kiss. I want to hear some thank yous between kisses too, for allowing you to buy me these shoes.”

I inched forwards and puckered my lips, ready to kiss the feet of the girl I hated. A girl who so unfairly had everything while I had nothing. I was about to touch my lips to something for the first time ever, and it wasn’t to be the lips of a boy, but instead the feet of this popular, vain girl. I closed my eyes, and after a deep breath, I placed my feet against the top of Tabitha’s foot.

I moved my lips around her feet, from her toes right around to the arches and heels while Tabitha slightly lifted her foot and angled them about. As I kissed, something within me began to spill out, and I couldn’t help speaking. “Thank you for umm, being my first kiss, uh, Miss Tabitha’s feet.” I kissed more intensely, leaving loud puckering sounds as my lips broke contact with her skin. “Thank you for ummm letting me buy you ummm shoes, Miss Tabitha.” Another rapid flurry of kisses followed, full of respect and devotion. “You’re so uh much better than me, Miss Tabitha.”

“Oh, God, I just love this”, she said while wiggling her toes beneath my lips. “I wish more of you haters kissed up to my feet like you should be doing.”

I had to agree, it felt freeing to kiss Tabitha’s feet. Pretending I was on the same level as her and trying to hate and troll her was exhausting. We were so far apart in terms of our worth that it was liberating to just give up, admit my inferiority and kiss the rich girl’s feet.

Throughout the whole kissing debacle, Tabitha was giggling to herself up above me. I could just about make out that her arm was outstretched as she was doing something with her phone. “Tell me I deserve to be popular and rich,” she spat down at me without stopping whatever she was doing.

I withdrew my lips from her wiggling toes, and repeated the words she wanted to hear. “You deserve to ummm, be, uh, popular and rich, ummm, Miss Tabitha.”

Tabitha placed one of her sandaled feet upon my head and held me against the floor. “This is where you belong, peasant.” She twisted her sandal atop my head, grinding my cheek into the gravel “Beneath the feet of a rich girl.”

“Ummm, yes, Miss Tabitha,” I mumbled against the floor.

Suddenly she retracted her foot and began parading around the parking lot once again. It all seemed to be fun to her. “Anyway, I just love these shoes.”

I clambered to my hands and knees. “They look, uh, amazing on you, Miss Tabitha.”

“Thanks, burger girl, and since you gave me a gift today, I’ve decided to give you something too.”

I perked up with excitement. I hadn’t even considered that I might get something in return for buying Tabitha the shoes she wanted. Maybe she saw it as a sign that I was willing to obey whatever she wished and I was to be rewarded. All sorts of ideas cycled through my head. Tabitha’s pockets were endless, she could literally buy me a car and not even notice the cost disappearing from her bank account.

However, my face dropped as Tabitha pointed at her old, dirty flip flops. “There you go, the best gift ever for a lowly peasant like you. The discarded shoes of a famous influencer. See, I do giveaways too. Maybe you can post a promotional photo with them.” Her idea was followed by a snotty laugh.

Tabitha leant forward and grasped my cheeks between her fingers. The force was just enough to be uncomfortable and make me look like a fish. “I want you to lick these every morning before you go to work. I want that taste in your mouth all day long as a reminder that I’m better than you.” She squeezed my face a little bit harder and looked me right in the eyes. “Understand?”

“Ummm, yes, Miss Tabitha.” The request was extremely humiliating, but I wasn’t in any position to refuse after the previous sandal licking and foot kissing.

She hopped into her car, and once again, dismissively waved me off with a flick of her hand. “Back to work, burger girl,” she said. “My shoes aren’t going to pay for themselves.”

I did as told, and while I was frying some burgers an hour or so later, staring into the bubbling oil and remembering how flustered I felt while kissing Tabitha’s feet, a notification dinged in my phone. Tabitha had uploaded a new photo. It was a selfie she had taken in the parking lot. She was looking beautiful as usual, suitably modelesque. I felt almost special, because out of her millions of followers, only I knew that out of shot, I was down on the floor kissing her feet. For some reason, the secrecy behind this made me tremble with excitement. It was like a naughty secret between us. I liked and commented with more enthusiasm than usual.

Later that day, I got another notification that Tabitha had posted a new photo: a close-up shot of her perfectly pedicured feet in the new sandals. The caption underneath was a kick in my gut. She’d written: I thought I’d treat myself to a new pair of shoes since I’ve been working so hard lately. What do you all think? Hard work pays off, huh?

I kind of knew it was coming, but I was still enraged by the cheek of her. Just who did she think she was? I had bought her the shoes and even kissed her feet as a humiliating thank you for being allowed to do so. What did Tabitha do? Market herself as deserving more praise and worship. I thought about commenting that it was actually me who had paid for them. That it was my hard work, at Burger Station, all week, that had gone into getting those shoes. However, did I really want to admit that to all of her followers? Instead, I chickened out and offered similar praise to all of the other comments that were popping up. I also sent Tabitha a DM.

Me: Those shoes look so good on you, Miss Tabitha.

Tabitha: Yes, they do! What did you think of the caption?

Me: You took the credit for them, Miss Tabitha :( I worked all week to buy those for you, and you just pretended you did. It’s so unfair.

Tabitha: I know, how unfair is that? But, I can do whatever I want, you know why, burger girl?

I sighed in defeat before typing what I knew she wanted to see:

Me: Because you’re better than me, Miss Tabitha.

Tabitha: Hahaha! Exactly! Now why are you bothering me? Shouldn’t you be working? Get back to flipping burgers, peasant. I may wish to have you buy me something else next week.

Me: Yes, Miss Tabitha.

The next few weeks followed a similar suit. Tabitha would largely ignore me. Still, every day I licked her flip flops before work and sent her a photo or video as proof. It was a humiliating experience, and she was right in that it reminded me of my place. Throughout the whole day of work, I’d taste the saltiness of her feet. Usually, Tabitha would send a crying laughing emoji in response to my efforts, however, she didn’t actually write anything back.

She only showed a real interest in me when she wanted something. Of course, I was so desperate for this bratty, rich girl’s disdain that I’d jump at any opportunity to be used and put in my place by her. I bought her another pair of shoes, though not as expensive, and once again she took all of the credit. I paid for her to get her nails done three times. Of course, this cost more than a regular pedicure at a salon because Tabitha was above getting her nails done amongst normal people. She expected home visits. Was I there to watch her get it done? No, I had to view her stories on Instagram like everyone else. The only difference was, I paid for the pampering. There was no thank you or gratitude either, just a teasing photo of the finished product.

I noticed over time, that there became a complete contrast to Tabitha’s public image and how she spoke to me in private. She was emboldened and full of confidence in talking down to me. Perhaps it was because of all of the photos and videos she had of me, but she felt completely comfortable talking to me like dirt, even from her branded profile. It was as if everything was a front and she only insinuated that she cared about her followers because of all the money and attention it brought her. She actually looked down on all of them, but she couldn’t communicate it in fear of sabotaging her brand. So, I became the outlet for her to trample without any fear of consequence. This is the only explanation I could come up with for why she paid me any attention at all. She seemed to thrive on keeping me where I was, trapped in my minimum wage job while she excelled further and further. For an apparent life coach, this appeared strangely contradictory.

For instance, she posted a photo of her smiling at a children’s hospital, surrounded by little kids with the caption:

Just spent a day volunteering at this great children’s hospital. They’re doing such amazing things here and the kids are so wonderful and friendly. I couldn’t stop myself and just had to make a donation!

Seconds after she uploaded the post, Tabitha was straight onto the phone to me. “Burger girl, back to flipping burgers for you tomorrow. I just made a donation and your loser ass is covering it, got that?”

“Ummm, Miss Tabitha? You’re a ummm millionaire, can’t you just donate your umm own money?”

“Yeah, I could, and I probably wouldn’t even notice it, but I think I’ll donate yours instead, you got a problem with that?”

I actually felt brave for once. I think it was because this was for charity and all, and it just felt morally wrong for Tabitha, being a millionaire, to claim she was being charitable when it was far from the truth. “Ummm, yes, actually, why do I uh have to do it?” I was so annoyed by her immoral sense of entitlement that I actually forgot to address her properly.

“Because I’m better than you, and you’ll do whatever I tell you to. That’s just the way the world works.”

I actually felt my spine stiffening. This was all becoming too much. It was bad enough her taking the credit for shoes and pedicures, but a donation to a charity? “Ummm, uh, I’ll, uh, pass. Ummm, do it, ummm, yourself.”

“Listen, burger girl.” Tabitha’s tone suddenly became direct and forceful. “Who do you think you’re talking to right now? You’re acting like you actually have a say in this. Is that how you speak to your superior? Know your damn place.”

Simply raising her voice and speaking in a stern tone was enough to crumble my resilience. The familiar Tabitha-induced tingling returned to my skin. “Ummm, I’m sorry, Miss Tabitha. I know you’re ummm better than me. I’ll, uh, do it.”

“Not good enough. I’m heading to your work right now. So you better be ready to grovel.”

Instantly my back was wet with sweat and my brow hot and flustered. “Ummm, what? Miss Tabitha? Uh, no, please! I’m ummm busy.”

“Too bad. As soon as you see me pull in, you better be next to the car on your knees. You need reminding of your place in life. I’m not tolerating you thinking you can speak back to me. How do you get off thinking you’re anything more than dirt beneath my feet?”

I couldn’t take it anymore. “Uh, I hate you so much, Miss Tabitha. I really do.”

Tabitha scoffed into the phone. “Good, you can tell me how much you hate me while you’re licking my feet.”

Just hearing her say those words was enough to make my knees go weak, and I knew as soon as that Mercedes pulled into the parking lot, I’d be running over with tongue hanging from my mouth.

I didn’t have to wait long. No less than five minutes later, Tabitha’s car pulled into the parking lot. I didn’t even tell my manager I was leaving the restaurant, I just ran straight over to Tabitha’s car. Such was her tone of voice on the phone, I was terrified of her coming into the restaurant and saying something.

As I approached, Tabitha swung the door open and spoke, “Oh, look who it is, the loser who thinks she can talk back to ME!” She was wearing those same pair of expensive sandals that I’d bought her. Already I could see that the edges were scuffed. If they were mine I’d have been extremely careful with them considering how much they cost. Of course, money meant nothing to Tabitha because she had so much of it.

I immediately dropped to my knees next to Tabitha as she sat facing out from the car. “Ummm I’m sorry, Miss Tabitha!”

Tabitha ignored my apology and held up her phone. “What’s your name, hater?”

“Ummm, are you uh recording this, Miss Tabitha?

“Hell yeah, I am. I want a record of this so I can laugh over it later. I’m going to really enjoy this. I was too nice to you last time.”

“Uh, are you going to ummm post it somewhere?” I could already see myself going viral all over the internet.

“Not your concern, burger girl. Now, tell me your name, hater! I won’t ask you again.” She snapped her fingers to get me looking at the phone again.

I gulped and did as I was told. “Ummm my name is uh Meg Stevens.”

“And, where are we?”

“The uh parking lot of ummm Burger Station, where I ummm work.”

Tabitha flicked my shoulder with the back of her hand. “Yep, you can see she has her dorky little uniform and burger hat on. So, tell me why are you down on your knees, Meg?”

I had to look away from the phone. “I tried to ummm hate on you and you ummm put me in my uh place, Miss Tabitha. And now I ummm talked back to you.”

“Ain’t that the damn truth.” Tabitha placed a sandaled foot on each of my shoulders while she held the phone right in my face. “How are you going to make up for being so far beneath me?”

“Ummm, by licking your feet, Miss Tabitha?”

Tabitha’s laughter was uncontrollable. She jiggled around in her seat and had to lift her sunglasses to wipe the tears from her eyes. Eventually she composed herself. “And why would you want to do something as pathetic as that?”

“Ummm, because you’re uh so much better than me, Miss Tabitha”

Tabitha kicked her sandals off and held her feet out towards me. The soles were right up in my face. “Go for it then, peasant.” She flexed her soles so that the skin was completely smooth and wiggled her toes in anticipation. “Lick my feet!”

I looked up straight into the phone as it hovered just above Tabitha’s feet. By this point I figured what was there to lose? I leant in and dragged my tongue right up the length of her foot. All the while, she caught every moment of it with her phone camera. She got in real close so that it captured the moment my tongue touched her sole and the trail of wet saliva it left behind.

“Tell me every little thing you hate about me, hater,” she said, while she held her phone right in my face.

“I hate that you’re ummm so perfect, Miss Tabitha.” I gave her entire sole a long lick and my face screwed up at the sharp taste.

I felt her hand grasp my hair and she guided my tongue up and down the length of her foot. “That’s it, hater, lick those feet.”

I let Tabitha’s hand direct my tongue all around each foot. She pulled me an inch away, and I took the opportunity to speak once again. “Ummm I hate that you’re uh beautiful and I’m not, Miss Tabitha.” My tongue was immediately returned to her sole as Tabitha yanked me back and mashed her foot into my face.

She let out an amused cackle, then jammed a few of her toes into my mouth. “That’s it, lick the feet that are more beautiful than your face.” Her toes were aggressive and would not be opposed as they had their way with my tongue, grasping it between and assaulting me with their flavour. “Congratulations,” she said, as she stuffed her wiggling toes in further. “You get to have your first French kiss with my toes too.”

I felt my throat begin to gag just as Tabitha withdrew her toes, leaving my chin all sloppy. “Ummm, I hate that you have millions of followers. I hate that you’re uh rich and I’m ummm poor, Miss Tabitha.”

Tabitha yanked my hair tighter. “Oh, boohoo, loser. Get a life and work harder then. Maybe if you put more effort in, you wouldn’t be such a failure.” Her words were so cutting in that they were completely untrue. I was one of the hardest workers I knew. I pulled double-shifts multiple times a week. I could have stood up right then and put her straight. But instead, I continued to lick the feet of this girl that had barely done a day’s work in her life. I caught eye-contact with her as my tongue snaked between her toes, and I cowered under the disdain of her mesmerising blue eyes. “That’s it,” she said. “Lick my feet and admit it’s your own fault for being poor.”

“It’s ummm my fault.” I gave another huge lick of her foot. “I’m not uh hard-working ummm like you, Miss Tabitha.”

“That’s right, you’ll forever be serving me fries.”

“Ummm, yes, Miss Tabitha, I’m uh trapped earning ummm minimum wage.”

“Awww, that’s a poor peasant. Do you need some money?” She let go of my hair and unzipped her purse. She pulled out a load of bills and held them up, waving them tauntingly in my face. “Guess what? Too bad!” She threw the bills over her shoulder and grabbed my hair again. “Get that tongue back on my rich feet.”

I obeyed and flattened my tongue against the bottom of her foot.

“Lick it, and tell me this is the closest you will ever get to being rich.”

I closed my eyes in shame and licked her dominant foot with greater effort, dragging my tongue all along her arch and up to the ball. “Ummm, licking your foot is the uh closest I’ll ever get to being umm rich, Miss Tabitha.”

Tabitha still held my hair, and began to slap my cheeks with the sole of each foot. “Now who is paying for that donation I made today?”

“Ummm, I am, Miss Tabitha.”

“Damn right, you are.” She kicked my face away. “Now get on my photo and tell everyone how kind and generous I am. I’ll be expecting to see your comment pop up within the next five minutes.”

I was still kneeling there, exhausted as Tabitha slammed the car door and drove away. All I could taste in my mouth was the salty taste of Tabitha’s feet. It was an immediate reminder of what would happen to me if I refused her will. I took out my phone and fumbled a comment on her photo.

Me: Queen Tabitha, you are so kind for helping these children. We should all learn to be as generous as you.

Writing those words left a nasty taste in my mouth, but not as nasty a taste as Tabitha’s feet. To top it all off, she didn’t even like my comment.

The next day, I had a text message from Tabitha. She never sent me texts so I was quite surprised. It was usually either a DM or phone call when Tabitha wanted something. The message was simply an address, and to be there by 7pm that evening. That left me only an hour to finish work and get to what I assumed was Tabitha’s house. The only reason I thought that was because the address was in such an affluent area, the other side of town where the houses were as large as a school.

This made me slightly nervous. I’d never before been to Tabitha’s house and I had no clue why she had suddenly decided I needed to go there. I had visions of her making me clean her room, or even worse, give her a pedicure. Not that the idea of giving a pedicure itself was a bad one, it was just I was terrible at it. I didn’t even know how to paint my own nails, never mind someone with standards as high as Tabitha.

I finished up work, and had no choice but to head straight to Tabitha’s as instructed. I didn’t even have time to change out of my work uniform as it was quite a walk to the other side of town. I arrived with only minutes to spare, and was greeted by the sight of a huge, mansion-like home. Tabitha’s Mercedes was the only car in the driveway so I hoped that she was home alone. I knocked on the door and silently waited.

I waited patiently for a minute or so, but was about to knock again when my phone buzzed.

Tabitha: Door is open. Come on up. It’s the fifth door on the left at the top of the stairs.

I actually rolled my eyes at the message. I didn’t have five doors in my whole apartment. I entered the house and was blown away by the decor. The interior was huge, and there were expensive ornaments, paintings and statues all around. Some were even mounted on marble columns. It was clear that Tabitha was rich long before her social media presence took off. Even if she’d decided to do nothing and stay at home all day, she still would have been living in the lap of luxury.

I noticed a photograph on the wall of an older couple, and everything finally made sense. I hadn’t really considered the connection through all of this. Thomas Fitzroy was a notable steel magnate and Beverley Smythe a former Miss World runner-up. Tabitha was their progeny, the combined result when wealth meets beauty. No wonder she was ridiculously spoiled and brimming with arrogance.

I made my way upstairs and knocked on the fifth door.

“Come in,” shouted Tabitha from inside the room.

I entered expecting to see her lazing around in bed. However, she was sitting at her desk and playing around with a digital camera, adjusting it to sit straight on a tripod. She was dressed in a pink designer tracksuit. Her hair was tied back in the signature ponytail and she was barefoot.

What I noticed most about her room was the smell. There was a fragrance of perfume wafting around. Most of the furniture was white, even the poles of the four-poster bed. There were pink shrouds hanging from each post and I imagined Tabitha sleeping every night like the princess she was. A door was ajar leading to a walk-in wardrobe, where I could just spy rails of designer clothes and a shoe rack of multiple levels. There was an array of sandals, boots, sneakers and heels. In total there must have been at least fifty or more pairs. She owned all of that and still she found it necessary to have me buy her shoes.

“Good, you’re right on time,” she said, while still fidgeting at the desk. She snapped her fingers and beckoned me over. “I want to make a new video for my YouTube channel and you’re going to be helping me.”

“Ummm, okay, Miss Tabitha.” I agreed, but I didn’t know the first thing about making a video. Though, perhaps it would actually be fun.

Tabitha placed a chair a couple of feet back from the camera, took a seat then leant forward and hit the record button. Instantly, a smile appeared on her face and her arms became animated, gesturing and signalling with enthusiasm. “Hey, my amazing followers!” she beamed. “How are you all today? Well, I have a great workshop for you. Today, we’re going to talk about how to deal with haters!”

Of course, the blood immediately drained from my face and I wanted to back the hell out of there. Everything began to make sense. Tabitha was going to publicly humiliate me on her channel to her millions of follows. She’d probably show everyone that video in the parking lot, and maybe even give a real time demonstration in her room.

“Now, you all know that trolls are some of the most annoying, hateful people out there. Trust me, I’ve had my fair share of them. But there’s a way to create positivity from their negativity.”

Tabitha snapped her fingers in my direction, then she beckoned me over with a curl of her finger. I stared at her blankly and remained where I was. I was too terrified and frozen solid.

“Get out here right now, burger girl,” Tabitha spat, and that was enough to kick me into action. As I approached, she pointed at the floor. The message was clear, and I knelt next to her and shuffled in front of the camera. “I’m going to have to edit the video now, you idiot.” She sat back in the chair and crossed her legs. Her dangling foot came to rest against my cheek. The smile and enthusiasm returned. “Anyway, everyone, this is Meg.” She gave me a soft kick with her foot. “Tell everyone what you did, Meg.”

I couldn’t face the camera so I looked towards the floor. As a result, Tabitha’s foot was right in my face. “I ummm trolled, Miss Tabitha. I sent her uh horrible messages and was ummm sarcastic and I uh said her ummm photos were photoshopped.”

“I could have been angry about this, right?”

I recalled that she was so angry she phoned up my work and threatened to tell my boss. However, I wasn’t about to point out that Tabitha was wrong about something, especially straight to her face. I knew better than that. “Ummm, yes, Miss Tabitha.”

“We worked through her motives for hating on me, and what did we discover?”

A tap of her foot against my cheek was the signal to answer. “That ummm, I was jealous of you, uh, Miss Tabitha.”

“See how Meg even speaks to me now? With total respect. We’ve removed all of the hate and negativity from her life and focused it in a different direction, haven’t we?” She patted my head as if you would a pet.

“Ummm, yes, Miss Tabitha.”

“Meg doesn’t feel the need to hate or troll anymore. She’s actually become one of my most loyal supporters. I think you’ve become an excellent role model for all of the other haters out there. So, if you’re a hater, take a look at Meg right here. This is what you can aspire to be! Don’t hate on that pretty, popular girl that you see. Tell her how fantastic she is.” Tabitha brushed my cheek with her foot again.

“Ummm, you’re fantastic, Miss Tabitha. You uh deserve to be so ummm popular. I wish I could ummm be like you.”

“Awww.” Tabitha reached out and stroked my cheek with her toe. It was probably the most affectionate she’d ever been with me. “Well, you can’t, but that’s okay. See, it’s better not to internalise feelings like this until they boil into hate. Instead, vocalise them, then they can be shaped in a more positive direction. Meg wishes she could be me, but that’s simply not possible. So how did we work through that? We found a way for Meg to contribute. Rather than picking apart or tearing down my choices, Meg supports them. If I do something I’m proud of or want to share with my followers, Meg cheers me on and congratulates me. Sometimes she recommends clothes or shoes to me that she couldn’t possibly wear herself. No longer does she sit, angrily tapping away cruel messages on her phone.” Tabitha leant forward and stopped the camera recording.

“Okay, that was great. Now get under the desk.”

“Ummm, what?”

She gestured with her palm, directing my eyes under the desk. “Get under there. Lay down on your back.”

“Ummm, uh, okay.” I did as instructed and lay down on my back beneath Tabitha’s desk. I was pretty confused by the request and just figured that Tabitha wanted me completely out of the way for the next part of the video.

However, Tabitha lifted the chair and placed it above me so that the legs were on either side of my body. She then sat above me in the chair and clicked the camera on once more, her feet were either side of my head with the big toe of each foot lightly resting against my ears. I was forced to stare straight up at her as she ignored me and looked at the camera. “So, anyway, let’s get on to how you can deal with these haters when they first come at you. Now, often the opening attack from a hater will be full of rage and abuse. You have to realise that these people have a lot of insecurities which are causing them frustration. The only way to release this frustration is to focus on a target that increases these insecurities and makes them feel inferior. This would be someone like me.”

Suddenly, Tabitha lifted her feet and unceremoniously placed them upon my face. Her feet largely covered most of my face, with her heels resting on my chin and her toes curling onto my forehead. There was a light scent of feminine foot sweat, but nothing strong. Tabitha’s feet never seemed to smell much, probably because of the constant pampering. My immediate thought was acceptance that this was as low as I could get. I was now nothing more than this rich girl’s footrest while she recorded a video. But then, Tabitha leant her weight forwards and pressed down into my face with both feet. She carelessly wiped her soles back and forth across my skin, roughly twisting and pulling at my features. She spoke up above, almost sounding as a mumble to me from beneath her unrepentant feet. “The key is to just rub it back in their face.” She ground her feet down with extra force. “If a hater comes at you, simply question why they’re doing it?”

“Once they offer their excuse. You’ve got to punch them back twice as hard.” She stamped on my cheek with her heel to really push the point home. “Often these haters are projecting their own insecurities back onto you. Raise these insecurities. Force the hater to confront their own fears. You’ll find their vitriol will immediately disappear. They’ll be exposed and vulnerable, and this is the perfect opportunity for education. Of course, sometimes they’re reluctant, but you have to really grind it into them.” Tabitha twisted the ball of her foot and toes into my cheek, squashing my lips.

The lesson went on and on, and Tabitha kept her feet on my face throughout. After a while, as my skin became sweaty from the constant wiping of her soles, I tuned out of what she was saying. The words above became irrelevant, as if I didn’t deserve to hear them. I was nothing but a footrest at that moment, to be used by this spoiled influencer as she made a video that would no doubt increase her popularity even further. No one who watched the video would know I was beneath the desk, a conquered hater suffering beneath Tabitha’s feet.

Tabitha spent the next hour or so editing the video while I remained beneath her feet. Not once did she look down or check what I was doing. It was as if I had become nothing more than another piece of furniture in her room.

Once uploaded to YouTube, the video was an immediate, viral hit. Even some local newspaper ran a story on how positive it was that Tabitha reached out and helped her trolls quit their hating. The success led to an even greater following for her and the advertising revenue brought even more money in for her, not that she needed it. I could have really used the money, particularly since I played a major role in the video. However, not a penny was offered my way by Tabitha.

This became a common trend. I’d often spend the evening at Tabitha’s place while she went live and engaged with her millions of followers. She’d talk about positivity and the need to reshape the behaviour of haters. I’d be there off camera, beneath her feet, suffering for my past trolling. I’d listen intently to her words while her phone dinged with likes, comments and new followers. I was a proud example of Tabitha’s teachings. I’d been her hater, and she’d re-educated me in the way things were supposed to be. I was exactly where I belonged, beneath Tabitha Fitzroy-Smythe’s spoiled, pampered feet.

Sometimes, Tabitha preferred to relax in bed while she went live on Instagram. Other times, she’d sit in an elaborate throne-like armchair with her feet propped up on a vintage footstool. While she laughed and engaged with her millions of followers, I’d kneel obediently, respectfully licking the soles of the famous influencer Tabitha Fitzroy-Smythe’s feet. After all, that’s what poor girls like me did right? We licked the feet of rich girls that were so much better than us.

During these moments, I’d occasionally whisper between licks, “You’re ummm so much better than me, uh, Miss Tabitha.” She’d momentarily look away from her phone, caress my face with her toes, then once again ignore me while I licked her feet and she did something far more important.

I’d long ago given up any hope of being something other than Tabitha’s foot licker. I was hers to use as she pleased and she kept me far too busy for trivial things such as hating. If Tabitha wanted a new pair of shoes, then she’d only need to click her fingers, and I’d be requesting overtime at the restaurant. I was a peasant, and I existed to be worked hard by a rich girl like Tabitha. I was a fool to have not realised this many years before. I’d wasted so many hours hating on girls like Tabitha, when I could have been making real use of myself for their benefit.

Which brings me to today. Tabitha is busy talking on Instagram to her fans, giving an update to celebrate passing six million followers. Of course, I’m down at her feet, devotedly licking her smooth, pampered soles while millions around the world praise her for being so beautiful and successful.

I break the constant licks to place a soft, devoted kiss on the ball of her foot. Tabitha looks in my direction and smiles, she actually smiles. It is the briefest sign of her contentment. Then her attention returns back to her phone and she continues engaging with her followers, answering their questions and earning my annual wage in a month through ad revenue. I’d learned that was real work, that’s what a hard-working girl did, not earning minimum wage at a fast food restaurant.

As I look up at her arrogant, smiling face, I still feel the same hatred and resentment. I loathe her for the beautiful, spoiled, popular, wealthy, vain influencer that she is, but for those exact same reasons, I lick Miss Tabitha’s feet whenever she demands.

My tongue snakes its way between her toes as I realise a truth. It turns out Tabitha’s influencer profile wasn’t fake. She really is a life coach, after all, she certainly turned my life around. While she laughs along with her followers, and I drag my tongue up her soles, a question plays on my mind: was the change for better or worse?