Devil on My Shoulder 1.

The year was 1991, and Mom and I were driving to Paradise Hills to celebrate my cousin Shannon's eighteenth birthday party.

Shannon had never liked me. In fact, she hated me. She was always poking fun at my weight, or clothes, or just how I walked and talked. There was always something wrong that Shannon could find fault with.

Her mom (my aunt Martha) had married into generational wealth which had only skyrocketed in recent years thanks to President Reagan's financial deregulations and tax cuts. When my uncle passed away a couple of years ago, she inherited it all.

It meant that Shannon was rich (disgustingly rich.) She afforded the latest fashions, drove expensive cars, took multiple vacations a year, and attended the most elite all-girls school in the state, the prestigious Paradise Institute.

Meanwhile, I was someone who still took the bus to my crappy public school, despite being a senior.

Aunt Martha had never worked a day in her life. She met my uncle in college and married him soon after graduation. She lived a life of ease and luxury, enjoying the service of a 24-hour maid, allowing her to focus solely on beautifying herself with the best cosmetics, nutrition, surgery, and exercise that her vast fortune could buy.

It wasn't fair. Mom struggled every day to afford what little we had. Dad abandoned us when I was still a girl, and Mom had been working as many odd jobs as she could find to keep us afloat.

I didn't like to think about her in that way, but for sure the stress over bills and groceries had taken a toll on her looks. She was a gaunt woman with lank hair and permanent dark circles under her tired eyes.

It was hard to believe Martha was her sister. She was so classically beautiful with high cheekbones, perfect posture, and a firm, proud bosom. Unfortunately for Mom, Martha had stolen all the best genes from my grandparents for herself, leaving Mom with the leftovers she never wanted.

Mom had a massive inferiority complex in regard to her sister. She always tried extra hard for us to look presentable in front of her, often spending way more than we could afford on new clothes. It was kind of sad.

Today was no different. Mom had me wear a dress with a stupid spinny skirt and a bow on the back. It made me feel like a little kid going to her first dance. I wore a cardigan to cover my arms in an effort to hide them from Shannon's inevitable jabs about my weight.

My default aesthetic was grunge. I loved Nirvana, Pearl Jam, and Alice in Chains. I had band t-shirts, flannel shirts, and torn jeans. I felt comfortable like that. It was kind of cool, plus it hid my body. But Mom freaked when she saw me dressed like that for Shannon's party. She was always hyper tense before meeting Martha and the last thing either of us needed was an argument.

'Mansion Martha,' as Mom liked to call it, was a grand colonial fenced property situated on 88 acres, with a long winding driveway, a circular motor court around a stone fountain, and lush, manicured lawns. There was a four-car detached garage, a front portico supported by Corinthian columns, and a large rear patio overlooking the grounds and gazebo. It held an aura of elegance and power.

The party had been going on for a couple of hours and the driveway was full of expensive cars all belonging to Shannon's rich friends.

The embarrassment on Mom's face was obvious as she parked her run-down Buick Estate Wagon with torn seating and a broken radio between a brand new Chrysler TC Maserati and a BMW E30 M3.

"I sure hope nobody sees this is our car," she muttered, looking around anxiously to make sure we were alone.

She was always like this. It made me feel bad for her. Yes, Martha was rich, but it wasn't as if she'd done anything to earn it. It was all inherited from her husband. Mom worked hard to provide for me. She was a good person. She always tried her best. That counted far more in my eyes than whatever snooty school she could or couldn't afford to send me to.

Sure, Shannon obviously had an advantage over me in terms of her education, connections, and good looks, but that wasn't going to stop me making a success of myself.

I was going to be a novelist. I loved King and Koontz. It was my dream to be a bestseller. I specialized in horror and gothic. I'd even had a short story accepted for publication.

I channeled all our hardships and struggles to aid my creative flow. One day, Mom would see, and then everything she'd been through would be worth it. I fantasized about her proudly declaring to Aunt Martha how I was top of the New York Times bestseller list. Finally, she would have something to brag to her about for once.

No matter Shannon's privileges, she could never write a novel anyone cared about reading. Art was created through suffering. What could Shannon possibly write about? The time her maid brought her the wrong kind of juice?

Mom took the key out of the ignition and turned to me with a serious expression. "Julia, listen to me. I know Shannon can be difficult-"

I had to smile. That was the understatement of the century.

"But please don't make a scene tonight."

I furrowed my brow. "What do you mean?"

She swallowed a lump. "It's just one night. Be nice and respectful and we'll get through this. Please don't rock the boat."

"Um, I don't know what you're talking about. I've no intention of rocking anything. I don't even want to be here."

She placed her hand on my leg and gripped it firmly. "Promise me!"

I was taken aback. The pleading in my mom's eyes was frightening. "Sure, I promise. I'll be good."

Her face lightened with relief. She smiled and gave me a kiss.

"Mom? What's going on?"

She shook her head. "Nothing to worry about. I'm just going through some things and I think your aunt might be able to help."

I didn't like the sound of that. "Mom? Are we in trouble?"

"No," she answered too quickly and brightly for my liking, "everything is fine."

If she was asking her sister for money, then everything was definitely not fine. She'd always hated the idea of being in debt to her. She would much rather have gone without than suffer that indignity.

The hopeful sadness in her smile broke my heart. I smiled back. "Okay, Mom. Don't worry about me. I won't do anything to upset Shannon."

"Thank you," she said, "that's all I'm asking."

*

An entire carnival was erected on the mansion's grounds. There were hundreds of red and white striped tents that held all manner of fairground attractions and games such as bust-a-balloon, skee ball, and whack-a-mole. There was a large Ferris wheel, bumper cars, a carousel, and a pendulum. Magicians, fire eaters, and acrobats were performing tricks. There were plenty of vendors providing corn dogs, popcorn, cotton candy, and slushies.

Hundreds of teens wandered around, laughing, joking, and screaming together. I followed Mom in a daze through the crowds. How did Shannon even know this many people, nevermind know them well enough to invite them to her party? I figured that was just what happened when you were pretty and rich. There was no shortage of people waiting to brown-nose you.

We walked through a haze of candy and perfume to a stage that housed the DJ booth and a baby pink throne like the kind of thing Madonna might have used in one of her music videos. Balloons were tied to the arms, proudly showing the number 18. Gifts were piled, wrapped in deluxe, glossy paper, and tied with bows. There were too many to count.

Mom held Shannon's birthday card in her hand. She had learned a long time ago that there was no point trying to buy Shannon a gift. Anything Shannon actually wanted, we could have never afforded. It was easier to give her money.

I can't say it didn't bother me, though, when she gave Shannon the same fifty dollars she gave me. It was almost as if she was placing her relationship with her niece on the same level as her daughter. But I understood rationally that it was less for Shannon's benefit than it was for Martha. Mom couldn't have coped with seeing the expression on Martha's face if she had given anything less than that.

Not that Martha had any problems in writing me a check for ten dollars every birthday (when she actually remembered.)

I complained once that as rich as Martha was, she only ever gave me ten dollars. My mom was appalled at how ungrateful I was being. Somehow, the irony was lost on her that as poor as she was, she managed to find fifty dollars for Shannon.

Whatever. Once I was a professional novelist, all these humiliations would be put to positive use.

Keep dreaming, freak.

I ignored the devil on my shoulder, always whispering negativity in my ear, always ready to remind me how worthless I was. I couldn't allow it to affect me. Not today. I had to be strong or I'd never make it.

Martha soon appeared wearing a black and white mini-patchwork open blazer with black and gold buttons and shoulder pads over a black, tight-fit body suit with a low crop top, gold trim, and a wide Chanel buckle belt, and a chunky gold statement necklace. The heels of her leather crush boots elevated her stature above my mom who noticeably shrank in her sister's presence.

Martha gave us a formal smile and leaned in to kiss my mom on each of her cheeks making loud "mwah mwah" noises. Mom blushed and went to kiss her back but Martha had already moved away leaving my mom foolishly kissing at air.

"So glad you could make it," she said, then turned her attention to me. "My my, Julia. Haven't you grown since the last time I saw you."

I likewise blushed. Martha knew full well I wasn't taller. I'd stopped gaining height at sixteen. I knew she was talking about my weight. Martha leaned in to give me an awkward hug and a single pat on the back. She smelled decadent. Rosewood, carnation, and sandalwood.

"Nice to see you, Aunt Martha," I said, maintaining the formal interaction. I always felt like my existence somehow annoyed her.

She quickly turned back to Mom. "So," she said, opening her arms to show off the carnival. "What do you think?"

Mom's smile was the same defeated, dead smile she reserved for all her interactions with Martha. "Really amazing. I think this is even more impressive than last year."

"Of course, silly. This is Shannon's eighteenth. She's an adult woman now. I want her to remember this night for the rest of her life."

"I'm sure she will. This is wonderful."

Martha dismissed the compliment with a flick of her wrist. "We're just getting started. We have a grand fireworks display planned that would make Gatsby himself green with envy."

"I can't wait."

Martha smirked.

"So, um, where is the birthday girl?"

"Oh, she's with her friends somewhere. Julia, be a dear and go and find her will you." She checked the time on her giant gold Rolex. "She should probably open her presents soon."

Mom nodded at me to get going.

I told myself I might have at least eye-rolled in rebellion had I not promised to be on my best behavior, but deep down I knew that was a lie. I was always going to do what Aunt Martha wanted. I'd adopted Mom's inferiority complex as my own.

It was a struggle to maneuver through the crowd. Those girls seemed entitled to take up as much space as they could, walking with their friends in large groups and expecting me to step aside without even a glance of recognition. It was no big deal. I was used to it. It wasn't as if the girls at my school treated me any better.

I spotted Shannon with some of her friends firing pellet guns at moving targets in a shooting gallery. They all cheered as Shannon pinged one off a bullseye, sparking a burst of confetti. The balding stall owner applauded her enthusiastically.

She looked as pretty as she always did. She had a petite and feminine frame and held herself with the same confident poise as her mother. Her smile was impossibly adorable and lit up any room she entered. Her skin glowed with the memory of her latest Caribbean vacation. She wore a V-neck cardigan over an open-collared white blouse that showed an elegant amount of cleavage. She had a pleated mini-skirt, knee-high socks, and black, Mary Jane pumps.

"Hey, Shannon," I said as friendly as I could. "Great party."

Shannon glanced back at me with disgust. Her friends all turned and quickly burst into fits of laughter. They looked just as preppy as she did.

"What is that?" said one of them.

Shannon rolled her eyes. "Urf. She's my gross cousin."

"Ew, why does she look like that?"

"She's like poor or something. I don't know. I try not to think about her."

"I can't believe you're related."

I stood awkwardly as they all took turns mocking my appearance. They were like vipers, pouncing on my weaknesses. My cheeks turned crimson. This was how all my interactions with Shannon went.

Her friends continued. "Why is she even here?"

Shannon sighed. "My mom made me invite her. I think she feels sorry for her or something. Nobody likes her. She doesn't even have any friends."

They all had a good laugh about this.

Shannon smirked and pointed the pellet gun at me. "Your poor ass mom had better had gotten me something better than fifty worthless dollars."

I blushed. Fifty dollars was huge to me. I also knew what a sacrifice it was for my mom to do that for her every birthday and Christmas. Not that there was any point trying to argue with her about it. "I, uh, don't really know. Your mom is looking for you, though."

"Humph. Probably time to open my presents. Do you want to see me open all my presents, loser?"

I shrugged. I didn't understand why my cousin was so mean to me all the time but it had always been the same. I really didn't like confrontation. I'd discovered from an early age that speaking up only made her bullying worse.

Shannon pulled the trigger of her gun and shot a pellet at my cheek.

I flinched and reached up to caress down the sting.

She smirked as her friends all laughed. "I asked you a question, nerd," she said, firing again, this time barely missing my eye.

The stall holder reached to grab the gun. "Hey," he said, "stop that! Those aren't toys."

Shannon snatched it away, turning to him angrily. "Don't you dare try and touch me! My mom is paying for all this including you. That makes me your boss. If you try and stop me having fun on my birthday again I'll have you fired."

The man reddened and looked down ashamed. "Sorry, Miss."

Shannon smirked triumphantly and fired a pellet at him which ricocheted off his forehead, drawing blood.

I was embarrassed for myself and him. I was grateful he had tried to stand up for me, but I was sure he was wishing he had just kept his mouth shut after being so easily put in his place by Shannon. Aunt Martha must have been paying him a lot of money for him to put up with this abuse.

"Alright," said Shannon, throwing down the gun. "I'm bored of this now. I'm ready for my presents."

She led her gang to the stage and I followed a safe distance away, staring at the back of their legs, admiring how beautiful they were. My eyes were especially drawn to Shannon's smooth and tanned thighs. I imagined her moisturizing and exfoliating to bring out that shine. My eyes wandered down her knee-high socks to the back of her Mary Jane pumps. She looked so adorable. For a brief second, I imagined what it might be like to have her stomping on my stomach, wiping her dirty soles on my dress.

That's right, whispered the devil on my shoulder, you belong under her feet.

There was sick churning in my stomach and a tingling excitement in my pussy. Wasn't that some kind of weird incest? I tried to think of something else. I looked at the different stalls and smelled the fresh donuts, but my eyes quickly wandered back to Shannon's feet, allured by the taboo.

They're right about everything they say you know, you are gross. What do you think they'd say if they knew you were getting aroused right now?

"Shut up," I whispered.

They hate you. Everybody hates you. You're so fat and ugly. I bet you'll go home tonight and play with yourself thinking about Shannon. What kind of sick fuck does that?

I tried not to listen but the devil continued.

The girls at school are right when they call you a skank and a dyke. Remember that time before gym when you stayed behind in the locker room to sniff inside their shoes? What would Shannon say if she knew that? You should tell her.

"No."

Tell her!

"No!"

Shannon and her friends stopped and turned to me at my sudden outburst. Their pretty faces were contorted in disgust. I blushed and tried to smile it off as no big deal.

"Ew," said one of her friends, "is she like retarded or something?"

"Sorry," I said, "I thought I'd forgotten something, but I guess it's cool. No big."

Shannon exchanged a look with her friend and shook her head as if to ask how anybody could be that much of a freak and then continued over to the stage.

If only she knew.

I breathed relief. As embarrassing as that was, it could have been so much worse. The last thing I needed was for Shannon to discover I talked to an invisible devil on my shoulder.

A crowd had gathered by the base of the stage. I saw my mom at the front in conversation with Aunt Martha. Or, more accurately, Mom was talking and Aunt Martha was disinterestedly inspecting her manicure. She interrupted my mom when she saw Shannon moving through the crowd like Moses parting the sea.

"Are you ready, Princess?" she asked.

Mom looked hurt, but soon her dead smile returned to her face.

"I guess so," said Shannon, joining her mom and giving her a hug.

"Happy birthday, Shannon," said Mom.

Shannon did not even look at her. "Guess what?" she said to Martha, "Julia volunteered to hand me all my presents to open. Isn't that sweet of her?"

Shannon's friends all snickered at me. I glanced nervously at my mom who gave me a nod and an encouraging smile. My mouth went dry. There was no way I could refuse. I'd made a promise.

"Wonderful," exclaimed Martha. "That will be such a huge help. Thank you, Julia."

She clicked her fingers in the direction of the DJ booth and an announcement interrupted the music to direct everyone to the stage.

Shannon sauntered up the steps and I followed, feeling sweaty under the spotlight. I hated being the center of attention. I could see girls in the crowd pointing and laughing at me, whispering to each other as if to ask who that freak was following Shannon.

The DJ led everybody in a round of applause for the birthday girl. Shannon waved to them with a big smile on her face. She sat on her baby pink throne and crossed her legs, bobbing her foot. The back-and-forth motion was almost hypnotic.

She turned to me and spoke quietly enough so only I could hear. "Start with the biggest one."

The order sent my pussy tingling. I nodded and pushed the largest one over the stage to her throne.

Shannon paid no attention to who the gift was from, tearing at the glossy paper greedily to reveal a state-of-the-art Sony LBT-905 Hi-Fi System.

I was immediately jealous. I had to make do with a crappy cassette player. How awesome would the brooding lyrics of Kurt Cobain sound on that?

Shannon was unimpressed. "Okay, next."

I felt bad for whoever had bought her that. It wasn't cheap. I guessed Shannon didn't care much for music. I figured she listened to what was popular, not because she liked it, but because it was popular. Appearances mattered to her more than anything.

I handed her the next gift and the same routine played out. She ignored the label and ripped it open to reveal a brand new Super Nintendo gaming system.

She scoffed and dropped it by her side. "Ew. What am I? Twelve?"

It continued. I would pass her a gift and she would greet it with the same indifference or outright annoyance. I felt like a complete idiot rushing back and forth from the diminishing pile of presents back to her throne like I was her personal servant.

Plenty for you to masturbate to later, freak.

There was a Sony video Walkman she declared as "nerd stuff." Various VHS tapes and CDs she couldn't have cared less about and even some books she really couldn't have cared less about.

It broke my heart a bit to see her toss away Stephen King's new novel "Needful Things," the first he'd written since his accident. I'd been looking forward to reading that one for months and Shannon had discarded it in her pile without a second glance.

I couldn't believe how ungrateful she was, and even harder to believe was how everyone was just enabling it without any hint of reprimand as though this behavior was completely normal and acceptable.

There were some gifts she liked. There was a bottle of Cašmir (Eau de Parfum) which she excitedly declared was the perfume of the year before spraying it on her wrists and smelling it. There was some jewelry she appeared pleased by, and a diamond quilted Chanel Shoulder bag and matching purse that received her approval.

After opening more gifts than I could count, she got around to the cards. I gathered a handful and passed them to her. She ripped open the envelopes and opened the cards without reading to grab the money inside.

My eyes were wide as I saw how many hundred dollar bills she was accumulating. She was amassing a small fortune. More money than my mom made in a month. It wasn't fair. Shannon was already rich. Why did she need any of that?

The worst was when I saw her open our card and saw a hundred-dollar bill slip out. It was double what Mom had given me for my eighteenth. I'd been so grateful for that fifty, knowing what a sacrifice it was for her to afford that. For Shannon, it was nothing. Just another hundred dollars she was entitled to just because she was Shannon.

But she's so pretty and you're so ugly. Who deserves that money more?

Once she'd opened the last card, the DJ led the crowd in the 'Happy Birthday' song as balloons and confetti dropped and fireworks erupted electric pink and violet in the sky. It was the largest display I'd seen, like something you'd expect to see in Times Square when the New Year's ball dropped. There were cheers from the excited audience.

Martha walked up on stage, applauding along with the rest of them. She moved past me as if I wasn't even there with no word of thanks for scurrying around handing her daughter presents.

I flushed with annoyance as I saw everything Shannon had received in a pile surrounded by torn paper and empty boxes. Shannon was counting her money with a smirk on her face. How was Aunt Martha not embarrassed to give me ten dollars? She must have known how insulting it was when her own daughter got ten times that amount from us. Did she get off on treating us this way?

Don't you?

My pussy tingled, much to my shame.

Martha hushed the crowd and then turned to her daughter, smiling. "There is one more special surprise for the birthday girl."

Shannon's smirk became a grin.

Martha reached into the pocket of her blazer and produced a set of car keys on a Bentley key chain. She dangled them playfully.

Shannon rose from her throne and gave her mom a huge hug. There was more enthusiastic applause from her guests.

"Really?" she asked, "it's the one I wanted?"

Martha smiled indulgently. "Sure is, princess." She motioned with her arms and a floodlight immediately switched on to illuminate an area of grass slightly away from the carnival where a dark gold Bentley Continental R with a SHANNON3 personalized license plate was parked.

Shannon gasped and excitedly bounded off the stage and across the lawn to inspect her new vehicle.

The crowd followed in procession as if she were a holy prophet.

I was happy the attention had moved away from the stage. I looked for my mom and saw her being swept along with everyone else. She waved at me to follow.

The last thing I wanted was to coo over Shannon's new car, but I felt like an idiot standing alone on stage so I decided to plod over and join the others.

Shannon was already sitting on the plush leather driver's seat, gripping her hands around the sculpted, dual-tone leather steering wheel.

Martha was explaining the features with a satisfied smirk on her face. "It has a Rolls-Royce V8 engine that can go from zero to sixty in less than three seconds and has a top speed of a hundred and fifty miles per hour."

Shannon grinned and revved the monstrous engine.

My mom maneuvered through the bodies to place herself next to her sister. "Wow, Martha," she said cheerily, "what an amazing gift, congratulations."

I blushed, unsure what my mom was congratulating Martha for. Having inherited an obscene amount of money from her dead husband to afford to buy her eighteen-year-old daughter a dream car?

Martha ignored her. "Step out of the car, princess. There's a professional photographer here to take some pictures."

Shannon stepped out and posed next to her new car as the photographer snapped pictures. She was joined by her mother and then her friends. They had a great time sprawling over the bodywork like they were auditioning for an MTV video. Shannon even got her wad of cash out and flaunted it for the camera, pouting her lips and fanning herself as her friends all laughed along with her bratty antics. The hundred-dollar bill my mom had sacrificed for was nothing but a prop to her.

Mom meanwhile, had slunk away into the background, writhing her hands nervously with that awful dead smile on her face.

*

The party extended beyond the carnival and into the mansion where Shannon and her besties were treated to a triple bill of her favorite movies via a projector and surround sound speakers to create a cinematic experience.

They all sat on comfy beanbags, munching on buttery popcorn and slurping their slushies as they laughed along to 'Breakfast Club,' 'Pretty in Pink,' and 'St Elmo's Fire,' even voicing the lines of the actors.

I stood awkwardly at the back. Not only did I hate those dumb comedies but I always felt deeply uncomfortable inside Martha's mansion.

The custom hardwood floors, coffered ceilings, extensive millwork, and Egyptian-inspired murals, rugs, and statuettes made me uneasy like my presence was making the place look untidy.

It didn't help that Mom was so on edge. She moused around the place as if afraid she might accidentally damage something. Granted, she could never have afforded to replace anything she broke, but I didn't understand why she was suddenely so worried about being a clutz.

I'd been hoping we would leave as soon as the carnival was over. Shannon clearly didn't want us there. Occasionally, she would glance around to see if I was still there and pull a face when she saw me. I glanced away, pretending not to notice.

I saw Mom deep in conversation with Aunt Martha. She was using hushed tones so as to not interrupt the movie, clasping her hands together as if begging. Even her eyes appeared glassy as if she was ready to break down in tears.

Martha seemed annoyed. Her hands were on her hips, and she towered over my mom in her high heels. The power imbalance between the sisters could not have been more obvious.

I felt terrible seeing Mom like that. I could only assume she was asking for money. I hadn't realized things had gotten so bad. Mom had always made a point to avoid asking her sister for anything. She would rather have struggled and gone without than degrade herself in that way. She'd always prided herself on never having taken a handout from anybody as if being underpaid and undervalued was a mark of honor.

I couldn't stand it. I had to get away. I was starting to feel nauseous. The way my mom described Martha growing up, she was always the pretty one, the popular one, and my grandparents' favorite. It wasn't fair.

The sooner I went to college and started my writing career the better. I had to work hard to help Mom escape this cycle of inferiority with her sister.

Yeah right. As if you could ever amount to anything, freak.

I departed the living room with no destination in mind, just knowing I had to get away.

Across the walls were various framed photographs of Martha and Shannon showcasing their vacations to cultural and exotic locations. There was Shannon at Disneyworld hugging Micky Mouse, Martha in her bikini lounging by the pool, Shannon holding up the Leaning Tower of Pisa, the two of them wearing berets outside the Eiffel Tower, and many more. The farthest I'd ever traveled was Myrtle Beach.

Their favorite destination was clearly Egypt. There were more pictures of them next to the Pyramids, the Sphynx, Luxor's temples, and Abu Simbel. There were even fully painted murals depicting them both as Egyptian queens complete with golden headdresses, black eyeliner, and jewels. Their regal expressions looked down on me as if judging me unworthy.

You are unworthy.

I hurried away, more unsettled than ever. I headed up a spiral staircase searching for a bathroom where I could splash my face in cold water and hide for a while.

I opened the first door I came to, not realizing it led straight into Shannon's bedroom. After all, it wasn't as if Shannon had ever invited me inside before. I knew it was wrong, but I was too curious to leave. I wanted to see how my rich cousin lived.

A fluffy rug lay on the cream-carpeted floor. The walls were wallpapered in pastel pink and magnolia stripes. There was a four-poster, king-sized bed with a pink and white patchwork quilt, and large, plush pillows.

She had her own living area with pink couches facing a large television and an entire bookcase filled with VHS tapes. She already owned a high-tech stereo system with hundreds of CDs and Vinyl which made the new stereo I was so jealous of completely superfluous.

Her vanity table had every type of cosmetic product I could imagine. An Apple Powerbook 100 was on her desk. She even had a landline phone by her bed.

Everything was immaculate as if cut from a glossy homelife magazine. It must have been the work of their maid. I knew Shannon had never vacuumed in her life. There was even a pleasant scent of musk and sugared petals.

Her closet door was wide open and I couldn't resist taking a peek. It was larger than my entire bedroom. She had so many clothes she could have worn a different outfit every day of the year and still left things untouched.

It was her extensive collection of shoes that really drew my eye. They were laid out on a low shelf as if on display at a high-end boutique. There were all sorts of boots, sneakers, sandals, and pumps.

A pair of white leather statement block heels drew my eye. They looked incredible and I could only imagine how sexy Shannon's legs would look in them.

Nobody is here. I know you want to.

I bit my lip and my pussy tingled. I wiped my sweaty hands down my dress and picked one up as if it were the holy grail.

Go on. This is your only chance to do this. Don't you want to know how she smells? Just a quick one. No one will know.

I gulped and my heart beat fast as I slowly guided the insole to my nose. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. It smelled of expensive leather and the slightest tang of socks. It was amazing.

There. Doesn't that feel better?

I directed my hand up the skirt of my dress to rub my finger around my clit. The wrongness of what I was doing was only adding to my excitement. My body shivered at the thrill.

See? She's better than you in every way, isn't she? You want to worship her, don't you?

I nodded into the insole.

Then open your eyes, freak.

"What the fuck?" said Shannon.

I yelped and immediately dropped the shoe in my panic to see Shannon standing in the doorway of the closet with her arms folded over her chest and a hateful look on her face, tapping her foot.

"Sh-Shannon," I said breathlessly. My heart dropped as I realized my hand was still up my skirt. I retracted it quickly and stared at my cousin in horror. "This...this isn't what it looks like."

Shannon's expression reminded me of how she'd appeared in that Egyptian mural: cold, calculating, and imperial.

"It isn't?" she said, "cus it sure looks like you were masturbating to the smell of my shoe."

I blushed. "N-no, it wasn't like that."

"Then show me."

"Wh-what?"

"Lift up your skirt and show me your panties."

I shook my head, tears forming in my eyes.

"You'll do it, loser, or I'll tell everyone what I caught you doing. My mom, my friends, your mom. Everyone."

I was a horrible liar at the best of times. There was no way I could compete against Shannon's force of personality. I saw the hurt on my mom's face to know her daughter got off on smelling the shoes of her sister's daughter. It would not exactly help her inferiority complex. Not to mention how angry Aunt Martha would be. There was no way she would help us after something like that.

I'd promised Mom to be on my best behavior. How could I have done this to her? Would she ever forgive me? How long would it take for the rumors to spread from Shannon and her friends to the girls at my own school? I'd be a laughing stock. If I became a famous novelist, the tales of my fetish would resurface. I'd never escape it.

Kind of a turn-on, isn't it, freak?

My bottom lip trembled as I lifted up my skirt to show her my boyshorts. Sure enough, a wet splotch on my crotch had darkened the cotton.

Shannon smirked. "You're so fucking gross."

I nodded. At least she was smiling. It gave me hope I could still escape this.

Shannon walked up to me, lifted her foot, and tapped the toe of her Mary Jane pump against my crotch. "So," she said, "what is it about my shoes that turns you on?"

I held up my skirt since she hadn't told me to drop it. It gave her a clear aim. "I-I don't know."

"Yes, you do. And be honest. I'll know if you're lying."

I gulped. "I...really don't know...I guess because I could never afford shoes like that and well...you're so much richer and...prettier than me. I, uh, feel submissive about it?"

Shannon suddenly kicked me as hard as she could in my pussy. The explosion of pain took my breath away. I collapsed onto my knees and clutched where she'd struck.

Shannon watched me writhe beneath her in amusement. "Jesus. I mean, obviously, I knew you were a weirdo, but this is something else. I didn't realize you were one of those freaks that gets off on being dominated."

I sniffled. "I'm sorry, Shannon. Please don't tell anyone."

"Let's see how sorry you are." She clicked her fingers and pointed down at the toe of the shoe she'd kicked me with.

I cautiously leaned down to place my palms on the floor and crawled on all fours to her feet. I really was sorry. Sorry, I was such a disgusting freak. Sorry, I'd been caught.

Shannon placed her hands on her hips and stared down at me like I was less than an insect.

Her Mary Jane pumps gleamed with polish. Their t-strap silhouettes looked painfully cute over her socks. I leaned in close and planted dry kisses over the expensive leather.

"You know," said Shannon, "it's pretty funny. I knew you were up to no good when you snuck out of the movie. I just figured you were looking for something to steal, you know since you're so poor."

I continued to kiss, ashamed and more aroused than ever. The wet splotch on my boyshorts was definitely expanding.

Look at you. You're so pathetic. You're kissing the shoes of your own cousin. What's wrong with you? I hate you.

Shannon continued, oblivious to the devil on my shoulder. "I already knew I was better than you, but this is kind of crazy, isn't it? It's like I'm a queen and you're my slave."

Say yes.

"Yes (kiss)"

"Your Majesty," corrected Shannon.

I sniffled. "Y-yes, Your Majesty."

Shannon clapped her hands and laughed.

Doesn't that feel amazing?

I blinked tears down my cheeks and continued to kiss her shoes. As much as I hated it, my pussy couldn't lie.

"Hmmm," mused Shannon. "And what should I call you? Slave? No, that doesn't seem right. Let's see, you're poor, ugly, dirty, and gross. I know! You can be the peasant. Yes, I'm a queen and you're just a filthy peasant. Isn't that perfect?"

"Yes (kiss) thank you (kiss) Your Majesty."

Shannon laughed again. "Wow. This'll be so much fun. As your queen, my word is greater than that of God. You're going to do exactly what I say from now on. If you don't, I'll tell everyone you're a whore for my shoes. Don't even think for a second I'm bluffing. Think I care about you or your poor ass mom? I'll make sure this gross fetish follows you wherever you go. School, college, work. I'll find out where you are and make sure everyone knows. You'll be a laughing stock for the rest of your life. I'll fucking destroy you."

"Yes (kiss) Your Majesty."

"Then turn around."

I did as she said without hesitation. I knew that with each new degeneracy, my recovery would be harder and harder. Did I really want Shannon to blackmail me like this? I knew it would only get worse the longer I allowed it to happen.

We both know you do. You can't hide from me, freak.

"Pull down your underwear."

I obeyed, wriggling them down below my thighs.

"Show me that fat ass."

I sniffled and hitched up my skirt to show my new queen my bare bottom. I felt the excitement flow through my blood, chilling me into a quiver.

Shannon giggled and squatted behind me, lifting both her arms, and swatting her palms down hard on my vulnerable buttocks.

She was stronger than she looked. She repeatedly slapped me, turning my ass cheeks red, and making them jiggle. I yelped after each one, blubbering like a naughty child.

"This is just the beginning," she declared, "you're mine now."

Thank her.

"Th...thank you...Your Majesty."

Once she'd spanked my ass raw, she finally let up, rising back to her feet and placing her hands back on her hips in the same posture of power I'd seen Aunt Martha employ in her interactions with my mom.

"Go fix yourself up. You look even grosser than normal."

Prostrated on all fours with my soaked underwear around my thighs, my bare ass, red and throbbing, with tears trickling from my puffy eyes, I must have looked worse than an embarrassment.

"You can meet me back in the living room. I've got an idea so follow my lead."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Shannon grinned and presented her pump for me to place one final respectful kiss on her toe.

"Okay, peasant," she declared imperiously, "get going."

I crawled around her and out of the closet on all fours with my boyshorts still around my thighs. Shannon sure had a good laugh at that.

It was a nightmare, but the devil was right. I'd never been so aroused in my life.

I scurried quickly out of Shannon's bedroom and across the landing, opening doors until I'd found the bathroom.

I stayed on the floor and finished what I'd started, desperately rubbing over my clit, thinking of every degradation I'd suffered. It was incredible. My eyes rolled back and I gasped, breathlessly, squirting onto the bathroom floor.

This is the best sex you'll ever have, freak.

"Yes," I whispered. "Yes, it is."

Don't leave a mess. Show some respect. Lick it up.

I was in a post-orgasm haze as slithered back over the floor and leaned down to lap up my juices from the tiles. I felt so dirty and pathetic, but at the same time, it felt right, like this was where I belonged, on my hands and knees licking my cum from the bathroom floor of my rich aunt and cousin.

Once it was clean, I stood and splashed my face in water. I pulled my underwear back up and felt the cold wetness on my crotch. I was beginning to feel human and less like a pig. Guilt and fear were quickly replacing my arousal.

Too late for that. You've really fucked up this time.

Shannon was as vindictive as she was spoiled. She would absolutely follow through on her threats. My place in college and my career as a writer would be in jeopardy. Who would ever take me seriously?

I felt I had no choice but to obey her. My hope was she'd get bored of me once we were in college. I just had to survive until then.

I made my way downstairs with cautious optimism. Things weren't as bad as they seemed. Shannon had to adhere to society's rules. She couldn't exactly parade me around in public. If I just avoided situations where we were alone, there was only so far she could push me.

When I entered the living room, I saw the movie paused on a close-up of Molly Ringwald.

Everyone stared at me. My stomach knotted as I feared for a moment they somehow knew, but when they all turned away I realized they were simply waiting for Shannon.

My mom approached. "Where have you been?" she whispered.

"I just used the restroom. No big deal."

My mom studied me and I blushed. There was no way she could suspect anything, but the embarrassment of what Shannon had made me do combined with the throbbing on my ass cheeks made me glance nervously down at my feet.

Luckily, Shannon arrived before my mom could ask me any more questions.

"Hiiii, auntie," she said with sickening fake sweetness, bounding up to us and giving my mom a light peck on her cheek. "Thank you soooo much for my birthday money."

The gratitude and relief on my mom's face was heartbreaking.

"Oh, you're so welcome, dear. Just let me know what you buy with it."

I cringed. My mom was so happy she was completely missing that Shannon was mocking her. I caught Aunt Martha snickering behind them.

Shannon batted her long eyelashes. "You know, I was thinking, it would be soooo much fun if Julia came with me and my friends shopping tomorrow. Maybe she can help me choose what to spend it on?"

Mom glanced at me and then back to Shannon. She was as dumbfounded as me. Shannon had never once asked me to do anything with her, ever.

Martha waltzed over, with a glass of wine in her hand. "What a wonderful idea, princess. You can show Julia all your favorite stores."

Shannon reached behind my back and pinched my skin, jabbing in her nails.

I gulped and smiled. "S-sure. That...sounds like fun. Th-thank you."

"You're sooo welcome," she cooed, twisting the skin on my back until I yelped.

My mom stared at me, but I quickly disarmed her suspicion with a nervous chuckle.

"Splendid," proclaimed Martha, "in fact, since our daughters will be spending the day together, we ought to do something too.

My mom's eyes widened and she smiled hopefully. "R-really Martha?"

"How does lunch sound? I know a fabulous little French bistro over on Main Street."

"That...sounds amazing."

"Perhaps we can discuss your little...problem?"

Mom's eyes welled with grateful tears. "Really? Thank you, Martha. Thank you so much."

Martha shrugged. "I haven't agreed to anything yet, mind you. We'll discuss it. But I may have a proposal we can both be satisfied with."

"You won't regret this, Martha."

My mom either didn't notice or chose not to notice the smirk on my aunt's lips as she took a sip of her wine.

I knew then we were deep in trouble. But if I'd known then how bad things were going to get, would I have made different decisions? Would I have just confessed then and there to what I'd done and accepted the consequences? As humiliating as it would have been, my life may yet have been salvaged.

Ha! We both know you'd have done it all exactly the same. Don't pretend with me, freak.

It's true. I can't hide myself from the devil on my shoulder. As miserable as my life has been since then, I wouldn't change a damned thing.