Lady Roxanne sits in her car, the warm hum of the engine filling the air as she delicately turns you over in her hands. You, once a man, now no more than a helpless doll trapped in your own body. You cannot move, cannot resist—only watch, only feel, only wait. Your tiny form is dwarfed by the soft, yet merciless hands that cradle you, her exquisite nails gliding over your rigid body as she smirks down at you, eyes filled with amusement and superiority.
She tilts her head, feigning concern, but the glint in her eye betrays her true pleasure. “Such a pitiful little thing you’ve become,” she murmurs, her voice dripping with mockery. “And now, so utterly at my mercy.” With that, she opens her car door and steps out, her movements slow, deliberate—teasing you with each second of your growing terror. The moment her patent leather boots hit the pavement, the world around you trembles. Those high, sculpted heels alone tower over your shrunken form, their glossy surface reflecting the sun’s light like a beacon of authority. The sheer power contained within them is terrifying.
Then, without hesitation, she places you on the cold, hard ground, directly in front of her car. Your eyes dart upward, taking in the breathtaking yet nightmarish sight of her standing over you. Her white dress flutters slightly in the breeze, an angelic contrast to the dark, gleaming boots that promise only destruction. Her foot lifts, hovering over you as she playfully prods your tiny body with the pointed toe of her boot, pushing you onto your back, letting you stare up at the goddess above you.
She laughs, rolling her eyes. “Look at you… so small, so weak… so easy to destroy.” She presses down just slightly, letting you feel the immense weight behind her teasing gesture. It would take no effort—none at all—to flatten you beneath her heel like a discarded insect. But that would be too quick. Too easy. No, she has something far more fitting in mind for you.
With a final, amused smirk, Roxanne steps back into her car. You watch helplessly as she slides into the driver’s seat, her elegant hands gripping the wheel as she crosses one booted leg over the other. The engine roars back to life with a low, menacing growl. Then, her foot hovers over the pedals, her delicate ankle flexing slightly as she presses down, testing the power beneath her sole. The ground vibrates—your entire world trembles at her command.
The car lurches forward, creeping closer inch by inch. The massive tires loom before you, the rubber groaning as they roll towards your immobilized form. You can practically smell the scent of warm rubber and asphalt as the front of the car nudges against you. Roxanne’s cruel smirk widens as she leans out the window, watching you with utter delight.
“Goodbye, little man,” she coos, barely containing her pleasure.
Then—inevitably, unstoppably—her car moves forward. The first touch is almost gentle, a slow, inevitable pressure that builds second by second. And then—crack. The weight is unbearable, bones snapping like dry twigs beneath the colossal force of her tires. The sound is drowned by the hum of her engine, by the sultry laugh she lets out as she watches from above. Her power is divine, absolute. And you? You are nothing. You never were. You never could be.
With one final, slow roll forward, she ensures your utter destruction beneath her perfect, precious wheels. Satisfied, she exhales a deep, pleasurable sigh, gripping the steering wheel with pure, blissful contentment. “What a rush,” she murmurs to herself.
And with that, she simply drives on—leaving nothing but the faintest remnants of what once was a man, ground into the pavement, forgotten, unworthy of a second thought.
