I am Alice, a young girl who has a gift for seducing men with my stiletto heels. But there is a peculiarity that accompanies me in this practice: I like to crush ants under my shoes.
Ever since I was little, I have always loved crushing ants under my feet. It was like a game for me, a way to feel more powerful. But over the years, I discovered that it also had an effect on the men who passed me. They seemed fascinated by this practice, maybe even a little scared, but they could not look away.
So I started to use this to my advantage. I bought even higher stiletto heels, to crush the ants with more force and height. And I wore them proudly, everywhere I went.
The men around me can't help but look at me, intrigued by this young girl crushing ants under her stiletto heels. They ask me about this practice, ask me if it gives me pleasure. And I have to admit that yes, it gives me a sense of power and control.
But there are also times when I feel guilty about this practice. I wonder if crushing ants under my shoes is really moral or right. I wonder if I am not harming living beings, even if they are small and insignificant.
Despite this, I cannot stop. The stilettos have become a part of me, just like crushing ants. I continue to seduce men with my shoes, while crushing ants under my feet.
I know this may seem strange, even disturbing, to some. But it is my way of feeling strong and powerful. It is my way of seducing men and taking control of my own life. And even if it may seem strange or shocking, I am proud of who I am.
Alice’s smile stretched wider, taking on an almost unhealthy hue, as she stared at Marc with an unsettling intensity. She had him hooked, and she could sense that her game might now take a darker turn. She wanted him to feel, to witness, the true extent of her cruelty, far beyond a few tiny ants being crushed.
“Come,” she said softly, her voice hypnotic, her eyes sparkling in the dim light. She led him to the back of the park, where the trees formed a dense canopy, plunging the path into near-complete darkness. The distant noise of the city had faded, replaced by the oppressive silence of the night, broken only by the rustling of leaves and the sharp snap of twigs underfoot.
Marc was beginning to feel uneasy, but he couldn’t help but follow her. He found himself wanting to see what she had in store for him, being caught up in that morbid fascination, that fear that chilled him while exciting him.
They reached a clearing, where Alice leaned over to retrieve a small black bag she had carefully hidden under a bush. She opened it delicately and pulled out something that made a wave of disgust rise in Marc's throat: a small white rabbit, still alive, its eyes wide with fear.
"What are you doing?" Marc cried, his voice trembling. "It's... it's too much here, Alice, you can't..."
"Shh," she commanded, placing a finger on his lips to silence him, with a feigned gentleness that left no room for refusal. "You're already here, aren't you? So look."
She pulled another object from the bag—a small rope. With cold, methodical efficiency, she tied the rabbit to the ground, just enough so that it could barely struggle, but not escape. Its legs trembled, and it made small, high-pitched, imploring squeaks. Marc wanted to look away, to run, but something inside him kept him from moving. It was as if he were trapped, paralyzed by terror and all-consuming curiosity.
Alice straightened slowly, adjusted her dress, and walked slowly toward the little creature, her heels clicking on the hard earth. "Men, like you, think that power is about strength, about muscles, about visible dominance... but they don't understand," she whispered, her eyes fixed on the rabbit. "True power is in fear, in what you can impose with a simple gesture, a simple look."
She lifted her foot, hovering over the trembling rabbit, her stiletto heel pointed like a blade ready to pierce the tender flesh of the little creature. Marc tried to say something, to stop her, but the words stuck in his throat. All he could do was watch, fascinated and horrified, as this absurd and nightmarish scene unfolded before him.
Alice smiled. "Look at him... so fragile, so small... he understands. He knows what I'm going to do." She gently slid the tip of her heel over the rabbit's fur, tracing light circles, as if she were savoring every second of his terror. "And that's why he's afraid... because he knows I'm in control."
Then, without warning, she dug her heel into the rabbit's side, with slow, calculated precision. The animal’s shrill cry mingled with the sickening sound of piercing flesh, and Marc felt a cold shiver run down his spine. He wanted to look away, but his eyes remained fixed on the morbid spectacle.
Alice’s face showed no emotion of pity, only cold, pitiless satisfaction. She leaned over the rabbit, watching it writhe in pain, its little paws clawing uselessly at the ground. “You see, Marc,” she whispered with venomous sweetness, “that’s how I control things. Because I can cause pain… and people can’t ignore that.”
She slowly removed the heel, leaving the rabbit trembling and whimpering, and finally turned her gaze back to Marc, her eyes shining with an ominous light. “And you… you’re still here, fascinated by it, aren’t you? That’s why you can’t leave. Because part of you wants to see how far I’m willing to go.”
Marc gasped for air, his mind wavering between wanting to vomit and wanting to scream. But he couldn’t tear himself away from Alice’s hypnotic gaze. She moved slowly toward him, her heels leaving bloody imprints on the floor, and leaned down to whisper in his ear.
“Maybe one day, it’ll be you, under my heels… maybe you’ll find yourself here, shaking, hoping for mercy,” she whispered, her voice tinged with a frightening sweetness. “But I… I never am.”
She stepped back, her smile widening, and turned back to the still-dying rabbit. “Because true power, Marc,” she said, crushing the little skull definitively under her shoe, “is knowing that you can make the pain stop… but choosing not to.”
And as she crushed the life out of the frail little body, Marc felt something inside him snap. Alice, for her part, looked up at the night sky, as if she had done nothing more than trample a wilted flower. To her, this was just another game, another demonstration of the sadistic power she wielded, and she knew that Marc could no longer escape this macabre dance.