Wicked Trample Torture, Part III

Jun 9, 2008
Sorry for the wait, but I think I made this part longer than the others, so hopefully that makes up for it.

It was not long until Jessica returned. She wore a black blouse, white pants and black uggs. Megan was gone; it was just us two in the room alone.
“How are you enjoying your stay?” She said as she climbed onto my bare chest. “Well, even if you’re in pain, which it know you are, at least I’m having a lot of fun.” She placed a boot on my face, and continued talking, as if we were sitting down together at the dinner table. “I know you’re in a lot of pain, but you haven’t seen anything yet; soon, different members of the coven will be arriving, just to play with you. After everyone gets here, well then we’ll have a lot of fun, all of us together. Right now, though, there is someone I want you to meet. She is one of the most powerful witches in the coven, and she’s one of the toughest tramplers. She weighs more than you are used to, but not by much. Show her the proper respect.”
With that, she stepped off and left the room. Another woman came in and closed the door. She was extremely beautiful. She was around 5’7 and weighed probably somewhere between 150-160 lbs. She wore a black blouse that showed off her breast, and denim kapris, and Nike Shocks. The Shocks and the Nike logo were both pink.
Without saying a word, she stepped up onto my bare stomach. It was much more than I could take, but the stasis spell kept me still. She moved her other foot on top of the one that was on my stomach, so that all of her weight rested on it. I quickly began having trouble drawing breath.
“I’m Shelby,” she said. Her voice did not sound cruel or threatening, coupled with her sweet, innocent face, I thought it very strange to see her here, torturing me like this.
“So you’re Jessica’s new play-thing, huh? You don’t seem like the usual guy she brings in, most of them turn out to be bastards, but you don’t seem like one. Oh well, maybe you’re just a really unlucky guy. You’re kind of cute too.”
She moved her foot over my mouth.
“Why don’t you lick my dusty shoes clean?” God, what is it with these ladies and shoe-cleaning?
I ran my tongue over the bottoms of her shoes, getting every inch and every dust particle I possible could while she just stood there, all 160 pounds of her on my stomach.
“I don’t want you to just clean them, I want you to worship them, and revere me for the goddess I am.”
I had never herd the term “worship” used like this before, but I somehow knew, as if instinctively, what she meant. It must have been a spell. I kissed and licked every single inch of her shoe as she twisted it around for me; even the sides of her beautiful ankles got the treatment. This was not what I had in mind when I went to the party. Finally, she removed her foot, and placed it on my chest, transferring the weight as she did, letting all of the pressure off of my stomach. I knew her standing on my chest like this would hurt more so later, but I was glad she was off my stomach.
It was time for the other shoe now. I gave it the exact same treatment, “worshiped” them as if they were some religious artifact. My ribs began to bend. I knew they would not break because of Jessica’s spell, but it hurt nonetheless.
Now it was time for more torture as she removed her other shoe from over my head. She placed her foot right beside the other one on my chest, and looked down at me.
“This is going to be fun.”
She started marching in place to a very fast beat, almost running. Each stomp became harder and harder. I know that if it weren’t for Jessica’s spell, my ribs would have caved in. Then she started jumping. She seemed to be releasing a lot of pent-up anger; her hard, fast, and angry jumping landed her not only on my chest, but on my stomach, and sometimes, very painfully, on my head.
She stopped as suddenly as she began on my stomach, her weight on her tip-toes. She was out of breath, but I could still see the enjoyment on her face, it was almost child-like. After she caught her breath she began giggling. Actually giggling, like my misery made her laugh.
“Take off my left shoe, and put on your face so that you nose goes in the foot whole,” she said between giggles. I did, and instantly inhaled the musky aroma of her foot. I felt a soft pressure on my head, and saw that she had placed her still-shoed foot on the bottom of her other shoe. She stepped up. I felt intense pressure on my nose. Her socked foot found its way down and started caressing the side of my head.
She retreated back to my stomach, and took off her remaining shoe, and threw it on the floor along with the one that was on my face. I could breathe fresh air again.
She took her socks off, one at a time, somehow balancing on one foot with out using the wall, and shoved both of the socks into my mouth before resting a bare foot on my face.
“Tastes good, doesn’t it?”
It was….salty, and unpleasant, but somehow not as disgusting as I thought it would be.
I kept the socks in my mouth, since I wasn’t told to spit them out, as she continued to trample all over my broken body. This time, she seemed to be doing it in a more sensual way, as if she were giving me a massage. Somehow I was completely relaxed.
She opened my mouth with her foot and extracted the soaking wet sock using her toes. I caught a flash of crimson red toe-nails before they plunged into my mouth.
I did. My tongue moved around her toes, I sucked, kissed, and licked her feet. Once again, it was as if I were worshiping an idol or something. I noticed how very much Shelby was enjoying this; her hand moved to her crotch area and began stroking as she moaned. I continued worshiping, I began to suck harder, lick and kiss more feverishly, following her louder and louder moans. She was close. Finally, she stopped, sighing as she did so. I stopped as well, as if some nonverbal command had been given.
Without so much as a word or glance, she stepped down, and retreated to the nearby closet. She emerged a few minutes later wearing a red blouse, black skirt, and knee-high black stiletto boots. When I say stiletto, I mean it; I had never seen heels so thin. Without exaggeration, they seemed to be as small and sharp as a needle-point. This was going to hurt. A lot.
“Life can’t be fun all the time, now can it? At least, not for you.”
She stepped up with one foot. I wanted so badly to scream, the sharp, terrible pain of her 160 pound body came down on the needle-tipped boots.
She marched on my chest mercilessly, ignoring my agonized face. Then things got worse, she stood, balanced on one foot with the other resting on it, and lifted the front of the boot up so that ALL of her weight rested on the heel point on my chest. Actual tears started streaming down my face. The she started jumping, as Jessica did the first night. 8 feet in the air, at least, all coming down onto my chest and stomach.
Next, she marched on the side of my head, rocking back and forth on her heels. Then she started to jump. On my head. I didn’t pass out, somehow, which made it worse.
This process continued for the next hour, after which, my body was burning as if it had caught fired. It was then that she stopped. And without a word, walked out of the room.