PART FOUR

Chapter 7

Day six.

I had sat for the subsequent three days, following my incarceration in my new prison, doing nothing.  Oh, I watched Mary wander around the house.  I watched her when she pulled onto our private road.  I watched her wind up the road to the house on it in her sleek, black Maserati.

Which, by the bye, was the one car which fit her personality perfectly.  Not because it was a powerful sports car, but because of its grill emblem.  Sure, one would expect a woman like her to drive a powerful sports car, but one would find more than a little humor in the fact that she had chosen a car that had a trident for its emblem.

It was Neptune’s trident.  But for Mary, I fancied it a devil’s pitchfork.

I certainly found humor in it.  Always had.  I still did, if I fancied it thusly with a whole lot of weighty fear attached to it, especially now.  Mary was a devil, and one who had me subject to her cruel whims.  The grill emblem of that car coming down the driveway everyday, was a poignant reminder of it.

In any case, everyday, Mary would check my water and give me a new Petri dish of goop to eat.  She would check the status of the pad she had given me to view, stare in at me for a few minutes and then depart – the cameras following her progress to her bedroom, where she would kick off her shoes, get into her night clothes, and then spend the rest of the evening working on her laptop and then going to sleep.

She ate very little.  And usually took supper at a restaurant on her way home.  She never ate at home on her work nights.

At any rate, this was how I spent those three days.  And I was looking forward to another day of same tedium on the next day, when on the sixth night, she brought home an animal carry case.

Standing and approaching the pad, I watched Mary carry this case in from her car, bring it into the house, march straight through our kitchen and then head down the stairs with it.  Moments later, I was watching her progress through the basement rooms with the case, then turning and watching her enter my room.

She sat the case on an adjacent shelf.

I watched keenly, dreading what she might have brought in the case, but fascinated by what might be in it, also.

The dread rose from the possibility that she could have brought home an animal which might be dangerous to me, like a ferret or a mongoose, or even a large rat or a small dog.  It wouldn’t be beyond her to put something like that in with me, just so she could get a thrill from watching me fight it out.

But instead of any of these things, Mary extracted a small man from the case!

My eyes bugged, my stomach lurching swiftly up into a knot!  “What the fuck was this all about?!”

I didn’t voice the question, of course.  I didn’t dare.  So I watched in quiet fascination, watching the little man as Mary’s large hand drew him out of the case.

He was clearly terrified, and clearly intimidated to the max by my wife.  Saying not a word nor making the slightest struggle, he was alert but completely unmoving in Mary’s hand as she drew him out.

Mary turned to me with him.  Her silken black locks falling about her face, she looked down at the little man in her hand and then held him up for me to see.

She then raised a brow at me.  Said not a word, only fixed me with that unspoken query.  (That was her way.  She thought most too stupid to waste her breath explaining things to.  If they weren’t smart enough or quick enough on the uptake, then they could just puzzle it the fuck out on their own.)

Then, my gaze was jerked downwards.  Mary was kicking off her shoes – the sound of their expensive leather clattering on the concrete floor drawing my attention.

She dropped four inches in height, settling her bare heels to the floor.  She looked again at the little man she held, then looked back at me again.  Her brow rose again.  Then, she bent over.

Then placing the little man on the floor, she shifted her left foot forward, catching the man’s bare legs under her toes.

The little man began to scream immediately bending himself forward at the waist to push against her ankle.  Ignoring him, Mary unbent and rose, the toes of her left foot still pinning the man’s legs to the floor.  She then looked pointedly at me, picked up her right foot and seized the little man down against the floor with that foot’s toes, pinning him all the way down to his back beneath the toes of both of her feet.

The little man's screams rose in pitch and desperation, but was muffled now beneath Mary's toes.

Her eyes held mine, she then directing me with them, to watch.  Slowly, reluctantly, my eyes followed hers back down to her toes.  No sooner than I looked, my eyes fixing on her purple painted toenails and the man pinned beneath her toes, Mary shifted her feet forward, one after the other, until she was pinning the small man beneath both balls of her feet.  The man’s screams were muffled instantly into silence.  I could only imagine the pressure he was enduring, the weave of my wife’s pantyhose digging into his skin, the balls of her feet cruelly pressing, he about to burst beneath them.

Helpless to do otherwise, I could only stare.  And then Mary rose up onto the balls of her feet, her heels lifting, putting all of her weight on the man beneath her!

I stared in a mixture of fascination, wonder and horror!  The wonder was why the man had not immediately burst under all that weight.  The fascination had me unconsciously licking my lips – me wondering what it had to be like under there!  The horror was because I wanted to be that little man!  The horror wasn’t solely because I wanted his position, but because any empathy I might have otherwise felt for him, was replaced by the sudden ungodly desire to experience what he was experiencing!

The horror had me backing away from the amber plastic wall of my enclosure, shaking, suddenly revolted by what I was thinking, but utterly unable to look away because of how transfixed I was by what I was seeing!

And that was when a new dawning horror struck me.  The little man was bearing the weight, and doing it without squashing!  Mary was standing on him with all of her weight, but he wasn’t popping beneath her feet!

I lifted my eyes and gawked  at her!  She crooked a little smile back.  Then, her hair giving a little flounce, she bounced her weight once on the little man, and that was when he exploded beneath her.

Falling onto my ass and scrambling backwards, my gourd rising, I tried to deny the witnessing of another murder.  Mary only fixed me with a smile.  Then wordlessly, she stepped back off of the ruined corpse.  I was unable to help looking down at it.  She looked down at it herself, and looked back up at me alternately, her cruelly beautiful face a mask of expectation.  The man looked like he had been run over by a truck, his insides burst out from his mouth and sides, his body compressed downwards in the shapes of Mary’s bare soles.  Then, still without uttering a word, Mary took a towel down from a nearby shelf and bent and wiped up the remains.

Tossing the towel in the animal carry case and closing the case, she turned to leave.  Before turning, however, she fixed her eyes pointedly on my water bottle, then looked at me and raised her brow again.

After that, she bent and took up her shoes and the case and left, all without uttering a word.

Chapter 8

The next morning, I got a new water bottle.  I got a new Petri dish of goop, too.

I ate the goop, but stared at the water bottle for a long time.

It was an ordinary water bottle, ordinary for enclosures such as these.  It hung upside-down, had a stainless steel spout, which had in its end a metal ball which delivered water when touched by a tongue.  In my case, when I touched it with my hands.

This wasn’t why I was staring at it, however.  The medicinal taste I had noticed in the water I got from it had taken on a whole new significance with the display I had seen the night before.  Mary was adding some of her concoctions from her work to it to make me stronger.  The purpose for which, of course, was so I would be able to withstand her weight.

It was both a compelling and horrifying concept.  It was compelling because she was prepping me to be able to take her weight.  Of that I had little doubt.  She had stated that she meant to indulge me, and this was the way she obviously intended to do it.  The experiment she had conducted in front of me last night, left little doubt of this.  It was a horrifying thought because I wanted to be strong enough to endure her without bursting.  More, I wanted her to conduct more experiments.  I wanted her to get it right, so I wouldn’t end up suffering the same fate as that nameless soul she had slaughtered last night.  I wanted her to risk killing more innocents so I could be under her feet!

Sick with myself, but compelled by desires I was utterly unable to control, I at last stopped staring at the water bottle, got up and went over to it to partake of what it contained.

Chapter 9

The next night brought another experiment.  The night after that brought yet another one.  Each morning following, brought me a new bottle of water to drink from – each time finding Mary coming and going without speaking a single word.

Each night, at any rate, found the new experiement a little harder for Mary to kill.

Finally, on the 8th night, Mary was unable to kill the experiment with her weight.  She stood on it, bounced on it, and then finally even launched herself in a leap straight upwards, crashing back down onto it with all of her weight, he hair bouncing around on her head like flaxen licorice.

The little man was knocked unconscious and one of his arms had sustained a compound fracture from my wife’s crushing leap, but she had been unable to crush him.  She finally had to finish him off by putting a shoe back on, and then by grinding the point of her stiletto into the side of his head until it cracked and burst open.

I was made ill by this, especially after the little man woke up half way through it, to start bleating like an animal, before Mary’s needle-sharp shoe heel could finish him.

When I finished throwing up, I looked up to find Mary regarding me with a smirk.  Having just tossed her towel (with this experiment’s remains in it) into the carry case, she had approached my enclosure and smiled in at me.  And then she spoke the first words to me that she had deigned to, in the last week.

“Tomorrow, Gary, is when we start getting you ready for me.”

Her eyes flicked to the water bottle.  “Be sure to drink your water.”

With that, she turned and left, her shoes dangling from one hand, the animal carry case dangling from the other, her highly arched bare feet in her black-striped pantyhose, making subtle pats as the cameras followed her.

I had not a clue what she had in store for me.  But now that I knew I could survive it, I was thrilled by the prospect of it.  I was sickened by being thrilled, but thrilled nonetheless.

That is, however, the power of fetish.  Watch men get killed for the benefit of prepping you for something you want, and you lose touch with yourself.  You just want it.

And that, I realized also, was precisely what Mary wanted.  She wanted to turn me into as much of a monster as she was.

If only I knew...

I would have asked to be crushed in place of Jess on that first day, if I could have only begun to fathom what was in store for me.