Kathy is Dangerous - NEW! - Part 1

My step-mother Kathy was a very mean woman. In her mid 40’s, a bit of extra weight, 5,6 tall, but still fairly athletic, she had a beautiful face and was extremely manipulative. She could have convinced any man to do any thing. And she did caught our father into her web. The problem was that she had no limits to the torture she enjoyed inflicting. For all I can remember, she’s been a very bad person and sequestrated Jenny and me, Jack. We stopped seeing daylight long ago, when our father died. She inherited of all the money and the tedious task of taking care of my sister and me. But it didn’t work well. She didn’t want to. She said we were good at nothing and didn’t deserve to be anything else. She bought a small house in the middle of nowhere, away from civilization. Back then, we were younger, we couldn’t resist, we were dominated, beaten and made slaves. I would often try to comfort my younger sister, that things would be better when we get to be adults cause we would be old enough to have the right to leave. But one day, Kathy turned Jenny and I into objects. I was 15, she was 14. Since then, life has been very, very hard.

I’ll always remember that fatal day when she said to her new boyfriend at the time: “I want them both to be inside the floor.”

Well, that guy cut holes in the floor. He made two compartments of a person’s average body length and width into the floor of the house. One was in the middle of the hallway, at the front door. The other one was in the middle of the living room, partly under the sofa. The house was small and old, and had no basement, it was easy for him to build those contraptions. He made some panels that could be opened, like a coffin and a hole the size of a human’s face. When he was done, he had basically made two human floorface torture boxes for my sister and I to fit into and have our faces walked on by our step mother. She literally wanted us to be inside the floors and she managed to get it done. Once the job was over, she threatened the guy to tell the police he did this and dumped him. The guy left and we never heard of him again. A few days later, she came to us, we were sitting in a corner, handcuffed and ball gagged.

“It’s time to go inside.” She told us then she pushed me and kicked me while I crawled into the hallway hole. I didn’t resist, I was handcuffed and ball gagged. My sister was scared and just obeyed too, and crawled inside the hole in the living room. She was crying and scared. I sat in my hole. She had placed some blankets at the bottom of the wooden compartment, to level us, not for comfort. When I finally laid down inside, the big door cover was closed on over me and only my face was sticking, fairly flush with the floor, through the hole made for it. I heard locks. Then the towering figure of my step-mother Kathy walked close to my face and she stood up over me, looking me down and smiling like the mad person she was.

“You can get out twice a day for your personal hygiene, or if I say you can. If you make any sound when I stand on your pathetic face, I will stand on it longer. You’re the floor now, and floors don’t make sound. Understood?” she said. I tried to nod my head but it was fairly well secured in the face hole. Kathy then brought her right foot over my face. She was wearing her wedged brown leather house mules. They had a one inch platform at the front and maybe a 3 and half inch heel, flat sole all the way. And from my point of view they were used and looked dirty. She slowly brought her shoe sole on my face and pressed down. She pressed down and instantly broke my nose, and kept pressing down. I screamed in pain and she just put on more weight. She then slipped a bit and twisted her foot on my face and nose and brought her second foot on my face, standing full weight on it, balanced by the floor around my face, she was just standing there I was screaming in my ball gag. So much pain. So heavy. Kathy had slapped, kicked, beaten me with sticks, but this was a new level of pain. She started to walk in place and give my face some stomps. “Shut up floor!” she said from above me, crushing my face into a mush and when she realized I was bleeding, she stepped off. She laughed madly. She kicked her house mules off and looked down at me. “You’re pathetic.” I was crying.

I saw Kathy walk away from me and go to the living room. It was Jenny’s turn to be tortured. I heard my step-mother talk to her, the sound of her voice coming to my ears through the box and thickness of the floor but still could hear. “You… little stupid girl, you’ll smell and lick my feet while I watch TV. You can get out twice a day for your personal hygiene, or when I say you can get out. Otherwise, you smell my feet. If you don’t want me to stand on your face like I just did with your idiot of a brother, you do what I say.” She then turned on the TV. “If you moan or make any noise, I’ll put shoes on and break your nose, Understood?” she was so angry and there was power in her voice. I guess Jenny did just like me and nodded in her floor face hole. Then nothing. I could only picture our step-mother sitting on the couch over Jenny, with her face under her feet. Poor Jenny was forced with Kathy’s bare feet in her face and while I was in great pain, I wasn’t jealous of my sister’s treatment either. Cause Kathy loved to watch TV, all day long, almost.

That was literally the beginning of the end for me and Jenny. Every day we spent a lot of time under Kathy’s feet, allowed to move our sore muscles only twice a day to go to the bathroom and drink some water and we were then shoved back inside. The nights we long, we could sleep, but it was hard. Kathy would spend most of her time making Jenny smell and lick her feet and occasionally would come over to me, standing on my face with shoes on, kick and stomp my face and leave. She would make sure to step on my face extensively when she would go out for groceries or other errands and when she came back. She didn’t need to work, she had all our father’s money, and tortured us with it.

Days went by, and we served our floor duty for our mind sick mother. We were getting weaker and weaker every passing week. But the worse of this, we lost track of time. And one day, she had another, even more twisted idea.