Dec 22, 2002
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Best Trample night of my life!! Skin2 atlanta

Last july 7th at Skin2 was the best trample night of my life! It was so awesome, with so many beautiful Ladies and hot outfits that it seemed like heaven. I wasn't sure if i was going because of my change in work schedule lately, but thanks to a little urging from Wrlok, i decided to go, and i am grateful for that.
There's no better place to start than from the beginning. I entered and saw a very nice facility; the place is called the Jungle, and it had a very tropical look to it. (how nice, to bring out the animal instincts in the Women)
I was in there only three minutes when i saw a small entourage enter behind me, also from charlotte, some Purgatory friends. In the four person crowd was the tall blonde who has trampled me at every purgatory for many months. She brought her best friend too and this was her friend's first fetish party. Soon after intros the tall blonde said her friend would have to trample me, well i looked at the freind and we both smiled, what a way to begin the night. My tall blonde friend trampled a while and we got some shots. Also, her friend trampled some and seemed fairly comfortable with it. BTW Her friend is pretty too :) from head to toe. After several minutes of this the five of us were milling about and her friend was all smiles.
During the next 20 minutes or so, i continually noticed more and more Purgatory people; it was nice to see this and during the night i saw about 15 total from charlotte.
Eventually Wrlok arrived and he brought a beautiful Lady friend. It wasn't long before his Lady friend was trampling me and She took to it very well.; She was a first timer. She had on a black outfit with black shiny boots with platform heels. She stepped around between the collar bone and kneecaps and actually seemed experienced at it. During this time Wrlok recruited some other Ladies nearby who were watching this trampling. And so there were a few others who would join in at times making this a double trample. It can be so fun to have beginners, because you don't know where they will step. But it hasn't been dangerous since they are all stepping slowly to be careful. Sure it can be real fun with those who already know how much a guy can take under their feet/heels, but the new ones are exciting as they trample and i see this as an opportunity to open trampling to others. During this particular time of trampling, there was a Lady I've seen at purgatory but drives in from knoxville each time, but She never trampled me yet. Well, this night She did, in atlanta, and it was very fun. There were quite a few here during this period of trampling; there was Wrlok's Lady and then the several who joined in, totalling maybe four extra. It's nice to notice that many others don't see this as strange or goofy; of course it is a fetish party, but it is still nice to see the faces around us that are interested in what is going on. And once again, when the women see others doing the trampling, the rest are always more comfortable about it, even joining in.
There were so many tramples this night that i forgot the order of everything but will do my best. I did decide to forgo the lieing down in front of the Lady's room since soooo many guys were dressed as girls and using the women's restroom. The only bad experiences i have had with lieing on the floor are the times that guys dressed as girls want to trample me and some just don't want to take no for an answer. They are the only rude people i have ever seen at fetish parties. So i had to forfeit the fun of being in front of the ladies' rooms.
But on this night there was plenty of fun to be had anyway out on the main floor or in the bars or whereever. I am more comfortable with being trampled in front of the big crowd now and it is great since it seems to promote more trampling from the Lady spectators! It also helps to have a bud like Wrlok, with a good camera and he is a good recruiter too! He was responsible for several extra tramples during the night. There was an entrance room to the jungle that had many paintings and fetish pictures and there was one particular Lady who really caught my eye, in the pics. Well it was just a few minutes later that i set eyes on her in that room. We talked and later on that night She trampled me. She is wearing the pretty blue latex outfit on and She has blonde hair. She was so nice and friendly, but She didn't want to trample with Her high platforms for fear of falling, so She gladly trampled me with Her barefeet. That was nice too :)
There was a time when visiting back with my tall blonde friend when she and her friend were talking to another Lady as i walked up, and to make a story short, She began trampling me too. She had long dark hair and chain link looking outfit on, but i think it was leather straps connecting the metal rings. She wore very pointy heeled black boots. She was a first timer too. She seemed to genuinely love it. I got a very nice hug from Her afterwards. That is so nice to get a thankful hug like that. I am always hugging them and saying, thanks so much, after the trampling.
Later in the night i was getting a second trample from folks. One was the tall blonde's friend. She was getting quite comfortable with this and also near the end of the night was Wrlok's friend trampling, uh i mean dancing on me this time. She seemed totally at ease this time around, totally uninhibited, which was fantastic. She left a good mark on my leg that time. The front edge or corners of the heels scraped down the side of the leg leaving a scrape mark even thru the jeans i had on. Also there is a two inch bruise that is light yellow-green. I love that souvenir. It's still there and it is now 8 days after the party. She is wonderful :)
I was even lucky enough to be trampled by the cute bartender; She came out to the front of the bar and trampled a while. She apologized for the big goth boots with huuuuge soles, but i told her it was the person wearing them that mattered. I enjoyed her trampling.
There was another Lady wearing black and red who seemed to enjoy the trampling and i am pretty sure Wrlok recruited Her for the trampling shots. Also, i received a link from Wrlok showing a pic someone else took while this lady trampled me and it was located in the Creative Loafing online. It's amazing what happens at these parties.
Speaking of that, there was a very famous NYC Lady there, whom many of us know. The Baroness came down from NYC and i was lucky to get trampled by Her too. Man She is still rough on you though, haha as i recall from Her trampling party last march 5th. It was very nice meeting Her again, She is always so nice.
One other extra trample i did get was by my tall blonde friend and She trampled along with a purgatory staff member who goes by spiral. In addition to those two there was another Lady who joined in so there was a triple trample! This new Lady is one i had spottd in the crowd earlier and just drooled over hoping to be trampled by her. Well, she came up out of the blue so to speak and just joined in....WOW. She is wearing the red fishnet outfit and black platorm heels and also black gloves. I loved the way She squatted down not too far from my face...mmmmm. After having had many tramples, this triple trample got me to the point where i couldn't breathe at all; i took it as long as i could, because sometimes tapping out to breathe, makes them think it is over and they wonder off :-( Well, i was without air for a while as they stepped around some and talked among themselves and others nearby before i tapped out for a breathe of air. But i have learned that i need to let them know that i am ok, just need air. That seems to keep them around for a few seconds as i breathe, then to my surprise they wwere ready to trample some more after i caught my breathe. These Ladies were soooo good and funnnn.
I saved this one part till last, mainly because it was late in the evening when this occurred but also because this Lady was sooo fine also. This Lady who has long dark hair, dark leather shorts and top, wearing black platform boots looked so much like a real ProDom that when She approached me and said what She did, i knew from Her straightforward look, speach, and bearing that She has done some thorough trampling before. This Lady is Goddess Cheyenne of atlanta. She thought i needed a real trampling. Well to jump to the others defense, i mentioned many of them were newbies, first timers, but She could already tell that. By the way, I think Wrlok had a helping hand in this too. Goddess Cheyenne stepped up on me with no hesitation and stepped around and started twisting Her shoes on my torso just wearing out the already slightly punished skin from many previous tramples. And i had my shirt on all night. Well Goddess Cheyenne is so beautiful, that i wanted to take as much as i could. I love Her long dark hair and dark eyes and skin color....She made me melt. During Her stepping around She let those heels stand on my sternum some, which was fun; it was very noticable of course at this late point in the evening. She aimed to stand on the groin to work it over too. (Man She is wonderful) She even stood between my legs so She could aim Her heel into my balls. I think She must be able to see thru pants lol. Eventually She got Her slave (female) to trample too and so it was a double trample for a while. Her slave's pointy heels really dug in. From Her trampling, i would have thought She was an experienced Domme Herself! During this long trample by Goddess Cheyenne and Her slave, Spiral was resting Her feet on my arms, so there was a pretty good feeling of being pinned down. During this trampling there were a number of guys in the area whose eyes were glued on the action.
Once again the last action of the night was Wrlok's pretty pretty friend trampling(dancing) on me leaving marks. I think She went from novice trampler to experienced, uninhibited trampler in one evening!
I will post pics, i have numerous pics, don't know how many will be posted. There are so many good ones. Most are taken by Wrlok, the rest with my camera by many different bystanders and some of those even by Wrlok.


P.S. i have been at this for over 4 hours now, choosing pics, editting and blacking out some faces and then writing. starting to post pics now.

Crush Me, Kill Me News

Bryan Loudermilk
News Category:
Seven years ago, Louis James Vestal and Robert Lineberry interrupted
their friend Bryan Loudermilk performing one of the most
extraordinary sex acts to occur on Florida soil.
Lineberry, a drifter, had been living in a metal shed on
Loudermilk's property in the town of Okeechobee. Loudermilk, his
wife, and three children lived in a doublewide trailer on the north
side of town, and as Vestal and Lineberry drove by on a Monday
afternoon in June at about 4 o'clock, they saw that someone's feet
were protruding from underneath an idling red 1994 Honda Passport.
It was Loudermilk, lying on the ground with his own car's left rear
tire parked on his stomach.
They pulled up and asked Loudermilk what he was doing, and
Loudermilk told them he couldn't feel his legs. Vestal asked if he
wanted the car moved. "Yes," Loudermilk said.
Vestal climbed into the Passport and slowly backed up, easing the
SUV's weight off Loudermilk's body. It became apparent that
Lou—dermilk had been lying in a shallow ditch that must have been
dug before the car was parked on him. Also, the car's tire had been
sitting on a board and pillow, sandwiched between the tire and
Loudermilk's skin.
Loudermilk appeared to have been a willing partner, at least
initially, in being crushed by the car.
It's not certain how long Loudermilk had been pinned under the
Passport, but as soon as the weight lifted, lactic acid and other
toxins flooded from his bloodless legs through the rest of his
circulatory system, poisoning his body and initiating shock.
Loudermilk blanched, and frothy spit appeared on his lips.
"I hurt all over," he said.
Vestal went to the trailer, looking for Loudermilk's wife,
Stephanie. After searching the house and banging on the bedroom
door, he returned to find Lineberry holding Loudermilk's hand.
"Nobody would answer," Vestal told them. "What's up? Do you want me
to call an ambulance?"
"What the hell is going on?" Lineberry said to Loudermilk. "Where is
your wife and your kids?"
"They don't care," Lineberry remembers Loudermilk telling him.
The two men left Loudermilk lying near the Passport, went into the
house, and found Stephanie and her 2-year-old son, Spawn, inside. At
their urging, Stephanie, a tall, 29-year-old Seminole woman with a
wide face and long black hair, calmly called 911, bending down to
refill Spawn's bottle as she did so.
Loudermilk was still alive when rescue workers arrived, and he
repeated that he couldn't feel his legs. By the time he reached the
hospital, however, he was incoherent and died within hours.
In the ensuing days, police pieced together a startling story that
briefly became national news. Loudermilk was a foot fetishist in the
extreme — like other "trample" fans, he was aroused by being stepped
on by women, particularly his 200-pound wife. But he was also into
"crush," which made him a member of a fringe sexual group that finds
erotic the sight of women's feet smashing small creatures like
insects, fish, and mice. When Loudermilk lay down under his SUV that
June afternoon, police believe, he was trying to find the ultimate
fusion of his two desires.
The summer Loudermilk died, crush videos of women stomping on
animals were gaining notoriety and had sparked a nationwide law
enforcement crackdown. Between 1998 and 2000, statutes were enacted
to target the practice, Internet purveyors of videos depicting
cruelty to animals were hunted down, and the online crush scene went
Seven years later, a look at the impulses that led Bryan Loudermilk
to his death reveals the strange logic of crush and trample fetishes
and their ties to South Florida. Interviews with the people who knew
Loudermilk — including his mother, who hasn't spoken of the incident
to the media before — paint a detailed portrait of his complex
desires, elements of which are shared by a surprisingly large number
of ordinary people. But one question remains unanswered: Police
still have no idea who helped Loudermilk with his obsession by
parking his Honda Passport on his belly and then leaving him to die.

Bryan Loudermilk was a short, stocky man with dirty-blond hair who
spoke in a Southern drawl and played the guitar. Growing up an only
child in Okeechobee, he was shy. "Kind of bashful," his mother,
Sandra Bailey, remembers. When Loudermilk met Stephanie Tongkeamha
in high school, he quickly fell for the tall, quiet Seminole girl
from the Brighton reservation. The two dropped out of school,
Stephanie finishing ninth grade, Loudermilk the tenth, when
Stephanie, who often went by Mamie, her middle name, got pregnant
with the first of their three children. Eventually, the family
settled in the Okeechobee trailer in 1998, near Loudermilk's family.

It was no secret that Loudermilk had a consuming foot fetish. He
even told his mother about it. "He told me that he had a fetish for,
like, feet," she says. "I figured, well, that's his thing."
In personal ads soliciting potential "foot goddesses," Loudermilk
was more explicit:
"26 year old male with appetite for female feet. I love feet! Being
walked on, suck toes, licking feet or crush, I love all aspects of
feet" is how Loudermilk described himself in one ad in a foot fetish
In letters to fellow fetishists, he included his own drawings of
giant women crushing men. Each letter was signed with "A tiny foot
slave" above Loudermilk's name.
"Ever since I can remember I have always had a foot/crush fetish,"
Loudermilk wrote to Jeff Vilencia, a California crush fetishist who
ran a video production company in the 1990s.
"Bryan had this fantasy of a woman wearing Roman-style sandals,"
Vilencia remembers. The footwear apparently symbolized that the
woman was a goddess, a recurrent theme in Loudermilk's fantasies.
"Have you ever wished you were invisible so that you could lay down
in a woman's path?" Loudermilk wrote to Vilencia. "Wished that you
could be the slave of a giant goddess from outer space?"
"In his mind," Vilencia says, "it was a loving gesture to be
squashed by this woman."
A drawing Loudermilk sent Vilencia depicts giant, strong women clad
in goddess garb. One drawing, Rage of a Goddess, starred an angry
giantess in sandals stepping on the population of a small village.
Another shows a seated woman crushing two small figures under her
"You would talk to the guy, and he'll tell you he thought he was the
only one on the planet who felt this way," Vilencia says. "A lot of
people maybe tried to suppress it. Bryan didn't."
Photographs Loudermilk sent Vilencia show him masked and lying on
the floor with a blissful expression on his face as feet press into
his neck.

Loudermilk's fantasies about being trampled by giant, powerful women
are shared by a wide variety of men in South Florida. I discovered
this through a little legwork: I placed an ad in the personals
sections of several websites offering my trampling services and size
9 feet to any man willing to be written about for an article.
Seventeen local men answered over the next two weeks. Some wanted me
to step on them while barefoot. Others hoped I'd crush their cocks
with black stiletto heels. Some were married. Most were
professionals. They ranged in age from 25 to 56. A few sent
(faceless) photos. Most were regular-sounding guys who were
delighted to hear that a woman wanted to know more about stepping on
"There is an old movie, Butterfield 8," wrote one man. "Liz Taylor
is a high-priced call girl. Wears black stilettos. Richard Burton
desires her for himself. He grabs her arm in a nightclub, squeezing
it painfully, she digs her stiletto heel into his foot, both watch
the pain in each other's eyes. I saw it when I was about ten, got a
woodie, never forgot."
"For me, its most vivid form takes place via roleplay," another
wrote. "It's all about the process by which I first become entranced
by seeing the feet... later to be held prisoner beneath them."
The first response to my ad came from a man whose girlfriend
regularly tramples him. The couple invited me to meet them.
Jess, a 24-year-old dominatrix, recently moved to Pompano Beach from
New York City. While I watched, she placed her slender, tattooed
right foot on Frank, a tall and gaunt 34-year-old man lying on his
back on a mat rolled out on the tile floor of their apartment. Her
foot kneaded him roughly near his shoulder and moved with practiced
ease up to Frank's face, smacking him lightly.
"You have to tease them a little," she said. "Work up to the
trample. You don't just hop on and go. For us, it's foreplay."
Frank has been having women trample him for ten years. On his back
and legs, as well as on his face and penis.
Jess, who's worked at dungeons in downtown Fort Lauderdale as well
as New York and St. Louis, said that while she's never been asked to
crush animals or insects for a man's pleasure, trampling is a common
"Some of them want heels; some want barefoot. They want you to
trample their entire bodies, stand on their feet, everything. It's a
huge thing. I'll put my feet on their face and crush their face. It
gets them off. These men want me to stomp on their chest. They're
screaming for you to do it harder and harder, to kick them in the
face. It's scary and disgusting and erotic all at the same time."
Finding a woman like Jess, who knows how to trample and wants to do
it, is a rarity. But only Frank reaps the benefits of Jess' talents
for free; other men must pay her steep hourly rate of $375 to $500.
Suddenly it made sense why so many men responded to my ad.
Wondering if I had what it takes to be a crush dominatrix, I asked
if I could take a walk on Frank myself.
With Jess' guidance, I stepped on Frank's back and realized that the
sensation of standing on a man was surprisingly familiar. I said as
much, and Frank chuckled through his gritted teeth as I shifted my
weight ineptly. This was harder than I thought — Frank was clearly
embarrassed at letting me perform what amounted to a sex act with
him in front of his girlfriend, and I was having a hard time staying
"Sure, your male friends would ask for you to stand on them to 'get
the knots out,' right?" he asked as I wobbled.
"Yeah," I said, remembering the guys at camp or in high school who
made that request.
"They were lying," he said, his voice clotted from the pressure.
He may have been right. On one of the main Internet forums where
fans of trample and crush congregate, many trample fans recount
tales of covert experiences, where they managed to maneuver a woman,
or several women, into stomping on them in public. Some place their
feet "accidentally" in the paths of women with high heels. Others
convince store saleswomen to stand on their aching backs.
Frank had exactly what these men all want: a real, live girlfriend
to step on him. But while that's enough for Frank, it wasn't nearly
enough, apparently, for Bryan Loudermilk.

In a letter, Loudermilk described how as early as high school, his
fascination with being trampled by sandaled goddesses led to an
obsession with crushing small animals.
"I used to catch lizards and frogs and put a little super glue on
their bellies and stick them to the floor next to my teacher's desk
so that I would be able to see her step on the victim," he wrote. He
would subject these "victims" only to teachers who were wearing
For Loudermilk, the desire to watch women crush animals might have
been a way to experience, by proxy, his version of the ultimate
sexual act: being squished to death by the feet of a woman. "The
extreme fantasy for these men is to be trampled or crushed to death
under the foot of a powerful woman," Susan Creede, a Ventura County
crush investigator, explained to Congress in 1999 during a hearing
to ban crush videos. "Because they would only be able to experience
this one time, these men have found a way to transfer their
Vilencia, the Californian who formerly produced videos and today is
a sort of unofficial spokesman for the fetish, speculates that while
watching small creatures being crushed in childhood, boys
internalize the animal's pain and their own anxiety and associate it
with their sexuality.
"For some reason, these little boys who saw that when they were
children, the anxiety stayed with them," he says. (Loudermilk's
mother says he told her he thought the source of his obsession might
have been a "chemical imbalance.")
Some trample fetishists distance themselves from the crush scene —
not everyone who wants to be stepped on wants to see kittens
squished by stilettos. But for Loudermilk, trample and crush were
inextricably linked, both extreme extensions of an obsession with
Immediately following her husband's death, Stephanie Loudermilk told
police without hesitation that Loudermilk sold videotapes and
photographs of feet and stomping through the mail. Many of the
images featured a woman with an ankle tattoo that matched the one on
Stephanie herself. Stephanie also did some crushing, she admitted.
One photograph Loudermilk sent to Vilencia was of Stephanie's feet
in Roman-style sandals poised millimeters above a baby chick. The
caption read: "Steph cruel. See the little chicken? SQUASH."
An ad Loudermilk placed in "In Step" Magazine starred Stephanie.
"I'm a 27 year old female, and a Native American with tan feet," it
read. "I love to trample on men and I love to feel small insects
crushing under my sandal foot." It was signed, "Foot Goddess,
In the back of Bryan Loudermilk's SUV, investigators found two
odd-looking objects: a wooden two-by-four with a metal plate in the
shape of a foot wearing a sandal attached to one end, and a padded
strap studded with spikes. On the two-by-four, in Loudermilk's bold
script, was a label: "My Wooden Stephanie."
Stephanie told police that Loudermilk would often masturbate in a
bathroom while using the artificial foot and the spike straps to
simulate the feeling of her standing on him.
"He would put the strap around his waist with the spikes protruding
toward his abdomen," she said in her statement to the Okeechobee
Sheriff's Department. "He would take the wooden foot and lean it
against something and press the spikes into his abdomen." The
spikes, which presumably simulated the feeling of heels digging into
his flesh, sometimes gave Loudermilk scars.
Loudermilk started his own small-scale fetish production company,
which he called "B&S Foot Action" in a nod to their first names. "We
offer videos, photos, & arts of female feet in action. Crushing,
trampling, sandals, heels, modeling, & more. We also do some custom
work," read one ad for the company.
Loudermilk also published at least one issue of what he called Foot
Fetish Forum. Photocopied and filled with drawings of feet trampling
and crushing, he sold it for $3 to fetishists across the country.
Loudermilk enlisted other women in his projects, paying them to
participate in a crush or a trample. "He employed a lot of people in
these videos. At least ten people," says Sgt. William Garrison of
the Okeechobee Sheriff's Department, who was the lead detective on
the Loudermilk case. "He paid $50 an hour for girls to walk on him."

Sandy Powell, Loudermilk's 26-year-old cousin, told police that she
had stood on Loudermilk, allowed him to sell photos of her feet, and
had crushed goldfish on video. She had also walked in on Stephanie,
nude except for high heels, walking across Loudermilk's stomach.
Another friend, Heather Nicole Davis, admitted to police that she
starred in a video with Stephanie titled Nikki and Steph Rabbits. In
the video, two sets of female feet walk back and forth over rabbits
that are strapped to a grassy lawn, crushing them to death. In other
videos found in Loudermilk's house, mice and chickens are stomped,
and witnesses told police that Loudermilk had orchestrated the
crushing of ducks, fish, and rats.
But nobody who talked to investigators, including Stephanie, seemed
to think Loudermilk was a monster.
"Most people thought he was a pretty good guy," Garrison says.

By the time Loudermilk was found under his car, the nation's
crackdown on crush was reaching its zenith. Citing arrests in New
York and California and buoyed by support from celebrities that
included Mickey Rooney and M*A*S*H's Loretta Swit, California
Congressman Elton Gallegly urged passage of a bill that would make
selling videos depicting animal torture a federal crime. President
Bill Clinton signed the bill into law on December 9, 1999.
Vilencia then had to abandon his company, Squish Productions, which
specialized in insect crush videos. And he's still bitter, saying
that it's hypocritical for people who eat meat, for example, to
oppose crush videos.
It's a common theme with crush supporters, says Katharine Gates,
author of fetish encyclopedia Deviant Desires. Crush fetishists
argue that it makes no sense for cockroaches or goldfish to deserve
protection from "'death by foot' as opposed to 'death by toilet
flush' or excruciating poison traps," she says.
Even critics of the crush fetish acknowledge that opposition to
crush videos is rooted more in attitudes toward sex than concerns
about animal welfare. "There's a lot of hypocrisy, unfortunately,"
says John Schiff, a California programmer who runs a website that
publishes the names and addresses of crush fetish "offenders,"
including Stephanie Loudermilk. "I think the sexual aspect of it is
really what bothers people. They have no problem with people eating
live animals on Fear Factor."
But for Schiff, it's the suffering of living things that motivates
him to advocate against the fetish. "The fact that it's needless
cruelty. There's really no way to condone it."
Today, crush videos depicting the squishing of live animals are
still available from websites based in Amsterdam and China, but
whenever they receive too much attention, they disappear.
This March, photographs of a Chinese woman crushing a small kitten
under her stilettos surfaced on a Chinese website and were reprinted
in newspapers across the country, sparking widespread outrage and a
manhunt for the so-called "Glamorous Kitten Killer of Hangzhou." In
response, China-based crush sites disappeared.
Though crush video activity is almost nonexistent in the United
States, Schiff's website tracks one purveyor in Palm Beach County.
Sosio Cristofaro, a smooth-talking rock bassist, owns two houses in
Palm Beach and is cagey about whether his crush website,
www.mistressaryel.com, is still in operation. He acknowledges that
he began the site with business partner Mike Branch in the mid-1990s
from a Palm Beach-based production company they called Stomp
"When we started doing a website back in the day, we ventured off
into different little aspects," Cristofaro says. "Burping fetish
videos, foot fetish videos. The foot fetish videos are all related,
so when we started doing some trampling videos, that led into
stepping on grapes, on some crickets, based on what a few people
He says it was a sideline, something extra for his models to do. "We
would have a girl do a blowjob video and say, 'Hey, would you step
on crickets too?'"
One video currently offered by Mistress Aryel on a site called Niche
Clips, also run by Cristofaro, is called Spill Your Guts. It
features the feet of "Mistress Rachel" crushing a crawdad. The clip
is accompanied by a description designed to entice crush fans to buy
it for $12 to $13: "Now that's the way I like to see them, flat and
splattered on the bottom of my shoe."
But Cristofaro says that crush videos are "not something I'm into
any more" and that Stomp Productions dissolved years ago when Branch
moved some of its operations to the Philippines. He says he is
appalled to hear that Loudermilk got his kicks from being crushed by
a car.
"That's disgusting," he says. "You're shitting me. That's a
different world; that's something I don't even know about. What the
hell does a car have to do with this?"

"It's sort of a warmth. Your skin, and the muscles, just gradually
feel more and more worn, tender. Sensitized. You get numbness like
you sit on an arm or leg or foot wrong and it goes to sleep... a
tingling feeling."
"Smashman," a middle-aged man from California who has been pursuing
the sensation of intense weight on his body for more than 30 years
and who asked that his real name not be revealed, says he can
imagine what Bryan Loudermilk's last moments might have felt like.
Smashman is living proof that "car crush" can be done safely — he
himself has been driven over by vehicles ranging from small cars to
monster trucks, and in Florida, where his world travels in search of
new pressures frequently bring him. His first experiment took place
on Daytona Beach, when some men offered to drive over him as he lay
buried in the sand. Today, he regularly visits a mud pit in Orlando
where he invites local truckers to drive over his body.
To prepare, Smashman digs a shallow pit in the ground, just like the
one Loudermilk was found in. This is so the tire won't break his
ribs. "I cannot lay down on a flat surface like a parking lot or a
street and have someone drive over me," he says. "It pinches the
ribs very uncomfortably."
A video shot at the Orlando mud pit recently shows Smashman lying in
his ditch, looking at the large wheels of a monster truck.
"Ready?" he says, his reedy voice calm.
The truck moves, rolling over his chest, and Smashman lets out a
squeak and a blast of air, sounding more like a cartoon character
than a man. And just like a cartoon, he bounces back instantly.
"That was good!" he says as the wheel rolls off. It's as if he's
just taken a vigorous shower.
Although Smashman has had people sit on him for up to an hour and a
half, he's never been under a vehicle for more than a few seconds.
According to investigators, Loudermilk was under his SUV far longer.
"Obviously, if you are under a significant amount of weight for a
period of time," he says, "your endurance gradually wears away."

Loudermilk's mother, Sandra Bailey, was first told that Loudermilk
was crushed when his jack failed while he was repairing his SUV. She
knows today that his death was related to his sexual desires, but
she doesn't know much more about why her son died than she did then.

"I think they should have investigated," she says. "They should find
out exactly who put the thing on there and make sure that there
wasn't no foul play. Somebody didn't go back and take the car off."
"I expected the investigation to go further than it did," Sgt.
Garrison says. In 20 years with the Okeechobee Sheriff's Department,
he says, he never encountered anything like Loudermilk's death.
The investigation never officially closed, Garrison says, because it
was almost impossible that Loudermilk got under his car without
help. "It would have been a difficult situation to do by himself,"
he says. "But the group is a tight-knit group. It's hard to get
information from them."
Police spoke to women between the ages of 18 and 27 who regularly
performed fetish acts for Loudermilk (some his relatives and
neighbors), but none of them ever hinted who they thought drove the
car over him.
State Attorney Bernard Romero, who prosecuted an animal cruelty case
against Stephanie Loudermilk based on the videotapes with her
tell-tale tattoo, believes that Bryan Loudermilk had a friend
position the car, then left as Loudermilk masturbated. Romero says
that Stephanie Loudermilk was cleared early on from any suspicion.
"It was pretty clear she was not to be a suspect of murder," Romero
says. "We had enough evidence to believe that she was not behind the
But Garrison says that's not quite true. "Everyone's a suspect. We
just never had any evidence to put her behind the wheel. You don't
go to court on suspicions."
Stephanie was charged with two felony counts of animal abuse. Romero
told reporters at the time that he was incensed by the videotapes
and planned to seek the "maximum penalty" for her.
But after conversations with witnesses and Stephanie's Fort
Lauderdale attorney, Guy Seligman, he modified his view and asked
the judge to reduce her charges to misdemeanor counts. Instead of
jail time, she received two years of probation and 300 hours of
community service, as well as orders to seek psychiatric counseling.
Seligman refused to comment for this article and said that
Stephanie, who now lives on the Brighton Reservation, was also
unwilling to talk.
Central to Stephanie's defense was the suggestion that she was the
innocent victim of Bryan Loudermilk's perverted desires. A Seminole
woman with a rural reservation upbringing whom acquaintances
described as docile, she seemed to be a compliant part of
Loudermilk's fantasies, dressing up in a genie costume and donning
sandals for photos and videotapes. What clinched her innocence for
Romero was that witnesses close to the couple suggested that, in
addition, Stephanie was abused.
"I was the one that was able to glean from the witnesses that she
was allegedly beaten," Romero says. "He had beaten her, forced her
to engage. She was not a willing participant. He had beaten her,
thrown her against the wall."
In their initial statements to police, however, none of those
witnesses suggested that Stephanie was a victim. Police heard of no
abuse by Bryan Loudermilk toward any of the women who participated
in his fetish. He was a drug user, police were told, but no one
described him as a man who hit his wife. Sgt. Garrison, who
interviewed Stephanie after the SUV incident, didn't notice any
signs of abuse.
"I didn't see no physical marks on her at the time," he says. "She
was free to come and go. If it was that bad, she could have left."
And Loudermilk's mother says she had heard the opposite, that
Loudermilk had been pushed around by his six-foot-tall wife.
What certainly seems true is that the Loudermilk marriage was
disintegrating in 1999. Several of Loudermilk's friends told police
that he had begun using cocaine several months before his death. The
Loudermilk house was full of strangers partying at all hours of the
night, and several sources say that Bryan and Stephanie were
fighting about drug use and Stephanie's affair with a friend, known
only to investigators as Robert, who was living with them. One
friend reported that Robert threatened to kill Loudermilk after
being run off his property the weekend before Loudermilk's death.
According to Loudermilk's mother, the couple was considering
A friend, Sarah Ruth McCleod, who was with the Loudermilks the night
before Bryan died, reported that the couple seemed happy, "drinking
and partying." The next morning, as Sarah left the house, Bryan told
her that he was going fishing. Stephanie claimed that she didn't see
Loudermilk at all that Monday, remaining in the house with her kids.

According to several witnesses, Stephanie gave her friend Kimberly
"Krystie" Medders several photographs the day Loudermilk died. When
investigators questioned Medders about the photographs, she
initially denied that she had them, then answered that the photos
had been destroyed.
"They were probably just some more photographs of her walking on
some animals," Garrison says when asked about them.
But that same day, Stephanie handed over boxes of photos and
videotapes that showed the Loudermilks' crush activities and
implicated her in acts of animal cruelty. For some reason, she held
back just a few of them.
After Loudermilk's death, Stephanie cut off contact with his family
and obtained a restraining order against Loudermilk's mother after
Bailey made attempts to contact her grandchildren.
Bailey hasn't seen her grandchildren since Loudermilk died and is
tight-lipped when she talks about Stephanie today. "I don't want her
in trouble," she says. "I wouldn't have tried to get her in trouble
about nothing like that because she has my grandkids."
In 1999, Bryan Loudermilk was nominated for immortality by the
Darwin Awards, the tongue-in-cheek, web-based honors bestowed to
those who "improve the human genome by removing themselves from it."
The nomination of Loudermilk specifically blamed his wife for
driving the car and suggested that Loudermilk got exactly what he
deserved. "A man who would lie in a special pit while a woman he
groomed for 'crush' videos drove over him, shouldn't be surprised
when he winds up holding a Darwin Award."
Romero, who prosecuted Stephanie before ultimately allowing her to
plea-bargain for a reduced animal cruelty sentence, was annoyed at
the website's assumption of her guilt. "I saw the Darwin Award," he
says. "They got it all wrong. She was never charged with murder."
Related Links

The Lucky Intern

By solestruck

Some years ago, when I was a third year law student in a major city, I had
an internship with a state court. My direct supervisor was a woman named Ann
who was a Harvard Law Grad. She was new to the position as a Judge's Clerk.
For those who are not familiar with the legal profession, judicial
clerkships are highly sought after, very competitive and usually go to those
who are politically connected, valedictorians or chief editors of the law
review. The Clerks research and write the opinions for the judges.

Ann was from a very wealthy, well-connected family. Her father was a CEO of
a major Fortune 100 company that I need not identify. She had gone to law
school right from college and landed the clerkship. She had never supervised
anyone before and had agreed to take an intern on reluctantly since she was
very busy, and looked at it more as having an anchor around her neck rather
than an extra pair of hands. She was forced to do so since the Chief Judge
had committed to the law school to take on interns. Ann did not have great
people skills. I guess she never really had to since with money, connections
and two Harvard degrees she did not need them. The thing I disliked most was
that she was short-tempered and curt. If I did something wrong, or did not
receive enough direction, I would get chewed out, then she would angrily
tell me she would just do it herself and I could find something else to do.
I think her exact words were to make myself "useful." I had to eat this crow
though because the way it was set up, the internship supervisor gave a grade
at the end and because part of the reason for doing internships was to
compile a list of professional references.

Ann had very short brown hair, brown eyes, and was about 5'3". She was not a
hard body, but liked to run, and did so frequently at lunch. She was lean
and in shape. She was very pretty in a clean, business way. She looked a lot
like the short haired brunette district attorney on the TV Show Law & Order,
but not quite as pretty. She always dressed nice and did the shoe change at
the office thing, wearing sneakers or boots, then peeling off the white
socks to reveal hosiery, then putting on pumps. Normally she had a
collection of two or three pairs of pumps or boots in on a given occasion
near or under her desk. On a few occasions, I arranged to work late in order
to inspect and "clean" them when no one was around. I was always careful to
try to put them back, but one time I did forget to tuck a sock back into a
sneaker that was on the floor. On another occasion, the saliva left a pair
of suede pumps in a matted condition that could have been a giveaway, but
there were never any comments made.

We worked in an old building that had been renovated but had a lot of
character like high ceilings, beautiful wood beams and a lot of small rooms,
closets, cloisters, passages, illogically placed staircases, etc. Our office
was on the fourth floor, and had big old metal desks and wood desks that you
could not see under. It was crowded with too much furniture and boxes of
files everywhere. The only nice things in the room were a brand new green
rug and crisp new law books lining the wall to wall shelves. Ann's desk was
at the very far end of the rectangle facing the door, so her back was to the
window looking right out the door. My desk and some other female attorney's
desk were further toward the door and were set up to look right across at
each other with our backs near opposite walls. It was typical government set
up with a real patchwork network wiring job on the computers, which
frequently broke down, and for which there was no way to get any kind of

Anyway, every week I had to submit a feedback report on what I was doing,
what I learned, any suggestions for improvement, etc. A theme I had repeated
several weeks in a row, but in a gentle way, was that I was just being given
scut work, and that I did not get any real meaningful responsibilities. I
used to confide in the other attorney who clerked for some other judge and
was coming to the end of her 2 year term. I don't really remember her name
or what she looked like but she was nice. She kept encouraging me to ask for
more work, and whenever she could she would gently offer Ann suggestions
about giving me more substantive work. We could not talk much though because
anytime Ann was in the room she would rudely tell us to shut up or stop
talking because she needed to concentrate on her work. Ann would then
suggest we go the library or the café or just outside. She needed to
concentrate. She was one of those stressed out types. I did enjoy the show
on those days when I got in early and enjoyed watching her while working on
filing projects but I hated the internship otherwise.

Most times, she would have me file papers in the boxes beside her desk or in
her desk side file drawer. I viewed this as a little degrading but did not
put up a stink because it meant going around behind her desk and kneeling or
sitting on the floor to do the task which left me with a great view. She was
constantly dipping her heels in and out of her pumps, kicking them off and
would do this thing where she made a fist with her toes in the shoe or
kicked off the shoe and rolled her toes under the foot. Great toe flexing
show. This filing always took a long time. Maybe that's why she thought I
was not competent to handle more complex tasks.

One Thursday, during a week that the computers were acting up a lot, Ann was
under another tight deadline to get a huge memorandum done for the judge.
All week, she had to keep going under her desk and pressing the network jack
back into the port and slowly releasing it in a delicate manner hoping it
would stay there, because it was sort of loose. It was a shitty makeshift
plastic junction box, jerry-rigged together with other such boxes all across
the floor with the cables left in the walkways. The cheap CAT5 cable had one
of those perma-twists in it and was a little too taut anyway. It regularly
got kicked any time anyone came near Ann's desk and that would make her lose
her network connection.

Ann had already asked us to refrain from talking when I first came in and
exchanged greetings with the other woman. She said she needed to
concentrate. She had already had to manually press the network thing in four
or five times in the fifteen minutes I was there. I was not sure if she was
just her normal no-manners self or if she was upset because I had
presumptuously wasted 5 minutes of her needed time the previous afternoon
having a sit down about getting more "substantive duties with an important
purpose" and "mission critical tasks," since the internship write up posted
at school said the job would involve "research and writing tasks." In that
meeting, she had told me, "You'll have to talk quickly, while I change my
shoes since I am in a rush and need to meet someone." She did not even look
up once during my airing of thoughts. Her response to my points was that
"the profession requires a team player, and that filing and the few other
tasks you have been given consist of work that I did myself before you got
here, and that I will continue to do after your internship is over. I do not
consider the work beneath me, so you should not consider it beneath you." I
had no response at the time since this had blindsided me. She just loved to
beat people down.

Once I got settled in on that Thursday, about 10 minutes after arriving, I
said in a very apprehensive and cautious tone that I knew it was a bad time
but that I had nothing to work on, and needed something to do. She stopped
typing, quickly looked up, abruptly rolled back her chair and with
exasperation said, "I do have something 'mission critical' today. You can
hold my network jack into the port while I finish this thing up. I was
supposed to have it done by noon and the judge is leaving at four." The
other attorney said, "You can't ask him to do that." Ann replied, "Well yes
I can, I am his supervisor, I will be giving him his grade, I will supplying
a professional reference to him, and it is something that I have had to do
myself all week and don't consider to be beneath me. And besides, this today
IS 'mission critical.' You can go get your own intern. I will manage mine
the way I see fit."

Realizing that I would have to be under her desk, which had a heavy solid
wood structure in front of it, with two low book cases full of books in
front of that, I just acquiesced by body language and started for her desk,
saying, "I'll help you out. I want to be a team player." As I got there, she
motioned down under the desk and said, "It's off to the left toward the
back." I laid down on my back under the desk, and on the way, noticed that
off to my left (her right) were a pair of those black, flat, pull-on knee
high riding boots with the brown collar at the top, as well as one navy blue
pump with the Enzo Angiolini logo showing. She must have had them already
off for a flexing session when she exploded in response to my question.
Since the pump was in the middle and I figured she would need room to roll
forward to finish working on the memo, I laid down, and squished my body as
far to her left as I could so my stomach was under her file drawers. Since
that particular drawer with hanging file folders was open over my hips, I
also had the benefit of even more cover, should anything arise.

I pushed the loose jack in and held it there, and she rolled back in. She
had to angle her legs about 45 degrees to the side since I was occupying a
fair portion of the main opening under the desk. It seemed like it might not
be totally comfortable for her. Her right foot, with pump still on wound up
just a few inches from my head. The other foot without the shoe was still
tucked back, probably with her toes curled under. This was actually pretty
sweet. Noone could see me, not even Ann. She then rocked her right foot up
on the heel of the shoe and was twisting the heel into the floor,
unconsciously rotating the top slowly from side to side and pausing for a 10
seconds or so at each end point. On each swing toward her left, it was going
right near my face and pausing there. Being creative, I moved my head over
when it went to the far side so there would be no clearance when it
eventually came back to her left. To my delight, the sole rubbed right over
my nose, and paused on my lips. I was waiting for her to flinch or say "ooh
sorry." But nothing. She must have been "concentrating." It was curious
though that she did not keep rotating after the sole of her show made
contact with my lips and nose. I wondered whether she knew that she had the
sole of her shoe against my lips and nose. I snuck my tongue out and pressed
in carefully to the sole, stealing a few gentle, careful licks. I paused. No
reaction. So I kept going. There was just typing and murmuring of legal
mumbo jumbo coming from above. What a thrill, her knowing I was there, sole
of shoe on face, not paying any attention to me, typing away, murmuring her
words back to herself, and not knowing I had my tongue out licking her shoe
and having no idea of the pleasure I was getting out of it. This continued
for a while and then, unfortunately, she replanted her foot off to the side
of my head again.

A few minutes later, the other attorney said, "How's it going under there?"
I said I was "holding up OK, keeping the place afloat." We both started
laughing. Ann then shooshed us. We continued talking though, the other
attorney telling her to lighten up, and me chiming in, "If you want me to go
to the library or the cafe, you will have to hold this thing in yourself."
The other attorney and I again began laughing. Just then, to my shock and
delight, Ann shooshed again more angrily but this time lifted her foot and
firmly stomped the sole of her pump right over my lips, the tip of it
pressing up under my nose. This ended my laughing immediately, and rendered
me unable to respond to the other woman's question asking if I needed water
or anything. Noticing the abrupt cut-off of my laughter and the lack of
response to her question, the other attorney asked "What did you do, muzzle
him?" Ann replied, "Something like that." I was quickly getting very hard.
Thankfully the file drawer was out.

She just left her shoe there on my mouth for what must have been 5 minutes
of typing. My lips started to hurt a little, and her weight had been pushing
slightly forward so that the tip of her shoe was starting to push up under
my nose and hurt. Finally, she lifted her shoe sole off my face and placed
it back on the floor beside my head. I then said "Whew, thanks," and knowing
it would get on Ann's nerves but feeling a little antagonistic, I called out
to the other attorney that "I will pass on the water, thanks." Ann quickly
replied, "If that is how you want to play it," then swiftly brought her left
shoeless foot forward and put the ball of it right over my mouth. The other
attorney asked me some other question, and after I did not reply, she said
"Hello under there!". Again no response from me. She then asked Ann, "What
did you do to him?" Without missing a keystroke, and probably without even
looking up, Ann said "He is unable to respond." The other attorney kept
pestering, "Can he breathe?" Ann sighed, stopped typing and said, "He is
fine, he can breathe, he will live. He just cannot talk because I had to
cover his mouth to shut him up." With a shocked tone in her voice the other
attorney asked, "Do you have your foot on his mouth." Ann ignored the
question and continued, "Unless you are going to have a conversation with
yourself, I suggest you either do your work or go elsewhere so I can do my
work." The other attorney huffed out muttering some comment at Ann.

Ann continued typing. Her toes were right over my nose. I could not say
anything since the ball of her foot was pressed over my nose. I felt myself
getting harder. I did not want to protest since I wanted her to keep it
there but I was embarrassed since Ann had let the other attorney to know
that Ann's foot was on my face. Worse yet, or better yet, she began to do
her patented toe flexes where she splayed them out and then gripped them
unconsciously over my nose. She must have been totally absorbed in what she
was doing. Or was she?

Why if we are now alone does she still have the foot on my face? Why is it
in the exact spot? Why is she grabbing my nose? Did she hear me sniffing and
suspect that I got off on it? Had I moaned or something?" Maybe I should
have protested? Did she reason that the only way her shoe would make contact
with my face earlier is if I moved to be in its path? Did she feel me
licking the shoe earlier? Maybe I got into it a little too much? Did she
notice her shoes moved or licked clean a few times only on nights I worked
late? The white sock? I did not make a peep.

We stayed like this for a long while. Her "concentrating" and subconsciously
flexing her toes, gripping and mauling my nose while the ball of her foot
was pressed firmly on my lips, and me in heaven. It had to be an hour or
more. Incredible, I was actually forced to inhale every molecule of air
through the filter of her nylons right under her toes. They smelled only a
little and it was a delicate smell mixed with leather smell. A few times
while I was sniffing I had to catch myself so I did not become too loud. My
brain started to race wondering whether I had moaned or something during the
passing time.

During this span of time, someone came in the office and said, "The judge
needs the memo by four." Ann angrily replied, "I am well aware of my own
deadlines." The person then said, "Sorry, just telling you," and left. This
gave me a little thrill knowing there was another third party there who had
no idea what was going on.

At one point, my lips began to hurt again from the ball of her foot pressing
the weight of her legs right onto my lips against my teeth, so I managed to
toggle my head a little side to side and pushing up and then quickly back
down to create a little room so I could quickly open my mouth and get my
lips out of the way. She then immediately stopped typing, momentarily lifted
her foot and softly touched and felt around with it, as if probing to see
what the disturbance was. She patted the ball and toes where my lips had
been, seeming to notice that her toes briefly entered my mouth. She felt my
teeth with her toes, briefly touching down all around the area of my face to
verify what had changed. She paused with her foot hovering over my mouth and
nose. My heart started to race a little, wondering if she was onto me
enjoying this, but she soon placed her foot back down, the ball of it over
my open mouth. It seemed as though she had noticed that I had opened my
mouth on purpose and that I was keeping it open, so she took the invitation
to rest the ball of her foot into my open mouth. She began typing again, and
I slowly eased my tongue against the ball of her foot, increasing the amount
of pressure. Sensing no reaction, I began to move it ever so slightly, in a
slow French kiss type movement. The ever so slightly salty taste of her foot
sweat was making me salivate so I had to swallow periodically which resulted
in my sucking on the ball of her foot as I tongued it. For a long while I
was tonguing and sucking on the ball of her foot. She either did not notice,
or did not care. Either way, it must not have bothered her. I think I sucked
the ball a little deeper into my mouth so that my teeth must have been
digging into her flesh at the arch and the underside of her toes.

After about fifteen minutes, I realized she must have known my mouth was
open because she lifted her foot, removing the ball of it from my open
mouth, and with it hovering just above my face, she reached down with one
hand and felt the wet stocking, pinching the fabric and pulling from where
it had become all slimy and stuck to her foot. I noticed that the area I was
sucking was all wet and discolored. I was worried since she had obviously
noticed that it was all covered in saliva. But, she did not say anything.
She just re-positioned her foot and replaced it so that the heel of her foot
now went into my mouth opening. Her weight was now pushing on my upper
teeth. I pulled the same little trick with my tongue, touching it to the
foot ever so slightly and increasing the amount of pressure, then increasing
the movement so I could get some licks in like a French kiss. She left the
heel of her foot in my open stretched mouth for about 15 or 20 minutes. I
was tonguing and sucking on the heel of her foot the whole time. Since the
heel-down, toes up position results in a much greater amount of weight
pushing down, my jaw muscles started to really ache.

She eventually lifted the heel of her foot out of my mouth, and said, "Will
you close your mouth, your teeth are starting to dig into my flesh." I felt
a little embarrassed that she verbalized what I was doing out loud so anyone
walking in could have heard it. I began to babble, "Sorry, I opened it
because my lips were starting to hurt getting squished against my teeth. I
wasn't--" Without missing a beat, she pointed her toes and wriggled the foot
into my mouth, cutting me off in mid-sentence with a foot gag. She leaned
her weight onto it as she continued typing so that her foot entered as far
as it could, limited only by how far open my mouth could stretch. I was
looking straight up her shin with her foot rammed into my mouth as far as it
would go. It appeared to me in about up to mid arch, and felt like over time
with her weight leaning forward it was inching in further every few minutes.
I felt a very mild gag reflex as her toes approached the very back of my
mouth and throat but I was able to mentally hold it back.

This lasted for another 20 minutes or so, and our office-mate returned to
retrieve something from her desk, and again tried to get Ann's goat by
asking me a question. I could not answer since Ann's foot was rammed into my
mouth as far as it would go. She kept on, are you still alive under there.
Worried about the pestering and concerned that she might come around the
back and see me with Ann's foot rammed into my mouth with no protest from
me, I tried to say "Mmm-Hmm" but I noticed that because of how far Ann's
foot was rammed into my mouth, it sounded like someone who was gargling, and
it would have been obvious to anyone that I was gagged by something. In a
startled tone, the attorney said, "Did you gag him?" Ann stopped typing, and
replied, "As a matter of fact I did . . . with my foot." I think the other
attorney was shocked since there was a pause, before she said, "What?" Ann
icily replied, "He opened his mouth and I stuck my foot into it. If he has a
problem with my foot in his mouth, he can leave at any time." The other
attorney left again. Ann's words stung since she had in a way outed me,
telling the other woman about her foot in my mouth, leaving me an
opportunity to protest and leave immediately if I was opposed to having a
foot shoved in my mouth. Since I did nothing but lay there prostrate under
her desk with her foot rammed in my mouth and made no effort to leave, the
other attorney must now know what Ann had no doubt figured out: I must be
getting some enjoyment from being gagged by her foot under her desk for
hours at a time. Or maybe she really had no idea and just figured I was
putting up with whatever degradation she could heap on me in order to avoid
a bad grade.

I was feeling very embarrassed at this point since now the other woman knew
exactly what was going on under the desk, and I had not taken Ann's offer to
walk away if I objected to having her foot placed into my mouth as a gag.
About 15 minutes later, there was another person who entered and asked for a
file. Ann adjusted her weight hard onto the forward foot in my mouth so she
could lean into the file drawer, rummaged for the file folder, pulled it out
and shut the file drawer that had previously been open. This gave me a
little scare because it left my hips exposed. My crotch was no longer hidden
under the file drawer. There was what seemed like a long delay with no
typing and I wondered if when she closed the file drawer looking right down,
she could not help but notice my erection since it was a full mast right
under where the drawer had been. Maybe she was piecing it all together,
suspecting my tongue licking her foot, feeling me sucking on it, feeling the
saliva on her stocking, putting her foot right into my mouth, telling people
about it, hearing no protest from me and now seeing the hard-on must have
left no doubt that I was enjoying this. It was almost a full minute with no
typing. I was thankful when it resumed.

About 20 minutes later, Ann removed her foot from inside my mouth and again
placed her foot over my closed mouth with her toes over my nose. She made
this embarrassment worse, toying with me by saying, "I have enough saliva on
my foot now that I need to dry it before I put my shoes back on." I did not
reply and felt sort of exposed and helpless. She had kicked off the other
shoe and was flexing that one on the floor. She then brought this other foot
onto my face and pressed both of them there.

About ten minutes later, our other office mate, who must have returned,
said, "I'm running out to grab a coffee, do you guys need anything?" Ann
asked for a decaf but I could not speak since Ann's foot was on my mouth and
nose. The departing woman waited and said, "Did you kill him under there?
Can you take your foot out of his mouth so he can answer?" Without missing a
beat, Ann lifted the ball of her foot momentarily off my lips by rocking it
back using my chin as the pivot point of a seesaw under her arch. Taking my
cue, I said no thanks and Ann immediately rocked the foot right back down
where it was on my face with the ball on my lips and the toes over my nose,
and continued flexing, gripping my nose. The other attorney said, "I can't
believe he is putting up with this." With a sarcastic edge, Ann replied,
"Oh, I think he is doing just fine, and is not suffering as much as you may
think." This luckily went right over the other attorney's head, and she left
with a "Whatever."

As I heard the clacking of our office mate walking away on the tiles of the
hall, my mind started to race again. The comment Ann made had to mean that
she was on to me. She was still flexing the toes. I was hard as a rock.
Maybe she was secretly enjoying the power of this position. Maybe she was
not onto me at all and was doing it to spite me for complaining about the
internship and characterizing work that she herself did as scut work. The
longer it went on with just us two in the room, the more I worried. I heard
the printer start, which was right on her overcrowded desk. She leaned to
her left where the printer was, and I heard her kind of chuckle to herself
as she reached over to the printer leaning over where my exposed crotch was.
I heard her gathering up pages.

What was the chuckle for? She then took her feet off my face, sought out her
pumps with her feet, wriggled into them, leaned back into her chair for the
first time in hours with a sigh, and then crossing her ankles, returned both
of her feet to face, this time with her pumps on. She said, "You don't need
to hold that wire in while I proof this." She was proof reading. Proof
reading with her pumps on my face. I suppose she did not want me to get up
and leave since she had put her feet back in my face. Was she toying with me
to see how much humiliation I would put up with to avoid a bad grade? Or was
she aware that I had a thing for her feet and just seeing what the limits of
my perversion were? It had to be the latter, no one would be that
presumptuous and have such a superiority complex that they would stick there
foot into another human's mouth, or place their high heeled shoes directly
onto his face. She must have read for 20 or 30 minutes or so, jotting notes
down. She had uncrossed and re-crossed her legs once or twice, and on one of
those occasions, the heel of her pumps was resting too close to the edge of
my face, so it skidded off down my cheek, scratching my face with the heel.
I involuntarily said "Ow," but she made an angry face and angry sound,
replacing it with a little meaningful slam on my face, as if it was my fault
that she was inconvenienced by her foot slipping off my face. It had been
too long since the last uncross/re-cross, so her heel was starting to dig
into my cheek and hurt.

Thankfully, she finished the note taking, saying out loud, "I just need to
make these edits and we are done." She took her pumps off my face, and I
said "Whoa, thank you, my cheek was starting to hurt." My mind was racing
with nervousness and anxiety, so I began to babble again like an idiot. I
continued to yammer about needing to get water, and get up and stretch. She
rolled her chair way in again so she could lean forward and placed the tip
of her left pump on my lips, ending my sentence for me. I took this as my
cue to shut up and then felt her force the tip of her shoe past my lips into
my mouth. She chuckled again. As she leaned in, more and more weight pressed
the pointed shoe deeper into my mouth. The gag reflex was a little stronger
this time since the taper on the shoe allowed it to reach deeper into my
throat, than her toes did earlier. Still I fought it back. There I was again
staring straight up her shin with her foot rammed into my mouth. I must have
let my mind wander and forgot about my important role, since at some point
she raised her voice and said, "Connection lost, I only asked you to do one
thing-hold the cord in!"

Our office mate eventually returned about a half hour later with Ann's
coffee and she told me she brought a bottled water for me and asked if I
wanted it. Wanting to avoid another description from Ann of what position I
was in, I tried to say "Uh-uh" to decline the water, but given the depth of
the shoe gag it sounded awful. The other attorney asked again, "Do you still
have your foot in his mouth?" Ann coldly replied, "Technically yes, but it
would be more accurate to say I have my shoe in his mouth." The attorney
said, "What?" with a tone of confusion. Ann calmly explained, "I have my
foot in my shoe and my shoe in his mouth." The other attorney said, "I
cannot believe what I am hearing. He does not have to stand for this." Ann
replied, "No he doesn't, but he is! For the past several hours, I have had
my feet all over his face and in his mouth and he has not complained at all.
Only you are complaining. I had the bottoms of my pumps pressed on his mouth
for almost an hour. I had my bare feet pressed on his face for an hour. I
had the ball of my foot and the heel of my foot in his mouth. I felt him
sucking on them, and felt his tongue licking them. I did not ask him to do
that. My toes were stuffed in his mouth for over an hour. My shoe has been
stuffed in his mouth for almost an hour and he has not complained, asked me
to remove it, or made any effort to leave. In fact, I think he is enjoying
it." She then abruptly pulled her foot out of my mouth, and asked me, "Do
you want to leave or are you all set down there and actually enjoying this?"
I was too embarrassed to answer, and said nothing for a long 5 second span.
Ann continued, "If any of this is bothering you in any way, just speak up.
Say something if you have something to say. You can leave if any of this is
bothering you. If you are thoroughly enjoying this and want me to shove my
shoe back in your mouth, just stay where you are and say nothing." I just
wanted this three-way conversation to end. The way Ann worded the question I
was damned if I do, damned if I don't. Silence was acknowledgement that I
was enjoying this degradation. After 10 painful seconds of silence, Ann
said, "I rest my case," and she triumphantly forced the tip of her shoe back
past my lips and deep into my mouth. She continued on the attack, "Now that
you know he is enjoying his current task, maybe you can stop badgering me.
He does not need you to fight a battle for him when he appears to be quite
happy where he is, and I say that from personal observation." She must have
been letting me know that she had seen my erection. The other attorney said

The other attorney worked for a while. After about another 30 minutes, my
jaw was beginning to ache from the weight of the shoe pressing as hard as it
was. It had sunk so deep into my mouth cavity that my lips had almost made
it to the flesh of her instep. Just then the other attorney was rustling
around and I heard her say, "I need to take off, I will see you guys next
week" Ann did not bother to say goodbye. I could not answer with Ann's shoe
forced deep into my mouth and her weight on it. The other attorney said,
"Can you pull your shoe out of his mouth so he can say goodbye."

Ann pulled her front end of shoe out of my mouth just long enough for me to
say "Goodbye," rotated her ankle a little to work a kink out and then,
contracting her shin muscles to lift her toes, she placed both pumps on my
face. She had moved in so far that he left knee was past my head, and I just
got my mouth open to avoid the heel smashing my lips. The left heel was in
my mouth with the rest of the left shoe pressing against my upper lip and
nose. Luckily she had pulled the chair way in or the heel would have been
poking into the roof of my mouth. The right shoe was a little further back
so that my chin was between the heel and the rest of the shoe, the main
bottom of which was mostly pressed on my lips. To further reveal that she
knew what was up, she said with a very sarcastic tone, "Looks like your
defender is gone. From my view up here, I'd say there is pretty good
circumstantial evidence that you are very much enjoying yourself." I said
nothing. I knew that she knew. She continued, "If you want to lick my shoes,
have the guts to do it while I am here and not after I leave work. Why don't
you lick the bottoms of my shoes now?" I did nothing, so she gave a little
press, and said, "Well, go ahead, I know you have been doing stuff to my
shoes after hours. Have the guts to do it now." So I did.

Eventually she must have finished the edits, since the printer started to
hum again. She momentarily took her pumps off my face, put them on the floor
on either side of my head, and leaned left to grab the documents for the
final proofread. With the final draft back in hand, she rolled back again,
kicked off her pumps, placed her feet directly on my face and leaned back to
begin proof-reading again. She held the paper aside so she could look me in
the face. She then said, "Go ahead, you seemed to enjoy licking them
earlier." So I did.

Eventually, she lifted her foot off my face, pushed back her chair to stand
up, and looked under the desk, not directly at me but just to find her
shoes. She slipped them on, said "Thirty minutes to spare," and started
walking out. I asked, "Should I stay here?" She replied, "If you want." I
heard her clack away down the corridor.

I was not sure if I should take off or not so I stayed put, reveling in what
had happened. When she returned about 15 minutes later, I was still under
the desk and she said, "Wow, you're still under there. Maybe I should chain
you under there." She told me to slide out a little bit, so she could use my
face to change into her sneakers. She proceeded to sit down, and don her
sneakers right on my face, pressing each one in turn squarely onto my face
while she took her time tying it. She then made a phone call to a friend who
was flying in that weekend, and during the whole fifteen minutes of the
call, she rested her sneaker clad feet right on my face. When she leaned
forward to take down her friends travel information her sneakers were really
starting to hurt. When she hung up the phone, she lifted both feet off my
face, looked right down at me and said with a chuckle and genuine amusement,
"Oh my god, you have tread lines on your face from my sneakers." She
continued, "Well today was sure an interesting day for me. I have never seen
a guy get a hard on from having feet on his face. I had friend in college
who told me all kinds of stories about her boyfriend being some kind of foot
weirdo, but I would not have believed it until I saw it for myself." I could
feel my face turning red. As she headed for the door, she said, "Unless you
are going to lay there all night and sniff my boots or something, I suggest
you go home."

For the duration of the year, I arranged my hours to work when the other
attorney would not be around because I was too embarrassed after being
outed. We got along famously after that too. Two or three times a week, when
I asked what I should be doing, Ann would just roll her chair back as a sign
for me to get under her desk. For hundreds of semester hours, my research
and writing assignments consisted of having Ann's shoe soles, boot soles,
running sneakers, sandals, cotton socks, nylons, knee highs, peds and bare
feet pressed onto my face and shoved into my mouth. I think I must have
spent 200 hours licking her feet and sucking on them. I must have licked
every piece of footwear she owned. She knew I got off on it, and it worked
for her because she did not have to waste time finding busy work for an
albatross intern, and it was a nice little power trip to have a footrest
intern that licked her feet and shoes and did all her busy work for her. I
did not complain about anything after that. I did whatever filing and
errands she needed, including getting her coffee, getting her lunch,
delivering documents, even running personal errands for her like getting her
dry cleaning. I wrote a glowing review of the program describing how I honed
my legal skills and how challenging it was and declaring my supervisor to be
a great mentor. She reciprocated and gave me an equally glowing reference.


saturday night boot grind

I happened to be in the right place at the right time last saturday night
Went to a club with some friends and had a real good time, but just about an hour before closing time some drunken guy started to cause some trouble,,,,,, some guy who was much bigger than he was took offence at something he said and a fight broke out, not really a fight as such as the big guy only hit him once and he was on his back wondering what hit him. Nothing else happened and the big guy who hit him walked away, but just at that moment a girl made her way to where the trouble maker was still layed and made everyones night! She placed her boot onto his face and just ground and ground it just as if she was trying to put out a cigarette! Everyone just watched and whistled and cheered and myself and my buddies could not believe what we were seeing..... the girl looked like the kind of "nice girl" that wouldnt think of doing something like that, maybe a few drinks had loosened her a little?! She was quite petite, shoulder length blond hair and wore spectacles, wearing a very short pink skirt, tan coloured pantyhose and black leather platform boots with around 4" heels.(very sexy looking boots!) We had a good view from where we were standing and she took great pleasure from grinding the drunks face with her boot soles and heels, her face was a picture of pure enjoyment.As she walked away to return to her friends everyone cheered and whistled like crazy and she seemed to exaggerate her walk, swaying her hips and smiling with satisfaction. The guy was taken out of the club by the club staff and i could see the marks her boots had left on his face. Boy, i would have loved to have caught this on camera!

Ball Busting
Date: 18 Nov 1997
Time: 18:22:32
Remote Name:
Remote User:
These women enjoy busting this guys balls . . . and he enjoys it too! (testicles)
My slave has always been into heavy cock and ball play. As time went on it was getting heavier and heavier. We started with ropes and leather straps, hanging weights and heavy pulling and squeezing. At sex parties he would walk around wearing nothing but his ball leash and everyone at the party would jerk on it and or squeeze his tender balls. We started piercing his sac and eventually moved on to piercing directly through his balls. At one party everyone took turns slowly sliding needles into his nuts while he begged for more. After discovering this page we decided it was time for him to loose his balls. He asked if they could be crushed before they were cut off and who was I to argue with such a wonderful idea. We bought a big vise and did a few modifications to it. A nail was welded to each side of the jaws and a hole drilled opposite for the nail to go through. (this would firmly impale the nuts so they could not shift around while being crushed) Invitations were sent out to our close friends who were into the scene. Then the big night, the three other women arrived and we were ready to start. His balls were inserted into the vice and the jaws slowly turned until the nails started to pierce the skin. He was given one last chance to say stop, he begged us to go on, and Melanie who is a lawyer had him sign a release form. Then one by one we took turns tightening the jaws. The nails pierced all the way through his nuts and you could tell he was enjoying himself. We all took turns licking and sucking his cock because he deserved one last orgasm for making this wonderful sacrifice for our enjoyment. He started to cum and Wanda took it on her tits and we took turns licking it off. Our pussies were so wet! We started groping and fingering each other as we tightened the vice. His balls were starting to crush flat and a little blood was running out of the holes made by the nails. Tighter and tighter until we knew it wouldn't be long until they burst. A few more turns and there was a weird noise and they had popped! We tightened the jaws even more until they were almost touching! Slave passed out from the pain and Sandy, who is a doctor said we better cut him loose and she would stitch him up. We put our names in a hat to see who would get to cut his balls of and Sandy won. The lucky bitch! Well, she cut them off and stitched up slave. She gave him a shot of painkiller and we decided we should cook and eat his balls seeing how they were already tenderized!!!! We fried the flattened nuts in olive oil and cut them in enough pieces for us all to get some. They were delicious! We put the sac in the freezer until we can find a taxidermist to tan it. The nuts were so delicious we will have to find more "donors". We have sent slave around to a bunch of gyms and he is always being asked what happened to his nuts. When he tells them, most of the guys are scared off, but yesterday slave found a man who we will be "partying" with on the weekend. I can't wait.
Note: this is pure fiction; I never have and never would do this in real life; but it is neat to fantasize about

Angelina Jolie's Least Favorite Martian

You know what they say, Jill: One good Martian tale deserves another...

Like all Martians, he had several names. His formal name, like all Martian names, was a reflection of his particular gifts and talents. His formal name was "He Who Sucks, Licks, Tickles, and Nibbles." Some called him "Hoover" or "Hoov." But most called him a shortened version of his formal name: "He Who Sucks."

He Who Sucks was brown, humanoid and about a foot tall. He had long, coarse black hair; an oversize mouth, and his eyes were filled with mischief and menace.

He Who Sucks was part of a small scout force from Mars. His people were the fiercest warriors in the galaxy. They roamed the stars in search of worlds to conquer. Each Martian warrior derived enormous pleasure from the exercise of his highly-specialized combat task. He Who Sucks was an interrogator. He delighted in extracting key information from his victims. His methods were aimed at a vulnerable spot or weak point of those he was questioning. He Who Sucks particular method consisted of finding a sensitive spot or body part on the creature he was questioning and then sucking, licking, tickling, and nibbling that spot or body part, until, out of a combination of ecstasy and agony, the creature would give him the information he sought.

He Who Sucks guided his vessel through space. His vessel was small and quite energy-efficient. It moved quickly and briskly through the depths of the void. Its destination -- the Earth -- lay not much farther off. Soon. Soon he would be hunting and interrogating again. He smiled a wicked smile and his heart filled with almost insatiable hunger to bend an Earth female to his will. His brain was wracked by the foot lust he had been cultivating in preparation for stalking the new interrogation prey that he would find on this planet.

The preliminary scanning reports had indicated that the planet He Who Sucks was approaching was populated with humanoids approximately five to six times larger than he was. That thought did not frighten him at all. He was a successful hunter, a skilled warrior, and an excellent interrogator. He went where he wished. Hunted what he wished. Questioned who and how he wished. No prey – however intelligent – could anticipate his moves. No prey – however large – could stop him.

He Who Sucks also knew from all the preliminary reports he had read that Earth women had very sensitive feet and toes. So, he would find some suitable prey and then suck, lick, tickle, and nibble their feet and toes until they were ready to talk. He would then report back to his people on Mars. Dozens of other Martian warriors would do the same thing over the next few weeks.

Their leader – He Who Lords It Over Others – would then use the information to blow up the earth with his Illudium Q-36 Explosive Space Modulator. He Who Lords It Over Others hated the Earth, because the Earth blocked his view of Venus.

He Who Sucks stared out the forward viewport, watching the distant stars move past. He then looked away from the window, worked a few of his controls and took his small vessel out of hyperdrive. The Earth suddenly filled his forward viewport as he went into a parking orbit around it.

He worked another set of controls, and his vessel was enveloped in white light. It vanished from orbit and, in a flash of white light, appeared just above an apartment building in East Boston in the United States. His prey -- whom he had chosen from one of the preliminary reports – resided in the structure below. He Who Sucks landed his craft on the roof and engaged the cloaking device. He didn't want anyone messing with his ship while he was messing with the feet and toes of Earth women.

He watched the building for several days and eventually selected his prey: a pretty Earth female who had a penchant for going barefoot. He used several tools to gain entrance to the inside of the walls of the Earth female's condo on the third floor of the structure. He would now begin to watch his prey for two to three weeks. Then he would attack her. He would suck , lick, and nibble the bare feet and toes of his prey until she told him everything he wanted to know about Earth's weak spots and vulnerabilities. He laughed an evil laugh and whispered the name of his prey, "Angelina Jolie."

The building that He Who Sucks had selected for his foot interrogations just happened to be a New York high rise that catered to some of Hollywood's elite. He Who Sucks had chosen Angelina Jolie as his first victim, because he relished a challenge. Angelina seemed like a fit and powerful woman. He would observe her and then interrogate her. He would suck, lick, tickle, and nibble her tender feet and toes until she talked. If she did not cooperate, he would visit terror upon her.

He Who Sucks found several good hiding places in the walls of Angelina Jolie's condo. He would watch her, learn her routine, observe how she handled herself, and then he would attack her.

In the ensuing weeks, He Who Sucks watched Angelna Jolie quite carefully. He then decided it was time to attack and interrogate her. He would wait until dark.

Angelina arrived at her condo at six-fourteen on Friday evening. Hanging her coat in the hall closet, she carried several oversized packages that had arrived for her via FedEx and set them down on the hallway table. She nudged off her pumps and set her freshly liberated hosed feet down on the exquisite hardwood floor of the hallway

Angelina was about 5'7", and she had large, lovely feet. She wore a size 10 shoe. She kept her toenails well-trimmed and unpolished, and she kept the rest of her feet equally well cared for with regular pedicures. Angelina looked down at her feet and wiggled her toes in their nylon sheaths. Her feet were quite long and narrow. She had long, shapely toes. Her big toes were rather prominent with plump undersides. The tips of the undersides of her other toes resembled little grapes. She had medium to high arches, and the balls of her feet were pronounced and quite fleshy. This meant that when Angelina propped the soles of her feet up on a coffee table or something like that, the soles of her feet looked quite invitingly curvaceous. The skin on the soles of Angelina's feet was soft and smooth.

Angelina's former husband, Billy Bob Thornton, had once told her that her toes were the most gorgeous he had ever seen. He had a thing for her feet and loved massaging her feet with Peppermint Foot Lotion from the Body Shop. He also enjoyed sucking on her big toes, letting them slide in and out of his mouth. (He referred to Angelina's big toes as "tootsie pops.") He also enjoyed nibbling on all of her other toes.

Angelina delighted in Billy Bob's foot fetish, because it meant she was the frequent recipient of the most excellent foot massages. I could use a good foot massage right now, Angelina thought. Although the pumps she had just kicked off were fairly well broken in, Angelina had walked all over town today, and her feet ached. Her toes felt a little worse for the wear after having been jammed in the toe boxes of the pumps all day. The side of each foot just below the base of each big toe was a stung little pink from where her shoes had chafed her feet.

My poor feet! Angelina thought. She wiggled her toes again. Mmmm, she thought, I wish Billy Bob were here to massage my feet and nibble on my big toes right now! She imagined sitting across from him, her hosed feet in his lap. She imagined him gently tugging her pantyhose off to get at her lovely, bare feet. She pictured herself wiggling her toes at him and saying, "Do my feet, Sweetie? They really hurt, especially my toes. Would you be extra nice to my toes? I love it when you massage my toes!" She imagined him rubbing the Peppermint Foot Lotion on his hands and then massaging her aching tootsies, paying special attention to her toes. She saw him corkscrewing and rubbing each of her ten toes in turn. She loved it when he massaged her toes! She then visualized him grinning devilishly and gazing at the big toe of her right foot. She visualized herself wiggling her big toe in a slow and seductive manner, tempting him to take it in his mouth. She envisioned him grinning as he always did, lifting her right foot to his face and popping her big toe into his mouth. She imagined him sucking on her big toe – sucking on it, nibbling at it, letting it slide in and out of his mouth. She could almost feel him playfully biting her toe.

She imagined him spending at least twenty minutes sucking, kissing and nibbling on each of her ten toes in turn and then undressing her and making sweet, passionate love to her as he always did after pampering her precious feet. Her feet – especially her toes – always made him so incredibly hot and horny. She imagined him removing her blouse, unclasping her bra and kissing her breasts. She pictured him sucking her nipples until they were hard and then tracing slow, passionate circles around them with his tongue. She envisioned her skirt dropping to the floor and saw him remove her panties. She imagined him giving her oral sex – probing her already richly lubricated vagina with his tongue until she was on the verge of climax – and then thrusting his huge penis deep inside her. He had the largest penis she had ever seen on a man. She imagined him thrusting into her again and again – hitting the sweet spot in her vagina with his throbbing penis over and over. She heard herself saying, "You feel so wonderful, Billy Bob! You are such a wonderful lover!" She imagined herself saying, "Oh, you make me feel so good!" and then "Make me come!" just before she climaxed, and she and he reached simultaneous orgasm as they often did. She smiled and sighed with pleasure at the thought of Billy Bob attending to her bare feet and then making love to her. She blushed a bit when she realized how moist her fantasy had made her crotch. Mmmm, she thought again, I wish he were here to nibble on my big toes and then make love to me!

Careful what you wish for, Angelina. Careful what you wish for…

Angelina was, in fact, a total babe. In addition to her totally gorgeous toes and sexy feet, Angelina was slender yet quite curvaceous. Her breasts were ample, round, firm, and real. Her waist was trim and slender. She had a great little heart-shaped ass. Her legs were long and shapely. She had thin, sexy, delicately shaped ankles. She had a lanky yet sexy build with long arms and legs. She had an exceptionally pretty face – with finely chiseled features, lovely full lips, a wonderful smile, a to-die-for laugh, and dazzling hazel green eyes. Her pretty face was perfectly accentuated by dark brown hair that hung well below her shoulders. Angelina was the kind of 30-year-old woman that most men lusted after.

Angelina walked into the living room of her condo and plopped down on the sofa. She sat still for only a second or two. I'll take my bath now, Angelina thought. She pushed to her feet and walked across the darkening living room toward the bathroom.

Angelina began to run some warm water for the tub. She padded back into the living room in her hosed feet. She would sort through her mail as the tub filled up. She normally had one of her assistants read the mail, but she liked to do it when she was in town. It made her feel more normal, more like a regular human being.

She turned on the lamp next to the sofa, plopped down on the sofa, and propped her hosed feet up on the coffee table. So intent was Angelina on looking through her mail, that she did not even notice the small, brown humanoid that emerged from one of her condo walls.

He Who Sucks opened a panel he had cut in the wall, replaced it, and walked softly across the carpet toward Angelina's hosed feet. Her toes looked so yummy!

Angelina opened and scanned a few bills. She thought she noticed something moving in the corner of her field of vision. Angelina lowered the bill she was examining and peered down at the carpet. She thought she saw something dart behind a chair. She blinked and saw nothing. Over her right shoulder, the lamp went out.

The bulb must have burnt out, Angelina thought. She leaned behind and to her right and began fiddling with the light switch.

He Who Sucks had damaged the lamp and then dropped to the floor. He now ran across the floor, skittering like a little spider, dashing beneath the coffee table and emerging on the other side of it opposite from where Angelina was sitting. He Who Sucks clambered silently up onto the coffee table in the darkness and beheld the bottoms of Angelina's stockinged feet. He Who Sucks began to salivate. Lovely! he thought. Her toes are so tasty-looking! So soft! So tender! So large! So plump! So juicy!

He Who Sucks thought that, in many ways, the smooth, pale, curved undersides of Angelina's prominent big toes would look just like two peeled bananas if he ripped her stockings and exposed them. The tips of the undersides of Angelina's smaller toes reminded him of plump little grapes. He Who Sucks then lost himself in fantasy for a moment as he visualized himself sucking on one of Angelina's big toes. In He Who Sucks' mind, Angelina moaned in almost orgasmic pleasure as he hoovered her plump, juicy big toe. He would have her talking in no time!

Angelina continued to fiddle with the lamp switch. With all the stealth of an experienced hunter, He Who Sucks walked in silence across the coffee table. He now stood face-to-foot with the bottom of Angelina's stockinged right foot. Like all good hunters, He Who Sucks had excellent night vision, and the long, plump, curved underside of Angelina's big toe was clearly visible to him through the slight, tannish-brown opacity of the sheer toe of her pantyhose.

Angelina's toe was less than an inch from He Who Sucks' face, and she absentmindedly wiggled her big toe in an inadvertently seductive fashion. He Who Sucks inhaled deeply, and the sweet, pungent odor of sweat, leather, and nylon that emanated from Angelina's stockinged foot filled his nostrils and made him drool. He stared hungrily, greedily, lustfully at the plump, tan underside of Angelina's stockinged big toe. The sight and smell of Angelina's big toe fanned the flames of He Who Sucks' already intense foot lust, and he salivated even more profusely.

He decided then and there to suck on all of the toes of both of Angelina's feet. He committed himself to hovering the bejesus out of her toes with his oversized mouth. I'll start with this big toe that she's waving under my nose! What a large and succulent toe it is! Yum! Yum! It looks delicious! He Who Sucks slowly and silently opened and closed his oversized mouth, and drool dripped from his mouth. He imagined closing his lips over the base of Angelina's big toe, putting her entire toe in his mouth, and he could almost taste her tender flesh! I will enjoy sucking on her big toe! I will enjoy hearing her moan as I shrimp and hoover her big toe! Her toe is going to taste so good!

He Who Sucks' expression was maniacally fierce (he was filled with lust for Angelina's big toe) and his glaring eyes were protuberant. Every fiber of his being now focused on Angelina's right big toe as a sexual object. He Who Sucks stared hungrily, greedily, lustfully at the plump underside of Angelina's big toe. He Who Sucks – his fiercely maniacal expression and glaringly protuberant eyes fixed on the tip of Angelina's big toe – pulled his head back, opened his mouth and tensed to strike.

He Who Sucks opened his mouth as far as it would go and put Angelina's entire stockinged big toe in his mouth. He used his pointed teeth to deftly and quickly shred Angelina's stocking, exposing her large and lovely big toe.

He Who Sucks then opened his mouth wide again and put his lips and mouth over Angelina's freshly exposed right big toe until her entire toe was once again in his mouth. He then closed his lips around the base of Angelina's big toe and sucked, moving his lips backward toward the tip of her toe.

Angelina reacted immediately. Her eyes went wide, and she instinctively jerked her right foot back. She wondered what the hell was mouthing her big toe. she was afraid that whatever it was, it wanted to bite her toe.

He Who Sucks responded just as quickly. As Angelina jerked her foot back, he grabbed onto her foot so that he would be able to continue to suck on her big toe. He continued to move his lips backward toward the tip of Angelina's big toe. When he had almost reached the tip of her toe, he moved his mouth back down to the base of her big toe and began again. He kept sucking on Angelina's right big toe the whole time. God, but her naked foot flesh tasted sweet! The motion felt almost like he was letting Angelina's big toe slide into and out of his mouth, out of and into his mouth as he sucked on it. He sucked good and hard on Angelina's sweet-tasting, big toe!

Angelina's eyes popped open even wider as she felt a pair of tiny hands grab onto her foot. In the darkness, her big toe exploded with almost orgasmic pleasure as whatever it was continued to suck on her big toe.

Still afraid that whatever it was wanted to eat her toe, Angelina shook her foot wildly in an attempt to dislodge the creature. She screamed, "EEEEW! MY TOE! SOMETHING’S SUCKING ON MY BIG TOE! EEW! EEW! EEW! MY TOE! OH, MY GOD! MY TOE! SOMETHING HAS GRABBED ONTO MY FOOT, AND IT'S SUCKING ON MY BIG TOE! OH! OH! OH! I THINK IT MIGHT WANT TO BITE MY BIG TOE! I'VE GOT TO GET IT OFF MY TOE! "

Angelina jerked her foot back instinctively and clutched at it, peering intently at her toes in the darkness. She saw the silhouette of something with an oversized head and coarse, wild hair against the moonlight, something that was attacking the big toe of her right foot!

Just then the bulb popped back on, flooding the room with illumination. Angelina gazed in shocked disbelief at the tiny, brown humanoid clutching her stockinged foot and sucking the bejesus out of her big toe. Her entire big toe was in the Martian's mouth. He Who Sucks gripped her stockinged foot in his tiny hands, and he was sucking on her big toe again and again and again with his oversized mouth! He was giving Angelina a toejob!

The shock, panic, and disbelief that Angelina felt were being crowded out of her head by another emotion, however. Her big toe was in utter ecstasy as intense pleasure radiated from her big toe. He Who Sucks' saliva was filled with hormones that permeated the flesh of Angelina's big toe and filled it with intense, orgasmic pleasure.

Before Angelina knew what was happening, she had an orgasm. She arched her back and moaned with pleasure as the orgasm radiated out from her vagina. "Oh! Oh! OH!" Angelina moaned. "Oh, my God! I…I just had some kind of toegasm! Some kind of weird orgasm that began in my big toe!" Angelina's entire body was wracked with intense pleasure. She felt totally overcome by pleasure.

Within a few seconds, however, the intense pleasure faded as if it had never happened. Angelina looked down at her foot. He Who Sucks was still holding onto her foot, but he was no longer sucking on her big toe. He was staring up at Angelina and grinning. His grin revealed his sharp, pointy teeth. He Who Sucks was watching Angelina's face carefully, because he wanted to see how long the toegasm lasted.

Angelina panicked at the sight of He Who Sucks' sharp, pointy teeth.


Angelina grabbed a large coffee table book, and she slammed it into his He Who Sucks' oversized head. With two or three blows, Angelina managed to knock He Who Sucks from her foot. He fell to the floor.

Angelina scrambled over the back of the sofa and landed feet first on the floor. She was surprised at the mildly throbbing pleasure that began to emanate from her right big toe. She was having a series of mild aftergasms. Although the pleasure radiating from her big toe was really distracting and made it difficult to run, Angelina sprinted into the bathroom, wheeled around, and slammed the door closed behind her. She had barely thumbed in the button lock on the doorknob when something slammed against the bottom of the door. Something small. Angelina heard a noise like the scratching of a rat. Then it was still.

Angelina turned off the bathtub faucet. Another few minutes, and the water would have spilled over the sides of the tub and onto the floor. Angelina then sat down on the lid of the toilet and set her right foot down on the edge of the toilet seat. She examined her big toe. He Who Sucks had totally shredded her stocking so that her big toe was completely exposed. Her big toe was covered with a greenish ooze. It was He Who Sucks' saliva. Her big toe throbbed with the mild waves of pleasure from the aftergasms.

What the hell?!? Angelina thought. What the hell is that thing, and what did it do to my big toe?!? It gave me some kind of toegasm, and now I'm experiencing…aftergasms!

Think, Angelina, think! she told herself. You can't hide in the bathroom forever!

Angelina turned over her left shoulder and looked around the bathroom. She decided she would use the plunger as a weapon. She knew it wouldn't hurt the little creature, but she figured she could at least keep the little bastard away from her feet! She would go into the hall closet and get her work boots. They had a steel shank in the toe. She'd put the boots on and then stomp the @#%$ out of that little doll!

Angelina was so frightened by He Who Sucks' appearance that she was still convinced, despite all evidence to the contrary, that the Martian wanted to bite her big toe off and eat it.

Angelina stood up and quickly removed the blouse and skirt she was wearing. She also took off her pantyhose. She had some workout clothes in the bathroom, so she quickly donned a gray tee shirt and some navy blue athletic shorts. She looked down at her vulnerable bare feet and said a little prayer to herself: Dear God, don't let that little bastard eat my toes!

Angelina tiptoed over to the bathroom door, put her ear against it, and listened intently. She did not hear anything. All right, Angelina, she said to herself. The Lord hates a coward! On three! Ready! One! Two! Three!

Angelina unlocked the bathroom door and swung it open as quietly as she could. She peered out into the ever-deepening darkness of her apartment. She did not see the little creature. She tiptoed toward the hall closet. She opened the hall closet and looked inside. All of her shoes were missing! All fifty pairs of them! Angelina felt a wave of panic wash over her.

One of the first things He Who Sucks had done was to gather up Angelina's shoes and dump them out one of her windows. All twenty pairs of Angelina's size 10 shoes clattered to the pavement in the alley below. Some poor homeless woman would really get lucky if she stumbled upon the shoes. That is, if the homeless woman had enormous feet like Angleina's!

Angelina's mind raced. I've got to make a weapon! she thought. Angelina began to tiptoe toward the kitchen. She stopped suddenly when she heard a sound come from the kitchen. It was a metallic, rasping sound. Angelina swallowed nervously. That horrid little creature is probably in the kitchen, she thought. Maybe he wants a weapon, too. She imagined the menacing little doll armed with a kitchen knife. She shivered involuntarily.

Angelina calmed herself down, steeled her nerve, and continued to tiptoe toward the kitchen. She paused when she reached the kitchen's threshold. She then paused, counted to three to herself, and pushed the door to the kitchen open. She turned on the light switch, and the room flooded with light. She peered around the room. She did not see the little creature.

Angelina padded barefoot across the cold tile of the kitchen floor, and she examined her knife rack. Its smallest knife was missing! Angelina glanced furtively about the room. She saw some movement in the corner of her field of vision and she heard the patter of little feet. The little creature had run out into the hallway. Angelina slammed the kitchen door shut.

Angelina went to work quickly, constructing a suitable weapon for herself. She placed a mop handle on the counter and broke the head off of it. She then used lots of duct tape to lash the largest knife she had to the head of the mop handle. Now she had a spear!

When Angelina had moved into the city, her father had given her an old hunting knife for protection. Angelina rummaged through one of her kitchen drawers and found the knife. She also found the scabbard for the knife. She strapped the scabbard on and thrust the knife into it. Knife and scabbard rested comfortable against her hip. Now she had a spear and a hunting knife!

Let's see what you've got, you little bastard! Angelina thought as she pushed open the kitchen door and tiptoed out into the dark hallway. She knew He Who Sucks would be waiting somewhere in the apartment to ambush her and bite her toes off. Well, she thought, gripping the homemade spear firmly, we'll see who gets the better of whom!

Angelina tiptoed down the hallway and into the brilliantly lit living room. Across the room, the lamp went out. Angelina froze as her eyes struggled to adjust to the darkness.

She realized too late that something was coming across the carpet toward her. She looked down dumbly. No! she thought.

She saw it then – a rapid movement near the floor at her feet. There was a glint of metal, instantly, a stabbing pain in the bridge of her bare right foot. "YEEEEEEEEEEEOUCH! MY FOOT!" Angelina screamed. "OW! OW! OWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW! THE LITTLE CREATURE STABBED MY FOOT!" Angelina dropped her spear and clutched instinctively at her right foot, hoisting it aloft.

He Who Sucks sheathed his knife in the little scabbard he had fashioned, and he leapt up through the darkness. He grabbed onto Angelina's right foot with his tiny hands and began hoovering the bejesus out of her totally exposed bare toes. He sucked on her big toe, then her middle toes, then her two smallest toes! He sucked wildly on Angelina's bare toes, drenching them with his hormone-rich saliva!


The pleasure radiated from her toes, traveled up her right leg, and gave Angleina her second orgasm of the evening. Her entire body brimmed with pleasure as it was gripped by the orgasm. Angelina moaned deeply with the intense pleasure of the orgasm. "OH, MY GOD!" she moaned with incredible intensity. "OH! AH! OH! OH! OH! OH, MY GOD! I'M HAVING AN ORGASM!"

"OH! OH! OH!" Angelina screamed and moaned, hopping around on her left foot and clutching her rightt foot in her hands. "MY TOES! MY BARE TOES! MY FOOT! MY LEG! MY…MY VAGINA! THIS LITTLE CREATURE IS GIVING ME TOEGASMS THAT ARE BECOMING A…A…HUGE ORGASM!!!"

He Who Sucks held on to Angelina's right foot with devilish determination and sucked on her bare toes again and again and again. All of the bare toes of Angelina's right foot were being coated with hormone-rich Martian saliva. The pleasure emanating from Angelina's bare piggies was intense!


He Who Sucks had stabbed Angelina's right foot in an attempt to teach her a lesson about attacking him, but then he had immediately began sucking on her bare toes. He wanted her to know that he was here to give her toes pleasure. So much pleasure that she would be putty in his hands.

Despite the intense pleasure that exploded from her bare piggies and wracked her entire body with ecstasy, Angelina could not get out of her head the thought that the little creature wanted to bite her toes off. She let go of her right foot and unsheathed her knife. She stabbed at He Who Sucks' head and heard a weird, inhuman scream as the little Martian fell from her bare foot.

More movement. Movement near her left foot, dark on dark. Pain in the bridge of Angelina's left foot. She kicked out blindly. Pain again as He Who Sucks stabbed her bare left foot. Angelina cried out, jerking her left foot up instinctively and clutching it in both her hands.

Once again, He Who Sucks hurled himself through the darkness. He grabbed on to Angelina's bare left foot and snapped his jaws shut on the side of her foot near the base of her big toe – the place where her bunion would be if she had a bunion. He Who Sucks sucked on the fleshy part of Angelina's bare foot repeatedly before turning his devilish attention to her bare toes. He Who Sucks then sucked on Angelina's bare left toes again and again and again. He sucked for an especially long time on her lovely big toe. Then he sucked on her second two toes. Then he sucked on her two smallest toes. He moved back and forth across her bare toes – sucking and sucking and sucking – as if he were playing the harmonica

Angelina held her bare left foot aloft. She hopped up and down on right foot and let out a an intense cry of pleasure as her toes exploded with toegasms, and she experienced a third orgasm.

"OH! OH! OH!" Angelina moaned and screamed as orgasmic pleasure engulfed her bare piggies, radiated up her leg, and filled her vagina. Her underwear was soaked with @#%$ juice. "OH! AH! OH! OH! OH, MY GOD! THIS FEELS SO @#%$ GOOD! MY BODY IS HAVING ONE BIG ORGASM! OH! OH! OH! MY BARE PIGGIES ARE HAVING TOEGASMS AND GIVING THE REST OF MY BODY AN ENORMOUS ORGASM!"

He Who Sucks sucked Angelina's bare toes repeatedly. After a few minutes, He Who Sucks again concentrated especially on Angelina's big toe, which he prized above all, and on her baby toe, which also seemed quite tasty. He sucked on these two toes repeatedly with the determined fury and utter devilish viciousness of a true Martian interrogator. Angelina's big toe and baby toe exploded again and again with orgasmic pleasure as He Who Sucks sucked on first one bare toe, then the other.

Angelina threw her head back and howled in ecstasy. "OH MY GOD!" Angelina moaned and screamed. "MY BIG TOE! MY BABY TOE! OH! OH! OH! MY BARE PIGGIES! MY TOES ARE EXPLODING WITH DELIGHT! OH! OH! OH! I'VE NEVER FELT SUCH INTENSE PLEASURE!"

The big toe and baby toe of Angelina's left foot were drenched with green, hormone-rich Martian saliva as He Who Sucks hovered them again and again and again.

Angelina unsheathed her knife again and brought it down on He Who Sucks' head. She stabbed his head repeatedly until he fell from her left foot.

Movement again. This time near her right foot, dark on dark. Pain in Angelina's left calf, then an icy slashing at her ankle. Angelina kicked at the silhouette of He Who Sucks oversized head and sent him hurtling across the living room like a little football.

Angelina scrambled over the back of the sofa and ran into the bedroom. She thumbed in the lock. Something banged against her bedroom door on the other side, something small and near the floor.

Angelina flopped down on her bed and picked up the phone to dial 911. The phone cord had been cut. That was the second thing He Who Sucks had done while she was hiding in the bathroom. Angelina felt the panic rising in her.

A sound made her twist toward the bedroom door. She saw the tiny knife blade being jabbed beneath the door. The creature's trying to stab my feet, she thought. The creature thinks I'm standing there, and it's trying to stab my toes! She felt the chill unreality of trying to consider the creature's thoughts.

Angelina pulled her legs up under her arms and hugged her knees to her chest. She buried her face in her knees and started crying. "Why does it want to bite my toes off?!?" she wailed.

She snapped he head up and whirled her face toward the bedroom door as she heard a new noise. There was a series of metallic noises in the doorknob. The creature is trying to unlock the door! Angelina thought. Angelina stared at the knob in dumb horror, trying hard to visualize the creature. Was it hanging from the knob by one arm, using the other to probe inside the lock with its knife? The vision was insane.

Angelina gasped as the doorknob button popped out. The doorknob turned, and the door latch clicked. She heard the creature drop from the outside knob and hit the floor with a thud. The bedroom door swung open. The creature's shadowy figure darted in and then came scurrying across the bedroom carpet toward the bed. Angelina stiffened at the tugging on the bedspread. The creature was climbing up to get her! She couldn't move. She stared at the edge of the bed. He Who Sucks' head appeared over the edge of the bed. The creature let out an eerie noise that sounded to Angelina almost like evil chuckling. The creature narrowed its eyes menacingly and fixed its gaze on Angelina's bare toes. She saw saliva dripping from the creature's pointed teeth.

Angelina twisted away from the creature with a cry of shock. She flung herself across the bed and fell into the space between the bed and the bedroom wall. Angelina landed on her ass with a thud. She was sitting on the bedroom floor with her legs rising above her. The backs of her legs, just above her ankles, were resting against the edge of the bed, and her bare feet were sticking up in the air, her soles facing He Who Sucks, and her toes angling up at the ceiling.

He Who Sucks was all over Angelina's exposed bare feet in a flash! The vicious little creature grabbed Angelina's bare left foot and sucked on her arch. He sucked on it repeatedly as Angelina kicked and flexed her foot wildly. He Who Sucks then sucked on the fleshy ball of Angelina's left foot several times. He then turned his attention to her bare toes. Once again, he sucked on her bare toes again and again and again. He sucked on her big toe several times. He sucked her second and third toe, engulfing them in his mouth, and coating them with hormone rich saliva again and again and again. He sucked on her fourth and fifth toes, coating them with green ooze.


Overcome with sudden impatience, He Who Sucks suddenly attacked Angelina's bare right foot. He hopped over Angelina's right foot and put his lips over the fleshy edge of the foot opposite her arch. He Who Sucks then sucked on Angelina's right baby toe with utter abandon. He sucked on Angelina's smallest toe repeatedly. He then sucked on her fourth and third toes several times. He then sucked on her second toe, closing his lips shut on the base of the toe, then the middle of the toe. He Who Sucks sucked on Angelina's second toe again and again and again.


He Who Sucks then assaulted Angelina's right big toe again, He grabbed on to the ball of Angelina's foot with one tiny hand and clutched her second toe in the other. He opened his mouth as wide as he could and put his mouth over Angelina's big toe, engulfing the entire toe in his mouth. He sucked on Angelina's bare big toe repeatedly. The devilishly nasty little Martian sucked on Angelina's big toe again and again and again.

I want this big toe! He Who Sucks' mind screamed the words. I want this big, fat, juicy toe! It tastes so good! I want to suck on it and give this Earth girl toegasms until she can't stand it any longer! Yum! Yum! Yum!


He Who Sucks sucked on Angelina's right big toe with fiendish deviltry. His lips closed over the base of Angelina's toe, his saliva drenching her toe. Angelina felt a rush of pleasure stream from her big toe, up her right leg, and into her vagina. She experienced the fourth orgasm of the evening, and this time she passed out from the pleasure.

When Angelina woke up, she was sitting on the sofa, and her feet were immersed in a big wooden tub of water. The water in the tub was up to about the middle of her calves. Angelina just sat with her bare feet in the tub and exulted in the feel of the cool water on her bare toes. Angelina began cheerfully wiggling her bare toes in the mud and silt at the bottom of the tub.

Unfortunately for Angelina, there was a blue crab near the bare toes of her right foot. The nasty, bottom-dwelling predator had burrowed into the bottom of the mud at the base of the tub with only its eye stalks visible, lying in wait for unsuspecting fish. Angelina's soft, bare toes were quite close to the business end of the crab. The ornery crustacean – a little less than a third of the size of Angelina's bare foot – became quite annoyed by her wiggling toes. Angelina's toes also looked like some juicy little fish.

The crab was both annoyed and hungry. Blue crabs normally eat a variety of foods, including fishes, oysters, clams, snails, shrimp, worms and other crabs. They also eat vegetation such as salt marsh cordgrass, eel grass, sea lettuce and many other plants. Although widely thought to prefer dead animals, blue crabs actually prefer to eat fresh or live food. Clam, oyster and mussel shell beds were typical feeding areas for blue crabs. At night, blue crabs swim around lighted piers preying on bait fishes and smaller blue crabs. At high tide, the crabs often swim into the salt marsh to pluck snails from the tall grass. At other times, as mentioned above, they burrowed into the bottom of the Chesapeake with only their eye stalks visible, lying in wait for unsuspecting fish.

Even more unfortunately for Angelina, blue crabs are opportunistic feeders, meaning they will eat what is most readily available, especially when hungry. Crabs will normally swim or scurry away when approached by a human. But any barefoot person who chances upon a blue crab that feels endangered or cornered or really hungry will be in for a nasty surprise, because the crab will, partly out of annoyance and partly out of the possibility that the person's toes might make a good meal, pinch and "bite" that person's toes if that person gets close enough to it.

Blue crabs do not rely on vision when looking for food. They cannot see very well and usually only use their vision when their prey is very close. The crabs find their food by using something called "chemoreception". This is kind of like our sense of smell. They have very sensitive chemoreceptors (or smell organs) on their antennae and in their mouthparts and distributed throughout their body. So, the crabs can "smell" the chemicals that their prey put out in the water and follow these "smells" to find food.

Crabs will go for bait like chicken, and I suspect that toes probably seem like suitable quarry to the crab's chemoreceptors, too. The odor of sweat, leather, nylon, and feet that Angelina's bare toes gave off told the crab's chemoreceptors that Angelina's bare toes were suitable prey. In fact, Angelina's bare toes smelled downright tasty to the crab.

A blue crab's mouth and eyestalks are situated at the front of its shell or carapace. The front of the dorsal side of the carapace is lined with spiky ridges called anterolateral teeth. Two lateral spikes jut out from the side of each crab's carapace. Basically, each blue crab is designed so that it can cut, poke, pinch, or "bite" prey from several different angles.

In addition to smelling Angelina's toes, her toes were also close enough to the crab that it was able to locate them by sight. The crab's eyestalks swiveled around, and it fixed its cruel gaze on Angelina's wiggling toes. In the dim light of the tub's waters, Angelina's wiggling toes looked like worms or tiny fish or the tendrils of any number of tasty aquatic creatures. The crab's visual and olfactory senses basically told it that Angelina's toes would make for tasty food.

The blue crab then prepared to "bite" Angelina's toes. Blue crabs don't really have mouths or teeth with which to bite. The crabs' mouth parts are located in the anterior portion of the cephalothorax of the crab and grouped around the opening of the esophagus. These mouth parts are similar to those of shrimps and lobsters. The outermost pair is the third maxillipeds, used for holding food. Under and in front of these are two more pairs of maxillipeds and two pairs of maxillae, also used for holding food, and a pair of mandibles, or jaws, which push the food into the esophagus.

Lacking a mouth for biting, the blue crabs primarily use their formidable claws for pinching and "biting" prey. Blue crabs have five pairs of legs. The large and powerful claws called chela that it uses for food gathering, defense, digging and sexual displays comprise the blue crab's first pair of legs and one of its most prominent features. A crab's claws are powerful weapons and a hungry, desperate, or annoyed crab can deliver a painful pinch or "bite." A crab pinch can easily penetrate the skin.

Angelina knew all too well from an incident in her childhood that a blue crab's claws were sharp and strong and could deliver a powerful pinch or "bite." She knew that a blue crab could inflict severe injury. When she was in high school, a crab had "bitten" one of her big toes and the middle toe on the same foot.

Each claw of a blue crab is tipped by a fixed finger and a moveable finger called a dactyl. Each finger has sharp, serrated, tooth-like ridges, and it is with these fingers that blue crabs pinch or "bite" their prey. The part of the claw directly behind the fingers is called the propodus and serves as a blue crab's forearm or foreclaw. Each claw has an elbow called a carpus and an upper arm or upper claw called a merus. Each merus has sharp, spiky ridges on the front of it.

So, annoyed and excited at the prospect of eating the tasty prey right in front of it, the crab shot its claws out by straightening them at the elbow-like carpus on each claw. The crab then delivered a powerful pinch or "bite" to the tip of the big toe of Angelina's right foot by snapping the sharp, serrated, tooth-like ridges of its left claw shut on the fleshy tip of her toe. The crab squeezed, pinched, and "bit" the tip of Angelina's toe with its viselike claw. The sharp, serrated, tooth-like ridges of its claw pressed into Angelina's tender toe flesh. The crab also nipped the fourth toe of her right foot, but, for some reason, it did not hold onto that toe.


Angelina lifted her bare right foot out of the warm waters of the tub knowing that the "something" was probably a blue crab, or a snapping turtle or, even worse, a diamondback terrapin. Diamondback terrapins are the only turtles in North America that are native to the brackish waters (salty but not as salty as the ocean) of tidal marshes and estuaries like the Chesapeake. The shells of male diamondbacks generally measure about 5 inches in length, and females average about 7 inches.

Like blue crabs, diamondbacks don't have teeth. Instead, terrapin's mouths have a hard, sharpened edge – kind of like a bird’s beak – that they use to bite with. Generally, diamondbacks are sweet, gentle turtles. But, like a snapping turtle, they can deliver a savage bite when they have a mind to do so, and they don't let go. They're only aggressive to people when they think we're something good to eat, and may occasionally mistake toes for food.

As Angelina's foot emerged dripping wet from the tub's waters, she saw that it was a blue crab dangling by its claw from her big toe. Angelina felt slightly relieved that there wasn't a terrapin on her toe, but she let out another tiny gasp as she saw the crab. Crabs are scary-looking creatures that look a little too much like spiders for most people's comfort. Crabs are even scarier looking when they're dangling by their claws from one of your bare toes.

Angelina instinctively clutched her bare right foot in both hands, jumped up and hopped up and down a few times on her left leg, splashing about in the water like a cartoon character who had just been given a hotfoot. Angelina howled, "A CRAB! OH, MY GOD! A CRAB! YEEOUCH! YEEOUCH! YEEOW! MY BIG TOE! THERE'S A CRAB BITING MY BIG TOE WITH ITS CLAW! MY BARE BIG TOE! SONOFABITCH! OWWWWWWW! OWWWWWWW! OWWWWWWW! MY BIG TOE! MY BIG TOE! OW! OW! OW! MY BIG TOE! GET THIS CRAB OFF MY BIG TOE!"

The crab – which was hanging from Angelina's big toe by its left claw – then snapped its right claw shut on the fleshy outer edge of Angelina's foot opposite her arch. Angelina yelped, "WOWWWWWWWWWCH! MY FOOT! OWWWWW! OWWWW! OUCH! MY FOOT! IT'S BITING MY FOOT! "

Angelina came screaming and hopping out of the tub and onto the living room carpet with the crab hanging by its claws from her bare right foot. Not satisfied with the hold it had on the fleshy outer edge of Angelina's bare foot, the crab let go of that part of Angelina's foot and then almost immediately snapped its claw shut on her smallest toe.


Angelina managed to pry the crab loose from her toes. She was going to toss the crab back in the water, but she did not quite have a safe, proper grip on the crab, so it nipped her fingers with one of its claws. She cried out in pain and dropped the crab.

Angelina still clutched her right foot in her hands and continued to scream, because of the painful "bites" the crab had delivered to the big toe and pinky toe of her bare right foot. Angelina cried out in anguish, "OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! OWWWWWWWWWW! YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEOUCH! THAT CRAB WAS TRYING TO MAKE A MEAL OUT OF MY BARE BIG TOE! OH! OH! OH! IT WANTED TO EAT MY BABY TOE, TOO! OW! OOH! OW! OW! OW! THAT CRAB BIT THE HELL OUT OF MY BARE TOES! JESUS, MY TOES ARE IN AGONY!"

Unfortunately for Angelina, the crab landed almost right in front of her bare left foot. The crab was, in fact, face-to-toes with Angelina's as-yet-unmolested bare left foot.

The crab's arms shot out, and it snapped its right claw shut on the knuckle of Angelina's big toe and grabbed her smallest toe with its left claw. Angelina screamed as two of the bare toes on her left foot exploded in pain, "AAAAAAH! OHHHHHHHHHH! WOWW! OWWWWW! OWWWWWWWWWWWWCH!"

Angelina dropped her right foot, and she instinctively lifted her bare left foot from the sand. She clutched her left foot in both her hands. Her eyes widened in horror and she shrieked in terror at the sight of the crab dangling from the front of her left foot, "YEEEEEEEOW! YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEOW! YEEEEEEEEEEEEEOUCH! MY TOES! MY OTHER TOES! THE CRAB'S BITING MY OTHER TOES NOW! JESUS, IT'S CLAWS ARE SHARP! IT'S REALLY HURTING MY TOES! OHHHHHHHHHHHH! OOH! OWWWWWWWWWWWWW! YEEEEEEEEEEEOUCH! MY TOES! MY TOES! IT'S BITING MY OTHER TOES!"

"HOLY @#%$!" Angelina yelled. She yelped and cried out in a plaintive, desperate voice, "NO! OH, DEAR GOD, NO! THE CRAB'S GOT ME BY MY OTHER TOES! MY BARE TOES! OW! OW! OUCH! MY TOES! THIS CRAB'S BITING MY BARE TOES!"

Angelina peered intently at her left foot and saw that the crab had snapped up the largest and smallest bare toes of her foot in its scissor-like claws. As Angelina watched, the crab released the knuckle of her big toe and pinched up a fold of skin on the top of her big toe near the base of her toe.


THIS CRAB IS EATING MY TOES! THIS CRAB IS BITING MY TOES OFF WITH ITS CLAWS! Angelina's mind screamed the words. Totally panicked, she shook her bare foot in an attempt to dislodge the hungry crustaceans, and the maneuver almost worked. But the ornery crab clung tenaciously to her bare foot and used the serrated, tooth-like edges of their claws to "bite down" on her bare toes with newfound determination and fury.



Angelina shook her left foot wildly in one last desperate attempt to dislodge the ornery crustacean from her sorely-afflicted big toe and baby toe. This time, the maneuver worked! To the crab's surprise and to Angelina's overwhelming relief, the crab flew off her big toe and hurtled toward the water. The crab hit the floor and then ran sideways into the hallway.

"YEEEEEEEEEEEOUCH!" Angelina yelped as the crab flew off her big toe. She hopped around wildly on her right leg and clutched her left foot tightly in both her hands.


Angelina moaned, then she sucked in air through her clenched teeth and continued to clutch her foot as she hopped around. Angelina whimpered as the bare toes the crabs had pinched and "bitten" throbbed and ached with pain.


Angelina hoisted her left foot into her lap. Her toes hurt like a sonofabitch. The crab had bruised and pinched the skin of her bare toes where it had pinched them and "bit" them with its claws. The crab had also punctured the tender flesh of her big toe.


Angelina wiggled her bare toes experimentally and was relieved to see that her big toe and baby toe were still there, all still attached, and still in working order. Tears streamed down her face. Angelina wiggled her bare left toes again and sucked in air through clenched teeth. The crab had really pinched and bitten up her bare toes with its claws, and her bare toes were still in excruciating pain.

Angelina then pulled her right foot into her lap. The big toe and baby toe of that foot were also bruised, bitten, pinched, and throbbing with pain. Her big toe was black-and-blue and excruciatingly sore. Her big toe swelled up and ached with intense pain.

Angelina looked at her bruised and battered bare toes. She sobbed and moaned quietly as she inspected both her wounded feet. "MY FEET!" she wailed, "MY BEAUTIFUL BARE FEET! LOOK AT MY POOR BIG TOES! THAT CRAB PINCHED AND BIT MY BIG TOES! IT ALSO GOT MY BABY TOES! IT BIT FOUR OF MY TEN TOES! OOOH! OW! OOOH! MY TOES! MY POOR TOES! IT WAS EATING MY TOES! MY POOR LITTLE PIGGIES!"




He Who Sucks took what looked like a weapon from his belt. It was his glowstick, an advanced implement that could do things so amazing and advanced they would seem like magic to earthlings. He aimed his glowstick at both of Angelina's bare feet and worked the controls. Angelina's tender bare tootsies were restored to undamaged wholeness. He Who Sucks laughed maniacally, and Angelina passed out.

When Angelina woke up, she was on the floor and tied to one end of the sofa. Her legs were stretched out in front of her. Her bare feet were propped up on top of some kind of wooden blocks so that her ankles were tied to the top of the blocks and her feet extended beyond the edge of the blocks. It looked almost as if her legs were tied to topless stocks. He Who Sucks narrowed his eyes and made that awful, eerie chuckling noise again.

He Who Sucks was standing on a raised platform right at Angelina's bare feet. Her soft, bare soles were practically in his face. He Who Sucks held a little creature by a leash. The little critter was shaped like a beach ball. It had eyes in many places all over its body. It also possessed dozens upon dozens of tentacles.

He Who Sucks cupped Angelina's right heel with his left hand. He held the little criter up to Angelina's bare foot with his other hand. The little critter made a cooing, chittering noise. It held onto Angelina's bare right foot with two of its tentacles and began massaging her foot with all of its other tentacles. Its tentacles felt like the skilled hands of a foot masseur on Angelina's bare foot.

"Oh, my God," she said, "that feels GREAT!" She rolled her head a bit from side to side with her eyes closed and sighed deeply in appreciation. "I'm going to have a footgasm if your pet keeps this up!"

"That's the idea," He Who Sucks said, "to relax and pleasure your feet."

"God, yes!" she said. "My foot feels great!"

The little critter's tentacles were all over Angelina's bare foot and her toes.

"Mmmm…mmmmm," Angelina moaned appreciatively, "this is GREAT!!! I really like your little pet! My foot is definitely having footgasmsThis feels sooo great, sooo totally AWESOME!!! My foot has died and gone to heaven!"

The little critter continued to massage Angelina's foot with all its tentacles.

"God," she said, "each new stroke is better than the last one!" She wiggled her bare toes gently.

The critter then focused its attention on Angelina's deliciously soft sole.

"Oh, God!" Angelina exclaimed suddenly, wiggling her toes enthusiastically. "That feels so, so good!!! I am in heaven! This foot massage your pet is giving me is so totally GREAT!!! This foot massage is TO DIE FOR!!!"

The critter then stroked its tentacles up and down the sides of each of the five bare toes of Angelina's right foot. It did this firmly enough so that it didn't tickle her. The critter did each toe with dozens of long, slow, loving strokes, starting with her baby toe and moving to her big toe. The critter did each toe once and then each toe several times, moving its tentacles slowly and lovingly up and down each bare toe.

"Mmmmm, mmmm, oh, yeah!" Angelina exclaimed breathlessly. "That's it! That feels absolutely wonderful! My little piggies have died and gone to piggy heaven!!! My toes are having toegasms!"

The critter next grasped Angelina's right big toe with two of its tentacles as if the space between them was a mouth sucking on her bare big toe. It rotated the "mouth" made by its two tentacles with a circular motion, moving up and down Angelina's right big toe like a corkscrew.


The critter moved its "mouth" up and down Angelina's right big toe several times. Angelina moaned and squirmed with pleasure.

"OH, MY GOD!!" she exclaimed. "OH, MY GOD!!! Yes! Yes! YES! DO MY BIG TOE! GIVE ME A TOEGASM!!!"

Angelina's body was wracked by an involuntary shudder of pleasure, and she arched her back slightly. She moaned deeply with pleasure. Angelina continued to moan and sigh and squirm with pleasure. "Oh, God," she cried out at one point, "your pet's toe massage is making me so totally WET!"

He Who Sucks then barked a command at his pet. He Who Sucks said, "Klaatu barrada nikto!"

The critter opened its huge mouth and began licking Angelina's bare foot. The critter's tongue tickled Angelina's bare foot. The hormones in the critter's tongue would intensify the effect until it became unbearable.

"Hey!" Angelina called out. "That really tickles!" She was wiggling and flexing her toes wildly.

"Koochee! Koochee! Koo!" He Who Suck said inside of Angelina's head as the critter continued tickling Angelina's tender right sole.

This was more than Angelina could bear. The laughter bubbled up from deep within her, and, once released, could not be contained. She began laughing uncontrollably, and tears streamed down her cheeks.

"Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee!" she laughed. "No more! Pleeheeheeheeheehese!" she begged. "No more! Stop tickling myhihi foot! Ah! Ha! HA! HA! HEE! HEE! HEE! HO!" She continued to wiggle her bare toes with a wild freneticism.

Angelina could do nothing but continue her convulsive laughter. Her bare toes were wiggling wildly.

"Ah! Hee! Hee! Hee! Pleeheeheehese STOP!" Angelina cried breathlessly, her face flushed red with the exertion of uncontrollable laughter. " Pleeheeheehese make it STOP! MAKE IT STOP TICKLING MY BARE FOOT! HEE! HEE! HEE! MY SOLE! STAHHAHAHAHOP TICKLING MY BARE SOLE!"

He Who Sucks said inside of Angelina's head, "What are the Earth's points of vulnerability? We are going to invade your planet! My pet will not stop tickling your foot until you tell me what I want to know!"

"No!" Angelina shouted. "I won't betray the people of Earth!"

He Who Sucks stared at the underside of Angelina's bare toes. They looked positively yummy! The bottoms of her big toes looked like stubby little bananas with their smooth texture and the curve of the pad of each toe. The tips of Angelina Jolie's smaller toes looked like succulent little grapes. He really wanted to attack her toes and suck the bejesus out of them! He wanted to hoover Angelina Jolie's bare toes like there was no tomorrow!

"Oh, my God," Angelina Jolie said, "that feels GREAT!" She rolled her head a bit from side to side with her eyes closed and sighed deeply in appreciation. "Your pet is the fuckingfootmaster! Mmmm…mmmmm," Angelina moaned appreciatively, "this is TOTALLYFUCKINGGREAT!!! Your pet is so amazing at this! This is so FUCKINGEROTIC! My foot is definitely having multiple footgasms! HOLYSHIT!!! Mmmmm, mmmm, oh, yeah!" Angelina exclaimed breathlessly. "That's it, baby! That's it! That feels ABSOLUTELYFUCKINGFANTASTIC!!! MY TOES ARE HAVING TOEGASMS! OH, YEAH, BABY! DO MY TOES!"


The hormones in He Who Sucks' pet's saliva were finally working on Angelina's foot. The intensely orgasmic pleasure was almost more than she could bear! Angelina moaned and squirmed against her bonds.


That's when He Who Sucks decided to make his move! He attacked the bare toes of Angelina's right foot! He was all over her bare toes in a flash!

He Who Sucks opened his mouth and put his lips and mouth over Angelina's perfect, left big toe until her entire toe was in his mouth. He then closed his lips around the base of Angelina's big toe and sucked on it, savoring the exquisite taste of her toe flesh. He moved his lips backward toward the tip of her toe, sucking and tasting every last inch of her big toe. When he had almost reached the tip of her toe, he moved his mouth back down to the base of her big toe and began again.

He sucked and sucked and sucked on Angelina's left big toe, shrimping the bejesus out of it! God, but Angelina's big toe tasted salty and sweet! The motion felt almost like He Who Sucks was letting Angelina's big toe slide into and out of my mouth, out of and into my mouth as I sucked on it – the way one would suck on an ice cream bar or a tootsie pop. It was almost like he was giving Angelina's big toe head! He was! He was giving her a toejob!

He sucked good and hard on Angelina's sweet-tasting, big toe! He spent what seemed to me a good 15 minutes hoovering the bejesus out of Angelina's lovely, big toe. He then licked the pad of Angelina's big toe from base to tip and kissed the tip of her big toe.

Angelina's left big toe was drenched in He Who Sucks' hormone-rich saliva, and his pet was still licking Angelina's right foot!

He Who Sucks then moved on to her second toe and shrimped that for a goodly amount of time, moving from Angelina's second toe to her middle toe to her third toe to her delicate little baby toe. Her toes tasted like a little slice of heaven!

He Who Sucks licked the pale sole of Angelina's left foot, running his tongue along it's smooth skin, lapping at her arch and running his tongue over the bottoms of her toes. He licked each of her five toes in turn, pushing my tongue in-between her toes.

"Mmmm," Angelina said breathlessly, sighing appreciatively, "OHMYFUCKINGGOD! I am in piggy heaven! You are the FUCKINGFOOTMASTER, you truly are!"

He Who Sucks continued to attack Amge;na's left foot as his pet went at her right foot.


In the next second, Angelina's body went into overload as the Martian hormones worked their magic. The most intensely orgasmic pleasure Angelina had ever felt shot up from the toes of both feet, coursed through her bare feet, ran up her legs, and exploded in her vagina! The pleasure then radiated out from their in wave after intense wave.

Angelina's body was wracked with pleasure so intense that she felt like she was going to die! Her entire body was one big orgasm! Even though she was feeling intense pleasure, she also knew herself to be in danger. She knew the pleasure could become so intense it would kill her!


"Not until you tell me Earth's greatest vulnerability," He Who Sucks said inside her head. "Only then will we ease up on your feet and toes!"


Bah! He Who Sucks thought. Earth girls are easy!

He worked his glowstick. The orgasmic pleasure ceased. There was a smell in the room like burning rubber.

Angelina woke up in her own bed an hour later. It all seemed like a dream. But it was not a dream. The Martians now knew Earth's greatest weakness, and they would be returning with an invasion force! What did they want?!? They wanted the feet of the women of Earth! They wanted to suck, lick, tickle, and nibble the feet of Earth's women for hours on end!!!


A Weekend With Agnes
Following the hen party at Madam Lisa's, things pretty much reverted back to normal. I knew the approach of another party was looming, but I had adjusted to the prospect and, indeed, thought of it with something approaching enthusiasm. In the meantime, the memory of Agnes niggled away at the back of my mind like a tapeworm nestling in the bowel. This was truly a cruel lady I remembered, one with nothing but contempt for the male animal, and one who was prepared to convert her contempt into drastic action. What, I couldn't help wondering, would it be like to serve such a demanding mistress? Did I have the guts? Her apparent desire to reduce a man to the depths of depravity, lowering his self esteem to the point where he was obliged to eat her excreta, was certainly an off-putting thought. The THOUGHT of it, to any man desirable of servitude to a dominant woman, was exciting, but, speaking for myself, I knew the reality would be more than I could stomach. Still, my memory of that thin austere body, that disapproving expression, those slender legs encased in silky black nylon, proved to be irresistible.
On my next visit to Madam Lisa, I tentatively asked if she minded me contacting Agnes with a view to spending some time with her.
Lisa laughed incredulously. "You want to visit Agnes? She'll have you for breakfast. You don't know what you're getting into with that lady. I'm telling you, she really hates men. She's had a few prospective slaves visit her, but they didn't last long. A few hours with Agnes and they're gone. You can't see their arse for dust."
I considered my reply, and said, as diplomatically as possible, "I think I know that Madam, but I'm anxious to extend my knowledge and experience of the dominance scene, and Agnes ?" At this point she slapped me hard. "MISTRESS Agnes to you. Be respectful. I should punish you severely for that lapse, but I think I'll let Agnes do it. She's more demanding than I'll ever be. She'll destroy you body and soul you pathetic wimp."
With this she produced a card from the telephone table and thrust it at me. "There you are, take your life in your hands and ring her. Tell her you have my permission, and may God have mercy on your soul."
I kept looking at the card for several days, trying to drum up the nerve to make the call. Did I dare? What would she say? Perhaps she'd just laugh and tell me to piss off, I wasn't worthy of her ministrations. Finally, I succumbed to the temptation that was now eating me up. I made the call.
There was a dead silence on the line after I'd introduced myself. I thought she'd put the phone down in disgust, but the line was still open. Finally, she spoke, and her voice was definitely tinged with amazement.
"My God, it's Thing isn't it, from Lisa's party? You actually drummed up the courage to ring me. Perhaps I underestimated you. Yes, there's nothing I'd like better than to have you under my heel for a weekend, if you can stay the course that is. Come NEXT weekend or not at all. The address is on the card. Friday night, 7 o'clock." And with that she put down the phone! No can you, can't you, is it convenient? Just COME. Perversely, it excited me.
The following Friday I was in a lather of anticipation, to say nothing of an air of foreboding. Perhaps I had bitten off more than I could chew. I was comforted by the knowledge that I could always walk out if things got too rough. I was prepared to give myself up to this fascinating woman, but not body and soul. There are limits, and I had yet to find out what mine were. One thing I knew, eating shit was definitely beyond the pale.
She took her time answering the door, and when she did, I was surprised at the normalcy of her attire. I don't quite know what I expected; some leather perhaps, high heeled boots, any of the usual trappings that the imitation dominas affected in the magazines. Instead, she wore a simple loose black skirt, a red cotton blouse, brown stockings, or maybe tights, I couldn't tell which, and a pair of high-heeled pink fluffy mules, through which her nylon toes peeped suggestively. It is fair to say that I was entranced. Her body was as slim and wiry as I remembered, and the glasses she wore with their large black frame, added to her overwhelming air of authority.
"Right on time," she said, snappily, "Just as well or you would never have got past the front door. Get yourself in here." I walked hesitantly in, carrying my small case.
"What's in that?" she snapped as she closed the door.
"Er, my overnight things, stuff like that." I replied.
"You wont be needing them," she said briefly, taking the case and casually throwing it into a cupboard. "We do things differently here. Now, get down on your knees in front of me."
"And so it starts," I thought as I fell to my knees before her. "Please let me be up to it." I would leave if I absolutely had to, but I did wonder at my endurance level. I really wanted to experience everything this imposing woman was capable of handing out. In a strange sort of way, I was in love with her. Certainly, I was entranced by Madam Lisa, but this lady had an effect on me far more powerful.
She stood above me, looking down, then moved behind me. A sudden savage blow to the back of my head sent me sprawling on to the carpet. She had flat kicked me viciously, her high-heeled mule coming off in the process. She slipped it on again and landed another full-bodied kick to my ribs. The mule came off again.
"That's just to show you how I mean to go on," she said. "I think kicking a pathetic male body is one of the most satisfying things in the world, for me anyway, and I intend to do a lot of it this weekend. I don't think these damned mules are suitable however. Tell you what, go to my bedroom at the head of the stairs, first on the left, look in the wardrobe and YOU choose which shoes you want to be kicked by. Your choice should be interesting."
I mutely climbed to my feet, rubbing my ribs, and climbed the stairs to her bedroom. It was as austere as she was, with no trappings of female frippery, clean, neat, but definitely Spartan. I looked in the wardrobe and regarded the shoes set neatly on the bottom shelf. Which should I choose? She would expect me to choose something like a pair of trainers with flat rubber heels - something that wouldn't cause much damage. Well, I would surprise her. I balked at choosing the stiletto-heeled examples; they could prove to be lethal, deciding instead on a pair of sturdy black leather daytime shoes with blocky two- inch heels. They were certainly going to hurt, but they had square toes, and the heels would not penetrate to the extent that stilettos would. That's if she wore them, of course, there was no guarantee that she would.
But she did.
She smiled as she saw what I was carrying. "I knew you'd bring those. You prefer the high-heels but you're afraid of them, and what they can do, and you don't want me to think you a sissy by choosing flats. Well, that's alright, it doesn't matter what you choose, it's still going to hurt."
She sat down on a chair and thrust her legs forward. "You put them on for me." I knelt and took one foot in my hand, carefully removing the fluffy mule. I couldn't conceal a brief intake of breath as her brown stockinged foot was revealed. It was simply so enticing; slender, warm and with reinforced toes that just demanded to be worshipped. This was definitely my thing, you understand. I have been a nylon foot man since day one, and the sudden realisation that I would be spending time under such enticing specimens caused me to harden. She saw it - she missed nothing - and casually put her foot up to my face, caressing my nose with those perfumed toes. They were actually quite sweaty, but not disagreeably so, and my erection achieved a diamond cutter quality.
"Go on," she said, "Breathe deep, I have a game-plan for this weekend, I'm going to make you wish you had never seen my feet. EVER." And with this disconcerting statement, she drew her foot back and launched a kick directly at my chin that once more had me sprawling on my back. As I struggled to my knees, she put the shoes on herself, stamping them gently to achieve a snug fit.
"Now crawl into the lounge on your hands and knees and we'll play a few games."
I crawled after her into the lounge and we started. She produced a box containing bits of paper.
"This is the numbers box. The idea is, YOU decide which part of the body you want to be kicked in, then I take a paper from the box and it tells me how many kicks I can administer. It won't be any good just choosing non- vulnerable parts of the body all the time. I mean, if you just keep saying legs, or shoulder, and some high numbers come out you're going to be bloody paralysed with enough kicks to that part of your anatomy. Better to spread the areas around a bit. So, where do you want me to kick first?"
I thought about it. I'd try to prove her assumptions about me wrong. I would NOT pander to her fright tactics. "Stomach," I said curtly.
"Oh, brave boy, trying to be manly eh? Well, let's see how many times I get to kick it." She took a paper from the box and held it out for me to see. It had a large number 6 scrawled on it.
"Right, six times to the belly, and oh, I almost forgot, if you flinch and try to protect yourself at any time, you pay a forfeit. I get to choose the next area for kicking. Now lie on your side to give me a good target."
I did as she said and tightened my stomach muscles in anticipation of the first kick. She stood away from me and swung her leg, her stout brogue sinking deep into my belly. My breath went with a whoosh, but I tried desperately to retain my position, I didn't want to pay any forfeits. I valued my balls too much.
"That's one," she said calmly, "And here's number two." Another kick landed in precisely the same place and my body involuntarily began to curl up. "None of that," she snapped, "Straighten up." Somehow I did, and endured four more heavy kicks before curling into a foetal position and clutching my aching abdomen.
"Good game isn't it?" she laughed. "Better than monopoly definitely. I love playing this. Now, where next?"
"Thigh," I muttered, hoping I could endure that without too much trouble.
"Chicken," she taunted, "But if this next number is high, you won't walk for a week." She took another paper from the box. "Oh, it's only a three, straighten your legs." I did so, with difficulty, and three full- bodied kicks from those heavy shoes thudded into my right thigh. The pain was intense but I could live with it. God knows what the bruises would look like.
The game continued for another 15 minutes, with Agnes methodically kicking my back - 7 times, - my chest - twice, my left thigh 5 times and my shoulder once. The game would finish when all the numbers from one to ten had been drawn from the box. There were four to go, including all the high ones - 8, 9 and 10. My body ached all over but I was determined to stick it out. By this time, Agnes was breathing heavily and decided to call time-out for a break.
"Time for some refreshment I think," she said, sitting down in an easy chair. "Go to the kitchen and you'll see a bottle of red wine and two glasses. Bring them."
"My God," I thought, "She's actually offering me a drink?" This was definitely a turn-up for the books. I went to the kitchen and found a rather good bottle of red wine standing on a tray with two glasses. I carried the tray back into the lounge and poured a glass of wine that I handed to Agnes. Then I made to pour one for myself. "Oh no, that's not for you, I've got something rather special for you. Go and look in that cupboard over there and bring what you find on the bottom shelf."
Puzzled, I went over to the cupboard, opened the door, and saw a large white chamber pot sitting there. It was about half full of yellowy liquid. My heart sank as I realised what it was. "Yep," said Agnes, it's piss. I've had it upstairs all week without emptying it. There's six days worth there. I've been saving it ever since you rang me up, and you're going to drink it all. You don't have to do it all at once, but until it's all gone you don't get a proper drink. Now take yourself a glass full and we'll talk awhile." I reluctantly drew a glass full of stale urine from the pot and stood looking at it. "Go on," said Agnes, a touch of menace entering her voice. "Drink it, it's all your good for."
I raised the glass to my lips and took a swallow. To be honest, the taste, at first, wasn't too bad, but it had a nasty oily texture and was very cold. It also left a bitter aftertaste in the mouth. Still, nothing for it but to persevere, I had to have some proper nourishment over the weekend, and I wouldn't get any of that until I'd finished the pot's contents. I chugalugged the rest of the glass with abandon; the quicker I got it down the sooner it would be all over. I scooped up another load.
"Well well," chuckled Agnes, "I think he likes it. Perhaps I should think about bottling it. Come on over here and sit down in front of me." I did as I was told and sat at her feet. She casually rested her feet on my shoulder, and regarded me quizzically. "You know, what I would really like to do is kick you to death. Take my time about it, an hour here, an hour there, reduce you to a condition where you would scream with fear whenever you heard my footsteps approaching. Of course, I can't do that unfortunately, disposing of the corpse etc. Very messy. But, you know something? I have a feeling that you'd let me. Am I right?"
I looked at her. "I don't know Madam, I truly don't. I know you hold a terrible fascination for me, and I adore your legs and feet. In some respects it is an honour to kicked and trampled by them, but to submit to death by them is perhaps a step too far. However, if circumstances dictated that I had to die, but could choose the manner of my death, that is the death I would choose."
She mulled this over. "A good answer I think. I was aware of your interest at Lisa's party, even though I treated you abominably. What we need to prove this weekend, is just how far I can break your will and make you absolutely subservient to mine. Then we might have a lasting relationship. Possibly. I'll consider I've achieved my goal when I force you to eat my shit."
I'd been waiting for this, and now it was here. Make or break time. That was one step absolutely too far
"I'm sorry Madam, but that I won't do. You can treat me how you like, revile me, kick me, beat me and, as you've just seen, I'll drink your urine, but I won't do that." I expected an outburst of temper, a kick, blow, SOMETHING, but she just smiled and said, "We'll see".
I drank another glass of cold oily pee and we went back to the game. I nominated my backside, wondering why I hadn't thought of it before. It was fleshy, and able to withstand a kick probably better than any other part of the body, and I lucked out! I hit the ten spot, and Agnes launched kicks one after the other. I received these on my hands and knees, inevitably falling forwards on to my front, but Agnes patiently waited whilst I resumed the position. My stomach received five more heavy kicks, making me grit my teeth and fight hard to retain the oily pee assaulting my digestive tract. Then came the big nine. My limbs were aching terribly and I wanted to retain their use, so I had nominated my lower back. I knew it would be either a four or a nine. Naturally, I hoped it would be a four but was unlucky. By the time the fifth kick landed, I was moaning in agony, and with the sixth I screamed and twisted over, my hands clutching futilely at the punished area.
"Forfeit," cried Agnes happily, "I get to choose. I think we'll have a go at the head."
It was impossible for me to lie still by this time; my body ached beyond measure, while sharp shocks of pain lanced everywhere. Agnes took no notice; she danced around my head and kicked at will. Her heavy shoe crushed my lips, loosened teeth on the right hand side, gave me a black eye, and all in all nearly rendered me unconscious. Then it was over, and Agnes sat down gasping with pleasure.
"A bloody good game that. I really enjoyed it. I must say you stood up to it pretty well. Perhaps we'll play it again tomorrow. Now pour me another glass of wine, and one for yourself of course, but not wine." She chuckled and kicked off those punishing shoes. Regardless of the agony I was in, I reflected that things would have been a whole lot worse if she'd been wearing those stilettos with the pointy toes.
I forced down another glass of Agnes' golden nectar, and thought that I was almost beginning to like it. Agnes sipped her wine and regarded me steadily. "Lie down in front of me and I'll let you worship my feet awhile," she said. This was something I could respond to willingly. I put the glass down and stretched out at her feet, my body protesting at the effort. Her beautiful narrow nylon soles descended on my face and began caressing my face. I winced repeatedly as they found the wounds they had so recently created, but didn't move. I inhaled that incredible musky, slightly sweet smell that only women's feet seem to have, and revelled in it.
During this time, Agnes made no attempt to punish me in any way. We could have been just another couple, indulging in their own secret pastimes while the rest of the world was safely locked outside. Then it was time for supper. I was shown where the makings were, and told to rustle up two cheese omelettes, "Unless you'd like a shit sandwich." Said Agnes with a sly smile. I said nothing and continued my efforts without looking at her.
The meal passed off uneventfully, except for the fact that Agnes drank wine, and I drank piss. Thankfully, the chamber pot was almost emptied of its contents by now. However, I was aware that it could be filled up again quite easily, whenever Agnes had the urge to go. In my time there, she hadn't been once, but she had consumed a complete bottle of wine, and the time must be approaching fast.
After supper, we retired back to the lounge and Agnes sprawled in the armchair. She was definitely a little tipsy. She opened her legs wide and said, somewhat sleepily, "I'm too tired for anything very energetic, crawl up here and eat me out. Do it well and I'll lay off you for the rest of the night."
This was a summons that needed no repeating. This was all my birthdays come at once; to sup at the fount of this enigmatic, domineering woman, was a command I would have crawled over broken glass to obey. I fell to my knees and gently pushed her skirt back, revealing oh so silky patterned stocking tops with the V of a pair of white silk briefs centred in the middle. I ran my tongue gently over each top in turn before letting it slip casually on to the smooth white flesh above. I let it rove around, coming within a hairsbreadth of the nylon crutch -piece, but never quite touching. Actually, I was very good at this, having had a lot of practise over the years. I had discovered that a man talented in the sublime art of muff diving could make a woman very respondent indeed. All he needed was an educated tongue and a lot of patience. NEVER dive in too quick; tempt and tease and draw out the actual act of penetration as long as possible. This always inevitably comes when the lady can stand it no more, and grasps your head from behind, pulling your face into her perfumed centre. Agnes was no exception. Within twenty seconds of my gentle licking of her thighs, she was moaning audibly, her hands grasped my hair roughly and pulled me deep into her perfumed panty crotch. It was divine. It was also quite moist from her expectant lubricant juices, and I completely gave myself up to the moment, almost unable to believe that I was so intimately servicing this woman who cast such a spell over me. In a sudden flurry of movement, she pushed me away, almost ripped her panties off, and grabbed my head again, pulling it once more into her now naked glistening vagina. I located her clitoris and gently sucked on it, causing spasms in her body, and a tightening of her thighs around my head.
I'm not sure how long I sucked and probed, licked and delved, but I was aware of three orgasms, and there may have been more. I actually came myself. As the pressure mounted in my throbbing organ, I managed to wrap my legs around one of hers and fucked it, as would a randy dog. Finally, her spasms dwindled, and she allowed me to withdraw my dripping face from its sweet prison. She lay back in the chair replete, and regarded me with half closed eyes.
"You're rather good at that aren't you?" she murmured. I thought a little flattery wouldn't go amiss, so I smiled and said, "With you, Madam, anyone would be inspired." She liked that, and allowed her nyloned sole to stroke my face. I told you women were susceptible to this sort of thing. I pressed my nose between the moist toes and inhaled that magic odour. She liked that too. At Lisa's party she had kicked me in the face for doing exactly the same thing. Now she encouraged me, flexing her toes and gripping my nose gently. I was definitely starting to grow on Agnes.
Eventually, she stood up and declared it was time for bed. She led me to the bathroom and told me to strip. Bemused, I did. Where was I going to sleep? In the cold porcelain bath, that's where. I hadn't grown on Agnes that much. She rummaged in the dirty linen basket and produced several pairs of soiled panties and a pair of black tights. The panties she carefully pulled over my head, making sure all the crotch pieces were covering my nose. Then she pulled the tights over in the same way before tying them securely behind my head. My head was now tightly wrapped in aromatic undergarments, but Agnes hadn't finished yet.
"You will not remove these panties from your face during the night. I want them still in place in the morning. Do you understand?" I nodded dumbly. I didn't mind them there at the moment, but all night? The smell of used panties can be a bit wearing after a certain time, but more was to come. Agnes was finally about to recycle the wine.
"Lie down," she commanded, I'm going to anoint for them you. I gingerly lay down on the cold porcelain, shuddering as it made contact with my punished back. I waited. I was aware of her shifting about, positioning herself, and then it came, a strong gusher of urine that played itself all over the garments wrapping my head in their less than fragrant embrace. They soon became even less fragrant, and I came to close to suffocating. The urine found its way into my nose, my mouth as I gasped, and turned the panties and tights into a sodden stinking mess. This I had to endure all night apparently. Agnes had put the plug in, and the surplus pee swirled in the bottom of the bath, swiftly turning cold around my naked limbs.
"I shall probably have to go a couple of times during the night, so I'll be able to freshen them up for you," she said, quite matter of factly. Then she was gone, leaving me in my enforced nakedness, lying in her pee and with my head and face tightly enclosed in soaking undergarments. The truly surprising thing is that I made no attempt to extricate myself. I stayed in the bath instead of climbing out and lying on the carpet. I left the soaking pants in place, breathing in the overwhelming aroma of sex and piss for the whole night. I didn't even pull the plug to let the surplus pee drain away. Why? It wasn't fear of punishment; she could, and would, punish me anytime. No, it was the mere fact that this was what she wanted, and I was fast becoming a slave to her whims. Agnes now had me totally under control.
Somehow I managed to doze, easing my battered body from one position to another, trying to attain a little comfort. Once I was aroused from an exhausted light slumber as my head was suddenly drenched once more with a stream of urine. Agnes never said a word as she played the gusher all over my encased head. The stream died away and I heard the door close quietly. And this was how I spent the night. By morning I craved to be anywhere but in this cold porcelain bath, my limbs shivering uncontrollably, my head still enveloped in those wet clinging garments. But I stuck it out; it was, after all, what Agnes wanted.
Finally, I was aware of her moving around, and my purgatory seemed to have an end in sight. I heard her enter the bathroom. "Good morning," she said brightly "I hope you slept well. I certainly did. Excuse me now while I answer the morning call of nature. I'm very regular you know."
I could see nothing; I dare not open my eyes because the urine made them sting terribly. That was something I had discovered very early on. My eyes remained tightly shut, but I could hear her gently straining at the toilet, followed by a small plopping sound. My thoughts can well be imagined, particularly when she didn't pull the flush. My head was suddenly released from its clinging soaking prison as Agnes pulled the panties away. I looked at her then, rubbing my eyes gingerly. She was dressed simply again, a skirt and blouse and the same pair of mules she had been wearing at the door yesterday. Today, she wore white tights.
"Come," she said, helping me out of the bath, "I have a little test for you. Pass it, and you can have a warm shower, your clothes, and some breakfast. You'll make it of course, the breakfast I mean." She led me hesitantly over to the toilet bowl, and my heart sank. She gently pushed me down to my knees in front of it.
"I want you to gaze closely in that bowl and admire the turds I have just parted with. I won't make you eat them, but I DO want you to pay them their due respect. Stay with your head deep down in the bowl for fifteen minutes and admire them, they are, after all, your Mistresses' waste. Can you do that?"
I nodded. I was almost totally broken. If she wanted me to admire her excreta I would. I pushed my face deep into the bowl, my nose only inches away from the two brown sausages floating there. "A little deeper," she said, and I felt her foot on the back of my neck, thrusting it even further into the bowl. My nose was now almost touching them and the smell was appalling. I reviewed my situation. I was kneeling with my head in a toilet bowl, smelling and staring at Agnes' turds. How did I feel about it? I realised that this was probably my proper place, and that I would do anything for this lady. I mustn't lose her, and without any further thought I pushed my head down one more inch, and licked one of the floating lumps of excreta slowly and lovingly.
Her foot left my neck and she gently pulled me upwards out of the bowl. She was smiling. Very very good, I thought you might do that. I think you belong to me totally now.
There was no question about it. I did. Do you want to know the upshot? We got married a few months later, and both of us are very happy. She is very dominant, and still likes to kick occasionally, but not with the brutal force she used to employ. She still likes to indulge in water-sports and I don't mind. I'm so used to her offerings, I can honestly say I've had worse pints of lager. Scat never comes into it. She set a test and I passed it.
Oh, she still maintains I give the best muff dive she's ever had!
This story is also dedicated to Mistress Domina, for reasons I'm sure she'll understand.

Indulgent Next Door Neighbor - True Story

Shortly after law school, I took on a job with the state attorney general_s office. I had a JD/MBA so I was working in the corporations division of the attorney general_s office, looking to maybe make some connections and land myself something on the corporate side down the road. I was making about $30,000 a year (that_s about $600 a week) as an entry level government employee. I found a sweet little studio, emphasis on the word little, in the heart of the hippest street in the city. $1200 bucks a month, so, after rent, I was living on take home of about $200 a week to cover clothes, food, utilities, everything. Needless to say, there was not much budget for entertainment. I did work part time at a gym, mainly so I could work out for free, but that barely paid for supplements. My apartment was on the top floor of a four story building over looking the trendy street. It was one of those set ups with posh retail space below, two buzzer locked doors to access the residential area, with one apartment on the first retail level, and two apartments with doors facing each other at each landing on the other three levels. The front side apartments were tiny studios. The rear side apartments were huge 2 bedroom apartments. Both types though had a small kitchenette type entry way, such that if you walk in, you are in the so-called kitchen and can almost touch both walls at the same time. There was a shallow counter, fridge, sink and shallow cooktop. I noticed upon moving in that my next door neighbor had to be a woman since there were always all sorts of expensive shoes left on our tiny shared landing. A lot of pumps which she apparently wore to work. Names like Manolo Blahnik, Dolce & Gabbana, Jimmy Choo, etc. Each one of these was like a week_s pay for me as I later found out. Mostly business attire, nothing higher than 3 _ 3.5 inches, but some of the stuff was really funky too, like a pair of black pumps with a silver metal heel and a few pairs with cut outs, ankle straps, cuffs. There were only about 4 feet between our two apartment doors and the landing was about 3.5 to 4 feet wide. Her shoes were encroaching way over to my side, to the point where they filled the whole wall at the top of the landing. She was actually pretty cute with a generally nice body. One of those types that is probably an 8 but eeks out an 8.5 to 9 because of the grooming. She did spin classes and road races and stuff so she was in pretty good shape. When she first knocked and introduced herself to me, she apologized for her shoes taking up the whole landing and offered to move them if they were in my way. But I did not complain. I had of course actually touched, smelled, licked them on a few weekend or late night occasions. So I had no complaints. _Don_t worry about it, I said, they are such nice shoes, they raise the value of what_s in my apartment,_ which was 10 year old furniture that I had lugged from college, to law school to here. She chuckled. I added, _It_s not like they are smelly old sneakers or anything, they are actually very nice to look at,_ figuring I would go a little out on a limb. She put me at ease by saying, _Oh, I am glad, because I have no more room behind my door. I have so many shoes I can barely open it. I have such a shoe fetish._ My ears perked up like a pack dog. _What do you mean,_ I baited. She then invited me to come see for my own eyes, and showed me the pile of shoes, literally almost two feet high behind her door, preventing it from opening more than 45 degrees. She had the same tiny kitchen as me, but it opened to a huge living area that fit a table for dining as well as couches and chairs. She had one couch along the same shoe wall behind the door, a short, cozy white canvas thing about five feet long. Further in was nicer pottery barn type stuff, leather with wood legs and open underneath. Nice airy sparse look. She had a big TV, a thin one. Unlike my apartment, her floors looked brand new and her bathroom looked all redone with stone surfaces (marble or something) and one of those toilets that connects to the wall but not the floor. Best of all, she showed me how she used her second bedroom as a closet. Filled! She could have opened a shoe boutique. I began to learn when the safe times were to make my moves on the stairway platform. What a great find this apartment was. One Saturday while I was in my kitchen, I heard her door open and peeped through the peephole of my door. She was going out running so I went for the kill in the hallway, cleaning the whole lot with my tongue, sniffing a few others, and doing what I had to do. As I was finishing up trying to put everything back in place, I heard noises from her kitchen. She has a guest!! Oh crap was all I could think of. I remained dead quiet, praying the door would not open, trying to think of an explanation and having none. I could feel my heart thumping and had a sense of dread. Then I heard silence, then eventually I heard footsteps retreating, and the TV click on. Close call. I went back into my apartment, and planned to lay low for awhile. When I ran into her during the week, I asked if she had a guest over the weekend. She said, _Yes, my friend from Argentina was staying with me and she left today._ So she proceeded to tell me how she studied abroad and how her family used to have kids from abroad over, etc, etc. Maybe I was in the clear. Either that or she didn_t mind. We got to know each other a little better, mostly small talk. She was an intellectual property attorney, who had been a biochem engineer before law school. She worked one of the largest firms in the city with over 100 lawyers and just made partner on a fast track because of her unique background. From my knowledge of people in that field, and our conversations, I guessed and later learned verified that she was making over $200,000. She did not date much because she worked so much and said she had limited selection because she only dated guys that were of her own faith. I was a little perplexed about that, but she explained that she did not want a mixed marriage and wanted her kids brought up in the Jewish faith. I guess I could respect that, even though ruling out perfectly good people based on their race or faith seemed silly. Anyway, so a relationship was out of the question. She was not really my type anyway. Too materialistic for me, and seemed high maintenance, wore too much make up, etc. She described herself as a so-called _JAP_ which was not an Asian slur as she explained it to me. Whatever, I am not much for ethnic labels, as long as someone is cool. I had a few other scares where I forgot to lock my door, and wondered if she had gone in and seen my collection of magazines. There were a few times where my mail got put in her mail slot which was next to mine at the bottom of the stairway. It was one of those eight slot racks that only the mail courier has a key to rotate forward from the wall exposing all the tops of the locked boxes to drop mail in. On two of those occasions, I found it on my coffee table with a note that my door was open and she did not want to leave my mail sitting out in the hall where anyone where anyone could see it or take it. I wondered if maybe she had flipped through the mail, or accidentally opened it without looking at the labels, and seen a slip, an invoice or maybe got curious about a brown paper wrapper, since one of the piles did have a fetish mag in it. The envelope was just taped shut but I could not be certain that it was not shipped that way. I figured that even if she had peaked, she would not say anything because then I would know she opened my mail. Or if she had ventured in while I was not around, maybe she took a look around and snooped into things which I did not really think I needed to cover up in the privacy of my own digs. But there was no point in worrying. Later in time, on a Wednesday night in summer, she knocked on my door and told me she needed help and asked if I could help her. She was all dressed up from work in a nice charcoal pants suit and black pumps with a little bare foot skin showing. I said _Sure._ So I go in her kitchen and she has groceries filling up what little shallow counter space there is, and says she dropped her keys and they fell behind the stove. I could not move the stove. It could have been bolted or something and was worried about breaking or tearing the line where the gas came from, and I was too short to reach or even see over the back, so I figured I could just reach through the drawer opening and fish around for them. I sidled through the 45 degree opening in the door, shut it behind me and I proceeded to pull out the drawer under the stove and lay down on my back right next to the stove and counter, with my head near the apartment door, and my left arm reaching under the stove. I told her I could not feel anything but dust balls and crumbs back there as I blindly reached around, and asked how far over to her right they had fallen. I certainly was not going to stick my head into the drawer opening under the stove and chance it getting stuck or sucking in trace amounts of propane, and wasn_t sure it would fit anyway. It was a shallow drawer. I asked for, and she handed me a utensil, which I then used to fish around the corner to the right of the stove where I could not see. No jingle sound. I was starting to feel a little embarrassed since strong masculine he-man neighbor that I was, I was supposed to come to the rescue of the damsel in distress. Then to my utter surprise, she says, _If you don_t mind me standing on you, I can peer over and guide you where to reach._ Not needing too much more of an invitation, I said _OK, sure._ She replied _Let me know if I am too heavy,_ as she stepped right onto my chest in order to peer over the counter. And get this, she did not even take her shoes off! Un-frigging-believable! I was dumfounded, wondering whether it was an elaborate ruse on her part. Maybe her sleepover guest had seen everything and filled her in. Maybe she had snooped around and was playing with me. Was it some kind of test? Or maybe it was perfectly innocent and she just had no qualms or second thoughts or no reason to hesitate in stepping on a man with her shoes on. She was guiding me, telling me a little left, a little further, etc. But it was still just out of reach. I needed to shimmy over just a hair more anyway and told her she needed to step off so I could reposition to get a little more reach and . . . . Instead, she interrupted me politely and said _Oh wait, don_t move, you are so close,_ and while standing on me, leaned over to open the kitchen drawer, rummaged around and got another utensil with a slightly longer handle. She handed it down to me in my right hand, still without getting off of me, and I passed it under to my other hand. She continued to peer over and I eventually got the keys but fumbled a little extra clumsily, in order to delay the end of this little scenario. She stepped off me, thanked me and said why don_t you stay for a glass of wine. I agreed and sat on the short canvas couch right off the kitchen while she put her groceries away. I was on the end away from the door facing the kitchenette. When she finished, she sat down with her own glass of wine and took off her pumps with a sound of relief, saying something to the effect of _Oh, my feet are killing me from these pumps,_ as she wriggled her toes. I was not going to offer a massage. No need to be too forward and scare her off. Besides, with her self-declared shoe fetish and her willingness to stand on my chest without thinking that she should remove her shoes first, she might continue to lead the way. I did however tell her, _Those are beautiful shoes._ She picked one up, and handed it to me and proceeded to tell me it cost her $475 so she was damn well going to wear it even if it hurt. I could smell the mix of leather and sweat as I inspected it but made sure I was not too obvious. I handed it back after a cursory inspection saying, _Here, you better take this back. If I spill some wine on it or something, it will cost me a whole week_s pay to replace it._ I was kind of hoping she would say something like, _You could just lick it off,_ but she did not. She took the shoe and put it on the floor. She was sitting mostly facing me, upright with her back against the chair arm, and had bent her right leg so her right foot was under her left knee, and had put her left foot on the coffee table after she put the shoe down. I had also noticed she had on blue toenail polish, which was interesting so, keeping the conversation on feet, I said something like, _Oh, that is different, what a pretty color._ She outstretched the left leg toward me and said, _You think so? I don_t really like it. I got a pedicure and they put it on for me._ I said, _No I think it_s pretty._ She said _Thanks,_ and told me how she gets a pedicure every week and gets a new color every week on her toes. They were beauties, and very well kept. As we sat on her couch, the cozy little canvas one, her on the end closest the door, and me on the other end, I noticed she had this little basket of foot creams, pumice tools, and other foot related implements, including a peppermint lotion and a little thing of pure almond oil. I reached for the peppermint oil, opened it, smelled it and said, _Mmm, I love peppermint. Anything peppermint, ginger or almond._ She says, _Ooh, give me that._ I handed it to her and she proceeded to start massaging some of it into the underside of her right foot and then her left. Not wanting to let things end, I fished a little further and said, _Oh, that smells so good I want to taste it._ Taking the bait, she extended her left foot to me, near my face, but not aggressively, and not too close and said _Go ahead._ I almost blew the opportunity at this point because I did not immediately acquiesce. I just sort of froze. In the back of my mind I had thrown the bait out with the presumption that it would never, ever happen, figuring I would just get a laugh, or figuring she would hand me the bottle offering me to try some. So I just froze, thinking then that my opportunity would slip away. Lucky for me, she said a little indignantly, _What? I showered this morning! It_s not like I_ve been walking around barefoot. My feet have been in the shoes all day. They_re clean._ Needing no further risk of losing a great opportunity, I gave a little lick on the arch, just a modest one, and without even thinking, just said, _Wow, that is good.._ She said, go ahead, have a little more. I was amazed that I had met a woman that actually took offense for me not wanting to put my tongue on her feet. Unbelievable! She also seemed to presume that her foot sweat was not at all dirty, and that in her mind they remain _clean_ after sweating for 10 hours in leather pumps. What a keeper! So I gave a few more licks, but started to feel a little embarrassed and did not want to blow it so I said _It has a cosmetic aftertaste that is not so good._ This was partially true. I added in a lighthearted joking tone, feigning sarcasm, _No offense to your feet which I am sure would taste great without the lotion._ She laughed and said _None taken._ Then she added, maybe next time you can try the almond oil.. I was taking a sip of wine, and thinking to myself: Geez, does this get any better; she is actually the aggressor, putting me in a position to play hard to get. I later excused myself. The next night I came back from the gym, and found a piece of cream pie outside my door with a little note taped to it. The note read, _Peppermint cream pie. Couldn_t resist when I saw it, and you don_t even have to lick it off my feet . . . unless you want to._ It had a little smiley face at the end. I knocked on her door but no answer. I did not eat the pie. Too many carbs. She was away for the weekend. On Monday night, she knocked and asked if I enjoyed the pie. I told her I did not eat it because it had too many carbs and had to toss it so I wasn_t tempted by it. She sarcastically told me she was insulted. I explained that I was dieting down for a competition. I added somewhat cryptically, _I tried to take you up on your offer on the spur of the moment but you weren_t home._ She laughed and said she had left for the weekend, flew into town this morning and went straight to work today, but had more pie if I was still interested in some. I was not sure if she got my point about _her offer_, and I was not sure if she was matter of factly offering pie, or re-offering the same method of serving the pie. I told her I would have to pass on cream pie because I had to watch my sugar intake. Being a little bit cocky, I lifted my shirt a little to show her my abdominal muscles. I know conceited move, but no worries, there is no trace of that six pack nowadays. I digress. She then said _Well you still have to try my almond oil. Why don_t you come over for a few minutes?_ A little embarrassed and uncomfortable, I said without really thinking, _Ahh, I just worked out so I am all sweaty, I need to shower._ What an idiot! She then rescued me and replied, _It_s not like we are going to have sex or anything?_ And then she just turned without waiting for an answer and started for her door, throwing out one last remark, _Just brush your teeth first though._ On the one hand I was interested, but on the other it felt a little weird to be asked nicely, and not have to figure out a sneaky way to get what I wanted. Most importantly, I was not sure if I was imagining the double entendres. Were we on the same wavelength? Things were just vague enough so I wasn_t sure. And what the hell did that last comment mean? Brush my teeth? Did she plan on kissing me? Was she sarcastically saying she did not want to have sex but wanted to? Did I have bad breath? Protein-shake breath? Tuna breath? In the end, I figured I had nothing to lose by going over and, after all, she did invite me. I did brush though. After brushing and gargling, I changed my shirt, then knocked and she yelled that it was open. When I got there, she was sitting in the same spot as last time but occupying the whole couch, which was only five feet to begin with, and I noticed that the little thing of half ounce container of almond oil was on the table and her feet were wet, almost glistening, as if she had already rubbed some oil on. She had them a little outstretched so there was no place for me to sit. I just sort of hung out standing shooting the breeze, reached for the oil and said, _Oh, is this the oil,_ as I picked it up off the table. I opened the top and deliberately put out my forefinger as though ready to apply a little to taste it. She said, _What are you doing? Don_t waste it. It_s expensive._ I said, _Hey, you were the one who told me I could try it._ She then ended the game-playing, and said, _I meant off my feet,_ as she lifted them both a little by clasping her arms under her knees. Feigning dumb, I said, _Oh._ She immediately said, _You didn_t catch anything last time did you? I did shower this morning and it_s not like I walked around the airport barefoot._ There it was again, that indignation that a man would hesitate to put her tongue on her feet. So, I walked over to the other end of the couch. squeezed in to what little space was there and faced her as best I could with my feet on the floor, knees angled toward her and partially under her legs, and my torso rotated to face her. She extended her bent legs out to my face. I licked a little, then a little more, and then thought silently to myself: Holy shit, was she telling me to brush my teeth before I lick her feet. So I need to brush my teeth before licking her feet that sweated all day in her pumps through a flight and through work. This lady is unreal! She then said, _How is it?_ I said, _It_s OK, not bad._ She did not reply at first. Maybe I should have been more enthusiastic. I thought to myself if I play too hard to get, she might think I am not interested. I wanted to ask her why she had told me to brush my teeth, secretly hoping she would say she wanted my mouth clean before it went on her feet, but I chickened out. Maybe I did have bad breath. She said sort of to herself, _Just ok_ in a low voice. Her phone rang only a few minutes in and she grabbed it off the coffee table to answer it. Fortunately, it was her mom, so she obviously was not going to tell her anything. But I did not have much to worry about anyway. She was the one who had done all the offering. I was only obliging. Still, I did not need any extra publicity. These types of things should really be private. But unfortunately, it seemed like it was not going to end anytime soon. She took her feet away got up and walked over and was flipping through stuff, writing stuff, talking and it did not look like the call was going to end. Apparently, she was helping her parents with some legal matter. It sounded a little private. She looked at me, shrugged and mouthed the word sorry. I pointed to my wrist even though I was not wearing a watch and lightly said, _I gotta go anyway._ And I left. No good encounters for a while, probably several weeks. I wondered if I had not shown enough enthusiasm and gave her the wrong signals. Thankfully not the case. In late summer / early fall over Labor Day week end, she went to a party, and came home real late. I was also coming home late and we got to shooting the shit on the landing. She was loaded, I was not. We ended up sitting down out there with each of our backs leaning against our doors facing each other. When she plucked off her shoes, I noticed her bare feet were black on the bottom, except the sections under her toes where they don_t touch the ground. They were outstretched toward me and I could not help from staring at them. I was not attracted to dirt, but they were cool to look at. She had a pink polish on and the contrast between the clean foot tops, pink polish and black bottoms was pretty cool. I think she noticed me staring so I tried to head off any suspicions by saying, _I can_t get over how black your feet bottoms are. What the hell were you doing?_ She explained that she had been at a roof top party elsewhere in the city and had taken her shoes off. They were really black. Trying to rekindle things, I said, _It is going to take you forever to clean them._ No reply at first. I worried if the comment was too obvious, but then quickly reasoned that it was cagey enough to have an innocent interpretation. To my surprise, she belatedly replied, _You wanna lick _em clean for me?_ I instantly shot back, _No! They_re filthy._ I had read about how some folks dig that sort of thing but I had no desire to eat roof soot composed of acid rain, pigeon shit, car exhaust particulates, etc. Knowing no limits she replied, _How _bout for a hundred bucks._ I thought about it and still had no real desire to do so. I said, _How about five hundred._ She said _Two hundred._ I could not believe she wanted to prostitute me to lick dirt off her feet. The thought of the negotiation was a turn on though. Did she like the power? Did she just want to watch it? I then said _Four hundred,_ and explained that it might take a while to get them clean because they were so black. She said _Three hundred is my absolute maximum._ I thought about it and figured, what the hell, so I said _Deal._ Like a typical lawyer, she then added, _For that kind of money they have to be clean though, and I get to judge, and I can withhold money if they are not spotless._ I told her that left too much ambiguity, and said _It_s only a deal if you can_t reduce it to less than $250._ She said _Deal if you do it right here, right now._ I said _Fine._ So she moved her bottom forward, laid back with her hands behind her head, and put one foot flat on my door next to my head and suspended the other one right in front of my face. I went to town. It required a lot of hard tongue action, really French kissing the sole, and it took a LONG time. She raved about how good the soles work felt, commenting, _Wow that feels good. It_s like getting a massage, only with your tongue instead of your hands._ I liked the comment but the act itself was not a super turn on for me though because I kept thinking about roof soot, pigeon shit and acid rain containing car exhaust molecules. Probably the only time I ever licked a pair and did not have a stiffie, until I got to the toes. I did enjoy doing the toes with the pink polish, which I had to do in order to clean the undersides of the toes. While I was doing it, she said _That feels great._ That had to be a hint that she was into it. Maybe she had an ex or something that was into this kind of thing. Maybe she was just experimenting. Maybe she had snooped and she knew. I eventually finished up. She inspected and said, _Wow, that was great. You should offer this as a service, but I don_t know if you could get $300 for it._ My inhibitions a little lower, I said _I only asked for so much because they were so dirty I knew it would take a while. If they were clean I would have done it for a hundred._ She went on, _I bet I know some women who would pay between $125 and $175 for this._ I added, _For that kind of money, I_ll lick their shoes clean too, soles and all._ She asked if that was a _firm offer._ I said _You are a little out of touch. I live on about two hundred a month after I pay rent. If I do that twice a week I more than double my take home pay._ She then said, _Well I just might take you up on that?_ She made me shake on it. I then had to lawyer in that the offer was only good if there were no caked on matter, no gum, no other particulates, it had to be done in a private setting, no more than one person with her, females only that I had to approve of, no withholding based on stains that would not come out, and added another string of conditions like no pictures, and complete secrecy. I did not want her getting too sadistic with it. I am not into dogshit or anything like that. She then said, _I am holding you to that offer._ As she got up she said, _Wait right there._ She returned momentarily with a check for $250. I said, _Hey, they are clean._ She lifted the sole and pointed out two spots where on the ball and heel calluses, the dirt had worked its way into cracks and my tongue did not get all of it. I told her I should have been given a chance to fix anything that was not to her satisfaction, and she said _I have to get some sleep._ So I took the $250. I did feel a little cheapened by the experience, but that was a lot of dough for me then and it wasn_t so bad. I figured how many times will I actually get paid to lick the feet of a cute chick with a nice body? The following Thursday night around 9:30, as I got out of the shower, I hear a knock, and as I was on my way to the kitchen where the door is, she opens my door and yells in for me. She saw me in my towel and said _Oh, sorry, it was open._ She seemed to have a mild glow on like a little buzz going, and I noticed there was another woman in the hall about the same age, late twenties. They were both in their work outfits. Pant suits with dressy business pumps. She then tells me that she just had dinner with her colleague right from work, that she had told her about me and my offer after spin class the night before and that they wanted to take me up on my offer tonight. I was at first a little uneasy about crowds as a result of an experience in my youth. She told me we had a deal and that they were prepared to pay me for my services. And besides, her friend was good looking and had a nice trim body from what I could see, and had good facial and neck definition. Had to be in shape if they did spinning together. She told me how she had explained to her colleague that I was willing to tongue massage both of their feet for $100 a piece but that if they each kicked in just another $25, I would do the shoes, soles included, which her friend wanted to see. So, she concluded, _We have $250 cash for you to do the both of us, shoes and all._ Her friend chimed in _But you have to do it in your towel._ I had to object to that since I knew I would have a raging hard on. The forward friend then agreed that as long as I was shirtless it was a go. I agreed figuring as long as I had jeans on they probably would not see anything. On her way back to her apartment, my neighbor said aloud, without looking back, _Remember to brush your teeth._ There it was again. What the hell did she mean by that? I breathed into my hand trying to smell my own breath. Egg whites? Tuna? Whey protein? So I brushed. When I went over, they were both on the nice leather couch with a bottle of wine and their wine glasses. I asked how we were going to handle it. My neighbor told me that they wanted me to lie under the couch with just my head out and they would just switch places when it was the second person_s turn. The set up was a beauty. They would be sitting so their legs came right down with their feet bottoms perfectly positioned over my face, toes pointing toward the top of my head. I shimmied under the couch and my neighbor positioned her heels one on either side of my head. The other woman was leaning forward watching intently, which made me a little uncomfortable. But I still had a rager. I licked away at the bottom of my neighbor_s expensive pump while her friend stared at me doing it. Then, after I had the leather pretty well soaked, my neighbor told me that she did not want too much time spent on the shoe and told me to do her feet. I just stopped and waited for her to take off the shoe, but she said _What are you waiting for? Take off my shoe, we are paying good money for this._ I did as told and got a nice waft of pleasant smelling sweat mixed with leather, and gladly lapped away. After I had licked them clean, she sat up forward so she could flex her calf and dipped the toes to my lips. Needing no instructions, I sucked away and did so enthusiastically. I tried to temper it though so it did not look like I was getting off. She still had the other shoe on, which made me wonder if she was actually trying to keep the sweat fresh for me or something. We repeated this with the other shoe and foot. It was a little unnerving having her friend stare at me like it was a circus act though. My neighbor then planted both of her feet on either side of her head, picked up one of her pumps and put the side of it against my lips. I asked what she was doing. She replied _The deal was that you would do the whole shoe. Your own words were that you would _even do our shoes, SOLES INCLUDED_. Those were your exact words. You have only done the soles. If we are paying 250 bucks, we want what was promised._ She must have just been showing off. I did not put up any fight. I was actually enjoying it. So I said, you do have a point, and proceeded to lick away as she held it there and rotated it all around, administering it to my mouth. Her friend was still perched forward staring, enjoying the show the whole time. My neighbor then had me do the other shoe while she administered it to my mouth in the same fashion. She did not asked me to suck the heel or anything. It was not a sexual thing (for them). It seemed like my neighbor took more than one hour which I thought was the deal but I did not complain. I did not want to be a stickler and I was in heaven. When it was the friend_s turn, the friend could not move fast enough to get into position, putting one shoe right over my face and setting it right on my lips. How about a little subtlety, lady, I thought to myself. I had to physically lift the pump off my lips to ask if I could have a sip of water telling my neighbor that her feet were salty so my mouth was dry. She said, _Must be from my sweat._ The friend chimed in that her time did not start to run until I had begun on her shoes. My neighbor got me a bottled water, and I slid out a little and propped my upper torso up on an elbow. I did it just enough to be able to drink. I did not want to pull out far enough for either of them to see my crotch. The friend put her heeled shoes on my stomach as I was drinking and pressed a little curiously. She said, _That is hard,_ referring to my set of abdominals which, at that age, were taut from the way I was sitting half upright. I said, _Hey, go easy with the heels, will ya_ and she lightened up a bit but did not apologize. I shimmied back under and the friend put her shoe sole right back on my mouth. She was still leaning forward because she wanted to watch, so she was pressing a little too much weight onto the shoe. I was holding her leg trying to counter-act the pressure as I licked away. I did so until my arms were tired. I then stopped licking and asked if she could lean back because the pressure was a little hard with her leaning forward. She said, _We are not paying you to talk with your mouth. We are paying you to use your mouth on our shoes and feet. To lick._ This caught me a little off guard since up until now everything had been pretty consensual with no bossiness, but she did smile and laugh so I think it was just sarcasm. She did though follow up on a nicer note and said, _I will try to put less weight on them, but I really do want to watch._ Thankfully, the earlier comment was just show off talk because she eased up a little bit. Instead of doing it like my neighbor did, she rotated the shoe by her ankle movements while her shoe was still on in order for me to do the sides. She then had me do the other shoe. Since she was leaning forward intent on watching, she removed her own shoe and plunked her foot down on my lips. I lapped away. Her feet were a little bigger. My neighbor was a six sometimes 6.5. This woman_s feet also smelled a little stronger but it was still pleasant mixed with the leather. Leaning forward, she was in a perfect position when it was time to do her toes. Unlike my neighbor, this woman had me do a shoe and a shoe followed by a foot and a foot, rather than a shoe and its foot followed by the other shoe and foot. When I finished, she asked me, _What do my feet taste like._ I just said, _I don_t know, I guess like salt and leather._ My neighbor offered me some wine and invited me up onto the couch. She then handed me an envelope which I guess was the money. I had a little wine and chatted with them about their jobs as lawyers in a big firm, about spinning, dieting and other things. But after a while, I began to feel a little cheapened sitting their shirtless, so I said I had to go. I also wanted to relieve myself pretty bad. For the next few months, my neighbor would once or twice a week, usually alone but sometimes with her friend, solicit me for service. I had a pretty sweet deal. Usually though it was just feet when my neighbor was alone, but whenever the friend came they wanted their shoes done. I think they just liked the act of it, of watching it take place together. It was an experience for them to enjoy together and only cost them an extra $25 a piece. We had worked out a deal where my neighbor would just write a check at the end of each week for the tally of services. Sweet deal. One Friday, after a snowfall in early winter, she left a pair of patent black thigh high boots in the hall platform. They were flat boots, no heel but still sexy and they were all covered with road salt stains. While she was out that night, I just could not resist licking them clean. I worried a little afterward that she would notice how spotless they were. The next night, after she went out, I came to my door and found another pair of boots, this time ankle boots, with road salt splotches at the foot of my door. There was a note on my door that said, _Thanks. No charge I presume. Can you do these too._ I was a little mortified, but maybe she thought I just wiped them down. In a worst case scenario, it was not so bad because she seemed to be into it. I decided to go ahead and lick the second set clean. The following Wednesday was the next occasion that she gave her usual knock as she came home from work and told me she _wanted a session._ That was her lingo she had developed for it. When I came over I just slid under the couch and waited for her. She sat down and put a pump on either side of my head. I said, _Shoes too tonight, or just feet again._ She then smiled and just leaned back and put the sole of one of her pumps on my mouth. I took the cue and started licking. This time she rotated it after the sole was done, just like her friend_s normal practice. She had me do both shoes first, like her friend_s method. After I did both shoes, she put the first bare foot over my mouth and while I was licking she said, _Since you have been doing my shoes for free in the hall, I am not going to pay for that anymore._ I did not reply and just kept licking. A few minutes later she said, _I get the feeling you might be enjoying this, so I am not sure I should be paying anymore._ I regretted that she had apparently discovered that I would have been a willing participant without any compensation but I said nothing. I just kept licking. I felt a little shamed, and fortunately she the subject drop, but there was no check that Friday. She continued to knock on my door a few times a week for _sessions_ for the next several weeks but she never gave me another check. The frequency of the sessions then increased to a nightly gig, but her friend only joined her once every two weeks or so. There were a few other occasions where she brought another new female friend along, but there were only two such women, and that was it for involvement of outsiders. And for both of them she got my approval first, and filled me in on their looks and physiques. She was cool with the fact that I only wanted thin women that were good looking by reasonable standards. It bothered me a little that the circle of knowledge had expanded to four people, who I feared each had to _confide_ in others. It bothered me more that women getting serviced for free would know that I must enjoy it since I was doing it for free, but it did not bother me enough to object. I must admit though, I did enjoy both of these other women. They were brand new attorneys. It seemed like she had recruited women that were hot as a favor to me. I continued to service her shoes and feet just pretending I did not notice that there was no check left for me ever again. Thankfully, she did not press the issue in terms of discussing my enjoyment or anything like that. She did not publicize it. Neither of us ever brought up the money again. That was tasteful on her part. Regularly, she would leave a pair of shoes or boots right at my door, usually with a cute little note. I remember a few of these notes: _These could use a good _spit shine_ if you don_t mind._ _Can you do these for me LICK-edy split cuz I want to wear them tomorrow._ _These could use a good _cleaning_ if you know what I mean._ One note just said _Enjoy._ The notes always put the special word in quotes or caps or underlined. The shoes were never super dirty, an occasional sand grit here and there. Sometimes, there was something spilled on them if she wore them out clubbing or something. I honestly think she liked the idea of someone lavishing admiration on something that she paid a lot of money for. I think somehow it validated her specific shopping addiction. I did notice that the _sessions_ grew longer and longer since I was not on the clock anymore. She probably just figured if I was enjoying it and she was not paying for it, there was no problem having her feet licked for 2 or sometimes 3 hours a night while watching TV or reading before she went to bed. One time, on a Saturday, she watched a movie and a sequel with me under her feet licking away. Over time, she also had no problem if, after I had licked them for a while, I just left them pressed on my face. I had become sort of a friendly foot licker on demand, always right after work on every week night, but also on any other time she desired. Sometimes it was just her feet, but she still liked to have me lick her shoes when she got home from work a three or four nights a week, since now it was free. Who knows, maybe after a bad day, it made her feel better to have a guy lying under her couch, his head sticking out, his face under her feet, licking the soles of her shoes? She always wanted the shoes done on the weekend nights when she came home from a club or bar or restaurant or party. She was probably just feeling a little wild when the alcohol loosened any inhibitions. At my gentle creative suggestion, she also eventually included other non-dressy shoes to the rotation, but I think this was out of sheer curiosity. For my part I was really just interested in leather flats and sandals. She playfully suggested that it had to be all or nothing, after which she included work boots, flip-flops, you name it, and several pairs of sneakers, none of which were really enjoyable. Whatever she wore on her feet, she would have me lick. For the flip flops and sandals she always wanted the inside licked too since it used to get a little discolored from wear, was visible to people if her shoes were off and it was accessible for my tongue. I chose to confide in her that I had really developed a taste for her foot sweat and it was just the oddest thing that I really thought it was unique, smelled great and was delicious. She thought that was cool. She then said in a nice, warm, jovial manner, _Even though you are not scamming me out of several hundred a week anymore, you can lick my foot sweat any time as your payment._ I told her I would love to do it right after she went running or after spin class. True to her character of always having to bargain for something, she said she would do that if I would lick the sneakers too each time. I agreed. So this became a regular thing of her having me lick her sneakers, then her feet, right after spin class and right after she went running. I eventually told her that on the sneaker days especially, I liked it better when she wore no socks. I told her this was because the socks made lint. That reason was phony and I am not sure she bought it since I had previously confided one evening that I liked the smell and taste of her sweat, especially when she wore no socks. But it did not matter because she stopped wearing any socks after that, for at least 90% of the time. If she went on a long run, she would still wear them, and with certain outfits she had too. Sometimes, but not often, she would work out on a weekday morning, and knock on my door upon her return, telling me that she had _fresh foot sweat from running [or spinning] with no socks._ I would then give her a sneaker licking and foot licking before work. These rare days were double sessions for me. She also met me during lunch hour a few times near the end of it at her place if she was going to run or spin at lunch. On only a few occasions, I talked her into not showering in order to get two days of sweat buildup. But she did not do this a lot because she was a clean person. Eventually, she offered to have me change her polish. I agreed. So on weekends, I would apply the color of her choice and blow it dry. I think she was getting fewer pedicures. Eventually, she started to complain that not wearing any hose or socks was giving her calluses and blisters. We agreed, on my suggestion, that I would use my teeth to scrape any calluses and that I would similarly handle any blisters. The deal was that if I was unsuccessful keeping the calluses and blister problem in check, she would do what she had to do in terms of socks. So she thoughtfully kept up the no sock thing, and I would regularly pumice her heels and balls of her feet with my teeth. I would also bite off and eat any dead skin from blisters if she had first lanced the blister herself and drained it earlier. I was not into pus. She used to call the dead skin her _foot jerky._ The only time she insisted on socks was when she did a road race, but she would save the socks for me in a baggy and wring them out into a coffee mug for me to drink, which I did. She was intrigued by this. On one occasion, when she returned from a weekend away, it was pouring rain and she had on thin white cotton socks and white canvas sneakers which were soaked. She knocked and came into my apartment, stripped off the shoes and socks and wrung the socks out into a mug and handed it to me. I hesitated a little but downed it. It did not taste that good, but I wanted to encourage her curiosity. She then asked me if I would suck the water out of the insole. I agreed and she handed it to me, watching intently. I pressed it against my mouth and began sucking and swallowing. She laughed and was enjoying it in a curious friendly way. After that, she wanted a repeat performance whenever it rained and she would wear socks, tights or hose just for that purpose. On a few occasions, she made me a tea from her nylons or tights when she had to wear them like formal events or when she just wanted to wear them. She always watched me drink it and smiled. Usually though she did not wear hose, which was a boon for me. On some occasions, she had me lick her shoes and feet while lying under her dining chair as she ate dinner at her table. On a few of these times, I had made comments about her not sharing and the food smelling good, so knowing my psyche, she put some in a dish and fed me from her toes. This was rare though because it was messy. On one night, I made some noise about dessert, and with a little coaxing and asking nice, she agreed we would set up chocolate sauce, peanut butter, honey and whipped cream in bowls on the bathroom floor. She sat on the toilet, which was one of the ones that attached to the wall, so I could slide way under touching my butt to the wall with my legs vertical and spread a little around the bowl. She started to foot-feed me but it eventually turned into a smear fest which was funny for her but burned my eyes a little so I never asked for a repeat performance. Not enjoyable. Besides, I am not really into bathroom stuff. One time, there was a shoe where the heel got loose and she was going to get rid of it, but first offered the pair to me to use in my apartment to drink out of when she was not around. I at first did not reply, thinking that was a little too _fatal attraction_ for me. But she looked at me kind of upset, or maybe just with straight-faced sarcasm, and said _You have been licking the all of my shoes, licking my feet, sucking my toes and even drinking my foot sweat for over a year now. You eat food from my feet. You actually eat the dead skin off my feet. What_s the matter?_ I told her that it would just be weird having it in my cupboard. She pressed on arguing _You have licked the soles of all my footwear which touch the ground all over the city, in airports, bars, nightclubs, sidewalks, but you are now grossed out about food touching the inside where only my foot touches?_ I told her I did not want to argue and said _OK, I will do it._ She then said, _Don_t do me any favors. You were the one who told me you liked the taste and smell of my footsweat. I just thought it would be a nice gesture so you have it there in case I am not around or if something happened to me._ The guilt trip was a little out of character for our no-frills relationship. So I had to back pedal and say _No, no. I want it, I do._ She said, _OK, but you have to keep it in your kitchen cabinet._ So after that I had a pair of her used pumps in my kitchen cabinet. Unfortunately, this quickly became her new practice for making room for new shoe purchases, as she updated her collection, bought new shoes and had to get rid of old ones. I think it enabled her own fetish. Now she did not actually have to part with them by throwing them out or giving them to charity. She could just move them over to my place. So eventually, she talked me into getting rid of all my bowls and dishes which weren_t many anyway. I had four plastic dishes and four plastic bowls that were from college. So my cupboard became filled with her used shoes and sneakers which she, for fun, sorted and told me which were for drinking and which were for eating food out of. In her system, the pumps and flats were for drinking only, and her old sneakers were for me to eat my food out of, except for ice cream and wet foods which I could eat from her flats. It was a little much, but I did not want to upset the apple cart because I enjoyed our arrangement, and I actually did get a thrill out of eating and drinking exclusively from her used footwear. I still wasn_t really sure why she had to insist on my apartment having reminders like this, and it seemed a little possessive. But no harm, really. She eventually tried to talk me into putting her dirty socks and hose into my pillow case, but I held firm on that one and said flat out no. I told her it was a comfort thing and I needed my sleep. Thankfully, she gave ground on that one. It was bad enough I could not have anyone over now because I had used footwear filling my cupboard. After that, whenever we grabbed a bite to eat in either of our apartments, I would eat my food from and drink from her used footwear, unless of course, she was feeding me with her feet. A few times, we would put the food in her sneaker, and she put her foot in slowly and I licked and ate the food as it squished out. On a few other times, after I planted the suggestion, she would insert a piece of bread into her pump, boot or sneaker before going off to work or to work out and I would eat it when she returned home. She thought this was hilarious and loved watching it. One of my favorites was a little contest we came up with where after a session, we would see how long I could lay on the floor facing her on my stomach with all of her toes in my mouth while she watched TV. She got a kick out of this thought this was funny because she said I looked like a bull frog. Things never got sexual though. And it was never really a sub/dom type thing. More of a fascination and enjoyment thing for her and an addiction for me. We were friends though. She used to buy me things, bring me leftovers, give me cards. Sometimes we would even grab a bite to eat out, probably a few times a month. After our sessions, we would often hang out, often having a little wine, mine of course from one of her old shoes. I think she just enjoyed it for what it was. It was easy-going, good-feeling fun, with no strings, no games, no worries between two consenting adults. I think she also just genuinely liked having her feet and shoes licked all the time, especially since it was on her terms. Our very unique friendship went on for about two and a half years. I did not date much during this time, and could not really bring anyone back to my place. Neither did she. Eventually though, I landed a corporate job out of state and moved away. End