A Million Dollar Floormat – Chapter 6 24 min read

Jennifer Gasped.

She gazed at a spectacle of bloody horror. She was partly shielded from the scene by Shannon’s bed. There, on the far side of the bed, she could see her sister holding what looked to be a small hatchet. Her face and arms were covered with fresh blood, as she stood immobile, leering down at something not yet visible.

It took Jennifer a second to gather her thoughts. Then she rushed around the bed to see Shannon standing on her brother. Her high heels impaled each of his nipples. The tips had clearly penetrated his chest. For a moment Jennifer was transfixed by the slow rise and fall of Shannon’s body as his chest heaved in a desperate attempt to get air. Freddy appeared to be unconscious beneath her. His face and trunk were terribly bruised and lacerated, but Jennifer finally noticed, to her horror, that all four of his limbs were neatly severed from his body. Shannon had arranged the dismembered limbs in a neat circle around her victim. She stared at her handiwork with the look of a demented artist, admiring the final composition of bloody limbs. Shannon’s eyes slowly rose to meet her
sister’s astonished stare.

Shannon spoke in a soft, emotionless voice. “Well, sister, Freddy says
that he wants to be my floormat. I told him, I would be happy to help him
get his wish. See. He’s almost the right shape already. He’s too thick though. Do you think I should slice some off his back? Oh, maybe later. I think I’d like to clean up now.”

With that, Shannon stepped off the ruin of her twin, and padded off
nonchalantly into her bathroom. Moments later, the sound of hot water
emitting from a nozzle could be heard. Jennifer heard her sister pleasantly singing to herself as she enjoyed her morning shower.

Most ordinary people faced with an emergency dial 911. Even in her dazed state, Jennifer had enough presence of mind to quickly exclude that option. Emergency rooms were far too public, and too many questions would inevitably be asked. Even a vast fortune could only go so far in assuring discretion. She could see that Freddy was still alive. She was not good with magic, but could remember a simple spell to slow the bleeding while she frantically sought some answer to her dilemma. Something had to happen in minutes, or all the powers of science and witchcraft combined would be of no help in keeping what was left of her brother alive. She stumbled to a phone and dialed the number of Floormats Incorporated.

The ride in the ambulance was reassuring to Jennifer. They would be at headquarters soon, and Freddy was preserved on the floor of the vehicle for the moment in a temporary stasis spell. The emergency team sat solemnly, saying nothing. She noticed that Freddy’s eyes were now open.

Was he actually awake? She wanted to say something to him. Something bland and hopeful was called for. She knew it. Yet it somehow could not be
part of Jennifer’s way. Being nice meant something a little different to her than to the average girl. She could not help but add her own twist to even the most basic message.

Jennifer found her bare foot slipping out of her shoe. She gently rested her sole on her brother’s devastated chest. His chest was very cold, from the spell, and he was not breathing. His eyes moved though, and Jennifer was sure that he was alert enough to hear her. She dropped her face closer to the mess under her foot, and spoke in a faint husky voice.

“Well, brother, looks like I get you after all. Don’t you worry for even a second. I’ll find a place for you. You can stop all that useless thinking and
figuring. You just lay there and let little Jenny decide how to use you. You’ll be happy. I promise. ”

She became aware that everyone else in the ambulance was glaring at her. What must they think of her and her family? Jennifer found to her immense surprise, that she didn’t care very much what they thought. She was quite certain that she could sense something besides all the pain and confusion in her brother’s desperate eyes. She knew what it was, even if everyone else thought her a monster, from a family of monsters. She could sense the new emotion in his tortured mind. It was gratitude.

After the ambulance had sped away, little Zak and Zeke thought themselves alone in the house. Shannon had disappeared during all the confusion. Everyone assumed that she had fled. Zak and Zeke had enough sense to be frightened. They understood enough of what had happened to know that Shannon was dangerous. They sat on the kitchen floor, all thought of work having left them, and nervously waited for Elizabeth’s return. They were shocked when Shannon, neatly groomed, and dressed for work, walked into the kitchen. She seemed quite relaxed, as she stood looking at them. After a long awkward pause, she whispered, “Hi guys, I think I’m hungry this morning.”

The two small men started to hustle, intent both on making her breakfast, and avoiding doing anything that would provoke her. Shannon grinned, rapidly swept both of them up in her arms, and then laughed out loud. “No breakfast for me, boys. I think I’m hungry for something else.” She carried the struggling two-foot-tall males into the pantry, and locked the door.

Jennifer could see Lilith coming down the hall. The older woman looked
very tired, even though they had been there only a couple of hours. She sat
next to Jennifer and took both her hands into her own warm clasp. She
spoke haltingly, wanting to pick her words carefully. “Your brother is
alive. I’m not sure how we did it, but he is alive. Before you say anything,
let me finish explaining. You know that the energy to make a transformation has to come from somewhere. When we make a floormat,
the man’s mass is mostly consumed in the process. With your brother,
there was not enough left to finish any transformation. We had to use most of the energy to restore all the damage. What we have now is a very small man, with no arms and legs. His genitals are intact, and he can talk. He won’t need to eat or excrete much, but he will definitely be more vulnerable to damage than a fully transformed floormat.”

Jennifer sat pensively while listening to Lilith’s explanation. The young woman couldn’t identify exactly what was different about herself, but she sensed that she wasn’t the same. Her personal needs seemed coarser, and stronger, but the sense of joy and fun that ran through everything she had done in her life was suddenly gone. There was a strident, harsh tone to her own emotions. She knew she should feel grief for her brother’s misfortune, yet the sadness was not there. Instead, the image of her brother shrunken and helpless emerged in her brain. She found herself wondering how she could use him. How much pleasure could she find in this mangled thing, that Lilith described? She saw that Lilith expected her to say something. She pushed herself to reply.

“Lilith, just how small is Freddy?”

“Well, I don’t have the exact measurements. I would say that he’s about 14 inches, long altogether. Perhaps a bit shorter.”

” Is he strong enough for me to stand on? And could I put both my
feet on him at the same time?”

Lilith was stunned by the candor of Jennifer’s questions. This was not at
all like the playful teenager that she gossiped with, just twenty-four hours ago. Lilith had no reason to be sentimental, when it came to men. Her company had transformed a hundred thousand men from human beings into customized objects to be used by women. Her own home and office were paved with most of the males, that she had allowed to be close to her. She enjoyed them, but never was nostalgic enough to avoid disposing of a
worn or damaged mat. Yet even the tough CEO of Custom Floormats was
uncomfortable with the look in Jennifer’s eyes. Still, Lilith was a businesswoman, and responded matter-of-factly to her customer’s questions. “Yes, you could stand on him, if you kept your feet together. The
length of your foot is about the same as the distance from his pelvis to
his chin. He is strong enough to take your weight. You could wear flats or
sandals, but a sharp heel would kill him. Remember that he still has some
remnants of internal organs, and no self-repair capacity. His testicles are
small, and would not reform if you popped them.”

“What if you made him smaller? Say, less than a foot long. The right
size for an insole. Could you complete the transition then?”

“Not really. He would be closer. His substance would be more rugged. But he would still be partly human. His skin would be real human skin. He could function as an insole. But, I wouldn’t recommend it. He would wear out too quickly.”

“Alright then, just leave him where he is. I need to get home, and talk to my mother about all this. I haven’t been able to contact her yet. Anyway, we sure appreciate your help. At least he’s still alive for me, or rather for all of us.” With that she rose and calmly left the building.

Zeke, his hair and clothing soaked in sweat and tears, cowered in the corner of the windowless room. He tried to avert his eyes, but felt compelled to watch Shannon methodically destroy his brother. Her only weapons were the simple brown pumps that adorned her feet.

Her movements were leisurely, and assured… The little man beneath her, too exhausted to continue screaming, simply groaned in pain. His legs were
broken, and his facial features badly mangled. Shannon beamed her brightest smile down at him, as she placed one pump on his chest, and slowly shifted her weight onto that foot. The sole compressed his chest,
as the sharp heel buried itself in his soft groin. Zak attempted once more
to scream, but nothing came from his quivering lips but a forlorn high-
pitched moan, and a tiny trickle of blood. Shannon now balanced on that
deadly foot, and began to rock back and forth, heel to toe. She spread her
arms wide, and held her other foot to the side, imitating the manner of a
high wire artist. She had no difficulty retaining her perch atop the dying
miniature man.

Suddenly his chest gave way, and Shannon dropped perceptibly, her sole now drenched in blood, and came to rest against his spine. She could feel his backbone through her shoe, a hard, sharp-edged chain pushing up into the leather. Shannon timed her next step carefully. She waited patiently as his
body weakly flailed in the convulsion of death. As the movements died down, she inspected his bulging eyes closely. Just as they began to glaze
over, she stepped aggressively with her other shoe. The sole came down on
the head.

Shannon ground Zak furiously underfoot until she heard his skull
splinter loudly, like a walnut in a nutcracker. Shannon sighed, and stepped
off the disfigured mess that had been, only minutes before, her loyal
servant. Only then did she turn her attention to Zeke, who continued to
whine pathetically in the corner.

“Come here, boy. It’s your turn now. It’s been a good morning so far.
Don’t ruin it for me. Stop that blubbering and come here.” Zeke was terrified far beyond the ability to think rationally. However, he bravely drew himself up to his full twenty-three-inch height, and began moving toward Shannon. He knew what was to happen. She would snap the bones in his arms and legs to disable him, and then he would lie utterly helpless as she toyed with him, building up to the final crush. She seemed impatient, so that his time of anguish might be brief. Shannon tapped her bloody foot, and licked her lips in anticipation. She exulted in this total control, and thought only of her own delight, and not of her prey darting away. Suddenly Zeke took off. There in the bottom of the closed entrance was a pet door, a leftover from the time that the family dog had slept in the pantry. Before Shannon could react, Zeke tumbled through the opening, and came up running. As he dashed across the kitchen, Shannon angrily flung open the pantry door. She spotted her quarry and lunged. As her bloody fingers wrapped around Zeke, she slammed hard into the range, knocking a still hot pan of grease on the stove top. She did not see the pilot light ignite the oil, as she carried her victim into the dining room. Her blood was up, and she was intent on enjoying her kill. She slammed the little man on the rigid tiles. His battered figure rebounded from the cold surface.

Disoriented by pain, Zeke could barely make out the bloody sole and heel of
Shannon’s high heel as it met his ricocheting body. His end was mercifully
quick, as Shannon stood fascinated by the steaming blood and entrails, and
also the lone eyeball that stuck the toe of her shoe.

The clanging of the fire alarm reverberated through the house.

Shannon was suddenly aware of the smoke and the noise, and reluctantly
turned away from her bloody kill to the kitchen behind her. Smoke poured
out as she approached the kitchen door. She stood undecided for an instant,
as the black foul gases engulfed her. She turned determined to flee the building, but got only a half step before the heat, and the searing smoke
robbed her of consciousness. As the floor rushed up to greet her face, some
distant part of her mind asked if Zeke had experienced this same sensation,
only moments ago.

Gloria and Elizabeth arrived only seconds ahead of the fire trucks. The firemen shouted for them to stay away, but to no avail. The two frantic
women rushed into the burning house. Gloria, once the firemen could no
longer see them, made a simple spell to keep the smoke away from their
faces. It was not perfect, she knew, but would keep them alive while they
searched for their family and servants. It was Elizabeth who saw Shannon
lying on the now very hot floor. As they reached Shannon, the smoke
cleared for an instant, and the dismembered remains of Zeke could be seen.
Elizabeth’s eyes grew large, and she started to shriek as the main gas line,
invaded by the furious fire, exploded.

A few hours later, Jennifer walked about the smoldering perimeter of her home. There was little there to see, but somehow she felt the need to be there. They had put up quite a stink, when she crossed the barriers. One Evanston policeman had even threatened arrest. Her cold imperious stare convinced him otherwise, but she could still hear them, chattering inanely in the background about her foolishly endangering herself this way. They had found Shannon’s body, charred but almost recognizable.

Parts of two adults had been found, torn apart by the blast. And there was
just enough of Zeke to make the bureaucrats confused about the identity of this “unknown child.” Jennifer thought of what strings would have to be pulled to curtail their curiosity. Jennifer sighed and sat on what had been an end table, thrown clear almost intact by the explosion.

Her tired body suddenly felt very heavy. Jennifer would have to be the one
to pull those strings. Everyone else was dead. She could already picture
the crowd of distant relatives, and business associates, eager to “help”
the newly wealthy young woman. Jennifer sighed, and one of her shoes
came to rest on a still smoking ember. She idly contemplated the hot
sensation on the sole of her shoe. An image came unbidden to her mind. She
imagined a hot little male struggling under that shoe, and relished in her
imagination the sensation of the doomed fellow as he broke below her
foot. A loud crack brought her back to reality. She had smashed the ember
during her brief reverie. She smiled briefly, and then remembered where
she was. For an instant, she was overwhelmed with grief, before a sense
of profound detachment took over.

She was about to leave when something caught the corner of her eye. She walked further into the smoking ruins, ignoring the shouted warnings of the frustrated firemen. The heat was oppressive in this hellish place, yet she continued until she came to a small tattered flesh-covered rectangle. She could now make out the face, looking intently up at her. It was her father. The eyes and the movements of his mouth told her that he still lived. He must have been in her mother’s panties. The explosion that blew his wife into a hundred pieces had thrown him clear. Jennifer knelt and carefully cleared away some of the debris. Clotted blood and bits of cloth stuck to him. She realized that it was her mother’s blood and clothing that she saw. It was very hard to kill a million dollar floormat. Yet the explosion had almost done the job. He was badly rent, and the gelatinous substance that ordinarily initiated his self-repair simply flowed into the ashes. She realized that he was trying to talk. She went lower, her ear only inches from his mouth. There amidst the crackling embers and the insistent shouting in the background, she could make out his faint voice.

“Jenny, let me go to your mother. Please Jenny. Help me. Don’t keep
here. Please Jenny, please help me.”

Her mind whirred in confusion, as she tried to understand him. Then it
became clear. She stood again, stony-faced, and considered what to do.
Advanced mats could take most anything, but they had to breathe. She
quickly slipped her foot out of her shoe. Her toes hovered over his moist
eyes, then began to descend. Just before his head disappeared under her
foot, she spoke. Her voice was cold and calm. “Goodbye, Dad. Say hello to
Mother for me.” With that she stepped down forcefully onto his face. She
winced, as her father’s face was nearly hot enough to burn her. Dispelling
the pain, she swallowed and ground her sole into him, to cut off all his air.
She placed all of her weight on that foot, and turned to the insistent
firemen who were now only steps away.

“I want all of you to go back. Leave me alone. I do not need your assistance. I am checking on something, which is none of your concern. I will come out in a little while. Now, leave me. I do not wish to tell you again.” The fire captain opened his mouth to argue, but did not speak. He was not used to taking irrational orders from teenagers. But there was something here, something he could not understand. He shivered as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Somehow he sensed that he did not want to touch her. Instead he responded meekly. “Alright, Ma’am, we will wait for you back in the yard.” No one questioned the Captain’s response.

They all felt it, and retreated silently, leaving Jennifer alone once more.
Minutes passed as she continued to suffocate her father under her stocking
foot. She closed her eyes, and images from this incredible day flooded her
brain. Her brother horribly mutilated, and now no longer human. Her sister
sadistically insane, and now dead. Her mother and Elizabeth blown to shreds, along with her home, her personal mats and everything she held dear. And now, she stood, calmly crushing her father’s life away. At that
moment something changed forever. It was as if two great metal gears
suddenly shifted and locked together in a new position. Her transformation
was within. But though it could not be seen, it was still profound and
unalterable. She opened her eyes as a new being. She wondered why she was
ever so critical of Shannon. Perhaps her sister was in touch with her own
power. Perhaps Jennifer felt that same power now. She looked at her foot
pressing into her father. There was a surge of feelings. It was pleasure-
intense, erotic, and totally without guilt. Somewhere a very faint voice told
her that it was wrong to have an orgasm as you killed your father. She smiled as the voice receded into nothingness. Silly voice, she thought. How
could my pleasure ever be wrong? She stopped thinking then as the sexual
tide washed over her.

How long had she been there? The firemen were still there, patiently waiting on her. She sighed. Who cared really? She removed her foot from
her father and considered his lifeless eyes. “Thanks Dad, that was very
special. She sighed again, and covered him with ashes. It wouldn’t do to have him found now. She turned, and calmly walked back towards the men,
and into her new life.

One year later.

Jennifer sat at the great mahogany desk in her apartment. She had spent the evening scanning contracts, and attending to other financial matters. In theory she was still a minor for almost another year. Yet the Court had agreed to let her manage her financial affairs, with no public announcement to attract attention. She managed her fortune well. Her holdings in Floormats Inc. were worth more than ever. Of course Jennifer was by far the company’s best customer. One entire department had been formed just to meet the young woman’s demands for mats and partially transformed males. Lilith had continued to be very helpful, despite her growing worries about the changes in Jennifer’s personality. After all, business was business. All the variety in Jennifer’s passions had long ago disappeared. She spent most of her time in an indifferent state. She was mentally efficient, but it was vaguely unpleasant for her. She had found that only sexual arousal could stir her out of this lethargy of emotions. And Jennifer was proud that only the cruelest thoughts or actions were capable of creating that excitement.

Her paperwork done for the evening, she slid her chair back from the desk. She looked about her apartment. These were her private rooms. Only a handful of permanent women servants had access here. It certainly wouldn’t do for some reporter or salesperson to see the floor of her bed
chamber. It was now almost completely covered with floormats, custom
made to her specifications. Sixteen by twenty-four-inch rectangles were
stitched together-a huge rug of “lucky” males. Each had a history.

Each had a memory of plans and ambitions. Now, each existed only to provide her with moments of pleasure as she walked on them. She knew
their stories, had memorized every one. Knowing who they had been, made
their pain and fear so much more delicious. Jennifer slipped off her shoes
and strolled in her stocking feet about the room, regarding the contorted
face of every mat on which she stepped. She paused occasionally to work
her heel into a mouth cavity, or rub her toe into a groin. No million dollar
floormats here. None could speak. They could feel the power of Jennifer,
and they could smell. Yes, she still loved to have them smell. It made her feel like a generous Goddess. She offered the aroma of her feet as a precious gift. What else did they have to enjoy?

As she walked and toyed with her floormats, she felt the dullness being  expelled, replaced by the welcome intensity of arousal. She paused at her dresser, to look at Freddy. He lay in a large bowl, immobile save for his eyes. She smiled at him, a toothy predatory smile as she thought of his future. He was legally dead, of course, officially one more fatality of the explosion. Her mind still held the remembrance of her affection for her brother, but she had long ago lost the capacity to feel fondness for any human, let alone this helpless remnant that lay before her. She played with him occasionally, but was careful to keep him alive. She was saving him for her eighteenth birthday. She went to sleep each night immersed in the fantasy of how she would dispatch him. The idea had taken on great significance for her. He was the last living tie to her old life. What better way to celebrate her full independence than to slowly extinguish that tie beneath her feet. That he was her brother, and still seemed to genuinely love her, would make the experience especially poignant. She kept none of this secret from Freddy. She wanted him to know how important he was in the future pleasure of the Goddess. She assumed this made him happy. She didn’t really know. It seemed silly somehow to dwell on how things she used for pleasure felt. How could they feel anything other than gratitude?

Her eyes passed down to the mat below her. It was Bobby from seventh grade Geometry class. He had a crush on her then. It had been particularly expensive to arrange the “accident” that led to his disappearance. But she loved to have boys that she knew from before, on her floor. Almost every boy who had ever asked her out was here now. They were special stops on her regular walks. Sometimes she missed going to school. She thought of all the Bobbies who would never get a chance to admire her. Of course it was out of the question. She seldom left home, and seldom wanted to.

She then glanced at the mirror, and at the pretty girlish face that looked back at her. A certain ferocity in those dark eyes gave the only obvious clue that this was not some eager young cheerleader, or even the friendly teasing teenager of before. Jennifer knew she was different, but could not conceive that she was transformed almost as completely as the former classmate who cringed under her feet. Jennifer no longer thought of herself as even human. Human women were her servants. Men and boys were simply disposable toys.

Sometimes she dreamed at night that she grew to such a size that she soared a million miles into space. She could grasp the entire planet in her colossal toes and simply smash it like the skull of one of her nightly boy-toys. She loved that dream, and a lucky planet it would be.

She turned to her bed. There lay the toy for today. Every evening a partially transformed boy was provided by Lilith. Most were about the size of Freddy: a fourteen-inch limbless torso and head. She had experimented with smaller ones. They died too easily and quickly, to give her the satisfaction that she craved. Bigger ones were so much work, and required shoes for the final crush. (She did not like to kill with her shoes. It seemed too impersonal.) But fourteen inches was about right. It felt good.

Her breathing became rapid as she picked up the boy and began licking the frightened face. The salty taste of the boy’s tears on her tongue brought her arousal up another notch. She laid him on the floor and covered the whimpering head with her sole. The weight of her body began to suffocate
her toy. She was careful to let up the pressure before he passed out. He had
just enough time to suck in a desperate breath, before she stepped down
again. Sometimes, he wiled away hours at this, but now it was late.

Jennifer was tired. She quickly went on to the final stage. Her nylon-clad
heel crashed again and again into the increasingly mangled form below her.
At last she felt her own orgasm about to begin. She ground her foot into
him with all the force she could muster. His spasm of death harmonized
with her own vaginal contractions: a two-part harmony of sex and death.
Minutes later she sat idly playing with the remains. She forced her little toe into one of the lifeless eye sockets, and she listened to the funny crackling sound as she pressed down on his rib cage. Her body was relaxed, but her face suggested disappointment. Too quick, she thought. It felt more like a routine than a special sensation. The boys needed to last a bit longer. Perhaps Lilith could suggest something.

The dreaded sense of detachment began to creep in. She chased it away as
she closed her eyes and relived the pleasurable execution. Her mood brightened, and soon she was humming. Finally, Goddess Jennifer hopped off the bed and padded towards her bathroom. As she tossed the boy into the
garbage, she turned and laughed at the line of bloody tracks her stockings
had left on her floormats. She may have become an evil goddess, but at
moments like this, life was still good.