Traffic Stop

[Heckron]

Could someone repost this fantastic series?
The author said he was going to write much more but I don't know if he made the switch to the new board so could someone repost parts 1-4?

Thanks in advance

Heckron

[andybis]

Traffic Stop
He had noticed the police car well behind him, winding its way on the country highway almost ten minutes ago. It had been slowly and lazily gaining on him, driving just a bit faster than he was. But he didn’t want to go over the speed limit even one mile an hour to stay well ahead of it. Hell, you didn’t even do that in the old days and he certainly wasn’t going to do it now. Particularly today, the first day his wife, Kelly, had let him drive with the new license. And, besides…he hadn’t done anything wrong….

As the cruiser pulled nearer, he made out the form of the blond female officer behind dark sunglasses, looking straight forward – serious, but relaxed. His hands began to grip the wheel just a little more tightly, and his eyes darted back and forth from the mirror to the road to the speedometer. He laughed uncertainly at his own behavior. He hadn’t done anything wrong and he just wouldn’t and the car would pass and everything would be all right and he was worrying too much. A male orderly who had taken pity on him when he was recovering from the male form of the Treatment, had told him there was a slight paranoia gene implanted to keep him cautious while his strength degenerated and he became accustomed to being dramatically weaker. That was probably why he was feeling so apprehensive.

The cruiser pulled slowly alongside him in the left lane, all shiny black and white paint, and high tech lights, “California Highway Patrol” on the door -- the cop ignoring him, looking forward. He looked forward too. At the road. He had just started to relax as she passed him, when he noticed the officer glance over at him, casually, then hold her gaze a second too long. She was even more perfect than most women had become -- high chiseled cheekbones, full lips, clear skin, a deep tan and, even from this vantage point, athletic muscles. Obviously, one of the new Nordics he saw on the News now being recruited for law enforcement in the U.S. (his wife had let him watch the news one night last week). You DID NOT cross a Nordic, his wife had told him. They didn’t simply consider men a lower class – they truly thought of them as insects. He shuddered involuntarily.

He thought he noticed the slightest hint of a smirk on the cop’s face as she looked back forward, continuing to pass him. Maybe she just hadn’t seen a man driving again yet…Well, it was legal again now, and he had checked the restrictions and memorized each one before his wife had given him the keys when he left her new house – or, his old one, he reminded himself.

He had begun to relax even more as the cruiser had almost completely passed him, now, when he noticed it had matched his speed. Then, ever so slowly, it began to fall back alongside him. He swallowed hard and focused his gaze on the road, as his heart began to thump hard in his chest. As the police car was again beside him, it held its position, then began to lazily drift closer to his own car, toward his lane. He had a vice grip on the wheel now, trying desperately to stay on the road, as the cop drifted casually into his lane, so close to his door, he was certain she would bump it. To keep her from hitting him, he moved out of his lane now, driving off the pavement a little, his right tires into the berm, swirling dust to avoid getting bumped by the police car. Almost immediately, the cruiser moved confidently back into its lane and dropped behind his car. Then its lights lit up.

He began sweating all over. His hands were wet on the wheel and his heart was beating so hard in his chest he almost hyperventilated. He knew he hadn’t done anything wrong. He had tried so hard to not rock the boat since the Awakening – accepting his new role as a consequence of things he could not control.

He slowed and pulled to the side of the road, his hands shaking a little, as he turned off the engine. The policewoman stopped behind him, sitting in her car, in no hurry, it seemed. He stared at the mirror, trying to calm down, when she opened her door and stepped out.

He prayed he didn’t get a ticket. After all, how would he explain it to his wife, Kelly. With the political tide turning against men for a while, then the Treatment and recovery, this was the first time he’d been out into the world in months.

He thanked God, he had such a wonderful wife. She truly loved him as he did her. She was so young – 24 -- and energetic, her long hair always catching the sun as she looked at him with those great brown eyes. She had always been attractive, a pretty brunette with thick black tussled hair. When the Treatment for Women had been discovered over two years ago, before it was free to all women, he had worked extra hours at a second job to make sure Kelly was one of the first to get the gene-splice. How could you not want your wife to suddenly be healthier, stronger, more intelligent and free from all disease? He hadn’t anticipated how much more aggressive she would become, but Kelly loved him so much, she rarely showed that side of her. When she grew three inches in the next four months, he happily bought her a new wardrobe. He had never imagined how beautiful or how intelligent she would become…or how strong. But, Kelly had taken it mostly in stride. She still loved to sing as he played the piano, he, admittedly missing more notes than he used to, now that his muscles were slower. She was learning to play it herself, now, in a tenth the time it had taken him.

When she remembered things instantly or figured out how to do something or organize something with seemingly no thought at all now, she deliberately didn’t make him feel stupid. She would patiently listen to his ideas as you’d listen to a child’s – before pointing out gently why he was wrong. She would even playfully pick him up with one arm and ask him what he was gonna do now to make light of being three times as strong as she used to be. When she was so hard on him during sex that he finally cried out and she saw all the bruises, she had gone easier on him from then on.

But, she was also learning not to take ‘no’ for an answer. If she wanted something done, it was becoming accepted in their house – her house – that he would do it. He had taken over many of the household chores and she had taken to leaving without saying where she was going and spending a lot of time at the gym, golf course or tennis club. But, that was a small price to pay to have such a wonderful woman who loved him in this changing world. In fact, it was Kelly that had fought to keep the changing world from affecting him, too.

Nine months after the treatment had been made available to every woman in most countries, when the government moved to all female almost overnight because women had become so intelligent, she didn’t make him feel worthless. Even when the tide began turning against the men because of their newfound inferiority, she argued for equal rights for men, even as the establishment sought to put them in a lower class. And, on a less global scale, she protected him from the cruel fourteen year old who had kicked him in the groin for taking too long to order at McDonalds, before she could hurt him more. (He had laid on the ground for twenty minutes before he could move that day, thinking at the time that the teenager’s violence and the boyfriend she had kept on a leash were isolated “grunge things,” like her big biker boots. (He would never have believed that Kelly would have such a leash by tomorrow afternoon).

In the end, though, Kelly couldn’t fight (or be unaffected) by the societal changes. It was hard to go to the tennis club and watch her girlfriends from the sorority brutally slap husbands they’d been married to for several years for talking out of turn or not wanting to be the ball boy while they played tennis. Slaps that now brought them to their knees. They would never have done that even two years ago. And playing golf, her friends all used the same caddy – a boy she loved to flirt with and tease since he had such an obvious case of puppy love for her. Only now, he carried five sets of clubs on foot all day – which made her feel sorry for the poor boy. But she was getting used to it. When one of her friends had told her to spike the kid one day for being too slow (after six hours in 95 degree heat) -- just to be part of the crowd, (and even as he looked her with total admiration in his eyes) she had forced him down and stepped on his fingers with her golf spikes and smiled as she stood on him and he screamed in pain. She had even twisted her foot to the side as she’d stepped off of him, her friends laughing as he rolled around on the ground at their feet, clutching his mangled hand and crying like a baby. Later, when she had seen what she’d done to his hand, she had felt terrible and tried to convince herself she had had too much to drink. She had tried to go to him to apologize, but he had run from her like a scared puppy, cradling his hand, now torn to shreds. She hadn’t known he was only eighteen. But she never treated her husband like that.

When a different version of the Treatment – designed to weaken the men, not strengthen them -- was required to be administered to “protect” the new world from male influence, Kelly explained that it was the law and Peter would have to have it done. And, in fact, she had pulled him hard by the hair alongside her when he wouldn’t go into the hospital and held him down effortlessly while they administered the shots, her eyes tearing up as his were. But, then she had nursed him through the pain, as his muscles dissolved and he became weak, then kept his confidence up by saying that this could be a good thing, since, when men weren’t perceived as a threat anymore, they would be allowed to do things they’d had to give up – like being out after dark and driving a car.

[andybis]

Sure enough, men were allowed to get restricted driver’s licenses about two months ago and Kelly had proudly taken him to get his. The only after-effect of the gene treatment (other than that he could barely lift a grocery bag now) had been a general fatigue that set in by 8:00 every night.

Kelly would help him if she were here. But she wasn’t. So he was on his own by the side of a lonely highway with a female cop -- and that was why his mouth had gone dry.

Traffic Stop--Chapter 2
Kelly would help him if she were here. But she wasn’t. So he was on his own by the side of a lonely highway with a female cop -- and that was why his mouth had gone dry.
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The CHP Officer stood up alongside her car, taller even than he expected, wearing the khaki miniskirt uniform that the Highway Patrol had adopted after the Awakening, when the patrol went to all females. She had long, perfectly straight, bright blond hair that was blowing in the breeze, framing her perfect face. She walked up to his window, her long, tan legs gracefully carrying her in her high boots, her gun catching the sunlight, a baton on the other hip, a wicked looking whip, and other equipment he had not seen before. The sway of her hips was mesmerizing.

She stopped at his window and regarded him with mock severity as if he should have known better. Her gun belt was tight around her waist beneath large curvaceous breasts bursting from her blouse so much her badge was not so visible from below as he looked up at her -- her muscular frame blocking the sun by his window. She was a beautiful California blond with bright blue eyes he saw, as she removed her Ray-Bans -- right out of the magazines. He felt so small next to her. ‘Calm down, calm down, calm down, calm down….get it together….,’ he thought to himself.

“Good Afternoon, Sir, How’re ya doin’ today?” she said matter-of-factly, with a nice smile. She had thick pouting lips. She was agonizingly beautiful, only about 28 years old. Such a happy pleasant pretty face, and very tall – he had to look almost straight up from the car window, squinting into the sun and her silhouette. “I just need to see your license and registration real quick.” She was still smiling pleasantly and seemed to be in a good mood – her face was like sunshine. She had sort of a fun, ditzy personality that said she didn’t take life too seriously. This might not be so bad, he thought. He got the brand new license out of his pocket and the registration from the visor with shivering hands.

“Peter Cole,” she read from the driver’s license. “Is Cole your married name?”

He nodded, “I changed it a year ago as required.”

“You know why I pulled you over, right?” His mouth was dry. She continued, “You went right of your lane. I’m afraid that’s a traffic violation,” she said pleasantly.

He stammered, “You were drifting into my….I…I…was afraid you’d…you were…so close…”

She smiled broadly, seeming to understand. Maybe she was just messing around with him. “Ohhh, okay,” she exclaimed. “That kinda stuff happens sometimes.” She asked, “Do you have your pass, Sir?” He took the pass out of his pocket, hoping his wife’s signature would count for something. As he handed it to the officer she dropped it into his car, laughingly exclaiming, “Oops! Sorry!”

Without thinking, he reached down to pick it up for her. Instantly, the pretty blond reached in and violently grabbed him by the throat in a vice grip and slammed his head into the seat back behind him, stars springing up in front of his eyes. She squeezed his throat so much he couldn’t talk, breathe or move, her long nails carving deep indentions in his neck. He was stunned and the pain was coming in waves. My God, was she strong. She stood calmly over him, still smiling sweetly, staring at him, pressing him into the seat, and said, “For my safety, sir, you can’t make any sudden moves. I mean, how do I know you’re not going for a weapon?” She smirked. His eyes were wide with fear and pain. His wife had given him a pass to take the car. This couldn’t be legal. It was getting out of hand. He didn’t want to cause trouble. If he could just explain….

“The thing is, you have committed a traffic violation, sir,” she said with the same nice tone, like nothing at all had happened. “Pursuant to the Male Reintegration Act, you may elect to pay the penalty through the arresting officer, which is me. Let’s see, if you contest the violation, the court may triple the penalty if it finds you guilty. As an aside, there have been no ‘not guilty’ findings since the law was passed. The penalty is fifteen minutes. Oh, yeah, you are also permitted to know how much I weigh. I am six feet, four inches tall – six-seven in my boots --and I weigh 188 pounds – 203 lbs. with my equipment. Would you like me to handle the matter here, sir?”

He tried to think, but thinking was slower now. He didn’t know what to do. ‘Handle it here,’ how? ‘Fifteen minutes’? She began working her sharp nails deeper into his neck, watching his breath catch in his throat and his face begin to turn blue.

She continued, “If it helps you decide, I don’t have stilettos with me today, I’ll administer the penalty in my duty boots. That’s a significant advantage for you, believe me,” she said knowingly.

He looked up at her face; still smiling her beautiful California smile…almost apologetically. His gaze flowed down her tall frame, over her long, strong legs and tan thighs, and to her high leather boots, with their hard 3” block heels and brutal tread. He swallowed hard, staring at them.

“If you could just decide, it’d really make it easier,” she said, tossing her beautiful hair. “ ‘Cuz, I get off in, like, an hour and I’m supposed to go surfing with some friends of mine before the sun goes down.”

His teeth began chattering, unable to stop. She tightened the grip on his throat, her nails sinking in and drawing blood. He almost passed out. She screwed up her face in an impish smile. “If you don’t decide, I have to arrest you and take you to jail -- sorry.”

“I’ll…take the penalty…. now,” he choked out. “Please, I’m very weak…I just had the therapy three months ago. If you could…if you could just…. be…”

“Gentle?!” she finished. “Well…” she smiled. “The thing is, I have to implement the penalty in accordance with the law, sir. My job is to make sure you pay more attention to your driving in the future. I think…when I’ve finished…you will. Reach up and open your door with your right hand, okay?”

He reached up weakly and clicked the door latch, and was instantly and furiously yanked from his car and slammed against it, his feet fully off the ground, by her arm strength lifting him by his throat with her one hand. She held him facing her against his car, bent backward a little, then, staring straight into his eyes, and without a word, she drove her powerful bare thigh forward, her large knee smashing like a club into his groin.

The flood of pain was so overwhelming he lost his focus. She continued to hold him. Then, almost as an afterthought, she knee’d him again, even harder, if that was possible. He fell to the ground without enough air to even grunt – a ragdoll. She let him fall face down into the gravel, then dropped her knee on his neck, pressed it heavily into his spine. She applied her full weight to her knee, bending his head against it, driving his face into the hot gravel. He thought his neck would break. He felt it pop several times. She locked his elbows expertly and painfully behind him and handcuffed him tightly. Bouncing a couple of times on her knee, she watched him grunt in pain, and smiled. She removed an autohypo from her belt pouch, pressed it to his neck and pressed the activator, releasing the drug. “This is for both our safety, sir,” she said. “It will paralyze you while I administer the penalty. One of its side effects is a much increased sensitivity to pain, unfortunately.”

She stood up beside him, towering over him now, as he curled into the fetal position, his groin a mass of sick ache. She was a skyscraper of lithe, tanned muscle. His eyes flew wide when she stepped almost against his nose with her boots, grinding the gravel beneath them. He watched as a small cricket crawling across the gravel was smashed horribly beneath her heel, half its little body crushed and half sticking out twitching furiously as she unconsciously shifted her weight, never knowing it was there as it crunched into paste.

He felt a flood of tingling overtake him now, his limbs getting very heavy and difficult to move. In a matter of moments, he could not move at all, and his tongue was hanging obscenely out of his mouth. He couldn’t seem to pull it back in and, embarrassingly, it was dripping saliva on the ground in front of him.

She put her hands on her hips and looked down at him. “You should be ready now,” she remarked. “I know I am,” she said brightly.

Peter laid helplessly at her feet, staring up at her towering form. He felt like an insect. “What did you use to do for a living, sir?” she asked, as if she was just making conversation.

He struggled to speak and it took him a moment. “I uthed tu be…..un conthert pianitht,” he was embarrassed he couldn’t talk due to the drug.

“You used to be a concert pianist?” she repeated, her eyebrows raised. “Wow! That’s so cool! I always wanted to play the piano. So, your hands are really your life, then, aren’t they?” She picked up her boot and placed the heel ever so gently on his right hand.

“Oh, pleeath, pleeath, oh God, oh pleeath don’t…ith all I have, pleath…!” he cried. She increased the pressure, bending his hand beneath her heel, his knuckles cracking and his finger tips turning bright white, a wide smile forming on her large lips, obviously enjoying the feeling of his hand compressing beneath her boot. “My wife likth to thing with ne…pleeeeaaath…!”

[andybis]

She cocked her head, holding the severe pressure on his hand. He was gasping from the crushing pain. “Your wife likes to sing while you play?” she asked. The female cop considered it. “I’ll take it under advisement,” she answered.

She removed her boot from his hand and kicked him in the side so hard his body spun onto his back. She placed the heavy boot on his chest. “You know what I like most about this?” she asked. He just stared up at her, the hot gravel burning his flesh. “I like the moment I transfer my full weight…. I put a lot of weight down and a man’s eyes go wide because he can’t believe how heavy I am or how much it hurts. But, the moment I like is that second I actually step up, when he realizes there’s so much more weight than he ever thought, that he can’t believe it. His eyes pop out of their sockets, his body – even his very bones – seem to buck and flatten beneath me, his legs, even his toes tense up and shoot straight out like a board and his whole body becomes rigid, trying to take the crush. Then the air is forced out of his lungs as his eyes start tearing up and I can tell he’s in so much pain he can’t even speak. That’s what I like.” She gave him a model’s smile. He began to make small whimpering sounds.

“So…...are you ready for me, Pete?,” she asked coyly.

Traffic Stop--Chapter 3

. “You know what I like most about this?” she asked. He just stared up at her, the hot gravel burning his flesh. “I like the moment I transfer my full weight…. I put a lot of weight down and a man’s eyes go wide because he can’t believe how heavy I am or how much it hurts. But, the moment I like is that second I actually step up, when he realizes there’s so much more weight than he ever thought, that he can’t believe it. His eyes pop out of their sockets, his body – even his very bones – seem to buck and flatten beneath me, his legs, even his toes tense up and shoot straight out like a board and his whole body becomes rigid, trying to take the crush. Then the air is forced out of his lungs as his eyes start tearing up and I can tell he’s in so much pain he can’t even speak. That’s what I like.” She gave him a model’s smile. He began to make small whimpering sounds.

“So…are you ready for me, Pete?,” she asked coyly.
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She placed her boot on the bottom center of his chest, looked at his eyes, now watering freely -- and stepped on him. His whole chest bent into him, yielding instantly to her weight. His entire rib cage literally curving and somehow flexing deeply beneath her as she stepped up, driving every organ in his chest into the hard gravel beneath him. His chest caved, his spine was driven straight down and his legs and head jumped up as she smashed his midsection. His legs and feet shot out straight as a board, more tense than they ever been in his life, trying to absorb her weight. “Like that! See what I mean?!” she exclaimed.

She brought her other boot up and allowed the heels to take most of her weight, as she began to twist back and forth, grinding them into him beneath incredible pressure. The air was forced out of him in something like a horrible grunt and then he couldn’t scream. She swayed back and forth, shifting her massive weight as he looked up at her tall legs as she trampled him. “This always reminds me of surfing!” she exclaimed. “Did you used to surf, Pete?”

As the drug fully took hold, Pete’s legs went limp and his body turned to paralyzed jelly. He couldn’t even tense his stomach against her heavy, hard boots.

She positioned a boot heel on his nipple and twisted it hard, ripping the nipple open, then stepped squarely on his throat, crushing it into the road as she stood on it, dangling her other boot above his face, the cricket’s body still embedded in the tread. His mind would not accept that this was happening to him.

“How we doin’ Pete?” she asked. “Gonna pay more attention to your driving?” She placed the heel of her boot against his eye socket and stepped down, pressing his eye into his head until the heel mashed into the bone around his socket and couldn’t go deeper. She twisted the heel, giving Pete a wicked black bruise.

Pete had never experienced pain like this before. He could never describe it to someone else. He felt someone must be able to hear him screaming in agony, then realized he still had so little air, the only sound he was making was stuck in his throat, and the only sound was the cracking of his own ribs as they sought to withstand the terrible crushing pressure of this beautiful woman standing on him without the slightest thought what she was doing to him. Still balancing on the heel on his eye, the cop bounced up and down and Pete heard something in his face crack.

The officer then walked nonchalantly down his chest, each step a bone-grinding rib bending, smash and stood on his stomach and began jumping in place, stomping heavily on him, trampling around. Her boot heel caught his shirt as she twisted it into him, tearing it open and exposing his bare skin to her heavy tread. “God, you’re not only small, you’re really pale, too, aren’t you?!” she commented as she felt his body yield to her and his bare skin began to bruise and mark with the imprint of her boots. She was violently punishing him, and he could not even move to resist. She stepped over his groin and walked down his legs, pausing to bounce on his ankles. On the second bounce he felt both ankles snap and his whole body was racked with new pain flooding through him. The policewoman now walked slowly and methodically up his soft body, able to keep her balance because her feet sunk so deeply into him. She stopped at his upper thighs, letting her weight sink into them between his soft muscles. Peter groaned with the constant burning of her heels digging into his weak legs.

She looked at him severely. “Okay…stiff upper lip…Here we go, Pete,” she said. She raised her left boot and held it above his groin, just long enough for him to realize what was about to happen, before she smashed down on his organ and began jumping furiously up and down on it, twisting every time she came down. Pete’s world erupted in pain. He gasped with each new smash of her heavy boots, mashing his manhood. A disjointed part of his mind wondered how such a tall woman could jump so high. Then even that part of his mind shut down as her 6’4” athletic frame came down squarely on his testicles, her thigh muscles rippling far above him as she mashed the organ that once made him a man. His body buckled each time she smashed down, his torso flying up and his legs popping to meet it, as her boots almost touched the asphalt, his organs beneath them, a human trampoline…such was her power. Then his head would smash against the gravel as her weight left him, just long enough that he could see her powerful body coming straight down on him again, driving her cruel heavy boots. All the while she had the most beautiful happy smile on her face.

His world was pain. He felt he was going to pass out as she ground his testicles sadistically beneath her boot, gritting her teeth in concentration. She stopped and stood stock still, her heel on the shaft of his member, her weight slowly pulverizing and flattening it completely, then stepped up his chest again and walked on his face, somehow missing his nose, but deeply gouging his upper lip with the heel of her boot. She had stepped on his tongue, he realized, as it lolled outside his mouth and ground the guts of the cricket into it as her foot twisted. The cop stood squarely on Peter’s face without moving. The weight was incredible. Pete could see the finest detail of her tread above his eyes, just a towering leg beyond. She allowed the tread of her boot to sink deeply into Pete’s deformed face, now looking down, amused that he had a near perfect bootprint on his face now, the treadlines almost a quarter inch deep and forming welts in their pattern. The cop stepped off Pete, bouncing massively, Pete’s face cracking as she did so.

The trampling stopped for a moment, as Pete groggily realized another police car had pulled up. He weakly turned his head to the side. Everything hurt. Everything hurt more than he had ever conceived. The other police car made a tight U-Turn and pulled in about three feet from him, the tires crackling on the gravel. The driver’s door opened and another female officer twisted around and dropped her long tan legs out onto the pavement. Pete tried to swallow but couldn’t. All he could see was perfectly polished toes in hard soled, open-toed platform stiletto heels at least six inches high and coming to a point like a dull pencil at the bottom, tan legs above them. The second officer stood up, her miniskirt straightening, her weight leaving the seat of the cruiser and her legs straightened to reveal a stunning amazon standing about seven feet high. Pete managed to swallow…maybe the drug was wearing off a bit. The new officer was a tall brunette, with haunting eyes and a model’s face. Her body was more lithe, more streamlined. Maybe a lifeguard before the Awakening. She had the same strong legs as the first cop, and a perfect ass which revealed thong underwear beneath her miniskirt, which, itself, was very, very short.

Pete began to thank God another officer had happened by and could stop this insanity. She would put a stop to his torture, call an ambulance for him and the other officer would face charges for what she’d done to him. Finally, it was over.

As the new officer stood up, her weight leaving the car seat, Pete thought he heard a muffled moan. He could see into her cruiser through the open door. He stared uncomprehendingly. The sight made his eyes tear up and he began freely crying. Until this moment, he had believed what was happening to him was an aberration; that it was one officer taking advantage of her power. Now, the truth overtook him like a wave.

[andybis]

He now realized Kelly had kept him from seeing what had truly happened to his world.

Strapped securely down against the bottom seat cushion of the driver’s seat of the new police officer’s cruiser was visible the head and shoulders of a small middle-aged man, his head, facing up, his face somehow deformed, flattened. His body stretched straight through an opening at the bottom of the backrest, and was strapped tightly down against the back seat of the cruiser, his legs wrapping up and over the backrest on the back seat. The tall female officer had been driving around on patrol, nonchalantly -- while sitting on his face in her miniskirt! The moan, Pete realized, was the man as the female officer’s weight left his head and she twisted her ass to get out of the car. Pete wondered in horror how many hours he had been suffering like that. Probably quite a few as his face was purple and his cheeks looked something like a chipmunk’s, spread wide and flat, and his nose and lips were bleeding. As first Pete thought he was crying, but it could have been the sweat from the beautiful cop’s thighs.

As Pete looked at the man, the female officer that had left the cruiser planted her spike heel on Pete’s head and rested it there. The sharp pain went into his scalp but she wasn’t even looking down at him. This was just the weight of her leg. Slowly and painfully, the tortured man in the cruiser tried to turn his head to look at Pete. Their eyes met and both exchanged a silent moment of resignation – Pete’s head beneath a painful spiked heel on a six-foot-plus woman, the man’s face flattened by hours of continuous mashing beneath a powerful amazon’s ass. It was a horrible, pathetic sight. Then the officer reached back and closed the door and Pete couldn’t see the man anymore.

At first the two officers talked in muffled tones. Part of the time, the newer cop put her heel in Pete’s ear and pressed down hard enough that the ringing kept him from hearing their voices as his eardrum was forced into his head. But, then they grew louder, ignoring his helplessness, talking among themselves.

“Who’s the ‘facesit’?” the first cop asked.

“A curfew violator out of Pasadena.” The other replied. “I think we may have lost the paperwork because he was strapped there for my shift yesterday, and, after eight hours I didn’t get a release order, so I turned the car over to the C Shift officer and left him there. She worked him for another eight hours at least – big girl, too. Then, when I came in today, he was still strapped down, so, what the hell, I sat on him again today. Near as I can figure it, he’s been continuously facesat for over 24 hours. And, of course, today was especially hard on him since it’s been slow and I haven’t left the car at all in over six hours. Although I did try to get him some food…but I don’t think he can chew solids anymore. I’ll sit him the rest of the shift and check his dispostion if I remember it. It’s kinda fun to have someone to talk to while I’m working. ‘Course, he isn’t talking much anymore,” she laughed. “Who’s this?” she asked, looking down and twisting her heel in Pete’s ear. He groaned.

“Ohhh, he, um…drifted off the road a little, as it were,” the first officer giggled, tossing her long blond hair back in the sun and smiling, her blue eyes twinkling. “I’m about halfway through his session.”

“You’re such a bitch, Toni. I love it! But, um, you can’t work a traffic penalty in duty boots…you have to use stilettos. Seriously, you have to use departmental procedures.”

“I don’t have them with me.” Toni replied thinking. She glanced at her friend’s evil spikes. “Wanna work him for me? In fact, since you’re a bonified Training Officer now, why don’t you show me the newest techniques.”

“He’s only a traffic ticket, Toni. Are you really comfortable doing that to him?” Toni glanced down at him, nudging Pete’s nose with her boot. “A traffic ticket now, a serious criminal if he doesn’t learn his lesson. C’mon, show me, Michelle.”

“If you insist.”

Toni hopped a little and clapped her hands, “Yesss!” [TO BE CONT'D]

Traffic Stop 4

He’s only a traffic ticket, Toni. Are you really comfortable doing that to him?” Toni glanced down at him, nudging Pete’s nose with her boot. “A traffic ticket now, a serious criminal if he doesn’t learn his lesson. C’mon, show me, Michelle.”

“If you insist.”

Toni hopped a little and clapped her hands, “Yesss!”
___________________________________________


Michelle removed her heel from Peter’s head and spoke down to him with mock severity. “Sir, Officer Caleberra has not properly followed departmental policy by trampling you in duty boots. I apologize for the way she has treated you. Procedure is for you to be trampled in stiletto heels and that is what must be done. Additionally, it is obvious Toni, er, Officer Caleberra needs additional training in the full range of police interrogation and penalty techniques for males, so I will need your cooperation to demonstrate these techniques now. If you object, please so state right now and you will not be subjected to this.”

Peter tried desperately to speak, but his tongue would only loll lazily about and his words were unintelligible. “I’m sorry, Sir, I can’t understand you. Speak more clearly,” said the new cop.” Peter tried desperately to form clear words…to save himself from what she was about to do to him. He stuttered and gasped out more random syllables, his tongue useless, hanging outside his mouth. Finally, as the female officer put her hands on her hips and rolled her eyes looking down at him impatiently, he gave up, and began crying quietly.

I don’t understand a specific objection, sir,” Michelle said. “So, I will begin. Thank you for your cooperation.” She redirected her attention to the beautiful blond cop, then looked back at Pete. “This is going to be extremely painful for you, I’m afraid.” She looked at Officer Caliberra, now ignoring Peter’s pleas completely.

“One of the reasons platform heels are so effective is there is no give in the hard sole. Every bit of weight you bring to bear is transferred to his body,” Michelle explained to Toni. “And don’t forget how much weight a 6’5” athletic woman can bring to bear on a soft, weak male against the hard ground.” Toni nodded. She remembered the way that little teenager’s whole ribcage had bent and broken beneath her – the cracking sounding like bubble paper popping – completely yielding to her when she’d stepped on him last week at that convenience store. It had surprised her how little resistance his body offered to her weight. She couldn’t remember what he’d done, now – rode his bike on a sidewalk she thought. She did remember his pleading face, and his eyes bulging out of their sockets when he stepped on him. She loved it when they begged…

[andybis]

Michelle placed her sole on the side of Peter’s face and stepped down slowly, her dark read polished toes spreading out in the shoe as she brought her weight to bear. Toni heard Peter’s jaw crack along the side of his mouth. He seemed his skull actually compressed beneath Michelle’s foot. He screamed in new pain. Michelle continued to step onto his face, her increasing weight finally making his eyes roll back in his head as he tried to endure the mind numbing pressure. He could look up and see her giant platform sole, her huge toes sticking out just over the top of it and her toenails just visible beyond the end of her toes, as his face gave in to the overwhelming crush. Then Peter’s face felt her spike heels, as she brought her feet completely onto his face.

Nothing in life could have prepared him for the horror of having his face walked on by spike heels, a tall woman’s towering frame atop them. He felt he was in a forest of sharp, hard, full-size wood pillars being continuously ground into his face beneath a giant. This is how an insect had to feel when a woman stepped on it, without even a thought. It was like having nails driven repeatedly and completely into your face without the benefit of knowing where the next would land. All Peter could see as he looked up were the towering heels filling his vision – even the platform soles seemed as high as a house as they smashed down on him over and over again. The cop’s towering physique stretched miles above them, her tall muscular legs and ass, then her tight torso and full breasts, and finally, way above him, her stunningly beautiful face seemingly in the sky, ignoring him, facing forward. The sheer violence of life beneath the female officer’s brutal spikes belied her complete lack of attention to what she was doing to him. The cop was casually talking to her friend as she subjected Peter to the horrible crunch and fury of each step.

Though only several feet apart, they now lived in two different worlds; hers, a sunny South California day, her thoughts wandering to the pretty scenery and talking to a colleague as she walked in place in her sharp stiletto heels; his, a violent, furious unstoppable cacophony of rage and violence and pain – every fiber of his being devoted to surviving the horrible crush and continuous grinding and crunching of his bones. It was like having his head placed in a mechanical crushing machine. There was no give, no hesitation, no mercy and no holding back. Peter had become an insect -- part of a world where his very existence was not even worthy of notice, except to be stepped on by the cruel shoes of a female giant without a thought as to what it was like to be the little insect -- full of terror and pain as your tiny body was mashed into the dirt without a care. From his vantage point, Peter felt, even if he screamed as loud as he could, she would never hear him, being so far above.

Where the officer felt she was just marching in place -- to Pete, each footfall was a terrible stomping impact, followed by the cutting of her heels and then the huge crushing pressure of her weight being brought fully atop her platform shoe, and then, finally, the impaling heel as she balanced her weight neatly atop it, slightly wobbling side to side, tearing and crushing his face.

Her heel would grind his lip into his teeth; then go straight into his mouth, tickling the back of his throat, as he tasted the salt and grime from the side of her bare foot, as it sunk past his teeth. Her other foot would drive its hard spike against the inside corner of his eye, just missing blinding him. Then his eyebrow would be unceremoniously mashed, the skin crackling, as she briefly lost her footing, her sharp spike ripping down the side of his face. But, his cheeks got the worst pummeling. The cop’s spikes sunk so deeply into them, he thought she must be penetrating his face.

His face was covered in her heel marks now, the tight rosy welts deep in his flesh. Her heels cut and burned horribly as she shuffled around, digging into his cheeks and the side of his nose as she shifted her weight. After she’d walked in place on his head for several minutes, she slowly began grinding her foot back and forth, tearing his cheek and rendering him semi-conscious. She was smiling.

“Notice I haven’t even used my spikes to their fullest yet,” she said. “Now I will.” Michelle spent the next five minutes raking her heel over Peter’s chest, tearing deep scratches in him, Peter bucking half unconscious with each slice. Then, after Toni had rolled Peter onto his stomach by grabbing one of his legs and flipping him over, Michelle positioned her powerful spike heel on his little finger, and stepped down and broke it beneath her weight, her entire frame balanced on the tiny knuckle. Peter shot awake and began screaming, “Oh God, Oh God, Nooooo! Please! Please! Don’t take that away!,” as the pain flooded him and made him dizzy.

“He’s a concert pianist,” Toni mused. “Not anymore,” replied Michelle.

She placed her stiletto carefully on his next finger and stepped on the fingertip, easily smashing it to pulp. Peter screamed in abject terror. Ignoring his pleas, and enjoying his helplessness, Michelle methodically crunched each of his fingers beneath her horrible spikes in turn, breaking each of them, beneath her full weight. Some fingers, she stepped on two or three times, breaking them in several places or crushing a joint or a fingernail, taking her time before stepping off after they were crushed, letting the pain get fully developed. She would rock from side to side on her heel and watch Peter’s face, contorted and hyperventilating now from the damage she was doing.

The index fingers were toughest. Michelle bounced on them and twisted back and forth until her spike had literally gone into Peter’s finger and she had to shake off his hand when she picked up her foot when it stuck to her shoe. She then moved to the top of his hand, which she simply stepped on heavily with her heels balancing her weight and viciously trampled back and forth, her breasts bouncing with the effort. Peter was in a state of pain he didn’t even know could exist. He could hear the crackling of the small bones in his hand as her heels ground them into the dirt without mercy, but could not move his hand even an inch to avoid Michelle’s wicked heels.

“Now, crushing the fingers is only part of it,” Michelle explained to Toni. “What really matters is how you work them after you’ve crushed them. But, he has to be fully immobilized for this. It’s too much for many males.” She took out her baton and slid it along Peter’s gaping tongue to moisten it. Then the cop pulled down his pants and paused, watching him, giving him time to absorb what she was about to do to him. Peter tried to think of a happier time to take his mind off what was about to happen to him. “This is going to be whole different kind of pain,” she told Peter.

Michelle carefully positioned the baton, then forced it inward slowly but forcefully. As Michelle penetrated him, Peter’s breath caught in his throat and he became locked in frozen shock. Michelle began to slowly work the baton deep into him, violating him, pressing the baton firmly into him and twisting it as far as it would go. Toni could see it took some effort. Peter’s eyes nearly came out of his head and he let out a loud continuous almost animal-like moan as he felt the baton continue to relentlessly force its way deeply into him. The slightest movement was impossible to conceive of. He was now frozen, shivering in pure pain -- immobilized.

Michelle now simply stood over him, smiled with satisfaction, and stepped on his broken fingers with her hard sole, standing calmly on them, his hand bent and broken, fully compressing beneath her foot. She stared at him as he whimpered. “You have to stand fully on his hand without moving for a good five minutes. That’s when the pain becomes debilitating.” She counted off the minutes on her watch as both women watched Peter’s lower jaw begin to quiver uncontrollably. “Then, you grind his fingers into the dirt. It’s horrible for him! Watch!”

Michelle began twisting and grinding Peter’s fingers beneath her platform shoe, her long, lithe thigh muscles tensing with the pressure she applied. Peter came unglued, writhing and shaking in mind searing pain. Toni stepped on his throat to hold him still and Peter’s screaming was instantly changed to a funny-sounding gurgle that made Toni laugh out loud. Michelle continued relentlessly, watching his fingers twist and bend as she ground them into the gravel beneath her shoe – her foot pressing her weight into them, pressing them almost completely flat against the ground. She wouldn’t stop anytime soon. She would enjoy this a little while.

After fifteen minutes of nonstop finger-grinding, sometimes with both shoes together twisting his hand beneath her weight, Michelle stepped off. Peter’s fingers looked like they’d been put through a meat grinder. He was utterly and completely broken and whimpering like a baby. He didn’t even know where he was anymore and his mind had completely shut down.

Toni removed the baton from Peter with a quick pull, eliciting a yelp, then a moan from him as Michelle pushed him onto his back with the toe of her shoe and stepped on his chest and invited Toni to join her. Toni stepped up with her and all of Peter’s ribs cracked like a giant zipper; giving in to the roughly four hundred pounds of female muscle. Both officers could feel their feet sinking deeply into Peter’s chest and noticed he was completely unable to breathe and his eyes were bulging out of their sockets, his mouth gaping in shock and disbelief.

[andybis]

. Michelle worked her heel between two ribs allowing her weight to bear down on them. She calmly placed her other spike heel against the inside corner of his eye, stepping down powerfully enough to hold him motionless. She filled out the traffic citation as she stood on him then she and Toni stepped off, using his face as a springboard, crushing his nose and stood next to him, talking to each other, Michelle’s foot up against Peter’s face.

As his tongue began working again, Peter began licking Michelle’s dusty polished toes, weakly. Michelle looked down at him piteously. “He’s not trying to cull my favor to not torture him anymore you know,” she told Toni. “He’s thanking me for stopping the pain. He’d do anything for me right now. I own him. It’s rather pathetic, isn’t it?” She let Peter lick her toes in quiet amusement.

“Cool,” Toni replied. “I’ll use these new techniques…they seem to be really effective. I especially like the welts the heel marks on his face are forming.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” replied Michelle. “Always leave a permanent mark for the next officer to let her know he’s been cited.” Michelle positioned her stiletto heel in the center of Peter’s forehead stepped up, her full weight on the single sharp heel. She tilted back to a corner of the heel and began twisting back and forth, her full weight, carving a deep and permanent circular scar right between Peter’s eyes – her permanent mark. Michelle stepped down and they continued talking. At one point Michelle unconsciously stepped back onto Peter’s other hand with her heel and stood on it for several minutes talking, but it was not part of the penalty…she just never noticed.

Michelle strode off, glancing over her shoulder with the standard warning to Peter to drive more carefully. She opened the door to her cruiser, looked balefully at the middle-aged man still strapped face up in her seat, full of fear and pain, turned and sat down on his face heavily without a word. Peter thought he saw the man take a deep breath and his eyes close in resignation as she sat down on him, her ass completely covering his face and the seat groaning beneath her weight. She sat down rather hard on him and Peter saw the rest of his body buck as his face took her weight. She wriggled her perfect ass to get comfortable, fully enveloping him (there were more muffled moans), closed the door…and drove off. Peter never saw the man again.

Officer Caliberra gave Peter a warning and told him she would have to contact his wife, to pick him up, took his driver’s license and left him laying at the side of the road, a bloody, crushed and broken mess.

As she was getting into her cruiser, a car full of screaming teenage girls came flying down the highway, girls hanging out the skylight and the car swerving and speeding very fast.

The cop walked to the side of the road and sternly motioned the car to pull over. The girls complied and Officer Caliberra approached them and asked where they were going in such a hurry. “The big concert – Alanis Morrisette,” a nineteen year old college student replied. We’re hoping it doesn’t get rained out.”

The tall cop remembered how it was to be a young girl going to a concert. “Look,” she said to the driver. “Get out of the car and take a ten minute break to calm down a little before you finish the drive, okay? Then go a little slower. And have fun at the concert!”

The girl smiled. “Okay…take five, girls!” And the eight girls piled out of the car jabbering and cracking open some beers. “It’s okay if we’re not driving, isn’t it?!” one asked. Toni Caliberra just smiled, shook her head and got in her cruiser, her gorgeous legs against the warm leather seat. They were all slightly buzzed, but what could you do? Girls will be girls. She put the cruiser in gear, her boot on the pedal – a little blood on it, she noticed -- and drove off.

It took a minute for the girls to notice Peter, still lying helpless beside his car. They sauntered up as a group, standing around him, looking curiously at him. Most were wearing sandals and a few with filthy bare feet. Ignoring his injuries and torn clothes, a large framed blond with blue jeans and a halter top on swigged her beer, and casually nudged his lips with her dusty big toe in her sandal, then gently forced her toe into his mouth as he began to suck it. “And, who might you belong to?” she asked. “Wanna go to a concert?”


SORRY I HAD TO CUT BADLY MANY TIMAES TO MAKE IT SUITABLE FOR THE THREADS.
Andy

[stomp on me]

WOW!!!!GREAT STORY<I HOPE WE GET SOME BAREFOOT ACTION NOW..THANKS!!!

[AceViper64]

this is a great story love the whole theme,

I would love to see what happens next, maybe hes thrown in the back seat while
all the girls pile in on him. sounds that way is coming fromwhat one of the girls ask.

I would also love to hear what happens
to some of the other guys in this world.

[Heckron]

I've requested this story reposted 3 or 4 times now...Thank you so much for answering my request i really appreciate it

Unfortunately the person who wrote this story has vanished...he said there'd be more to come...but that was on daddostrample.com and i don't know if he made this switch...

the writer is ajjones...if ur here man...fabulous story...one of my favorites

Heckron

[Heckron]

ajjones is gone forever...we'll never know the end to this fabulous story....*cries*

Heckron

[flatworm00]

It is a good story up til the end, to bad we won't know all of it.

[Ste Letto]

I read the story and loved it, and thought I would have a go at writing a possible ending. The following is offered respectfully as my idea of how things might have gone from here.

Traffic Stop - The End (part 1)

Peter stared up at the girl; his head kept whirling and his vision was hazy and foggy. He knew she had asked him a question, but he simply could not put an answer together for her. The girl continued absent mindedly swirling her dirty and dusty toes around his lips, smiling to feel his chasing tongue. She smiled down at him, pulled her toes back, then traced the sharp edge of her big toe nail around Peter’s lips. The nail was chipped, and a little jagged, scratching his thin lips and making them bleed a little. The pain in Peter’s lips was quite exquisite. Seemingly oblivious to the damage she was causing, the big girl took another chug of her beer. “Hey Chelsea,” shouted Sophia, a dark haired, big bottomed Italian girl, wearing stretch denim jeans and a white sleeveless top, “we gonna take him with us or what?” The girl who spoke was wearing dusty, well worn, black leather boots, with 4 inch block heels. They had a zip up the inside, and finished just above her ankle. She was stood a little to Chelsea’s right.

Feeling bored, Sophia drew back her left foot and kicked Peter firmly in the ribs, catching them with the reinforced, hard plastic square that formed the end of her chunky heel. The impact created a dull thud. Peter groaned. His ribs were still paining him from the going over the two cops had given him. “Sure. Why not?” answered Chelsea. “Cool!” said the Italian girl.

Chelsea and Sophia reached down and grasped Peter’s hands, pulling him to his feet. Immediately, his crushed, mangled and deformed right hand screamed in pain. Peter did the same. Sophia realised the problem, she could feel the bones grinding in her powerful grip. She smiled and bore down harder on his hand. “Shut the fuck up!” she shouted, deliberately grinding the mangled hand in hers. She had bangles on her wrist and red painted fingernails. Her hands were something she took care of, they were elegant and beautiful. Her nails were carefully manicured and painted. She delighted to know her hand could crush this man’s hand and cause him so much pain.

The girls marched Peter to their car and flung him in headfirst. The top of his head smacked against the padded surface of the locked door on the far side. The already dazed and delirious Peter was knocked sick, and a dull throb started in his skull. He fell into the footwell in front of the rear seat. He lay on his front, until Rebecca, tall, blonde, barefoot; wearing a sleeveless khaki top and combats leaned in and manhandled him onto his side. Once he was on his side, Rebecca stepped into the car. Walking slightly crouched she stepped on Peter’s ankle, straining the tendons, which creaked and shot pain up his leg. The girl walked on his knee, his thigh, his side, and his chest. Every step caused him pain as her bony heel thudded down. Rebecca ended up sitting with her grimy soles pressed hard onto Peter’s face. Her feet were hardened from lots of walking barefoot, and they just a bit leathery. The back of his head pained him because the pressure of Rebecca’s big bare feet on his head was forcing it back against the metal struts that supported the front seat.

Chelsea got in next, her sandal clad feet smacking into his prone body with casual indifference. Sophia got in then. Her solid heels were like small fists, punching Peter’s exposed legs and body. The heels raised bruise after bruise, as every step smacked Peter’s muscles against his bones. Sophia didn’t sit on the back seat. Instead, she stood with one booted foot pressing down hard on Peter’s hip and the other pressing into his side, with her head out the sunroof. Peter could only groan into the smothering bare soles of Rebecca’s feet. Rebecca took great pains to keep her soles pressed flat to Peter’s face, to keep him quiet.

Courtney got in the car next. She was small, only five foot three, and petite, wearing strappy silver sandals with kitten heels, and a white summer dress. She had long blonde hair and an elfin face. Her little heels seemed designed to dig in to Peter’s skin. With each step it felt like her heels were hooking into his skin, ripping it, then ripping out. It felt like being stabbed over and over. The tiny little girl, with a slender body and innocent face, caused Peter some of the worst pain he’d known. When she joined Sophia standing on Peter and looking out the sunroof, she climbed up by stepping first on his busted right hand. As the toe of Courtneys pretty silver sandal pressed down on Peter’s hand, the broken bones beneath the skin were brutally ground together, sending pure sheets of white hot pain up Peter’s arm. Her little heels soon found his side and ribcage as the excited girl eagerly took her place. Her right heel began by resting on a rib, straining the bone and pressing it inward. This was a whole new hurt to add to the catalogue. Moments later, she slipped slightly and her heel sank between two ribs. Peter felt sharp pain, threatening to tear him apart. It felt exactly like he was being stabbed in the side, and Peter started crying.

The next girl in was Rachel. Tall, tanned, blonde, beautiful Nordic Rachel. She looked like a swimmer, with a powerful, yet sleek physique. She wore a red stretchy lycra top and red and black lycra cycling shorts. Her feet were long, slender and bare. She atepped on Peter’s body as casually as if it were the ground or a carpet beneath her feet, and ended up with her heels digging into his thighs.

The sixth girl to get in the car was Fiona. She was a tall, strapping redhead wearing a sleeveless red top and white denim shorts. She wore Nike training shoes and white socks. She sat in the last space in the back and parked the hardened edge of her left heel on Peter’s lower legs, with the right foot crossed overtop. This meant the weight of her legs cut into his shin. Although this hurt him, it was among the least of his hurts.

The two girls who sat up front were twin sisters, Karen and Tina. They were identical, both with jet black hair and ivory skin. Both were six foot 2, big breasted and narrow waisted with long, long legs. Each wore a sleeveless white cotton top, blue jeans, and flat black leather, knee high boots. Karen’s boots had shiny silver stilleto heels, her sister’s had chunky 2inch block heels.

Karen started the car and Tina turned on the radio. Pop music blared from the speakers. Courtney and Sophia readjusted their stances until they were firmly stood on Peter, with no danger of slipping. This resulted in Peter feeling sharp dagger like pains under Courtney’s pretty little feet, while Sophia’s blocky heels compressed his chest making it difficult and painful to breathe. His head started to swim. The movement and jostling of the car meant all the feet upon him began to move slightly, pummelling him painfully.

Rebecca’s feet moved closer to one another, until she was unconsciously smothering him. With the pressure on his ribs, Peter realised he couldn’t breathe. The weight of the two girls on his side, plus the pressure of the other feet, stopped him moving. Peter started seeing stars, as lack of oxygen affected his vision and his consciousness. He started to black out. He tried to breathe, but all that happened was he sealed Rebecca’s foot sole even tighter to his already bruised lips. Feeling like his lungs were on fire, Peter passed out. Above him, the girls just carried on chatting and playing. It was purely by accident that Rebecca’s foot moved and Peter was able to breathe again. He remained semiconscious for the rest of the trip. His body racked with pain under the cruel feet of his tormentors.

When they reached the concert, they were directed to park in an adjacent field. The girls decided to take Peter with him, in case they wanted something to sit on or stand on during the concert. He was barely able to stand, so Karen and Tina took it in turns carrying his limp ragdoll body. They found a spot and threw Peter down on the wet ground. The field was a little muddy, and all the girls had mud on their feet or shoes. Courtney was first to stand over Peter’s head and nudge her toes between his lips. Peter didn’t respond. Tina pressed her block heel down on Peter’s hand and twisted it painfully left and right, saying “Clean Courtney’s feet or else!” After a few seconds he got the idea and his tongue set to work on the petite girl’s shapely feet and toes. He licked the sides of her feet, to remove any little splashes of mud, then the soles, which were aromatic but pretty clean, then between her lollipop toes, were he found some dead skin and other bits of toejam. He swallowed all he found. When he’d finished, Courtney giggled and said “Thankyou kind sir,” then stepped up and perched on his stomach, which yielded slightly to her weight. Under her now clean soles, it felt like a bad stomach ache.

Rebecca went next, pressing her leathery soles flat down, hard, against Peter’s lips. His lips were painfully forced open, and became cut slightly on his teeth. Rebecca wanted to feel his moistened tongue pressing hard against her dirty soles. She would raise her big foot slightly then stamp it down on his mouth if he didn’t press hard enough. Peter pressed harder and harder, tasting all sorts of bizarre essences on the big girl’s dominant sole. He cleaned her heel, her arch, her instep and underneath her toes. She even rammed her toes deep into his mouth and wiggled them while he choked and she chugged a beer. As soon as she put her feet down they were muddy again, so Rebecca said “Aww, look! I went and made them all muddy again. Guess you can get that later.” She decided to sit on Peter’s chest until Alanis came on.

[Ste Letto]

Hope you like!

Traffic stop The End Part 2

Chelsea made him lick under, over and between her toes, then turned her feet left and right so Peter could worm his tongue under the sides. She made him press his tongue right under her foot, then stepped down trapping and compressing it. Peter gagged and his eyes watered with the pain. All the time he still had Courtney perched on his belly and Rebecca sitting on his chest.

Karen, Tina and Sophia had gone to get drinks. So Rachel used their foot cleaner to get all the mud off her pretty soles. She decided to stand on his head for a while first, just for the hell of it and also, as she told her friends, “’cause the view should be better from up there.” Despite some wobbles, she managed to keep her feet. When she did slip, her heels scraped down Peter’s cheeks. She stomped her bare soles down quite hard on Peter’s forehead and mouth when she climbed back up. She determined to balance her weight on her right foot on Peter’s forehead, while using his mouth and tongue to clean her left. It took almost 20 minutes to get this working, and another 20 for the other foot. By that time, Karen, Tina and Sophia were back with the drinks.

The concert was just beginning, and the girls decided they would all try to stand on Peter. Courtney stood on his face, both little feet neatly side by side. Rebecca stood on his chest, which sagged alarmingly, creaking and straining under her crushing weight. Sophia stood on his belly and balls. Fiona stood on his thighs, and Chelsea stood on his shins. The other girls decided to have their turn later. As he was being crushed and suffocated under the girls’ feet, Peter began to feel himself sinking into the soft ground. The muddy earth wasn’t hard enough to support him. Inch by inch he began to submerge. When Karen took Sophia’s place, Rachel took Courtney’s and Tina took Rebecca’s, all three thought it odd that they didn’t have to step up so far.

Peter found the soft earth gave him some support and eased the pressure slightly, although the shifting pressure of the girls heels and soles, be they booted or no caused him great pain. As the concert wore on, his eyes were bashed and bruised, first by Tina, then Sophia. At some point, his nose was cracked under Rachel’s heels, then he spent an agonising 30 seconds with Courtney’s bare foot pressed hard on his windpipe. Toward the end of the concert, his chest nearly broke as Rebecca pogoed in time with her favourite song. After that, he thought he would vomit when Karen and Tina posed on his belly, each on the toe of one booted foot.

At the end of the night he was so firmly stuck in the earth that the girls couldn’t shift him. They saw the battered state of him and thought “What the hell?” so they left him. The spot where he lay was one of the main thoroughfares for girls leaving the concert. There were 10,000 girls there, and around 1,000 walked on him on their way out. He was partially submerged anyway, and with all the muddy soles that impacted him, he quickly disappeared in the murky evening light. Girl after girl, some barefoot, some wearing sandals, or boots or trainers or flipflops, stepped on him. Girls stood on his hands, his arms, his chest, his face, his groin, his thighs, his legs, and even his feet. Each one contributed to flattening him, breaking him up, forcing him down into the soft ground, until he just disappeared.

[pervy2]

What a great finish, thanks for your effort. I read this while listening to Muddy Waters on the stereo, how perfect!
Pervy2

[Ste Letto]

Thanks pervy2,

it's always nice when people let you know they like something you've done. Thanks for responding.

[Ste Letto]

Thanks pervy2,

it's always nice when people let you know they like something you've done. Thanks for responding.

[Ste Letto]

Thanks pervy2,

it's always nice when people let you know they like something you've done. Thanks for responding.

[Ste Letto]

thanks pervy2, it's always nice when someone lets you know they liked what you've done.

[Footslave3000]

Now that's an interesting ending. I like that very much. Thank you!:) :cool: :bananadan :carrotdan :thumbsup: :rasta::theband: :bananadan :carrotdan :theband:

[door_step]

Great editing Ste Letto.

Although I don’t like to be killed or severely injured under women feet (I think none of us), it’s always a sort of ultimate fantasy to be treated as a real part of the floor, by countless women. Totally careless and even unknowing to many, or most of the women who use you in that way.

Yes I know that it’s impossible to survive such a treatment, but how nice it would be to come as close to it as possible.
Thank God, we have our fantasy :D

doorstep

[Luke]

Really good story hey!

Got me as hard as a bit of jarrah wood :D