She Liked Stepping on Street Bums
by dktr
Purely fiction. (WARNING: VIOLENCE)
Enjoy!!
dktr
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It was an odd section of town. It was that depressing part of the city where the slum meets old money. The dividing line, as many people saw it. And because of its location the pharmacy brought together folks from different walks of life. At most any time during the day you'd find, in the checkout line, a well-tailored gent in an $1100 handmade suit, cell phone glued to his ear, standing behind a tattooed, stinking, glassy-eyed bum holding his 6-pack of happiness.
And as Kathy Lutzer waited in line for her mother's prescriptions she looked around, contemplating the scum of society here with whom she was forced to rub shoulders, and it drove her absolutely crazy. Kathy was the personnel manager for a young, aggressive law firm uptown. She'd been in the top of her class all through school. She was very intelligent, very efficient, very attractive, and very opinionated. It was those last two traits, combined with her seeming lack of conscience that kept at bay nearly every suitable man she met.
Kathy was very attractive. She was 34 but she could pass for a grad student. She was 5 and half feet, 120 lbs of creamy, tan angel flesh. She had her mother's ash blonde hair, straight white teeth, and full, pouting lips. She had her father's sky blue eyes and athletic grace. She'd gotten to college on a swimming scholarship, but then went on to captain her alma mater's rowing team. She still rowed 3 mornings a week across the smooth still waters of her condo's multi-mile lake.
Kathy was also, indeed, quite opinionated. To her everything was black or white, no grey areas whatsoever. She thought smokers disgusting, pink or yellow shirts on men just plain silly, people who ate at fast food restaurants or ate in their cars were pigs, and don't even get her started on gun control or the poor or the poor of society. The poor, she loathed. Maybe it was because she'd grown up poor and hated them because they reminded her from where she'd come. Maybe it's the way they panhandled or disrespected themselves and others by ignoring good hygiene. They were like walking, tattered, dangerous zombies, just waiting to be set off. And she thought they should be either locked away, or better yet, legally euthanized.
She snapped back to the present when Julie, the ever-friendly, ever-chatty, plain-faced young pharmacist, called her up to the counter.
****
Beside the pharmacy counter Trey, a senior at one of the local colleges, squatted before the shelves of vitamins. The pills he was looking for were along the bottom row. Wanting to compare the labels of two different brands, he set his mom's birthday card on the floor beside him and picked up the bottles, holding them side by side. He heard Julie, the pharmacist, call a customer's name. Then, suddenly, there was a pair of shapely, high-heeled feet standing on his mother's card. They tall, black heels, with a slight opening at the toes. They were strapped onto a curvy pair of tanned feet with blood red toenails peering through the end of the shoe. He noticed some rather fetching toe cleavage. 'Shit! That's my mom's birthday card!' he barked. Though her feet were extremely sexy, he was pissed that she'd ruined the card he'd spent 20 minutes deciding on. And it was the last of its kind in the card rack.
He started to glance up but suddenly, the lady went up on tiptoe and twisted roughly on the balls of her feet, crinkling the card and soiling it with her shoes wet, dirty soles. Trey couldn't tear his eyes away.
'Goddamn it, lady!' He wasn't really angry now, he was really aroused. But he'd made his best effort at sounding indignant.
'Listen, asshole, you leave your shit on the floor and it's going to get stepped on.' Then those sexy feet kicked the ruined card out of her way like it was a disgusting piece of garbage.
Trey glanced up and found himself staring into the cold, pale blue eyes of the most beautiful blonde he'd ever seen. Her lips were phenomenal, and her face and hair-along with that buff little body-were completely mesmerizing. He swallowed hard. Maybe he should apologize.
'Sorry,' he muttered, but this hard-edged goddess was already in conversation with Julie behind the counter. So he refocused on comparing vitamins.
****
'They're a menace to society. They really are, Julie! They're all just a sick waste of air. And at night it's just horrible. If they're not badgering you for money they're lying around on the sidewalk like needy piles of shit.' Kathy paused to fish her credit card from her wallet.
'I know, Ms. Lutzer. It is rather awful. I see them lying there and … well.. I just want to do something.'
'And whenever I see them lying there, I do! Just between us ladies,' her tone grew conspiratorial, 'if I find one along the sidewalk and no one's watching, I step on him.'
Both ladies burst out laughing.
Julie then said, quite seriously, 'You're kidding, right?'
'No, I'm not. They are cockroaches-drunken human cockroaches-and they deserve to be stepped on. They clamor for the lowest rung on society's ladder. They want to be the gum on our shoe. I'm serious-- They lie in the path of humanity, right in the way of where we're walking.'
Julie laughed, but more from amusement than humor.
'Julie, it gives me great satisfaction to step on them, stand on the, wipe my shoes on them. It gives me a feeling of power and it gives them the debasement they seem to crave.'
'But Ms. Lutzer, you have to be careful.' Julie was intrigued but very concerned. 'Someone could catch you. And besides, depending on what shoe you're wearing, you could seriously do some damage.'
Kathy chuckled. 'You're not going to rat me out, are you, Julie?'
****
Trey froze mid-squat, unable to the straining erection that had swollen in his shorts. His ears were also straining themselves. Straining to hear every last word of this incredible conversation going on at the counter beside him. A sexier than hell woman who likes to step on bums?! Sheeeyittt! Lucky, lucky, LUCKY bums! Trey had been trampled a few times by an ex-girlfriend, but she was timid and gentle and didn't enjoy it very much, so he didn't either. She always whined about being afraid to hurt him. Which just left Trey empty. He'd fantasized for years about meeting a sexy lady who would kick, stomp, and trample him with abandon-and wouldn't charge him for it.
He almost passed out from shock and arousal when this drop-dead gorgeous blonde standing beside him reached down and pulled off one of her shoes, holding the most amazing bare foot midair. It was absolutely perfect. A tanned, delicate ankle, rounded heel, a high arch, and the most amazingly perfect little toes he'd ever seen. She rested her toes on the shoe of her other foot. He noticed her creamy, wrinkled soles. Size 7 or 7 and a half, he guessed. She unconsciously wiggled her mouth-watering toes as Trey began to touch himself.
Part 2
'You're kidding me!' Julie was dumbfounded. 'You step on people with those?!'
Kathy turned the high heeled shoe around in her hand, not caring if anyone around her noticed. 'Yes, these heels are perfect. Julie, there's nothing like the feeling of flesh, muscle, and bone squishing or cracking under your weight. The way these heels sink into a street zombie's body-and they're so drunk, of course, they don't feel anything. At least till the next day.'
Both ladies laughed.
'And see this crescent moon shape to the heel tip?' Kathy continued. 'It's my trade mark. If I have enough time and there's no one else around, I grind my heel into their cheek with my heel. It makes me feel like Superman, fighting the horrible homeless… and giving those stupid sidewalk slummers something to scratch their head about when they wake up sober the next morning.'
'Okaaay,' Julie said, a little worried. 'Oh, by the way, I'm out of the Serazone tablets but if you'll swing by tomorrow afternoon I'll have them for you then.'
'Hmm… I've got a meeting with the board at 5. Is 6:30 too late? I know you usually close at 6, don't you?'
'For you, Ms. Lutzer, I'll hang around till 6:30. If the door's locked, ring the bell and I'll let you in.'
As the beautiful blonde lady walked away Trey sat down on the cold linoleum, his mind racing. She'll be here 6:30. He looked at the shredded birthday card and imagined it to be him. He stood up left the store to gather what he needed.
****
'Twenty bucks? For what I'm wearin'? Son, you crazy?' The homeless guy laughed raucously and coughed a phlegmy cough.
'Look, sir, I'm willing to give you $20 for everything you're wearing-except for your socks and underwear. You can keep those. Plus, I'm giving you some better clothes in the trade. These were my uncle's. He died last month. They're hardly worn. You're getting a very good deal.'
The man eyed the nice tweed sport coat, the thick corduroy trousers. 'Shit, lemme see the twenty first.'
Trey pulled it out and showed it to him. Shaking his head, the drunk stumbled behind the dumpster and began to disrobe.
****
The next day seemed to drag on for weeks. Trey walked to his classes almost giddy with anticipation. He tuned out his professors' droning. He was too jacked up about tonight to think of anything else. His lifelong fantasy was about to come true. He had the perfect way to get the trampling he'd always craved. But he was terrified of how things might go. He had to be very careful if he wanted to pull this off. One misstep or ill-timed reaction and she would figure out his ruse. Or worse, she could scream rape and bring the authorities. And dressed as he'd be, who would believe him? And what if he went through all this planning only to have her pass right by him? Maybe she was just bullshitting the pharmacist. Blustering for attention. Or worse, maybe she was telling the truth about stomping on bums. Maybe she was actually psychotic, and would go too far, gouging out his eyes or causing other permanent damage. He was probably being stupid, and he would probably regret this, but it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity he just could not pass up.
After his last class Trey ran home and packed his video camera, the tripod, the battery, his make-up kit (he'd skillfully mastered the art of disguise in his theatre classes), and his bum's get-up.
As he bounded out the back door his mom asked if he'd be home for dinner and then wanted to know why he was carrying his gym bag. Trey explained he was staying at a friend's house because he needed his help on an all-night research project.
****
This alley was well-lit in places, darkly in others, and it was only a block down from the pharmacy. Looking around carefully for several minutes to be sure no one saw him, Trey set up his video camera in some tall bushes across the unpaved alley from his target. He focused the lens then aimed it to the side of the dumpster, where-if all went well-he'd get the trampling of his life in… oh… about 25 minutes. He'd been over this plan a couple dozen times in his head looking for holes and loose ends. His plan had many, but if this didn't work then he could always try again. He was, after all, a master of disguise.
****
At 6:20pm Trey checked his makeup in a small compact mirror there in the bushes, pressed the record button on his video camera, then assuming the unsteady gait of a drunk, he neared the mouth of the alley. Trey was the master of detail when it came to stagecraft. He'd rehearsed his voice to sound older and slurred. He'd spend the last hour panhandling two streets away just to 'cement' his character. He wanted to be believable when he was discovered by the beautiful blonde with those killer-sexy feet. He was literally about to lose his mind with anticipation. The thought of that arrogant, beautiful face looking down at him, kicking him, stomping him, just brutalizing him underfoot… He suddenly realized he was sweating and his heart was nearly about to burst from his chest.
Standing there in the shadow of the building at the mouth of the alley, trying to steady his nerves, Trey soon heard the click clicking of her heels. He quickly unzipped his pants and began urinating on the side of the building. Trey could feel the veins in his head about to pop when finally the blonde came into view. That's the very moment he hocked up and spat, hitting the Lauren purse she wore over her shoulder.
****
'What the fuck?!' she hissed, stepping back and away from him. 'You stupid shit! Look what you've done,' Kathy growled.
'Jessuss, lady, you coulda at leas' letta guy know yu's comin',' the bum slurred.
'What? You filthy-'
'Fuck fuck fuck!! You're the bishh! Jessuss, you the bissh that goes aroun' stomping people! You fuckin' uppidy cunt! Who the goddamm hell do ya think you are??' This disgusting bum was clearly agitated and angry. He was coarse, frightening, and very repulsive. And Kathy was startled that someone knew her fun little secret. How she'd love to stomp on this one!
'Ohhh, Jessusss, shit,' the bum yelped. Both his hands flew up and he covered his mouth with an overreactive gesture, as though he'd just announced in church that his mother a crack head whore. Kathy thought the man had seen the worst sort of ghost. He now actually seemed…. Very afraid of HER! The idea of a grown man cowering at her presence made her wet.
"Ummm.. sorry… you juss keep walkin' lady.. sorry to spit… you juss go on and leave me alone. I can't-I gotta go.' The bum began shuffling away, quickly but unsteadily.
Just for fun, and feeling flush with a sense of power of this repulsive street scum, Kathy began to walk toward him, which only seemed to terrify him more. He picked up the pace, and she raised her head high and began marching right along behind him. He kept turning to look back at her, clearly horrified by her chase, and almost stumbling.
'Lady, pleeeease,' the bum said, trying to shuffle faster, 'listen.. Lemme alone. Pleass, juss lemme alone. See, I gotta condisshhion, see, and …see, I got this messun I take… it makess me sleepy, so I gotta keep movin' or I'll fuckin' pass out.. An' ain't no well in hell I wanna passsout with you aroun'. Pleeeeeease go away. Sheeeyitt, I cain't run no more… stop it, please.'
Kathy continued, her cruel arrogance showing more with every step she took. God, she felt so sexy right now. She was totally dominating a terrified man without lifting a finger. As she continued following him several feet away, listening to his please, her mind drifted… So, word among the homeless was out, eh? She could just imagine those filthy bums, huddled around a fire barrel, passing on her legend with a warning. 'Beware the beautiful blonde. She'll stomp you within an inch of your life.' And then a couple of the more revered ones might turn their faces to the light and show the others the crescent moon heel print on their cheeks, like well-earned battle wounds. They survived an encounter with the blonde. She chuckled at the thought.
The bum stopped shuffling and stood in the light by the dumpster looking around for some place to run but realizing it was fruitless. He was in no condition to outrun this athletic, well-toned lady.
Part 3
Gaaawd, she was beautiful, Trey thought. She could easily be a fashion model.
'Listen, asshole,' she was saying now, 'I'm going to stomp your within an inch of your life. Do you hear me, you worthless piece of street shit?'
'Listen, you ugly-ass, uppity bishhh!!!' he roared at her, 'I am noww hooome. Thish is MY cardboard, dammit, and I wan you t'leave. Nowww!! Fuck, I'm so sleepy. Go the fuck awaaaay… Damn, I so tired. I can't keep my eyesss open, and I don want you heeere…' Trey's voice trailed off as he let his body go limp, with a little bit of fight so as to make it look real, and then rolled back on his back and began to snore.
At this moment he had two thoughts-1) Is the camera still recording? And 2) Am I going to come out of this with my teeth and eyes intact?
****
As soon as he began to snore, Kathy began to look around to be sure the coast was clear. She walked a little closer to him and nudged him in the ribs with the toe of her shoe. He didn't stir, but continued to snore.
Oh, look, she mused. He forgot to zip up after relieving himself. With one hand on the high concrete wall bordering this side of the alley, she raised her leg and began exploring his open fly for his disgusting little cock. With a little bit of effort, she fished it out with her heel. It dangled from his fly, fleshy and quite clean-looking. Odd. She expected it to be eaten up with disease or stained yellow from constantly pissing himself. Kathy then places her heel on the back of his hand. She stepped on, moving her other heel to rest beside it. She then began shifting her weight from heel to heel, hoping to hear a - crack!-yes! That's one bone.
The bum moaned and rolled onto his side toward her, his hand still pinned beneath her feet. Kathy rocked back on her heels, watching the bum's face for any reaction to the pain she was cruelly inflicting on his hand. He winced, but kept breathing steadily. She then began stomping, driving her heels into his hand, tearing flesh, bruising, cutting, breaking bones. Ohhh, gawwwd, this felt so good to her. She was very very wet now, aroused by hurting another human being under her feet. She looked around again to be sure no one was watching. Then, using her hands to hold her hair away from her face, she leaned over and inspected the damage. One fingernail was already black. He'd probably lose it. There was a lot of skin torn up and pulled back. But she was just getting warmed up. Now holding onto the concrete wall again for balance, she placed one heel on the bum's pinkie and began to grind. She lifted her other foot off the ground so that all her weight was concentrated on that crescent shaped heel tip. She rolled off, taking some flesh. She tried it again, and this time she bounced her weight until she heard it snap.
****
Lying on his side, Trey opened his eyes as little as possible and watched this achingly beautiful blonde lady destroy his hand. She could have any man, and do anything to him. No man could look into this mesmerizing woman's face or be held close to that stunning body without promising her the moon. She could seek her pleasure any way she chose, have male blockbuster movie stars going down on her every night of the week, and yet here she was in a back alley, stomping all over him with her sexy, vicious feet. He watched her feet. Thanks to the bright streetlight above him, Trey could see her perfectly rounded toes peeking out the ends of her shoes. He began to fantasize about how they would taste, how they would feet shoved deep in his hungry mouth. He could tell she was enjoying herself. The pain was excruciating to him. His hand was in nuclear-ass hell. But he was so thankful it was THIS sexy woman doing this to HIS hand with those intoxicatingly sexy feet. For such a stunning woman he'd lie still for hours.
****
Kathy kicked the slimy excuse for a human being over on his back. She placed a high-heeled foot on his stomach and stepped down. It shoved the breath out of him. He began to cough and curse, realizing what was going on.
She now had a challenge on her hands, keep him subdued. She pulled back and aimed one foot squarely into his nut sack. It sounded like someone kicked a sandbag. The bum groaned and quickly retreated into a fetal position.
****
Here we go, Trey thought. I've come awake and now she's got to shut me up. She has no choice. It's either shut me up or run away. And he could tell she was just beginning to really get into it when she stepped on his stomach, so he doubted she was ready to run away. It was too much of a power trip for her to just walk away now. He regretted 'waking up', but he wasn't sure how he could realistically remain 'asleep' with a woman standing on his stomach. It was too unbelievable. Had he stayed away she would've gotten suspicious. This should be fun… but very very painful.
It was.
****
Kathy's adrenaline level shot way up when the bum awoke. But she couldn't have him shouting for help. She'd kicked him in the nut sack. And haha, it was funny, his penis was still dangling from his pants, but now it was starting to grow quite hard. She'd deal with that later. She kicked him in the stomach and ribs, over and over, till she was panting, sweating, and nearly breathless.
The bum now lay on his side, curled up, and crying, a steady stream of curses falling from his lips. Odd, he sounded much more sober than he was a few minutes ago before he fell asleep. Maybe pain does that to a person, she thought.
Kathy put her foot on the man's shoulder and shoved him onto his stomach. She then walked down to legs and kicked them apart. The disgusting bum guessed what was coming and clamped his legs shut to ward off another kick to the family jewels.
'Hey, hey, take easy, asshole. I'm not going to kick you in the groin again…. If you'll do what I say.'
The filthy lump grunted his assent.
'Spread your legs and pull your dick down where I can see it. I want to see it lying on the ground between your legs. You know, pointing south. And I'm going to walk all over you, you disgusting shit. And I don't want any complaining. Got that?
The filthy lump grunted again.
****
Lying there, Trey was hurting. Hurting real bad. This woman was unstoppable. Obviously she worked out or something. Her physical stamina was impressive. He'd just grunted 'yes' to something when he felt her foot on his back. Then, in a fury, she was stomping, jumping full-weight, and tearing into his clothes with those vicious heels. He felt his skin stinging, a sure sign she was ripping him up. He felt the hard-on between his legs throbbing and aching, and he wondered what her reaction would be if she happened to notice it.
****
'Goddamn, piece of shit bastard!!! I'm so fucking sick of you and your kind!! You're all alike, and you disgust me!!' Kathy's verbal tirade poured from her mouth as she stabbed and stomped this disgusting lump with her heels. She then leaped into the air and came down full weight, over and over and over. The bum groaned and writhed, but never seemed to have enough fight to try shaking her off. He seemed resigned to this much-deserved punishment. She was tiring, and nearing… surprisingly… a much needed climax. She felt most anytime she would cum, and it puzzled her, but she gave herself into achieving it. She stepped onto the side of the bum's head to rest a moment. He whimpered when her heels dug into his cheek and the balls of her shoes crushed his ear into his head, but he remained still. She felt herself starting to slide, so she baby stepped up the side of his face with her heels till she was in a more comfortable position.
****
Trey was spent, exhausted, and deliriously happy. Gawwwwd, he'd never had anything like this in his life, and now he was getting it (free of charge!). And not just by anyone, but by the sexiest woman he'd ever encountered.
Her heels dug into the side of his face, and he could feel her shifting her weight, wobbling a little as she kept her balance. And as she stood there he could smell the leather from her shoes, and her sweat. An idea suddenly sprang into his head. A wild and crazy one, but it was too good to pass up.
He summoned all his strength and tried to sound disgusted. 'Awww, sheeeyiiit, bisssh, get your goddamm hooves off 'n my head. They fuggin' stink. They're sweatin'-I can smell 'em. They could knock a buzzard off a shit wagon.' He coughed a couple of times just for good measure.
This wicked goddess, his beautiful tormentor climbed off his head and stood on the ground in front of his eyes.
Oooohhh, gawwwwwwd, what a view!! Trey was in heaven. He had to keep reminding himself to act grossed out by it.
'Reeeally? You think my feet stink, asshole?' the lady said, slipping one foot out of her shoe. 'Maybe you smell yourself. My feet don't stink, DO they?!' And with that, she placed her toes over his nose, cupping it with her soft, silky toe pads.
Trey inhaled deeply and scrunched up his face before coughing. 'You sooo nasty!', he spat out.
She laughed. The lady laughed a high, tinkling, melodic laugh that Trey melt. He felt like her puppy dog. He WANTED to be her puppy dog, follow her around, entertain her with tricks, anything to hear her beautiful laugh.
'Maybe the other foot smells worse. What do you think, asshole? Would you like to give it a whiff?' And she laughed again, slipping off her other shoe. The cupped those round, perfectly pedicured toes, so tan, so perfectly proportioned, over his nose. He inhaled deeply again, noting how close he was to cumming, and made another face.
'Maybe they smell so badly they cancel each other out. Let's try one more time,' she goaded. Then she inched forward, rocked back on her bare heels, then brought the wrinkled creamy balls of her feet down on his nose and mouth.
Trey eyes were feasting on those toes wiggling just below his eye line, trying to memorize every little detail about them, trying to memorize the sweet floral smell of this woman's perfect bare feet. He sniffed and sniffed, and coughed, and sniffed, and without being able to stop himself he began to lick them. He grunted and moaned like an uncaged animal, licking her toes, reaching around with his good hand and holding onto her ankle.
****
Kathy's first reaction was to curse and pull away, but he'd grabbed one of her feet, and… oh, hell, did that feel good! She gave into it. She put her weight on one foot and lifted the other foot to his famished tongue. As his tongue frantically licked the seasoning from her perfect soles, she moaned and began to stroke herself. She then pulled away from him and commanded him to roll over. He did. She took note of the hard-on dancing from his pants fly but let it go. Right now she was too into her pleasure. She grabbed the concrete wall again for support and climbed onto face. Standing with one bare foot planted across his forehead she swung the other sole back and forth across his mouth. He lapped hungrily at his and began to touch himself. Filthy-ass bum, she thought. I can't believe he's enjoying this, too.
She then stood at the base of his neck while he licked the sole of her other foot. She noticed his face getting redder by the minute. She pulled her foot from his hand and then stepped back her foot was resting directing on his throat. Then she forced her pretty toes between his lips and into his now gaping mouth. She fucked his mouth with her foot, harder and harder. His mouth was so warm against her cool foot skin on this chilly evening. The man was now almost blue, so she climbed onto his face and stood with one foot on his forehead, one on his nose, and she began to march. Harder and harder, driving her foot into his skull. Each stomp brought a muffled thud from the concrete. But she loved doing this. Loved stomping a man's face. Especially a bum's. She stomped harder and harder until her pleasure overtook her and as she began jumping hard, feet together, full weight, on his face, she came with a cry. She stood on his face, resting, enjoying the aftershocks of her orgasm, when she then felt his body begin to tremble beneath her. Shooting his penis' contents onto his stomach, his hand returned to his side, and his breathing slowed.
Unsure of what had just happened here, Kathy slid into her heels, stepped up onto the bum's chest, then walked down the length of his body, making a point to plant one heel into his groin before walking away refreshed, invigorated.
****
Trey lay on his back looking up at the stars, still floating from the most intense, most satisfying orgasm he'd ever had. His thoughts were interrupted by the familiar clicking of heels.
Moving only his eyes he saw the blonde, now weak-looking, and smiling (What? She can smile?) a satisfied smile.
She looked at him with a sort of puzzled expression on her face, she was clearly having mixed emotions. Then after a moment of looking away she turned to look down at him, speaking again with her old arrogant tone. 'Listen, you pathetic waste of life, are you familiar with Westmire Avenue, near Maple Drive?'
Trey managed a weak and unslurred 'Yes.'
'There's an alleyway behind it. It's called Frink Street. Each night around 9 I take my walk along that street. It's dark and there's no motor traffic. If you know what's good for you, scumball, you WON'T be lying there near the back steps of 136 Westmire. You WON'T be there lying near the iron fence where I am likely to step on you.' She gave the slightest hint of a smile, and then turned serious again. 'Otherwise, I may have to punish you.'
She turned to walk away. Trey was in shock. Deliriously happy, but in shock. Did she really say what he thought she said? It made no sense. Could he be this lucky??
'Oh, one more thing.' He heard her say from the shadows. 'There's one place behind my house that's well lit by a street lamp. So be sure to bring your camera.'
What??! She knew?!! At what point did she know?? Inconceivable!!
'Odd,' she said, her voice trailing off amid the clicking of her vanishing heels, 'I've never known a bum who owned a video camera. Not that I mind. It's just odd.'
The End
...the following night , Trey lay face-up against the fence along the Frink Street alley, when he heard the familiar click of heels deliberately striding in his direction. "Will it be even worse this time?" he asked himself. Countless images raced through his mind at once while trying to contemplate whether he could live through another encounter as was had the previous night. Trembling with both fright and anticipation, he heard the sound of the heels on the street getting closer. He thought it best to appear unconscious, so he closed his eyes to the approaching wrath coming his way.
"Didn't I say that you would really suffer if I found you back here?" Trey squinted one eye open slightly to see the same incredible goddess he remembered. Without warning, a heeled left foot was screaming its way toward his face...
Excellent times infinity, Dktr! Thanks so much.
After giving it some thought, I thought of an alternate path for this story and couldn't sleep until I got some of it on here. I think this amazing story is consuming me! Dktr: to you or anyone else that doesn't think the story should take the path we are about to explore, please voice your opinion. There's no pride of authorship here...just ideas for us all.
Now seeing too many colors of pain to comprehend, Trey screamed "FUCK!" as his nose snapped at the bridge. He grabbed his face and began to roll away slightly as Kathy began stomping his midsection with the most lethal looking heels he'd ever seen. He recognized them instantly, as he'd seen them in fetish catalogs before. They were called "Black Widows", and looked every bit the part: thick-soled black stilettos with seemingly razor thin needles at the heel tips. With clenched teeth and hissing with the venom of a thousand cobras, Kathy seethed as she spoke with each successive stomp. "So. Here's what we know about you so far: you like to have your greeting cards stepped on and you like to imitate bums. For a while, I actually thought it was cute the way you worshiped my feet lastnight. I thought that maybe you were a bum just sober enough to recognize my superiority over your pathetic waste of a life. But you know, I just couldn't get the thought of that camera out of my mind. Holy hell. The jig was up. And it was for real.
Not satisfied that she was causing enough suffering, Kathy stepped up onto Trey's chest with her left foot while holding the iron fence for support, and began viciously stomping his stomach with her right foot. She continued her lecture: "Do you know what I hate more than bums and panhandlers?" "N-no" Trey mumbled. "I fucking hate assholes that take advantage of other people!" "I also hate people who think blondes are stupid. Do you think I'm stupid?" With a wicked kick to the ribcage, she forced a strained "Noo" out of Trey.
"Alright." Kathy said. "We're not done, but I can't continue this lesson here. Cops should come crawling by any minute." With the swiftest of kicks square to the grapes, Kathy got another long groan out of Trey before she grabbed him by the hair to assist him to his feet. Half dragging him across the alley to her back door, she worked the lock and entered through the back of her kitchen. Leading Trey a few more steps into the main room, she uncerimoniously dropped him onto the unforgiving hardwood floor.
Kathy spoke the most chilling words of the evening: "Fuck. I'll probably end up killing you before the night's over. Not like it's never happened before."
Still glassy-eyed and in extreme pain, he realized he was on his back in Kathy's living room. As he stared at the ceiling, Kathy's form came into view, her ankle-strapped Black Widows stopped next to Trey's upturned face. She looked so tall and powerful from this angle. He hadn't fully noticed before, but as a natural athlete, Kathy had a truly breathtaking figure; especially her powerful, well-toned calves.
Kathy spoke. "You really must forgive me. My actions outside were inexcusable and I am embarrassed. You simply must accept my apologies." Slowly and deliberately, she stepped up onto Trey's chest with one foot, followed by the other so that she was facing forward and looking directly into his eyes. Maintaining perfect balance, she spoke: "You see, I've been much too easy on you so far. You are capable of handling much more abuse, and far more intense at that. You're not a bum with an old, withered, and spongy body. In fact, that was one of the things that gave you away: you're acting was great, but your body was too firm when I stepped on you; normally I can feel my heels sink twice as deep on street bums."
Kathy's heels were really beginning to sting now, and Trey was having trouble hearing Kathy over his body's screams of agony. The only real concepts that he was comprehending at the moment was that he was in a lot of pain under the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, and was petrified at the prospect of what could happen next. Mercifully, Kathy stepped off, but quickly placed the sole of one heel across his throat. Bending down and applying pressure on that foot, Kathy got close to Treys tearing eyes. "I don't even know your name and I don't care. I'll think of something to call you later. You will not speak to me unless spoken to first. Now, here's the deal: you do exactly as I say no matter what the command, and it will be done immediately. You will not do anything unless told you may do so. You do not have any privliges here until I grant them to you. If you leave, if you try to leave, if you try to call for help, if you violate any of the above instructions, I will hurt you in ways never thought of, and then I will call the police, turning you in as a rapist. While you were writhing on the floor a while ago, I got your wallet. I'm sure you have I.D. of some sort in there. Do you understand what I have said? Do something if you understand." In desperate need of air, Trey tapped the floor with his right hand.
thanks, wickid, for that continuation. seriously, man, i thought you were doing a marvelous job with it. you're an excellent writer.
and, as you wish, here's some more to the story. (though, please keep in mind, often the sequel's never as good as the original.)
dktr
-------------------
As Trey felt himself starting to black out, he began to panic, terrified that Kathy would not step off his throat after he passed out. Dark racing thoughts rushed through his mind. What in holy hell did she mean, "Fuck. I'll probably end up killing you before the night's over. Not like it's never happened before"? Was she going to kill him? Shit! Would his family file by his casket, staring at a lady’s shoe print in his throat? Would his friends see the print and snicker? Would there by stories about his secret life in the local papers? Yeah, sure, he thought, he’d fantasized about being crushed to death under a woman’s feet, but – dammit—there'd be no more fantasies EVER again if she doesn’t get off NOW!! He’d thought he was stronger than this, but despite his morning workout routine, right now he felt like a rubbery pincushion. His muscular arms were failing him. And the cold-hearted blonde she-devil brutally crushing his throat, sending him to his death, was looking down, smiling, amused. She kicked the shoe off her other foot and stroking his face with her toes. As things began to go black he watched in detached, calm resolve as her perfect, tan, red nail-polished toes began to press into and explore his eyes.
*****
Wet. Pain. Cold. Fuck. Trey was hurting. Bad. He forced his tired, irritated, bloodshot eyes open. Wet, cold concrete several inches away. Where the hell was he? He couldn't remember. His eyes screamed in pain and were already watering, having been open only a couple of seconds.
They scanned their way up the concrete a few inches. Bare toes. Very sexy bare toes. Where had he seen them? SHIT! Memory hit him like a turd from the sky. His entire body jerked awake and retreated a couple of feet, where soreness and pain dropped it again. He looked up at the toes again, heard laughter, and then allowed his tortured eyes to travel up past strong, but feminine ankles, toned, tan calves, to… Her housecoat hid the rest. It was she!! That sadistic she-devil who almost killed him… when?.. Last night? His mind wasn’t working well.
Whatever. She was sitting up there a couple of steps up from him, looking down at him as though she was waiting for the punch line, and he was expected to deliver it. Her blonde locks were pulled up in a fountain spouting out the back of her pretty head. Her eyes were devoid of makeup, but still quite pretty. They traveled all around his face, searching, waiting. She had her light blue robe pulled tightly around her (the color matched her eyes perfectly), no doubt to keep out the cold. Her strong, tan, pretty fingers were wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee. Her feet were perched a couple of steps down, near him, and those evil (sexy!) bare toes just couldn’t stay still. They were distracting.
“What?” he asked, wondering if he looked as horrible as he felt.
She just laughed. Then adopted a very serious look. “Well, good morning, blood eyes!” More laughter. "Last night as I looked down at you, dressed in your little bum’s outfit, watching your face turn redder and redder when you couldn't breathe, it hit me—‘His eyes aren’t bloodshot. Or yellow.’ Well, I didn’t know how to make your eyes yellow. I guess I could’ve used food coloring, but I’m not sure what that would’ve done to your eyes. I didn't want to blind you. Not on our first real date. Did you know you're the first man to be in my house in... oh... 2 and a half years?”
Trey felt his gorge starting to rise. This woman was P-S-Y-C-H-O! But he had to remain calm. Getting mouthy right now might set her off again.
“But then I thought… ‘I’ll just irritate his eyes. Then release him into the wild, as it were. And he’ll look like a genuine, bone fide street bum.’ I thought it a wonderful idea. I’ve always wondered about eyes. I touch mine every day, putting in and taking out my contacts. And I’ve gotten use to it. Desensitized. But… since you were well on your way to passing out I didn’t think you’d mind if I played a little bit. You still can see all right, can’t you?” She actually looked concerned. Probably a trick.
She placed her feet together, side by side, and wiggled her toes. "How many toes do you see?"
"Too many," Trey shot back, making her erupt again into laughter.
He made a painful effort to look around. Nothing was blurry. Everything was in focus. But his eyes felt like he had half a dozen eyelashes loose in each one. They were irritated and burned like he’d never imagined possible. He wondered if this was what it felt like to get pepper-sprayed. “I can see all right.”
“Good. That’s very good. I’m a bit relieved. I was afraid I might have blinded you.” She sipped her coffee and seemed to forget he was there.
“What—okay—do I wanna know what you did to me after I--- you know.”
“Come now, Trey, I learned from examining the contents of your wallet last night that you’re a college senior. Is this how they teach you to speak these days? ‘Wanna—you know.’ Never mind. You’re wondering what I did to your eyes after you passed out, correct?”
She laughed a tinkling, infectious laugh, so melodic that Trey had the bizarre idea--for a split second--that he could love this woman. She then looked down at him, smiled mischievously, and stretched out a leg toward him, wiggling her toes a few inches from his face. The she began exaggeratingly posing that bare, sexy foot for him, mocking him, laughing when she saw him absentmindedly reaching down to adjust his hard-on.
“Oooh.. So, I guess I don’t have to ask if you think my feet are pretty, do I?" She withdrew the foot, looked deep in thought. "Oh, yes, I remember you. You’re that guy who got his greeting card stepped on by me the other day. And I caught you glancing at them at my feet. Were you aware you had an erection, then? I was. Myself, and half the store.” She laughed again. “Yes, I remember that. I could tell then, you were very much a foot man.”
“My eyes” Trey croaked.
“Yes, your eyes. After you passed out, I dragged a chair over and—please don’t hate me for this—I set up my video camera. That’s right, Mr. Spielberg," she laughed, "I’ve got one, too. I also retrieved your video camera from the bushes over there and set it up beside mine. Oh, don’t look so surprised. You’re not the ONLY person around who gets off on 'watching.' Side note—I rewound the tape in your camera and watched the section where I stomped the shit out of you in the alley by the dumpster the other night. God, I really dished out some abuse then, didn't I? God, just watching it, reliving it again, made me wet. Did you know that night that I actually had an orgasm standing on you? Yes. I’ve never done that. And after you passed out last night, I stood barefoot on your head again and… you guessed it… I came. And very hard. In case you were curious. Oh, what a powerful feeling, having another living human being underfoot, holding the power to determine whether he lives or dies!”
Trey was now stroking his hard-on.
She continued. “Yes, I see you’re turned on that I was turned on. We’ll have to see what we can do about this little situation that’s developed. To be sure it stays mutually beneficial. And I think it can.”
“My eyes.” Trey croaked again.
“Yes. Sorry, at work I’m very focused and thinking linearly. On the weekends, I tend to be a bit scattered in thought. Yes, your eyes. After coming while standing on your unconscious head, I pulled over a chair, set up both our video cameras, adjusted the lighting, then explored your eye sockets with my toes.”
Trey cringed. She laughed out loud, almost hysterically, at his reaction.
“They probably itch, don’t they? Your eyes, I mean. Don't worry," she said, getting herself under control, "I probably scratched them with my toenails as I was prying them out of their sockets.”
Trey groaned.
“Yes," she giggled, "It’s all on film. And quite interesting. I popped your peepers out, one at a time, my only instruments being my very skilled and beautiful toes. Damn, I should've charged admission. Not just anyone could've pulled that off without blinding you. But as I was saying, I held your eyes between my big toes and rolled them around.”
Trey looked up at her sexy feet, so clean, so pristine against the wet, cold, ancient concrete step.
“I cupped them under my toe pads and pressed them against your cheek. God, it felt quite strange.” She looked down at his pants where the erection had been before it shriveled up and withdrew into his body. “And, I did other things, too. Things you might consider rather gross. You’ll just have to watch the film later when your eyes and stomach are up for it. Oh, and don’t worry,” she added. “Before I was pre-law, I was pre-med. So your eyes were safe with me.”
She stood up and stretched, and her blue housecoat slid open, revealing toned, tan thighs, a perfect tiny swatch of hair covering her sex, a flat tummy complete with golden belly ring, and full, beautiful breasts—before she snatched the robe shut, cutting his peep-show short.
She looked down at him and smiled at him in such a way as to let him know the show she'd just given him was no accident. She scooped up her coffee cup, and walked up a couple of steps before she stopped suddenly.
“Shit! Oh, I’m so very sorry.” She looked back over her shoulder at him, smirking. “I went through all this trouble to make you a nice breakfast, and then I got so caught up in our little talk that I’d forgotten about it being here. I just stepped in it. With both feet. I'm so sorry, Trey. I hope you don’t mind flattened hash browns, toe-printed toast, and some really mashed scrambled eggs and bacon.” She giggled and started up the steps, bits of food falling from her wrinkly soles. “Oh,” she yelled over her shoulder. “Don’t forget your camera equipment. It’s here on the porch.” At her backdoor she turned around and said, flirtatiously, “See you around, Trey.”
Trey, still in great pain but now suddenly very hungry, pulled himself up a couple of steps and savored his foot printed feast.
****
A couple of mornings and about a hundred eye drops later, Trey sat down in the 2nd row of Criminal Justice 401, in Lecture Hall B. Lecture Hall B had those connected rows of seats—side by side—each with its own individual desktop that folded down and to the side.
Trey tossed a couple of term papers he had to hand in today on the floor beside his chair. At the beginning of the semester Professor Haskins let them pick their seats before declaring them their assigned seats. So, the two seats to his left were always vacant.
As the class bell rang Trey’s pen fell off his desk. As he bent over to get it he noticed a pair of lady’s feet—a lady’s very sexy feet—wearing open-toed, black high heels, walking into view. The legs were tan and toned, the ankles delicate but strong, the feet were perfect, with toenails painted evil red. Those toes. Where had he--?
As the two high-heeled feet stepped squarely onto his clean white term paper’s title page (SHIT!!), then twisted, crinkling the paper and effectively ruining his chance of turning it in today, realization hit him where he’d see those toes.
She settled her weight into the creaking wooden seat and smiled over at him. Her blonde hair danced about the shoulders of her dark business suit. Her blue eyes held him in a lover’s gaze. Then she looked over her knees to the floor beneath, shot out her lips in a mock pout, and said in a very low, barely audible voice, “Oh, I’m sorry. Are these your papers?” She purposefully twisted her feet back and forth, scuffing them roughshod beneath her shoes. “Dammit, I just keep stepping on things. I guess I should be more careful.” Then she smiled the most sexy, open smile he’d ever seen, and laughed.
Keep his voice low, too, as Professor Haskins began to drone, he asked, “What are YOU doing here?”
She smiled and stood up, her feet still on his papers. She turned and waved around the room. She was being introduced. Professor Haskins, the tepid old goat, was introducing her.
“And this is Ms.Lutzer, also of the Pellis-McGrally-Fitzmayer Law Firm staff, our guests today as we discuss the potential complexities of assault and battery prosecution. Thank you, Ms.Lutzer, you may be seated.”
“Oh,” Trey hissed, “and we both know you’re an authority on the subject.”
“Yes,” Kathy merrily whispered back, “I am. Why?” she continued, looking very concerned, “Has someone assaulted you, Trey?” She did that sexy pout thing with her lips again.
“No. Uh.. Not at all.”
“That’s my boy,” she said, sliding down into her seat a little, dragging his ruined term paper along the floor with her heel. “You and I are going to get along very well.” She paused, smiling. “By the way, how are the eyes? Watched the film yet?”
Trey said nothing. He just stared ahead, trying to focus on the lawyer at the microphone, stealing glances down at his torn, scuffed, and increasingly ruined term paper whenever ‘Ms.Lutzer’ adjusted her feet, wondering what the hell he’d gotten himself into.
let's continue, shall we?
-------------------------------------
The weeks passed, and through the crisp cool evenings of winter, a relationship of sorts developed between Kathy and Trey. Evenings were increasingly spent in wild passionate sex on the rug in front of Kathy’s fireplace. In January, Trey moved in with Kathy and was required to sleep on the hardwood floor beside Kathy’s Queen Anne bed. She loved riding his face with a fury, having him lap her love nectar with his nose tickling her pretty little cinnamon ring (her poop shoot, to be indelicate) and to get his oxygen when he could, as her soft, cool, silky (but firm) butt cheeks bounced about and swallowed his face. He was allowed to pleasure himself with her tan, athletic, feminine feet (she always slept with them outside the covers)… only after she fell into slumber. Which he certainly did! Nightly!
He’d begin by licking along her wrinkly—oftentimes stinky—soles, run his tongue around and over her thick, pretty toes, and – when her toenails began to get long every week or so—nibble her nails down to a more acceptable length and file them smooth without waking her. He’d lotion his raging rod, and holding her feet together, would then slide his throbbing piece in and out of the oh-shit-this-is-so-fucking good pussy formed by her smooth, soft insteps. As he fucked her cool, sexy feet like this, he watched her pretty toes pressing against his abdomen with each in-thrust. As he stood there by the foot of her bed each night, finding his pleasure, he often looked down into her strikingly beautiful face, her blonde hair splayed about her pillow. An angel, an absolute angel he thought. (With demonic tendencies, he noted.)
And in the morning, the angel-demon wanted a soft, warm rug under her feet when she descended from her bed. Trey learned to anticipate when Kathy was waking, and he’d quickly position himself when he saw her soles swinging over the bed toward him. (The first couple of times her heel caught his neck had taught him this.)
Of course, she let him continue attending his classes, for she had her career to feed.
****
As for her other, more sinister appetites, she fed them, too. Every third or fourth night Kathy would smile ‘the smile’ at Trey, and then lead him down the steps into her concrete, dug-out basement. There he was expected to lie naked on the ice-cold floor beneath some old copper pipes that ran to and fro below the living room floor. Reaching up and holding onto those pipes, Kathy would steady herself as she stomped along every inch of Trey’s flinching, perpetually bruised and cut-up body, delighting herself in tattooing every inch of him—except his face (after all, he had to attend school, so his face she stomped with her bare feet)- with her black high heels. Sinking into his flesh, rocking back on her heels, which sometimes broke the flesh, she’d moan and stroke herself, and tell him what a good little pin cushion he was.
Usually, 15 to 20 minutes into this grueling torture, Trey would begin to cry. Some people cried nicely, with dignity. Trey did not. And it was a weakness that Kathy took great delight in punishing him for. At the first sign of facial contortion or tears, she would draw up her knees and begin jamming her heels into him with renewed vigor. Which only made things worse for Trey. For his part, he was expected to lie there without making a move to stop her – or even a sound-- until her energy was spent, or she tired of the often-bloody trampling, and left him alone, click clicking up the stairs, leaving him to moan and summon the nearly impossible strength to stand.
On those ‘rest’ nights, when Kathy fully expected Trey’s body to miraculously heal—so she could have another exciting go at him in the basement—they found other ways to feed her cruel craving to crush a man under foot. They hit the streets.
****
Bundled up warmly and walking arm in arm against the cold, Trey would walk Kathy to old familiar haunts where he’d seen the street bums sleeping. At the mouth of a particular alley, Trey would pull from his pocket a small, powerful flashlight and sweep the darkness for a sleeping ‘target.’
The poor, old men who had the misfortune of sleeping on the ground away from his fellows were ripe for the... kicking. While Trey kept lookout, Kathy approached each solitary bum with a single purpose: To tread him under her heels until she reached orgasm. Sometimes she was so sexed up as she approached her target that she’d be wet before her shoe ever touched his sternum. She begin to find it was more fun to kick them awake first, swinging her small but strong legs as though she might launch a football. Her feet nearly always found their mark. The groin, the stomach, the kidneys, and if there was still too much fight left in him, the head.
Occasionally there were ‘duds.’ Those were the men she actually knocked unconscious or killed with kicks to the face or side of the head. Kathy always left those behind and insisted Trey move on in order to find another ‘piece of street trash.’
But when she had a live one, Kathy worked him under her heels as a diehard fisherman would fight to reel in a 60” fish. It especially turned her on when the man was too weak or spent from her kicks to fight back and could still moan, groan, whimper, curse, or beg. And after stomping and kicking and tearing at his face and abdomen, driving her heels deep into his alcoholic flesh over and over again till his red life essence showed in the bright glow from Trey’s flashlight, Kathy would plant one foot on the bum’s helpless neck, one in his sunken, quivering stomach, and hold herself while her orgasm swelled up and overtook her. When the aftershocks subsided, she’d wipe her shoes off on the bum’s clothing (or in the grass if the ‘target’ had been made too messy), and smile weakly but triumphantly as Trey led her on down the sidewalk. To onlookers, they were merely a happy couple out for a leisurely stroll.
****
Those night walks went well until one night in early February. That fateful evening their trolling for street bums turned up something totally unexpected. As Kathy stood close to Trey at the mouth of a dark alley over past Millican Street, the flashlight fell upon a sight that startled Kathy to her core. Standing there in her best Sunday clothing, clutching her pocketbook, her silver hair shining in the flashlight’s beam, her blue eyes wide with surprise, stood an older woman.
“Mother?”
some more...
-------------------------
Those night walks went well until one night in early February. That fateful evening their trolling for street bums turned up something totally unexpected. As Kathy stood close to Trey at the mouth of a dark alley over past Millican Street, the flashlight fell upon a sight that startled Kathy to her core. Standing there in her best Sunday clothing, clutching her pocketbook, her silver hair shining in the flashlight’s beam, her blue eyes wide with surprise, stood an older woman.
“Mother?”
Trey had never met Kathy’s mom. In fact, Kathy never talked about her, so he just assumed she’d passed on.
However, in the flashlight’s bright beam he could tell immediately where Kathy got her stunning good looks. The woman appeared to be in her early 50’s, with a curvy (not fat) figure. From that distance he was guessing her to be about 5’5” or so. Her silvery main was thick and flowing, in a very flattering shoulder-length style. She had baby blue eyes that sparkled in the light. When she heard Kathy’s voice, and the recognition hit her, her face lost the ‘rabbit caught in the headlights’ look and broke into a beautifully dimpled, heart-warming smile. The woman was hot! She’d look at home dirty-dancing in a club OR in the kitchen baking cookies. Not your typical ‘mature’ lady. She had golden skin, which set off her perfect white teeth. She had full breasts, an average-sized waist, and what Trey could see of her legs was shapely and youthful.
But both Kathy and Trey froze when their flashlight dropped down to the woman’s feet. They were standing in the center of a man’s bloodied chest. A slight man, a very old man, with a grizzled, face etched from years of hard drinking, and a dirty old ski cap pulled down to his brow. His eyes had that death stare-- open, unfocused, unmoving. From his smiling lips and his ears were congealing trickles of blood, browning in the cool winter air.
Trey looked from the man’s face, back to his chest. His heart was racing. The man’s shirt was torn, shredded, reddened with blood that hinted at the massive amount of carnage beneath it. Standing in the midst of this was a fairly large pair of feet—maybe size 8.5 or so, wide, athletic, but very feminine, with the most perfect, red-polished toes spilling out of a pair of open-toed black high heels. Her feet, like the rest of her, appeared tan and smooth, adorned with a slender golden anklet. Trey swallowed hard, realizing for the first time how incredibly aroused he’d become. His swollen erection writhed in his pants as he swept the flashlight back up the woman’s body to her beautifully aging face. She looked like … sort of a cross between Lauren Bacall and Shirley MacLaine—on their best days.
Kathy quickly walked to her mother as sirens wailed somewhere in the distance. She offered a hand to the lady, who graciously took it and daintily stepped off the corpse as though she were alighting from a carriage.
“Goodbye, Lawrence, you dear sweet soul,” the lady said to the corpse, blowing a kiss and waving sweetly to him as though they’d have tea again when next they met.
“Mother, we’ve got to get out of here, get you home, and then I want an explanation!” Kathy barked, sounding frantic.
Trey almost laughed out loud. Who was Kathy to scold anyone for trampling bums underfoot?! She could write the friggin’ book!
****
Back at her tastefully decorated home, over coffee served in dainty little cups and saucers, the older woman, Amelia, primly explained how for over 30 years she had cautiously approached the outcasts of society and reached out to them. (If he shut his eyes, Trey could’ve sworn he was listening to Aunt Bea back in small town Mayberry. But when he opened his eyes, he wanted nothing more than to get naked with this aging beauty.) She made ‘contracts’ with them, she said. And they had to sign them. In effect, Amelia would offer them foodstuffs and shelter, and help them find jobs. She’d do her best to help them become contributing members of society again. Even if they fell off the wagon and went back to their old lives on the street, she would pursue them and nurse them back. However, as spelled out in the contract, after their third ‘fall’ back to the streets, she was committed to ‘easing them off into the great beyond, to removing their burdening existence from the backs of society.’ That ‘easing’ process over the last 30 years, by her best recollection, was: pushed in front of trains or speeding cars—3, pushed off buildings—6, poisoned—7, and trampled to death—122 (no, that’s 123, counting dear Lawrence tonight).
She disappeared from the room and came back carrying two stacks of thick accordion files. She opened it and began showing Kathy all the contracts she had, dating back to 1974, each of them signed in scrawled or shaky handwriting.
“Mother… why?” Kathy leafed through several of the pages, not understanding, not believing.
Amelia smiled at her daughter, reached across the table, patted her hand, and began to tell her a story.
***
"Your father. He was the first one. When he was in college I worked in a ladies clothing store, and he'd wait for me after work each afternoon and follow me home, trying to strike up conversation with me. Wanting to court me, you understand." She sipped her coffee, smiled, and went on. "Back then I was a bit free-spirited, those were the times, you know. Each day I'd leave the shop, walk a couple of blocks, turn the corner, remove my shoes and stockings, untie my hair so it fell to my shoulders, and walk home barefoot and feeling free. Your father always seemed fascinated by this. Of course, he came from money and I did not. So I suspected he saw me, in the beginning at least, as some sort of lower class amusement. So I ignored him." Here she laughed a bright, melodic laugh, quite similar to Kathy's.
She went on. "The first few times he followed me home he talked incessantly along the way, asking question upon question, trying to entice me into some conversation, but I refused to give response. So for a week or so he grew quiet on these daily walks. He didn't know my name. He didn't know anything about me, except where I lived. I refused to talk. So he simply followed along behind me a few paces, watching me." She laughed softly. "Yes, I know, sounds like a stalker, doesn't he? But he never did anything, really, to make me feel uncomfortable. He merely walked behind me. Several times I turned quickly to catch him looking at my feet. One day he saw me when I turned, and he smiled at me. I turned back around, and he began to talk to me. This time, he didn't ask questions. He began to confide in me, to tell me the most naughty things to shock me from my shell of silence. But I held my tongue. He told me I had very pretty legs. He told me they were actually quite beautiful. But what really captivated him were my feet-yes, don't laugh, Honey-my dirty bare feet had captured his heart. He told me how it drove him mad with desire to know that such a pretty young lady was walking the streets of this town barefoot. He said often he'd lain awake at night fantasizing about the privilege and honor of licking my dirty feet clean. Even then I wore red toenail polish, which apparently incited his desires even further. Every day it was the same. I left work, he followed me to the corner-- without a word spoken between us. He stared longingly at my feet as I removed my shoes and stockings."
Here she moaned almost imperceptibly and began discreetly stroking herself beneath the table's edge. "And I saw how his face beamed with unbridled lust when I placed my feet on the ground and I slid them around to wipe off the sweat, making them dirtier. Then I'd stand and begin walk. He followed a few steps behind. Each day his patter was much the same. 'Miss, I wish you would let yourself get to know me. I'm really a nice guy. I'm a hard worker. Skilled. I have many good traits, I'm told. Yes, I'll admit I may seem strange, but seeing you every day, walking behind such beauty, watching your every footfall, I must push down these mad desires to grab you, pull you into the bushes, and make love to your incredible feet. Why do you allow me to follow you every day and insist on remaining a stranger to me?'"
Amelia picked up her coffee, took a sip, her smile darkened as she peered into the distance, and she continued. "Then one afternoon I ran out of the shop. He followed. I was angry. It wasn't him. It was work. It had been a very bad day. My boss all but fired me. When we turned the corner I angrily removed my shoes and stockings, threw them at your father-this young handsome stranger-and stalked off. He must have misunderstood, and I realize the miscommunication was my fault only. He followed closely, beginning to gush unnecessarily about his love for me, his desires, and then he moved into lavish apologies for making me feel uncomfortable or too rudely pursued." Amelia turned her head away, brushed her perfect, pretty fingers through her silvery mane, and continued, her full lips holding Trey's full attention. "Near the park I'd had enough of his patter and snapped. I spun on my heels, grabbed his lapel, dragged him into the bushes, shoved him down, and… I'm sorry… this is awful, I know. ….I began kicking him, over and over, just kicking him. In the face, the head, the stomach, his groin. He never cried out, never cursed, he never lifted a hand to stop me. I grew angrier at his lack of response…. So I began to stomp him. I held my filthy bare heel over his face and smashed it down into him, eventually breaking his nose, some teeth, I believe… shattering one of his eye sockets. As he began to cry softly, his tears mingling with the blood streaming from his cracked and broken face, I stepped up on his chest and began to stomp around. I'd gone totally mad. I held a nearby tree branch and lept higher and higher into the air, landing hard on his chest, his face, his groin, his stomach. Over and over. I was relentless. My only goal was to punish him. I wanted to release all my years of pent up anger on him, and I did."
Amelia then paused, dabbed at her eyes with her napkin, regained her composure, and went on in a voice so low it was hard to hear. "And when I'd spent my fury, I recoiled at what I'd done to this poor, helpless man on the ground. With my bare feet I'd nearly killed him. I felt was sick with shame and regret for what I'd done. But then… as I sat there quietly weeping I felt something wet on my foot. I thought it was my tears, until the sensation changed. It was your father. Amazingly, he had crawled several yards to where I sat and was kissing and licking my feet. He looked up at me, obviously in great pain, and through his mangled, badly ruined lips I heard a soft and sincere 'Thank you, my dear Miss. That was the sweetest gift I've ever received. Thank you.'"
This woman was full of surprises. Trey would never have guess so proper, so elegant a lady, could be capable of such brutality. He was intrigued, riveted, nauseous, repulsed, and very aroused by her tale. He glanced at Kathy, who just stared, unbelieving, at her mother.
"So… those scars. Mother, I always thought he'd been born that way. Or he'd been in a terrible accident. But… it was you?"
Amelia nodded her head, blew her nose, and then went on with a chuckle. "Yes. It was me. But that day he became the full object of my desires. We talked several times a day. We were married a few weeks later. And several times a week, just before bedtime and without a word, he would lie on the floor by the bed, and I would tread upon him. Sometimes barefoot. Sometimes in shoes." She paused, and the silence stretched. Nearly a minute later she continued. "In his later years, he made me promise him something. He had been diagnosed with a terrible, degenerative disease. One without cure or relief. He made me promise him that when his body, wracked with pain, began to shut down, that I would help ease him into the great beyond. We both knew what he meant. .. Then…One day I came home from a ladies' meeting. Your father was lying on the floor by the bed, jaws clenched, whimpering, crying. The pain had become too much for him. I looked into his eyes and saw it was time. He wanted, he needed escape. As if reading my thoughts, he nodded. So I climbed onto his chest, still in my high heels. …He smiled weakly, nodded, and closed his eyes. I began. Slowly at first, then more roughly, and with anger. Anger at this disease for taking my love away from me. And for taking him away from you. And after a few minutes of jumping, stomping, and marching full weight on his chest, my heels puncturing his chest cavity, the sickening crunch of ribs beneath my feet, soft tissue tearing easily under my heels, he smiled broadly and his body relaxed. He was gone…. And since then, I've been helping other tortured souls into the afterlife. But only if they want it. Only if they agree. And only if we both believe it's the best thing for them and for society."
"Mother! That's just… So… All these years you've been--." Kathy was dumbfounded.
"I'm so sorry, Baby. I know I shouldn't, but…," Amelia replied, completely earnest in expressing her passions. "I can't help myself. And over the years, Kathy, in meeting your father's need to be trampled it became a need in me. I need to crush a man under my feet! I don't know what I would do if I couldn't… I've given this a lot of thought, Baby, and I'm … well… are there men out there who would…. Well… enjoy being stomped on by an old cow like me?"
"You're not an old cow, Mrs. Lutzer! You're a beautiful woman! What man wouldn't want you to trample the bejesus out of him?! You're beautiful! And yes, very sexy! And gawwwwd, those feet of yours-shit! Would I wouldn't do-- They're-" Trey stopped cold. He realized he was panting, wide-eyed, possibly appearing just a little scary, and that both women were looking at him as though he had totally flipped out. Their eyes were saucers. You could've driven a fleet of trucks through this very awkward conversation gap. Why had Trey blurted out his thoughts so abruptly? Stupid, stupid, stupid!
Amelia was the first one to talk. As realization flashed in her eyes she turned to Kathy and asked, "Is he--?... I mean…"
"Yes, Mother. He is."
He is what? thought Trey. What are they-
Amelia smiled Trey a dazzling, charismatic smile. "Why, young man, I'm so pleased you find me .. sexy, did you say?" She was blushing, now. Which was awfully adorable on her. "Do you mean to say you might be…ah… open to the idea of letting me… trample you a little?"
"Yes, Mother, he would. But you can't 'ease him into the great beyond.' He's mine. My toy. My trample mat. My plaything. But I'll be glad to let you borrow him."
"You mean… Kathy! …YOU love having men underfoot, too?"
"Yes, Mother, I always have."
Amelia's smile grew broader. "When?" she asked, obviously very excited at the prospect. "I mean… when could I borrow him?"
"Oh, a half an hour?" Kathy responded. "We'll need to grab some things from my house. His camera, for one. He loves to watch the brutality later, after the fact."
Amelia was actually clapping and bouncing prettily in her chair. "Oh, Kathy, this is wonderful! So we can watch it later? Maybe we can all watch it together! Maybe tonight after we finish. I'd love that!"
"So would I!" Trey beamed. Two very beautiful women-a very sexy mother/daughter team-- who love to trample- are going to trample him?!! Wait… what was he getting himself into?
and we continue...
"Don't tie him up too tightly, Kathy dear. It'll be more fun to see him squirm like a nasty little worm on a hook," Amelia sing-songed as she carried in what appeared to be an odd-looking coffee table and set it to the side.
"Mother!" Kathy snorted, finishing the knots on Trey's wrists and ankles. "You're incorrigible."
***
After allowing him two or nine stiff drinks --Trey was nearly blotto so he couldn't remember-- the ladies had led Trey down some dusty dirty steps to Amelia's cellar. At the bottom of the steps Amelia pulled the string on an old hanging bulb, lighting the present room, a dug out dirt-floor, dirt-walled space, about 8 feet by 10 feet. 'Canned' fruit and veggies lined the walls on old rickety makeshift shelves.
Amelia stopped, selected a jar of pears, and placed it on the bottom rung of the stairs. She then turned and led Kathy and Trey though an old wood slat door into a deeper, larger, cooler room. She went around the room pulling strings and hanging single light bulbs came glaring to life. Wide earthen stairs led down to a smooth, cold dirt floor. There were short loose lengths of chain welded to steel stakes in the ground. The solid metal posts were spread out in a rectangle, 12 feet by 7 feet. Kathy pronounced it perfect and ordered Trey to strip naked and lie in the center of the floor between the stakes.
While Amelia retrieved a couple of old dusty pillows and a coil of rope from some more ancient shelves in the corner, Trey shucked his clothes and spread out on the chilly, dusty floor. He eyed with curiosity the thick iron pole that ran side to side about 6 feet overhead. If he was guessing correctly, the pole ran directly over his groin. Strange. But soon enough he'd find out what the pole overhead and that odd-looking coffee table were for.
***
After securing his wrists and ankles by rope to the chain ends, Kathy sat down on the last dirt step nearest Trey's head. She kicked off the sneakers she'd changed into at her house and began idly rubbing her tan, sweaty bare feet in a pile of loose dirt, sifting through it with her toes. He craned his neck to watch her... and to pick up any hint from her facial expression as to what might lie ahead.
Amelia dusted off the pillows and shoved them under Trey's head, and then grabbed that coffee table thing with the hole and placed it over his lap. Wait a minute--! OH SHIT!! It suddenly hit him what it was. Shit shit shit!!! It was a lap board, a cock block, a meat tenderizing bench!! He'd read about these things online, seen pictures of other masochistic, horned up suckers getting their manpieces mangled under a woman's shoes on just such a lap board-- and those pictures always made him cringe at the imagined pain. (If he only knew!)
Amelia smiled benignly at him, as though he were the sweetest young man. He half expected her to pinch his cheeks and make some inane comment beginning with 'When I was your age…' Instead, her pretty fingers grabbed his scared and retreating meat puppet and skillfully pulled it up through the 3-inch hole in the snugly fitting stomp stool she was situating over his lower abdomen.
He was tied up securely with his cock laid bare like a lamb before the slaughter. Trey's manroot lay twitching across the pristine, freshly sanded board, not knowing whether to swell, bob and weave with joy... or to curl back down through the hole and retreat into his body.
"Now, Kathy, are you sure this is okay?," Amelia was saying. "What I mean to say is that had a carpenter friend fashion this board from some plans I found in that online fetish group site you showed me-- You remember that?-- but I've never actually used it. I think I have the general idea, but… Are you sure your friend, here, is accustomed to this sort of thing? …He looks a little green to me." Amelia was now looking down at Trey as though she were deciding between Ranch salad dressing and Honey Mustard.
"Mother, trust me, he'll love this. Won't you, darling?" Kathy laughed. She quickly slapped her dusty bare sole over Trey's mouth. As his jaws opened to shout out his panicked protest Kathy slid her sexy, wiggling toes deep inside.
Trey tasted the dirt his saliva was soaking from Kathy's filthy toes and soles and he nearly gagged on it. It was hard to swallow with the front half of her foot filling his mouth and her toenails scraping the back of his throat. Her feet, he noticed, were much softer than last time she'd foot-gagged him. (Lotion, maybe?) It was hard enough to talk intelligibly while staked down naked with two sadistic women preparing to torture him underfoot. It's even harder to try to think with a very dirty, sexy, athletic, tan female foot shoved full and deep into your mouth. But it's simply maddening to be torn between wanting to stop and savor the experience… and knowing you should be trying to escape, if nothing else for the safety of your cock. (But damn! How often does a guy get a meal like this?! God, she looked so sexy, standing there like this, her sexy bare foot in his mouth, toes wiggling, those gorgeous, toned and tan legs trailing away from them, and those big dreamy eyes and her mischievous smile beaming down at him. Sensory overload. Bigtime!)
"So, young man, are you sure this is okay with you? …Because if this is unacceptable, I need you to tell me now." Trey grunted his dissent, though he knew it was useless. "Well," she continued, "since your silence lends consent… I guess everyone's all right with this." She laughed her beautifully melodic laugh and said "I'll be back in just a minute. I've got some other shoes I'm just dying to try out on him." Amelia then nearly shrieked "Ohhh, Kathy, this is so exciting! I've never totally flattened a man's penis before! Can I be brutal? I mean reeeally brutal?"
"Sure, Mom. He doesn't mind," Kathy cooed. Then, as to a baby, "You don't mind, do you?"
"Mmmph!"
"I'm sorry.. What's that, Sweetie, I didn't hear you?"
"Mmmmmmph!"
"What's the matter, Baby, Kat hot your tongue?" She laughed loudly at her little joke. And though Trey was beginning to sweat with fear, for some reason it was all okay. He was lying naked on a cool floor. He had a good solid alcohol buzz going. A drop-dead gorgeous blonde had her sexy, athletic, tan bare foot shoved deep in his mouth, her toes wiggling on his tongue. Her laughter was soothing. Damn! He just felt good. Good and scared.
Trey was jolted back to reality when he noticed Amelia's laughter, too. (Ah, the sound of coming torment.) She was laughing. Together Kathy and Amelia's laughter was the most beautiful symphony, the most energizing rock anthem, soothing and sexy and very arousing.
Then this very beautiful older woman patted Trey's indecisive, twitching cock with the gritty ball of her pump, giggled, and left the room, accidentally stepping on his pinkie as she went, clipping it painfully with the edge of her heel. This cruel bitch didn't even stop to see if he was okay. The pain shot up Trey's hand, wrist, and arm.
"Fumph! Fumph! Fumph!" he swore, which was hard to do with a very beautiful blonde standing over you, grinning down at you, wiggling her toes in your mouth.
Kathy finally stopped laughing and pulled out her foot, wiping her now dripping toes in Trey's chest hair to dry them. She then walked away from him and out of sight, off in the direction where Amelia disappeared.
***
He must have dozed off. Probably the alcohol. Probably just for a few minutes. Yeah, Trey thought, how could ANY guy take a nap when such sweet (hellacious) pain and pleasure awaited him? Maybe it was Trey's mind's way of trying to protect him from the awful trauma he just knew was coming. Maybe it was some form of self-hypnotism, trying to will him into a calmer state so he could enjoy the experience. But it was probably the alcohol.
He heard Kathy returning. He knew it was her because of the sound. No shoe scrapes on the dirt floor here in what he'd begun to think of as his dungeon of horrors. (A cock block??! What the fuck!! I'll be a friggin' eunuch. I'll never piss straight or cum --ever again! Yup, no more making knucklebabies, he thought. Might as well pluck out my eyes and smash 'em! ...But.. they wouldn't reeeally do this to him. Would they?)
Kathy had pulled off her sweatpants and now wore only a sweatshirt from her law school alma mater, black cotton panties, and a 'Holy-hell-you're-in-for-it' smile. As she padded past him to a small stool Trey noticed her beautiful feet were now absolutely filthy. Filthier than before. He unconsciously moved his tongue around in his mouth and felt grit between his teeth-- remnants of Kathy's earlier footbath. Trey thought her feet looked quite sexy that way. Filthy. But right now, to his mind, those feet were at the leg ends of a complete psycho. A breathtakingly beautiful blonde with an equally certifiable bum-stompin' mama. Which reminded him he wanted his. He wanted his mama bad! Anything for some bastion of maternal safety, for now he had no protector. They could kill him here and who would ever know?
Kathy set the two towels and the jar of pears she was carrying on the stool's seat. (What? They brought snacks? They're gonna tailgate this little event? Or are they gonna sit there and refuel after the first half?) She then walked back past him into the other room and came back with his video equipment. Without a word she began setting it up. Not one damned peep. She just hummed. Some sort of march tune he couldn't quite place. As though she were deciding on which curtains for the dining room.
He turned his head and noticed she was back against the wall, apparently going for a wide shot of her and Mommy Dearest's staked out victim (him!).
The silence was getting loud when he heard Amelia's footfalls behind him, jumping, it seemed, from out of nowhere.
"I couldn't decide which shoes to use first, Kathy dear. Actually," she giggled, "maybe I'm shoeing off more than I can stomp-I've brought an armload."
Suddenly a huge pile of shoes rained down on Trey from above. He let out an involuntary yelp, which made the two sexy women howl with laughter. He immediately felt like a damned sissy. What's the deal? Why was he so jumpy?
"Kathy, is the camera ready?" Amelia asked. She'd changed clothes. She was standing beside him now wearing a low-cut, fuzzy (wool?) purple sweater, which showed some very fine-looking cleavage. No age spots anywhere. She had pulled back he silver hair into a ponytail. She wore a knee-length khaki skirt that showed well her slender hips and toned, round ass. Her curvy (fatless!) legs, so tan and smooth-looking, had Trey drooling and dying to touch them. Her feet-shittt! Niiiice! Her feet, he noticed, looked absolutely killer in a pair of black, high-heeled, backless Candies. They had a slender heel on them, and looked dainty on her sexy feet. Trey had spent hours lusting for Kathy's feet… had actually had wet dreams about them while sleeping on the floor next to her bed. But Kathy's Mom-her feet were even better! Slightly larger than Kathy's, and even more perfect. Her heels were even rounder, and looked even stronger and more athletic than Kathy's. Her arches were higher. Her toes slightly longer and thicker, with longish nails painted a very sexy shade of red. The tan from her legs slowly faded on the tops of her feet. Such delicate skin. Trey was in love! (Kathy who?) He'd met his new queen. Now if he could only live through her initiation! And the way that lady looked right now... if some computer guru took a snapshot, airbrushed out her facial wrinkles and changed the color of her hair, you'd swear you were looking at a 24-year-old centerfold ready for a night on the town.
Kathy told her mom the camera was rolling. So Amelia climbed on top of the board, planting a sexy, candie-shoed foot on either side of Trey's now dancing hard-on, grabbed the iron pole above her for support, and purred down to him, "Um… you may not want to watch this, Hon."
"Should I get the blindfold, Mom?"
"No, Baby, just sit on his face."
"Mom!" Kathy laughed. "When did you learn such nasty talk? You never let me get by with saying such things.
As they were laughing, Trey turned to see Kathy peeling off her black panties. He watched her walk over and straddle his face, and then he eagerly watched as the tightest, prettiest ass he'd ever seen eased slowly down onto his face. Her tan asscheeks felt soft on the outside, firm on the inside. Her skin was smooth and chilly. And she settled gently down on him. His nose mashed into her ass crack. She scooted back just enough for his tongue to hit her sweet spot, and then sat up so all her weight was on his face and he could breathe easily through his mouth. Unable to resist this delicious, new temptation, he began to lick as she began to slowly rock and moan.
That's exactly when all hell broke loose down south. That's exactly when Amelia tore into his cock with a fury, stomping, kicking, tearing, grinding. Trey's muffled scream lasted for a full five minutes. Losing his voice, he then whimpered inconsolably into Kathy's rocking ass as Amelia's abuse on his cock continued. His manroot would never be the same.
haha! i'm amazed anyone's still reading this ol' thing. thanks for all who've responded.
here's another chapter. i hope you like it.
---------------------------------------------------
Waking up for Trey was like someone un-‘pausing’ a man on fire. The flames of Hell had engulfed his privates and were threatening to spread. “Shit! Fuck! Balls! Damn!! Holy Mother of God—AAAAIIIIIII!!!!” That what Trey wanted to scream, and what he thought he was screaming, till he realized the pitiful croaking groans from his throat were, for the most part, completely unintelligible. Willing himself to open his eyes and play fireman, he saw through the mother of all headaches that he was not, in fact, on fire. Not a whiff of smoke in the room. No flames. Nada. He was lying under a light bed sheet on an old Tester bed in what appeared to be one of the Queen’s smaller guestrooms. What the--?! …Slowly things started coming back to him. The basement. The cellar. The Marquis de Sade’s Dungeon of Horrors. Whatever those two psycho women called that place downstairs. Last thing he remembered was screaming into the crack of Kathy’s tight little ass while her mother, Amelia, did the Mexican hat dance on his manroot in a pair of very evil Candies high heels. Was that a dream? A fantasy? A nightmare? Right now he was having a hard time sorting it out.
“’Mornin’, Sunshine,” Kathy chirped, sashaying into the room, carrying a breakfast tray laden with goodies. Her pretty bare feet padded silently across the old Venetian floor rug as she moved toward his bed. She wore a white, terrycloth robe, and her hair was wet from the shower. She looked like an angel. Fresh and clean and innocent. “Isn’t it great to be alive, footboy?” The belittling tone in her voice reminded him this lady was no angel. “Hungry?” She set the breakfast tray on the tall, wide nightstand by the bed and sat down on the side of the bed, yoga-style, to face him.
Trey merely grunted at her. He felt to weak to knock her silly and bolt for the door. That would be a mistake. First, he’d never hit a woman. Second, he had no idea where the hell they’d stashed his clothes. And third, he had nowhere to run to. His place was here, with this beautiful goddess and her equally beautiful mother. To serve and be stomped by, ‘til by death they did part. For better or for worse. (What could be worse than last night?) In sickness and in health… Which reminded him, his health wasn’t too good right now. He was in serious pain. Wincing, he tried to sit up a little. But Kathy rocked back, uncrossing her legs and moving quickly in one fluid movement, slapped one clean, scentless sole into his face and shoved him back down into the small mountain of pillows. He groaned, but… there was something about her cool, soft, clean sole pressing against his nose and lips that took all fight out of him. (To serve and be stomped by…) He surrendered to his goddess.
“Yes, my little foot slave, I knew that would settle you down.” She smiled at him, noticing his attentive eyes riveted on her, peeking adoringly into her face between her wide-flexing toes. She moved her soft, chilly sole down his face a little. Looking up the bed at him, horizontally, she tilted her head back, making her seem arrogant, far above him. She smiled smugly at him while using her toes to playfully catch and stretch his nostrils. She toyed with his lips, catching them between her toes and stretching them out. In a flash her face went cold and mean, and with powerful legs backing her powerful feet she shoved her toes straight into his teeth, parting them forcefully. Trey’s gag reflex kicked in as Kathy twisted and jammed her foot into his mouth so far her toenails were scratching painfully at the back of his throat. Just as quickly, she removed her foot and sat back up, yoga-style, as if nothing had happened. The smile returned.
“I suppose you’re hungry. But you must still be very tired and sore…. So let me feed you.” And she did. With her feet. Setting a bowl or plate on his chest, one at a time, she skillfully fed him with her toes. The oatmeal was messy, and half of it had glopped down his chin onto his neck. But he knew he’d never want to eat oatmeal any other way. Oatmeal wouldn’t be oatmeal without Kathy’s toes as the spoon. The toast was a little overdone, but she broke it into quarters and shoved it deep into his mouth, almost gagging him, with those very agile toes. Scrambled eggs, bacon strips. Trey had never seen a woman who could so tirelessly use her feet at this angle without getting cramps. Amazing! And very very sexy!
“Thank you, my dear Goddess.” What the--?! Did he just say that? …Out loud?!… Jesus, nobody talks like that. Not in real life. But those were the words Trey heard himself saying.
“You’re welcome, footboy” she laughed. Gawwd, what a beautiful laugh! Like tinkling silver. So melodic. “No doubt Trey Junior’s feeling like he’s been through a meat grinder. I’ll get you some Advil in a minute.”
“Where’s my other Godd—I mean.. Where’s your mother?”
More angelic laughter from Kathy. Damn, how he loved her laugh! “Oh, you mean your other Goddess? She’s cleaning up.” Kathy explained to Trey how he’d passed out the night before—either from extreme pain or from lack of oxygen—neither her nor her mother was sure. But, as soon as they realized he’d passed out, they had checked for a pulse, found he was breathing all right, and so Amelia continued her much-missed cock trampling. Kathy told Trey in gory detail how Amelia had to keep pulling his limp, battered cock back up through the hole and pin it with one foot while stomping and grinding it with the other. There’d been a lot of blood. A lot. Kathy told him that at the point where she saw small ribbons of skin peeling back from Trey’s cock she made her mother change shoes. Reluctantly her mother did. And over the course of another hour she crushed and ground and stomped Trey’s cock… wearing more 'sensible' shoes. Flats, flip-flops, a pair of trainers. But because of all the ‘Messy, messy mess’ (as Amelia had said to Kathy), she had to take all those shoes out back this morning and clean them off. And hose down the cellar floor. Didn’t want to draw vermin or flies. Hearing about it nearly made Trey sick.
“And once Mother’s done, she’ll come up with her tea and we can all sit around in here and watch the footage,” Kathy proudly announced.
Trey wasn’t too sure he wanted to see the filmed carnage. He’d yet to pull back his bed sheet and assess last night's damage.
“Oh, and I know what you’re thinking. You’re probably wondering if you’ve lost all use of it. And no, you’ve not.”
“How do you know?” Trey asked cautiously.
“We had Dr. Burton—that’s one of Mother’s friends, she’s a dental surgeon—come over last night and check it out.”
“A dentist? You had a dentist check out my damaged privates? There’s a rude joke in there somewhere… It’ll come to me later.” Trey thought for a second before asking. “So,” he hesitated, “… she thinks there’s… no permanent injury?”
“None,” Kathy said, smiling. “In fact, when Mother called her and told her what she’d done to you, Dr. Burton—Liz—hurried right over. When she saw your badly wounded li’l soldier, she was mortified. She’s known Mother for years and never would have believed her capable of such a horrific maiming. After Dr. Burton cleaned your wounds and wrapped you with gauze, Mother—over a few cups of coffee—told Dr. Burton everything. And I mean… everything! Trampling homeless men. All of it. Well, after having Mother confide so freely in her, Dr. Burton was quiet for a few minutes. And then she just burst out laughing.”
“She laughed?” Trey was stunned. Was the whole damned world going mad? Men getting wounded or killed under a woman’s feet and a member of the medical community finds that funny?!
“Oh, don’t piss on our party, footboy. She wasn’t laughing at you. It’s not all about you, ya know. Dr. Burton laughed and then surprised both Mother and I by saying that she’d always had a sadistic streak, and that it sounded just like something she’d do. She admitted to Mother that she’s under-drugged certain patients for years because she enjoys seeing them in pain. Sometimes makes incisions just to see how the tissue reacts.”
“You’re scaring me.” Trey’s mouth had gone dry with fear.
“Oh, don’t worry, you won’t feel anything,” Kathy said, smiling sweetly.
Trey waited for the punch line.
“I’m kidding, Silly!" That’s what Trey wanted to hear, but it’s not what Kathy said. What she really said was “You won’t, I promise! I made Dr. Burton promise she’d numb up your lower abdomen completely before Mother and her trampled your cock again tonight.”
"Again?!! ...Tonight?!!!" Trey's mind exploded with all-too-vivid images of Amelia playing a game of 'follow the leader' with this strange and frightening dentist lady. He saw the silver-haired goddess, Amelia, dishing out cruelty to his cock under her sexy feet, inviting a grim, butt-ugly woman in full Nazi regalia to do the same. Stomp for stomp, grind for grind, both of them squealing with delight, their sexes hot and wet with arousal. He saw his bruised, shredded, pitiful... once proud and strong cock, not a mark on it... being ground mercilessly, violently, mockingly, with high heels and sandals and flip-flops and trainers into a bloody pulp... the wounds being reopened and deepened... new ones appearing. Would he ever have 'normal' sex again? He then realized his mouth was moving, but no sounds came out. His erection was screaming in pain. His thoughts were for escape. Escape and… what? Finding his voice, Trey managed to ask “So… this Dr. Burton. Is she…? Well… I mean… is she .. is she as attractive as you and your mother?”
Kathy broke out into more of that spontaneous, angelic laughter. “Are you kidding? Dr. Burton makes Mother and I look like trolls. She’s 5’9”, maybe 140 lbs soaking wet, blue eyes, year-round tan. Trey, she was Miss Nevada, 1989! She’s a champion snow and water skier. She runs 5 miles every morning and has the body of a 20-year-old, though she’s just two years younger than Mother. And for the last four years she’s been voted this town’s most eligible bachelorette by one of the local rags… Oh, and she’s also fond of wearing heels—“
“—and I won’t feel a thing?”
Kathy nodded.
“Well… can I watch?”
