Chapter 1: The Unusual Desire and Ronnie's Emporium

"Today was a confusing mix: the best date yet, overshadowed by a crushing truth. My best friend of twenty years, Ronnie, had opened a new carpet emporium in our hometown. Ronnie knows about my unusual desire – to be used as a human rug, to be under men's feet. Women's feet, however, held no appeal.

He'd invited me to see his new house in a fancy party of town and the brand new massive carpet emporium, a place almost the size of the White House at 150,000 sq ft, complete with a showroom, stockroom, and even a 'try out room' for 'crushers.' Apparently, my idea of selling stuffed carpet rolls to guys with this interest was a hit.

Ronnie had listened to my ideas, created a prototype, and sold a few to men he knew who enjoyed stepping on things. My former boss, Drew, was one of them. I'd worked for Drew, a man who drew for nearly six years, until I witnessed his explosive temper. He'd gotten right in my face, the heat radiating off him, and threatened to stomp me flat if I ever angered him again. That same day, I went to work for his competitor next door. Before you judge, Drew is a towering 6'11", 270 pounds, with size 15 shoes – my hand looked tiny in his. He was incredibly strong.

Chapter 2: The Plan Takes Shape 

Now, Drew apparently buys one of these stuffed rolls weekly to crush at home and even sends Ronnie photos. I'd told Ronnie I wanted to switch places with a mannequin inside one of those rolls and be sold to Drew, to be flattened by his powerful soles. Ronnie's response was, 'Bro, are you asking me to help you commit suicide?' I clarified it wasn't exactly that, but a darker aspect of the trampling fetish. Many who enjoy being trampled fantasize about being bugs, bottles, or anything else they see crushed under the feet of the person they desire most. I remembered once seeing Drew with a crawfish; when it pinched him, he dropped it and crushed it under his sneaker. I'd wished that had been me.

Ronnie seemed to understand. 'I swear I'm not crazy,' I said, pulling up a website dedicated to the crush/stomp/trample fetish and showing him stories I'd written. After reading a few and looking at some sites, he asked, 'Bran, are you one thousand percent sure this is really, really what you want?' For what felt like the millionth time, I said yes. 'Ronnie, please make me the happiest person on the planet and get me under Drew's massive feet.' He relented, 'Okay, okay, go home for now. I'll find a carpet roll and work on the backing so you can see out, but no one can see in. I'll call you when Drew is on his way to look at the rolls I've picked out.' I agreed, hugged him, and left.

Chapter 3: The Waiting Game.

Two weeks passed, and I started to worry Ronnie had forgotten, especially since Drew likely made his weekly purchase. Just as I was losing hope, the living room phone rang. I rushed to answer. 'Hey Bran, it's Ron. Got the call. Sorry I didn't call last week, but Drew stopped by unexpectedly. He's about forty to fifty minutes out, so if you hurry, we can get you ready for a 'try out' and potential purchase, if you still want that. Your roll is all set – great outward vision, completely private inward.' 'OMG, awesome! I'm on my way, be there quick!' I exclaimed.

Chapter 4: Preparation for the "Try Out"

Parking around back, I hurried inside and found Ronnie in the try out room, arranging rolls for Drew. There were five so far, with an empty space between the second and fourth – I assumed that was for me. Ronnie walked over. 'If I were you, I'd try to empty your bladder and bowels as much as possible now. You won't get another chance. Remember, if Drew picks you, he'll think you're just an inanimate object under his feet and won't care about you at all.' I explained I'd already taken care of that this morning, having a strange feeling today would be the day. Ronnie led me to the roll he'd chosen for me.

It was incredibly comfortable, a very soft and durable pile. 'Can you tell me where the face hole is?' Ron asked. I looked closely, even getting right up against it, and couldn't find it. When Ron pointed it out, I was surprised. He then turned it around to show me how clear the view was from the inside. Pressing my face against it, I saw that yes, it was clear as day through the carpet fibers. Suddenly, I had a terrifying vision of Drew's giant foot crashing down on my face, and I jerked back from the roll.""'Okay, so how are you going to explain my breathing to him?' I asked. 'Since we're running out of time, let me start getting you wrapped up, and I'll go over the story I've been working on,' Ronnie replied. I helped him carry the roll to the space between rolls two and four, making me technically roll number three.

Ronnie began his explanation. 'I've been thinking of the most believable story. The mannequin inside this roll is special – a medical teaching dummy with a small battery that creates lifelike breathing movements.' 'Okay, sounds good so far,' I said. Ron continued, "It came from UAB, donated by an avid 'crusher' like yourself, hoping it would be enjoyed under other crushers' feet. However, he did say it needs about four days for the battery to completely die before crushing it to one hundred percent flatness. Otherwise, the battery might explode underfoot and cause a loss of limb.'

Ronnie finished wrapping me. 'Alright, we're going to use the industrial-strength handheld sewing machine to stitch up the side, then the top and bottom. We'll lay you down; Drew should be here any minute.' 'Crap, please hurry! I want to be on the floor ready for the tryout before he gets here,' I urged. And so, Ronnie quickly but carefully sealed it completely. Next, he helped me onto the floor, making sure I was stretched out well, pulling slightly at the foot and top of the roll. 'Okay,' he said, 'I'm going to walk down you to show you what to expect.'

He felt much heavier than I'd imagined Ronnie to be, and he seemed to be enjoying this more than he'd ever let on. 

Chapter 5: The Arrival of the "Crusher"

He asked if I could see out okay and if I was as comfortable as possible. I started to say yes and thank you when we both heard the front door chime. 'Alright, I'm going to greet whoever this is,' Ronnie said, speed-walking out of the room. I tried to calm my racing heart, thinking, You're a rug. You bring comfort to guys' feet. This is your sole duty and purpose. But my heart leaped again when I heard his voice.

Chapter 6: The Sale and the Sealed Fate

 Drew Johnston was walking down the hallway toward the tryout room, and I could hear the distinct slap-slap-slap of Teva flip-flops.

Drew turned the corner and stepped onto the first roll. I watched as it went nearly completely flat, and Drew hadn't even looked down yet. From my ground-level perspective, Drew was a giant, a mass of man. He finally glanced at the rolls. 'Alright, Ronnie, what have you got picked out for me today? And I hope they're sturdier than this one I've already made into a pancake under my big ass stompers.' He lifted his right foot and placed it on the roll beside me, then his left came down on that one, which also went almost flat. Drew looked at Ronnie. 'Alright, now are you playing games with me, Ronnie? You don't want to end up inside one of these rolls and then headed to my house?'

Ronnie said no, he was just as shocked as Drew. 'Now, this third one is special, or at least what's inside is,' Drew said. 'I'll be the judge of that, if it can withstand the crushers.' With that, I saw his massive foot swing over and land on my head. Then I felt his weight bear down as his left foot joined it, landing on my gut. Through the crushing pressure, I heard, 'Alright, now this one has promise. What's so special about it?' I realized he was kicking off his flip-flops, and I saw a bare foot now coming down on me. I started to feel him grinding, pressing, and moving his foot back and forth, side to side, really trying to get a feel of me. Ronnie began the speech he'd rehearsed with me earlier. The whole time Drew listened, he continued grinding and pressing. I bet his mind is already made up, and I'm going to be what he picks to crush next, I thought. 'Okay, okay, Ronnie, you've sold me. So, how many days before I can flatten this dummy all the way?' That sentence, and the carefree way he said it, made me almost sad that I wasn't a person anymore, just an object in a carpet roll to be crushed for fun or boredom.

Ronnie said four days before doing any real damage so it wouldn't explode and hurt him. Drew's massive sole stretched across my head. 'Well, I've always wanted to take my time crushing something flat and really enjoy it, and the timing works out perfectly since my wife and son are out of town for the week. I've taken the week off myself and will be home all week, so it will be under my feet the whole time. I'll just know to walk and stand on it until the four-day mark, then it's flattening time.' He looked down with an evil smirk, then up at Ronnie. 'Wait, you put emphasis on 'special.' How much more is this roll going to cost me?' Ronnie said, 'Drew, you offend me.' Drew stepped completely off me and towards Ronnie. 'Don't play with me, Ronnie. I know you, and I was deadly serious about what I said – you could find yourself rolled up and under my feet.'

Ronnie gulped and backed up slightly. 'Not much more.' Drew, sounding even angrier, said, 'How much more, Ronnie? Don't make me ask again.' Ronnie squeaked out, 'Fifty.' Inside the roll, I had to stifle a laugh. How can you be afraid of your best customer? Drew stepped back from Ronnie. 'Okay, done. Sold.'

At that moment, I knew my fate was sealed. I was about to get my wish of being his personal rug, just not knowing that within four days, I would literally be dead under him. Sealed inside this roll without food or water, I probably wouldn't last much longer anyway. At least I would be happy dying the way I wanted, not by someone else's choice. Drew paid Ronnie in cash. Ronnie had to ask, 'Would you like delivery?' Drew looked at him. 'What do you think?' Ronnie replied, 'Yes sir, okay. We'll have it delivered to your house immediately. Do you want it in the same room as the others?' Drew said, 'If it's the same guys, they know where to bring it. If not, yes, upstairs, my office/man cave.' Ronnie thanked Drew for his purchase and said, 'Let me walk you out, and I'll have the guys right on it.' Drew stopped mid-stride, turned on the ball of his foot, and said, 'I know where the door is, Ronnie. Get your employees to get this roll ready for transport. Tell them I'll be waiting outside for them.'""With that, a massive foot landed near my head, the other swung over, landing on roll two, then one. Rounding the corner, Drew left the room. 

Chapter 7: Transport and Arrival

Ronnie couldn't even look down at me; he just stood there, stunned. Then, he turned and picked up the receiver, pressing the page button. 'Jeremy and Joshua to the try out room for delivery. Jeremy and Joshua for delivery.' Inside the roll, I was a mix of nerves, excitement, and terror. Thoughts of my friends, family, and belongings flashed through my mind – they'd never know what happened to me. Before Jeremy and Joshua could enter, I blurted out, 'Ron, don't forget to get rid of my car!' He shushed me. Just then, Jeremy and Joshua came around the corner, both stepping onto the first roll by the door. 'Yes, boss?'

'Boys, y'all have a delivery to our regular customer,' Ronnie said. Jeremy exclaimed, 'Must be Drew Johnston, it's about that time.' Ronnie confirmed, 'Yes. He said the regular haulers know where to bring the roll inside his house.' They both nodded. 'Upstairs, his man cave office.' 'Excellent, boys. Now, Drew's going to be waiting on y'all outside, so don't dawdle. You've met him; you know how he is.' They agreed and bent down to pick me up. I was hoisted onto their shoulders, and they headed out of the room towards the loading door. They had to temporarily set me down, thankfully just standing me up against the wall while both men worked to open the locks on either side of the loading bay door and lift it. Then I was grabbed and thrown over a shoulder again as they walked out to the moving truck. Again, I was propped against the side as they opened the back, and then unceremoniously tossed inside, towards the back. It was dark, and all I could smell was carpet. Now I was truly getting nervous. I could hear the driver's and passenger's doors open, and then the engine started. Well, it won't be long now. Twenty minutes tops until I start serving as his personal rug, the one he'll keep underfoot since his wife and kids are out of town and he's off work all week.

My mind raced with thoughts and images during the bumpy ride. I just really hoped I could keep it together and not give myself away. How I would even explain this to Drew was beyond me. Knowing a little more about his darker, meaner side from his interaction with Ron, all I could think was he’d discover me, laugh, seal it back up, and really take his time enjoying crushing me. No, I need to be very aware of my breathing and not make any noises or movements. Now my heart pounded because we just turned onto the road leading to his street. I only knew where he lived because one of his managers had told the employees when we were all planning to prank him once. The next corner they took a little too fast, and another roll I hadn't seen suddenly fell over on top of me. The force of the impact knocked me out cold.

Chapter 8: The First Encounters

I don't know how long I was out, but I could hear Drew thanking the guys for bringing it out and setting it up in his man cave. He'd probably be seeing them real soon. I took a quick look around – damn, this room was nice. There was a desk, a TV, a couch, a big picture window, and a full-length mirror down by my feet. It was decorated in a typical man's style, though I suspected his wife had helped because I doubted he had this good of taste. I heard the front door shut and the alarm set. Stay. Then I could make out his footsteps coming up the stairs, his phone ringing, and him answering it. I tried to make myself as flat and comfortable as possible, focusing on being still just as he rounded the corner into the room and stopped right in front of my head. I waited for him to finally step down on me. He lifted his right foot and just set it down on my head, kind of twisting it back and forth as he talked on the phone – apparently with his son, from what I could gather. Without warning, all of his weight pressed down on my head, and then the foot that was on the ground landed on my chest. Thankfully, the one on my head left and landed halfway down my stomach, the toe area on my groin. The one on my chest left and landed on my thigh, and then the other stepped down on my calf. Then he stepped completely off me and went to look at himself in the mirror. All I could think was that song, 'You're so vain, you probably think this song is about you.' He turned around and walked back over me, but this time it was every other place that was missed the first time that he stepped on, except my head. He made sure his heel landed on my neck, then I felt the ball of his foot and his toes slam down on the crown of my head. Then all his weight pressed down as he passed over and then off he walked out of the room, turning the opposite corner down the hallway. It was quiet for a minute until I faintly heard what sounded like water running. Then it sounded like he was getting off the phone. About that time, he came stomping – or at least his hard-soled shoes sounded like stomping – back up the hallway and into the room. He grabbed hold of the carpet roll by my head and started dragging me behind him, and all I could think was, What the fuck is going to happen?"

Chapter 9: The Bathmat and the Memory

"After about a minute of being dragged, I realized he'd pulled me into his bedroom, into the master suite bathroom, and placed me beside the shower. He used those massive feet to nudge me into the right position. Then he placed a towel across my chest, not covering my face, just my torso. He walked out of the room. Great, I'm a bathmat now, I thought. I hadn't really wanted to see him naked, but apparently, I didn't have a choice.

He walked back in, buck naked. Holy shit, the muscles and the size of his cock on this giant man were impressive. He stepped hard down on my chest with his left foot, and then his right joined it as he tested the water temperature. Then he stepped inside the shower and pulled the curtain. All I could think was, Holy shit, being his personal rug is fucking awesome.

As I lay there listening to the water hitting him and the shower floor, my mind drifted back. Ever since the first day I saw him in his grocery store, looking from his handsome face to his chiseled body to his enormous feet, all I could think was, I want to be under those massive feet. I wouldn't have cared if it meant being flattened and dead. I'd even tried once to blend into the ground in the produce department after everyone had gone home. They'd turned off the main lights, and you could walk from the sales floor to the back hallway through produce. They had these enormous, two to four-inch thick mats to stand on while cutting, bagging, and wrapping produce. I'd made my way inside the darkened area, thinking Drew often walked through there. Maybe I could hide under one of those thick mats, and he might accidentally step on me. I laid down, pulled a mat over me, and flattened myself as much as possible, calming my breathing to minimize movement. I hadn't been there long when the swinging doors opened, and it was Drew and his night shift manager, John, who also had big feet and could have crushed me. They strolled into the produce department, and Drew walked right over to where I was, though he hadn't stepped on me yet. Apparently, they'd left a wrapping machine on, and he was switching it off. Then it happened: his enormous foot crashed down on my back, the other across my face. I had all his weight on me. Then, just as quickly, he stepped off and continued his conversation with John as they went through the other set of swinging doors leading to the hallway. I lay there in awe, having literally been the ground under his feet, and I knew I needed more.

Coming back to the present, the water turned off.

Chapter 10: Casual Trampling and Confinement

 He was humming a tune. Then I heard the towel he'd thrown over me get pulled inside, and I could hear him starting to dry off.

He pulled back the shower curtain and stepped fully onto me, continuing to dry off. I watched him drag the towel down his leg, and then the towel covered my vision as he dried his feet. Then he turned around without lifting his feet much and threw the wet towel towards the laundry hamper, likely not even noticing he was still standing on me. He probably just felt the soft give of the carpet roll under his feet. He took a few more steps, still on me, as he moved towards the sink. I could hear him rummaging through things, maybe getting a toothbrush or some lotion.

The pressure of his bare feet on me was intense, but not painful through the carpet roll. It was… intimate. I was literally supporting his weight. He shifted, and I could feel the contours of his soles pressing into the roll. He moved again, and one of his heels dug in a little more firmly.

After a few moments, he moved off me entirely and walked out of the bathroom. I heard his footsteps fade away. I lay there, still wrapped and unseen, a silent observer in his master bathroom. The lingering warmth and dampness from his wet feet were still faintly present on the carpet roll where he'd stood.

A few minutes passed in silence. Then, the bedroom door opened again, and his heavier footsteps returned. He walked back into the bathroom, and I felt his foot land squarely in the middle of my stomach. He wasn't just standing; there was a deliberate weight to it this time. He shifted his weight slightly, a subtle grinding motion against the carpet roll.

He stayed like that for a minute or two, and I wondered what he was doing. Was he just absentmindedly standing on the 'dummy'? It certainly felt that way. Then, he stepped off and I heard him leave the bathroom again.

This continued for a while. He'd come back into the bathroom, sometimes just to stand on me while he did something else, other times with that more deliberate pressure, a subtle reminder of his dominance. Each time his bare feet made contact, a thrill shot through me, even though he had no idea I was actually inside.

I started to lose track of time. The novelty of being his 'rug' was starting to wear off, replaced by a growing sense of confinement and the stark reality of my situation. Four days. Four days until he planned to flatten this 'dummy.' Four days without food or water.

Then, he came back into the bathroom, and this time, he didn't step on me immediately. I heard him moving around, and then the sound of the shower curtain being pulled back again. Had he decided to shower again so soon?

Instead, I felt him grab the end of the carpet roll near my feet. He started to drag me again, this time out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom. He didn't seem to be being gentle about it. I bumped against the doorframe as he pulled me through.

He stopped dragging me in the middle of the bedroom. I could hear him moving around, and then a thud as something heavy was placed on the floor. What was he doing now? Heaving a grunt, Drew nudged the carpet roll with his foot, rolling it slightly. Then, I heard him walk over to what sounded like his dresser. Drawers opened and closed. He returned, and I felt something land on the carpet roll near my midsection – it felt like a pile of clothes. He then stepped onto the roll again, right over the clothes he'd just dropped, seemingly using me as a temporary laundry basket.

He stood there for a few moments, probably sorting through what he'd just tossed down. The weight of his feet, combined with the clothes, pressed down on me. It was a strange sensation – the direct pressure of his soles in some areas, and the softer, uneven pressure of the fabric in others.

Then, he moved off again, the pile of clothes rustling as he stepped away from the roll entirely. I heard him walk towards the bedroom door and leave.

I lay there, still sealed inside, now with a pile of his dirty laundry on top of me. It was a new level of indignity, yet also…intimate in a bizarre way. My prison was now also his temporary storage.

Time continued to pass. The house was quiet except for the occasional muffled sounds from downstairs. I tried to shift slightly within the confines of the roll, but there wasn't much room to maneuver. The lack of food and water was starting to make me feel weak.

Suddenly, I heard his footsteps approaching again, heavier this time. He re-entered the bedroom, and I braced myself for more casual trampling. Instead, I heard him walk directly to the pile of clothes on the carpet roll. He picked them up, and then, to my surprise, he stepped completely off me and walked back towards what I assumed was the laundry hamper.

He returned empty-handed and then…nothing. He didn't step back onto the roll. Instead, I heard him walk over to the bed and the springs creaked as he likely sat down. The room fell silent again, except for the faint sounds of him perhaps using his phone.

A wave of conflicting emotions washed over me. Relief that I wasn't currently being stood on, mixed with a growing sense of despair about my situation. He truly just saw me as an inanimate object.

Then, after a prolonged period of quiet, I heard him get up from the bed. His footsteps approached, and this time, they stopped right beside the carpet roll. I held my breath, anticipating his footfall.

Instead of stepping on me, I felt him grab the end of the roll near my head again. He started to drag me once more, but this time in a different direction. He pulled me across the wooden floor of the bedroom, and then I felt a change in the surface as we moved onto what felt like another rug. He kept dragging until I bumped against something solid.

I could hear him grunting slightly. Whatever he was doing, it seemed to require some effort. Then, he let go of the roll.

There was a moment of silence. Then, I heard him take a few steps back. And then…the unmistakable sound of him kicking something.

Chapter 11: The Kick and the Footrest.

The carpet roll I was inside of jolted violently.The carpet roll shuddered from the impact. I tumbled slightly inside, disoriented. There was a dull thud as the roll hit whatever it was he'd kicked it towards.

Then, I heard Drew take a few more steps. There was a shuffling sound, and then another, more forceful kick landed on the side of the carpet roll. This time, I rolled a bit more. It felt like he was intentionally trying to move me.

"Get over there," I heard him mumble, though it wasn't clear if he was talking to me or something else.

He kicked the roll again, a solid thwack that resonated through my enclosed space. I was being used like a soccer ball. Where was he trying to move me?

After a few more kicks, the rolling stopped. I was now lying at a different angle. I could feel a hard surface right next to me. Through the limited visibility of the face hole, now slightly askew, I could make out the leg of something large and dark. It looked like the base of a piece of furniture.

Drew grunted again. "Perfect."

Then, I heard him walk away. The room was silent for a few moments. What was "perfect"? Had he just positioned me somewhere specific? And why?

Suddenly, I heard the creak of his bed again. It sounded like he'd sat down. A few more moments of silence passed, and then I heard the unmistakable sound of him turning on the TV.

So, he'd kicked me over by his bed. Was I now going to be a footrest?

A few minutes later, that question was answered. I felt the weight of his feet land on the carpet roll near my lower half. He adjusted his position, and I could feel his heels digging in slightly. He was indeed using me as a footrest while he watched TV.

The casualness of it was both thrilling and dehumanizing. He had no idea there was a person inside this roll, feeling every shift of his weight. To him, I was just a convenient object.

Chapter 12: Days and Nights Unseen

This continued for what felt like a long time. The drone of the television filled the room, punctuated by the occasional rustle as Drew shifted his position. Sometimes, he would press down harder with his heels, seemingly without even thinking about it.

Then, the TV volume went down, and I heard him get up. His feet left the carpet roll. He walked a few steps, and then I heard him open the bedroom door and leave.

I was alone again, lying next to his bed, used as a footrest. The reality of my situation, sealed inside and at his mercy for four days, started to weigh heavily on me. Time seemed to blur. I drifted in and out of a lightheaded state, the lack of sustenance taking its toll. The room remained quiet, the only sounds occasional muffled noises from elsewhere in the house. I imagined Drew was downstairs, perhaps getting food or just relaxing.

Then, the bedroom door opened again. His footsteps were heavier this time, and I could hear the clinking of glass. He walked over to the side of the bed near where I was lying. I tensed, wondering if he would once again use me as a footrest.

Instead, I heard him set the glass down on his nightstand. Then, he moved around the bed, and I felt his presence near my head. Had he finally noticed something was off with this particular carpet roll?

My heart pounded. I tried to remain as still as possible.

Then, I felt his hand on the carpet roll right beside my face. He didn't seem to be feeling for anything specific, just a casual touch. He lingered there for a moment, and then his hand moved away.

He walked back around the bed and I heard him settle in, the springs creaking again. He picked up his drink. Whatever had prompted him to touch the roll near my head seemed to have passed.

A while later, the room darkened. I hadn't realized it, but the sun must have been setting. The only light now came from the faint glow of the TV screen.

He shifted in bed, and then I felt his feet find their way back to the carpet roll. He was using me as a footrest again, the familiar pressure returning.

As the night wore on, the weight of his feet became almost comforting in a strange, perverse way. It was the only contact I had with the outside world, a constant reminder of his powerful presence.

Eventually, the sounds from the TV faded, and I could hear his breathing deepen. He had fallen asleep, his feet still resting on the carpet roll that contained me.

I lay there in the darkness, trapped and unseen, serving as the footrest for a sleeping giant. The reality of the next four days stretched before me, a daunting expanse of confinement and the inevitable crushing finale.

Then, something unexpected happened. In his sleep, Drew shifted, and one of his feet slid off the carpet roll. The other foot, however, pressed down more firmly, right over the area where I imagined my chest to be. The pressure was more concentrated now.

He mumbled something in his sleep and shifted again, his weight increasing on that one foot. It wasn't painful, not exactly, but it was a stark reminder of the immense power he held, even unconsciously.

I held my breath, focusing on staying still, a silent prisoner beneath his sleeping foot In his sleep, Drew shifted again. The foot that had slipped off the carpet roll now moved, and I felt the broad expanse of his sole press down on the top of the roll, right where my head was. At the same time, the other foot, still on my chest area, increased its pressure as he seemed to brace himself.

There was a soft groan from him, and a slight shift in his weight. It felt like he was using the roll, and therefore my head, as leverage to adjust his position in bed. The pressure on my head intensified for a moment, not crushing, but a firm, undeniable weight.

Then, just as suddenly, the pressure eased as he settled back down. Both feet remained on the carpet roll, one near my head, the other on my torso, as he continued to sleep, his breathing still deep and even.

I lay there, the imprint of his sleeping foot seemingly burned onto the carpet above my face. It was another level of intimacy, his unconscious weight pressing down on me.

The night continued to pass slowly. The only changes were the subtle shifts in Drew's sleeping position and the corresponding changes in pressure on the carpet roll.

As the first hint of dawn began to filter through the bedroom window, I heard Drew stir. There was a stretch, a yawn, and then the feeling of his feet shifting on the carpet roll.

He was awake.

The pressure of his feet remained for a moment longer, and then they lifted. I heard him swing his legs out of bed and stand up. His bare feet padded across the wooden floor.

I waited, my senses on high alert. Would he notice the carpet roll now that he was fully awake? Would he remember it was there?

He walked towards what I assumed was the bathroom. I heard the water running. A few minutes later, he returned, the sounds of his footsteps slightly different now, perhaps he was wearing slippers.

He walked back over to the bed, and then I felt his foot lightly tap the carpet roll near where my legs would be. It was a casual, almost absentminded touch.

Then, he moved away towards the dresser. Drawers opened and closed. He got dressed.

After a while, I heard him leave the bedroom. His footsteps faded down the stairs.

I was alone again. The first night had passed. Three more days until the promised flattening. Three more days of being his unseen, unintentional rug.

A little while later, I heard his footsteps returning up the stairs, accompanied by the clinking of what sounded like a mug. He re-entered the bedroom. I braced myself for his usual casual interaction with the carpet roll.

He walked over to the nightstand, and I heard the mug being placed down. Then, he moved towards the window, and I could hear the blinds being raised. The room was now filled with the soft light of morning.

He stood by the window for a moment, and then turned and walked back towards the bed. And then, just as he had the previous times, I felt the familiar weight of his foot stepping onto the carpet roll, this time near my midsection. He stood there for a few moments, perhaps looking out the window again, using me as an unthinking anchor.

Then, he moved off and walked out of the room, presumably to start his day.

The morning continued, filled with the sounds of Drew moving around the house. I could hear the TV downstairs at one point, then the sounds of him in the kitchen.

Chapter 13: A Shift in Position and Growing Weakness

It wasn't until mid-morning that he returned to the bedroom. His footsteps were purposeful. He walked directly to the side of the bed where I was lying.

Instead of stepping on me, I heard him bend down. There was a rustling sound, and then I felt the carpet roll being lifted slightly. Had he finally decided to move it?

He grunted with the effort, and then the roll was shifted a few inches. He set it back down. Then he did it again, moving it a little more. It felt like he was trying to reposition it.After a few adjustments, the carpet roll was settled in a slightly different spot next to the bed. He stood up.

"There," he said to himself, his voice low. "Better."

Then he walked away and left the room.

I was now in a slightly different position. From my vantage point through the face hole, the view of the room had changed slightly. I could see more of the bed and the nightstand.

Why had he moved me? Had he just wanted me in a more convenient spot to rest his feet? It seemed likely.

The day continued in a similar fashion. He would come into the room, sometimes step on the roll absentmindedly, other times ignore it. I was just another object in his space.

As the afternoon wore on, the lack of water was becoming increasingly difficult. My throat was dry, and I felt a dull ache behind my eyes.

Then, the bedroom door opened again. Drew walked in, and this time he was carrying something. I could hear the crinkling of plastic. He sat down on the bed, and I could smell the distinct aroma of food.

He ate his lunch in the bedroom, occasionally shifting his weight on the bed. Once or twice, his foot brushed against the carpet roll, a fleeting, unintentional contact.

After he finished eating, I heard him get up. He walked over to the carpet roll. My heart pounded. Was this it? Was he finally going to examine it more closely?

Instead, he simply nudged it with his foot, pushing it a little further under the edge of the bed.

"Out of the way," he muttered, before walking out of the room again.

The day was drawing to a close. Another day survived. Two more until the promised flattening.

As the light faded from the room, Drew returned. I heard him walk over to the bed, and then, as expected, I felt the familiar pressure of his feet on the carpet roll. He was using me as a footrest again.

He settled in, and the room was filled with the sounds of the TV. He seemed to be watching some kind of action movie, judging by the explosions and gunfire.

As the movie played, Drew shifted his position frequently. Sometimes, he would press down harder with his heels, a seemingly unconscious action. Other times, he would tap his feet lightly against the roll.

At one point, he got up and walked over to the nightstand. I heard him pick up his drink and take a sip. Then, he returned to the bed, his feet finding their way back to the carpet roll.

The movie continued, and Drew seemed to be getting more engrossed in it. He would occasionally make small noises, a grunt or a sigh, as he watched.

As the evening wore on, the sounds from the TV became quieter. Drew seemed to be getting tired. He shifted again, and this time, his feet didn't return to the carpet roll.

He had fallen asleep.

I lay there in the darkness, alone and unseen, still his unintentional rug. The second night was upon me. Two more days until the promised flattening.

Then, something unexpected happened. In his sleep, Drew started to move restlessly. He tossed and turned, and the carpet roll shifted beneath him.

Suddenly, I felt a sharp, stabbing pain. It was brief but intense. I realized that one of his heels, in his restless sleep, had dug into the roll, pressing directly on some part of my body.

I gasped, a silent scream within my confined space. I tried to shift slightly, to alleviate the pressure, but there was nowhere to go.

The pain subsided, but a dull ache remained. I was more vulnerable than ever. Even in his sleep, Drew could inflict pain without realizing it.

The rest of the night passed without incident, but the memory of that sharp, sudden pain lingered, a stark reminder of the danger I was in.

Chapter 14: The Laundry Room

As the third day dawned, I could hear Drew moving around the bedroom. Unlike the previous mornings, he seemed more purposeful. I heard him walk over to where the carpet roll was lying next to the bed.

Then, I felt a shift. The end of the roll near my feet was lifted. I was being dragged. The sensation of being pulled across the wooden floor was disorienting. I bumped against the doorframe as he maneuvered me out of the bedroom.

He continued to drag me down the hallway. I could hear the change in flooring as we moved onto what felt like a thicker carpet. Then, he stopped. There was a grunt of exertion, and the foot end of the roll was lowered.

I lay still, trying to get my bearings. Through the face hole, I could see a different room. There was a large desk, a computer monitor, and an adjustable standing desk nearby. This had to be his office.

I felt the roll being nudged slightly with his foot until it was positioned beside the standing desk. Then, he moved away. I heard the whirring sound of the desk as it adjusted upwards.

A few moments later, I felt the familiar weight of his feet on the carpet roll. He was standing at his elevated desk, and I was now serving as a footrest there.

This was a new level of exposure. He was awake, working, and I was right beside him, under his feet. The risk of him noticing something was wrong felt higher here.

He shifted his weight as he typed on his keyboard. Sometimes, he would rest one foot more heavily than the other. I could feel the subtle movements of his toes.

The day progressed with Drew working at his desk, me a silent, unseen support beneath his feet. The lack of water was making it harder to focus, and the confines of the roll felt increasingly restrictive.

As the afternoon wore on, he lowered his standing desk and sat down in his chair. His feet remained on the carpet roll. Now, the pressure was different, a more constant weight.

He seemed engrossed in his work, occasionally muttering to himself. I lay there, a silent participant in his workday.

As the third day drew to a close, Drew finished his work for the day. I heard him sigh and lean back in his chair, his feet still resting on the carpet roll.

He was quiet for a few moments, and then he reached down and idly rubbed his foot back and forth across the surface of the roll. It was a casual, thoughtless gesture, but it sent a shiver of awareness through me.

Then, he stood up. His feet left the roll. He stretched, and I heard him walk over to the window. He stood there for a moment, looking out.

When he turned back, he glanced down at the carpet roll. For a fleeting second, I thought his gaze lingered on it, but then he walked towards the door.

"I should probably move this thing," I heard him say to himself, almost as an afterthought.

My heart leaped. Was this it? Was he finally going to move me and potentially discover me?

He walked back over to the roll and bent down. I felt his hands grip the sides. He lifted it, and I was jostled around inside. He carried me out of his office and back into the hallway.

Where was he taking me now?

He carried me for a short distance and then stopped. I heard a door open, and then he stepped inside. The air felt cooler and slightly damp. I recognized the scent of cleaning products. This was the laundry room.

He lowered the carpet roll and let it thump onto the floor.

"Out of the way," he muttered again, as if the roll was simply an obstruction.

Then, he walked out of the laundry room and closed the door behind him.

I was now in a new location, alone in the dimly lit laundry room. The sounds of the house were more muffled here. The final full day before the promised "flattening" was coming to an end, and I had been moved to a place where I would likely be forgotten until then.

The isolation felt heavier here. In his office, even as an unseen footrest, I had at least been near him. Now, I was just discarded.

Chapter 15: The Fourth Day and the Beginning of the End

The fourth day began with silence. I remained in the laundry room, the dim light filtering under the door the only indication that time was passing. Hours crawled by. There were occasional sounds of the washing machine or dryer running, but no sign of Drew.

The lack of water was making me feel increasingly weak and disoriented. The confines of the carpet roll felt like they were closing in.

It wasn't until the afternoon that the laundry room door finally opened. Drew walked in. He glanced down at the carpet roll lying on the floor, a look of vague recognition on his face.

"Oh, right," he said to himself. "This thing."

He walked over to the roll and nudged it with his foot, just as he had done before. But this time, there was a slight difference. He seemed to be testing its firmness.

He pressed down harder with his foot, a more deliberate pressure. I could feel the fibers compressing beneath his sole. He repeated the action a few times, a curious expression on his face.

Then, he straightened up and left the laundry room.

A while later, he returned. He knelt down beside the carpet roll, his hands reached out and gripped the sides. He grunted, lifting the roll.

Chapter 16: The Flattening

He carried it out of the laundry room and back into the hallway. I was jostled around again. He seemed to be taking it somewhere more deliberately this time.

He descended the stairs, the weight of the roll seemingly significant. He stopped in what sounded like the living room. I heard him clear a space, and then the roll was lowered onto the floor with a soft thud.

Then, I felt his foot come down on the roll. It wasn't a casual placement. This time, there was a weight and intent behind it. He shifted his weight, pressing down firmly.

He was starting. The flattening had begun.

The pressure increased. I could feel the layers of carpet compressing. It wasn't acutely painful, more of an overwhelming, inexorable force.

He moved his foot slightly, grinding it against the surface. Then, he lifted it and placed it down again in a different spot. He was exploring the give of the roll, testing its resistance.

This continued for a while, a slow, methodical application of pressure. Each time his foot came down, the roll flattened a little more.

He did place his other foot onto the roll, balancing himself. Now, with both feet on the carpet roll, the pressure intensified. He didn't shift or grind immediately. Instead, he seemed to be simply enjoying the feeling of the yielding mass beneath his feet.

He remained like this for a minute or two, his weight distributed evenly. Then, he slowly began to shift. He lifted one foot slightly and then pressed it down again in a new spot, feeling the difference in resistance. He repeated this with the other foot, methodically working his way across the length of the roll.

It was a slow, deliberate process. He wasn't trying to flatten it quickly; he seemed to be relishing each moment of compression. I could feel the roll conforming more and more to the shape of his feet.

He would pause, applying steady pressure, and then move to a new area. It felt like he was mapping the contours of the roll with his soles.

The process continued, unhurried and thorough. The sounds were minimal – the soft thud of his feet landing, the slight rustle of the carpet fibers compressing.

Time seemed to stretch. Each moment under his deliberate weight felt significant.

After spending a considerable amount of time simply standing and shifting his weight, Drew seemed to want to explore further. He started to rock gently back and forth on his feet, increasing the pressure on different parts of the roll.

Then, he began to grind his feet. It wasn't a harsh, sudden movement, but a slow, deliberate twisting and pressing. I could feel the layers of carpet fibers rubbing against each other under the force of his soles.

He would lift a foot slightly, rotate it, and then press it down again, the texture of his skin and the carpet creating a subtle friction. He repeated this with both feet, methodically working over the surface of the roll.

The pressure was becoming more intense, more focused. Where his heel dug in, or where the ball of his foot pressed firmly, the compression was significant.

He then moved on to a different technique. He would lift one foot completely and then bring it down with more force, a brief, concentrated impact. He alternated feet, rhythmically pounding on the roll.

Each impact flattened the area beneath his foot a little more. The roll was starting to lose its cylindrical shape, becoming wider and flatter.

He seemed completely absorbed in the process, a look of focused intent on his face as he methodically worked to crush the "dummy" beneath his feet.

Having spent a significant amount of time grinding and rhythmically stomping, Drew now seemed intent on achieving complete flatness. He started to move more methodically, placing his feet side-by-side and then slowly shifting all his weight onto them.

He would hold this position for a prolonged period, allowing the constant pressure to further compress the carpet roll. Then, he would move his feet slightly and repeat the process, inch by inch, working his way down the length of the roll.

It was a slow, inexorable process. The roll was becoming noticeably thinner and wider with each passing minute. The once-soft give was now becoming firmer, the layers of material more tightly packed.

He seemed determined to leave no part untouched. He would even stand with one foot directly in front of the other, focusing his entire weight onto a narrow strip of the roll.

As the roll became flatter, the resistance increased. I could feel the hard floor beneath through the compressed layers. But Drew persisted, his movements steady and unwavering.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the carpet roll was significantly flattened. It was no longer a cylinder but a wide, relatively thin mat. Drew stood on it, his feet firmly planted, surveying his work with a look of satisfaction.

He shifted his weight one last time, ensuring every part had been thoroughly compressed. Then, he stepped off. The flattened carpet roll lay still on the floor.

The process was complete.

As Drew began to methodically apply pressure, rocking and grinding his feet, for Bran, the sensations were overwhelming. The initial give of the carpet was being replaced by an increasingly intense compression. Each shift of Drew's weight translated into a crushing force against his body, even through the layers of carpet.

When Drew started rhythmically stomping, each impact sent jolts through Bran. The confined space offered no escape from the relentless pressure. It was a suffocating feeling, the world outside the carpet roll becoming a distant memory.

As Drew moved to the slow, deliberate application of his full weight, holding each position, Bran felt the very structure around him collapsing. The lack of food and water had left him weak, and now his body was being pressed against itself. It was becoming harder to breathe.

With each inch Drew worked down the roll, the space around Bran grew tighter. The hard floor beneath was becoming more prominent, offering no respite from the crushing force above. There was a growing sense of finality with each deliberate movement.

Finally, as the roll flattened into a wide mat under Drew's determined weight, Bran felt the last vestiges of space disappear. It was an all-encompassing pressure, a sense of being completely and utterly compressed. The world narrowed to the feeling of Drew's weight above and the hard floor below. Then, as Drew stepped off, there was a profound stillness.

Chapter 17: The Aftermath and a New Purpose

Drew stood for a moment, looking down at his handiwork. He seemed satisfied. Then, he bent down and picked up one end of the flattened roll. It was much easier to handle now, no longer a cumbersome cylinder.

He carried it towards the door. I could hear him leave the living room and walk down the hallway. He stopped, and I heard another door open. The scent of cleaning products wafted in again. He was back in the laundry room.

He dropped the flattened carpet roll onto the floor. It landed with a soft, lifeless thud. He didn't say anything, just turned and left the laundry room, closing the door behind him.

The flattened roll lay there, still and silent. The ordeal was over. Bran's wish had been granted, in a way. He was under Drew's feet, completely flattened.

The house remained quiet. Time passed. The light filtering under the laundry room door began to fade as evening approached. The flattened carpet roll remained undisturbed.

Chapter 18: Life as a Bedroom Rug

He stood for a moment, looking down at his handiwork. He seemed satisfied. Then, he bent down and picked up one end of the flattened roll. It was much easier to handle now, no longer a cumbersome cylinder.

He carried it towards the door. I could hear him leave the living room and walk back down the hallway, then up the stairs. He entered his bedroom.

He walked over to the side of the bed and laid the flattened carpet roll down on the floor. It landed softly. He then nudged it with his foot until it was positioned exactly where it had been before, next to his bed.

He stood back and looked at it for a moment. Then, he simply walked over to the bed, sat down, and turned on the TV. He seemed completely unfazed, as if placing a flattened carpet roll next to his bed was the most natural thing in the world.

The flattened roll lay there, a silent testament to what had just occurred..

Drew settled into watching TV, occasionally shifting on the bed. His feet dangled towards the flattened carpet roll on the floor beside him, sometimes brushing against it. He didn't seem to pay it any particular attention, as if it were just another inanimate object in his room.

As the evening wore on, he got up to get a drink and use the bathroom. He stepped over the flattened roll without a second glance. When he returned to bed, his feet naturally gravitated towards it, sometimes resting lightly on its surface.

Eventually, he turned off the TV and the room went dark. He settled down to sleep, the flattened carpet roll lying silently beside his bed.

The next morning, Drew got out of bed, again stepping over the flattened roll. He went about his usual routine, seemingly not giving the flattened carpet a second thought.

It lay there for the rest of the day, undisturbed.

Days turned into a week. The flattened carpet roll remained beside Drew's bed. Sometimes, he would absentmindedly step on it as he moved around his room. Other times, it would simply lie there, a flat, unremarkable mat.

He never examined it closely, never seemed to wonder about its previous form or the "special mannequin" it supposedly contained. To Drew, it was just a flattened piece of carpet, now conveniently located to step on or rest his feet.

Life in Drew's bedroom continued as before, with the flattened carpet roll becoming a permanent, if unnoticed, fixture.

Let's go back to the moment when Drew returned to the laundry room with the utility knife.

He knelt down beside the carpet roll. Instead of immediately slicing it open, he ran his hand along its side. He paused, his fingers brushing against a slightly uneven section. He frowned, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes.

He ran his hand over it again, more deliberately this time. He noticed a slight give, a subtle difference compared to the rest of the tightly packed roll.

Intrigued, he took the utility knife and carefully sliced a small opening in the side of the carpet roll near where he felt the irregularity. He peeled back the carpet slightly and peered inside.

Drew peeled back the carpet and peered into the small opening he had created. His eyes widened slightly. Instead of the expected mannequin, he saw something… organic. A pale form, and what looked undeniably like a human arm, bent at an awkward angle.

He quickly widened the slit in the carpet with the knife, his curiosity now mixed with a growing sense of unease. As he pulled back more of the outer layers, the shape became clearer. It was a person, curled up tightly inside the carpet roll.

Drew recoiled slightly, a look of shock on his face. "What the hell...?" he muttered.

He frantically cut away more of the carpet, revealing more of Bran's form. Bran, weakened and disoriented, blinked against the sudden influx of light.

Drew stared, his mind racing. He recognized the figure, though it took a moment through the dishevelment.

"Bran? What in the..." he stammered, utterly bewildered.

Drew stared at Bran, his confusion quickly morphing into a dark fury. He remembered Bran's odd fascination, Ronnie's strange new product... and now this. He felt a surge of anger at being deceived, at the potential danger, and at the sheer audacity of the situation.

"You!" Drew growled, his voice low and dangerous. "What is the meaning of this?!"

Bran, weak and disoriented, could only manage a mumbled response.

Drew's face contorted in rage. He took a step back, his massive frame looming over the exposed Bran. His eyes fell to Bran's visible limbs.

Drew's fury reached a boiling point. Without saying another word, he lifted his right foot, the large size 15 looming menacingly over Bran. With a sudden, brutal motion, he brought it down hard.

The impact landed squarely on Bran's chest, the force driving the air from his lungs in a painful gasp. Bran cried out, a muffled sound within the partially opened carpet roll.

Drew didn't lift his foot immediately. He pressed down, his weight bearing into Bran's chest, a silent display of dominance and rage.

After a moment that felt like an eternity to Bran, Drew lifted his foot. He glared down at the exposed figure, his chest heaving with anger.

"Listen here, Bran," Drew said, his voice dangerously quiet. "You pulled a stupid, insane stunt. You could have gotten yourself seriously hurt, or worse. But now that you're here..."

He paused, a cruel smirk spreading across his face.

"...you're going to be my foot slave and my rug. You wanted to be under my feet? Well, congratulations. That's exactly where you're going to be. And you'll do exactly as I say. Understand?"

Bran, winded and in pain from the unexpected stomp, could only nod weakly, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and a disturbing hint of something else.

Drew saw the fear, but perhaps missed the underlying flicker of twisted satisfaction. He snorted.

"Good," Drew said, his voice cold. "Now listen carefully. Your little game has put you in a new reality. You are under my control. You will be my footrest, my rug, whenever I see fit. You will be silent, and you will be still unless I command otherwise."

He punctuated his words by pressing his foot down again, this time on Bran's stomach, not as hard as before, but a firm reminder of who was in charge.

"As for food... you will be fed when I decide. And you will eat what I decide, in the manner I decide." Drew's eyes glinted with cruel amusement. "If I feel like 'preparing' your meal myself..." He trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air.

He lifted his foot and gestured with it towards the remaining carpet roll. "Now, get back in there."

Bran, despite the pain and the chilling tone of Drew's commands, felt a strange surge of… something. It wasn't exactly happiness, but a twisted form of acceptance. This was what he had wanted, in a way, albeit far more brutal than he might have fantasized.

"Yes sir," Bran mumbled, his voice hoarse. "Thank you, sir."

Drew's lip curled slightly. "Get in." He gestured again with his foot towards the opening in the carpet roll.

Slowly and painfully, Bran began to maneuver himself back into the confines of the roll. Drew watched him, his expression unreadable. Once Bran was mostly inside, Drew used his foot to nudge the torn section of carpet back into place, not bothering to reseal it.

"Stay there," Drew commanded. He then stood up and walked out of the laundry room, leaving Bran alone in the dimness, his perverse wish now a harsh reality.

True to your vision, the flattened carpet roll containing Bran became Drew's constant footrest. Whether he was on the couch watching TV, working at his standing desk, or even just sitting on the edge of the bed, his feet would often find their way to the roll.

Drew treated Bran with a cold indifference, seeing him now as a possession, an object to serve his desires. He never spoke to Bran directly unless it was a command.

Once a day, Drew would bring Bran food. He wouldn't bother to open the roll. Instead, he would often crush the meal – a sandwich, some fruit – under his foot, the sounds of the crushing and mashing audible to Bran inside. Then, Drew would lift his foot, and Bran would have to lick the remnants through the carpet fibers.

If Drew felt Bran hadn't cleaned his soles to his satisfaction, he wouldn't hesitate to stomp down hard on the roll, a painful reminder of Bran's subservient position.

Days blurred into nights for Bran, a cycle of confinement, pressure, and the occasional degrading meal. The initial thrill of being under Drew's feet had long faded, replaced by a stark reality of