ogilthorpe
11-16-2002, 10:56 PM
I haven't posted here in ages--since the delphi days. I usually do GTS/shrinking man/foot collages and stories. I have been working on getting my webpage back up and getting permission from various websites to use their pics as backgrounds for collages. This story is kind of a hybrid of gts and trampling themes, as I am attempting to make a story that could be of interest to both groups, and as reflects my own interests. As in many stories of pure fantasy, a bit of patience is helpful, as the various characters map out the parameters of their world. This story will eventually feature men being stepped on who are about 4 feet tall (or 1 1/4 meter as in the story) and smaller
THE SEMINAR
The Place: a college town somewhere in North America
The Time: just a few decades after the GREAT CHANGE
Chapter 1- The Lecture
Driven by both pain and anxiety, Jeanie and Caitlyn ran down the passageway, deftly avoiding other students and occasional male workers, or the even smaller male pets. Their anxiety stemmed from the fact that they were late for their class, and on the very first day too. They had some reason to worry, as Dr. Burgess was known to be a stickler for punctuality.
The pain came from their feet, as they sprinted along on unfamiliar high heels, which the course prospectus had indicated were required equipment for the first day. Jeanie moaned out loud, wondering why they had not worn their flats, and changed into these heels when they arrived at the classroom.
As they turned a corner Caitlyn suddenly collided with a worker-sized male, stunning him and hurling his meter long form directly to the terrazzo floor. Being in such a rush, Caitlyn clattered on by the sprawled man. However a few steps later she noticed that Jeanie was not with her. She stopped and turned to see her ever-mischievous roommate standing over the little man. Jeanie was a very pretty girl, and not especially tall, yet the shiny new shoe she dangled playfully over the males upturned face appeared bigger than his entire head.
“Jeanie, stop that. We’re already late, and you know how we’ve been looking forward to this class. “
“But Cait, this one is a very bad boy. He got right in your way. You could have been hurt. And see, he doesn’t have a collar. He’s out in public without his owner. I think we should walk on him a little, and then turn him into the campus police. What do you say? It’s our duty, you know.”
Jeanie threw back her head, tossing the long blonde curls out of her face, and gave her friend a plaintive look.
“Oh, geez, Jeanie, we just don’t have the time. Besides, look at the uniform that he’s got on. He’s a custodian. That’s why the little dink doesn’t have a collar.
Still Jeanie tarried a moment. She rested her foot lightly on the man’s chest, all the time grinning at him in much the same way that predator’s have grinned at their prey since time began. At last she reluctantly exhaled, then propelled her supple body into action to catch up with Caitlyn, who was again loudly jogging down the long hallway. The 2 co-eds eventually arrived at an impressive, outsized oak door. On it was a small cardboard sign that Jeanie read out loud.
“Business Management 610-male control in the workplace, Dr. M. Burgess. Yep, this is the place.” They pushed through the door and made their way to the front of the lecture hall where a handful of young women were already seated. Jeanie was relieved to see that the presentation had not yet started.
Doctor Melanie Burgess peered over the top of her stylish glasses at the new students. She sat comfortably on the corner of her desk, contentedly resting on one elbow. She was a very striking woman of indeterminate age. A shock gleaming black hair, and a finely tailored blue blazer, contrasted against the pale unlined skin of her handsome face.
As her students fished out their notebooks and recorders, Melanie languidly raised her long nylon-covered leg and seemed to stare at the toe of her old brown high-heeled shoe. For a moment she allowed some fond reflection about those shoes. How many times had she taught this seminar with these same trusty, comfortable heels on her feet? They were her favorites, with the polished leather seasoned and lined from their years of service, and the thin soles stained from the soft wet bodies of a hundred little men? Soon she would have to replace those old shoes. The thought made her sad. It would be like losing two close friends.
Dr. Burgess’s musing was interrupted by the squeaky sound of turning wheels. She turned to see a large cart rolling up to toward the front of the room. On it were stacked several dozen small cages, each stamped with the certified logo of the DMC-Department Of Male Corrections. Each cage efficiently housed one frightened male prisoner, each having been reduced to the Departments official incarceration height of 10 cm. Melanie noticed her students looking with great interest as the cart passed. One athletic blonde acted particularly eager and excited. She was certain that it was one of the girls who had scampered in late. Very pretty young ladies, she had thought. But obviously, not used to running in high heels.
Pushing the cart was a rather large, yet attractive woman wearing a DMC uniform. She pushed and pulled at her portable lock-up, until it sat behind Melanie’s desk. She then leaned across the desk to speak to the professor.
“Well Doc, there ya go. I swear the little smudges get heavier every year. Think this will be enough for the week?”
“Hi Emmy. I’m afraid you’re just getting older girl. And this should be plenty. You know we only meet 3 times a week.”
“Yea, well, you forget that I’ve observed your classes before, and I know how fast you can go through the little buggers.”
Melanie laughed out loud. “ Yea, that’s true. I always believe that education should be fun, too. Any in this group really interesting?”
‘Well, they’re mostly the usual group of squishers-slackers and escapees mostly. There is one fella, number 87, that is kind of fun. We picked him up in one of our sweeps in the sewers. He must have been on his own for quite a while. He just can’t seem to keep his mouth shut. Oh, and there’s a special group on the back of the cart who are all clone-brothers. Believe it or not, they’re registered as genetically enhanced footboys. Seems they belonged to the Mayor’s daughter. They all escaped together, and she doesn’t even want them back. She’s replaced the whole lot already, and you know how much those things cost. Just goes to show how the other half lives. Anyway I thought you might be personally interested in that crew.”
“Hmmm, that does sound nice. I owe you a big one, Emmy. I certainly can’t afford, on my salary, to keep a boy in every shoe. You wouldn’t think it was a bribe if I saved a few of those footboys for you?”
Emmy beamed with glee. “Just what I was hoping you’d say, Doc. I sure can’t afford those enhanced models either. Well I’d better get back to work. Remember the loud one is number 87.
“Seeya Emmy, and thanks.”
Doctor Burgess stood and turned at last to face her students. “Hello. I’m Doctor Melanie Burgess, and it has been my pleasure to teach this graduate level seminar for several years. As you know, the emphasis of this course is on techniques of trampling. Now I know that you have all enjoyed walking on men, however I need to begin by pointing out how our work here may differ from what you are accustomed to.”
“Women trample for many reasons; as a ritual of supremacy, or an act of ownership, or even as a sport. But mostly, women are called to trample as a pure act of pleasure. The act of standing on a male is now so commonplace; that most of us take it for granted as one the most natural and simple joys of life. As such, we naturally focus on our own sense of touch. Few things match the warm skin-to-skin experience that happens when we sense a man lying passively beneath us. It is then natural that we often indulge our males, knowing that they sometimes experience as much happiness worshipping us as we feel in being worshipped.
But for our purposes today the priorities are quite different. We will learn to use trampling as an essential management tool in educating, in motivating, and in punishing the many men whose skills are still needed to make our young civilization work. In short, we are more concerned with the effect of our trampling on him, than the feeling it gives us. Now I am well aware that scientists tell us that it is psychologically unhealthy for a woman to step on a man and feel no pleasure at all. No, we shall still be aware of our own needs, but please remember that we will always be concerned first with what it does to him.
THE SEMINAR
The Place: a college town somewhere in North America
The Time: just a few decades after the GREAT CHANGE
Chapter 1- The Lecture
Driven by both pain and anxiety, Jeanie and Caitlyn ran down the passageway, deftly avoiding other students and occasional male workers, or the even smaller male pets. Their anxiety stemmed from the fact that they were late for their class, and on the very first day too. They had some reason to worry, as Dr. Burgess was known to be a stickler for punctuality.
The pain came from their feet, as they sprinted along on unfamiliar high heels, which the course prospectus had indicated were required equipment for the first day. Jeanie moaned out loud, wondering why they had not worn their flats, and changed into these heels when they arrived at the classroom.
As they turned a corner Caitlyn suddenly collided with a worker-sized male, stunning him and hurling his meter long form directly to the terrazzo floor. Being in such a rush, Caitlyn clattered on by the sprawled man. However a few steps later she noticed that Jeanie was not with her. She stopped and turned to see her ever-mischievous roommate standing over the little man. Jeanie was a very pretty girl, and not especially tall, yet the shiny new shoe she dangled playfully over the males upturned face appeared bigger than his entire head.
“Jeanie, stop that. We’re already late, and you know how we’ve been looking forward to this class. “
“But Cait, this one is a very bad boy. He got right in your way. You could have been hurt. And see, he doesn’t have a collar. He’s out in public without his owner. I think we should walk on him a little, and then turn him into the campus police. What do you say? It’s our duty, you know.”
Jeanie threw back her head, tossing the long blonde curls out of her face, and gave her friend a plaintive look.
“Oh, geez, Jeanie, we just don’t have the time. Besides, look at the uniform that he’s got on. He’s a custodian. That’s why the little dink doesn’t have a collar.
Still Jeanie tarried a moment. She rested her foot lightly on the man’s chest, all the time grinning at him in much the same way that predator’s have grinned at their prey since time began. At last she reluctantly exhaled, then propelled her supple body into action to catch up with Caitlyn, who was again loudly jogging down the long hallway. The 2 co-eds eventually arrived at an impressive, outsized oak door. On it was a small cardboard sign that Jeanie read out loud.
“Business Management 610-male control in the workplace, Dr. M. Burgess. Yep, this is the place.” They pushed through the door and made their way to the front of the lecture hall where a handful of young women were already seated. Jeanie was relieved to see that the presentation had not yet started.
Doctor Melanie Burgess peered over the top of her stylish glasses at the new students. She sat comfortably on the corner of her desk, contentedly resting on one elbow. She was a very striking woman of indeterminate age. A shock gleaming black hair, and a finely tailored blue blazer, contrasted against the pale unlined skin of her handsome face.
As her students fished out their notebooks and recorders, Melanie languidly raised her long nylon-covered leg and seemed to stare at the toe of her old brown high-heeled shoe. For a moment she allowed some fond reflection about those shoes. How many times had she taught this seminar with these same trusty, comfortable heels on her feet? They were her favorites, with the polished leather seasoned and lined from their years of service, and the thin soles stained from the soft wet bodies of a hundred little men? Soon she would have to replace those old shoes. The thought made her sad. It would be like losing two close friends.
Dr. Burgess’s musing was interrupted by the squeaky sound of turning wheels. She turned to see a large cart rolling up to toward the front of the room. On it were stacked several dozen small cages, each stamped with the certified logo of the DMC-Department Of Male Corrections. Each cage efficiently housed one frightened male prisoner, each having been reduced to the Departments official incarceration height of 10 cm. Melanie noticed her students looking with great interest as the cart passed. One athletic blonde acted particularly eager and excited. She was certain that it was one of the girls who had scampered in late. Very pretty young ladies, she had thought. But obviously, not used to running in high heels.
Pushing the cart was a rather large, yet attractive woman wearing a DMC uniform. She pushed and pulled at her portable lock-up, until it sat behind Melanie’s desk. She then leaned across the desk to speak to the professor.
“Well Doc, there ya go. I swear the little smudges get heavier every year. Think this will be enough for the week?”
“Hi Emmy. I’m afraid you’re just getting older girl. And this should be plenty. You know we only meet 3 times a week.”
“Yea, well, you forget that I’ve observed your classes before, and I know how fast you can go through the little buggers.”
Melanie laughed out loud. “ Yea, that’s true. I always believe that education should be fun, too. Any in this group really interesting?”
‘Well, they’re mostly the usual group of squishers-slackers and escapees mostly. There is one fella, number 87, that is kind of fun. We picked him up in one of our sweeps in the sewers. He must have been on his own for quite a while. He just can’t seem to keep his mouth shut. Oh, and there’s a special group on the back of the cart who are all clone-brothers. Believe it or not, they’re registered as genetically enhanced footboys. Seems they belonged to the Mayor’s daughter. They all escaped together, and she doesn’t even want them back. She’s replaced the whole lot already, and you know how much those things cost. Just goes to show how the other half lives. Anyway I thought you might be personally interested in that crew.”
“Hmmm, that does sound nice. I owe you a big one, Emmy. I certainly can’t afford, on my salary, to keep a boy in every shoe. You wouldn’t think it was a bribe if I saved a few of those footboys for you?”
Emmy beamed with glee. “Just what I was hoping you’d say, Doc. I sure can’t afford those enhanced models either. Well I’d better get back to work. Remember the loud one is number 87.
“Seeya Emmy, and thanks.”
Doctor Burgess stood and turned at last to face her students. “Hello. I’m Doctor Melanie Burgess, and it has been my pleasure to teach this graduate level seminar for several years. As you know, the emphasis of this course is on techniques of trampling. Now I know that you have all enjoyed walking on men, however I need to begin by pointing out how our work here may differ from what you are accustomed to.”
“Women trample for many reasons; as a ritual of supremacy, or an act of ownership, or even as a sport. But mostly, women are called to trample as a pure act of pleasure. The act of standing on a male is now so commonplace; that most of us take it for granted as one the most natural and simple joys of life. As such, we naturally focus on our own sense of touch. Few things match the warm skin-to-skin experience that happens when we sense a man lying passively beneath us. It is then natural that we often indulge our males, knowing that they sometimes experience as much happiness worshipping us as we feel in being worshipped.
But for our purposes today the priorities are quite different. We will learn to use trampling as an essential management tool in educating, in motivating, and in punishing the many men whose skills are still needed to make our young civilization work. In short, we are more concerned with the effect of our trampling on him, than the feeling it gives us. Now I am well aware that scientists tell us that it is psychologically unhealthy for a woman to step on a man and feel no pleasure at all. No, we shall still be aware of our own needs, but please remember that we will always be concerned first with what it does to him.