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 pain, humiliation, and the constant weight of Drew's massive soles.

The "flattening" Drew had initially intended had become a slow, ongoing process, not of the carpet roll, but of Bran's spirit.

Life inside the flattened carpet roll became a sensory deprivation chamber punctuated by the weight and occasional grinding of Drew's feet. Bran lost track of time, the days bleeding into one another, marked only by the single, degrading meal.

The constant pressure was both uncomfortable and strangely intimate. He could feel the contours of Drew's soles, the subtle shifts in his weight, the texture of his skin through the carpet fibers. It was the closeness he had craved, but twisted into a form of control and humiliation.

Drew, on the other hand, seemed to take Bran's presence for granted. The novelty of having a human footrest wore off, and Bran became just another part of the furniture, something to be used without a second thought.

Sometimes, if Drew was particularly stressed or bored, he would apply more pressure, grinding his heel or the ball of his foot into the roll for extended periods. These moments were agonizing for Bran, a stark reminder of his powerlessness.

The only breaks from the confinement and pressure were the brief moments when Drew fed him. The ritual was always the same: the sickening squish of the food under Drew's foot, followed by the desperate licking through the carpet, the taste often mingled with the faint scent of Drew's soles.

One day, Drew was on a video call for work, his feet resting on the flattened roll as usual. Bran could hear the muffled voices from outside. Suddenly, Drew shifted, and Bran felt a sharp pain as Drew's heel dug directly into his ribs. Bran stifled a gasp, not wanting to alert Drew or his colleagues. Drew didn't notice, continuing his conversation as if nothing had happened.

Days turned into weeks. Bran's physical condition deteriorated. The lack of proper nutrition and the constant pressure took their toll. He grew weaker, and the pain from Drew's casual trampling became more acute.

One evening, Drew was working out in his bedroom. Bran, as usual, was underfoot. As Drew did lunges and squats, his weight shifted dramatically with each movement, the pressure on Bran intensifying and then easing in a painful rhythm.

After his workout, Drew stood panting, his bare feet planted firmly on the flattened roll. Bran could feel the sweat from Drew's soles seeping slightly into the carpet. Drew remained there for a long moment, catching his breath.

Then, he did something different. He started to rub his feet back and forth on the roll, a slow, deliberate action, as if using Bran to massage his tired soles. The friction against the carpet was rough, and Bran could feel the pressure points digging into him.

The sensation was both agonizing and, in a twisted way, intimate. Drew was using him so casually, so completely, without any regard for the person beneath his feet.

Eventually, Drew moved away to shower. Bran lay there, exhausted and sore, the lingering warmth and faint scent of Drew's sweat a stark reminder of his captivity.

Later that night, as Drew slept, his foot slipped off the bed and rested lightly on the flattened roll. Even in sleep, Bran couldn't escape his presence. Drew, in his own way, would ensure Bran's continued existence, not out of kindness, but to prolong his own enjoyment.

Weeks turned into months. Bran became a permanent fixture in Drew's life, the flattened carpet roll always within reach of his feet. Drew maintained his routine: casual trampling, the occasional degrading meal, and complete indifference to Bran's well-being beyond his function as a human footrest.

Bran's world shrank to the confines of the flattened carpet. The outside sounds of Drew's life – his work calls, his TV shows, his interactions with others – became a muffled backdrop to his own suffering. The only direct contact was the constant pressure of Drew's feet.

One day, Drew had a friend over. They were in the bedroom, talking and laughing. Without a word, Drew rested his feet on the flattened roll. His friend didn't seem to notice anything unusual. Bran lay silently beneath, acutely aware of the extra weight and the casual disregard.

As the months passed, Bran's body adapted in a grim way. He became accustomed to the constant pressure, the aches and pains of a dull, persistent thrum. His spirit, however, grew increasingly weary. The fantasy had become a brutal reality.

Drew, meanwhile, seemed completely oblivious to Bran's internal state. He continued to use the flattened roll without a second thought, his pleasure derived from the simple act of having someone constantly under his feet.

The months of constant pressure, confinement, and degradation wore Bran down. The initial twisted desire had long since curdled into a desperate yearning for release.

One day, as Drew had his feet resting on the flattened roll while watching TV, Bran, in a weak and hoarse voice, finally spoke.

"Drew," he whispered, the sound barely audible through the carpet fibers.

Drew's feet stilled. He looked down at the flattened roll, a flicker of annoyance on his face.

"What?" he said, his tone impatient.

"Please," Bran choked out, the words filled with despair. "Just... just crush me. Please. I can't... I can't anymore."

Drew was silent for a long moment. Then, a slow, cruel laugh rumbled in his chest. He looked down at the flattened roll, a cold amusement in his eyes.

"Never, rug man," Drew said, his voice laced with mockery. "This is everything you've ever wanted, isn't it? To be under my feet. And I'm not going to let you off the hook until I am good and damn ready."

He shifted his weight, then deliberately lifted his right foot and placed it squarely on the area where he guessed Bran's face was. He pressed down firmly.

"Oh yeah," Drew said, his voice hard, the pressure of his foot increasing. "Don't ever speak unless spoken to, rug."

He held his foot there for a long, agonizing moment before finally lifting it. Bran lay silent beneath, his brief plea met with cold denial and further oppression.

After Drew's crushing dismissal, a heavy silence fell within the flattened carpet roll. The last spark of Bran's desperate hope seemed to extinguish. He understood now that his desire, once a twisted fantasy, had become his inescapable reality, controlled entirely by Drew's whims.

A strange resignation settled over him. If this was to be his existence, then he would endure it. He would become the best rug he could be, silent and unmoving unless Drew commanded otherwise.

Days turned into a monotonous cycle. Drew continued to use the flattened roll without fail. Bran remained still and quiet beneath his feet, offering no further pleas or protests. The degrading meals continued, and Bran licked Drew's soles clean with a newfound, grim obedience.

Drew, in turn, seemed to notice the change in Bran's demeanor. The lack of resistance, the complete silence, perhaps even amplified his sense of control. He continued his routine, but there was a subtle shift. Sometimes, he would leave his feet resting on Bran for longer periods, a silent assertion of ownership.

One evening, as Drew was relaxing and watching TV, he idly rubbed his foot back and forth on the flattened roll, a gesture that once caused Bran pain. Now, Bran remained still, accepting the friction as just another aspect of his existence.

The transformation was complete. Bran, the man with a singular desire, had become nothing more than a human rug, existing solely under the weight of Drew's massive feet.

Time continued its relentless march. The flattened carpet roll, with Bran inside, remained a constant fixture in Drew's life. Drew's use of Bran as a footrest became so ingrained that he barely registered it anymore. It was as natural as putting his feet up on an ottoman.

One day, Drew decided to rearrange his bedroom. He started moving furniture, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity to Bran, the flattened carpet roll was lifted and moved. The brief sensation of being carried was disorienting. Bran found himself in a new spot, still beside the bed, but at a different angle.

This small change, however insignificant to Drew, was a stark reminder to Bran of his utter lack of control. Even his location was determined by Drew's convenience.

As the weeks passed, Drew's routine remained largely the same. But one evening, while he was talking on the phone, he started to tap his foot impatiently on the flattened roll. The rhythmic tapping vibrated through Bran, a subtle but persistent reminder of Drew's presence.

The conversation seemed tense. Drew's tapping grew more insistent, harder. Then, abruptly, he stood up and began to pace, his feet occasionally stepping directly onto the flattened roll with more force than usual.

Bran felt a surge of fear. Drew's agitation was palpable, and Bran was directly beneath it. He braced himself for a more deliberate act of trampling.

Drew continued to pace, his heavy footsteps landing on the flattened roll at irregular intervals. Bran could only lie there, a silent recipient of Drew's unrestrained movements.

Drew continued to pace, his frustration evident in the heavy thuds of his feet on the flattened carpet roll. He ran a hand through his hair, his voice rising slightly as he spoke into the phone.

Then, abruptly, he stopped pacing. He was standing directly over the flattened roll. There was a moment of tense silence.

Suddenly, Drew let out a frustrated yell and stomped down hard.

The impact was brutal. All of Drew's weight, fueled by his agitation, crashed down onto Bran. It was the most forceful trampling Bran had endured since the initial flattening. A sharp, searing pain shot through his body. He couldn't stifle a gasp this time.

Drew seemed oblivious. He remained standing there for a moment, his chest heaving, as if the act of stomping had released some of his tension. Then, he resumed his pacing, though his steps were slightly less frantic.

Bran lay beneath, his body aching, the brief respite of his grim acceptance shattered by this sudden outburst of Drew's emotion. It was a stark reminder that Drew viewed him not even as a rug, but as an unfeeling object upon which to vent his frustrations.

The phone call eventually ended. Drew, still somewhat agitated, moved to sit on the bed. His feet, as always, found their way to the flattened carpet roll. But now, there was a different quality to the pressure, a lingering tension.

The incident seemed to subtly alter Drew's perception of the flattened carpet roll. While he continued to use it as a footrest, there were moments when his touch was less casual, more… deliberate.

Sometimes, while watching TV, he would run his foot slowly along the length of the flattened roll, a thoughtful expression on his face. It was as if he was more aware of its presence now, perhaps even subconsciously acknowledging that it wasn't just an inanimate object.

One evening, he was sitting on the floor, stretching after a workout. He placed his feet on the flattened roll, but instead of just resting them there, he began to press down with his hands on his knees, increasing the pressure. Bran felt a more intense compression than usual, held for a longer period.

It wasn't the furious stomp from before, but a more controlled, almost experimental application of force. Drew seemed to be testing the limits, perhaps curious about the resilience of the flattened form beneath his feet.

These subtle shifts created a new layer of unease for Bran. The predictable monotony of his existence had been broken, replaced by a sense that Drew's interactions with him were becoming more intentional, potentially more dangerous.

The line between being an unthinking rug and a recipient of Drew's conscious actions seemed to be blurring.

One afternoon, Drew was tidying up his room. He picked up the flattened carpet roll to move it, and this time, he held it for a moment, turning it over slightly. Bran felt the change in orientation, a brief glimpse of a different perspective.

As Drew held it, his fingers brushed against the slightly uneven section where he had cut it open months ago. A flicker of memory seemed to cross his face. He paused, his gaze fixed on that spot.

He then set the flattened roll back down, but his demeanor had changed. There was a thoughtful, almost curious look in his eyes.

Later that evening, instead of simply placing his feet on the flattened roll, Drew knelt down beside it. He ran his hand along its surface, his fingers tracing the outline of where a body might lie beneath.

He then did something unexpected. He pressed his ear against the flattened carpet.

Bran, lying silently inside, held his breath. He could hear the faint, muffled sounds of Drew's breathing close to the surface.

Drew remained like that for a minute, listening intently. Then, he slowly sat back, his expression unreadable.

The next day, Drew acted somewhat differently. He still used the flattened roll, but his touch was more hesitant, less automatic. He seemed to be… considering it.

Then, he did something that hadn't happened in months. He went to the laundry room and returned with the utility knife.

He knelt down beside the flattened carpet roll.

Drew ran the blade along the old cut he had made, widening the opening. He peeled back the carpet, his eyes intent. He wasn't gentle; there was a sense of purpose, of finally satisfying his curiosity.

As the opening widened, Bran was once again exposed to the light. Drew peered inside, his expression hard to read. He saw Bran, thinner than before, his eyes wide and filled with a mixture of fear and resignation.

There was a long moment of silence as Drew simply looked at Bran. Then, he spoke, his voice devoid of emotion.

"Still in there, huh?"

He didn't offer any help, any apology. He simply acknowledged Bran's continued presence. Then, he reached down and, instead of helping Bran out, he pressed his hand firmly onto Bran's chest through the opening.

"Don't think for a second this changes anything," Drew said, his gaze unwavering. "You wanted to be under my feet. You are."

He removed his hand and stood up. He didn't reseal the carpet. He just left it open, exposing Bran to the air and the light.

He then went about his evening routine, occasionally glancing at the open section of the flattened carpet roll, as if confirming Bran was still there. He even rested his foot on the exposed edge once, a casual reminder of his dominance.

After a while, Drew did seem to tire of the open section. He knelt down again, not to help Bran, but to address the unkempt look of his flattened rug. Without a word, he roughly folded the cut edges of the carpet back together, not bothering to perfectly align them.

He then grabbed some heavy-duty tape and crudely sealed the opening shut. It wasn't as seamless as before, but it was enough to restore the flat appearance he preferred.

Once the tape was in place, Drew stood up and once again rested his foot on the flattened roll, testing its evenness. Satisfied, he continued his evening.

Bran was once again sealed within, but now with the added awareness that Drew knew he was still inside. The brief moment of exposure hadn't brought any change in Drew's treatment, only a confirmation of Bran's continued confinement.

The dynamic between them remained the same: Drew the indifferent giant, and Bran the silent, suffering rug beneath his feet.

Life under Drew's feet continued, but with a subtle shift in the atmosphere. Drew knew Bran was there, and Bran knew that Drew knew. This awareness created a strange, unspoken tension.

Drew didn't start talking to Bran regularly, nor did he suddenly become compassionate. However, there were small, almost imperceptible changes. Sometimes, when his foot rested on Bran, there was a fraction of a second's pause, as if he were acknowledging the presence beneath.

The degrading meals continued, but occasionally, Drew might place the crushed food a little closer to the taped seam, perhaps a subconscious acknowledgment that Bran was a living being.

For Bran, the knowledge that Drew was aware of his suffering brought a strange mix of despair and a sliver of something akin to… recognition. He was no longer just an unseen object. Drew knew he was there.

However, this didn't alleviate the constant pressure or the confinement. Bran's existence remained defined by Drew's feet.

One day, Drew was lifting weights in his room. He placed the flattened carpet roll under his feet for better grip. The increased pressure during his squats and deadlifts was intense for Bran. Afterward, Drew stood panting, his feet planted firmly on the roll. He remained there for a long moment, seemingly lost in thought.

Then, he simply walked away, leaving Bran to endure the lingering ache.

The dynamic between Drew and Bran settled into a new, unsettling equilibrium. Drew continued to use Bran as his footrest, seemingly unfazed by the fact that he knew a person was inside. Bran, in turn, remained silent and compliant, his hope for escape or a change in his situation dwindling.

One day, Drew was on a video call, his feet resting on the flattened roll as usual. He was laughing at something the person on the other end said. The vibrations traveled through the roll, a strange intimacy in the shared moment, even though their experiences were vastly different.

After the call, Drew remained still for a moment, his gaze drifting towards the flattened carpet. He then reached down and lightly tapped his foot on it, a small, almost casual gesture. Bran felt the pressure and remained silent. Drew didn't repeat it.

Time continued to pass. The seasons changed outside, but within the confines of the flattened carpet roll, Bran's world remained constant.

Then, one evening, Drew was watching a movie. It was a dramatic scene, and Drew was visibly moved. As the scene reached its climax, he unconsciously pressed his foot down harder on the flattened roll. Bran felt the increased pressure, a familiar sensation.

But this time, after the intensity of the movie scene passed, Drew didn't immediately release the pressure. His foot remained there, a steady, firm weight. Bran waited, unsure what to expect.

Then, Drew did something unexpected. He sighed, a deep, almost weary sound, and shifted his foot slightly, as if trying to find a more comfortable position for himself on the flattened roll.

It was a small thing, but it felt different. It wasn't just an absentminded placement of his foot. There was a sense of settling in, a prolonged contact.

Drew's tendency to rest his foot more deliberately on the flattened roll continued. Sometimes, he would even adjust his position slightly, as if trying to find the most comfortable way to have his foot there.

One afternoon, he was reading a book, his feet as usual on the roll. He was engrossed in the story and remained still for a long period. Bran felt the steady, unwavering pressure, a constant reminder of Drew's presence and his own confinement.

Then, Drew shifted, and Bran felt the familiar contours of Drew's sole press into a different part of the flattened roll. It was a small movement, but it highlighted the intimacy of their forced proximity.

As time went on, there were even moments when Drew seemed… almost absentminded in his use of the roll. He might leave his foot resting there for extended periods without any particular action, as if it had become an unconscious habit.

For Bran, these moments were a strange mix of relief (from intense pressure) and a profound sense of being utterly taken for granted. He was simply the thing under Drew's foot, no more significant than a cushion or a rug.

Then, one evening, something slightly different happened. Drew was talking to someone in the room (though Bran couldn't see who). He gestured with his hand, and as he did so, he lightly nudged the flattened roll with his foot, almost as if it were an extension of himself.

It was a small, unconscious movement, but it suggested a level of familiarity, an acceptance of the flattened roll – and by extension, Bran – as a part of his immediate environment.

The months continued to pass, and the flattened carpet roll remained a constant in Drew's room. His interactions with it became even more ingrained, less conscious. It was simply where his feet went when he was relaxing.

One day, Drew was watching a particularly intense sporting event on TV. As the tension built on screen, Bran felt Drew's foot press down harder on the flattened roll, a physical manifestation of his engagement with the game. It was an unconscious reaction, a way for Drew to ground himself in the excitement.

After the game ended, Drew remained still for a moment, his foot still resting on the roll. Then, he sighed and shifted, the pressure easing. It was a small, almost intimate exchange, a silent sharing of a moment.

Then, something a little more unusual occurred. Drew was sitting on the floor, stretching. He placed his feet on the flattened roll, but this time, he leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees, increasing the pressure. He held the stretch for a while, and Bran felt the sustained weight.

When Drew finally sat up, he left his feet on the roll. He then reached down and scratched his foot idly against the carpet, a casual, almost thoughtless action.

It was in these small, unconscious moments that the nature of their strange coexistence seemed to evolve. Bran was no longer just an object to be used; he had become a part of Drew's routine, an unacknowledged constant in his physical space.

The flattened carpet roll became so commonplace that Drew rarely even looked at it. It was simply there, under his feet when he relaxed. He might shift his weight, tap his foot, or even rest something on it without a second thought.

One day, Drew was packing for a trip. He was tossing clothes into a suitcase, and at one point, he absentmindedly stepped onto the flattened carpet roll to reach something on a higher shelf. It was a purely utilitarian action, no different than stepping onto a rug.

As he finished packing, he glanced around the room, making sure he hadn't forgotten anything. His gaze passed over the flattened carpet roll without any sign of recognition beyond its function as a part of the floor.

Then, he did something unexpected. He nudged the flattened roll slightly with his foot, moving it a few inches closer to the bed. It was a small, almost subconscious adjustment, as if ensuring it was in its usual, convenient spot.

He left for his trip the next day. For the first time in a long time, Bran was alone, without the constant pressure of Drew's feet. The silence and the lack of weight were initially a relief, but a strange sense of… absence also settled in. His entire existence had become so intertwined with Drew's presence.

Drew returned from his trip a few days later. One of the first things he did upon entering his bedroom was to step onto the flattened carpet roll, a familiar habit resuming without conscious thought.

Okay, let's explore the long-term implications of this integration.

Life continued in this manner for a significant period. The flattened carpet roll remained a constant, silently present in Drew's daily life. Drew's interactions with it were purely habitual, devoid of any conscious thought about the person within.

One day, Drew decided to redecorate his bedroom. He started moving furniture, and when he came to the flattened carpet roll, he picked it up without a second glance, intending to move it out of the way.

As he held it, however, something shifted slightly inside. A faint sound, a soft rustle, reached his ears. He paused, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.

He held the flattened roll still for a moment, listening. Then, he shrugged slightly and carried it to the corner of the room, placing it down without further examination.

The redecorating continued. New furniture arrived, old items were removed. The flattened carpet roll remained in the corner, slightly obscured by a new armchair. Drew never used it as a footrest in its new location.

Weeks passed. The flattened carpet roll lay undisturbed. Drew's habits had shifted with the new layout of his room.

One day, he was cleaning and moved the armchair. He saw the flattened carpet roll lying there, covered in a thin layer of dust. He looked at it for a moment, a vague sense of familiarity but no real recognition in his expression.

He bent down, picked it up, and carried it out of the bedroom. Bran felt the change in scenery, a sense of being moved after a long stillness.

Drew carried the flattened carpet roll downstairs and into the garage. He leaned it against a wall, amidst other discarded items.

And there it remained. Forgotten.

Chapter 19: A Change of Scenery - The Truck

Instead of leaving the flattened roll in the garage, Drew looked at it with a flicker of a practical idea. He carried it over to his Ford F-250 diesel, parked inside.

He opened the driver's side door and considered the existing floor mat. It was worn and a bit muddy. He pulled it out and then maneuvered the flattened carpet roll into the space. It wasn't a perfect fit, but it covered the area well enough.

He stepped on it. It felt… flat and dense. Functional.

Without a second thought, Drew decided this would do. He left the flattened carpet roll on the driver's side floor of his truck.

Chapter 20: Life on the Road

The next morning, Drew got into his F-250 and placed his work boots on the flattened carpet. He didn't notice anything unusual. It was just the floor mat.

As he drove, his heel occasionally pressed down more firmly. Bran, within the flattened fibers, endured the familiar pressure, now accompanied by the rumble of the diesel engine and the motion of the truck.

The flattened carpet roll, once intended for a very different purpose, had become a mundane part of Drew's everyday life, silently existing under his heavy work boots as he went about his day.

Life as the truck's floor mat was a different kind of confinement for Bran. The constant weight of Drew's work boots was ever-present when the truck was in use. The vibrations of the powerful diesel engine rumbled through him. There were new smells: diesel fumes, the outdoors, and whatever Drew might have tracked into the cab.

Each time Drew got in, his weight would settle onto Bran. Driving, shifting gears, pressing the pedals – every movement translated into a different kind of pressure. Sometimes it was a steady weight, other times a more focused pressure from his heel or the ball of his foot.

Bran's world became the sounds of the road, the changing temperatures, and the feel of Drew's boots. He could sometimes hear muffled snippets of Drew's conversations or the radio.

One day, Drew had been working on a muddy job site. When he got into the truck, his boots were caked in dirt. Bran felt the grit and grime being pressed into the carpet fibers, a new layer of discomfort.

Another time, Drew spilled some coffee. Bran absorbed the dampness, the smell lingering for a while.

Drew never cleaned the floor mat with any particular care. It was just a part of the truck's interior, subject to the wear and tear of daily use.

For Bran, it was a continuation of his existence under Drew's feet, but with a mobile element. He was no longer confined to the bedroom; his world now encompassed wherever Drew and his truck went.

Chapter 21: The Car Wash

One Saturday morning, Drew decided to get his F-250 detailed. He drove it to a local car wash that offered interior cleaning. As he waited in the customer lounge, watching a show on TV, his truck was being taken care of.

Two young guys, both around 20 and tall with decent-sized feet, began cleaning the interior. One started vacuuming, while the other focused on wiping down surfaces and cleaning the floor mats.

When he got to the driver's side, he pulled out the regular floor mat. Underneath, he found the flattened carpet roll. He frowned, a little confused by the unusual shape and texture. Assuming it was some kind of makeshift mat, he didn't give it a second thought.

He vacuumed it thoroughly, his work boot pressing down on it as he maneuvered the nozzle. Bran felt the unfamiliar pressure of a different shoe, the vibrations of the vacuum cleaner adding to the strange sensation.

Then, after vacuuming, the young cleaner sprayed some carpet cleaner on the flattened roll and scrubbed it with a stiff brush, his weight shifting as he worked. Bran endured the scrubbing and the moisture, a different kind of interaction than Drew's usual weight.

The other cleaner also stepped on the flattened roll briefly as he reached across the cab to clean the passenger side. Again, a different weight, a different shoe.

Neither of the young men had any idea that there was a person inside the flattened carpet. To them, it was just a dirty, oddly shaped floor mat.

After the interior cleaning was done, they put the regular floor mat back on top of the flattened carpet roll, not realizing there were now two layers.

Drew returned to his freshly cleaned truck, none the wiser about the extra attention Bran had received. He stepped into the cab, his work boot landing on the two layers of mat, and drove off.

For Bran, the car wash experience was a confusing and somewhat jarring departure from his usual existence under Drew's feet.

The lighter weight and different shapes of the young cleaners' shoes were noticeable. The vacuum cleaner's vibrations were intense, shaking his confined space in a way Drew's steady weight never did. The moisture and the scrubbing were entirely new sensations, a temporary dampness and a rough agitation of the fibers around him.

There was a strange anonymity to it. These were large feet, yes, but they held no personal connection, no history of dominance or intimacy. It was just pressure and movement from strangers unaware of his presence.

The brief moments when both cleaners stepped on the mat simultaneously created a more widespread compression than he was used to.

When the regular floor mat was placed on top, it added another layer of muffled sensation. Drew's familiar weight, when he returned, felt somewhat different through this added layer.

Overall, it was a disorienting interlude, a reminder of the world outside Drew's immediate presence, even though that interaction was still defined by being underfoot.

Chapter 22: Back to the Office

A few days after the car wash, Drew was cleaning out the cab of his truck. He noticed the slightly raised area on the driver's side where the flattened carpet roll was now beneath the regular floor mat. He bent down for a closer look.

He lifted the regular floor mat and saw the flattened, oddly shaped carpet underneath. He frowned, a flicker of vague recognition in his eyes. He picked it up, hefting its weight.

"Huh," he muttered to himself. "Where did this come from?"

He carried it into the house, a thought forming in his mind. He went to his home office and looked at the small rug he sometimes used under his desk to rest his feet. It was getting a bit worn.

Drew placed the flattened carpet roll on the floor next to his desk. It was a decent size and relatively flat.

"Yeah, this could work," he said, nodding to himself.

He moved the old rug aside and positioned the flattened carpet roll in its place. It fits well. He then sat down at his desk and rested his feet on it.

It felt firm and dense under his feet. Satisfied, Drew turned his attention back to his computer.

Bran was now in a familiar setting, under Drew's feet while he worked. But the environment was different – the office instead of the truck.

As Drew settled into his desk chair, he kicked off his work boots. His bare feet, large and familiar to Bran, landed squarely on the flattened carpet roll.

For Bran, it was a sensory reunion. The direct contact of Drew's skin, the flexing of his arches, the subtle movements of his toes – it was a return to a more intimate, albeit still oppressive, form of confinement. Even the familiar scent of Drew's feet seemed stronger here.

A strange mix of resignation and a twisted sense of homecoming washed over Bran. This was his place, under those massive soles.

Drew, meanwhile, didn't give the "new" footrest a second thought. He simply enjoyed the firm support under his bare feet as he began to work. He might flex his toes, rub his heel, or shift his weight, each movement directly impacting Bran.

The sounds of the office – the clicking of the keyboard, Drew's occasional sighs or muttering – replaced the rumble of the truck engine. But the constant presence of Drew's feet remained the defining characteristic of Bran's existence.

That's a tense possibility. Let's see that unfold.

Drew was deeply focused on his computer screen, his brow furrowed in concentration. His bare feet rested on the flattened carpet roll, shifting occasionally as he adjusted his posture.

Chapter 23: The Gasp and the Discovery

Then, he stretched slightly, and one of his heels pressed down in a new spot on the flattened carpet. Unbeknownst to Drew, this was directly over a particularly sensitive area for Bran, a spot that had been repeatedly compressed over the months.

A sharp, unexpected twinge shot through Bran. He couldn't help it; a tiny, involuntary sound escaped him – a soft, almost inaudible gasp, quickly stifled.

Drew's concentration broke. He stilled, his head tilting slightly. He frowned, his gaze flicking down towards his feet on the carpet roll.

"Did I just hear something?" he muttered to himself.

He remained motionless for a moment, listening intently to the quiet of the office. He heard nothing more.

Shrugging, he assumed it was just the house settling or some other ambient noise. He was about to turn his attention back to his screen when he subtly shifted his foot again, his heel pressing down once more in almost the exact same spot.

This time, Bran couldn't completely suppress a small, pained whimper. It was still faint, but definitely there.

Drew froze. His eyes narrowed. He was sure he had heard something that time. He looked intently at the flattened carpet roll under his feet.

Drew's brow furrowed deeply. He lifted his feet from the flattened carpet roll and leaned forward in his chair, his gaze fixed on the unassuming mat. He remembered vaguely bringing it in from the truck, thinking it would make a decent footrest. He certainly hadn't expected it to make noises.

He reached down and poked the carpet with his finger, right where his heel had been resting. Nothing. He pressed harder. Still nothing.

He sat back, a puzzled expression on his face. Maybe he had imagined it. He often got lost in his work.

He was about to place his feet back on the mat when a thought flickered in his mind. That carpet felt… denser than he remembered a regular rug being. And it was oddly flat.

He reached down again, this time running his hand along the surface. He felt a slight unevenness beneath the fibers. He pressed down, and it felt… yielding in a strange way, not like a solid mat.

His curiosity now fully piqued, Drew leaned closer. He remembered cutting open that old carpet roll a long time ago… the "dummy" Ronnie had mentioned. Could this be…?

He grabbed the edge of the flattened carpet and lifted it slightly. It felt heavier than it looked.

A sudden, unsettling thought struck him. He remembered Bran's weird fascination with being underfoot.

With a growing sense of unease, Drew stood up and carefully flipped the flattened carpet roll over.

As Drew flipped the flattened carpet roll over, there, pressed against the fibers on the underside, was the unmistakable outline of a human form. And then, as Bran shifted slightly, a face came into view through the compressed carpet, a faint smile on his lips.

Chapter 24: Confrontation and Control

"Hi, master," Bran whispered, his voice weak and muffled.

Drew recoiled as if he'd been burned. His eyes widened in disbelief and a dawning horror. He stumbled backward, knocking his chair against the wall.

"Bran?! What the hell?!" he exclaimed, his voice a mixture of shock, disbelief, and a creeping disgust.

He stared at the flattened carpet, at the visible outline of Bran, as if it were some monstrous apparition. The realization of what had been under his feet for all this time hit him like a physical blow.

Okay, let's go with fury mixed with a twisted sense of vindication.

Drew's face contorted in a mask of rage. The shock quickly morphed into a furious realization. This whole time… Bran had been there, willingly under his feet. The memory of Bran's strange request, Ronnie's cryptic words – it all clicked into place.

"You!" Drew roared, pointing a trembling finger at the flattened carpet. "You sick freak! You've been enjoying this, haven't you? Under my feet all this time!"

He took a step closer, his massive frame looming over the exposed outline of Bran. His eyes blazed with anger and a hint of something else – a disturbed understanding.

"You wanted to be my rug, my footrest?" Drew continued, his voice dangerously low. "Well, you got your wish, didn't you? You've been right where you wanted to be!"

He punctuated his words by stomping his bare foot onto the flattened carpet right over where Bran's chest would be.

"Have you enjoyed yourself, Bran? Huh? Tell me!"

Bran's muffled voice, tinged with a disturbing sincerity, drifted up from within the flattened carpet. "Yes, sir," he whispered. "It... it has been the best time of my life. I never want it to end."

Drew's face darkened even further. He stared down at the flattened carpet, at the implied presence of Bran beneath, a mixture of disgust and a perverse sense of triumph warring within him.

"You sick bastard," Drew hissed, his voice trembling with rage. "You've been playing this twisted game the whole time!"

He ground his foot into the carpet, a low growl rumbling in his chest.

"Well, guess what, Bran? The game's not over. Not by a long shot."

He lifted his foot, his eyes narrowed with a cold resolve.

"You wanted to be my rug? Fine. You will be my rug. And you will learn exactly what that means when I know you're there, enjoying every miserable second of it."

Drew's fury hardened into a cold, deliberate intent. He wasn't just angry; he felt a twisted sense of control in this bizarre situation. Bran wanted to be under his feet? Drew would ensure that wish became a torment.

He picked up the flattened carpet roll, the weight of Bran inside now a tangible reminder of Bran's perverse desire. Instead of just dropping it, Drew deliberately let one end thump heavily on the floor.

"You like being down there, feeling my weight?" Drew said, his voice dangerously calm. "Let's make sure you really feel it."

He positioned the flattened carpet roll in the center of the office floor. Then, he stepped onto it, deliberately placing his full weight in the middle.

"Tell me, Bran," Drew said, pressing down harder. "Are you enjoying this now that I know you're down there, loving every second?"

He didn't wait for a response. He began to slowly grind his feet, the friction against the carpet directly impacting Bran within.

"You wanted to feel me, Bran? You're going to feel all of me."

The casual, unconscious pressure of the past was gone. This was deliberate, a direct consequence of Drew's knowledge and his desire to punish Bran for his secret enjoyment.

Drew continued to grind his feet, the sensation rough and compressive for Bran. Then, he shifted his weight, focusing it onto his heels. He pressed down harder, the sharp bones digging into the flattened carpet.

"Still enjoying yourself, Bran?" Drew sneered. "Tell me how much you love being my rug now."

He punctuated his words with more forceful grinding and targeted pressure. He seemed to be exploring the contours of Bran's body beneath the carpet, intentionally applying pressure to areas he guessed would be most uncomfortable.

Then, he moved beyond just standing. He started to pace back and forth across the flattened carpet roll, each step a deliberate act of trampling. He wasn't just walking; he was stomping, his weight landing heavily with each stride.

"You wanted to be walked on, didn't you?" Drew growled, his breath coming in short bursts. "Well, here you go. Enjoy the walk, Bran."

He increased his pace, the impacts becoming more frequent and jarring for Bran trapped inside. Drew seemed intent on making Bran experience the full weight of his displeasure, turning Bran's desire into a painful reality.

Drew stopped pacing and stood directly over the flattened carpet roll. He bent down, his face close to the surface.

"You know what else rugs are for, Bran?" he said, his voice low and menacing. "Wiping your feet."

With that, he began to deliberately scuff his bare feet back and forth across the surface of the flattened carpet. The rough fibers abraded against Bran's confined form. Drew seemed to relish the sensation and the knowledge of the discomfort it was causing Bran.

Chapter 25: Deliberate Torment

He then stepped off the flattened roll and went to his desk. He grabbed a heavy book and returned. Without a word, he dropped the book onto the flattened carpet, right in the center. The added weight pressed down significantly on Bran.

Drew then sat in his chair, placing his own feet on top of the book. Now, Bran was subjected to a concentrated, heavy pressure.

"Let me know when you've had enough of your 'dream come true,' Bran," Drew said, a cruel smile playing on his lips. He then turned his attention back to his computer, leaving Bran trapped under the combined weight of the book and his feet.

Beneath the heavy book and Drew's feet, Bran remained silent. The combined pressure was intense, making it difficult to breathe. Every nerve in his body screamed in protest, but he clamped down on any sound. He didn't want to provoke Drew further.

He focused on enduring, on being the silent, uncomplaining rug Drew seemed to want him to be now. This was the consequence of his desire, and he would bear it.

Minutes stretched into an eternity. The weight remained constant, the silence within the office broken only by the clicking of Drew's keyboard. Bran's body ached, but he held his breath and tried to remain still.

Chapter 26: Resignation and Routine

Finally, after what felt like an age, Drew shifted. He took his feet off the book, and then picked the book up and placed it back on his desk. The immediate release of pressure was almost overwhelming.

Drew didn't say anything, just continued working. The message was clear: Bran was now subject to Drew's conscious control, and his comfort was irrelevant.

Drew seemed satisfied by Bran's silence. He went back to his work, and after a few moments, his bare feet naturally found their way back to the flattened carpet roll. The deliberate torment subsided, replaced by a more casual use.

He might rub his feet on it absentmindedly, or shift his weight as he leaned back in his chair. Occasionally, he would even murmur to himself, "Yeah, this is definitely my favorite spot for my enormous soles." He never directed these comments at the carpet itself, seemingly unaware of the person within.

For Bran, this return to a more casual form of pressure was a strange relief, even though he was still confined and underfoot. The fear of deliberate torment lingered, but for now, Drew seemed content to simply use him.

The days in the office settled into a new routine: Drew working, his feet on the flattened carpet roll, and Bran silently enduring beneath. The unspoken dynamic had shifted. Drew knew Bran was there and seemed to derive a quiet satisfaction from it. Bran knew Drew knew, and his resistance had been replaced by a grim acceptance.

As time went on, Drew's initial fury and deliberate torment faded into a more passive awareness of Bran's presence. The flattened carpet roll simply became his preferred footrest in the office. He rarely thought about Bran specifically, his comfort, or his desires. It was just the firm, slightly yielding mat under his enormous soles.

He would often spend hours working, his bare feet flexing and shifting on the flattened carpet, completely absorbed in his tasks. Bran remained his silent captive, the constant pressure a dull ache that had become a normal part of his existence.

Drew might occasionally remark to himself about how comfortable his footrest was, never realizing the irony. Bran, trapped within, would hear these comments with a sense of weary resignation.

Chapter 27: Integration and the Unconscious Habit

The intense moments of deliberate pressure became less frequent, replaced by the mundane reality of being constantly underfoot. Drew had, in a way, gotten what he subconsciously wanted – a perpetually available, perfectly shaped footrest. And Bran, in his twisted way, was also where he had desired to be, albeit with a stark understanding of the reality versus fantasy.

Chapter 28: The Unacknowledged Constant

The story ends with Drew still working in his office, his bare feet resting comfortably on the flattened carpet roll, unaware of the silent, suffering presence beneath. Bran remains his unacknowledged footrest, a permanent fixture in Drew's world.