My life is a game. And I'm tired of playing.
My buddies and I play every Saturday night, whether we like it or not. We're not the players. We’re the pawns. Points aren't scored by deliberate and strategic moves, but by women who trample us without even knowing it.
I admit I signed up to be a floor man. I like feet and it sounded like easy money. All I had to do was let rich young women walk all over me. I regret that I didn’t read the fine print of the contract more closely, or know it was possible to shrink a man to four inches tall.
There’s nothing in my contract that says the producers have to restore my size, so they refuse. I could try escaping, but who in the larger world could help me? I’d probably get killed within a day just trying. As long as I stay and play the game, they feed me and let me do whatever I want the rest of the week.
But the game is sadistic. Before it starts, the producers inject about twenty-five of us with a paralyzing agent. Then they lay our naked bodies all over the flesh-colored floor. We can’t move, but we’re fully awake and we feel excruciating pain every time a woman’s weight smashes down on us.
Most of the games are bachelorette parties, and the ladies dress up rather nice. In spite of all the pain their heels cause me, I admit they are beautiful. The one perk of the job is getting to gaze at their long, beautiful legs and staring at their gorgeous feet without anyone noticing.
The producers put on a really good bachelorette party. They socialize, play games, dance, eat, and drink. However, the women don’t know they’re playing another game, trampling on us as they go about their fun.
Hidden cameras are everywhere, recording every hit. Throughout the night, the producers monitor the feeds and stitch together a masterful video. They add satisfying crunching sound effects and overlay the scores.
A passing step with the flat part of a shoe is worth one point. A passing step with a raised heel is worth two points. Standing on a man for more than three seconds consecutively doubles the points for that step, and they continue to be doubled every thirty seconds her foot remains in place. A woman once scored nearly a million points by pinning me to the floor with her heel for eight and a half minutes as she bragged nauseatingly about her own recent wedding.
There’s something about the shrinking process that makes our molecules denser and bodies tougher. I should be thankful my body doesn’t just crunch under the first woman to step on me, but there are nights I’d rather just be snuffed out. Existing just to be foot fodder isn’t much of a life. And it hurts like hell to get thrashed by a stiletto at any size. Beyond the intense pain of a woman’s full weight in the moment, bruises and abrasions from heels and soles linger much longer. We do get the occasional dislocated or broken bone from an unlucky heel placement or an unwitting foot rotation on an outstretched arm or leg, but they heal up eventually. It just sucks when it doesn’t fully heal before getting stepped on again.
After a few hours of partying, the guests are told about the game they’ve been playing, and they watch the highlight reel. Many of the women act shocked and upset when they find out they’ve been squashing living people all night long. However, it only takes them seeing us survive a few brutal assaults before they relax and get into it. Watching their own feet keep hitting--and the points adding up--quickly becomes the most exciting and memorable part of the night for the women. For the men, it’s absolutely dehumanizing and emasculating to watch them excited by our suffering at their feet.
From where I lie, I can see the women watching tonight’s video. Our agony is clear when the camera zooms in on poor Greg’s face smashed under the edge of a woman’s shoe. Yet, the perverse women laugh. The woman smashing him jokes about finding her soulmate as she watches his face contort beneath her own shifting weight. There’s a ringing sound each time her points double as she continues subduing him. She gloats over the 128 points she earned for her three-minute onslaught.
I’m extremely lucky I didn’t take a heel tonight, but it was a brutal night for the other guys. Many of them will be sporting several thin crescent marks on their bodies this week. The girls howl and check their expensive shoes after watching Tim barf while taking a heel in the gut.
Like guys watching a football game, the girls yell at the TV. They cheer their victories and bemoan their misses. They love the slow motion shots the best. Several like to reenact their proudest moments: “Did you see that?!? I was all like ‘BAM!’ And he was like ‘Waaah!’” They even jump up and put on a show for their friends, stomping their feet and making pained expressions to mock our pain.
Tonight, I was laid in the path leading to the bar. You get more strikes there, but they tend to be passing steps, rather than prolonged standing. I got flattened five times early on, but fortunately they were all under the balls of women’s feet.
One girl wearing hard flat sandals did stand on me for just under a minute. As she moved off, she rolled me onto my side and the next girl to come through inadvertently kicked me across the room.
I landed in front of a row of chairs, where a shy girl named Chloe sat above me most of the night. She got up numerous times, but she must be a creature of habit because she always came back to that same spot. Fortunately, the way I landed gave me a great view of her tan legs and beautiful feet. She’s wearing burgundy stiletto sandals made with a textured leather. Her tall heel is straight and thin, and she twists her foot back and forth on it when she’s nervous. I love how her perfect toes, painted a midnight blue, lift and flex when she fidgets.
I’m rather surprised to see myself featured in the video tonight. The women tense with excitement and sigh with frustration as they watch a bunch of clips the producers have strung together of numerous close calls between Chloe’s incredible feet and my tiny body.
After staring at Chloe’s feet for hours, I think I’ve fallen in love with them and with her. I’d take a thousand steps under Chloe’s feet if I could just crawl up to her supple toes, plant a kiss on her soft skin, and bury my face in her wrinkled arches.
Suddenly, one of the girls shouts, “Oh my gosh, look at his little penis! He’s turned on by your feet, Chloe! Isn’t that adorable?!?”
Chloe responds with a laugh, “His dick IS nice looking, but a bit small for my taste.”
The bride-to-be chimes in, “I bet if you manage to get your heel on his nuts, Chloe, it’ll end his erection.” Chloe laughs, but it must make her nervous, because she begins to twist her foot anxiously on her heel again.
The video cycles through more brutal steps and crushing stances on other guys, and several more near misses between Chloe and me. Anticipation grows that she’ll get me by the end. At one point, I’m lying directly beneath her arch, but she still doesn’t make contact.
Unbelievably, she never does.
Not surprisingly, the bride-to-be wins with 3,924 points. The producers place men strategically so that the bride’s white heels almost always get the most standing time on floor men. I’ve had producers literally kick me under a bride’s feet in the middle of a party to rack up more points for her.
The other fourteen women here tonight score between 256 and 1,894. All except Chloe, who finishes with zero points. It’s never happened before, and the women don’t stand for it. They begin chanting, “Step on a man. Step on a man.”
A producer picks me up and lays me down in front of Chloe to a chorus of cheers. Dark wavy hair neatly frames her face as she stares down at me, nervously biting her lip. She’s gorgeous. Her breasts are the kind you could lose yourself in.
Chloe fidgets her right foot back and forth on her heel as the other women gather around, chanting her name.
After a very long pause, she shouts, “I can’t do it!”
The women encourage her: “Step on him! Step on him!”
“I can’t hurt him on PURPOSE!” she screams as she steps away. Maybe not every woman is cruel to men when given the chance.
The bride-to-be steps over me, and says, “It’s okay. It’s only a game! Watch!” She clumsily stabs the white heel of her d’orsay pump into my chest, leaving a pink welt behind. I’m glad she’s so tipsy, because I’m pretty sure she was aiming for my crotch.
A producer presents Chloe with some shots. She knocks one back. After looking back down at me, she decides to down another.
Someone shouts, “That boy belongs under your feet, Chloe! DO IT!!!” As I watch her slowly raise her pointy maroon heel over me, my insides cringe, but my manhood reaches out at the sight of Chloe’s arch hanging over the midsection of her shoe.
Chloe loses her balance and takes a hard step to catch herself. “These heels are not helping!” I begin to drool as she slowly (so as not to fall over) slides her shapely feet out of her shoes.
Chloe lifts her now bare foot over me. “I’m so horrible,” she whispers. “I can’t believe I want to do this.” In that briefest of moments, time slows down and I take in every curve of her sole.
WHAM! Chloe slams her foot down on top of me, forcing the air from my lungs. The ball of her foot covers my helpless body, with her pinky toe landing across my throat. It hurts so bad and feels so good.
Chloe raises her heel and yells, “This boy belongs under my feet!” Her toes wrap around my face as she twists her foot in victory over me. Every woman cheers. They continue laughing and taking pictures of my tiny body sticking out from under Chloe’s domineering foot.
I had forgotten how much nicer it is to have a warm foot than a cold shoe smothering you. When Chloe finally removes her foot, someone yet again calls attention to my raging erection. Without missing a beat, Chloe stomps her bare heel onto my manhood and twists. My testicles explode in pain. “Well, that ought to take care of that,” she says casually before sauntering off to put her shoes back on.
I guess she’s not so caring after all. Though I do I wonder what she’ll think of those pictures in the morning when she’s sober. Or if she’ll even remember smashing my cock.
As they leave the party, my well-known position means every woman makes sure they get one last chance to torment a little man. Some trample me like I’m inconsequential trash left on the floor. Some stomp on me like a bug. Many make sure to stop and grind their heels into my battered body. Chloe doesn’t use her heel, but even she subdues me one more time, this time with her sexy shoes on.
Tonight’s game started encouragingly, but it ended the same cruel way. There will be another round and undoubtedly more merciless women next week. I’m tired of playing the game and really wish that tonight Chloe would have finished it for good.