We made him lie down. Not for us—under us. Electra Santiago, Misia the Witch, and Luna Law took turns stepping on his chest, his thighs, his pathetic cock. Sometimes barefoot. Sometimes in heels. Always with that cruel little smile that says: he’s not a man. He’s a mat. He groaned. We laughed. We dug in our heels and watched his skin ripple under the pressure. He begged without words, just body language—twitching, gasping, leaking. And we didn’t stop until we saw marks. Because that’s what he’s for: to be walked on, used, and forgotten under our feet.