Steel Toed

Part III of III

a short story by Dan Standing

Joan didn’t want to open her eyes. Her head hurt so much. Maybe, relative to some people, she hadn’t really drank that much, but for the brunette the skull under her brown hair was pounding. And for some reason the sunlight shining through the window onto her bed was especially brilliant.

Groaning, Joan stretched out her arm to find the edge of the comforter, with the intention of covering her head with the thick quilt. But as her hand ran along the surprising stiff material it was clear that something was out of place. Joan cracked open an eye and suddenly sat up on the bed.

She pushed past the intensifying pain in her brain and looked around herself. Still mostly dressed in her work outfit, what had shocked Joan upright was her metal quilt. She saw that both shoes had fallen off during the course of the night, and her right steel pantyhose had also been pushed off her leg. Without the protection she’d turned the top layer of fabric on her comforter to gray metal…as well as her skirt.

None of it had been a dream.

Sitting up had not been taken well by the metalized skirt, and it took Joan a few moments to push the stiff material down off her waist. Dropping it to the floor she noted that one shoe had been pushed off by her bare foot, as the gleaming footwear had dented the wood floor when it fell from the bed.

The pain in her head rose up again and Joan couldn’t shake it away this time. Her stomach was joining pain party as well. She needed to take sanctuary in the bathroom for a bit, but in the safety of her own apartment Joan was going to take full advantage of enjoying her ability. She pushed the other steel stocking off and placed both feet flat on the floor.

Joan grinned as the chill ran across the pads of her feet and three floorboards washed over in steel. More of them joined the first three as she quickly retreated to the bathroom.

Twenty minutes later Joan emerged feeling slightly better. Still dressed in nothing more than a blouse, bra, and panties, she made her way to the kitchen. Having a first floor apartment meant she didn’t have to worry much about the weight of her newly steeled toilet, bathtub, and sink. As wood floor gave way to tiling the cursed woman smiled as her kitchen grout was overtaken by tiny tides of metal, and tile turned to steel under her footprints. As she made her coffee she enjoyed kicking random cabinets, table legs, and chairs. The silver metal washed over everything as Joan took a seat on a cold metal stool and drank the hot fluid in the ceramic cup…which she tapped to her heal and turned to steel when she was done drinking.

It didn’t take long for Joan’s apartment to look like something Willie Wonka would have built…had he been a metallurgist. Furniture, carpets, books, decorations, almost everything got a tap from the brunette’s toes as she pushed through the hangover and practically skipped around her apartment. Not everything got the steel treatment, but by the time Joan took a break her living space had a heavily monochrome theme to it.

Out of breath from her enthusiasm Joan flopped into one of the few chairs left unchanged. Letting her breathing stabilize she finally checked the time, and saw that it was slightly after eleven in the morning. The brunette couldn’t believe it hadn’t even yet been a day since she’d been “cursed.”

But she absolutely believed it had been more than a few days since she’d done laundry. Not that she needed an outfit for a late arrival to work…Joan had already decided she’d sit out the chaos of Gerald’s first day of mysterious absence. No, she had every intention of hitting a bar that night and bringing back someone to decorate one of her steel chairs. Her experience with Gerald’s hard rod meant she was eager to get one in her own home.

As the coffee cleared her head she steeled a fresh set of stockings, put on some pajama bottoms, traded her bra and blouse for a loose t-shirt, and grabbed a basket of laundry. She slipped on a pair of slippers that had been spared from her earlier fun and went into the hallway.

Once down in the laundry room Joan sat patiently as her clothes washed. It was difficult, but she resisted the urge to turn things steel in the building’s basement. She wasn’t worried about leaving metal statues in the bathrooms of bars she never intended to return to, but leaving too much random steel around the building she lived in was probably going start getting people’s attention. She only then wondered what she’d tell her landlord the next time he had to come fix something in her metal apartment when the buzzer sounded on her wash and she began moving it to a dryer.

As Joan shifted her laundry from one machine to the other another woman came in.

Well, more girl than woman as far as Joan was concerned. A number of tenants in the building were attending the nearby Lyon State University, and their late-night ruckus was evidence of their youthful energy and disregard for the sleeping habits for those residents around them. Joan had overheard this particular slim coed called “Rena” multiple times. She was redheaded, but the brunette was certain the little tart’s carpet didn’t match the drapes. Her dainty feet were in a pair of pink thong flip-flops, her ass was barely covered in a pair of shorts that made it clear where another thong was being worn, and her braless chest was covered by a soft white tank-top. As usual Rena’s rock-hard nipples stuck out under the fabric atop her fist-sized breasts.

Joan was tempted to solve one source of noise pollution then and there, but restrained herself.

If I can get her to my apartment I can start my decorating early! schemed the cursed woman, running her eyes up and down the girl as she bent down to pull laundry out of the basket she’d carried in.

“Excuse me, Rena is it?” Joan asked, closing the door of the dryer and dropping in some quarters.

“Yeah, why?” Rena replied, with a “Who’s asking?” tone to her voice.

“Oh, uh, I was just curious if you or your friends would want a few bottles of whiskey. Some clients gave them to me as gifts and I just don’t drink the stuff.”

“Oh, yeah, sure…” Rena replied, the prospect of free booze washing away her suspicion. A grin actually cracked across her face.

“Great,” Joan replied as she gathered up her things, thrilled that her lie had been as spot-on as she hoped, “I’m in 122. Stop by anytime before this evening.”

“I will…I have to check on something while this washes but I can come by a little after I switch to the dryer,” Rena replied.

“See you then,” Joan grinned, and she disappeared out the door.

Back in her apartment the brunette was quick to completely strip off and again enjoy her bare feet on the cool steel floor. Skipping about completely nude, Joan couldn’t help but be excited about the pending transformation of Rena.

And then she realized that her emotions weren’t the only things that were excited. The last time she’d gotten so wet from anticipation she nearly lost track of her goals. She couldn’t risk bringing a guy back to her metal haven and get caught because she was too horny to think straight. She figured she had about forty minutes before Rena came by and thus went over to the bed.

Joan threw a thick blanket over the steeled comforter before climbing in. She actually found the metal fabric to be strangely comfortable, but the metal was cold and her own nipples were rock hard from it. Careful not to accidentally turn the fabric blanket Joan climbed up and planted her bare ass in it, giggling at the sound of thin metal beneath her.

Settling in Joan looked down at herself. She was surrounded by steel. Surrounded by her power. She was glistening in her loins from how amazing it was wielding this ability in her feel. Grasping a breast and sensitive nip with one hand Joan moved her other towards her sensitive and needy clit. Putting out her pointer finger the brunette had just started to touch the small bundle of nerves – her mouth already starting to shape for a very primal moan – when she stopped. Not just her finger. Or her other hand. But even her breathing.

Everything just…stopped.

Joan couldn’t even move her eyes. They were locked in place, staring down her body at one finger just gently pushing between the lips of her pussy. For a moment she couldn’t understand what had happened, but then something drifted through her head;

“…anything you do to others with malice will happen to you the day after…”

Joan had completely forgotten that her steel-cursed feet were only the second of two curses she had received the day before. She didn’t even think she had heard the words that now echoed through her brain, and thought it was just a sick way of the universe proving to her how she’d fucked things up on her own. If she hadn’t been greedy, and hadn’t let her mind wander, maybe she wouldn’t be frozen as a steel statue right now.

And, if she hadn’t brushed her foot against Helena twenty-four hours ago, she’d be able to finish what she’d started in this bed. But instead, her level sexual excitement seemed to be held in place. And there was nothing she could do about it.

But Joan’s mind was shockingly calm. There was no question this was a fate she deserved; she’d willing transformed three people into statues, and was only even now realizing that they’d remained conscious!

Joan felt the chill of her body continuing to submit to steel. It was almost like it started in her bones, an icy feeling that would have made her shudder if she could have. The cold pushed up through her muscles, and as her flesh changed Joan felt how much heavier her body was becoming. Now she was especially happy that the bed frame had been one of the many things to meet her feet.

Then it started…Joan could see her skin begin to change color. She found it to be just as much of a turn on as it had been when she watch it happen to Helena.

And Cassandra.

And Gerald.

Like food coloring drifting through water, the silver and flesh mixed until her surface was steel. All that was left of Joan was a steel statue looking down and pleasuring herself. She could feel the draft on her skin, the material beneath her ass, her finger just touching her clit, but she was now an immobile mass of metal. The weight of her body was incredible; the feeling of her small breasts being pulled on so hard by gravity was amazing.

This might be why Joan’s mind still wasn’t overcome with panic. Yes, she was imprisoned in her own body for possibly eternity. Yes, she was stuck on the brink of sexual need, which would probably drive her insane eventually. But she’d been spared work. And pain. And death. She’d never age, and while she didn’t find herself the epitome of beauty she hadn’t looked forward to losing to time what looks she had. So there were some perks…but Joan knew it wouldn’t be enough to amuse her for possibly thousands of years.

As that last concerned turned over in her head, Joan’s mind drifted, wondering what the other three had experienced when they changed. Wondering what was happening to them now. She didn’t know how long she’d had these thoughts before her attention was disturbed. Someone had entered her bed room.

It was Rena.

She must be here looking for the whiskey… Joan mused to herself, as the young woman slowly came further into the room. As she moved from Joan’s peripheral vision into a more front-and-center location the steel statue could see the look of astonishment of her face.

If I peaked into an apartment and saw everything was made of metal I’d probably explore it, too…the transformed woman mused. You have no idea how close you came to staying forever!

Rena’s flabbergasted face was looking all over the room, but her eyes were definitely drawn back to Joan’s nude form every few moments. Finally taking it all in Rena shook her head.

“Well lady, wherever you are, I always new you were a freak…and a liar. There’s no fucking whiskey. Let’s see what you have worth grabbing while I’m here.”

Why you- Joan started to say to herself, angry that she couldn’t do anything to stop the little thief. But she set aside her anger when she realized Rena had stopped moving.

And then Joan felt a chill on her toes.

As the dishonest coed had turned to leave she made the mistake of patting one of Joan’s feet, as a way of capping her statement of disdain. The hand had touched the foot once, but never moved back up for a second tap.

Nor would it. Joan could already feel it start to get heavier atop her hardened toes.

If Joan could have smiled, she would have.

Now THIS I spend eternity watching

FIN

***

I just want to give a quick thanks to @WeirdArchives. I had long wanted to write a “Midas feet” story, and it wasn’t until he requested a story featuring steel that I finally found the spark that brought the idea and story together. Many thanks!